Tafeard Inn 
 Library 
 
 Under tte 
 THE 
 
 marxafccment of 
 
 HOME OFFICER 
 1030 Chestnut 3t. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA.
 
 THE WHITE 
 COTTAGE
 
 THE WHITE 
 COTTAGE 
 
 BY 
 
 ZACK 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 1901
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 TROW DIRECTORY 
 
 PRINTIHG AND BOOKBIHDIRO COMPACT 
 NEW YORK
 
 URL 
 SRLF 
 
 THE WHITE 
 COTTAGE
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 HALF-WAY between two headlands lay the 
 fishing village of Bere- Upton, a handful of 
 cottages, some crushed in between the cliffs, 
 others struggling upwards, following the 
 hill's incline. Far out on the horizon's edge 
 the November sun glowed dully across the 
 water, and then sank out of sight, as if over- 
 whelmed by the rising sea. In the bay a 
 boat drifted before the wind, the tiller yaw- 
 ing from side to side unheeded, as a fisher- 
 man drew in and coiled up his lines. The 
 gulls wheeled round him uttering harsh 
 cries; once he raised his head and looked 
 past them at a small white-washed cottage 
 that stood on the cliff's edge apart from the 
 rest of the village and stared back at him 
 from its lattice windows. The young fellow 
 
 1
 
 2 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 smiled, and his keen, sensitive face became 
 for the moment almost beautiful. 
 
 " When me and Luce be man and wife," 
 he exclaimed, " us will rent that cottage as 
 sure as my name is Mark Tavy." Lowering 
 the sail, he took up the oars and began to 
 row shore- wards. Mark Tavy was barely 
 twenty-six, but he looked older; there was a 
 strain of religious enthusiasm in his blood, 
 and his face, without being spiritual, was 
 worn with inward conflict. The sun sank 
 beneath the horizon, solitariness crept over 
 sea and land and into Mark's heart. Rest- 
 ing on his oars he fell into a reverie. 
 
 " The Bible says," he muttered, " that the 
 man who holds by the Almighty, the Al- 
 mighty will hold by him. Well, I have led 
 a clean life an' acted fair. The devil ain't 
 never bested me yet, and what's more, he 
 never shall." A curious muffled sound, 
 like a subdued laugh, echoed across the 
 water as the wind dropped round a point 
 more east. Mark glanced about him un-
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 3 
 
 easily. "One could most believe that he 
 was on the listen. Well, let him listen. 
 He can't work me no harm. I'm on the 
 Lord's side." Bending over his oars he sent 
 the boat forward with long swinging strokes, 
 and a few moments later the keel grated on 
 the shingle. 
 
 Mark's parents had been dead two years ; 
 they had been upright, hard-grained, unsocia- 
 ble people, respected but not liked. Fully 
 assured that when they died their funeral 
 would be well attended, they had cared little 
 that during life their company remained 
 unsought. At their death he went to live 
 with his widowed sister, Susan Flutter. 
 Mark passed her door without entering, 
 turned into a side track and came at last to 
 the White Cottage on the cliff. The moon 
 had risen, and the barred door and garden, 
 shorn of flowers, would have looked desolate 
 to other eyes ; but Mark's were full of visions 
 of future happiness. In imagination he saw 
 Luce standing at the door with his child in
 
 4 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 her arms, a child so like Luce and yet his. 
 The wind whistled through the bare trees, 
 and he thought he heard again the music of 
 spring, as it had sounded on the far away 
 April morning when love first awoke in his 
 heart. 
 
 "God will ing, I'll be a good husband to 
 Luce," he murmured, " though her has never 
 cared for me the same as I have for her." 
 
 Luce was the only child of John Myrtle, 
 the village stone-mason, and even among the 
 maids of Bere-Upton, who were famous for 
 their good looks, she was accounted a beau- 
 tiful woman. Mark and she had been 
 friends in childhood; once when she had 
 stood in mortal fear of being carried off by 
 pixies, she had willingly promised to marry 
 him. On reaching manhood Mark had tried 
 hard to get her to renew her promise, but 
 though she had liked him better than the 
 other village lads, and had felt that some 
 day she might be his wife, she had yielded 
 half-heartedly and not till after long press-
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 5 
 
 ing. Mark, thinking of her strange absent 
 moods when her thoughts and love seemed 
 to wander from him, sighed wearily as he 
 turned away and retraced his steps to 
 Widow Flutter's cottage. 
 
 Entering the kitchen he found his sister's 
 two lovers, Constable Garge and Septimus 
 Spong, the postman, seated one on each side 
 of the fire. A pleasant smell issued from 
 the frying-pan, which the buxom widow 
 shook gently while the contents crackled 
 and spat. 
 
 "Tripe and chitlings mixed," exclaimed 
 Septimus Spong, with a nod of satisfaction. 
 The meal over, and the widow busy washing 
 up the tea things in the scullery, Constable 
 Garge moved his chair back to the fire and 
 seemed to fall into a dream, while the light 
 from the flames drew his big figure in gigan- 
 tic shadow on the wall and shone on his 
 corn-coloured beard, turning it to a red gold. 
 
 A sudden determination came to the 
 young fellow. " Septimus," he said, address-
 
 6 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 ing Spong, " you know that little white- 
 washed cottage o' yours that stands by 
 itself upo' the cliff yonder. Well, I've 
 been thinking lately of getting married and 
 settling down comfortable. I reckon that 
 little snip o' a house wud be just the thing I 
 want." 
 
 "Law," exclaimed Spong, "who be you 
 gwaying to marry ? The widdy's your sister. 
 But then," he added, as Mark burst into a 
 laugh, " if you give me a bit o' help wi' som- 
 mat I've set my mind on, we'll talk about the 
 cottage later. Happen you don't know," he 
 continued, casting a quick glance at his 
 rival, " that the widdy's latest fancy is none 
 other than to be wooed in vuss. Well, I sat 
 in a draught the best part o' last night, but 
 nary a line was I the better for it. I took 
 the widdy to pieces in my mind's eye, as a 
 man might a clock, but not one part o' her 
 rhymed wi' t'other, and yet, mind you, her's 
 that pleasant to look on, a man could have 
 sworn there was vuss in her somewhere."
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 7 
 
 "Well," exclaimed Mark, glancing down 
 at the man's red face, with its mingled ex- 
 pression of cunning and simplicity, "what 
 will you do ? " 
 
 " Did 'ee ever write a vuss yourself ? " 
 
 The young fisherman coloured. " Once," 
 he answered, " but I tore un up." 
 
 " Would he fit the widdy ? " 
 
 " Law bless 'ee," Mark replied, not with- 
 out indignation, "that was writ to a maid." 
 
 " I ain't got nought to say agin thic. The 
 widdy was a maid herself once." 
 
 Mark cleared his throat. " Come outside," 
 he said. " Poo'try's warm work." 
 
 "Aye, there isn't its ekal for taking the 
 flesh off a man," agreed Spong, picking up 
 his cap from the table and following Mark 
 out. "Well," he continued when the door 
 closed behind them, "let us have the vuss." 
 
 The young fellow drew in a quick breath 
 and glanced first down the silent street and 
 then up at the sky where the stars flashed 
 one against the other.
 
