CHAPTER III.
While Mr. Deane's life was ebbing slowly away in Bryanston Square,George Sauls was making a good fight for his at the farm.
Tom Thorpe had found him on the afternoon of the preacher's departure,the sun shining down pitilessly on the upturned face, the arms spreadwide.
Lifting him up, Tom found the wound at the back of the head, made with abill-hook or hatchet. Whoever had done that, had also turned his victimover to rifle the pockets; for a man hit from behind would naturallyfall on his face, and, moreover, the pockets were empty.
"Dead as a door nail!" said Tom. He had remarkably good nerve, but thiswas a ghastly discovery to come on, on a fine summer's day.
Mr. Sauls was wet with dew; he must have lain there all night. A spiderhad spun a thread across his chest; it glittered with diamond drops,more numerous and less costly than those that had been stolen. Tom, inlifting him, disturbed also a small brown bird, that had been debatingwhether this gentleman was really dead--so dead that she might ventureto pick off that bit of white cotton hanging from the lining of hispocket, and use it for her household purposes. She had been hoppinggradually nearer, but had had her suspicion that, for all his stillness,he was not quite harmless yet; her instinct was keener than Tom's.
Mr. Sauls suddenly opened his eyes and looked at Tom.
"Not at all!" he said. "I'm not dead yet." And then he relapsed intounconsciousness; and, for once in his life, Tom was startled.
"I don't say but what it's queer to ha' one's foot knock up agin amurdered man when one's mind's runnin' on naught but crops," heexplained afterwards; "but I ain't a maid wi' nerves; I didn't mindthat. It wur his eyes openin' and fixin' me, just as I wur thinkin'there'd ha' to be an inquest, as did gi'e me a bit of a turn. Besides,he'd no business to come to life; he had ought to ha' been killed wi' amark that deep at the bottom o' his skull."
The doctor, when at last they got one, was of the same opinion; thewound would have killed most men, he said; and why Mr. Sauls didn't die,remained a mystery, except, of course, that he was treated withexceptional skill.
George clung to life with that tenacity which he showed in everything.He was dangerously ill for a fortnight; then began to recover, to thesurprise of every one, except his mother, who had been quite hopeful allalong, and had replied cheerfully to an attempt to warn her of theprobable end.
"Danger? My dear sir, it will be dangerous for the man who tried tomurder George! but, please God, my son will live to see that villainhang."
Mr. Sauls had been carried to the farm, that being the only house near.Tom had bound up the patient's head as best he could, regretting thatthe preacher's more practised and skilful fingers were not available. Itseemed barely possible that Mr. Sauls could live till further aid shouldarrive.
Mr. Thorpe rode into N---- and gave notice to the police of what hadoccurred. He went also to the inn, and, assisted by the landlord,searched for some clue as to the whereabouts of the unfortunate man'srelatives. They found a letter torn in half, and lying in the fireplaceof the room Mr. Sauls had slept in. Piecing it together, they made outthe signature:--
"Your affectionate old mother,
"Rebecca Sauls."
And the address: "20 Hill Street".
Mr. Thorpe sat down and wrote a letter to Mrs. Sauls, acquainting herwith the evil chance that had befallen her son. Writing was not thelabour to him that it was to Barnabas, for he had been a scholar in hisday. The letter was clear and well expressed.
"If you wish to come to the farm to nurse Mr. Sauls," he wrote as anafter-thought, "we shall be honoured in doing our best to make youcomfortable."
It was kindly done, for he had a nervous dislike to strangers; but theold fellow was too true a gentleman at heart to be anything but cordialin the circumstances: and Mrs. Sauls accepted his invitation without amoment's hesitation. She would have started off for the North Pole, ifGeorge had happened to come to grief there!
Tom was relieved when he saw her settled in the sick room, takingpossession with an air of assured capability. He would have done hisbest for any man thrown on his mercy, and picked up wounded by the way;but he was glad to be rid of the care of _this_ patient.
"That chap hates us," he remarked. "Oh, ay--I know, dad; he could becivil (leastways as a rule) because he wanted to come, and he ain't thesoart to let his temper play maister to his wants; but we're the lasthe'll like bein' obligated to--more especial as I fancy he an' Barnabashave had words."
"What makes you think that?" said his father.
"Long John told me that much," said Tom. "He overheard some'ut behind ahay rick. I wur down on him for eavesdropping, an' I doan't know what'twas about----Hallo! what are ye wantin'?" The last question wasaddressed to a man who had come up behind the Thorpes.
"I was sent up to make inquiries as to how soon the gentleman will befit to give evidence," said the stranger.
He had been listening with all his ears, and it struck him that he hadcollected a not unimportant fact himself. So Mr. Sauls and the preacherhad had words!
Tom shrugged his shoulders; on the whole, it did not seem probable thatMr. Sauls' evidence would ever be given on this side of the grave. Atpresent, he lay babbling the wildest nonsense, while the would-bemurderer was probably escaping comfortably.
