CHAPTER XXIV
BRIEF REJOICING
Daniel's unusually late absence from home disturbed Bell and Sylvianot a little. He was generally at home between eight and nine onmarket days. They expected to see him the worse for liquor at suchtimes; but this did not shock them; he was no worse than most of hisneighbours, indeed better than several, who went off once or twice ayear, or even oftener, on drinking bouts of two or three days'duration, returning pale, sodden, and somewhat shame-faced, when alltheir money was gone; and, after the conjugal reception was wellover, settling down into hard-working and decently sober men untilthe temptation again got power over them. But, on market days, everyman drank more than usual; every bargain or agreement was ratifiedby drink; they came from greater or less distances, either afoot oron horseback, and the 'good accommodation for man and beast' (as theold inn-signs expressed it) always included a considerable amount ofliquor to be drunk by the man.
Daniel's way of announcing his intention of drinking more thanordinary was always the same. He would say at the last moment,'Missus, I've a mind to get fuddled to-neet,' and be off,disregarding her look of remonstrance, and little heeding theinjunctions she would call after him to beware of such and suchcompanions, or to attend to his footsteps on his road home.
But this night he had given no such warning. Bell and Sylvia put thecandle on the low window-seat at the usual hour to guide him throughthe fields--it was a habit kept up even on moonlight nights likethis--and sate on each side of the fire, at first scarcely caring tolisten, so secure were they of his return. Bell dozed, and Sylviasate gazing at the fire with abstracted eyes, thinking of the pastyear and of the anniversary which was approaching of the day whenshe had last seen the lover whom she believed to be dead, lyingsomewhere fathoms deep beneath the surface of that sunny sea onwhich she looked day by day without ever seeing his upturned facethrough the depths, with whatsoever heart-sick longing for just onemore sight she yearned and inwardly cried. If she could set her eyeson his bright, handsome face, that face which was fading from hermemory, overtasked in the too frequent efforts to recall it; if shecould but see him once again, coming over the waters beneath whichhe lay with supernatural motion, awaiting her at the stile, with theevening sun shining ruddy into his bonny eyes, even though, afterthat one instant of vivid and visible life, he faded into mist; ifshe could but see him now, sitting in the faintly flickeringfire-light in the old, happy, careless way, on a corner of thedresser, his legs dangling, his busy fingers playing with some ofher woman's work;--she wrung her hands tight together as sheimplored some, any Power, to let her see him just once again--justonce--for one minute of passionate delight. Never again would sheforget that dear face, if but once more she might set her eyes uponit.
Her mother's head fell with a sudden jerk, and she roused herselfup; and Sylvia put by her thought of the dead, and her craving afterhis presence, into that receptacle of her heart where all such arekept closed and sacred from the light of common day.
'Feyther's late,' said Bell.
'It's gone eight,' replied Sylvia.
'But our clock is better nor an hour forrard,' answered Bell.
'Ay, but t' wind brings Monkshaven bells clear to-night. I heerd t'eight o'clock bell ringing not five minutes ago.'
It was the fire-bell, but she had not distinguished the sound.
There was another long silence; both wide awake this time.
'He'll have his rheumatics again,' said Bell.
'It's cold for sartin,' said Sylvia. 'March weather come afore itstime. But I'll make him a treacle-posset, it's a famous thing forkeeping off hoasts.'
The treacle-posset was entertainment enough for both while it wasbeing made. But once placed in a little basin in the oven, there wasagain time for wonder and anxiety.
'He said nought about having a bout, did he, mother?' asked Sylviaat length.
'No,' said Bell, her face a little contracting. After a while sheadded, 'There's many a one as has husbands that goes off drinkingwithout iver saying a word to their wives. My master is none o' thatmak'.'
'Mother,' broke in Sylvia again, 'I'll just go and get t' lanternout of t' shippen, and go up t' brow, and mebbe to t' ash-fieldend.'
'Do, lass,' said her mother. 'I'll get my wraps and go with thee.'
'Thou shall do niver such a thing,' said Sylvia. 'Thou's too frailto go out i' t' night air such a night as this.'
