Amos Huntingdon

by William Henry Giles Kingston

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

  PERPLEXING.

  Many months had rolled by since Amos had undertaken to pay for the horsewhich his brother had unhappily ruined in the steeplechase. MrHuntingdon never alluded to the matter again, but the difference in hismanner towards his elder son was so marked that none could fail toobserve it. There were both respect and affection in his voice when headdressed him, and the poor young man's naturally grave face lighted upas with a flood of sunshine when his father thus spoke to him. MissHuntingdon, of course, rejoiced in this change with all her heart.Walter was as pleased and proud at it as if some special honours werebeing conferred on himself. And old Harry--it was a sight worth seeingto observe the old servant when his master spoke kindly to Amos: whatwith winking and nodding, opening wide his eyes, lifting his eyebrows,rolling his tongue about, and certain inward volcanic mutterings, allconstituting a little bit of private acting for his own special andpeculiar benefit, it might have been thought by those who did not knowhim that something had been passing at the moment causing a temporaryderangement of his digestive organs. But Miss Huntingdon, as she markedhis mysterious conduct, was perfectly aware that it simply meant anexpression on his part--principally for the relief of his own feelings,and partly also to give a hint to those who might care to know how hefelt in the matter--that things were "coming round nicely," and that MrAmos would get his proper place and his rights given him in the family,and would in due time accomplish his great purpose.

  Amos himself began to be much of the same opinion, and was greatlytouched by receiving a cheque from his father for a hundred pounds onemorning, with the assurance that he did not wish him to be out of pocketon Walter's account, while at the same time the squire neither mentionedthe steeplechase himself nor allowed Amos to refer to it. The money wasnow his own, he remarked, and the less said about where it was going tothe better.

  A new year had now begun, and deep snow lay around the Manor-house. Thefamily party had assembled at breakfast, all except Miss Huntingdon andAmos. The former at last appeared, but there was trouble on her brow,which Walter, who loved her dearly, instantly noticed.

  "Auntie dear," he asked, "what's amiss? I'm sure you are not well thismorning."

  "I am a little upset, dear boy," she replied, "but it is nothingserious."

  "I hope not, Kate," said her brother. "But where is Amos?"

  "Well, Walter," replied his sister, "that is just it. I have a notefrom him this morning asking me to excuse him to you; that duty hascalled him away, and that I shall understand in what direction this dutylies. I can only hope that nothing serious is amiss; but this I amquite sure of, that Amos would never have gone off in this abrupt wayhad there not been some pressing cause."

  Mr Huntingdon did not speak for a while, his thoughts were evidentlytroubling him. He remembered the last occasion of his son's suddenabsence, and was now well aware that it had been care for his poorerring child's neglected little ones that had then called Amos away.Perhaps it might be so now. Perhaps that daughter herself, against whomhis heart and home had been closed so long, might be ill or even dying.Perhaps she was longing for a father's smile, a father's expressedforgiveness. His heart felt very sore, and his breakfast lay untastedbefore him.

  As for Walter, he knew not what to say or think. He dared not speak hisfears out loud lest he should wound his father, whose distress he couldnot help seeing. He would have volunteered to do anything andeverything, only he did not know exactly where to begin or what topropose. At length Mr Huntingdon, turning to the old butler, who wasmoving about in a state of great uneasiness, said, "Do you know, Harry,at what hour Mr Amos left this morning?"

  "No, sir, not exactly. But when Jane came down early and went to openthe front door, she found the chain and the bolts drawn and the keyturned back. It was plain that some one had gone out that way veryearly."

  "And when did you get your note from Amos, Kate?" asked her brother.

  "My maid found it half slipped under my door when she came to call me,"was the reply.

  "And is there nothing, then, to throw light on this sudden and strangeact on Amos's part?" asked the squire.

  "Well, there is," she answered rather reluctantly. "My maid has found alittle crumpled up sheet of paper, which Amos must have accidentallydropped as he left his room. I don't know whether I ought to have takencharge of it; but, as it is, the best thing I can do is to hand it toyou."