 8 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 " A man," he said, " feels more like poo'- 
 try out here." 
 
 " Aye," Spoug assented ; " the wind is due 
 east. Don't keep me puddling round longer 
 than needsome." 
 
 " Well," Mark explained, " the lines run 
 so: 
 
 I. 
 
 " Her eyes they be so dimmet brown, 
 
 Her hair is rust o' gold. 
 And all the skies must tummil down 
 Before she shall grow old. 
 
 II. 
 
 " Her breath is cool upo' the lips 
 
 As dew upo' the fern, 
 And he who first its freshness sips, 
 
 Has nothing left to earn. 
 
 III. 
 
 " Her thoughts be sweet as young spring grass 
 
 That greens the pleasant plain. 
 And he who dares to woo the lass, 
 
 Must keep his heart full clane.
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 9 
 
 " That be they," Mark exclaimed, heaving 
 a sigh. "It makes me sweat all over to 
 think that I ever wrote 'em. And now for 
 the cottage." 
 
 "Well," replied Spong slowly, "I be 
 most 'mazing sorry, but I let un not more 
 than an hour ago to Ben Lupin." 
 
 " Ben Lupin ! " cried the young fisherman, 
 a sudden fierce anger blazing up in his blue 
 eyes. 
 
 " Aye, he's come home at last." 
 
 " Curse him ! " exclaimed Mark. " Five 
 years he's bided quiet, and now he comes and 
 takes the little home I have set my heart on 
 to build his own nest in." 
 
 An expression, half pity, half contempt, 
 passed across Septimus Spong's face. " Ben 
 Lupin be one o' they that things fall to," he 
 said ; " and you, if I know aught o' men, 
 belong to them folk that desarve and don't 
 git. Wall, wall, this is a queer world ; 'tis 
 better to be born lucky than wise." 
 
 Mark did not wait for the end of the
 
 10 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 homily, but strode off up the hill, head bent, 
 shoulders hunched, and hands thrust deep 
 into his pockets. 
 
 Spong watched him a moment, and then 
 turned to re-enter the cottage. " Dang me," 
 he exclaimed suddenly, stopping short, " if 
 that there poo'try vusa iddn't gone clane 
 out o' my head, and the chances be that I 
 shan't light on un agin this side o' the Day 
 o' Jidginent."
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 IT seemed to Mark, as he walked away, 
 that his disappointment would have been 
 less bitter if the cottage had been taken by 
 any other man than Ben Lupin. He and 
 Ben were about the same age, their interests 
 had clashed before, and in each instance it 
 mattered little whether Mark had right on 
 his side or not, the result had been the same, 
 and the event decided in Lupin's favour. 
 Mark saw himself as a just man perhaps 
 that is how we all see ourselves ; he desired 
 to believe in a world where good and bad 
 met with their deserts, but into such a well- 
 regulated universe the figure of Ben Lupin 
 obstinately refused to fit. 
 
 It may be that he inherited from his father, 
 
 old Timothy Lupin the poacher, a certain 
 
 11
 
 12 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 faculty for the slipping out of as well as 
 into difficulties. The Bere-Uptonites told 
 strange tales of the old man over their ale, 
 hinting at more than they cared to put into 
 words ; but of Ben himself they spoke out 
 freely enough, for though when on mischief 
 bent he never skimped the doing of it, he 
 sinned with so bare a face and in so open a 
 manner, that men could not but hold the 
 deed less black than in truth it was. 
 
 During the five years of Lupin's absence, 
 Mark had not thought much about him, 
 
 O f 
 
 except when some glaring instance of the 
 wicked flourishing forced itself upon his 
 attention ; then he would track down the 
 fields of memory, and pinning Lupin, 
 would drag him forth into the broad light 
 of experience, exclaiming : " There, he's just 
 such another." Indeed, Lupin, as depicted 
 by Mark's mental vision, cut but a sorry 
 figure not that he was intentionally mis- 
 represented, but rather, that Mark, summing 
 up his own failures, dumped them straight
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 13 
 
 down in paint, as Lupin's ill-gotten success. 
 Nothing, perhaps, would have astonished 
 Ben Lupin more, had it been possible for 
 him to realize it, than the strength of the 
 resentment which he had aroused in Mark. 
 Personally he bore no grudge against, neither 
 had he ever wished to compete with, the 
 young fisherman ; he had rather a contempt 
 for him than otherwise. Events that had left 
 a rankling sore in Mark's heart, had passed 
 by, making little or no impression on Lup- 
 in's: the fight, the struggle against too heavy 
 odds, the ultimate inevitable failure, had 
 fallen to Mark ; success marched with Lupin, 
 and he had not even heard the jarring of its 
 wheels. Insignificant and all but forgotten 
 events thronged through the young fellow's 
 mind as he hurried forward, trivial episodes 
 left behind him with boyhood. He recalled 
 the day on which he had found his first 
 hobby-hawk's nest, and lying face down- 
 wards on the clifFs edge, had pointed out 
 the spot to Lupin, and Ben in return had
 
 14 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 taken all the eggs. True, the nest was 
 situated in an almost inaccessible place, and 
 Mark had but poor skill as a cragsman yet, 
 he had always felt that the eggs ought to 
 have been his. When he had expressed this 
 opinion to Lupin, the latter had laughed and 
 said that if he could climb down to the 
 spot, then he would give him back the eggs. 
 Many a time Mark had adventured to do 
 this, while Ben grinned down derisively at 
 him from above, but success never crowned 
 his efforts partly because he lacked skill, 
 yet more perhaps that Lupin's disbelief in 
 his power prevented him from making full 
 use of the skill he had. Once raked out of 
 the limbo of forgetful ness, his thoughts dwelt 
 lingeringly on the trivial affair ; there seemed 
 some mysterious affinity between it and Lup- 
 in's present action in depriving him of the 
 cottage. The possibility that Ben might 
 well have been unconscious of the disappoint- 
 ment he inflicted, had no force of appeal, and 
 was dismissed with scant courtesy from the
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 15 
 
 young fisherman's mind. Resentment burnt 
 too hot and the light from its flames fell in 
 too partial a fashion. 
 
 The Myrtles' cottage stood at the corner 
 of a long lane which, turning off at right 
 angles, ran back in the direction of the sea. 
 When, a few minutes later, Mark drew near 
 the spot, he saw, seated on a low wall facing 
 the house, the figure of Lupin. Ben, care- 
 lessly dressed, his cotton shirt open at the 
 throat, showing his muscular brown neck, 
 both hands thrust deep into his trouser 
 pockets, heels beating a tattoo upon the 
 wall, sat with his head flung back, while 
 from his lips issued the sound of a whistle, 
 so clear and full, that it might have come 
 from some deep-throated bird. Conscious 
 of his own well-clothed person, Mark's re- 
 sentment grew less keen, a feeling almost of 
 satisfaction stole through him, and he saw, 
 as if cut in stone, the advantage of respect- 
 ability. Stopping short, he looked at the 
 Myrtles' cottage. The front windows were
 
 16 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 open and the blinds up. A moment he half 
 pitied Ben, the next he realized the core of 
 meaning concealed beneath the spectacle, 
 and it seemed to him but just that Lupin 
 should have made choice of such a spot to 
 cut so sorry a figure in. Buoyed up by the 
 fitness of things, Mark advanced and knocked 
 loudly at the Myrtles' door. The force of 
 the whole universe seemed beneath the knock 
 as the sound of it went echoing down the 
 street. For a long time, however, it re- 
 mained unanswered. At last, just as Mark 
 was raising his hand for a second applica- 
 tion, the door was opened by John Myrtle. 
 
