CHAPTER XXIV.
A WAGER.
It was true enough that Mr. Penniloe was gone to London, as Gronow said.But it was not true that otherwise he would have held a prayer-meetingevery day in Lady Waldron's room, for the benefit of her case. He wouldhave been a great support and strength to Inez in her anxiety, anddoubtless would have joined his prayers with hers; that would have beenenough for him. Dr. Gronow was a man who meant well upon the whole, butnot in every crick and cranny, as a really fine individual does. But theParson was even less likely than the Doctor, to lift a latch plugged bya lady against him.
"Thyatira, do you think that you could manage to see to the children,and the butcher's bill, during the course of next week," he enquired,when the pupils were off for their holiday, with accordions, andpan-pipes and pea-shooters; "I have particular business in London. OnlyBetty Cork, and old Job Tapscott, have come to my readings of Solomon'sSong, and both of them are as deaf as milestones. Master Harry will behome again in three days' time, and when he is in the house you have nofear; though your confidence should be placed much higher. MasterMichael is stronger of late, and if we can keep shocking stories fromhim, his poor little head may be right again. There really has been noproof at all of the existence of any Spring-heeled Jack; and he wouldnever come here to earn his money. He may have been mentioned inProphecy, as the Wesleyan Minister declared, but I have failed to comeacross the passage. Our Church does not deal in those exciting views,and does not recognise dark lanterns."
"No sir, we are much soberer like; but still there remains the SevenVials."
The Parson was up to snuff--if the matter may be put upon so low afooting. Mrs. Muggridge had placed her arms akimbo, in challengeTheological. He knew that her views were still the lowest of the low,and could not be hoisted by any petard to the High Church level. Andthe worst of it is that such people are pat with awkward points of HolyWrit, as hard to parry as the stroke of Jarnac. In truth he must himselfconfess that partly thus had Thyatira, at an early and impressible age,been induced to join the Church, when there chanced to be a vacancy fora housemaid at the Parsonage. It was in his father's parish, where herfather, Stephen Muggridge, occupied a farm belonging to the Rev. IsaacPenniloe. Philip, as a zealous Churchman, urged that the Parson's chieftenant should come to church, but the Rev. Isaac took a larger view,preferring his tangible cornland to his spiritual Vineyard.
"You had better let Stephen alone," he said, "you would very soon getthe worst of it, with all your new Oxford theology. Farmer Steve is awonderfully stout Antipaedobaptist; and he searches the Scriptures everyday, which leaves no chance for a Churchman, who can only find time on aSaturday."
This dissuasion only whetted the controversial appetite, and off setPhilip with his Polyglot Bible under his arm. When Farmer Stephen sawhim coming, he smiled a grim and gallant smile, being equally hot forthe combat. Says he, after a few preliminary passes,
"Now, young sir, look here! I'll show 'e a text as you can't explainaway, with all Oxford College at the back of thee. Just you turn toGospel of John, third chapter and fifth verse, and you read it, afterme. 'Except a man be born of water and of the spirit, he cannot enterinto the Kingdom of God.' The same in your copy, bain't it now? Thenaccording to my larning, m. a. n. spells _man_, and b. a. b. e. spells_babe_. Now till you can put b. a. b. e. in the place of m. a. n. inthat there text, what becomes of your Church baptism?"
The farmer grinned gently at the Parson, in the pride of triumph, andlooked round for his family to share it.
"Farmer Stephen, that sounds well;" replied the undaunted Philip, "butperhaps you will oblige me, by turning over a few leaves, as far as thesixteenth chapter of the same Gospel, and verse twenty-one. You see howit begins with reference to the pains of a mother, and then occur thesewords--'she remembereth no more the anguish, for joy that a _man_ isborn into the world.' Now was that man born full-grown, Farmer Stephen?"
The farmer knitted his brows, and stared; there was no smile left uponhis face; but in lieu of it came a merry laugh from beside his big oakenchair; and the head of her class in the village school was studying hiscountenance.
"Her can go to Parsonage," quoth the Antipaedobaptist, "her won't take noharm in a household where they know their Bible so."
Farmer Stephen was living still; and like a gentleman had foregone allattempts to re-capture his daughter. With equal forbearance, Penniloenever pressed his own opinions concerning smaller matters upon his pioushousekeeper, and therefore was fain to decline, as above, her oftenproffered challenges.