  Mr Huntingdon took it from her, and his hand shook with emotion as heglanced at it. It was a small sheet of note-paper, and there waswriting on two sides in a female hand, but the lines were uneven, and itseemed as though the writer had been, for some reason or other, unableto use the pen steadily. Mr Huntingdon hesitated for a moment. Had heany right to read a communication which was addressed to another? Not,surely, under ordinary circumstances. But the circumstances now werenot ordinary; and he was the father of the person to whom the letter wasaddressed, and by reading it he might take steps to preserve his sonfrom harm, or might bring him out of difficulties. So he decided toread the letter, and judge by its contents whether he was bound tosecrecy as to those contents or no. But, as he read, the colour fledfrom his face, and a cold perspiration burst out upon him. What couldthe letter mean? Was the writer sane? And if not, oh, misery! thenthere was a second wreck of reason in the family; for the handwritingwas his daughter's, and the signature at the foot of the paper was herstoo. With heaving breast and tearful eyes he handed the letter to hissister, whose emotion was almost as distressing as his own as she readthe following strange and almost incoherent words:--

  "Amos,--I'm mad; and yet I am not. No; but he will drive me mad. Hewill take them both away. He will ruin us all, body and soul."

  Then there was a break. The words hitherto had been written in a steadyhand; those which followed were wavering, as though penned against thewill of the writer, and under fear of some one standing by. They wereas follows:--

  "Come to me early to-morrow morning. You will see a man at the fartherside of Marley Heath on horseback--follow him, and he will bring you tome, for I am not where I was. Come alone, or the man will not wait foryou, and then you will never be seen again in this world by yourwretched sister,--Julia."

  Such were the contents of the mysterious letter, which were wellcalculated to stir to their depths the hearts of both the squire and hissister, who looked at each other as those look who become suddenlyconscious of a common misfortune. A spell seemed on their tongues. Atlast the silence was broken by Walter.

  "Dear father! dear auntie!" he exclaimed, "whatever is the matter?"

  "Matter enough, I fear," said his father sadly.--"There, Kate, let himlook at the letter."

  Walter read it, and his eyes filled with tears. Busy thoughts chasedone another through his brain, and very sad and humbling thoughts theywere. He understood now much that had once seemed strange in Amos. Hebegan to appreciate the calm and deep nobility of his character, thetenacity of his grasp on his one great purpose. He gave back the letterto his father with downcast eyes, but without making any remark upon it.

  And now, what was to be done? As soon as breakfast was over, the three,by Mr Huntingdon's desire, met in the library. The letter was laid onthe table before them, and the squire opened the discussion of itscontents by saying to his sister, "What do you make out of thismiserable business, Kate?"

  "Plainly enough," was her reply, "poor Julia is in great distress. Igather that her cruel and base husband has been removing, or intendingto remove, her two children from Amos's charge, and that she is afraidthey will be utterly ruined if they continue in their father's hands.Poor thing! poor thing! I pity her greatly."

  Her brother did not speak for a while, but two big tears fell on hisdaughter's letter, as he bent over it trying to conceal his emotion."And what do you think about it, my boy?" he said to his son, when hehad in some degree recovered his composure.

  "Aunt Kate is right, no doubt," replied Walter, "but that
is not all.It strikes me that my sister wrote the first part of this letter of herown head, but not the last. I should not wonder if that scamp of afellow her husband has found her out writing, and has forced her to addthe last words, intending to bring poor Amos into trouble some way orother."

  "I believe the boy is right," said Mr Huntingdon anxiously; "but then,what is to be the next step?"

  "Surely," said his sister, "you ought to send out some one immediatelyto follow up Amos, and see that no harm comes to him."

  "Well, I hardly know," replied her brother; "I don't think any one woulddare to do Amos any personal injury, and I don't see that it would beanyone's interest to do so. The last time he was called away hereturned to us all right; and perhaps he may feel hurt if we do not lethim manage things in his own way, seeing he has so nobly taken uponhimself the cause of poor--poor"--he would have said "Julia," but hecould not get out the word--"my poor child." Here the squire fairlybroke down, covering his face with his hands.