 "What in thunder be that devil's tune 
 you've been playing on the panels ? " he 
 asked, in an exasperated voice, poking his 
 red face close to Mark's. 
 
 The young fisherman drew back, he was 
 conscious that Lupin had ceased to whistle 
 and was listening for his reply. Half glanc- 
 ing round he caught Lupin's deep-set black 
 eyes fixed on him. For a moment he stared
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 17 
 
 angrily back at the ugly, rough-cut face 
 with its expression of mingled humour and 
 daring, then he addressed himself to John 
 Myrtle. 
 
 " I've jest called round to speak to Luce," 
 he said. 
 
 " Wull, there's nought agin 'ee a-doing so, 
 if you knaws your place, and behaves like 
 any other respectable lad," Myrtle answered. 
 " Will 'ee come in, or shall I ax her to step 
 outto'ee?" 
 
 The publicity in which he was being put 
 to shame caused the hot colour to mount to 
 Mark's face, for the ill-timed loudness of the 
 knock hardly out-rivalled John Myrtle's voice, 
 in scope of sound. " I wud rather zee her 
 here," he said. 
 
 "Zo be then," and Myrtle returned into 
 the house in search of his daughter. There 
 was a long pause ; Lupin began again to 
 whistle: loud, full, clear, the notes seemed 
 to fill the air with a sweet freshness. The 
 sound, more like a wood-bird calling to its
 
 18 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 mate than a man whistling, only served to 
 increase Mark's irritation there was an ob- 
 vious impropriety in such music coining from 
 such lips. At last, reluctantly, as if drawn 
 against her will, Luce approached. 
 
 Putting his hand on her arm, " Come wi' 
 me," he said ; " there's sommat I want to tell 
 you." In the half light he could see that she 
 was unusually pale. 
 
 " Wait till I get my shawl," she answered 
 hesitatingly. He allowed her to go, and 
 stood waiting with scant patience for her re- 
 turn. At last she came back. 
 
 " Whatever made 'ee so long ? " he asked. 
 
 She did not reply, and he strode away down 
 the lane, she following, till suddenly they 
 heard the sea beating against the rocks, and 
 found themselves face to face with the little 
 white-washed cottage. Then Mark gave vent 
 to some of his bitterness in words. " Lupin's 
 taken our little cottage," he burst out ; "the 
 cottage where our children would have been 
 born."
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 19 
 
 The girl drew nearer, leant upon the small 
 gate and stared across at the cottage with a 
 curious, tense gaze, as if it were not the cot- 
 tage that she saw, but some vision which 
 frightened and yet fascinated her. 
 
 " I have got to care for the little place," 
 Mark continued. " I used to kain up at it 
 when I was out in the bay, fishing ; seemed 
 to me at times that us was already man and 
 wife, and that you was waiting up here kind 
 o' anxious. Whiles I could 'most hear your 
 voice tread across the sea. 'Mark.' you 
 
 / */ 
 
 would say, ' Mark, bain't you coming home 
 along ? ' Then I would up wi' my lines and 
 out wi' the oars. Aye, Luce, I was always 
 for coming home to 'ee." 
 
 She dropped her face upon her hands and 
 shivered. 
 
 " Dear heart," he said, " you be cold stand- 
 ing here. Shall us be moving ? " 
 
 Raising her head she stood for a moment 
 looking at him, then with a sudden movement 
 flung herself into his arms. " Mark, Mark,"
 
 20 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 she cried, " hold me, so that no wan, no mat- 
 ter who he be, can take me from 'ee." 
 
 He clasped her against his breast. 
 
 " Why is it," she said, " that I can't feel 
 'ee close? Why do 'ee stand so far away 
 sort o' insecure ? " 
 
 " But I am here, sweetheart ; my arms be 
 round 'ee." 
 
 "Your spirit iddn't here," she cried bit- 
 terly. "I don't feel it saying kinder master- 
 ful 'Luce, you be jest Mark's, and he'll up 
 and do wi' 'ee what he reckons best.'" 
 
 " Why should I say that ? " Mark expostu- 
 lated. '* You've got your rights the same as 
 
 me." 
 
 Dropping her hands to her side she re- 
 treated a few paces from him. " 'Tiddn't no 
 use," she said ; " a man can't be more'n his- 
 self." The moonlight fell upon her slight 
 figure and upturned face. She had thrown 
 a red shawl over her head and shoulders, and 
 her fair hair, blown loose by the wind, tan- 
 gled and curled about her forehead. Tears
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 21 
 
 stood in her eyes and her lips trembled. 
 " You hain't naught but a lad, for all your 
 six-and- twenty years," she added with a 
 broken laugh. 
 
 The blood rushed into the young fisher- 
 man's face. " I never know what you be af- 
 ter," he said. " Times you won't as much as 
 let me lay a hand on you, then you'll worrit 
 'cause I stand aside. I love 'ee, Luce. What 
 more do you want ? " 
 
 A smile, half sad, half mocking, played for 
 a moment about the corners of her lips. 
 " Seems most as if I was alles needing som- 
 mat different from what I gits," she an- 
 swered. 
 
 " When us be man and wife," he began. 
 
 "Ah," she interrupted, "shall us ever be 
 thic?" 
 
 " What do 'ee mean ? " he said, taking a 
 quick step towards her. 
 
 " I don't know what I mean. I reckon I'll 
 just go home." 
 
 "Luce," he exclaimed in a harsh voice,
 
 22 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 "'tisn't that you have grown tired o' 
 me?" 
 
 "No, 'tiddn't thic." 
 
 "Dear heart," he said, bending over her, 
 " you kinder love your lad, don't 'ee ? " 
 
 She fell to sobbing gently. " Seems there's 
 sommat missing 'twix he and me," she an- 
 swered. 
 
 Mark's face whitened. "Luce," he said, 
 and his mouth twitched, the words coming in 
 jerks ; " you know how folks throw it at me 
 that I may deserve but I don't get," he 
 stopped. " I couldn't bear it," he burst out. 
 "I jest couldn't bear it." 
 
 She drew herself away from him and a hard 
 expression came into her eyes. " If 'ee didn't 
 hold so much by the 'pinion o' the village and 
 more by yourself," she exclaimed, " you wud 
 come nearer gitting your rightful. 'Tis when 
 you see things the same as thic that I feels 
 so kind o' far away from 'ee." 
 
 "You are always hard and judging," he 
 answered with a bitter laugh.
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 23 
 
 She looked past the cottage out over the 
 sea, where the waves purred against each 
 other and the moon shone on them in wide 
 sheets of light. 
 
