Nestleton Magna Part 23

"Pete 'll be i' Nestleton be' Can'lemas, an' 'im an' t' Methodist chapil 'll c.u.m tegither!"

At the Sunday service in Farmer Houston's kitchen, Adam returned public thanks for the light which had come to him and Judith from across the sea. There, too, old Kasper Crabtree, somewhat feeble and pale yet, and scarce recovered from the severe treatment he had received on his way home from Kesterton Fair, was present to join in earnest worship with the faithful few whom he had long persecuted and despised. As he bowed his head in prayer, we may be sure that, mingling with his requests for personal grace and help, there rose an earnest pet.i.tion that G.o.d's best blessing might rest for ever on the fair evangelist who had led him, while on the bed of sickness, to seek the Crucified; and through whose gentle instrumentality the moral darkness of a lifetime had been dispersed, and light and love divine had streamed in upon his melted soul.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

BILL BUCKLEY SEES AN APPARITION.

"No; 'tis the tale that angry conscience tells, When she with more than tragic horror swells Each circ.u.mstance of guilt; when stern, but true, She brings bad actions forth into review, And, like the dread handwriting on the wall, Bids late remorse awake at reason's call."

_Churchill._

At a late hour one evening the butler at Waverdale Hall appeared before his master with the information that a stranger wished to see him on business of the first importance. In vain the faithful servant had represented to him the lateness of the hour and the unusual nature of his request; in vain he asked even for the stranger's name. To all objections and inquiries the stranger, standing by the door closely shrouded in a large m.u.f.fler, had simply said, "I must see the squire.

I have walked many a weary mile for that purpose, and I know that if he will grant me a few minutes' interview, he will be deeply grateful that ever the interview took place." There was a time, and that not many weeks since, when the stately squire would have peremptorily refused such an unseasonable application; but now, after the strange and mollifying experiences to which he had been subjected, he considered but a moment, and then said,--

"Show the man into the library, Thompson. I will go and see what his errand is."

The interview was long, and the worthy butler was devoured by curiosity to ascertain who the stranger was, and what he wanted.

Eventually the squire re-appeared, and gave the housekeeper orders to prepare a room for the unknown new-comer, who in a little while silently and secretly retired to rest.

Not one word did the squire say to the wondering lady or the puzzled butler as to the who, or what, or why of the untimely visitor; but they noticed that he walked with a firmer step, and a bearing more erect, and spoke in tones more quick and pleasant than they had heard from him for many a day. In a little while the inmates of Waverdale Hall were wrapped in slumber, with one exception; for Hannah Olliver, though she had retired to her little room over the laundry, re-trimmed her lamp, and sat, still dressed, watching and waiting for the midnight hour. Not without much trepidation, for she was conscious of wrong-doing, and would gladly have foregone the pleasure of meeting her effusive lover; but still her undoubted affection for Aubrey Bevan made her long for the promised interview, that she might bid him a warm and affectionate good-bye. The clock in the servants' hall had no sooner struck the hour of twelve than the errant damsel stole softly down the servants' staircase in the silence of that lonesome hour. It was dark, for no solitary beam of moon or star relieved the gloom of the cloudy sky, and for safety's sake she dared not carry forth her lighted lamp. Groping slowly along, and so carefully that not a single creaking stair should imperil the secresy of her nocturnal walk, she stood at last beside the outer door of the servants' kitchen, which opened into the stable yard and the kitchen garden which lay beyond.

Slowly and silently she unbarred it; the ma.s.sive bolts were each in turn noiselessly drawn back into their sockets. The key, which she had abstracted from the usual nail whereon the butler had suspended it, was gently turned, and then gradually opening the door, she peered out into the thick darkness of the night. Three short coughs were to be the signal of her presence. No sooner were those given than the amorous valet, at whose instance the a.s.signation had been made, was by her side, and had clasped her to his heart.

"O Aubrey!" said the trembling girl, "I am so frightened! I feel sure that I am doing wrong. I wish I had not consented to this meeting. Bid me good-bye, and let me shut the door again."

