CHAPTER XXIX.
TWO PUZZLES.
"Then if I understand aright, Lady Waldron, you wish me to drop allfurther efforts for the detection of those miscreants? And that too atthe very moment, when we had some reason to hope that we should at lastsucceed. And all the outlay, which is no trifle, will have been simplythrown away! This course is so extraordinary, that you will not think meinquisitive, if I beg you to explain it."
Mr. Webber, the lawyer, was knitting his forehead, and speaking in atone of some annoyance, and much doubt, as to the correctness of his ownreluctant inference. Meanwhile the Spanish lady was glancing at him withsome dismay, and then at Mr. Penniloe, who was also present, for themorning's discussion had been of business matters.
"No, I doubt very much if you quite comprehend," she answered, with Mr.Penniloe's calm eyes fixed upon her. "I did not propose to speakentirely like that. What I was desirous of describing to you is, that tome it is less of eagerness to be going on with so much haste, until thereturn of my dear son. He for instance will direct things, and with hisgreat--great command of the mind, will make the proceedings to succeed,if it should prove possible for the human mind to do it. And there is noone in this region, that can refuse him anything."
Mr. Penniloe saw that she spoke with some misgivings, and shifted hergaze from himself to the lawyer and back again, with more of enquiry,and less of dictation, than her usual tone conveyed.
"The matter is entirely one for your ladyship's own decision," repliedMr. Webber, beginning to fold up the papers he had submitted. "Mr.Penniloe has left that to us, as was correct, inasmuch as it does notconcern the trust. I will stop all enquiries at once, upon receivingyour instructions to that effect."
"But--but I think you do not well comprehend. Perhaps I could moreclearly place it with the use of my own tongue. It is nothing more thanthis. I wish that my dear son should not give up his appointment asOfficer, and come back to this country, for altogether nothing. I wishthat he should have the delight of thinking that--that it shall be ofhis own procuration, to unfold this mysterious case. Yes, that isit--that is all that I wish--to let things wait a little, until my soncomes."
If either of her listeners had been very keen, or endowed with theterrier nose of suspicion, he would have observed perhaps that the ladyhad found some relief from an afterthought, and was now repeating it asa happy hit. But Mr. Penniloe was too large, and Mr. Webber too rough ofmind--in spite of legal training--to pry into a lady's little turns ofthought.
"Very well, madam," said the lawyer, rising, "that finishes our businessfor to-day, I think. But I beg to congratulate you on your son's return.I cannot call to mind that I have heard of it before. Every one will bedelighted to see him. Even in his father's time, everybody was full ofhim. When may we hope to see him, Lady Waldron?"
"Before very long, I have reason for good hope," the lady replied, witha smile restoring much of the beauty of her careworn face. "I have notheard the day yet; but I know that he will come. He has to obtainpermission from all the proper authorities, of course. And that is likeyour very long and very costful processes of the Great British law, Mr.Webber. But now I will entreat of you to excuse me any more. I havegiven very long attention. Mr. Webber, will you then oblige me by beingthe host to Mr. Penniloe? The refreshment is in the approximate room."
"Devilish fine woman," Mr. Webber whispered, as her ladyship sailedaway. "Wonderfully clever too! How she does her w's--I don't know muchabout them, but I always understood, that there never was any one bornout of England, who could make head or tail of his w's. Why, she speaksEnglish quite like a native! But I see you are looking at me. Shockingmanners, I confess, to swear in the presence of a parson, sir; thoughplenty of them do it--ha, ha, ha!--in their own absence, I suppose."
"It is not my presence, Mr. Webber. That makes it neither better norworse. But the presence of God is everywhere."
"To be sure! So it is. Come into the next room. Her ladyship said weshould find something there. I suppose we shan't see Missy though," saidthe lawyer, as he led the Parson to the luncheon-table. "She fights veryshy of your humble servant now. Girls never forgive that sort of thing.I don't often make such a mistake though, do I? And it was my sonWaldron's fault altogether. Waldron is a sharp fellow, but not like me.Can't see very far into a milestone. Pity to stop the case, before wecleared Fox. I don't understand this new turn though. A straw shows theway the wind blows. Something behind the scenes, Mr. Penniloe. Morethere than meets the eye. Is it true that old Fox is dropping off thehooks?"
"If you mean to ask me, Mr. Webber, what I have heard about his state ofhealth, I fear that there is little hope of his recovery. Dr. Foxreturns to-morrow, as you may have heard through--through your especialagents. You know what my opinion is of that proceeding on your part."