 " I ain't jidging by nater," she replied, " 'tis 
 only wi' 'ee that I am so mortal picksome." 
 Wrapping the shawl more closely round her 
 she turned and began to move away. 
 
 He watched her a moment in silence, then 
 springing forward, he caught her arm. 
 
 "Luce," he cried, "swear that you will 
 never care for no other lad than me. Swear 
 it." 
 
 She tore herself loose from his grasp. 
 " 'Tis yourself that should have the swearing 
 o' that," she exclaimed in passionate impa- 
 tience. " But there's many a thread of a boy 
 that 'ud beat 'ee at playing the man," and 
 without waiting a reply, she sped away in 
 the direction of her home. 
 
 While the echo of her retreating footsteps 
 still sounded in Mark's ears, his attention was 
 attracted to the figure of Constable Garge,
 
 24 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 seated close by on a heap of stones. The 
 policeman was to all appearance sunk deep in 
 meditation, and in return to the young fel~ 
 low's angry question as to what he was doing 
 there, raised a pair of mild, dream-clouded 
 eyes. 
 
 " Was that Luce Myrtle ? " he asked, and 
 then, not waiting for an answer, continued in 
 a dull far-away voice, " I was standing 'long- 
 side the maid, in the Myrtles' doorway, when 
 Ben Lupin came paking home from foreign 
 parts. 'Luce,' says he, 'here I be back.' 
 Her didn't make no answer, but fell all of a 
 tremble. Arter a bit her hiked inside and 
 slammed the door. Ben he laughed full out 
 like the ploomp-ploomp of water over stones." 
 
 There was a long silence broken only by 
 the cry of some wild-fowl flying inland. 
 
 " I was to have been called in church on 
 Sunday," exclaimed Mark at last in a thick 
 voice, " but Lupin, he's taken the cottage." 
 
 A slow smile played across the constable's 
 face.
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 25 
 
 " Well," he answered, u I'll go to marning 
 sarvice and hear 'ee read in." 
 
 But " began Mark. 
 
 "I alles reckoned 'twas the maid not the 
 cottage you wanted." 
 
 The words afforded Mark food for reflec- 
 tion.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ON nearing home Luce saw in front of her 
 the short, thick-set figure of Ben Lupin. 
 Involuntarily she turned and fled along a 
 path leading upwards. Fear, she scarce 
 knew of what, possessed her, and the ground 
 seemed to echo back the tramp of following 
 footsteps ; yet when she stopped and listened 
 no sound broke the stillness, except the far- 
 off murmur of the tide. Hurrying forward 
 she reached the hill summit, the lane sud- 
 denly coming to an end in broad sweeps of 
 pasture that stretched away as far as the 
 eye could reach. Near her a group of beech 
 trees, their naked stems glistening in the 
 moonlight, clawed the ground with great 
 fang-like roots. Leaning against one of the 
 trunks was Ben Lupin. The girl stood look- 
 ing at him, silent and bewildered. 
 
 26
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 27 
 
 " Well," lie said, breaking into a low musi- 
 cal laugh, " it seems as if us both, had the 
 same tastes." 
 
 She did not answer. The wind caught 
 her shawl, blowing it back, revealing her 
 form. Ben drew nearer ; the moon shone full 
 on him. He had never made love to this 
 woman, she had been little more than a child 
 when he had left the village followed by 
 a chorus of abuse, which he had aroused 
 against himself by a wild piece of work in 
 which a woman's honour had fallen victim. 
 Ben cared little for the abuse showered so 
 liberally upon him ; above all else he loved 
 to hold life in a careless hand, tossing it now 
 this way now that, indifferent to what befell, 
 playing with the happiness of others, even as 
 he played with his own. Fate had watched 
 his career strangely complacent, letting him 
 have his will with men and things, and 
 Lupin hardened, scoffed at the idea of retri- 
 bution. It seemed to him as if suffering 
 could never fall to his lot, life containing
 
 28 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 nothing that he either loved or feared. Un- 
 known to him he had long held sway over 
 Luce Myrtle's imagination, fired by tales of 
 his wild fantastic doings. Secretly she had 
 wished for and again half dreaded the return 
 of this ugly faced man, who had such a way 
 with a maid, that all women perforce must 
 love him ; yet had she so shielded her long- 
 ing in the privacy of her heart that it had 
 been to her but a half-conscious need of 
 some more subtle flavour in life and love 
 than had hitherto fallen to her share. Up 
 to the time of Lupin's return the fear that 
 she might some day be tempted to be un- 
 faithful to Mark had never troubled her ; 
 still she had been restless under her promise, 
 much as a young filly strains at the bit, 
 when the wrong pair of hands holds the 
 reins ; but with the meeting again of Lupin 
 the veil of self-deception which had hidden 
 the truth from her was torn aside, and she 
 saw that it was he and not Mark whom she 
 loved. Overwhelmed at the discovery, she
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 29 
 
 had no thought but to thrust the secret back 
 once more into her heart, where it had been 
 concealed so long. Now, as she stood oppo- 
 site Lupin in the soft grey moonlight, fear 
 grew upon her so that she almost ceased to 
 feel afraid, becoming strangely calm, gazing 
 inward on herself as on some person far 
 away; and he, accustomed to see women 
 betray the weakness of their defence, 
 scanned each line of her face, seeking in 
 vain for that which lay everywhere and yet 
 escaped detection. 
 
 Filled with resentment at her apparent 
 indifference, he longed to have the power 
 to wound her. A moment before he could 
 have sworn that she was his to do what 
 he liked with ; now, even while his anger 
 quickened, she suddenly smiled. Ben Lu- 
 pin drew back a pace, much as if he had 
 been struck, and his dark gipsy skin whit- 
 ened beneath its coating of tan. He had 
 followed the girl from a spirit of mischiev- 
 ous devilry, not meaning to hurt her be-
 
 30 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 yond the stealing of a few kisses from a pair 
 of pretty lips ; but now the resentful anger 
 of a moment past stiffened suddenly into a 
 dangerous weapon of offence, the man be- 
 hind it growing cool and alert, ready to 
 wield it with an unsparing hand. A shiver 
 of expectation passed from him to her, set- 
 ting the veil she had raised between them 
 a-tremble, and after fluttering a moment it 
 fell, revealing to his astonished gaze the 
 whole surface of her fear. He drew closer, 
 and doing so, felt his inner self creep out 
 and play with hers as a cat might with a 
 mouse. 
 
 "Luce," he exclaimed, "did 'ee mind on 
 me when I wor away ? " 
 
 Her lips trembled faintly, but she made 
 no answer. 
 
