Roger Trewinion Part 6

The gra.s.s on which we stood was as soft as a sponge, so no harm could befall either of us should we be thrown. At any rate, such was my thought. So becoming a little exasperated at Wilfred's clever strategems, I became somewhat rough, and taking him from a vantage point I had gained I threw him down with great force.

I do not think that I hurt him very much, but as chance would have it he fell on a rock that was concealed by the spongy turf, and when he rose he was pale and trembling.

"You do well," he said at length, "to show your strength in such a way.

First you seek to throw me unfairly, and then you choose a rock by which I could be hurt."

"Nay, Wilfred," I said, "I did not throw you unfairly; nor did I know there was a rock there. They are so much hidden by the turf that it would take a wizard to tell where they are. But I'm sorry you are hurt; let me help you home."

He looked at me strangely again.

"Help me home?" he said; "no, I can go without help; and I tell you this, Roger, big as you are I'm as strong as you."

This p.r.i.c.ked my pride. "As strong as I, Wilfred, why I could throw you over my head."

"Yes, you say that now because my arm has been hurt on this rock; but you wouldn't dare to wrestle again if I were well."

This put me into a pa.s.sion. "Not dare!" I cried. "If I daren't it would be because I should be afraid of hurting your poor, thin body.

Name any day you like and I'll take you."

"No," he said, "I've had enough of you. Never mind, my turn will come."

I again challenged him, and said all the things I could to vex him; but he would not reply, and giving me another of his strange looks he went towards the house.

He had not been gone long before my temper began to cool down, and loving my brother very much I began to blame myself a great deal. I condemned myself for not letting him throw me. I was a coward and a brute, I thought within myself, to hurt my younger brother, and acting on the impulse of the moment I hurried towards the house in order to ask his forgiveness.

I had gone about half the distance when I met an old woman who was almost bent double with old age and rheumatism. We recognised each other in a minute. The old woman was Deborah Teague, the terror and yet the blessing of the whole neighbourhood. To her friends there could be no greater comfort than Deborah. She was acquainted with medicine that cured almost every disease save that of old age. She knew all the healing qualities of every herb that grew in the neighbourhood. Deborah was doctor and nurse to all the people round about. Fever, colds, ague, rheumatics, scarlatina, jaundice, bile; Deborah could cure them all, and a dozen diseases besides. But this was not all. What she could not cure by her medicine she could by her charms, for with these she was abundantly supplied. Ringworms, warts, gout, adder's stings, whooping cough, measles, she could charm every one of them, and what was more, no one who was a friend of Deborah's went away uncured, if a cure were possible.

Consequently she was much thought of when her helpful qualities were taken into consideration, but, as I said, she was feared as well as loved, for Deborah made her enemies tremble. Not only did she possess the power to heal, but also the power to curse. Her eye was like that of the fabled serpent, called the basilisk, and in her anger she ever struck terror. She could stop horses from drawing, and keep cows from yielding their milk. For her to "ill wish" anyone was a sure sign that ruin would befall them. Nor was this all. Everyone throughout the whole countryside believed that Deborah had been seen walking along the beach towards the haunted cove, and it was reported again and again that she held intercourse with the powers of darkness. It was also believed that other women, possessing similar power to hers, likewise met there, and conversed about unlawful things.

She also had the power of telling fortunes and reading the future, and thus nearly all the lads and girls in the district came to her at one time or another for advice and help.

I had always been taught to be careful not to offend Deborah Teague, for she had once nursed me through a serious illness, and looked on me as a favourite.

No sooner had we come close together than she lifted her hand as if to tell me to stop; then when I obeyed her gesture, she looked me straight in the eyes.

"Cain and Abel," she said, mysteriously.

"No, Mrs. Teague," I replied, catching her meaning, "nothing of the sort."

"Yer brother es gone to his mawther," she muttered. "I axed un what was the matter, and he said you'd took advantage and hurt un."

I accordingly told Mrs. Teague what had taken place.

No sooner had I spoken than she seized my hand, and with her bony fingers began to draw the skin together over my joints, peering curiously all the while.

"Maaster Roger'll av to be keerful," she said.

"What do you mean?" I said.

"Maaster Roger'll av to be keerful," she repeated, in a half wheedling, half chuckling voice. "Maaster Roger es the ouldest and the biggest, and the strongest; but Maaster Wilfred ev got the eyes to zee."

"Oh, don't trouble, Mrs. Teague," I said; "I'm going to Wilfred now, to tell him I'm sorry I've hurt him."

"And mark my words, Maaster Roger," she said, "when you go, oal you zay will be took no noatice ov, but yer mawther and Maaster Wilfred 'll look black."

"How do you know, Mrs. Teague?" I said.

"Know!" she repeated, "what do'ant I know? Tell me that!"

I looked at her and was silent.

"I'll tell ee," she cried, and then stopped. "We musn't talk here,"

she continued. "Will'ee come to th'oull Debrah's house to-night, Maaster Roger, and I'll tell ee something for yer good? No, not to-night; but to-morrow night at nine o'clock."

I promised her I would do so, and Deborah hobbled away. As soon as she had gone I went straight home with a heavy heart. Although I was a full-grown man I dreaded my mother's anger, and Deborah's words rang in my ears. Besides, I feared that Wilfred might be prejudiced against me and not see things in their true light.

No sooner had I entered the dining-hall than I saw my mother bathing Wilfred's head, my father looking on gravely meanwhile. Even my father's presence could not quell my mother's anger against me.

"You the elder brother!" she cried. "You, the heir to the Trewinions!

The name will be disgraced if you are master of the Manor. You, a great strong monster, to punish a younger brother who is not full grown!"

I tried to explain, but she would not allow me to do so, while Wilfred looked at me with that strange expression which always appeared on his face when he was not well pleased.

Shortly after, I went away with my father to whom I told my story.

"Roger," he said, when I had finished, "you must be very careful, my lad. You will be either a blessing or a curse to your family. Future generations will either bless your memory or they will remember your name with loathing."

"Why," I said, "does so much depend on me?"

"Everything depends on you, Roger. You are the first-born son, and if you turn out bad, everything will turn out bad. So, my boy, whatever you are, or whatever you do, be truthful, be pure, and be forgiving."

"G.o.d helping me, I will, father," I replied.

Some time after we all gathered together in the library, where we usually sat in the evening. My father made it a rule to send the servants to bed early when we had no company, so although it was only eight o'clock and scarcely dark he had taken down the old family Bible in order that we might hear the Scriptures and join in prayer before retiring. My mother sat by Wilfred, her hand locked in his, while I sat near to my father, as was the usual custom, and we waited for the servants to come to prayers.

Instead of all coming together, only one came, and announced that Deborah Teague had something to tell us.

Father, in spite of all the complaints against Deborah, regarded her with much favour, and told the servant to show her in.

The old woman came in mumbling as usual. She waited for no greeting, and took no notice of my mother's harsh look.

"Maaster Trewinion," she said, lifting the forefinger of her skinny right hand, "expect!"

She stood up nearly straight as she spoke, and I thought of the Jewess prophetess whose name she bore.

"Expect!" she repeated. "Expect a stranger and expect a storm."

"What do you mean, Deborah?" asked my father kindly.