But the light and airy gentleman to whom her words were addressed had no intention of letting her off so cheaply, and of risking so much for so small an issue. He soothed her fears, and expressed undying grat.i.tude for this proof of the genuineness of her regard.

"'Cold blows the wind, and in the chilly night' it is not pleasant to be exposed to the rage of rude Boreas," said the glib deceiver. "But for the 'bliss of meeting her my soul adores' I should have taken the coach from Kesterton to-day, and gone direct to London. I'll just step within the door a moment, 'twill be warmer there," and before his sweetheart could utter an objecting word, Aubrey Bevan was inside, with his arm around her waist. In another instant a handkerchief was placed upon her face, and Hannah Olliver was seated unconscious in a chair. To bind her hand and foot and to gag her was the work of a few minutes, and then, in answer to the soft hooting of a night owl, three brawny men, with c.r.a.pe-covered faces, slid through the open doorway, and Waverdale Hall was at the mercy of four of the most skilful and daring burglars that ever broke into house and home!

"Well," said Bill Buckley, whose acquaintance the reader has already made, "this crib is cracked as easily as a nut. Bevan, which is the way?"

That worthy, by means of skilful questions cunningly put, had obtained from his unconscious dupe, the housemaid, full particulars of the interior of the house. He had its arrangements clearly mapped out in his clever, but sadly-prost.i.tuted brain, and was at no loss as to the evil work they had in hand.

"Follow me," said he, and led the way to the front division of the house. He coolly locked behind them the doors which connected it with the servants' quarters, so as to secure them from that source of danger. The library and drawing-room received the careful attention of Mr. Bevan and two of his colleagues. The butler's pantry was left to the skilful and efficient manipulation of an experienced "magsman,"

who fully understood what metal spoil was worth carrying away. The whole place was ransacked, and so far without suspicion or alarm. One great object of this very unceremonious visit, however, was as yet ungained. This was nothing less than the capture of certain jewel-cases, whose contents were of great and notable value, and which were, as Bevan well knew, placed for safe keeping in a certain room on the second floor. Ascending the stairs, Buckley stumbled and fell, and Squire Fuller, who in wakeful unrest had imagined that he heard noises about, leaped from his bed, and hastened to Philip's bedroom, in fear lest something was the matter with his son. As soon as he had opened the door, out bounded "Oscar," Philip's canine companion and friend, who leaped to the first landing, and pinned one c.r.a.pe-veiled villain to the floor. Just then Lucy Blyth, who had been awakened by the stumbling of Bill Buckley, lighted her lamp, put on her dressing-gown, and appeared upon the scene in real alarm. The squire, with uplifted candle in his hand, was peering down the stairs. Lucy's young and keener vision saw Bill Buckley point a loaded pistol. A moment more, and the bullet would have sped on its fatal errand; but Lucy, on the impulse of the moment, screamed aloud, and throwing her lighted lamp with all her force at the villain's extended arm, his aim was diverted, and the shot was lodged in the wall. From the next flight of stairs had come a third witness on the scene--none other than the squire's mysterious guest. Standing in his shirt, leaning over the bal.u.s.trade, with peering eyes, unkempt hair, and extended hands, he caught the attention of Bill Buckley. That worthy turned livid as death, staggered back a few paces with lifted hands, and gasping out, "The ghost of Black Morris!" fell backward down the stair! At this turn of events, Aubrey Bevan, ever quick to realise results, darted down the stairs, and retreated by the way he had come. He gave no pa.s.sing thought to the wretched girl he had entrapped, but bearing with him a small tin box and other booty which he had stolen from the library, he took his flight through park and garden, and left his companions in guilt to the tender mercies of those they had sought to harm. The stranger speedily bound Bill Buckley, whose heavy fall and guilty conscience had for a while almost stopped the beating of his heart. The second villain, who lay at the mercy of the n.o.ble beast, which would have strangled him had he struggled, was then bound hand and foot by the servants, whom the squire had aroused. Mr. Fuller hastened to his son's apartment to calm his agitation, as he lay weak and helpless on his bed. The thief in the pantry had made good his escape, and in a little while poor Hannah Olliver, who had learnt a lesson which had sobered her gay spirits for life, was liberated and permitted to retire to her little chamber, where she spent the rest of the night in bitter and unavailing tears. Bill Buckley and his comrade were placed in safe keeping previous to their transfer to the county gaol. Black Morris--for the mysterious stranger whose appearance had filled the heart of Buckley with an awful terror, was really Black Morris in the flesh, and not his ghost--was again closeted with the squire, and informed him that the captured burglar was none other than the man who shot him down in Thurston Wood.