 " You jest flowered into yourself, I reckon, 
 and paid no heed to t'other folk." His 
 voice, in speaking, was singularly rich and 
 beautiful ; listening to it the girl burst into a 
 storm of sobs. Unresisted, he wound his
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 31 
 
 arm round her, tilting back her head and 
 looking into her brown tear-filled eyes. 
 Slowly the soft warmth of her body pene- 
 trated his, and the desire came to him to let 
 his hand slip over the trembling little form 
 so that it should perforce reveal itself to his 
 touch ; but the power to do so failed him, 
 and he stood and wondered at his helpless- 
 ness. The moon rose high in the heavens, 
 and the clean salt-laden breeze blew up from 
 the sea, setting the branches of the beeches 
 sawing one against the other. Slowly, al- 
 most tentatively, Lupin's hold relapsed, and 
 the girl feeling herself free, looked at him a 
 moment in startled surprise, and then, bound- 
 ing away, fled homewards. He flung him- 
 self upon the ground, covering his ears with 
 his hand as if he would shut out the sound 
 of her small feet upon the stones ; but long 
 after the echo had died, it still seemed to 
 beat on in his brain. A horrid suspicion 
 haunted him lest he had been weak ; weak- 
 ness, of all things, was that which he despised
 
 32 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 most. He thought of running after her and 
 taking a quick revenge on himself and her, 
 and half rose to his feet, only to sink back 
 once more baffled and inert. 
 
 Luce did not stay her course till she 
 reached home. Pushing open the cottage 
 door, she found her father seated before the 
 fire, smoking, his hat on a chair by his side, 
 a red cotton handkerchief curled up in the 
 crown. John Myrtle never hung up his hat 
 when he entered a house, but placed it either 
 on the floor between his feet, or else dose at 
 hand on the nearest chair. This habit was a 
 constant source of annoyance to his wife, 
 being, as she said, " poor-minded and mean- 
 ful of nought," and John, who was a good- 
 natured man, would gladly have broken with 
 it, had he not been too slow to part with a 
 custom once acquired. He glanced up at 
 Luce's entrance and removed his pipe. 
 
 " Your mother's up to bed this half-hour 
 and more," he said. 
 
 The girl made no answer, but, putting off
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 33 
 
 her shawl, came and knelt beside him, and 
 John Myrtle, after letting his right arm slip 
 round her, returned his pipe to his mouth 
 and smoked placidly on. There was silence 
 in the room except for the faint nibbling of 
 a mouse behind the boards and the tick tick 
 of the clock. At last Luce spoke. 
 
 " Fether," she said, " I do veel ez if I shud 
 niver marry, but jest bide home here along 
 wi' 'ee and mother." 
 
 " Why," he asked, " have you and Mark 
 had wuds I " 
 
 " No, 'tiddn't thic, on'y I'd a deal rather 
 bide quiet wi' 'ee." 
 
 John Myrtle changed the pipe to the 
 other side of his mouth before answering. 
 " You'll think different when the time comes," 
 he said. " 'Tis the way o' a maid to veel 
 shy o' loving vust a-long." 
 
 She dropped her head on his knee and 
 began to sob. " I do love 'ee, fether, a deal 
 more'n I do Mark, I do, fether, I do." 
 
 But Myrtle was not to be persuaded.
 
 34 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 " 'Tiddn't nought but the maiden in 'ee that 
 makes 'ee reckon that," he returned, and 
 Luce ceased to argue. 
 
 "Take me up in your arms, fether, zame 
 ez you do-ed many a time when I wor a 
 chile," she said. 
 
 He did as she bade him, and after a while, 
 tired out by emotion, she dropped off to 
 sleep ; then John Myrtle rose, and climbing 
 the stairs, laid the little frail figure upon 
 the bed. 
 
 " Her iddn't much more'n a sprig o' a chile 
 now," he exclaimed, going out and softly 
 closing the door. 
 
 Long afterwards she awoke with a start. 
 Below, in the street, a man was whistling ; 
 the notes thrust themselves upon her, chal- 
 lenging her to heed. 
 
 She put out her hands imploringly. 
 " Don't call me, Ben ; don't call me or I'll be 
 fo'ced to valler," she cried.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 DURING the next few days Lupin, who all 
 his life had been quick to act, fell into a fit 
 of indecision. His desire to punish Luce 
 thrived, but growing along with it was an 
 increasing respect for the girl. Hitherto this 
 quality had been singularly absent from his 
 relationships with women, and Ben Lupin 
 found its presence perturbing, for while it 
 added new flavour to the pursuit, it en- 
 gendered a fear lest in the further contact 
 with Luce he should discover some strange, 
 unsuspected weakness in himself. The sud- 
 den drain on his assurance left the channel 
 of conceit gaping and dry, and filled him 
 with a thirst for self-applause. There were 
 moments, too, when it seemed to him that 
 he was making a strange fuss over a small 
 concern, and that he had only to meet her 
 
 85
 
 36 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 again to find her much as other women. The 
 suspicion half irritated, half pleased him ; 
 but for some reason he avoided analysing it, 
 and he did not seek Luce out. 
 
 When Sunday came, however, and the 
 bells rang for morning service, he slipped 
 quietly into the old grey stone church, and 
 sat down where he could see without being 
 seen. He was barefooted, and wore the 
 same shabby clothes that had excited Mark's 
 contempt ; but it was no false shame on the 
 score of dress which made him wish to avoid 
 observation. His heavy black brows drew 
 together as he glanced about him ; only once 
 during the last five years had he been inside 
 a church, and the recalling of that occasion 
 gave him scant cause for amusement. Slowly 
 the congregation filed in ; and, Lupin's eyes 
 falling on the tall, high-shouldered figure of 
 Mark Tavy, dismissed it with a brief glance 
 of contempt. Flushed and erect, the young 
 fisherman moved up the aisle and sat down 
 in the corner of the Myrtles' pew. Seeing
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 37 
 
 him there, Constable Garge leant across from 
 his seat opposite, and exclaimed in a loud 
 whisper : 
 
 " I've come to hear 'ee called, the zame ez 
 I zed I wild." 
 
 Lupin caught the words, and glanced 
 round, wondering with vague amusement 
 which of the women present had been silly 
 enough to set her affections on so poor a 
 creature. He could not bring himself to 
 regard Mark seriously; for him he was a 
 young, excitable fool, forever reaching up 
 at what lay beyond his stretch a man, 
 Lupin held, should be a better judge of 
 distances. Mark, however, sitting bolt up- 
 right with the sun full on him, felt that he 
 had not only struck out for, but reached, his 
 goal. He was serenely happy, the memory 
 of his many failures passed from him, he 
 weltered in success as only he to whom it 
 seldom falls, can. 
 
 A few minutes later, the Myrtles entered, 
 but without Luce; just at the last she
 
 38 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 had refused to coine. Mark gulped down 
 his disappointment ; he had looked forward 
 to watching the colour steal up in her 
 face when their names were read out in 
 the rector's deep chest tones, for the Rev. 
 Benjamin Baugh had a way of reading the 
 banns that made a man feel there was to be 
 no drawing back, and villagers of a less de- 
 cided turn of mind preferred on that account 
 to be " put up by the currit." Lupin rose 
 at the Myrtles' entrance, and stood, half 
 hidden by a pillar, his eyes fixed on the 
 door. The service began; he paid no heed 
 to it, or to the curious glances that from 
 time to time were cast in his direction. As 
 the moments passed and it became more and 
 more apparent that those who intended being 
 present had already arrived, his brows creased 
 together, and his small black eyes shone fierce- 
 ly impatient. There was a slight pause, 
 while the rector shuffled among the worn 
 leather-covered books for the names of the 
 couples desirous of so publicly asserting their
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 39 
 
 intention of being united. Jarred by the 
 sudden silence, Lupin glanced round, his 
 eyes falling on Mark sitting up stiff, straight 
 and red as the hollyhocks beside the White 
 Cottage door. A feeling almost akin to 
 sympathy stirred for a moment in Ben Lup- 
 in's heart, which the next was swept clear 
 of all emotion but that of relief. The rec- 
 tor read the banns, closed the book, and the 
 congregation fell to thinking of other things. 
 Lupin stole out again into the warm summer 
 air. A joyous elation possessed him; he 
 knew his own mind at last, and saw straight 
 as a shaft of light the way that led to his 
 desire. Hurrying up the steep road, his 
 shoeless feet making no sound on the cobble- 
 stones, he came to the Myrtles' cottage. It 
 stood a little back from the main street, 
 while from behind a small garden struck 
 out, parallel to and overlooking the lane. 
 Lupin climbed the flight of steps leading to 
 the wicket gate, and doing so his eyes fell 
 on Luce seated beneath a willow tree. The
 