"There are many things still very dark before us," he answered with hissweet sad smile; "let us therefore be instant in prayer, while notneglecting our worldly duties. It is a worldly duty now, which takes mefrom my parish, much against my own desires. I shall not stay an hourmore than can be helped, and shall take occasion to forward, if I can,the interests of our restoration fund."
Mrs. Muggridge, when she heard of that, was ready at once to do herbest. Not that she cared much about the church repairs, but that herfaithful heart was troubled by her master's heavy anxieties. As happens(without any one established exception) in such cases, the outlay hadproved to be vastly vaster than the most exhaustive estimate. Mr.Penniloe felt himself liable for the repayment of every farthing; andthough the contractors at Exeter were most lenient and considerate(being happily a firm of substance), his mind was much tormented--at thelower tides of faith--about it. At least twelve hundred pounds wascertain to fall due at Christmas, that season of peace and good-will forall Christians, who can pay for it. Even at that date there were severalgood and useful Corporations, Societies, Associations, ready to help theChurch of England, even among white men, when the case was put wellbefore them. The Parson had applied by letter vainly; now he hoped tosee the people, and get a trifle out of them.
The long and expensive journey, and the further expense of the sojourn,were quite beyond his resources--drained so low by the House of theLord--but now the solicitors to the estate of Sir Thomas Waldron Bart.deceased required his presence in London for essential formalities, andgladly provided the _viaticum_. Therefore he donned his warmest clothes,for the weather was becoming wintry, put the oilskin over his Sundayhat--a genuine beaver, which had been his father's, and started in lifeat two guineas, and even now in its Curate stage might stand out fortwenty-one shillings--and committing his household solemnly to the careof the Almighty, met the first up-coach before daylight on Monday, whenit changed horses at the _Blue Ball_ Inn, at the north-east corner ofhis parish.
All western coaches had been quickened lately by tidings of steam in theNorth, which would take a man nearly a score of miles in one hour; andthough nobody really believed in this, the mere talk of it made thehorses go. There was one coach already, known by the rather profane nameof _Quicksilver_, which was said to travel at the almost impious pace oftwelve miles an hour. But few had much faith in this break-neck tale,and the _Quicksilver_ flew upon the southern road, which never comesnigh the Perle valley. Even so, there were coaches on this upper roadwhich averaged nine miles an hour all the way, foregoing for the sake ofempty speed, breakfast, and dinner, and even supper on the road. By oneof these called the _Tallyho_, Mr. Penniloe booked his place for London,and arrived there in good health but very tired, early on Tuesdaymorning.
The curate of Perlycross was not at all of the rustic parson type, suchas may still be found in many an out-of-the-way parish of Devon. He wasnot likely to lose himself in the streets of "Mighty Babylon," as Londonwas generally called in those days--and he showed some perception of theright thing to do, by putting up at the "Old Hummums." His charges forthe week were borne by the lawyers, upon whose business he was come; andtherefore the whole of his time was placed at the disposal of theiragents, Messrs. Spindrift, Honeysweet, and Hoblin, of Theobald's Road,Gray's Inn. That highly respected firm led him about from office tooffice, and pillar to post, sometimes sitting upon the pillar, sometimesleaning against the post, according to the usage immemorial o
f theirlearned Profession. But one of the things he was resolved to do betweenDoe and Roe, and Nokes and Styles, was to see his old friend HarrisonGowler, concerning the outrage at Perlycross.
There happened to be a great run now upon that eminent Physician,because he had told a lady of exalted rank, who had a loose tendonsomewhere, that she had stepped on a piece of orange-peel five andtwenty years ago. Historical research proved this to be too true,although it had entirely escaped the august patient's memory. Dr. Gowlerbecame of course a Baronet at once, his practice was doubled, though ithad been very large, and so were all his fees, though they had not beensmall. In a word, he was the rage, and was making golden hay in the fullblaze of a Royal sun.
No wonder then that the simple friend for a long time sought the greatman vainly. He could not very well write, to ask for an interview on thefollowing day, because he never knew at what hour he might hope to bedelivered from the lawyers; and it never occurred to him to prepay thepostage of his card from door to table, through either of the haughtyfootmen. Slow as he was to take offence, he began to fear that it mustbe meant, for the name of his hotel was on his cards; until as he wasturning away once more, debating with himself whether self-respect wouldallow him to lift that brass knocker again, the great man himself camepoint-blank upon him. The stately footman had made a rush for his pintof half-and-half round the corner, and Sir Harrison had to open his owndoor to show a noble patient forth.