'Then call Kester up.'
'Not I. I'm noane afraid o' t' dark.'
'But of what thou mayst meet i' t' dark, lass?'
Sylvia shivered all over at the sudden thought, suggested by thisspeech of her mother's, that the idea that had flashed into her ownmind of going to look for her father might be an answer to theinvocation to the Powers which she had made not long ago, that shemight indeed meet her dead lover at the ash-field stile; but thoughshe shivered as this superstitious fancy came into her head, herheart beat firm and regular; not from darkness nor from the spiritsof the dead was she going to shrink; her great sorrow had taken awayall her girlish nervous fear.
She went; and she came back. Neither man nor spirit had she seen;the wind was blowing on the height enough to sweep all creaturesbefore it; but no one was coming.
So they sate down again to keep watch. At length his step was heardclose to the door; and it startled them even in their state ofexpectation.
'Why, feyther!' cried Sylvia as he entered; while his wife stood uptrembling, but not saying a word.
'A'm a'most done up,' said he, sitting heavily down on the chairnearest the door.
'Poor old feyther!' said Sylvia, stooping to take off his heavyclogged shoes; while Bell took the posset out of the oven.
'What's this? posset? what creatures women is for slops,' said he;but he drank it all the same, while Sylvia fastened the door, andbrought the flaring candle from the window-seat. The fresharrangement of light displayed his face blackened with smoke, andhis clothes disarranged and torn.
'Who's been melling wi' thee?' asked Bell.
'No one has melled wi' me; but a've been mellin' wi' t' gang atlast.'
'Thee: they niver were for pressing thee!' exclaimed both the womenat once.
'No! they knowed better. They'n getten their belly-full as it is.Next time they try it on, a reckon they'll ax if Daniel Robson iswi'in hearin'. A've led a resky this neet, and saved nine or tenhonest chaps as was pressed, and carried off to t' Randyvowse. Meand some others did it. And Hobbs' things and t' lieutenant's is a'burnt; and by this time a reckon t' Randyvowse is pretty nigh fourwalls, ready for a parish-pound.'
'Thou'rt niver for saying thou burnt it down wi' t' gang in it, forsure?' asked Bell.
'Na, na, not this time. T' 'gang fled up t' hill like coneys; andHobbs and his folks carried off a bag o' money; but t' oudtumbledown place is just a heap o' brick and mortar; an' t'furniture is smoulderin' int' ashes; and, best of a', t' men isfree, and will niver be cotched wi' a fire-bell again.'
And so he went on to tell of the ruse by which they had been enticedinto the market-place; interrupted from time to time by their eagerquestions, and interrupting himself every now and then withexclamations of weariness and pain, which made him at last say,--
'Now a'm willing to tell yo' a' about it to-morrow, for it's notivery day a man can do such great things; but to-neet a mun go tobed, even if King George were wantin' for to know how a managed ita'.'
He went wearily upstairs, and wife and daughter both strove theirbest to ease his aching limbs, and make him comfortable. Thewarming-pan, only used on state occasions, was taken down andunpapered for his service; and as he got between the warm sheets, hethanked Sylvia and her mother in a sleepy voice, adding,--
'It's a vast o' comfort to think on yon poor lads as is sleepin' i'their own homes this neet,' and then slumber fell upon him, and hewas hardly roused by Bell's softly kissing his weather-beaten cheek,and saying low,--
'God bless thee, my man! Thou was allays for them that was down andput upon.'
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nbsp; He murmured some monosyllabic reply, unheard by his wife, who stoleaway to undress herself noiselessly, and laid herself down on herside of the bed as gently as her stiffened limbs would permit.
