Into the Highways and Hedges Part 57

"They mean to catch Mr. Sauls when he comes out of court," she said rapidly. "He'd better get away by another door, if he can."

The doctor nodded. "Mr. Sauls can generally be trusted to take care of number one," he remarked; "but I'll tell him."

Tom, who heard the words, laughed angrily. For a moment, Dr. Merrill fancied that the preacher's brother was going forcibly to prevent his carrying the message. But, indignant as Tom was, he felt responsible to Barnabas for Margaret, and wouldn't plunge into a row with her hands clinging to his arm.

"That woman will catch it for having prevented him!" thought the doctor.

"There's no doubt about it, there is a queer temper in that family."

When they were clear of the crowd, Meg broke the silence.

"You are very angry with me," she said.

Tom's anger would have repelled and frightened her once; but just now she experienced an odd sort of consolation in the intensity of the wrath and grief he felt for his brother's sake. Tom "cared" as no one else did.

"I'm not such a good Christian as ye are," he said. His voice sounded gruff, and he spoke in sharp undertones, turning his head away. He was so angry that he could not trust himself to look at the fair face his brother loved, though he held his anger with a tight rein.

"So ye wouldn't ha' the man as has made our lad look like _that_--ay, and 'ull hang him, if he can,--so much as scratched, eh? Ye sent to warn him! Good Lord! it's Barnabas' wife as kindly warns Barnabas' murderer!

Ye'll forgi'e the man as 'ud like to kill your husband wi' his lyin'

tongue, till seventy times seven! I've known ye a bit hard on Barnabas times, but----" He checked himself, and swallowed the rest of that sentence; but the sharp pull up brought the colour to Meg's pale face.

"Oh, ye are right!" he said, after a silence. "An' uncommonly forgiving an' a remarkable good Christian la.s.s, as I said afore; ye are right--only d----n me, if I wouldn't rayther have a sinner for a wife!"

"Ah," said Meg; "but you are giving me credit for more Christianity than I possess." He did look at her then, struck by something strange in her tone. Barnabas' wife was altered too. With that too vivid consciousness of what Barnabas had gone through, burning like fire somewhere at the bottom of her heart, it struck her as almost ludicrous that Tom should suppose she had pity on the preacher's enemy.

"I heard Long John swearing that he'd served with you man and boy for nigh thirty years, and had never in his life seen one of you put out; that, in fact, your mildness as a family was proverbial!" said Margaret. She did not speak like herself, she was like another woman to-day,--older and sterner and less gentle.

"Of course he did," said Tom. "It 'ud ha' been uncommon queer if one o'

the L----shire lads as I've licked into shape wi' my own hands didn't swear by us."

"It would," said Meg gravely. "But if you and those same lads had caught and half murdered Mr. Sauls as he left the court, it would be an odd sort of comment on what we've been hearing, wouldn't it? Perhaps, after that, they'd hardly believe in the great gentleness of the Thorpe disposition, or see how unlikely it is that one of you should hit a man with a bill-hook."

Tom stood still in the middle of the road, and caught her arm with a grasp which hurt her, though neither of them was the least aware of that at the moment.

"Ye doan't tell me ye believe he did that?" he said; and she wondered for a moment what he would have done, if she _had_ believed it.

"No--I know the truth," she said. "And, even if he had not told me, I should still have known that it would have been impossible for him to hit unfairly. But it's not in the natural mildness of your temper that I trust, Tom. Barnabas has something more than that."

Tom gave a despairing grunt. "An' the summat more's just his ruin!" he said, letting her go again. "There! I hadn't no kind o' business to ha'

spoken rough to 'ee, la.s.s; and Barnabas 'ud not ha' forgi'en me in a hurry, if he'd heard. I meant to ha' been a help to 'ee; but, I think, I'm mazed wi' to-day's work. It were seeing him."

"Yes, yes; I know, Tom," said Meg. "Do you think I don't know how it breaks one's heart to see him like that? But, when we get him safe home again, we will take such care of him! All the care he ever gave me he shall have back with interest. He will be obliged to get strong, for we will nurse him so well." And again the wistful tenderness in her voice struck Tom as something fresh.

