And he sat down, and covered his face with his great freckled hands, utterly unable to control his grief. When men like Ned Culcheth weep, it is a sorry sight.
Hubert uttered a mournful howl, and laid his large black head upon his master’s lap.
I looked on much distressed — utterly unable to offer the poor fellow consolation.
“You’n excuse me, sir,” Ned said, constraining himself at length. “I’m not often i’ this way, but the sight o’ you, and the way you spoke of her, brought a’ back again. I mind the time when you used to come to our cottage when it were the abode of wedded happiness and love. Now there be no Sissy at the door to look out and welcome me — no cheerful hearth wi’ Sissy sittin’ smilin’ beside it to gladden me — no Sissy to put her arms round my neck and kiss me. But I be a lone, deserted, broken-hearted man.”
“Not be bad as that, I trust, Ned. Don’t think of Sissy any more. She doesn’t deserve to be held in your regard.”
But he seemed to have a pleasure in opening his wounds anew, for, without heeding me, he took a locket from his bosom and pressed it to his lips.
“You recollect her beautiful hair,” he said, with a tenderness that almost overcame me, “how it used to glint like gowd i’ the Sunshine. This bauble contains a lock of it. It be a’ I ha’ left on her. I have tried to throw it away, but it clings to my heart, and win stick there, I fancy, till that heart ceases to beat.”
And kissing the locket again, be replaced it softly in his bosom, and then sprang to his feet.
“You must give me full particulars of this unhappy affair, Ned, on some future occasion, when you are calmer. But if it will not distress you too much to dwell upon the subject now, I should wish to know when Sissy’s flight took place, and who led to it?”
“She left me about four months ago,” he replied, “and if you must know what led to the step, I think it were a quarrel betwixt us. But I couldn’t see a handsome, dashin’ young gen’l’man al’ays danglin’ after her, and not feel jealous. Besides, folks jeered me about it. He used to row her out i’ my boat on th’ mere. When I heer’d o’ this — for I hadn’t seen it — I determined to put a stop to it — and one e’en I came upon ’em by surprise, just as they landed. You may believe, sir, when my blood were up, that I didn’t use much civil speech to the young spark. I forbade him to come near my cottage, and commanded my foolish wife never to speak to him again. Bitter words passed between me and Sissy, and I sat by myself a’ that night, half distracted, yet never dreamin’ of the misery in store for me. Ere day dawned, I went forth to a distant cover, without biddin’ Sissy good-by — the first time I had ever done such a thing sin’ we were wedded — and when I got back at noon, there were no one to greet me — no meal ready — she were gone. She had quitted the house at night without my bein’ aware on’t.”
“But she went ajone?”
“Oh! he were there to help her — trust him for that. She got throught the window and joined him. It were a mercy I didn’t hear ‘em, or I should ha’ shot ’em both on the spot. So help me, I should, sir! I was nearly shootin’ myself when I found it out.”
“You are certain she didn’t go alone, Ned?”
“Quite sartin. Things spoke for themselves when I cum’d to examine ‘em. But it were so contrived that I couldn’t bring it home to him; and when I taxed him wi’ robbin’ me of my wife, he point blank denied it; and endeavoured to lay the weight of this black deed on another man’s showthers.”
“But did you make no search for your wife, Ned?”
“Sarch, — yes, sir. I sarched for her high and low — far an’ near, but could gain no tidings whatever on her — and to this blessed day I ha’ learnt nothing.”
I reflected for a short time, and then said, “It doesn’t appear, from what you tell me, Ned, that you have any dear proof of your wife’s infidelity. She may have fled with the tempter, and left him immediately afterwards, and yet have dreaded to return to you. But, however I may try to exonerate Sissy, I will not attempt to defend the villain who has sought to ensnare her. If it be as I suspect, and I had known as much as I do now, I would not have spared him when I had him within pistol-shot last night.”
“What!” Ned exclaimed, “did you fight a duel wi’ Capt’n Sale last night?”
“Then it is as I suspected, Ned. He is the person who has wronged you.”
“Ay, he be the villain who have destroyed my happiness,” Ned rejoined, fiercely. “I would gie ten years o’ my life to stand opposite him i’ fair fight. I would send a bullet through his black heart. But though he wouldn’t scruple to injure me, he won’t gie me satisfaction.”