They were late in rising the next morning. Kester was long since upand at his work among the cattle before he saw the house-door opento admit the fresh chill morning air; and even then Sylvia brushedsoftly, and went about almost on tip-toe. When the porridge wasready, Kester was called in to his breakfast, which he took sittingat the dresser with the family. A large wooden platter stood in themiddle; and each had a bowl of the same material filled with milk.The way was for every one to dip his pewter spoon into the centraldish, and convey as much or as little as he liked at a time of thehot porridge into his pure fresh milk. But to-day Bell told Kesterto help himself all at once, and to take his bowl up to the master'sroom and keep him company. For Daniel was in bed, resting from hisweariness, and bemoaning his painful bruises whenever he thought ofthem. But his mind was still so much occupied with the affair of theprevious night, that Bell judged rightly that a new listener wouldgive ease to his body as well as to his mind, and her proposal ofKester's carrying up his breakfast had been received by Daniel withsatisfaction.
So Kester went up slowly, carrying his over-full basin tenderly, andseated himself on the step leading down into the bed-room (forlevels had not been calculated when the old house was built) facinghis master, who, half sitting up in the blue check bed, notunwillingly began his relation again; to which Kester listened soattentively, that his spoon was often arrested in its progress fromthe basin to his mouth, open ready to receive it, while he gazedwith unwinking eyes at Daniel narrating his exploits.
But after Daniel had fought his battle o'er again to every auditorwithin his reach, he found the seclusion of his chamber ratheroppressive, without even the usual week-days' noises below; so afterdinner, though far from well, he came down and wandered about thestable and the fields nearest to the house, consulting with Kesteras to crops and manure for the most part; but every now and thenbreaking out into an episodical chuckle over some part of lastnight's proceedings. Kester enjoyed the day even more than hismaster, for he had no bruises to remind him that, although a hero,he was also flesh and blood.
When they returned to the house they found Philip there, for it wasalready dusk. It was Kester's usual Sunday plan to withdraw to bedat as early an hour as he could manage to sleep, often in winterbefore six; but now he was too full of interest in what Philip mighthave to tell of Monkshaven news to forego his Sabbath privilege ofspending the evening sitting on the chair at the end of the dresserbehind the door.
Philip was as close to Sylvia as he could possibly get withoutgiving her offence, when they came in. Her manner was listless andcivil; she had lost all that active feeling towards him which madehim positively distasteful, and had called out her girlishirritation and impertinence. She now was rather glad to see him thanotherwise. He brought some change into the heavy monotony of herlife--monotony so peaceful until she had been stirred by passion outof that content with the small daily events which had now becomeburdensome recurrences. Insensibly to herself she was becomingdependent on his timid devotion, his constant attention; and he,lover-like, once so attracted, in spite of his judgment, by herliveliness and piquancy, now doted on her languor, and thought hersilence more sweet than words.
He had only just arrived when master and man came in. He had been toafternoon chapel; none of them had thought of going to the distantchurch; worship with them was only an occasional duty, and this daytheir minds had been too full of the events of the night before.Daniel sate himself heavily down in his accustomed chair, thethree-cornered arm-chair in the fireside corner, which no onethought of anybody else ever occupying on any occasion whatever. Ina minute or two he interrupted Philip's words of greeting andinquiry by breaking out into the story of the rescue of last night.But to the mute surprise of Sylvia, the only one who noticed it,Philip's face, instead of expressing admiration and pleasant wonder,lengthened into dismay; once or twice he began to interrupt, butstopped himself as if he would consider his words again. Kester wasnever tired of hearing his master talk; by long living together theyunderstood every fold of each other's minds, and small expressionshad much significance to them. Bell, too, sate thankful that herhusband should have done such deeds. Only Sylvia was made uneasy byPhilip's face and manner. When Daniel had ended there was a greatsilence, instead of the questions and compliments he looked toreceive. He became testy, and turning to Bell, said,--
'My nephew looks as though he was a-thinking more on t' littleprofit he has made on his pins an' bobs, than as if he was heedinghow honest men were saved from being haled out to yon tender, an'carried out o' sight o' wives and little 'uns for iver. Wives an'little 'uns may go t' workhouse or clem for aught he cares.