  "Shall we ask Harry," said his sister, when she could trust herself tospeak, "who brought this note for Amos? that mis-hit give us a littlebit of a clew if it should be necessary to go and find him out." Harrywas accordingly summoned and questioned. He had already made fullinquiries of the other servants, but none of them could throw any lighton the subject. No one about the premises knew anything about thecarrier of the letter. So it was resolved to wait, in hopes that eitherAmos himself or, at any rate, tidings of him and of his movements wouldarrive some time during the day. Hour, however, passed by after hour,and no news of Amos came to gladden the hearts at the mansion; and whendarkness settled down, and nothing had been heard of the absent one, adeep gloom pervaded the whole household. But of all hearts under thatroof during that long and weary night, none was so heavy as MrHuntingdon's. Memories of the past crowded in upon him; smitings ofconscience deeply troubled him. Had he acted a father's part towardsthat erring daughter? should he have closed the door of home and heartso fast, and kept it barred against her? was she not still his own fleshand blood? and could he justify to himself the iron sternness which hadperhaps now driven her to despair? How could _he_ hope for mercy whohad shown neither mercy nor pity to one whose sinful disobedience andfolly could not make her less his child, though doubtless a sadlymisguided one? When morning came, Mr Huntingdon rose a wiser and ahumbler man. He poured out his heart in prayer for forgiveness of hisown many sins and shortcomings, and then came to a full determination todeal very differently with Amos for the time to come, and to undo hispast treatment of his poor daughter as opportunity might be affordedhim.

  And now we must leave for a while the party at the Manor-house in theirsadness and perplexity, and follow Amos Huntingdon himself. When he hadretired to his room on the night previous to his unexpected departure,he was startled by hearing the sound of what seemed to be earth or smallpebbles thrown against his bedroom window. He paused for a few moments,and the sound was repeated. Then he opened the window slowly, andlooking out, cried, "Who is there?"

  All around, the snow lay thick on the ground. His room was on one sideof the house, and its window looked out on a flower-garden, so that anyone approaching the building from that side would not be liable to beobserved by the general inmates of the Manor-house. When Amos had askedwho was there, a short figure, partly muffled up in a cloak, rose fromwhere it had been crouching against the wall, and a man's voice said ina loud whisper, "Is that you, Mr Amos?"

  "What do you want with me at this hour?" was the reply.

  "Ah! all right," rejoined the stranger; "here--catch this." Sayingwhich, he flung something up at the opening made by the raising of thewindow. "A bad shot," said the mysterious person half out loud, andwith perfect coolness, as the thing he was throwing fell short of itsmark. "Try again." Suiting the action to the word, he a second timeaimed at the opening, and now with success. A small packet fell intothe room, and reached the floor with a "thud."

  "All right; good-night," said the thrower with a chuckle, and soondisappeared through the falling snow, which was now coming down thickly.

  What could be the meaning of this strange performance? Was it somefoolish hoax or practical joke played off by Saunders or Gregson, orsome other of Walter's giddy and not over-considerate companions? Healmost thought it must be so, and that his brother had put them up tothe joke for some wild piece of fun, or to win some senseless wager.Rather vexed at the thought, and not feeling over amiable towards themissile, if such it was, which had come so unseasonably and sounceremoniously into his chamber, he was half inclined at first to throwit back through the window on to the snow. And yet, perhaps, he hadbetter see what it was. So he took it from the floor. It was a littlebrown paper parcel, about three inches square, and very heavy for itssize. His curiosity was now excited. He opened the packet warily, lestit should contain something explosive, such as might cause a report, notdangerous in itself, but calculated to alarm the family. There wasnothing, however, of such a kind, but merely a flat piece of thick tile,with a sheet of note-paper doubled round it.

  Rather annoyed at the folly of the whole thing, he slowly unfolded thepaper, and opened it out. The writing struck him at once; it was hissister's. The contents of the letter staggered him. That his sisterhad written it there could be no doubt. That she was in grievoustrouble, and that her villainous husband had violated his pledge and wasremoving the children out of his reach, was equally plain. Theappearance of the closing portion of the note puzzled him. He had hismisgivings about it. Had his sister's husband anything to do with it,and with making the appointment on Marley Heath? It might or might notbe so. The changed appearance of the latter part of the writing mightonly be the result of agitation or distress on his sister's part. But,anyhow, what was the course that duty and brotherly love bade him nowtake? A lonely meeting in the snow with a solitary horseman on MarleyHeath early in the morning did not read very pleasantly nor appear verysafe; and yet, could he leave his poor sister to her misery? If heshould do so, what evils might not follow? and what would come of thegreat purpose to which he had dedicated his life and energies? Was thisa time for fear or shrinking back? No, surely. So he knelt down andasked for guidance of him who is unerring Wisdom to every one of hischildren. And then he retired to rest, and slept soundly till earlymorning.