The circ.u.mstances of the burglary formed the subject of much conversation and speculation among the inmates of Waverdale Hall; but the interest of these events gave way before the now clear and undoubted fact that Master Philip was, in the completest fashion, demonstrated to be utterly innocent of the attack upon Black Morris which was supposed to have resulted in that errant youth's untimely death. Calmly and gratefully did Philip receive the information of his perfect freedom from the terrible cloud which had overshadowed him, and simply replied to his glad father's communication of the fact,--

"Thank G.o.d, my father! Thank G.o.d! but in my consciousness of a Saviour's love and yours, that trouble had already lost its sting."

Early on the following morning, Black Morris made his way to Kesterton, and greatly astounded the Rev. Theophilus Clayton by this personal token of his resurrection from the dead. Black Morris requested that the good man would go with him to Midden Harbour, and break the news to his weak and ailing mother, as he feared the consequences of his own sudden appearance before those who believed him to be numbered with the dead.

The household of Piggy Morris had just finished breakfast when Mr.

Clayton made his appearance and surprised them by a pastoral call at such an unconscionably early hour. Piggy Morris was just lacing his boots previous to going on a huckstering expedition round the neighbouring farms. In the course of conversation, Mr. Clayton made what he thought, a moment after, was an unfortunate reference to Waverdale Hall. It was as a spark upon gunpowder, and Piggy Morris began to denounce Philip as the murderer of his son.

"Are you quite sure that he did receive his death-wound in Thurston Wood?" said Mr. Clayton.

Mrs. Morris looked into the speaker's face, as if she wondered and half hoped that something lay behind his words.

"Parson," said Piggy Morris, "you should have some good reason for asking that question. Have you any ground for doubting it?"

"Mr. Clayton!" said Mary eagerly, "Is he, can he be alive?"

"Courage! Mrs. Morris," said the minister, "G.o.d is often better than our fears. I have reason to believe that, though he was wounded, he escaped with his life!"

"O Mr. Clayton!" said the mother, rising to her feet and laying her hand on his arm, "Where's my lad?"

Mr. Clayton coughed loudly, which was a preconcerted signal, and in a moment Black Morris walked in, and was clasped to his mother's heart in a long embrace. Strange to say, that weakly and despondent woman seemed to be endowed with an access of strength and vigour. Her re-awakened hopes had accepted the apparently impossible; there were no tears, no hysterics; she ran her thin fingers through the dark locks of her recovered boy, as she said, with a happy smile, "Rejoice with me, for this my son was dead, and is alive again; was lost, and is found." Mary received her brother's embrace with tearful joy. Piggy Morris stood with open mouth in wondering silence. Here was a sudden end to his notions of revenge; the father in him, however, won the day, and, holding out his hand, he said, "Jack, my lad, thy feyther bids thee welcome back. I'm glad to see thee safe and sound."

"Yes," said Black Morris, in faltering and broken tones, "I thank G.o.d for a saved life and a saved soul. I have a strange story to tell, and it will relieve my heart and do me good to tell it." Black Morris and his eager auditors gathered round the cheerful fire, which was all the more cheerful for the angry and nipping wind that blew in noisy gusts outside, and there and then he told them the thrilling story of his miraculous escape.