"What, you in London, Penniloe!" And a kind grasp of the hand made itclear, that the physician was not himself to blame. In a few quick wordsit was arranged that the Parson should call again at six o'clock, andshare his old friend's simple meal. "We shall have two good hours for atalk," said Gowler, "for all the great people are at dinner then. Ateight, I have a consultation on."
"I never have what can be called a dinner;" Sir Harrison said, whenthey met again; "only a bit of--I forget what the Greek expression is.There is an American turn for it."
"You must indeed be overdone, if you are forgetting your Greek," repliedhis friend; "you were far in front of me there always; though I think Iwas not so far behind, in Latin."
"I think you were better in both. But what matter? We have little timenow for such delights. How often I wish I were back again at Oxford; tentimes poorer, but a thousand times happier. What is the good of myhundred pounds a day? I often get that; and am ashamed of it."
The Parson refrained from quoting any of the plentiful advice upon thatmatter, from the very highest authorities. He tried to look cheerfullyat his old friend, and did not even shake his head. But a very deepsadness was in his own heart; and yet a confirmation of his own higherfaith.
Then knowing that the time was very short and feeling his duty to hisown parish, he told the tale he was come to tell; and Sir Harrisonlistened intently to it.
"I scarcely know what to think," he said; "even if I were on the spot,and knew every one whom it was possible to suspect, it would be aterrible puzzle to me. One thing may be said, with confidence, amountingalmost to certainty, that it is not a medical matter at all. That much Ican settle, beyond all doubt, by means which I need not specify. Evenwith you I cannot enter upon questions so professional. We know thatirregular things are done, and the folly of the law compels them. Butthis is quite out of the course they pursue. However I can make quitecertain about all that within a week. Meanwhile you should look for amore likely clue. You have lost invaluable time by concluding, as ofcourse the stupid public would, especially after all the Burke and Hareaffairs, that 'the doctors must be at the bottom of it.' Most unluckythat you were so unwell, or you might have set the enquiry on the righttrack from the first. Surely it must have occurred to you that medicalmen, as a general rule, are the sharpest fellows of the neighbourhood,except of course--of course excepting the parsons?"
"They are sharper than we are," said the Parson with a smile; "butperhaps that is the very thing that tells against our faith in them."
"Very likely. But still it keeps them from utterly mad atrocities. SirThomas Waldron, a famous man, a grand old soldier, and above all awealthy man! Why they could have done no more to a poor old wretch fromthe workhouse!"
"The crime in that case would have been as great; perhaps greater,because more cowardly."
"You always were a highflyer, my friend. But never mind the criminality.What we want to know is the probability. And to find out that, we haveto study not the laws of morality, but the rules of human conduct. Whatwas the name of the man I met about the case, at your house? Oh, Iremember--Gronow; a very shrewd clear-headed fellow. Well, what does hesay about it?"
"As nearly as possible what you have said. Some slight suspicion hasfallen upon him. But as I told you, Jemmy Fox has come in for the lion'sshare of it."
"Poor young fellow! It must be very hard to bear. It will make him hatea Profession in which he would have been sure to distinguish himself,because he really loves it. What a thick-headed monster the Englishpublic is! They always exult in a wild-goose chase. Are you sure thatthe body was ever carried off at all?"
"The very question Doctor Gronow asked! Unhappily, there can be no doubtwhatever upon that point. As I ought to have told you, though I was notthere to see it, the search was made in the middle of the day, and witha dozen people round the grave. They went to the bottom, found thebrickwork broken down, and no sign of any coffin."
"Well, that ought to lead us to something clear. That alone is almostcertain proof of what I said just now. 'Resurrection-men,' as the stupidpublic calls them--would have taken the body alone. Not only becausethey escape all charge of felony by doing so, but that it is so mucheasier; and for many other reasons which you may imagine. I begin to seemy way more clearly. Depend upon it, this is some family matter. Someprivate feud, or some motive of money, or perhaps even some religiousscruple lies at the bottom of this strange affair. I begin to thinkthat you will have to go to Spain, before you understand it all. How hasLady Waldron behaved about it?"