“No, no, Ned,” I. replied, bitterly; “the laws of honour won’t compel a gentleman to give satisfaction to one of your condition. Don’t think it.”
“And you ca’ such laws as those, laws of honour, sir?” Ned cried, with furious scorn. “Because I be a poor man, have I no sense of injury? Is not my wife as much to me as the gen’l’man’s wife be to him? And if the gen’l’man wrongs me so deeply that nothing but the gen’l’man’s blood can wash out the stain, am I to be denied that satisfaction which would be open to the gen’l’man’s equal? If those be your laws of honour, sir, I shan’t respect them. I bide my time,” he muttered, in a stem tone, and with a sombre look, and will find my own mode of redress. Woe be to him! — woe be to him, I say, if he once gets into my clutches!”
“Patience, Ned — patience!” I exclaimed. Dismiss these violent notions, and act like a just and prudent man. The laws of honour, I agree with you, ought to bind all classes alike: and if a man is not too proud to injure another, his rank ought not to screen him from the consequences of the act. If such a person refuses satisfaction to his inferior, he ought to be stamped with dishonour. But this cannot be, and therefore it is idle to discuss the question. Attend to what I am about to say to you. Malpas Sale has injured me only a degree less than he has injured you. We will make common cause against him. Prove to me beyond question that he lured your wife from you — that she eloped with him. Prove that they were seen together after her flight. Discover her retreat, so that she may be produced, if we find occasion. Do this, and I will insure you ample redress.”
“But how be I to obtain such proofs as you require, sir?” Ned rejoined, looking quite confused. “How be I to discover Sissy’s retreat? Capt’n Sale — curses upon him! — and she ha’ never been seen together, that I can larn, sin’ she left me. I ha’ taxed him wi’ it, as I tell’d you afore; but he denies the charge a’together, and declares I’m mista’en i’ the man. I’m sorely perplexed i’ my mind. Capt’n Sale were at the vicarage on the day after the elopement, for I seed him myself; and he ca’d his sarvantman to prove that he had not been out the night afore. He treated the matter quite lightly, and said if Sissy had eloped at all, it must have been wi’ Simon Pownall.”
“With Simon Pownall! — ridiculous!”
“Ridic’lous, indeed, sir! I towd him he couldn’t impose upon me by such a falsity. But when I began to make inquiries, things seemed to bear out his assertions. A’ the folk i’ Marston believed then, and believes to this day, that Simon were the offender.”
“But where is Simon Pownall?” I exclaimed. “Cannot he be found?”
“No, sir, he cannot. He disappeared at the same time as poor Sissy, and has never been heer’d on sin; and that’s what confirms folks’ suspicions. I ought also to mention one circumstance, that weighs wi’ others, though it doesn’t weigh much wi’ me — Simon were seen, and spoken with, i’ the lane leadin’ to my cottage, at an hour when all honest folks should be a-bed, on the night of the elopement.”
“Tut! — that was part of the plan. The knave took care to be seen. Simon Pownall was a tool in the affair, I make no doubt; but not the principal. You have been far too slack, Ned. You must not rest till you find Pownall, and discover your wife’s retreat.”
“Point out the way, sir, and I’ll set about it at once.” tc You are a woodm
an, Ned, and will understand the advice I am about to give you. If you sought for a hart in a forest, you would look for his slot, and follow him up by it. Do the same now. A few slight footprints, which have hitherto escaped your notice, will lead you to Pownall’s lair, and enable you to unharbour him. But you must devote yourself wholly and solely, and with all your energies, to the task.”
“I will, sir,” Ned replied, firmly. “Your words ha’ put new mettle into me. Hitherto, I ha’ been too slack — I feel it now — but then I ha’ been wofully cast down, and have had none to counsel me. Hencefor’rard, you shan’t complain o’ my want o’ zeal. I once thought Sissy might ha’ gone to her family at Llanberis, i’ Camarvonsheere — and I wrote to ’em for tidings on her — but, alas! they could gie me none. She had never been nigh ‘em.”
“It is a sad affair, Ned, and strange as sad — but ye mast, unravel the mystery. You shall have all the assistance I can render you — money, if you want it. But what’s the matter with Hubert? He seems disturbed.”
