Children of the Mist Part 21

"Then I'll take myself off, an' my temper, tu," said Will, and prepared to do so; while Mr. Lyddon listened to husband and wife, and his last hope for the future dwindled and died, as he heard them quarrel with high voices. His daughter clung to him and supported his action, though what it had been she did not know.

"Caan't 'e see you're breakin' faither's heart all awver again just as 'twas mendin'?" she said. "Caan't 'e sing smaller, if 'tis awnly for thought of me? Doan't, for G.o.d's love, fling away like this."

"I met un man to man, an' did his will with a gude thankful heart, an'

comed in the dawn to faace a job as--"

"'Tweren't the job, an' you knaw it," broke in Mr. Lyddon. "I wanted to prove 'e an' all your fine promises; an' now I knaw their worth, an'

your worth. An' I curse the day ever my darter was born in the world, when I think she'm your wife, an' no law can break it."

He turned and went into the house, and Phoebe stood alone with her husband.

"Theer!" cried Will. "You've heard un. That was in his heart when he spoke me so fair. An' if you think like he do, say it. Lard knaws I doan't want 'e no more, if you doan't want me!"

"Will! How can you! An' us not met since our marriage-day. But you'm cruel, cruel to poor faither."

"Say so, an' think so; an' b'lieve all they tell 'e 'gainst your lawful husband; an' gude-bye. If you'm so poor-spirited as to see your man do thicky work, you choosed wrong. Not that 'tis any gert odds. Stop along wi' your faither as you loves so much better 'n me. An' doan't you fear I'll ever cross his threshold again to anger un, for I'd rather blaw my brains out than do it."

He shook and stuttered with pa.s.sion; his eyes glowed, his lips changed from their natural colour to a leaden blue. He groped for the gate when he reached it, and pa.s.sed quickly out, heedless of Phoebe's sorrowful cry to him. He heard her light step following and only hastened his speed for answer. Then, hurrying from her, a wave of change suddenly flowed upon his furious mind, and he began to be very sorry. Presently he stopped and turned, but she had stayed her progress by now, and for a moment's s.p.a.ce stood and watched him, bathed in tears. At the moment when he hesitated and looked back, however, his wife herself had turned away and moved homewards. Had she been standing in one place, Will's purposes would perchance have faded to air, and his arm been round her in a moment; but now he only saw Phoebe retreating slowly to Monks Barton; and he let her go.

Blanchard went home to breakfast, and though Chris discovered that something was amiss, she knew him too well to ask any questions. He ate in silence, the past storm still heaving in a ground-swell through his mind. That his wife should have stood up against him was a sore thought.

It bewildered the youth utterly, and that she might be ignorant of all details did not occur to him. Presently he told his wrongs to Chris, and grew very hot again in the recital. She sympathised deeply, held him right to be angry, and grew angry herself.

"He 'm daft," she said, "an' I'd think harder of him than I do, but that he's led by the nose. 'Twas that auld weasel, Billy Blee, gived him the wink to set you on a task he knawed you'd never carry through."

"Theer's truth in that," said Will; then he recollected his last meeting with the miller's man, and suddenly roared with laughter.

"'Struth! What a picter he was! He agged an' agged at me till I got fair mad, an'--well, I spiled his meal, I do b'lieve."

His merriment died away slowly in a series of long-drawn chuckles. Then he lighted his pipe, watched Chris cleaning the cups and plates, and grew glum again.

"'Twas axin' me--a penniless chap; that was the devil of it. If I'd been a moneyed man wi'out compulsion to work, then I'd have been free to say 'No,' an' no harm done. De'e follow?"

"I'm thankful you done as you did. But wheer shall 'e turn now?"

"Doan't knaw. I'll lay I'll soon find work."

"Theer's some of the upland farms might be wanting harrowin' an' seed plantin' done."

"Who's to Newtake, Gran'faither Ford's auld plaace, I wonder?"

"'Tis empty. The last folks left 'fore you went away. Couldn't squeeze bare life out of it. That's the fourth party as have tried an' failed."

"Yet gran'faither done all right."

"He was a wonnerful man of business, an' lived on a straw a day, as mother says. But the rest--they come an' go an' just bury gude money theer to no better purpose than the gawld at a rainbow foot."

"Well, I'll go up in the village an' look around before Miller's got time to say any word against me. He'll spoil my market if he can, I knaw."

"He'd never dare!"

"I'd have taken my oath he wouldn't essterday. Now I think differ'nt. He never meant friendship; he awnly wanted for me to smart. Clem Hicks was right."

"Theer's Mr. Grimbal might give 'e work, I think. Go an' ax un, an' tell un I sent 'e."

A moment later Chris was sorry she had made this remark.

"What be talkin' 'bout?" Will asked bluntly. "Tell un _you_ sent me?"

"Martin wants to be friends."

"'Martin,' is it?"

"He axed me to call un so."

"Do he knaw you'm tokened to Clem?"

"Caan't say. It almost 'peared as if he didn't last time he called."

"Then sooner he do the better. Axed you to call un 'Martin'!"

He stopped and mused, then spoke again.

"Our love-makin's a poor business, sure enough. I've got what I wanted an', arter this marnin', could 'most find it in me to wish my cake was dough again; an' you--you ain't got what you want, an' ban't no gert sign you will, for Clem's the weakest hand at turnin' a penny ever I met."

"I'll wait for un, whether or no," said Chris, fiercely. "I'll wait, if need be, till we'm both tottling auld mumpheads!"

"Ess; an' when Martin Grimbal knaws that is so, 'twill be time enough to ax un for work, I dare say,--not sooner. Better he should give Clem work than me. I'd thought of him myself, for that matter."

"I've axed Clem to ax un long ago, but he won't."

"I'll go and see Clem right away. 'Tis funny he never let the man knaw 'bout you. Should have been the first thing he tawld un."

"Perhaps he thought 'twas so far off that--"

"Doan't care what he thought. Weern't plain dealin' to bide quiet about that, an' I shall tell un so."

"Well, doan't 'e quarrel with Clem. He'm 'bout the awnly friend you've got left now."

"I've got mother an' you. I'm all right. I can see as straight as any man, an' all my brain-work in the past ban't gwaine to be wasted 'cause wan auld miller fellow happens to put a mean trick on me. I'm above caring. I just goes along and remembers that people has their failings."

"We must make allowance for other folk."

"So us must; an' I be allus doin' it; so why the h.e.l.l doan't they make allowance for me? That's why I boil awver now an' again--d.a.m.n it! I gets nought but kicks for my halfpence--allus have; an' I won't stand it from mortal man much longer!"

Chris kept her face, for Will's views on conduct and man's whole duty to man were no new thing.

"Us must keep patient, Will, 'specially with the auld."