I Saw Three Ships and Other Winter Tales Part 15

"For the ferry."

"Then stop an' drink, for the boat left two minutes since an' won't be back for another twenty."

Zeb hung on his heel for a couple of seconds. The sailor held out his mug with the friendliest air, his head thrown back and the left corner of his mouth screwed up into a smile.

"Thank 'ee," said Zeb, "I will; an' may the Lord judge 'atween us."

"There's many a way o' takin' a drink," the sailor said, staring at him; "but split me if yours ain't the rummiest _I_'ve run across."

"Oh, man, man," Zeb answered, "I wasn' thinkin' o' _you!_"

Back by the cliff's edge the hollibubber had finished his day's work and was shouldering his shovel to start for home, when he spied a dark figure coming eastwards along the track; and, putting up a hand to ward off the level rays of the sun, saw that it was the young man who had pa.s.sed him at noonday. So he set down the shovel again, and waited.

Young Zeb came along with his head down. When he noticed the hollibubber standing in the path he started like a man caught in a theft.

"My son, ye 've come to lift a weight off my heart. G.o.d forgi'e me that, i' my shyness, I let 'ee go by wi'out a word for your trouble."

"All the country seems to know my affairs," Zeb answered with a scowl.

The hollibubber's grey eyes rested on him tenderly. He was desperately shy, as he had confessed: but compa.s.sion overcame his shyness.

"Surely," said he, "all we be children o' one Father: an' surely we may know each other's burdens; else, not knowin', how shall we bear 'em?"

"You'm too late, hollibubber."

Zeb stood still, looking out over the purple sea. The old man touched his arm gently.

"How so?"

"I've a-sold my soul to h.e.l.l."

"I don't care. You'm alive an' standin' here, an' I can save 'ee."

"Can 'ee so?" Zeb asked ironically.

"Man, I feel sure o't." His ugly earnest face became almost grand in the flame of the sunset. "Turn aside, here, an' kneel down; I will wrestle wi' the Lord for thee till comfort comes, if it take the long night."

"You'm a strange chap. Can such things happen i' these days?"

"Kneel and try."

"No, no, no," Zeb flung out his hands. "It's too late, I tell 'ee.

No man's words will I hear but the words of Lamech--'I ha' slain a man to my wounding, an' a young man to my hurt.' Let me go--'tis too late.

Let me go, I say--"

As the hollibubber still clung to his arm, he gave a push and broke loose. The old man tumbled beside the path with his head against the potato fence. Zeb with a curse took to his heels and ran; nor for a hundred yards did he glance behind.

When at last he flung a look over his shoulder, the hollibubber had picked himself up and was kneeling in the pathway. His hands were clasped and lifted.

"Too late!" shouted Zeb again, and dashed on without a second look.

CHAPTER IX.

YOUNG ZEB WINS HIS SOUL BACK.

At half-past nine, next morning, the stranger sat in the front room of the cottage vacated by the Lewarnes. On a rough table, pushed into a corner, lay the remains of his breakfast. A plum-coloured coat with silver b.u.t.tons hung over the back of a chair by his side, and a waist-coat and silver-laced hat to match rested on the seat.

For the wedding was to take place in an hour and a half.

He sat in frilled shirt, knee-breeches and stockings, and the sunlight streamed in upon his dark head as he stooped to pull on a shoe.

The sound of his whistling filled the room, and the tune was, "Soldier, soldier, will you marry me?"

His foot was thrust into the first shoe, and his forefinger inserted at the heel, shoe-horn fashion, to slip it on, when the noise of light wheels sounded on the road outside, and stopped beside the gate.

Looking up, he saw through the window the head and shoulders of Young Zeb's grey mare, and broke off his whistling sharply.

_Rat-a-tat!_

"Come in!" he called, and smiled softly to himself.

The door was pushed open, and Young Zeb stood on the threshold, looking down on the stranger, who wheeled round quietly on his chair to face him. Zeb's clothes were disordered, and looked as if he had spent the night in them; his face was yellow and drawn, with dark semicircles underneath the eyes; and he put a hand up against the door-post for support.

"To what do I owe this honour?" asked the stranger, gazing back at him.

Zeb pulled out a great turnip-watch from his fob, and said--

"You'm dressin?"

"Ay, for the wedding."

"Then look sharp. You've got a bare five-an'-twenty minnits."

"Excuse me, I'm not to be married till eleven."

"Iss, iss, but _they_'re comin' at ten, sharp."

"And who in the world may 'they' be?"

"The press-gang."

The stranger sprang up to his feet, and seemed for a moment about to fly at Zeb's throat.

"You treacherous hound!"

"Stand off," said Zeb wearily, without taking his hand from the door-post. "I reckon it don't matter what I may be, or may not be, so long as you'm dressed i' ten minnits."

The other dropped his hands, with a short laugh.