Lying Prophets Part 39

"Oh, my gracious Powers, what's fallen 'pon en?" he groaned aloud.

"G.o.d's strong, but the devil's stronger, you mind. Us must pray to the pit now. 'Our devil which art in h.e.l.l'--Ha! ha! ha! He hears fast enough, an'

pokes up the black horns of en at the first smell o' prayer. Not but what my Tom's aloft, in the main-top o' paradise. I seed en pa.s.s 'pon a black wave wi' a gray foamin' crest. An' the white sawl o' my bwoy went mountin'

and mountin' in shape o' a seabird. Men dies hard in salt water, you mind.

It plays wi' 'em like a cat wi' a mouse. But 'tis all wan: 'The Lard is King an' sitteth 'tween the cherubims,' though the airth's twitchin', same as a crab bein' boiled alive, all the time."

Noy looked round him wildly and was about to leave the cottage. Then it struck him that the man's wife and daughter could not be far off. What blasting catastrophe had robbed him of his mind the sailor knew not; but once a.s.sured of the fact that Michael Tregenza was hopelessly insane, Noy lent no credit to any of his utterances, and of course failed to dimly guess at those facts upon which his ravings were based. Indeed he heard little after the first rambling outburst, for his own thoughts were busy with the problems of Tregenza's fate.

"Sit down, mariner. I shan't sail till marnin' an' you'm welcome. Theer be thots in me so deep as Levant mine, but I doan't speak 'em for anybody's hearin'. Joan weern't none o' mine, an' I knawed it, thanks be to G.o.d, 'fore ever she played loose. What do 'e think o' a thousand pound for a sawl? Cheap as dirt--eh? 'Thou hast covered thyself with a cloud that our prayer should not pa.s.s through.' Not as prayers can save what's lost for all eternity 'fore 'tis born into time. He ruined her; he left her wi'

cheel; but ban't likely the unborn clay counts. G.o.d Hisself edn' gwaine to d.a.m.n a thing as never drawed breath. Who'd a thot the like o' her had got a wh.o.r.e's forehead? An' tokened at that--tokened to a sailor-man by name o'

Noy. Let'n come home, let'n come home an' call the devil as did it to his account. Let the Lard see to't so that man edn' 'lowed to flourish no more.

I be tu auld an' broken for any sich task. 'For the hurt o' the darter o'

my people I am hurt.'"

He spoke no more upon that head, though Noy, now awake to fear and horridly conscious that he stood in the shadow of some tremendous ill, reaching far beyond the madman, asked him frantically what he meant. But Michael's mind had wandered off the subject again.

"I seed en cast forth a net, same as us does for macker'l, but 'twas sawls, not feesh, they dragged in the bwoat; but braave an' few of 'em. The devil's nets was the full wans, 'cause--"

At this moment Thomasin came in, saw a man by Mr. Tregenza, but did not realize who had returned until she struck a light. Then, approaching, she gasped her surprise and stood for a moment dumb, looking from her husband to the sailor, from the sailor back to her husband. The horror on Noy's face frightened her; indeed he was now strung to a pitch of frantic excitement. He saw that the woman was altogether clad in black, that her garments were new, that even her bonnet had a black flower in it; and, despite his concern, he observed an appearance of prosperity about her, though her face belied it, for Mrs. Tregenza was very thin, and far grayer and older too than when he saw her last. He took the hand she stretched shaking toward him; then a question burst from his lips.

"For G.o.d's sake speak an' tell me the worst on it. What terrible evil be here? He'm--he'm daft seemin'ly; he's spawk the awfulest mad words as ever comed from lips. An' Joan--doan't 'e say it--doan't 'e say 'tis true she'm dead--not my lil treasure gone dead; an' me, ever since I went, countin'

the days an' hours 'gainst when I should come back?"

"Ay, my poor lad, 'tis true--all true. An' worse behind, Joe. Hip an' thigh us be smitten--all gone from us; my awnly wan drownded--my awn bwoy; an'

Michael's brain brawk down along o' it. An' the bwoat an' nets be all sold; though, thanks to G.o.d, they fetched good money. An' poor Joan tu--'pon the same night as my Tom--drownded--in the gert land-flood up-long."

Gray Michael had been nodding his head and smiling as each item of the mournful category was named. At Thomasin's last words he interrupted angrily, and something of the old, deep tones of his voice echoed again.