  His mind was made up. Having written a few lines to his aunt, he madehis way quietly out of the house to the stable, and, mounting his ownfaithful pony, sallied forth. He had, however, dropped his sister'snote by his own room door without being aware of it, and did not missit, for his mind was full of engrossing thoughts. It was a bright andsparkling morning; the snow had been falling more or less for the lastfew days, and had in some places formed deep drifts, as a strong windhad been blowing from the north for some hours. But now all was calmand bright for the present, though the distant horizon seemed tothreaten a further downfall before long.

  Amos had clothed himself warmly, for the cold was now severe. Hisgreat-coat, also, which he had gathered close round him, contained inits ample pockets some cakes, oranges, and sweeties--a stock of which healways kept on hand in his own room for the benefit of his niece andnephew whenever he might happen to visit them at the cottage. On thepresent occasion, it is true, he had no expectation of meeting thechildren, but only their mother; but he brought these little luxurieswith him notwithstanding, as they might perhaps be welcome to his poorsister, who was not likely to be furnished with more than the barenecessaries of life by the man who, though bound to care for hercomfort, would no doubt wrench from her every penny he was able.

  With noiseless tread, then, did Prince the pony carry his young masteralong the dazzling white roads, shaking his ears and his head from timeto time, as though in wonder at what could have induced his owner tobring him out so early. Amos had, however, not neglected the pooranimal, but had given him a good feed before starting, having himselfalso made such an early meal as the pantry could provide him. So thetwo jogged quietly
on; and whatever misgivings the young man might havefrom time to time, these were more than outweighed by the abidingconviction that he was on the path of love and duty, and might thereforeexpect to be guided and preserved by Him to whom he had committed hiscause. Still, there was something overawing in the solitude of thatearly ride. Not a person did he meet as he threaded his way through thelanes. The moon was some days past the full, and shone with almostundiminished light on the sparkling crystals of snow. Spikes of hoar-frost bristled on the branches of the trees, and here and there a longgaunt group of icicles, dependent from an overhanging rock, gleamed andflashed in the pale light as he passed along.

  And now, when he had accomplished some three miles--which was about halfthe distance to the heath--he emerged from a winding road which had ledhim through a copse on to high ground, from which he had an almostpanoramic view of the surrounding country. He checked his pony andlooked about him. How exquisitely fair and pure was that landscape, onevast expanse of spotless white! Not a breath of wind was now stirring,and, struggling against the moonlight, the first flushes of a winter'sdawn crept up along the far-off eastern sky. Everything spoke of peaceand purity. God's hand had clothed the earth, the trees with astainless robe of majestic beauty studded with countless flashing gems.Man's works were hidden or but dimly seen here and there, with all theirimperfections withdrawn from sight under that snowy veil. And manhimself was absent. An all-absorbing sense of the nearness of God stoleover the young traveller's heart, so deep, so unearthly as to be almostpainful, but, oh, so full of blessedness! What should make him afraid,with God so near? And then there unfolded themselves to his memory thewords, "Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thyGod: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will upholdthee with the right hand of my righteousness." Amos bowed his head, andremained wrapt for a while in holy and happy meditation.

  But he had a work before him, and must move on. At last he reachedMarley Heath. Hitherto he had seen no human being, nor indeed anyliving thing except a hare which once crossed his path. The heath wasextensive, and had many pathways through it. All, however, were nowmore or less covered with snow, though here and there the wind hadexposed a bare spot, and a large pond on one side glowed in the light ofthe now rising sun. Riding slowly across the wide common, Amos lookedfor some time in vain for the person whom he was to meet, and it wasalmost with a feeling of relief that he contemplated the possibility ofno one appearing. The air was sharp and clear now, and, as he gazed onall sides, an inward shrinking from the proposed meeting came over him;and then again the consciousness that he was on duty's path nerved himfor whatever might be before him. He had not long to wait. First heheard the far-off faint barking of a dog, and in a few minutesafterwards a horseman made his appearance coming up on to the heath fromthe opposite quarter to that by which he himself had reached it. Thestranger was manifestly in no hurry, but allowed his horse, a big,gaunt, and seedy-looking animal, to take its own time, which clearly wasnot a very rapid one. The costume of the new-comer was in keeping withthe appearance of his steed, being ample but considerably the worse forwear. As the two riders slowly approached each other, Amos recognisedhis brother-in-law, Mr Orlando Vivian,--there could be no doubt aboutit. A theatrical salute on the other's part was answered by Amos with aquiet inclination of his head.

