The Vicar's People Part 38

Nonsense, they couldn't get up the cliff. It must be--why, by George!

it's a woman."

He ran along the cliff towards where a woman, in a bright-coloured petticoat, seemed to be coming towards him, half surrounded by at least fifty people--men and women, and great fisher lads, some of whom seemed to have headed the fugitive, who, as Geoffrey came up, had taken refuge in a narrow cleft that ran up from the track, where there was one of the quaint old Cornish crosses, and now stood at bay.

In less time than it takes to describe it, Geoffrey Trethick had seen that the fugitive was Bessie Prawle, with her hair dishevelled, wild-eyed, her clothes torn, and fouled with mud and fish refuse, some of which had bespattered her face, now bleeding quite profusely; but she uttered no sound, only turned her fierce defiant eyes on the crowd, who yelled, hissed, and pelted her with any thing that came to hand, some of the rough mining women, in their excitement, tearing up sc.r.a.ps of heath and gra.s.s for an impotent fling.

"Yah! witch! witch!" reached Geoffrey's ears as he dashed up, just as a great lout of a fisher lad, in a blue jersey, had picked up a lump of granite, and was about to fling it at the wretched girl.

"Heave hard, my son," cried several. "Don't look at her eyes, or she'll ill-wish you."

The lout raised the piece of stone, took good aim, and then struck heavily against a companion, who cannoned against another, and all three staggered over the cliff edge from the shelf on which they stood, to fall half-a-dozen feet, scrambling, on the granite slope below.

For the impetus with which Geoffrey Trethick had thrown out one of his fists, driven by the full weight of his body, would have upset a giant, and coming as he did like a thunderbolt amongst them, the people divided right and left, some staggering, some falling, as he made his way up to where Bessie Prawle stood, in time to receive a dirty, half-rotten dog-fish right across his chest.

"Who threw that?" he roared furiously.

"I did," cried a great stupid-looking young fisherman, "but it warn't meant for you. Come away; she's a witch. She'll ill-wish you."

"I'll ill-wish you and break every bone in your cowardly thick hide,"

roared Geoffrey. "Call yourself a man," he cried, "and throw at a woman!"

"She's a witch--a witch! We're going to douse her," shrieked a wild-looking woman, a regular bare-armed virago. "Now gals, have her out. Lay hold of the man, lads; have him away."

Urged by the woman's words the big fisherman uttered a shout to his companions, and made at Bessie Prawle's defender; but somehow, they did not know how, the little crowd saw the young fisherman go down, crash, and Geoffrey stamp one foot upon his chest and hold him there.

This checked them, and the three lads who had gone over the cliff edge now scrambled back, furious, and ready to pick up stones or any thing that came within their reach.

But they did not throw them, for Geoffrey's angry eyes, and the prostrate man beneath his foot, had a wonderfully calming effect upon their angry pa.s.sions.

"Get back home--all of you," he cried. "Shame upon your ignorance!"

"She ill-wished Nance Allion's gal, and she's pining away," cried one woman, angrily.

"She ill-wished Mrs Roby's gal, too, and she's in a 'sumption," cried another.

"And she's ill-wished my mother, so as she hasn't any inside," cried a great lubberly lad.

"Ill-wished!" cried Geoffrey, in tones of contempt. "Get back, I say, all of you who call yourselves women; and as for you," he raged, "you, you cowardly louts that stand here, I'll hurl the first man or boy over the cliff who flings another stone."

There was a loud murmur here, but the _emeute_ was over, and the women and lads began to shrink away; while Bess Prawle, her defiant aspect gone, had sunk down now, panting and overcome, looking piteously up at Geoffrey, as he went upon one knee beside her, after letting the prostrate man shuffle away, and applied his handkerchief to her bleeding face.

Poor Bess could not speak, but she caught the hand that helped in both of hers, and with a hysterical sob pressed it firmly to her lips.

"Come, come," he said, gently; "there's nothing to mind now. Try and get up, and lean on my arm."

"Let me come, Mr Trethick," said a voice that made Geoffrey start; "she is fainting."

Rhoda Penwynn, who had been walking on the cliff with Miss Pavey, had come up in time to hear Geoffrey's furious words, and see the brave way in which he had defended poor Bessie. She had seen, too, the pa.s.sionate kiss the poor girl had bestowed upon her defender's hand, and, she knew not why, a feeling of sorrow seemed for the moment to master her alarm.