"'Tis a lie! Dedn' I tell 'e, wummon, 'tweern't so? The devil took her--body an' bones an' unborn baaby. They say she was found by the meadowsweets; an' I say 'tis false. You may groan an' you may weep blood, but you caan't chaange the things that have happened in time past--no; nor more can G.o.d A'mighty."

His wife looked to see how Joe viewed this statement. A great local superst.i.tion was growing up round Gray Michael, and his wild utterances (sometimes profanely fearful beyond the possibility of setting down) were listened to greedily as inspirations and oracles. Mrs. Tregenza herself became presently imbued with something of this morbid and ignorant opinion.

Her deep wounds time promised to heal at the first intention, and the significance now attributed to her insane husband grew to be a source of real satisfaction to her. She dispensed the honor of interviews with Michael as one distributes great gifts.

The force of circ.u.mstances and the futility of fighting against fate impressed Thomasin mightily now, as Noy's wild eyes asked the question his lips could not force themselves to frame. She sighed and bent her head and turned her eyes away from him, then spoke hurriedly:

"I doan't knaw how to tell 'e, an' us reckoned theer weern't no call to, an' us weern't gwaine to tell; but these things be in the Lard's hand an'

theer edn' no hidin' what He means to let out. A sorry, cruel home-comin'

for 'e, Joe. Poor la.s.s, her's done wi' all her troubles now, an' the unborn cheel tu. 'Tis very hard to stand up 'gainst, but the longest life's awnly short, an' us ban't called 'pon to live it more'n wance, thank G.o.d."

Here she gave way to tears, and dried the same on a white pocket-handkerchief with a black border.

"'Tis all so true as gospel," declared Gray Michael, rolling his head round on his neck and laughing. "An' my auld wummon's fine an' braave, edn' her?

That's cause I cleared a thousan' pound in wan trip. Christ was aboard, an'

He bid me shoot the nets by munelight off the islands. He do look arter His awn somethin' butivul, as I tawld En. An' now I be a feesher o' men, which is better, an' high 'mong the salt o' the airth, bein' called to walk along wi' James an' John an' the rest."

"He sits theer chitterin', ding dong, ding dong, all the wisht day. Tom's death drove en cracked, but 'e ban't no trouble, 'cept at feedin' times.

Besides, I keeps a paid servant girl now," said Mrs. Tregenza.

Joe Noy had heard neither the man nor the woman. From the moment that he knew the truth concerning Joan his own thoughts barred his ears to all utterances.

"Who weer it? Tell me the name. I want no more'n that," he said.

"'Tis Anne Bundle's darter," answered Mrs. Tregenza, her mind on her maid.

"The man!" thundered Noy, "the man who brot the thing about--the man what ruined--O G.o.d o' Hosts, be on my side now! Who weer 'e? Give me the name of en. That's all as I wants."

"Us doan't knaw. You see, Joan was away up Drift wi' the Chirgwins, an'

theer she was took when they found her arter the drownin'. She never knawed the true name of en herself, poor dear. But 'twas a paintin' man--a artist.

It comed out arter as he'd made a picksher of her, an' promised to marry her, an' stawl all she'd got to give 'pon the strength of the lie. Then theer was a letter--"

"From the man?"

Mrs. Tregenza grew frightened at the thought of mentioning the money, and now adroitly changed the first letter from Barron, which was in her mind when she spoke, to the second, which Joan had received from him on the night of her death.

"Iss, from him; an' Mary Chirgwin found it 'pon the dead frame o' the poor gal, but 'twas partly pulp, along o' the water; an' Mary burned it wi'out readin' a word--so she said, at least, though that's difficult to credit, human nature bein' as 'tis."

"Then my work's the harder; but I'll find en, s'elp me G.o.d, even if us be grawed gray afore we meet."

"Think twice, Joe; you caan't bring back your la.s.s, nor wash her sins white. 'Tis tu late."

"No, not that, but I can--I'm in G.o.d's hand for this. Us be tools, an' He uses all for His awn ends. I sees whereto I was born now, an' the future be writ clear afore my eyes. Thicky madman theer said the word; an' I lay the Lard put it in en for my better light. Er said 'Let'n come home an' call the devil as did it to account.' He was thinkin' o' me when he said it, though he dedn' knaw me."

"Iss fay, 'tis generally allowed he be the lips o' G.o.d A'mighty now. But you, Joe--doan't 'e waste life an' hard-won money huntin' down a d.a.m.ned man. Leave en to his deserts."