Philip went very red, and then more sallow than usual. He had notbeen thinking of Charley Kinraid, but of quite another thing, whileDaniel had told his story; but this last speech of the old man'sbrought up the remembrance that was always quick, do what he wouldto smother or strangle it. He did not speak for a moment or two,then he said,--
'To-day has not been like Sabbath in Monkshaven. T' rioters, asfolks call 'em, have been about all night. They wanted to givebattle to t' men-o'-war's men; and it were taken up by th' betterend, and they've sent to my Lord Malton for t' militia; and they'recome into t' town, and they're hunting for a justice for t' read th'act; folk do say there'll be niver a shop opened to-morrow.'
This was rather a more serious account of the progress of the affairthan any one had calculated upon. They looked grave upon it awhile,then Daniel took heart and said,--
'A think we'd done a'most enough last neet; but men's not to bestopped wi' a straw when their blood is up; still it's hard lines tocall out t' sojers, even if they be but militia. So what we sevenhatched in a dark entry has ta'en a lord to put a stop to 't!'continued he, chuckling a little, but more faintly this time.
Philip went on, still graver than before, boldly continuing to saywhat he knew would be discordant to the family he loved so well.
'I should ha' telled yo' all about it; I thought on it just as a bito' news; I'd niver thought on such a thing as uncle there havingbeen in it, and I'm main sorry to hear on it, I am.'
'Why?' said Sylvia, breathlessly.
'It's niver a thing to be sorry on. I'm proud and glad,' said Bell.
'Let-a-be, let-a-be,' said Daniel, in much dudgeon. 'A were a foolto tell him o' such-like doings, they're noane i' his line; we'lltalk on yard measures now.
Philip took no notice of this poor attempt at sarcasm: he seemed asif lost in thought, then he said,--
'I'm vexed to plague yo', but I'd best say all I've got i' my mind.There was a vast o' folk at our chapel speaking about it--lastnight's doings and this morning's work--and how them as set it afootwas assured o' being clapt int' prison and tried for it; and when Iheered uncle say as he was one, it like ran through me; for they sayas t' justices will be all on t' Government side, and mad forvengeance.'
For an instant there was dead silence. The women looked at eachother with blank eyes, as if they were as yet unable to take in thenew idea that the conduct which had seemed to them a subject forsuch just pride could be regarded by any one as deserving ofpunishment or retribution. Daniel spoke before they had recoveredfrom their amazement.
'A'm noane sorry for what a did, an' a'd do it again to-neet, ifneed were. So theere's for thee. Thou may tell t' justices fra' methat a reckon a did righter nor them, as letten poor fellys becarried off i' t' very midst o' t' town they're called justicesfor.'
Perhaps Philip had better have held his tongue; but he believed inthe danger, which he was anxious to impress upon his uncle, in orderthat, knowing what was to be apprehended, the latter might take somepains to avert it.
He went on.
'But they're making a coil about the Randyvowse being alldestroyed!'
Daniel had taken down his pipe from the shelf in the
chimney corner,and was stuffing tobacco into the bowl. He went on pretending to dothis a little while after it was filled; for, to tell the truth, hewas beginning to feel uncomfortable at the new view of his conductpresented to him. Still he was not going to let this appear, solifting up his head with an indifferent air he lighted the pipe,blew into it, took it out and examined it as something were wrongabout it, and until that was put to rights he was unable to attendto anything else; all the while the faithful three who hung upon hiswell-being, gazing, breathless, at his proceedings, and anxious forhis reply.
'Randyvowse!' said he at length, 'it were a good job it were brenneddown, for such a harbour for vermin a never seed: t' rats ran acrosst' yard by hunders an' thousands; an' it were no man's property asa've heerd tell, but belonged to Chancery, up i' Lunnon; so wheere'st' harm done, my fine felly?'
Philip was silent. He did not care to brave any further his uncle'sangry frown and contracted eye. If he had only known of DanielRobson's part in the riot before he had left the town, he would havetaken care to have had better authority for the reality of thedanger which he had heard spoken about, and in which he could nothelp believing. As it was, he could only keep quiet until he hadascertained what was the legal peril overhanging the rioters, andhow far his uncle had been recognized.