"She has been most bitter against poor Jemmy." Mr. Penniloe had notheard of what was happening this very week at Walderscourt. "She willnot see him, will not hear his name, and is bitter against any one whotakes his part. She cannot even bring herself to speak to me, because incommon fairness I have done my best for him, against the generalopinion, and her own firm conclusion. That is one reason why I am inLondon now. She will not even act with me in taking probate of the will.In fact it has driven her, as I fear, almost to the verge of insanity;for she behaves most unkindly even to her daughter. But she is more tobe pitied than blamed, poor thing."
"I agree with you; in case of all this being genuine. But is it so? Oris it a bit of acting over-acted? I have known women, who could act soas to impose upon their own brains."
"It has never once entered my head," replied the simple-minded Parson,"to doubt that all she says, and does, is genuine. Even you could notdoubt, if you beheld her."
"I am not so sure of that," observed Sir Harrison very drily; "thebeauty of your character is the grand simplicity. You have not the leastidea of any wickedness."
"My dear fellow," cried the Parson deeply shocked; "it is, alas, my sadduty to find out and strive with the darkest cases of the depravity ofour fallen race!"
"Of course. But you think none the worse of them for that. It is wateron a duck's back, to such a man as you. Well, have it so; if you like. Isee the worst of their bodies, and you the worst of their souls, as yousuppose. But I think you put some of your own into them--infusion ofsounder blood, as it were."
"Gowler, you may think as ill, as fallen nature can make you think, ofall your fellow-creatures;" Mr. Penniloe spoke with a sharpness veryseldom found in words of his. "But in fair truth, it is beyond theblackest of all black bitterness to doubt poor Lady Waldron's simple andperfect sincerity."
"Because of her very magnificent eyes," Sir Harrison answered, as if tohimself, and to meet his own too charitable interjections. "But what hasshe done, to carry out her wild revenge at an outrage, which she woul
dfeel more keenly perhaps than the most sensitive of English women? Hasshe moved high and low, ransacked the earth, set all the neighbourhoodon fire, and appealed with tears, and threats, and money, (which is thestrongest of all appeals) to the Caesar enthroned in London? If she haddone any of these things, I fancy I should have heard of them."
For the moment Mr. Penniloe disliked his friend; as a man may feelannoyance at his own wife even, when her mind for some trivial cause ismoving on a lower level than his own.
"As yet she has not taken any strong steps," he confessed with somereluctance; "because she has been obliged to act under her lawyer'sguidance. Remember that she is a foreigner, and knows nothing of ourlegal machinery."
"Very likely not. But Webber does--Webber her solicitor. I supposeWebber has been very energetic."
"He has not done so much as one might have expected. In fact he hasseemed to me rather remiss. He has had his own private hands at work,which as he says is the surest plan; but he has brought no officers fromLondon down. He tells me that in all such cases they have failed; andmore than that, they have entirely spoiled the success of all privateenquiry."
"It looks to me very much as if private enquiry had no great desire tosucceed. My conclusion grows more and more irresistible. Shall I tellyou what it is?"
"My dear fellow, by all means do. I shall attach very great importanceto it."
"It is simply this," Sir Harrison spoke less rapidly than usual; "allyour mystery is solved in this--_Lady Waldron knows all about it_. Howyou all have missed that plain truth, puzzles me. She has excellentreasons for restricting the enquiry, and casting suspicion upon poorFox. Did I not hear of a brother of hers, a Spanish nobleman I think hewas?"
"Yes, her twin-brother, the Count de Varcas. She has always been warmlyattached to him; but Sir Thomas did not like him much. I think he hasbeen extravagant. Lady Waldron has been doing her utmost to discoverhim."
"I dare say. To be sure she has! Advertised largely of course. Oh dear,oh dear! What poor simple creatures we men are, in comparison withwomen!"
Mr. Penniloe was silent. He had made a good dinner, and taken a glass ofold port-wine; and both those proceedings were very rare with him. Likeall extremely abstemious men, when getting on in years, he found hisbrain not strengthened, but confused, by the unusual supply. The air ofLondon had upon him that effect which it often has at first uponvisitors from the country--quick increase of appetite, and hearty joy infeeding.