 40 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 branches stirred by the breeze threw a regi- 
 ment of faint shadows upon her white gown 
 and broad-brimmed hat. She was sunk in 
 thought. Unmarked, he drew nearer, till he 
 could almost count the fine gold hairs lying 
 along the nape of her neck. A sudden fear, 
 a sudden distrust of himself and his brutal 
 needs, thrilled him. Unconsciously, he raised 
 his hand and uncovered before her: and 
 standing there bare-headed, silent and in- 
 animate as a stone, his presence became 
 known to her, forcing itself upon her subtly, 
 so that she blushed for very shame at the 
 pleasure the knowledge imparted. He 
 watched the colour thread the white of her 
 neck till it reached the outlines of the cheek 
 that was half turned from him ; then he 
 drew close, and sank down on the bench at 
 her side. A great longing came to him to 
 look into her eyes, but a power stronger 
 than his will bound him to patience. She 
 fell to weeping gently ; he made no effort 
 to comfort her, even though one of the tears
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 41 
 
 fell upon his hand ; and after a while he 
 rose and stole away, passing noiselessly out 
 into the sun-scented air. 
 
 The next morning it was reported in the 
 village that a large shoal of herring had 
 been sighted outside the bay, and Mark, 
 together with other fishermen, sailed by the 
 afternoon tide in search of them. A sudden 
 gale springing up from the north-west drove 
 the little fleet further down the coast, oblig- 
 ing them to take shelter, and it was not till 
 the following Sunday that they bent slowly 
 back towards Bere-Upton. A faint sound 
 of church bells came over the water as the 
 boats tacked across the bay, and Mark, hear- 
 ing it, glanced instinctively in the direction 
 of the White Cottage. The sight recalled 
 Lupin to his mind and he fell into a fit of 
 bitter musing. When his boat anchored 
 alongside the quay, and he ran quickly up 
 the steps, a group of fishermen who were 
 lounging near, broke into a subdued laugh, 
 which was suddenly hushed as they saw Ben
 
 42 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 Lupin picking his way across the ropes 
 towards them. 
 
 " I've got sommat to say to 'ee," he ex- 
 claimed, halting opposite Mark. " Come up 
 yonder where us can have speech by our- 
 selves." 
 
 There was a moment's silence ; the group 
 of fishermen edged nearer. A sudden dread 
 entered Mark's heart. 
 
 " Say what you have got to say and have 
 done wi' it," he answered. 
 
 But Ben had already turned and was 
 walking away with rapid steps. Mark 
 watched him cross the quay, and then, 
 hardly conscious of what he did, followed in 
 pursuit. 
 
 " Hivers ! " exclaimed one of the fisher 
 lads, " shall us go after and zee the fun ? " 
 
 " Na, na," replied a grey-haired man, " let 
 'em fight it out alone,. happen they'll be the 
 sooner friendsome." 
 
 Three small bare-legged boys, however, 
 slipped down from the wall where they had
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 43 
 
 been seated and ran after Mark ; other ur- 
 chins joined them, and the young fisherman 
 could hear their short, quick breathing, and 
 the pattering of their footsteps behind him. 
 Leaving the main street, Lupin had entered 
 the lane leading upwards to the White Cot- 
 tage. At the gate he stopped and waited 
 for Mark to approach. 
 
 "Go in to her," he said, pointing to the 
 cottage. " Maybe her can tell 'ee better'n I 
 can how things was brought about." 
 
 Pushing open the door, Mark entered. 
 
 In the corner of the kitchen, her arms 
 folded on a small table and her face pressed 
 down upon them, sat Luce. He looked at 
 her in silence, and the only sound in the 
 room was the dulled, tearless sobbing that 
 broke from her lips. At last he drew 
 closer. " What be 'ee doing here, Luce ? " 
 he asked. She did not answer. Putting 
 out a trembling hand he touched her, and 
 she raised her head and looked at him. It 
 seemed to Mark standing there that his heart
 
 44 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 was being drawn from his breast, and peeled 
 piece by piece as a boy peels a willow twig. 
 
 " I wud ha' been true to ? ee," she ex- 
 claimed at last in a broken voice. " I want- 
 ed to be true to 'ee; but, lad, I jest worn't." 
 
 He turned away, the pain of her words 
 was unbearable. 
 
 " I reckoned," he said, " that you was the 
 wan pussen in the whole world that sort o' 
 understood things." Then he went out, 
 shutting the door after him. The sun shone 
 full on his white, haggard face as he reeled 
 down the pathway and confronted Lupin. 
 Ben drew back with an unconscious respect 
 for his enemy's grief ; but Mark would not 
 be avoided. 
 
 "Be you married honest?" he asked, turn* 
 ing on him. 
 
 " Us was special licensed." 
 
 " You blackguardly thief ! " 
 
 "Vule," Lupin burst out, his temper ris- 
 ing. " I didn't steal the maid ; her was 
 never yours."
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 45 
 
 Mark drew his knife. " You shan't have 
 her, nuther," he cried, rushing forward; but 
 before he could deliver the blow Ben struck 
 him under the chin with terrific force, his 
 jaw and skull seemed to crush together and 
 saw into his brain, and he fell to the ground, 
 stunned. Lupin went back to the cottage, 
 shutting the door. A row of bare-legged 
 boys seated on the fence near stared down 
 on Mark's prostrate figure with feelings of 
 mingled awe, self-importance, and delight, 
 then one by one they slid from their perch 
 and trotted back home. Soon the village 
 was roused by the news that Mark had been 
 killed in a fight, and, headed by Septimus 
 Spong, they came hurrying up to view the 
 body. On reaching the spot where the mur- 
 der had taken place they found nothing but 
 a stone covered with blood ; the corpse had 
 disappeared. Spong at once addressed the 
 crowd : " In there," he said, pointing at the 
 little white-washed cottage, "ruckying be- 
 hind some bed, was the murderer, red-handed
 
 46 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 from the deed, and it was the dooty of the 
 young and active-limbed to go in and fetch 
 un out. He called on 'em," he continued, 
 "as postman, and representative of the 
 State." 
 
 No one stirred. " It was," they answered, 
 " the law's business, not theirs ; and if Septi- 
 mus Spong chose to represent the State, he 
 had better go in and bring the murderer out 
 himself." 
 