  "Your servant, friend," then said Mr Vivian in a free and easy manner;"a fine winter's morning you bring with you, though I think we shallhave more snow."

  "Good morning," returned Amos, not knowing what else to say, and feelingfar from comfortable.

  When they had remained facing each other for a minute, during which thedark malicious eyes of the player sent a shudder through his companion,the former said, "You are come to see your sister, I presume; at anyrate this meeting is clearly by appointment made for that purpose.Shall we proceed?"

  "Yes," replied Amos, but with some hesitation in his tone of voice.

  "Ah, I understand," said the other; "you were expecting to be conductedto a _tete-a-tete_. You didn't anticipate meeting a brother-in-law aswell as a sister,--is it not so?"

  Amos hardly knew what to reply, for the bantering air and words of hiscompanion filled him with disgust and repugnance.--"Oh, I see it all--it's perfectly natural," said Mr Vivian sarcastically; "but set yourmind at ease on that point, Mr Huntingdon. As soon as you reach thehouse you will cease to be troubled with my company; nay, I shall not gowith you beyond the door."

  "I am ready," said Amos calmly.

  "Good, then follow me," said the other; and both descended from theheath, and, striking at once out of the more frequented paths, madetheir way through brier and brushwood till Amos had entirely lost allknowledge of where he was. They had ridden thus about two miles whenthey suddenly emerged on to some cleared ground, and then came to theside of a large brick-field which had been for some time disused. Atone end of the field was a small two-roomed cottage substantially builtof rough stone. This had been inhabited formerly by a labourer and hisfamily, the man having been a sort of overlooker while the brick-makingwas going on. Of course there was a standstill to the manufacture atpresent, but, to the surprise of Amos, smoke was coming out of thecottage chimney. He was surprised, because, as they rode close up tothe building, it looked the last place likely to have a tenant at thepresent time. Its extreme loneliness also struck him, there being noother building in sight anywhere. As they came just opposite to itsouter door, Mr Vivian turned to Amos, and said with a malicious smile,"This, sir, is the house."

  "This!" exclaimed the young man, indignant and horrified,--"this thehouse where my poor sister lives!"

  "Even so," was the reply; "any roof to cover you this severe season issurely better than none."

  "It cannot be," said Amos; but at that moment the door half opened, anda woman's hand and part of her dress appeared. Then the door wasrapidly closed, and he heard from within the sound of weeping andwailing. "It must be so, then," he exclaimed sadly, and proceeded todismount.

  "Don't trouble about your pony," said the player, "I will look afterhim. Give me the bridle." Amos did so, and was entering by the lowmassive door, when to his astonishment a female figure pushed past himinto the open air. Then the door was closed upon him, thrusting himforward into the building, while Vivian cried out with a laugh, "_Aurevoir, mon ami_--farewell for the present!" The next moment the doorwas locked, and some heavy weight jammed against it. What could it allmean?

  Utterly overwhelmed with dismay, Amos stood for a while as thoughchained to the spot. Then, opening a door which divided the outermostapartment from the other room, he entered the latter and looked roundhim. No one was there, neither man, woman, nor child. The walls werevery thick, and the room was lighted by a large leaded casement whichwould open, but there were stout iron bars which would make it next toimpossible for any one to get into the cottage that way or escape fromit. A fire of wood burned on the hearth, and a small pile of logs washeaped up against the wall near it. On a rough square oak table lay ahuge loaf of bread, a considerable mass of cheese, and a quart jug ofmilk. There was neither chair nor bed in the place. Hurrying into theouter room, Amos found that it was dimly lighted by a very narrow littlewindow, which even a dog could scarcely creep through. There were noupstairs rooms in the cottage. And thus Amos found himself baselyentrapped and taken prisoner. And what for? For no good purpose hefelt fully assured. He threw open the casement of the inner room andlooked out. There was his late companion riding slowly off, and by hisside, mounted on his own pony Prince, a female figure. Could that behis sister? and, if so, whither was she going? and what was theirpurpose, or his wretched betrayer's purpose, with him?