"Another thing you told me, which confirms my view," resumed therelentless Doctor--"the last thing discovered before you came away--butnot discovered, mark you, by her ladyship's agents--was that the cartsupposed to have been employed had been traced to a smuggler'shiding-place, in a desolate and unfrequented spot, probably in thedirection of the coast. Am I right in supposing that?"
"Partly so. It would be towards the sea; though certainly not theshortest way."
"But the best way probably of getting at the coast, if you wished toavoid towns and villages? That you admit? Then all is plain. Poor SirThomas was to be exported. Probably to Spain. That I will not pretend todetermine; but I think it most likely. Perhaps to be buried in Catholicsoil, and with Catholic ceremonial; which they could not do openly here,because of his own directions. How simple the very deepest mysterybecomes, when once you have the key to it! But how strange that it neveroccurred to you! I should have thought Gronow at any rate would haveguessed it."
"He has more penetration than I have; I am well aware of that," repliedthe humble Parson; "and you of course have more than either of us. Butfor all that, Gowler, and although I admit that your theory is veryplausible, and explains many points that seemed inexplicable, I cannot,and I will not accept it for a moment."
"Where is your difficulty? Is it not simple--consistent with all thatwe know of such people, priest-ridden of course, and double-faced, andcrafty? Does it not solve every difficulty? What can you urge againstit?"
"My firm belief in the honesty, affection, and good faith of women."
"Whew!" The great physician forgot his dignity, in the enjoyment of sofine a joke. He gave a long whistle, and then put his thumb to his nose,and extended his fingers, as schoolboys of that period did. "Honesty ofwomen, Penniloe! At your age, you surely know better than that. A veryfrail argument indeed."
"Because of my age it is perhaps that I do know better. I would rathernot discuss the subject. You have your views; and I have mine."
"I am pleased with this sort of thing, because it reminds one so much ofboyhood;" Sir Harrison stood by the fire, and began to consult his shortgray locks. "Let me see, how many years is it, since I cherished suchillusions? Well, they are pleasant enough while they last. I suppose younever make a bet, Penniloe?"
"Of course not, Gowler. You seem to be as ignorant of clergymen, as youare of women."
"Don't be touchy, my dear fellow. Many of the cloth accept the odds, andhave privilege of clergy when they lose. Well, I'll tell you what I willdo. You see that little cupboard in the panelling? It has only one key,and the lock is peculiar. Here I deposit--behold my act and deed--thesetwo fifty-pound notes. You take the key. Now you shall come, or sendeither churchwarden, and carry them off for the good of yourchurch-restoration fund, the moment you can prove that my theory iswrong."
"I am not sure," said the clergyman, with a little agitation, as thecourage of that single glass of port declined, "that this is not toomuch in the nature of a wager."
"No, there is no wager. That requires two parties. It is simply aquestion of forfeiture. No peril to a good cause--as you would callit--in case of failure. And a solid gain to it, if I prove wrong. Takethe key, my friend. My time is up."
Mr. Penniloe, the most conscientious of mankind, and therefore the mostgentle, had still some qualms about the innocence of this. But hisfriend's presumptuous manner hushed them. He dropped the key into hisdeep watch-pocket, specially secured against the many rogues of London;and there it was when he mounted on the _Magnet_ coach, at two o'clockon the Friday afternoon, prepared for a long and dreary journey to hishome.
The _Magnet_ was one of those calm and considerate coaches which thoughta great deal more of the comfort and safety of their passengers andhorses, than of the fidgety hands of any clock--be it even a cathedralclock--on the whole road from London to Exeter. What are the mostimportant hours of the day? Manifestly those of feeding. Each of them isworth any other three. Therefore, you lose three times the time yousave, by omitting your dinner. This coach breakfasted, dined, andsupped, and slept on the road, or rather out of it, and started again asfresh as paint, quite early enough in the morning.
With his usual faith in human nature, Mr. Penniloe had not enquired intothese points, but concluded that this coach would rush along in thebreathless manner of the _Tallyho_. This leisurely course began to makehim very nervous, and when on the Saturday at two o'clock, anotherdeliberate halt was made at a little wayside inn, some fifty miles stillfrom Perlycross, and every one descended with a sprightly air, theclergyman marched up to the coachman to remonstrate.
"Unless we get on a little faster," he said, with a kind but anxioussmile; "I shall not be at home for Sunday."