"Yes, you spoke out pretty plainly. And, by George, you were right, sir!As fine a property as any in the county. I had no idea it was half asmuch. Why, bless my heart sir, Jemmy Fox will be worth his L8000 a year,they tell me!"
"I am glad that his worth," Mr. Penniloe said quietly, "is sufficient_per annum_ to relieve him from your very dark suspicion."
"Got me there!" replied Webber, with a laugh. "Ah, you parsons alwaysbeat the lawyers. Bury us, don't you? If you find no other way. But weget the last fee after all. Probate, sir, Probate is an expensive thing.Well, I must be off. I see my gig is ready. If you can make my peacewith Jemmy Fox, say a word for me. After all it looked uncommonly black,you know. And young men should be forgiving."
Scarcely had his loud steps ceased to ring, when a very light pit-a-patsucceeded, and Mr. Penniloe found himself in far more interestingcompany. Nicie came softly, and put back her hair, and offered herlovely white forehead to be kissed, and sat down with a smile thatbegged pardon for a sigh.
"Oh, Uncle Penniloe, I am so glad! I thought I should never have a talkwith you again. My fortune has been so frightful lately. Everythingagainst me, the same as it has been with this dear little soul here."
She pointed to _Jess_, the wounded one, who trotted in cheerfully uponthree legs, with the other strapped up in a white silk pouch. The littledoggie wagged her tail, and looked up at the Clergyman, with her largeeyes full of soft gratitude and love; as by that reflex action, which adog's eyes have without moving, they took in--and told their intensedelight in--that vigilant nurse, and sweet comrade, Nicie.
"Oh, she is so proud;" Miss Waldron said, looking twice as proudherself; "this is the first time that she has had the privilege of goingupon three legs, without anybody's hand; and she does think so much ofherself! _Jess_, go and show Uncle Penniloe what she can do, now herhealth is coming back. _Jess_, go and cut a little caper--very steadily,you know, for fear of going twisty; and keep her tail up, all the time!Now _Jess_ come, and have a pretty kiss; because she has earned itsplendidly."
"She takes my breath away, because she is so good;" continued Nicie,leaning over her. "I have studied her character for six weeks now, andthere is not a flaw to be found in it, unless it is a noble sort ofjealousy. _Pixie_"--here _Jess_ uttered a sharp small growl, and showeda few teeth as good as ever--"I must not mention his name again, becauseit won't do to excite her; but he is out in the cold altogether, becausehe has never shown any heroism. No, no, he shan't come, _Jess_. He islocked up, for want of chivalry. Oh, Uncle Penniloe, there is onequestion I have long been wanting to ask you. Do you think it possiblefor even God to forgive the man--the brute, I mean--who slashed thislittle dear like that, for being so loving, and so true?"
"My dear child," Mr. Penniloe replied; "I have just been saying tomyself, how like your dear father you are growing--in goodness andkindness of face, I mean. But when you look like that, the resemblanceis quite lost. I should never have thought you capable of such aferocious aspect."
"Ah, that is because you don't know what I can do." But as she spoke,her arched brows were relaxing, and her flashing eyes filled with theirusual soft gleam. "You forget that I am half a Spaniard still, or at anyrate a
quarter one, and therefore I can be very terrible sometimes. Ah,you should have seen me the other day. I let somebody know who I am. Hethought perhaps that butter wouldn't melt in my mouth. Did not Iastonish him, the impertinent low wretch?"
"Why, Nicie, this is not at all like you! I always quote you as a modelof sweet temper. Who can have aroused your angry passions thus?"
"Oh, never mind. I should like to tell you, and I want to tell you verymuch. But I am not permitted, though I don't know why. My mother hasbegged me particularly not to speak of that man who came--gentleman, Isuppose he would call himself--but there, I am telling you all abouthim! And mother is so different, and so much more humble now. If shewere still as unfair as she was, I should not be so particular. But sheseems to be so sad, and so mysterious now, without accusing any one. Andso I will not say a word against her orders. You would not wish it,Uncle Penniloe, I am sure."
"Certainly not, my dear. I will not ask another question. I have noticedthat your mother is quite different myself. I hope she is not fallinginto really bad health."