Daniel went on puffing angrily. Kester sighed audibly, and then wassorry he had done so, and began to whistle. Bell, full of her newfear, yet desirous to bring all present into some kind of harmony,said,--
'It'll ha' been a loss to John Hobbs--all his things burnt, ortrampled on. Mebbe he desarved it all, but one's a kind o' tenderfeeling to one's tables and chairs, special if one's had t'bees-waxing on 'em.'
'A wish he'd been burnt on t' top on 'em, a do,' growled out Daniel,shaking the ash out of his pipe.
'Don't speak so ill o' thysel',' said his wife. 'Thou'd ha' been t'first t' pluck him down if he'd screeched out.'
'An' a'll warrant if they come about wi' a paper asking forfeyther's name to make up for what Hobbs has lost by t' fire,feyther 'll be for giving him summut,' said Sylvia.
'Thou knows nought about it,' said Daniel. 'Hold thy tongue nexttime till thou's axed to speak, my wench.'
His sharp irritated way of speaking was so new to Sylvia, that thetears sprang to her eyes, and her lip quivered. Philip saw it all,and yearned over her. He plunged headlong into some other subject totry and divert attention from her; but Daniel was too ill at ease totalk much, and Bell was obliged to try and keep up the semblance ofconversation, with an occasional word or two from Kester, who seemedinstinctively to fall into her way of thinking, and to endeavour tokeep the dark thought in the background.
Sylvia stole off to bed; more concerned at her father's angry way ofspeaking than at the idea of his being amenable to law for what hehad done; the one was a sharp present evil, the other somethingdistant and unlikely. Yet a dim terror of this latter evil hung overher, and once upstairs she threw herself on her bed and sobbed.Philip heard her where he sate near the bottom of the short steepstaircase, and at every sob the cords of love round his heart seemedtightened, and he felt as if he must there and then do something toconsole her.
But, instead, he sat on talking of nothings, a conversation in whichDaniel joined with somewhat of surliness, while Bell, grave andanxious, kept wistfully looking from one to the other, desirous ofgleaning some further information on the subject, which had begun totrouble her mind. She hoped some chance would give her theopportunity of privately questioning Philip, but it seemed to beequally her husband's wish to thwart any such intention of hers. Heremained in the house-place, till after Philip had left, although hewas evidently so much fatigued as to give some very distinct, thoughunintentional, hints to his visitor to be gone.
At length the house-door was locked on Philip, and then Danielprepared to go to bed. Kester had left for his loft above theshippen more than an hour before. Bell had still to rake the fire,and then she would follow her husband upstairs.
As she was scraping up the ashes, she heard, intermixed with thenoise she was making, the sound of some one rapping gently at thewindow. In her then frame of mind she started a little; but onlooking round, she saw Kester's face pressed against the glass, and,reassured, she softly opened the door. There he stood in the duskouter air, distinct against the gray darkness beyond, and in hishand something which she presently perceived was a pitchfork.
'Missus!' whispered he, 'a've watched t' maister t' bed; an' now a'dbe greatly beholden to yo' if yo'd let me just lay me down i' t'house-place. A'd warrant niver a constable i' a' Monkshaven shouldget sight o' t' maister, an' me below t' keep ward.'
Bell shivered a little.
'Nay, Kester,' she said, patting her hand kindly on his shoulder;'there's nought for t' fear. Thy master is not one for t' hurtnobody; and I dunnot think they can harm him for setting yon poorchaps free, as t' gang catched i' their wicked trap.'
Kester stood still; then he shook his head slowly.
'It's t' work at t' Randyvowse as a'm afeared on. Some folks thinkssuch a deal o' a bonfire. Then a may lay me down afore t' fire,missus?' said he, beseechingly.
'Nay, Kester--' she began; but suddenly changing, she said, 'Godbless thee, my man; come in and lay thee down on t' settle, and I'llcover thee up wi' my cloak as hangs behind t' door. We're not manyon us that love him, an' we'll be all on us under one roof, an'niver a stone wall or a lock betwixt us.'
So Kester took up his rest in the house-place that night, and noneknew of it besides Bell.
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