Geoffrey made way for her on the instant, as she knelt down and loosened Bess's throat and held a little vinaigrette to her nostrils, just in the middle of which acts Geoffrey's services were again called into requisition, for Miss Pavey looked at him piteously, uttered a cry, and would have fallen but for the ready arm extended to help her gently down upon the heathery bank.

The crowd had stood back, muttering menacingly; but the coming of the banker's daughter had the effect of sending half the men shuffling farther off in an uneasy fashion, the others following, and soon after the little group was left alone.

"Poor la.s.s!" said Geoffrey, whose interest in Bessie was far greater than in fainting Miss Pavey, who lay back for the moment untended. "Do you know how this occurred, Miss Penwynn? Your people here seem to be half savages."

"I saw it all, Mr Trethick," said Rhoda. "She is coming to now. Poor Miss Pavey has fainted, too. Pray hold the vinaigrette to her nostrils."

Geoffrey caught the little silver case, and held it so vigorously to the poor woman's nose that her face, in spite of her efforts, became convulsed; and she uttered a loud sneeze, after which she faintly struggled up, wished that they had been alone, when she would have essayed to kiss Geoffrey's hand out of grat.i.tude, as she had seen Bess Prawle. As it was, she had to be content to look her thanks.

"Thank you, miss--thank you," said Bess, rising. "I felt sick and giddy. I'm better now. Thank you, too, sir. The cowards would have killed me if you had not come."

"Oh, don't talk about the savages," cried Geoffrey, who was full of sympathy for the poor ill-used girl. "But you are very weak still: here, take my arm, and I'll see you home."

"I will go home with her, Mr Trethick," said Rhoda, coldly.

"Better still," he said.

"I--I think I can manage by myself," said Bess, hoa.r.s.ely.

But the difficulty as to who should see her home was solved by the appearance of old Prawle himself, approaching at a trot, armed with a short steel-armed boat-hook, which looked a formidable weapon in the hands of the fierce-looking old man, who came up half-mad with rage, a boy having carried him the news that they were "going to douse Bess Prawle for a witch."

"What's this? What's all this?" he cried, savagely; and he looked from one to the other, as if in search of some one to a.s.sault.

"Take me home, father--take me home," said Bess, faintly. "Thank you, miss," she continued, turning to Rhoda. "Mr Trethick, sir: I shall never forget this."

The fierce-looking old man glared at all in turn; but in spite of his savage aspect, Geoffrey noted that there was something inexpressibly tender in the way in which he drew his child's arm through his, and directly after pa.r.s.ed his arm round her to give her more support, walking gently by her as the others watched them till they turned a corner of the cliff.

"Miss Penwynn," said Geoffrey, excitedly, breaking an awkward silence, "I could not have believed that such superst.i.tion existed in these later days."

"Superst.i.tion dies hard, Mr Trethick," said Rhoda, rather coldly.

"Shall we say good-morning here? Miss Pavey and I are going across the fields."

Geoffrey raised his hat, and took the very plain hint that he was to go, by pa.s.sing on along the cliff, while Rhoda and her companion took to the upland path, which Geoffrey had so lately left.

"Oh, my dearest child!" cried Miss Pavey, as soon as they were alone, and she could burst into a fit of ecstasies, "isn't he n.o.ble--isn't he grand--isn't he heroic? Ah! Rhoda, Rhoda, if my heart were free it would fly from my bosom to such a chivalrous knight as he. It quite puts me in mind of the olden times."

Rhoda did not reply, for the scene she had witnessed had agitated her.

"I declare I never saw any one behave so gallantly and well," continued Miss Pavey. "He is quite a hero!"

Still Rhoda did not reply, for there was an uneasy feeling in her breast, and, in spite of herself, she could not help recalling Bess's act as she raised and pa.s.sionately kissed Geoffrey Trethick's hand.

It was nothing to her, of course, and she hated to think of the things in which her companion would have gloried; but still old Mrs Prawle's words and Geoffrey's frequent visits to the Cove floated back, and a feeling of irritation and anger against him they had just left kept growing stronger and stronger.

"I declare," exclaimed Miss Pavey, suddenly, with quite a girlish giggle, "neglectful as he was to me, I feel smitten--absolutely smitten."

"What?" exclaimed Rhoda, harshly.

"Oh! my dear child," cried Miss Pavey, "don't for goodness' sake snap a poor creature up like that. But oh, you naughty, naughty girl! Have I touched the tender chord at last? Oh, Rhoda, my darling child, don't be jealous; you have no cause!"