  Miserably bewildered, and much cast down, he knelt him down by the tableand poured out his care in prayer. That he was in the power of anutterly unscrupulous villain was plain enough,--and what, then, could hedo? He had brought with him a small pocket New Testament, with whichthe Psalms were also bo
und up, for he had hoped to have read from it tohis sister words that might have been of use and comfort to her. Butthat was not to be. However, he turned over the leaves, and his eyesfell on a verse which he had often read before, but never with so muchhappy thankfulness as now: "What time I am afraid, I will trust inthee."

  "Ah, yes," he said aloud, "these words are just sent to me now. _Iwill_ put my trust in Him, for he knows where I am and what errand I amon, and I know that he will deliver me out of this trouble."

  Calmed by these thoughts, he once more looked round him. There was ashelf by the fire-place which he had not noticed before. Something layon it; it was a small desk. Perhaps it belonged to his sister, andmight throw some light on his difficulties. He took it down and placedit on the table. The key was in the lock. He opened it, and his eyefell at once on an envelope directed, "Amos Huntingdon, Esquire," butnot in his sister's hand. Having undone the envelope, he drew out itscontents. These consisted of a note and a blank cheque. The note wasas follows:--

  "Dear Brother-in-Law,--You have money, and I have none. I want moneyvery much, and you can spare it. I enclose a blank cheque, which I havemanaged to procure from your bankers. Please fill it up for a hundredpounds. I am sorry to trouble you, but `necessity has no law,' as theold proverb says. I shall call to-night at the window for the cheque.You will find pen and ink in the desk. Pardon my little bit ofeccentricity in bringing you here. When I have got the cheque you willsoon be at liberty again, and none the worse, I trust, for your shortcaptivity. I don't wish to proceed to extremities with a relation, butthe money I _must_ have. Only let me get the cheque, and then, as thepoet says, `My native land, good-night;' I shall trouble you and yoursno more.--Your affectionate brother-in-law, Vivian."

  The cool audacity of this letter was perfectly staggering to Amos. Andyet there was no mistaking the writer's meaning and intentions. It wasplain that the reckless adventurer was resolved to extort money from hiswife's brother, whom he had succeeded in entrapping, and thatremonstrance would be of very little avail with such a character. Thatthe wretched man would do him serious bodily injury Amos did not thinkprobable, but that he would use any pressure short of this seemedtolerably certain. On thinking it over, the young man came to theconviction that his unhappy relation, being hard up for money, andintending probably to go abroad with the help of this hundred pounds,had compelled his sister to write the latter part of her letter, and hadthen employed some unprincipled female associate to act as hisconfederate. No doubt he had calculated that it might be a day or twobefore Amos's friends would become alarmed at his absence, and probablya day or two more before they discovered his prison, especially as thesnow would make it more difficult to trace him. In the meantime hetrusted to be able so to play upon the fears of Amos, and to wear himout by scanty food and rough lodging, that, sooner than continue in suchdurance, he would sign the cheque for the amount demanded.

  Such was the view that Amos took of the matter, and now came thequestion what he was to do. He had money enough at his bankers to meetthe cheque, and no doubt his father would help him when he knew all thecircumstances; but then, was it right to give the man this money? Washe justified in doing so, and thus encouraging a villain in hisvillainy? The more he thought the matter over, the more firmly hebecame persuaded that, so long as his own life was not seriouslythreatened and endangered, he ought to hold out against this infamousdemand, and be ready to endure days of privation, suffering, andloneliness, rather than give in to what he was persuaded would be wrong-doing. After much thought and prayer, he came to the decision that hewould not give the cheque, but would leave it to God to deliver him, howand when he pleased.

  Perfectly calmed by this act of self-committal into his heavenlyFather's keeping, he sat down by the fire on a seat which he had raisedby piling some of the logs together, and prepared for a long spell ofwaiting. Whatever others might think, he was sure that his aunt wouldnot be content to let more than one night pass without sending out toseek for him, and by this assurance he was greatly comforted. Hisbread, cheese, and milk, carefully husbanded, would last him two orthree days, and for anything beyond that he did not feel it needful totake any forethought.