"Can't help that, sir. The coach must dine;" replied the fat driver, ashe pulled his muffler down, to give his capacious mouth fair play.
"But--but consider, Mr. Coachman; I must get home. I have my church toserve."
"Must serve the dinner first, sir, if you please," said the landlordcoming forward with a napkin, which he waved as if it were worth a scoreof sermons: "all the gents are waiting, sir, for you to say thegrace--hot soup, knuckle of veal, boiled round, and baked potatoes.Gents has to pay, if they dine, or if they don't. Knowing this, allgents does dine. Preach all the better, sir, to-morrow for it."
If this preparation were needful, the curate's sermon would not havebeen excellent, for anxiety had spoiled his appetite. When at lengththey lumbered on again, he strove to divert his thoughts by observinghis fellow-passengers. And now for the firs
t time he descried, over theluggage piled on the roof, a man with a broad slouched hat and furcloak, who sat with his back towards him, for Mr. Penniloe had taken hisplace on the hinder part of the coach. That man had not joined thedinner party, yet no one remained on the coach or in it during thedinner hour; for the weather was cold and windy, with a few flakes ofsnow flying idly all day, and just making little ribs of white upon theroad. Mr. Penniloe was not a very observant man, least of all on aSaturday, when his mind was dwelling chiefly upon Scriptural subjects;but he could not help wondering how this man came there; for the coachhad not stopped since they left the little inn.
This perhaps drew his attention to the man, who appeared to be"thoroughly a foreigner," as John Bull in those days expressed it. Forhe wore no whiskers, but a long black beard streaked with silver, aseven those behind could see, for the whirl of the north wind tossed itnow and then upon his left shoulder. He kept his head low behind thecoachman's broad figure, and appeared to speak to nobody, but smokedcigars incessantly, lighting each from the stump of its predecessor, andscattering much ash about, to the discomfort of his neighbours' eyes.Although Mr. Penniloe never smoked, he enjoyed the fragrance of a goodcigar, perhaps more than the puffer himself does (especially if he pufftoo vehemently), and he was able to pronounce this man's tobacco veryfine.
At length they arrived at Pumpington, about six miles from Perlycross,and here Mr. Penniloe fully expected another halt for supper, and hadmade up his mind in that case to leave the coach and trudge home afoot.But to his relief, they merely changed horses, and did that with someshow of alacrity; for they were bound to be at Exeter that night, andthe snow was beginning to thicken. At the turnpike-gate two men got up;one of them a sailor, going probably to Plymouth, who mounted thetarpaulin that covered the luggage, and threw himself flat upon it witha jovial air, and made himself quite at home, smoking a short pipe, andwaving a black bottle, when he could spare time from sucking it. Theother man came and sat beside the Parson, who did not recognise him atfirst; for the coach carried only two lamps, both in front, and theirlight was thrown over their shoulders now and then, in rough streams,like the beard of the foreigner. All the best coaches still carried aguard, and the Royal Mail was bound to do so; but the Magnet towards theend of its career had none.
Mr. Penniloe meekly allowed the new-comer to edge his feet gradually outof the straw nest, and work his own into the heart of it; for now it wastruly a shivering and a shuddering night. The steam of the horses andtheir breath came back in turbid clouds, and the snow, or soft hail (nowknown as _graupel_), cut white streaks through them into travellers'eyes, and danced on the roof like lozenges. Nobody opened mouth, exceptthe sailor; and his was stopped, as well as opened, by the admirable fitof the neck of his rum-bottle. But this being over-strained became toosoon a hollow consolation; and the rim of the glass rattled drilyagainst his chattering teeth, till he cast it away.
"Never say die, mates. I'll sing you a song. Don Darkimbo, give us acigar to chaw. Never could smoke them things, gentlemen and ladies.Can't 'e speak, or won't 'e then? Never mind, here goes!"
To his own encouragement this jolly fellow, with his neck and chestthrown open, and his summer duds on, began to pour forth a roughnautical ballad, not only beyond the pale of the most generousorthodoxy, but entirely out of harmony with the tone of all goodsociety. In plainer words, as stupid a bit of ribaldry and blasphemy asthe most advanced period could produce.