"I wish it were Monday!" she said. "There is no doubt that he will be acquitted. Oh, no doubt at all! Didn't you hear that red-haired doctor say so? He said that there was no direct evidence against Barnabas, and that even Mr. Sauls' cleverness could not make an innocent man guilty.

Barnabas looked as if he weren't attending; I think he feels that what becomes of him personally is not his business; or else he was too worn out to listen. On Monday it will be over. I wish it were Monday!"

"Ay! it 'ull be over," said Tom; "but what if it's over the wrong way?

The devil does win sometimes, la.s.s, whatever Barnabas may say."

"It isn't possible," said Meg. Then the soft curves of her lips straightened. "If the devil wins," she said, "why, then--you may do what you like. You may tear Mr. Sauls to pieces, Tom, and I will stand by, and clap my hands and cry 'well done!'"

"Amen!" said Tom, holding out his hand. He knew now what had changed Barnabas' wife.

They walked on in silence through the darkening street after that, engrossed by their own thoughts. Tom had got a room in the same house as his sister-in-law; he nodded "good-night" absently to her when they reached home. Five minutes later she knocked at his door, and entered his room with a plate in her hands.

"I've brought you something to eat. Do take it, Tom. You've had nothing all day," she said gently.

"I haven't the heart to feast," said Tom. "An' I hate to see ye waiting on me!" But he swallowed the food hastily, seeing that she would take no denial. Meg's sisterly attentions half touched, half irritated him just then. Anxiety always made Tom cross.

"Are ye gadding about again?" he asked, glancing at her bonnet.

"Yes, I am going to Commercial Road," said Meg. "Mr. Potter tells me that he has got some clothes belonging to Barnabas,--a jersey, and a shirt and a cloth cap. I am going to fetch them and take them to the prison to-night. They say the ward is terribly cold."

"I'll go for 'ee," said Tom, getting up and stretching himself. "What way is it, eh?"

"We will both go," said Meg. "I can't sit still." And Tom checked the remonstrance that was on his lips.

"Come along, la.s.s," he said. "Though it's a wonder ye want my company any more! Eh, the wind's blowing wi' ice in it. Come along, if ye will."

"I think I was glad you were angry," said Meg, laughing a little unsteadily, as they went out again.

"It is good to have one of his own people with me. I couldn't have borne to be with any one but you just now. It is you who belong to him."

"Eh? Times are changed, la.s.s," said Tom. "Barnabas would ha' gi'en his ears once to ha' heard ye say that."

"He wouldn't have let me say that I'd cry 'well done' if you revenged yourself on his enemy, though. Tom, I was mad. Forget it, please!"

"Would ye forgive him?" said Tom, looking hard at her. He repeated the question again presently and more insistingly. "Would ye forgive him--if he won?"

"No!" she said. "One may forgive one's own enemies, but I could never forgive those that injure the people I love. It's not in me to be so good as that--I meant what I said. I should have no pity left for _him_--for it would all be given," said Meg. She pressed her hands tight against her breast as she walked, and her steps quickened so that Tom could hardly keep pace with her. "But, all the same, I would not cry 'well done', and I would do my best to prevent you--for Barnabas' sake."

"Would ye? Ye wouldn't find your preventin' answer twice, my good la.s.s!"

said Tom. "Well, I'm glad ye doan't forgive him. It's more natural like.

Ye aren't so much like snow and moonshine as ye were. It made me sick when I thought ye were sorry for that man. A woman who can be sorry for her husband's enemy can't care much. I'm glad ye've some flesh and blood in the way you're made!"

"Do you think that I care less than you?" said Meg.

"Than me! ay, it stands to reason----" began Tom, then stopped short. "I wish I'd left that gentleman in the ditch!" he ended with some irrelevance. "I'll never pick up any one again; there's a deal to answer for."

"Barnabas wouldn't wish that," said Meg.

"Barnabas!" he cried. "He doesn't know what's good for him! Oh, ay, I know what ye are going to say. He'll ha' his reward i' the next world; but what do ye think he'll do wi' it? Why, he'll be miserable in a happy place. When Barnabas gets to heaven he'll ha' no peace till he's sent to h.e.l.l, my dear, nor give the angels peace either. Ay, ye may cry out, Barnabas' wife, but it's true, an' ye'll see it, if ever ye get to heaven too."

CHAPTER VIII.

Mr. Sauls took the doctor's hint, and risked no broken bones.