"No, I don't think that. But into frightfully low spirits. We haveenough to account for that, haven't we, Uncle Penniloe? To think of mydear father, all this time! What can I do? I am so wretchedly helpless.I try to trust in God, and to say to myself--'What does the earthly partmatter, after all? When the soul is with the Lord, or only waiting forHis time, and perhaps rewarded all the better--because--because ofwicked treatment here.' But oh, it won't do, Uncle Penniloe, it won't,when I think how noble and how good he was, and to be treated in thatway! And then I fall away, and cry, and sob, and there comes such apain--such a pain in my heart, that I have no breath left, and can onlylie down, and pray that God would take me to my father. Is it wicked? Isuppose it is. But how am I to help it?"
"No, my dear, it is not wicked to give way sometimes." The Parson'svoice was tremulous, at sight of her distress, and remembrance of hisown, not so very long ago. "Sorrow is sent to all of us, and doubtlessfor our good; and if we did not feel it, how could we be at all improvedby it? But you have borne it well, my child; and so has your goodmother, considering how the first sad blow has been doubled andprolonged so strangely. But now it will be better for you, ever so muchbetter, Nicie, with your dear brother home again."
"But when will that be? Perhaps not for years. We do not even know wherehe is. They were not likely to stay long in Malta. He may be at the Capeof Good Hope by this time, if the ship has had long enough to get there.Everything seems to be so much against us."
"Are you sure that you are right, my dear?" Mr. Penniloe asked with nolittle surprise. "From what your mother said just now, I hoped that Ishould see my old pupil very soon."
"I am afraid not, Uncle Penniloe. My dear mother seems to confuse thingsa little, or not quite understand them. Through her late illness, nodoubt it is. We have not had a word from Tom, since that letter, whichhad such a wonderful effect, as I told you, when you were gone toLondon. And then, if you remember, he had no idea how long they were tobe at Valetta. And he said nothing about their future movements veryclearly. So full of his duties, no doubt, that he had no time to writelong particulars. Even now he may never have heard of--of what hashappened, and our sad condition. They may have been at sea, ever sincehe wrote. Soldiers can never tell where they may have to be."
"That has always been so, and is a part of discipline;" the Parson wasthinking of the Centurion and his men. "But even if your letter shouldhave gone astray, they must have seen some English newspapers, I shouldthink."
"Tom is very clever, as you know, Uncle Penniloe; but he never reads aword, when he can help it. And besides that, it is only fair toremember that he is under Government. And the Government never neglectsan opportunity of turning right into left, and the rest upside down. Ifall the baggage intended for their draft, was sent to the West Indies,because they were ordered to the East, it ought to follow that theirletters would go too. But the worst of it is that one cannot be surethey will stick to a mistake, after making it."
"It is most probable that they would; especially if it were pointed outto them. Your dear father told me that they never forgive anybody forcorrecting them. But how then could your mother feel so sure about Tom'scoming home almost immediately?"
"It puzzles me, until I have time to think;" answered Nicie, lookingdown. "She has never said a word to me about it, beyond praying andhoping for Tom to come home. Oh, I know, or at least I can guess, how!She may have had a dream--she believes firmly in her dreams, and she hasnot had time to tell me yet."
Mr. Penniloe had no right to seek further, and no inclination so to do.The meanest, mangiest, and most sneaking understrapper of that recentaddition to our liberal institutions--the "Private Enquiry Firm"--couldnever have suspected Nicie Waldron, after looking at her, of any ofthose subterfuges, which he (like a slack-skin'd worm) wriggles into.But on the other hand who could suppose that Lady Waldron wouldendeavour to mislead her own man of business by a trumpery deceit? Andyet who was that strange visitor, of whom her daughter was not allowedto speak?
Unable to understand these things, the curate shortly took his leave,being resolved, like a wise man, to think as little as he could aboutthem, until Time--that mighty locksmith, at whom even Love rarely winsthe latest laugh--should bring his skeleton key to bear on the wards ofthis enigma.
What else can a busy man do, when puzzled even by his own affairs? Andhow much more must it be so, in the business of other persons, which hedoubts his right to meddle with? Perhaps it would have been difficult tofind any male member of our race more deeply moved by the haps andmishaps of his fellow-creatures than this Parson of Perlycross; and yethe could take a rosier view for most of them than they took forthemselves. So when he left the grounds of Walderscourt, he buttoned uphis Spencer, and stepped out bravely, swinging his stick vigorously, andtrusting in the Lord.