 At this last suggestion there was an awk- 
 ward pause, broken by a very little boy, who 
 came forward and said : " Mark worn't no- 
 ways dead, but had got up and hiked away." 
 
 The information seemed to fill the crowd 
 with both relief and resentment. Mark 
 Tavy, they agreed, was a poor worm, and if 
 there was one thing more sure than another 
 'twas he had got his deserts, and still talk- 
 ing of him they returned once more to the 
 village.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IT was a favourite maxim of Mrs. Myrtle's, 
 that he who sets out to condescend had best 
 be sure of his return fare before starting. 
 She was an authority on such matters, hav- 
 ing more than once made the journey herself. 
 To go no further back than her marriage, a 
 bold piece of mating, for John Myrtle had 
 been born between parish sheets and reared 
 on parish bread, yet union with him had 
 never caused her rich yeoman blood to run 
 the thinner. She held her head high ; not, it 
 is true, attempting to tilt her husband's up to 
 the same level, but resting content with the 
 knowledge that the distance between them 
 had never been lessened by any bending on 
 her part. Success, however, does not always 
 beget a desire to encourage others, and imi- 
 tation is apt to be held to be presumptuous 
 
 47
 
 48 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 as often as flattering. So when Luce, in pre- 
 ference to the highly respectable Mark Tavy, 
 suddenly united herself with Lupin, Mrs. 
 Myrtle took but a gloomy view of the affair. 
 Indeed, she was inclined to resent Luce's 
 behaviour. If a mother casts aside shoes, it 
 by no means follows that a daughter can 
 afford to walk without boots ; and in the 
 privacy of her own mind Mrs. Myrtle num- 
 bered Luce among those who had best let 
 such trapesing alone. In coming to this 
 conclusion she had no wish to disparage her 
 daughter. 
 
 After her cold, limited fashion, she was 
 fond of Luce ; but she was a proud woman 
 proud of the respect in which, in spite 
 of marriage with a man beneath her, she 
 was still held and the fear haunted her 
 lest Luce, in a not unsimilar position, should 
 fail to exact a like esteem, and prove in 
 some roundabout way that the union be- 
 tween her father and mother had been mis- 
 judged. Mark had always been somewhat
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 49 
 
 of a favourite with her, "a well-conducted 
 young man, more creditable than credit-get- 
 ting." On being told of the scuffle that had 
 taken place between him and Lupin, she 
 made no comment ; but when later the same 
 day Mark, bundle in hand, passed her door, 
 she called to him to come in. He complied 
 unwillingly enough, and refusing to take a 
 seat, stood close to the door, his face expres- 
 sive both of irritation and impatience. The 
 little room was vivid to him with the pres- 
 ence of Luce, he longed to be out of it ; but 
 Mrs. Myrtle, eyeing him over, saw that he 
 had on his second-best suit and a pair of 
 well-blacked shiny boots, and realized afresh 
 that here at least was a man who might have 
 been trusted with the honour of the Myrtles. 
 She was a small, neutral-tinted woman with 
 a narrow forehead and high cheek-bones. 
 Glancing from him to the little bundle 
 under his arm she nodded approvingly ; she 
 guessed it contained the clothes bought 
 especially for his wedding.
 
 50 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 " That's your new shiny suit you've got in 
 there, isn't it ? " she inquired. 
 
 " Yes," he answered shortly. 
 
 " Well, I'm glad you're taking it 'long 
 with you." 
 
 He frowned but made no comment. 
 
 " What have you done wi' the boat ? " she 
 asked after a pause, picking up some needle- 
 work from the table and commencing to 
 sew. 
 
 " Sold her to Ned Lewis." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " For a fair price." 
 
 Again she nodded approvingly. "I'm 
 sorry things have fallen out as they have 
 between you and Luce," she said. 
 
 He turned away. " I reckon I must be on 
 the move." 
 
 " Oh ! bide a moment, and take a seat, like 
 a reasonable lad," she exclaimed, pushing a 
 chair towards him. " You haven't told me 
 half I want to know. What about the nets ? 
 Did you part wi' they too ? "
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 51 
 
 u Sold 'em to the same man." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Yes, middling well." 
 
 " Ah ! " she exclaimed, biting off the end of 
 her thread with a sharp snap, "you would 
 have made a dependable husband." 
 
 His thin, emotional face flushed hotly. 
 " You mustn't reckon I'm gwaying away 
 beat," he said with sudden passion. " Lupin 
 ain't seen the last of me yet by a long bit 
 there's zommat that tells me that if I hold 
 myzulf to patience, the Almighty 'ull show 
 me how to get quits wi' un." 
 
 An expression of uneasiness came into the 
 old woman's eyes. 
 
 " I've no opinion o' the high falutin'," she 
 answered. "That what a man can't get 
 iddn't meant for him, and you'll be wise if 
 you let Ben Lupin alone in the future." 
 
 " Do you reckon the Almighty is gwaying 
 to let 'un alone ? " he burst out. " Do you 
 reckon that God is always gwaying to zee 
 the wicked flourish at the expense o' the
 
 62 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 well-doer? No, I tull 'ee, there be ill days 
 in store for Ben Lupin, and when they are at 
 hand I shan't be far from un." 
 
 The colour rose in Mrs. Myrtle's face, 
 turning it a sort of drabby red. 
 
 " All I can say," she exclaimed sharply, 
 "is that I hope it will be a long day before 
 he sets eyes on 'ee then." 
 
 " Well for un if it be," Mark answered, 
 and, picking up his bundle, went out, shut- 
 ting the door after him. 
 
 Mark walked to the nearest seaport town 
 and sailed two days later in a barque bound 
 for Nova Scotia. He did not mix with the 
 other hands, but when off duty, sat apart, 
 brooding over his wrongs. From time to 
 time he would take his Bible from his 
 pocket, and opening it at the llth chapter 
 of the Epistle to the Romans, read over 
 again the lines, " Vengeance is Mine ; I will 
 repay, saith the Lord," and the words 
 seemed to him an especial promise on the 
 part of God to execute judgment on Ben
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 63 
 
 Lupin. Then one day a sudden fear stole 
 into his heart lest he had delayed too long 
 and that his enemy had already fallen before 
 the vengeance of God. 
 
 Winter was thawing towards spring when 
 he reached England and turned his face in 
 the direction of his native village. The sap 
 had risen high in the trees and the buds were 
 swollen and pink with the juice of life. Mark 
 pressed forward ; the air, full of vitality, 
 tasted fresh and cold upon his lips as water 
 from a well. Dusk gathered, slowly greying 
 the fields and blurring their outlines. One by 
 one he passed the familiar land-marks till at 
 length his eyes rested on the White Cottage. 
 At the sight of it a feeling of loneliness came 
 to him, and he felt as an outcast gazing 
 across wide dividing seas towards his native 
 land. He flung himself down on the ground 
 and sobbed : the thought of God's impend- 
 ing vengeance failed to comfort him ; it 
 seemed but of scant account compared with 
 what he had lost. Rising after a while he
 
 64 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 stole noiselessly forward, pushed open the 
 garden gate and creeping in hid behind a 
 juniper bush that grew near the open win- 
 dow. The firelight fell full on Lupin's face 
 as he bent over the model of a ship he was 
 rigging, and opposite him sat Luce; the 
 needlework had slipped from her hands and 
 lay unheeded on her lap. Her eyes were 
 fixed on the gathering dusk, but to Mark it 
 was as if she was looking at him. The 
 nerves of his body twanged together and 
 seemed to make vocal the aching of his 
 heart. Watching, he saw the tears slowly 
 gather and fall one by one upon her work, 
 and yet he was not deceived, he knew they 
 were tears of happiness. 
 