At last, however, there came a day when George woke up with recognitionin his eyes. His mother, who was sitting by him, trembled with pleasurewhen she saw it. He looked ghastly enough with his sallow face swathedin white bandages; but Rebecca Sauls had never heard any sound that sonearly moved her to happy tears as the sound of her son's voice speakingsensibly, albeit somewhat crossly again.
"What _are_ you doing here, mother?" said he. "I suppose I've been ill;but I'm sure there couldn't have been the least necessity for you tocome. What's been the matter with me?" He put his hand to his head andtried hard to sit upright, but fell back. "H'm! I must have been ratherbad," he said. "Have I been falling from a five storey window? It feelslike it. I wish I could remember! I say, this isn't my room, and wherethe deuce----"
"You are in Caulderwell Farm," said his mother. "You have been very ill.Mr. Tom Thorpe picked you up in the marsh, near what they call the'Pixies' Pool'."
"Well, go on," he said sharply. A horrible fear that he had lost hismemory came over him.
"He brought you here because this was the only house near; and hisfather wrote to me, thinking that you were dying--I told them they werewrong, my dear. You are going to get well."
She was afraid of exciting him; and yet, compelled by the intenseanxiety of his expression, and knowing her son, knew better than torefuse to satisfy him.
"What was the matter with me?" he asked.
"The matter was a blow on the back of your head," she began.
Then she paused, for George laughed with grim satisfaction. "Ah! Iremember," he said. "I remember now! mother, I was afraid----"
He left the sentence unfinished, not caring to say what he had feared.
"I remember," he repeated again; "he hit me from behind in the dusk.Yes, and his brother thought I was done for, and I sat up and startledhim, and then it got dark again. Upon my word, the saints hit hard! Buthe should have made quite sure while he was about it; dead men tell notales! I think I am alive enough to give him trouble yet! A half-killedenemy is a dangerous thing, isn't it?"
"My dear," said his mother, putting her wrinkled hand on his, "I hopethat whoever attempted to kill you may find that true; but you must getwell before anything. Don't let yourself get excited now, only justtell me, who was it?"
"Who? there was only one man within a mile of me!" said George. "It wasthe preacher! I didn't see him, naturally, for I've no eyes behind; buthe must have run after me, and taken payment for old debts! He had hadprovocation enough. I declare, if he'd given me warning and hit fairly,I'd have cried 'quits'; but to cant about being 'sworn' and then to hitin the dark----"
"If there is any law in England they ought to hang him for it," saidMrs. Sauls
. "I cannot remember ever to have heard of so wicked andshameful a crime!"
And George smiled. "No?" he said. "And you've heard of a good many too!Do you know I doubt whether the judge will see that the fact of itsbeing _I_ who suffered, so increases the crime as to render it blackerthan any other on the records! Judges are so dense. Why, mother, Ibelieve you are crying! I shouldn't have thought it of you!"
"I don't know whatever makes me," she said, hastily drying her eyes. "Itwas joy at hearing you laughing at me, like yourself, my boy, I suppose.If you'd only heard the nonsense you've been chattering all day andnight, and the way you've been calling for some one!"
"Have I?" he said uneasily. "For whom? for you?"
The old woman met his glance with a look of such tenderness astransfigured her harsh features.
"No; men don't call for their mothers like _that_," she said. "It wasjust a sick fancy, and I took care nobody but me heard--though I knowbetter than to take account of such things. Bless you! I've put it allout of my head now. I have a bad memory for what's said in fever."
"Ah," he said, "you're the wisest woman I know! There's no doubt fromwhom I got my brains. When I'm Lord Chancellor, I'll own you gave me agood many shoves uphill."
He laughed, but there was a meaning under the joke. Mr. Sauls' vulgarold mother had a large place in the heart which, as well as the brains,he perhaps inherited from her. He pulled her towards him, and kissedher.
"Thanks!" he said. And Rebecca Sauls knew quite well that the thankswere not so much for the "shoves uphill" as for the "bad memory".
"I wish I could give you all you want, my son," she said sadly.
If her own life's blood could have given him his heart's desire, heshould have had it, of course.
He recovered tolerably steadily after that, bending his endeavours tothat end with a sort of dogged patience, obeying the doctor's orders,and refusing to allow himself to get excited, because he was sodetermined that he would get well.
He was not a sweet-tempered invalid, like Mr. Deane. He had been strongall his life, and it exasperated him to feel himself weak and dependent;but his mother rejoiced rather than otherwise when George was cross: itwas a good sign, she thought, and better for him.
Only on one point he insisted--whatever might be the risk of moving him,he would not stay one day longer than was absolutely necessary under thefarm roof.
Every one remonstrated, even Tom; who, though he had no great liking forMr. Sauls, felt it a slur on their hospitality that any guest shouldleave them before he was fit to walk across a room.
"If ye aren't comfortable, ma'am, I'm sorry," said Tom. "But doan't 'eelet him go fro' this and die on the road! It ain't fair on us; and,considerin' I picked your son up, ye might listen to me."