"'Tis I that be his deserts, wummon--'tis I, in the hand o' the G.o.d o'

Vengeance. That's my duty now standin' stark ahead o' me. The Lard's pleased to pay all my prayers an' good livin' like this here. His will be done, an' so it shall to the dregs of it; an' if I be for the pit arter all, theer's wan livin' as gaws along wi' me."

"That's worse than a fool's thot. Bide till you'm grawed cool anyways. 'Tis very hard this fallin' 'pon a virtuous member like what you be; but 'tedn'

a straange tale 'tall. The man was like other men, I doubt; the maid was like other maids. You thot differ'nt. You was wrong; an' you'll be wrong again to break your heart now. Let en go--'tis best."

"Let en go! Blast en--I'll let heaven go fust! Us'll see what a wronged sawl's patience can do now. Us'll see what the end of the road'll shaw! O G.o.d o' the Righteous, fester this here man's bones in his body, an' eat his life out of en wi' fiery worms! Tear his heartstrings, G.o.d o' Hosts, rob en of all he loves, stamp his foul mind wi' memories till he shrieks for death an' judgment; punish his seed forever; turn his prayers into swearin'; torture en, rot en sawl an' body till you brings me to en. Shaw no mercy, G.o.d o' Heaven, but pile agony 'pon agony mountains high for en; an' let mine be the hand to send his cussed sawl to h.e.l.l, for Christ's sake, Amen!"

"Oh, my Guy Faux! theer's cussin'! An' yet 'tedn' gwaine to do a happard [Footnote: _Happard_--Halfpennyworth.] o' good; an' you wouldn' be no happier for knawin' sich a prayer was granted," said Thomasin; but Gray Michael applauded the outburst, and his words ended that strange spectacle of two men, for the time both mad.

"Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Braave prayin'! Braave savor for the Lard's nose--sweeter than the blood o' beasts. You'm a shinin' light, cap'n--a trumpet in the battle, like the sound o' the sea-wind when it begins to sting afore heavy weather, an' the waters roll to the top o' the bulwarks an' awver. 'The snorting of his horses was heard from Dan'--sea-horses us calls 'em nowadays. Mount an' ride, mount an' ride! 'Cursed be the man that trusteth in man,' saith the Lard; but the beasts be truer, thanks to the wickedness o' G.o.d, who's spared 'em the curse o' brain paarts, but stricken man wi' a mighty intelligence. 'Twas a fine an' cruel act, for the more mind the more misery. 'Twas a d.a.m.ned act sure 'nough! Doan't 'e let on 'bout it, mate, but theer'll be clever surprises at Judgment, an' the fust to be d.a.m.ned'll be the G.o.d o' the Hebrews Hisself for givin' o' brains to weak heads. Then the thrawn o' heaven'll stand empty--empty--the plaace 'tween the cherubims empty; an' they'll call 'pon me to fill it so like's not. Tarraway, I shall be named, same as the devil in the droll--a purty word enough tu."

He broke into laughter, and Joe Noy, saying a few hasty words to Thomasin, departed.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A NIGHT VISIT

He who less than an hour before had hastened hot-footed through the Newlyn streets, whose habitual stern expression had softened before the well-known sights and smells of the gray village, whose earnest soul was full of happiness under the rain of the night, now turned back upon his way and skulked through the darkness with a murderer's heart in him. The clear spectacle of his revenge blinded lesser presentations and even distracted his sorrow. There was no s.p.a.ce now vacant in Noy's brain to hold the full extent of his loss; and the fabric of happiness which for weary months on various seas he had been building up in imagination, and which a madman's word had now sent spinning to chaos, yet remained curiously with him, as an impression stamped by steadfast gazing remains upon the eye. It recurred as of old: a joy; and not till the former emotion of happiness had again and again reappeared to be blunted, as a dream, at waking, by the new knowledge, did truth sink into this man's mind and become part of memory.

Now he was dazed, as one who has run hard and well to a goal, and who, reaching it, finds his prize stolen. Under these circ.u.mstances, Joe Noy's natural fatalism--an instinct beyond the power of any religion to destroy--appeared instant and strong. Chance had now fed these characteristics, and they grew gigantic in an hour. But the religious habit made him turn to his Maker in this pa.s.s, and the merely primitive pa.s.sions, which were now breaking loose within him, he regarded as the direct voices of G.o.d. They proclaimed that solitary duty the world still held for him; they marked out his road to the lurid end of it.