Then up rose Mr. Penniloe, and in a firm voice clear above the piping ofthe wind, and the roar of wheels, and rattle of loose harness,administered to that mariner a rebuke so grave, and solemn, and yet sofull of large kindness and of allowance for his want of teaching, thatthe poor fellow hung his head, and felt a rising in his throat, andbeing not advanced beyond the tender stage of intoxication, passed intoa liquid state of terror and repentance.
With this the clergyman was content, being of longer experience than toindulge in further homily. But the moment he sat down, up rose thegentleman who had cribbed his straw, and addressed the applaudingpassengers.
"My friends, the Reverend Penniloe has spoken well and eloquently. But Ithink you will agree with me, that it would be more consistent of him,and more for the service of the Lord, if he kept his powers of reprooffor the use of his own parishioners. He is the clergyman of Perlycross,a place notorious throughout the country for the most infamous ofcrimes--a place where even the dead are not allowed to sleep in peace."
After this settler, the man sat down, and turned his back on the Parson,who had now recognised him, with deep sorrow at his low malevolence. Forthis was no other than Solomon Pack, watchmaker and jeweller atPumpington, well known among his intimates as "Pack of lies," from hisaffection for malignant gossip. Mr. Penniloe had offended him byemploying the rival tradesman, Pack's own brother-in-law, with whom hewas at bitter enmity.
"Mr. Pack, you have done much harm, I fear; and this is very unjust ofyou"--was all that the Parson deigned to say. But he had observed withsome surprise, that while Pack was speaking, the foreigner turned roundand gazed intently, without showing much of his swarthy face, athimself--Philip Penniloe.
Before silence was broken again, the _Magnet_ drew up at the _Blue Ball_Inn, where the lane turns off towards Perlycross, and the clergymanleaving his valise with the landlord, started upon his three-miletrudge. But before he had walked more than a hundred yards he wassurprised to see, across the angle of the common, that the coach hadstopped again at the top of a slight rise, where a footpath led from theturnpike road towards the northern entrance to Walderscourt. The cloudswere now dispersing, and the full moon shining brightly, and the groundbeing covered with newly fallen snow, the light was as good as it isupon many a winter afternoon. Mr. Penniloe was wearing a pair oflong-sight glasses, specially adapted to his use by a skilful opticianin London, and he was as proud of them as a child is of his firstwhistle. Without them the coach might have been a haystack, or a whale,so far as he could tell; with them he could see the horses, and thepassengers, and the luggage.
Having seen too much of that coach already, he was watching it merely asa test for his new glasses; and the trial proved most satisfactory. "Howproud Fay will be," he was thinking to himself, "when I tell her that Ican see the big pear-tree from the window, and even the thrushes on thelawn!" But suddenly his interest in the sight increased. The man, whowas standing in the road with his figure shown clearly against a snowybank, was no other than that dark foreigner, who had stared at him sointently. There was the slouched hat, and there was the fur cloak, andeven the peculiar bend of the neck. A parcel was thrown to him from theroof, and away he went across the common, quite as if he knew the way,through furze and heather, to the back entrance of Walderscourt grounds.He could not see the Parson in the darker lane below, and doubtlessbelieved himself unseen.
The circumstance aroused some strange ideas in the candid mind ofPenniloe. That man knowing who he was from Pack's tirade, must have beendesirous to avoid him, otherwise he would have quitted the coach at the_Blue Ball_, and taken this better way to Walderscourt; for the lane Mr.Penniloe was following led more directly thither by another entrance.What if there were something, after all, in Gowler's too plausibletheory? That man looked like a Spaniard, probably a messenger from LadyWaldron's scapegrace brother; for that was his character if plain truthwere spoken, without any family gloss upon it. And if he were amessenger, why should he come thus, unless there were something theywanted to conceal?
The Curate had not traversed all this maze of meditations, which madehim feel very miserable--for of all things he hated suspiciousness, andthat L100, though needed so sadly, would be obtained at too high a cost,if the cost were his faith in womankind--when, lo, his own church-towerrose grandly before him, its buttresses and stringing courses cappedwith sparkling snow, and the yew-tree by the battlements feathered withthe same, and away to the east the ivy mantle of the Abbey, laced andbespangled with the like caprice of beauty, showered from theglittering stores of heaven. r />
He put on a spurt through the twinkling air, and the frozen snow crushedbeneath his rapid feet; and presently he had shaken hands withMuggridge, and Fay in her nightgown made a reckless leap from the heightof ten stairs into his gladsome arms.