Eli's Children Part 74

"No," she cried, gazing full in his eyes. "It's a cruel, cruel lie.

Let me go. I'll tell Tom now--every word--everything that man has said, and--"

Jock let his great hand sink from Polly's little arm to her wrist, and led her to a chair, she being helpless against his giant strength.

"Nay," he said, "thou shan't tell him. It would half kill him first, and then he'd go and kill parson's boy."

"Yes, yes; he would, he would," sobbed Polly. "I dared not tell him, and it's been breaking my heart. But I won't bear it. Go away from here. How dare you say such things to me?"

"Howd thy tongue, la.s.s," said Jock, in a deep growl, and his strong will mastered hers. "Hearken to me, Polly. I beg thy pardon, la.s.s, and I can read it in thy pretty eyes that all I said was a lie. I beg thy pardon, la.s.s."

"How could you--how dare you?" sobbed Polly. "Tom, Tom! come here--come here!"

"Hush! he can't hear thee, la.s.s," growled Jock. "I've seen so much that I thought thou wast playing a bad game against Tom; but I was wrong, my little la.s.s, and I say forgive me."

"Let me go and tell Tom all now," she sobbed. "I shan't be happy till I do."

"Dost want to mak' thyself happy," growled Jock, sinking into his old Lincolnshire brogue, after losing much by absence in other counties--"happy, half breaking. Tom's heart, and getting murder done?

If thou dost--go!"

Polly bounded to the door to seek her husbands help, and tell him all, Jock watching her the while; but as she reached the door her courage failed, and she turned away with a piteous wail.

"Oh, G.o.d help me!" she cried; "what shall I do?"

"Come and sit down, la.s.s, and dry thy eyes," said Jock, kindly. "Say thou forgives me. I'm very sorry, la.s.s. I'm a down bad un, but I like owd Tom. He's a good 'un, is Tom."

"The best, the truest of men."

"And I'm glad he's got a good little true wife," growled Jock. "There, it's all right, ain't it, Polly?" he said, taking her little hand in his and patting it. "Say thou forgives me."

"But--but you don't believe me," sobbed Polly.

"But I do," he said, kissing her little hand in a quiet, reverential way that ill accorded with his looks. "Say thou forgives me, la.s.s."

"I do forgive you, Jock," she said, wiping her eyes. "Now let's call dear Tom in and tell him all."

"Nay," said Jock, "he mustn't be told. He's troubled enough as it is.

I'll mak' it reight."

"No, no, Jock," cried Polly, with her checks turning like ashes.

"What, are you afraid I shall drownd him?" he said, sharply.

"Yes! Oh, it is so horrible!"

"Nay, I wean't drownd him if he'll keep away," said Jock, fiercely, "but I'll hev a word wi' him when he least expects it."

"I--I thought," faltered Polly, "that when he was married he would keep away."

"Nay, not he," growled Jock; "but I heven't done wi' him and his yet."

"But, Jock!"

"Get me some bread and cheese, la.s.s," he growled, and she rose in a timid way, and gazing at him fearfully, spread a cloth, and placed the food before him.

"Now go and bathe thy pretty eyes," he said, as he sat down; "but stay a moment, la.s.s."

He took both her hands in his, and drew her to him, and kissed her forehead.

"I beg thy pardon, Polly," he said once again; "and now go, and I promise that he shall never trouble thee again."

"But, Jock!"

"Howd thy tongue, la.s.s. I wean't drown him, but if I don't scar him from this lane my name's not Jock."

Polly left the kitchen, and the great fellow sat there eating heartily for a time, and then Polly came back.

"Sometimes, la.s.s," he said, "I think thou ought to hev towd Tom all; sometimes I don't. Wait a bit till that Serrol Mallow's gone again, and then tell him all. Hah! he's a nice 'un, and his brother too. They're gentlemen, they are. I'm on'y a rough shack. It mak's me laugh though, Polly, it do. I don't work, they say. Well, I don't see as they do, and as owd Bone used to mak' us read at school, n.o.body can't say as Jock Morrison, bad as he is, ever goes neighing after his neighbour's wife.

Theer la.s.s, theer la.s.s, it's all put away, and I'm down glad as I was wrong."

"And you will frighten him away, Jock?" said Polly, who looked very bright and pretty now.

"That I will, Polly," said the great fellow, draining his mug; "and, my la.s.s, I don't know but what Tom's reight to sattle down wi' such a pretty little la.s.s as thou. Mebbe I shall be doing something of the sort myself. Good-bye, la.s.s, good-bye."

"When--when shall we see you again?" said Polly, in a timid way.

"Don't know, my la.s.s, but I may be close at hand when no one sees me.

I'm a curus, hiding sort of a fellow. Theer, good-bye."

He stooped and left the house, and Polly saw him go towards the workshop, stop talking for a few minutes, and then go slowly rolling along the lane.

"I'm afraid Jock's after no good, Polly, my little woman," said Tom quietly that night. "Ah, well, there's worse fellows than he."

"I like Jock better than ever I liked him before," cried Polly, with animation.

"I wish you could like him into a better life," said Tom, thoughtfully.

"I wonder where the poor old chap has gone."

On a mission of his own. That very afternoon Cynthia had tempted her sister out of the solitude she so much affected now, by proposing a ride; for Lord Artingale had sent the horses over with a note saying that he had been called away to the county town, but would come over in the evening.

Julia took some pressing, but she agreed at last, the horses were brought round, and soon after the sisters mounted, and were cantering along the pleasant sandy lanes, followed some fifty yards or so behind by a well-mounted groom.

The sun shone brightly, and there was a deliciously fresh breeze, just sufficient to make the exercise enjoyable. The swift motion, with the breeze fanning her face, seemed to brighten Julia's eyes and send a flush into her cheeks, as they cantered on, Cynthia being full of merry remarks, and gladly noticing her sister's change.

"Oh, if she would only pluck up a little spirit," thought Cynthia; and then she began to wonder whether Artingale would bring over Magnus.

Then she began to make plans as to how she would bring them together, and leave them pretty often alone.

One way and another, as they rode on and on, Miss Cynthia mentally proved herself a very female Von Moltke in the art of warfare, and so wrapt was she in her thoughts, that she paid no heed to the fidgeting of the beautiful creature she was riding.