“He hears, or scents something, sir,” Ned replied, noticing the warning attitude of the hound. “More ‘ears ha’ been listenin’ to us than we counted on. We’ll soon find out the spy’ Hyke, Hubert! to him, lad!”
As he uttered the words, the hound bounded off, as if unleashed, towards a bed of fern, from out of which, at the same moment, sprang the younger gipsy, Obed.
But the spy only fled to a short distant, and then, turning round, laughed derisively at us.
He had taken precautions, as speedily, appeared, to secure himself from the attack of the hound; and he must have possessed all the stealthy wiliness of a savage of the backwoods of America, for he had managed during our converse, to creep up behind the pony, and cut a large piece of flesh from the neck of the deer.
Hubert was caught ip the trap set for him. He sprang with a few mighty bounds to the spot where the lump of deer’s, flesh had been thrown down by the gipsy, and began to devour it greedily, and not all his master’s threats could make him stir..
Pointing with a blood-stained wood-knife to the deluded hound, Obed mimicked the challenge of a cock-pheasant, cut a caper, and then took to his heels at full speed. Ned ran after him, after vainly trying to tear Hubert away from his repast, but I felt quite sure the agile gipsy would give him the slip.; And so it proved. In a few minutes the keeper reappeared, alone and out of breath, The fugitive had escaped. — .
By this time Hubert had gorged himself with the deer’s flesh, and approached his master with a very, abject and contrite air. Ned would have chastised him severely with his dog-whip; but I interfered to save him. Conscious that he deserved punishment, the hound looked up wistfully in the keeper’s face, as if eager to repair his error.
“If I were to put him upon that pryin’ young, warmint’s scent now,” Ned observed,. “he would hunt down fast enough. But I have other matters to see to. I mun tak’ up this buck to th’ house; and then I’ll try and get the steward to speak wi’ his lordship, who luckily be down here just now, to let me off for a month. Even if I lose my place I’ll do nowt else but attend to this job.”
While Ned was chasing the gipsy, I had been considering what could have brought the young rascal into the park, and I arrived at the conclusion that he must have been watching me.
“Harkye, Ned,” I said, “beware of these gipsies. They are capable of doing you a mischief, and I shrewdly suspect they are in the pay of our enemy. It is strange that Phaleg should be again in this neighbourhood. I saw him and his son on Crabtree-green last night. They seem to dog me about.”
“Do they?” Ned cried. “Then I’ll dog them. Leave ’em to me. I ben’t a bit afeared on ‘em. Where be ye stayin’, sir — i’ Marston?”
“At the Stamford Arms at Dunton. If not there, I shall be in the neighbourhood.”
“You shall hear fro’ me, or see me, as soon as I’ve owt to communicate,” Ned rejoined. “I’ll find Sissy or die. And now fare ye weel, sir, and Heaven bless you!”
Whereupon he warmly grasped the hand I extended to him, and strode away, followed by the pony and Hubert, taking his course down a long glade sweeping in the direction of Amounderness House.
CHAPTER VII.
I AM INTRODUCED TO AN ECCENTRIC ELDERLY GENTLEMAN, FAMILIARLY STYLED OLD HAZY, WHO, THOUGH NO CONJUROR HIMSELF, IS MUCH ADDICTED TO NECROMANTIC LORE, AND HAS A VERY ENCHANTING NIECE.
POOR Ned! I pitied him from the bottom of my heart. His wound, I feared, would prove incurable.
And poor Sissy! I pitied her too — though she might not deserve commiseration. I could not think of her without a pang. Her image rose before me, as I had seen her last — a model of rustic beauty, coquettish, captivating, not unconscious of her charms, and rather fond of admiration, yet devoted to her husband, whose love was wholly hers. And she had fallen — alas! alas!
Years ago I had been filled with vague apprehensions that Malpas was secretly indulging dishonourable love for her, and had grieved that she should trifle with him so much — but I had not foreseen the lamentable consequences that were to follow. Even now I could scarcely believe her guilty.