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE STORY OF THE DEAD-ALIVE.

"Mark, mark, Ulysses! how the G.o.ds preserve The men they love, even in their own despite!

They guide us, and we travel in the dark!

But when we most despair to hit the way And least expect, we find ourselves arrived!"

_Lansdowne._

Black Morris drew his chair to his mother's side, took her hand lovingly in his own, and proceeded to tell his story:--

"When I met Bill Buckley," said he, "in Thurston Wood, I was struggling with a terrible temptation to take my own life, and so put an end to my remorse for a wasted life and my fear of justice together. Since that strange meeting with Mr. Clayton on the Bexton highway I had lost all taste for the evil courses and companionships which had so long disgraced my life. The idea of going back to them filled me with a loathing that I can't express, and I resolved to break with them for ever. The thought of Jesus dying for His enemies, of Mr. Clayton's gentle kindness and forgiving love, with that ugly scar upon his cheek, of my mother's weakness and the minister's visit to her, upset me entirely, and I felt that I was too bad to live. I went about from one place to another like a man in a dream. I kept meeting with the fellows whose company I hated, and I could not get away from them without appearing, at any rate, to be the same as usual, though I believe they were led to suspect that I was not altogether to be depended on. Things were like that up to the evening of Kesterton Fair. I had been away to Gowthorp, to my Aunt Emma's, to get out of the road of a lot of fellows that I knew would want me to go to the revels; but I felt so wretched that I could not stop anywhere, and so it was that I was on the Kesterton Road, when Bill Buckley, d.i.c.k Spink, and another chap, were on the look-out for Old Crabtree. I refused to join them, when Bill Buckley seized me like a vice, and with murder in his eyes declared that I should not leave them till they had 'settled with Old Crabtree.' Mother!" said Black Morris, "I had nothing to do with it, but the whole thing was done in a few minutes, and when Spink hit the old man a blow on the head which might have killed an ox, I managed to break away from Buckley, and ran to the poor old fellow's help. He fixed his eyes on me, with a look such as I shall never forget, and said, 'Black Morris! I know you!' He fell senseless directly after, and I felt that I should be charged with highway robbery, and perhaps with murder. What happened after I hardly know. I roamed about from place to place, expecting every moment to be seized and punished for the crime. I said to myself it's no use; you've sold yourself to the devil, and must submit to the bargain." Here his voice faltered, and his hearers could not repress a murmur of sympathy. "I felt myself to be the most forlorn and hopeless wretch in the world. I found myself at last in Crib Corner, a dark, low, sheltered spot in Thurston Wood, where I used to hide my gun and other things. I heard a voice as plainly as I hear my own this minute, 'It's all up with you, Black Morris! You can't repent, and you're sure to be hanged. You had better shoot yourself like a man and balk them all.' I believe I should have done it, but for G.o.d's mercy.

I went out with the gun in my hand, and walked rapidly up and down, saying, I will; I will! Then I heard the cracking of the brushwood, and I stood face to face with Bill Buckley! All the hate of a thousand devils seized me at once. I clutched my gun, and my hands shook with excitement as I heard the voice, as plain as ever, 'Shoot him, Black Morris; it's the man who has put the halter round your neck!' He sneered at me and chuckled at the sc.r.a.pe he had brought me into. I answered him in a pa.s.sion; one word led to another; at last I told him that the paper money had gone back to Old Crabtree. I was about to tell him that I had told him of my innocence. Before I could finish the sentence he yelled out, 'Thoo black d----!' and lifting his gun, he fired at me. I seemed to feel an awful blow on my head, sharp pains shot through my neck and face, everything reeled round me, and I fell senseless on the ground. When I came to my senses I found myself swimming, for you know I was always a good hand at that, swimming, as naturally as though I had had my reason all the time. I heard the roar and rush of water, and in a moment was floated along the cascade, and plunged fathoms down into the deep pit below. I remember its being awfully dark and cold. I had risen to the surface again on the further side of the pit, and having recovered my breath, found myself at the mouth of the shallow stream which feeds the fish-ponds. The rush of water helped me through the opening, and seizing the gra.s.s and bushes on the bank I managed to scramble out, to find myself laid on the gra.s.s in Waverdale Park. For a long time I lay motionless and helpless, though fully sensible, and I fancied I heard my father's voice at some distance having high words with somebody."