"He wants to see you," said Mrs. Sauls, nodding her head with anemphatic little gesture. She had tried to dissuade George from thisinterview, but he would have it. "I am afraid I must ask you to go tohim, Mr. Thomas; but please remember that he is ill."
Tom stared, and then laughed good-naturedly; the old lady spoke sharply,but her hand was shaking as she stood holding up her silk gown in themiddle of the yard.
"Are ye feared I'll talk too loud?" he said. "I know how to behave in asick room, ma'am. Dad and I tuk very good care o' him afore ye came.I'll leave my boots in the kitchen, and tread as soft as I can."
She followed him upstairs and stood outside the door. Tom wondered, halfamused, what she imagined he was likely to do to her precious son. Didshe fancy that he would quarrel with a sick man? why should he? Hesupposed she distrusted him because he looked so queer.
"Well, sir; are ye feelin' a bit better?" he asked as he entered. Mr.Sauls was in an elaborate fur-trimmed dressing-gown (he had a strongtaste for personal luxury), and was sitting in an armchair that hismother had sent to N----town for, and a screen was arranged to keep outthe draught.
His face was thin, and so were the brown hands that lay on his knee; hedid not look fit to be out of bed.
"Oh yes, I'm better," he said. "I've cheated the undertaker and mineenemy this time!"
"I'm glad o' that," said Tom heartily. "Do you know who your enemy is,sir?"
Mr. Sauls looked at him rather oddly. "I believe so."
"Come!" said Tom cheerfully; "that's a good thing. Ye'll not gi'e himthe chance o' playin' that game twice, I should think. There's apoliceman downstairs wantin' to speak wi' ye, sir. I was goin' to lethim in, when Mrs. Sauls axed me to go up mysel' first. Do ye want foraught? We'd liefer ye stayed wi' us till ye can be moved safely. Why,th' country side 'ull cry shame on us if we let ye be jolted along thatroad afore your wound's rightfully healed."
"Ah," said George, "the country side will understand why I couldn't stayunder your roof, and why you won't want to keep me."
The real kindliness of Tom Thorpe's hospitality made him flinch a littlefrom what he meant to say.
"It's difficult to come to the point," he went on; "because I must ownthat I am under a heavy obligation to you. Probably--no, certainly--Ishould have died if you had not picked me up; and my mother and I havebeen living in your father's house, and have received kindness at hishands----"
"Well?" said Tom.
George Sauls sat upright, his thin face flushing slightly.
"Well!" he said; "I can't prosecute your brother while I am eating yourfather's bread and salt, and I won't insult you by thanking you for yourhospitality in the circumstances. As soon as I am outside your door, ofcourse I shall give my evidence. No doubt you will agree with me thatthe sooner I go the better."
He watched Tom narrowly while he spoke. He was prepared for a burst ofanger; "these hunchbacks generally have queer tempers," he thought; andit is a ticklish business to tell a man who has taken you into his housethat you intend to bring an action against his brother for attemptedmurder.
"Do ye mean," said Tom slowly, "that ye are goin' to swear as Barnabastried to kill ye?"
"I am going to swear that, to the best of my belief, he did," saidGeorge. "I didn't, of course, see my assailant; I tried to force aquarrel on your brother, and he refused to fight with me on religiousgrounds." He shrugged his shoulders slightly. For a few seconds thepreacher had imposed even on him; he remembered he had half believed theman honest; but, in his right mind, George felt that a fellow whorefused to fight "on religious grounds" was capable of any meanness;and, possibly, as a rule he was right; only his pocket measure couldn'tgauge exceptions.
"It would have been pleasanter," he continued, "to have left your housewithout mentioning my intention of proceeding against your brother; butI confess I have a prejudice in favour of fair play, and I owe you anapology for having accepted your hospitality. I don't carry sentiment sofar as to refrain from prosecuting the preacher because you carried mehome; but I will certainly refuse to answer any questions while I amunder this roof. Probably the delay will give the culprit time toescape; but----"
"Look 'ee here," said Tom; and he spoke so quietly that Mrs. Sauls,listening outside, afraid lest George in his weak state should beinjured, could not distinguish the words. "Look 'ee here. Ye are ill; soI can't answer ye as I would like. Ye say Barnabas meant to murder ye,an' left ye for dead. Keep your opinion; you're welcome; no one 'ull bewishful to share it wi' ye, I'm thinking; but, when you come to'probably,' _I_ know what he'd probably do, if he was here--an', by yourleave, I'll do it for him."
He opened the door wide, and shouted down the stairs:--
"Ask the man from N----town to step up at once, Cousin Tremnell. Mr.Sauls has important evidence to give, an' it won't keep!"
Then he turned to that gentleman with a short laugh:
"If ye mean to throw mud at Barnabas, do it an' welcome," said he. "Itdoan't seem to me greatly to your credit, sir; an' I doan't fancy ye'llfind it stick. Ye needn't wait to be clear o' this roof; we're muchobliged, but (I'm speaking for Barnabas) we'd rayther ye _didn't_delay."
"H'm," said George; "he is more fortunate than most prophets--his ownbrother swears by him!"<
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