"What did 'e hat me vor, like that?" cried a voice of complaint from abrambled ditch, outside a thick copse known as Puddicombe Wood. Mr.Penniloe had not got his glasses on, and was grieved to feel rather thanto see, although he was at the right end of his stick, that he hadbrought it down (with strong emphasis of a passage in his coming sermon)on the head of a croucher in that tangled ditch.
"Oh I beg your pardon! I am so sorry. I had not the least idea there wasanybody there. I was thinking of the Sower, and the cares that choke theseed. But get up, and let me see what I have done. What made you hideyourself down there? I am not the gamekeeper. Why, it is Sam Speccotty!Poaching again, I am afraid, Sam. But I hope I have not hurt you--sovery much."
"Bruk' my head in two. That's what you have done, Passon. Oh you can'tgoo to tell on me, after hatting me on the brains with clubstick! Ooh,ooh, ooh! I be gooing to die, I be."
"Speccotty, no lies, and no shamming!" Mr. Penniloe put on hisspectacles, for he knew his customer well enough,--a notorious poacher,but very seldom punished, because he was considered "a natural." "Thisis no clubstick, but a light walking-stick; and between it and your headthere was a thick briar, as well as this vast mop of hair. Let me seewhat you have got under that tree-root."
Sam had been vainly endeavouring to lead his Minister away from his ownlittle buried napkin, or rather sack of hidden treasure. "Turn it out;"commanded the Parson, surprised at his own austerity.
"A brace of cock-pheasants, a couple of woodcocks, two couple ofrabbits, and a leash of hares! Oh, Sam, Sam! What have you done?Speccotty, I am ashamed of you."
"Bain't no oother chap within ten maile," said Speccotty, regarding thesubject from a different point of view; "as could a' dooed that, sincedree o'clock this marnin'; now Passon do 'e know of wan?"
"I am happy to say that I do not; neither do I wish for hisacquaintance. Give up your gun, Sam. Even if I let you off, I insistupon your tools; as well as all your plunder."
"Han't a got no goon," replied the poacher, looking slyly at the Parson,through the rough shock of his hair. "Never vired a goon, for none on'un. Knows how to vang 'un, wi'out thiccy."<
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"I can well believe that." Mr. Penniloe knew not a little of poachers,from his boyish days, and was not without that secret vein of sympathyfor them, which every sportsman has, so long as they elude and do notdefy the law. "But I must consider what I shall do. Send all this to myhouse to-night, that I may return it to the proper owners. Unless you dothat, you will be locked up to-morrow."
"Oh Passon, you might let me have the Roberts. To make a few broth formy old moother."
"Not a hair, nor a feather shall you keep. Your mother shall have somehonest broth--but none of your stolen rabbits, Speccotty. You take it solightly, that I fear you must be punished."
"Oh don't 'e give me up, sir. Oh, my poor head do go round so! Don't 'egive me up, for God's sake, Passon. Two or dree things I can tell 'e, as'e 'd give the buttons off thy coat to know on. Do 'e mind when theDevil wor seen on Hagdon Hill, the day avore the good lady varled alldown the Harseshoe?"
"I do remember hearing some foolish story, Sam, and silly people beingfrightened by some strange appearances, very easily explained, nodoubt."
"You volk, as don't zee things, can make 'un any colour to your ownliking. But I tell 'e old Nick gooed into the body of a girt wild cat upthere; and to this zide of valley, her be toorned to a black dog. Zayethso in the Baible, don't 'un?"
"I cannot recall any passage, Sam, to that effect; though I am oftensurprised by the knowledge of those who use Holy Scripture for argument,much more freely than for guidance. And I fear that is the case withyou."
"Whuther a' dooed it, or whuther a' did not, I be the ekal of 'un, thatI be. When her coom to me, a'gapin' and a yawnin', I up wi' bill-hook,and I gie'd 'un zummat. If 'tis gone back to hell a' harth, a' wun'tcoom out again, I reckon, wi'out Sam Speccotty's mark on 'un. 'Twillzave 'e a lot of sarmons, Passon. Her 'ont want no more knockin' on thehead, this zide of Yester, to my reckoning. Hor! Passon be gone a'ready;a' don't want to hear of that. Taketh of his trade away. Ah, I couldtell 'un zomethin', if a' wadn't such a softie."
Mr. Penniloe had hastened on, and no longer swung his holly-stick; notthrough fear of knocking any more skulking poachers on the head, butfrom the sadness which always fell upon him, at thought of the dark anddeadly blow the Lord had been pleased to inflict on him.