"Bless my soul!" said Piggy Morris, strangely stirred; "that must have been when I met with the young squire!"

"A severe and smarting pain in my head roused me," said Black Morris, continuing his startling story, "and then I recollected all about it.

I found that the skin, flesh, and hair had gone from near one temple, that part of my ear was shot away, and I could feel some grains of shot beneath the skin of my neck. My plunge into the cold and rapid waters of the beck had stopped the bleeding. I felt that Bill Buckley had missed his aim by an inch, and that, for good or evil, my life was spared. I do not know whether you believe me, but there and then, wounded and weak as I was, I fell upon my knees and thanked G.o.d. I prayed as I had never prayed since I was a child. 'Lord have mercy on my poor soul!' I said, 'and the life Thou hast spared shall be Thine for ever!' Mr. Clayton's words about Jesus praying for His enemies came into my mind, and I said, 'Jesus! I have been Thy enemy, pray for me.' Mother mine! there and then I felt and knew that I was forgiven; I seemed to hear a voice from the skies saying to me, 'Go in peace and sin no more!' I got up with a strange peace in my heart, such as I had never felt before." Here Black Morris's voice failed him, and he burst into tears. Mother and sister wept in tender and thankful joy. Mr.

Clayton looked at Piggy Morris through his own tears, and saw two pearly drops falling unhindered down the father's bearded and sunburnt face.

"New strength was given me," continued Black Morris, "I bound my head with my handkerchief, and was preparing to move away, when I heard voices in the park. The remembrance of Old Crabtree's murder, for as such my fears had painted it, came back upon me like a thunderbolt. I knew that I should now be in danger of a more successful attack from Buckley, so silently stealing off under the shadow of the hedge, I gained the shelter of Thurston Wood."

"What a pity," said Mr. Clayton, "that you did not follow the voices, or go straight home to Midden Harbour!"

"I know it now," said Morris, "but I could not get rid of my horror of the gallows and of Bill Buckley's hate. I had a new and pa.s.sionate love for life, and longed to get to some distant place, where, unknown, unnoted, I could begin a new and better career. I struck across the country, and found myself at last by a little solitary inn on the turnpike road to Hull. The landlady regarded me with a good deal of suspicion, but as I paid for some refreshment, and told her I had fallen into some water, and should pa.s.s on after I had dried my clothes, she did not further interfere. At last I found myself in Hull, and got a job at some oil mills, and both there and at my lodgings, in a quiet street, I felt that I was comparatively safe from observation and pursuit; but, somehow or other, my peace of mind was gone; all my new hatred of self and sin was as great as ever, but still I had lost the joy and comfort which came to me in Waverdale Park. Then I thought about my mother, and I began to feel that I had done wrong to go away. Somebody seemed to say, 'What doest thou here?'

I tried to pray, but could not, until one night after I had got to bed, I tossed and sighed and grew so wretched that I got out of bed, and falling on my knees, I said, 'Oh! my G.o.d! tell me what to do?' 'Go home!' was the instant and powerful impression on my mind. 'That's G.o.d's orders,' I said, and went to bed again with the settled resolve to start for Nestleton as soon as Sat.u.r.day came. As I was returning to work after the dinner hour next day, I was walking along Silver-street when I heard a well-known voice shout, 'Black Morris!' and I saw Old Adam Olliver standing with his hands uplifted and both eyes and mouth open, in unmistakable surprise. He stared and looked so thoroughly thunderstricken as to attract the attention of the pa.s.sers-by. When I advanced to meet him, the old man drew back a few paces, but said never a word.