  Slowly and wearily did the long hours drag on as he paced up and downthe room, or sat by the flickering logs, which threw out but a moderatedegree of heat. His frugal meals were soon despatched, and at lastevening came. He had tried the bars of his window more than once, buthis utmost exertion of strength could not shake one of them. No; hemust abide in that prison until released from without. And then hethought of noble prisoners for conscience' sake,--Daniel, and Paul, andBunyan, and many a martyr and confessor,--and he felt that he wassuffering in good company. It was just getting dusk when there came arap at the window. He opened the casement. The face of his crueljailer was there.

  "The cheque," said Mr Vivian, with what was meant to be a winningsmile. "Your pony is close by, and I will let you out in a minute. Thecheque, if you please."

  "I cannot give it," was the reply.

  "Indeed!" said the other, raising his eyebrows, and displaying fully theevil light of his wicked eyes. "Ah! is it so? Well, if you like yourfare and your quarters so well that you are loath to leave them, it isnot for me to draw you away from such sumptuous hospitality and suchagreeable society. Farewell. Good-night. I will call to-morrowmorning, in the hopes that a night's rest in this noble mansion may leadyou to arrive at a different conclusion. Pleasant dreams to you." Sosaying, with a discordant chuckle he left the window, and the poorprisoner had to make the best of the situation for the night.

  Adding another log to the fire, and wrapping his great-coat together fora couch, with the upper part raised over two or three logs for a pillow,he resigned himself to rest, and, much to his surprise, slept prettysoundly till daybreak. His morning devotions over, and his scantybreakfast eaten, he waited for the return of his brother-in-law withvery mingled feelings. About nine o'clock he appeared, and greeted Amoswith the hope that he had passed a good night and felt quite himselfthis morning. Amos replied that he was thankful to say that he hadslept as well or better than he expected, and that he only wished thathis brother-in-law had had as soft a pillow to lie on as himself hadenjoyed.

  "Dear me," said the other sneeringly, "I was not aware that theestablishment was provided with such luxuries. Pray, of what materialsmay this pillow of yours have been made?"

  "Of the promises of God," said Amos solemnly; "and I can only regret,Mr Vivian, that you will not abandon those ways which God cannot bless,and seek your peace and happiness, as you may do, in your Saviour'sservice. Why should you not? He has a place in his loving heart foryou."

  "Is the sermon over, Mr Parson?" asked the other with a snarl. "Oh,very good; and now, let us come to business again. What about thecheque? Is it ready?"

  "I cannot give it," was Amos's reply. "I should be wrong to give it. Ishould only be encouraging evil, and that I dare not do."

  "Be it so," said the other; "then, remember, you must take theconsequences."

  "I am in God's hands," replied Amos, "and am prepared to take them."

  "Good again," said his persecutor. "Once more, then, I come. Thisnight, before sunset, I must have the cheque, or else you must abide theconsequences."

  No more was said, and the young man was again left to his solitude. Hadhe done right? Yes; he had no doubt on the subject. And now he mustprepare himself for what might be his lot, for he had no thought ofchanging his resolution not to sign the cheque. Having fortifiedhimself by spreading out his case before the Lord in prayer, andstrengthened himself physically by eating and drinking a small portionof his now nearly exhausted provisions, he once more examined everyplace through which it might be possible for him to make his escape, butin vain. Last of all he looked up the chimney, but felt that he couldnot attempt to make his way out in that direction. He must just waitthen; and he turned to some of those promises in the Psalms which arespecially en
couraging to those who wait, and a strange, unearthly peacestole into his heart.

  Noon had passed, but not a sound broke the stillness except the drip,drip from the roof, for a thaw had set in. Three o'clock came. Whatwas that sound? Was the end nearer than he expected? Had his brother-in-law, in his impatience, come earlier than he had said? No. Therewas the welcome tone of a young voice crying out to some one else. ThenAmos sprang to the window, and, opening the casement, shouted out. In afew moments Walter's face met his brother's. "Here he is! here he is!"he screamed out. "Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" Old Harry came round to thebarred window, and, lifting up his hands and eyes, exclaimed, "The Lordbe praised!" Then followed rapid questionings. But to these Amosreplied, "You shall know all by-and-by; but now I must ask you to set mefree. I am a prisoner here. The only outside door is locked, and Icannot undo it; and these bars, which I have tried in vain to force,have prevented my escape this way."--"All right," said his brother."Come along, Harry."