I had preached patience to Ned Culcheth, but I felt none myself. My hatred of Malpas was rekindled in all its intensity — if possible, heightened. I should have reproached myself with sparing him, but that a greater and more complete revenge seemed to be in my power. I would crush him utterly. But to accomplish this effectually, I must curb the impetuosity that prompted me to take immediate steps against him. I must go cautiously to work, and not precipitate matters, as I had recently done. I must draw the nets slowly round him and leave him no loophole to escape. Thus did I reason with myself; but I confess that if I had encountered Malpas at the moment, all my prudential resolves would have flown to the winds, and passion alone have swayed me. Luckily, I was not exposed to the temptation.
Full of wrathful and vindictive emotions, I set off at a rapid pace to Marston, and did not halt till I reached the churchyard and stood beside my mother’s grave.
Often in earlier days and in moments of trouble had I come to this spot, and had ever found relief. Consolation was not denied me now. The clouds that had gathered round me began to disperse; and as a mother’s endearing smiles and words chase away childish grief, so my troubles were sensibly alleviated.
Quitting this hallowed spot, I approached the low stone wall at the back of the churchyard, and gazed over the tops of the trees growing at the foot of the eminence on which the sacred fabric was reared.
Little as Marston Mere, which now lay before me, would bear comparison with other lakes, world-renowned for beauty, which I had recently visited, it had charms of its own, arising from old associations, which endeared it to me, and rendered it more attractive in my eyes than even classic Como or lovely Lugano. I now beheld it in perfect repose. Unruffled by a breath, its surface reflected every object on its banks — trees, church-tower, boat-house, — as distinctly as a mirror. Tall black stakes, to which fishing-nets were fastened, dotted out the shallows on the right, and nearer the strand, in the same direction, stood a group of cattle cooling themselves in the water. Golden lights were thrown upon the trees by the westering sun, and a stream of radiance ran along the edge of a low copse on the left. Between this copse and the majestic woods of Dunton, crowning the distant heights, floated a thin summer haze, giving them a slumberous beauty. I looked on for some time entranced, following the shores of the lake, on either side, to the remotest point.
Sweet Marston Mere, scene of my earliest pleasures, how dear was it to me! How often had I rowed upon its waters, or plunged into their pellucid depths! How often had I fished from its banks, or roused the wild duck from its reeds only to fall beneath my gun! My perilous exploit in crossing its frozen surface with Malpas Sale, occurred to me — and the midnight chase with Ned Culcheth of Phaleg, the gipsy. Poor Ned’s cottage was plainly discernible from where I stood, but I sedulously avoided looking at it.
It required an effort to tear mysel
f away from this enchanting scene, but I could not gaze at it for ever, so I crossed the churchyard, and avoiding the vicarage, passed through a small gate, and took a path which I knew would bring me out near Simon Pownall’s former habitation, in the upper part of the village. In a few minutes I reached the barber-surgeon’s shop, and the only external change I perceived in it was the substitution of Chetham Quick’s name for that of Pownall. The apprentice had succeeded his master, and, in doing so, aped his master’s peculiarities, and even personal appearance, to such an extent that he might almost have been taken for him. As I entered the shop Chetham was sharpening a razor, and, on seeing me, he exhibited momentary surprise and perhaps alarm; but being by no means destitute of self-possession, he as quickly recovered himself, and cocking up his impudent nose, regarded me with a saucy, consequential air. He declared he knew nothing whatever of his late master, but his private opinion was that he was gone to America with Sissy Culcheth. At the time of Simon’s sudden disappearance more than a year’s salary was due to him, and he had seized upon the contents of the shop as part payment of the debt, and set up in his master’s place. Could he do anything for me? Could he cut my hair — shave me — or trim my whiskers? Could he bleed me, — or dress my arm — he had a sovereign remedy for a bruise? He was rattling on in this way when I suddenly checked his loquacity by observing with some sternness that I didn’t believe a word he had just told me — that I felt quite sure his master was not gone to America — and equally sure that Sissy had not eloped with his master — but that both were kept designedly out of the way, p and lie knew it. While saying this, I eyed him fixedly, hut though he grew, I thought, paler he did not move a muscle. He replied in a saucy tone that he was sorry I doubted his word, but he had given me all the information in his power, and if I was not satisfied I had better inquire elsewhere. Upon which he began sharpening the razor anew, and I left the shop.
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