  The two went round to the door and shook it, but to no purpose. A heavylog had also been jammed down against it. This, by their unitedstrength, they with difficulty removed. Again they tried to wrench openthe door, but without effect, for it was a huge and ponderous structure,and they could make nothing of it. "Harry must ride over to the nearestvillage and fetch a blacksmith," said Walter, when he had returned tothe window. "Tell him to be quick then, and to bring two or three menwith him, for there is danger before us. I cannot tell you morenow."--"I'll tell him," replied his brother; and the old servantdeparted with all speed on his errand. Then Walter came back to thewindow, and talked long and earnestly with Amos, telling him of the deepconcern felt by his aunt and father on account of his prolonged absence."But," he added, "I'm not going to tell you now how we found you. Wewill keep that till we get home, and then shan't we have a regular pourout?"

  Wearied at last with waiting, Walter began to make another assault onthe front door. It was now getting a little dusk, and he was hoping forHarry's return with the men; so, as he said, partly to see what he coulddo by himself, and partly to keep himself warm, he proceeded to showerupon the stubborn oak a perfect hail of blows and kicks. He was in thevery thick of this performance when he was suddenly made aware that ahorseman was close to him. He therefore stopped his excitingoccupation, and looked round. The horseman was tall, and of a verysinister expression of countenance, with piercing black eyes. He wasalso rather fantastically but shabbily dressed.

  "What is all this noise about, young gentleman?" asked the stranger."Why are you battering my property in that wild fashion?"

  "Because," replied Walter, rather taken aback by this question, "mybrother has been fastened in here by some scoundrel, and I want to gethim out."

  "You must be dreaming, or mad, my young friend," said the rider; "whowould ever think of making a prisoner of your brother in such a place?"

  "It's a fact for all that," replied Walter. "He's in there, and he mustbe got out. I've sent for a blacksmith and some men from the nearestvillage to burst open the door, and I expect them here directly."

  "I can save them that trouble," said the other. "I keep a few oddthings--implements and things of that sort--in this cottage of mine, andif by some strange accident your brother has got locked in here, I shallbe only too happy to let him out." So saying, he dismounted, and,having hung his horse's bridle over a staple projecting from the stonewall, produced a large key from his pocket, unlocked the heavy door, andthrew it wide open.

  Walter rushed in and flung his arms round his brother, who gazed at himin some bewilderment, hardly expecting so speedy a release. Then bothcame to the outside of the building. The stranger had remounted; andthen, looking the brothers steadily in the face, he made a low bow, andwith the words, "Good-evening, gentlemen; I wish you a safe and pleasantjourney home," turned round, and trotted briskly away.

  "Did you notice that man's face?" asked Amos of his brother in a halfwhisper. "Should you know it again?"--"Anywhere all the world over,"was the reply.--"Ah, well," said the other, "I shall have strange thingsto tell you about him." The next minute Harry and his party came insight, and, on arriving at the cottage, were astonished and notaltogether pleased to find the prisoner at liberty without theirassistance. However, the pleasure expressed by Harry, and a littlepresent from Walter, as a token of thankfulness for their promptappearance, sent them all home well content. And now Amos had toprepare for his return.

  "You shall have my pony," said Walter, "and Harry and I will ridedoublets on the old mare."

  To this Amos having assented--"What has become of poor Prince?" heasked. "Does any one know?"

  "All right," said Walter; "Prince is safe at home in the stable. Hemust have a sack of corn all to himself, for when he came in he wasready to eat his head off. You shall hear all about it."

  Having duly clothed himself, Amos was about to mount the pony, when,bethinking himself, he turned back, and secured and brought away thedesk, believing that it might possibly be of use in the way of evidenceby-and-by. Then all set off, and in due time reached Flixworth Manor,to the great joy of Mr Huntingdon and his sister, and also of many atenant and neighbour, who were lingering about, hoping for news of thelost one. The first congratulations over, and dinner having beenpartaken of, at which only a passing allusion was made to the troublewhich had terminated so happily, Mr Huntingdon, his sister, and the twoyoung men drew round the drawing-room fire, while Amos gave them a fulland minute account of his strange and distressing adventure.