 Ben looked up. " Sweetheart ! " he said. 
 
 Rising from her seat she knelt beside him, 
 and he put his arm round her. ** What be 
 it ? " he asked tenderly. 
 
 She made no immediate answer, but hid 
 her face against his coat. 
 
 " The world zims so 'mazing full o' life," 
 she exclaimed at last.
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 65 
 
 Lupin smiled. "I don't understand 'ee, 
 little 'un," he said. 
 
 She caressed his face with her hands. 
 " Do 'ee reckon that there be thic that cud 
 draw us nearer one to t'other ? " she asked 
 softly. 
 
 "Na," replied Ben in a surprised voice, 
 " na-ways 'tall." 
 
 She burst into a little happy laugh. "But 
 there will be sich a wan." 
 
 " I've niver heard tell o' un then," Lupin 
 answered. 
 
 "Oh, can't 'ee reckon who he is?" she 
 asked tremulously. 
 
 Bending forward, Lupin drew her up close 
 to his breast. " Tiddn't no ways our son ? " 
 he whispered. 
 
 She did not answer, nor did he need a 
 reply in words, her body clinging to his, 
 throbbed out the story of its own joy. Then 
 did the thought of God's vengeance fill Mark 
 with derision. He rushed away and the 
 hills rang with his laughter.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 WHEN dawn threaded its way through 
 the darkness, and the great sun swung sheer 
 up above the hills, Mark, who had wandered 
 all night in the fields, found himself near the 
 farm of his cousin, Samuel Bompas. The 
 house was visible between the trees, smoke 
 creeping through the branches skyward. 
 Rooks flew towards the arable land, and in 
 the meadows the cows awaited the herdsman 
 and his clattering pails. Mark threw him- 
 self upon the grass, and the smell of it was 
 sweet to his nostrils ; lonely and miserable, 
 he stretched out his arms to the earth as to a 
 friend. Stamped upon his brain, compelling 
 him to gaze upon it, was the picture of Luce 
 kneeling at her husband's feet, her face 
 pressed against his breast, while she told him 
 of the other one who should come to bind 
 
 56
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 67 
 
 them in yet closer union. Mark beat his 
 head against the ground to rid himself of 
 the intolerable vision, but it would not be 
 put to flight. He covered his ears with his 
 hands to shut out Luce's voice, but he still 
 heard her questioning Lupin : " Do 'ee 
 reckon there be thic that cud draw us closer 
 wan to t'other ? There will be sich a wan." 
 By what right had Lupin torn fatherhood 
 from him? It seemed as if the gaping 
 wound of his nature could never be healed. 
 His virility rose in rebellion against the 
 existence of this yet unborn child the child 
 that should have been his own, and was 
 Lupin's. How often had he not dreamed of 
 the child, felt its soft kisses upon his face in 
 sleep, the tiny hands playing with his beard. 
 It could not be that Luce should bear it to 
 another, and that other his enemy. Yes, 
 she would bear Lupin's son, she longed 
 to bear him, for she loved Lupin. Mark 
 raised his face wet with dew and tears to 
 heaven. "O God," he said, "'tiddn't true
 
 68 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 her loves un. O God Almighty, not that, 
 not that ! " 
 
 The trees, rubbing their branches one 
 against the other, sent down a murmur of 
 soft noises to him. High overhead sounded 
 the note of the cuckoo; as if set rocking 
 by the breeze, the other birds, their first 
 triumphant burst of song spent, rushed out 
 their notes less hurriedly, yet with such a 
 careless improvidence of sound that Mark, 
 who had sunk back once more upon the 
 grass, listened to them in unconscious grati- 
 tude. A feeling of rest stole over him, and 
 
 O ' 
 
 his brain, torn with thought, healed itself in 
 sleep. How long he slept he knew not, but, 
 when he awoke later, Samuel Bompas stood 
 beside him, his broad, kindly face expressing 
 much concern. News travelled slowly, and 
 the full account of Mark's troubles had not 
 long reached the farm. Samuel Bompas had 
 not been surprised, nothing women did had 
 ever been known to surprise him : " for 
 knowing her own mind and sticking to it "
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 59 
 
 his old sow would beat 'em hollow. " The 
 skin of a sex," he called them, " hastily made 
 and ill-considered at that." 
 
 The two cousins entered the house to- 
 gether. The big, unpretentious kitchen, with 
 its air of homely comfort and hospitality, 
 seemed to bid Mark welcome, and yet to 
 make no undue fuss over his arrival. Bom- 
 pas glanced at the young fellow's haggard 
 face with renewed concern, but made no 
 comment. A fine sizzling sound came from 
 the back kitchen, and the dogs cocked their 
 noses toward the door, curious and expect- 
 ant. Mark, whose head had sunk upon his 
 chest, suddenly looked up, feeling hungry; 
 his cousin, noting the movement, smiled. 
 
 " Draw up your chair," he exclaimed, 
 "there's nought like victuals for sprying a 
 man on to finding himself." 
 
 The young fellow did as he was bid, sur- 
 prised at the vigour with which he attacked 
 the food, and the satisfaction that the mere 
 act of eating gave to him. It seemed to him
 
 60 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 a paltry kind of comfort for an aching heart, 
 and yet he felt less miserable than he had on 
 entering. Well, if bacon and fried potatoes 
 could cure him of his trouble, so much the 
 better, and he pushed out his plate for a 
 second help. The meal over, Mark drew 
 close to the fire and fell into a doze, and the 
 farmer went out and left him. A bumble- 
 bee flew in through the open window and 
 droned its way through the silence which 
 had descended on the big kitchen, alighting 
 on the copper pans that glowed in rows 
 along the walls. Mark's sleep deepened, a 
 faint scent of thyme filled the room, and he 
 dreamed that he was a child again, and lay 
 on the floor of his mother's cottage, counting 
 the bags of herbs which hung beside the tall 
 dresser. He thought that it was night, and 
 that he could hear the scream of the wild 
 geese flying inland ; and, still sleeping, it 
 seemed to him that he rose and stole out, 
 but he was not alone, for Luce was with him. 
 Together they climbed the hill till they
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 61 
 
 came to the high lands, where, at fall of 
 dusk, the pixies sport. The moon was big 
 and swollen, so that strange things, other 
 than pixies, might well be abroad ; and when 
 the two children reached the edge of a great 
 wind-swept plain, they halted to turn their 
 pockets inside out, for on him who torn-fools 
 his pockets a pixie has no power. By some 
 dire ill-luck, Mark's pockets had been sewn 
 up, and as for Luce, she was so small, her 
 dress did not grow a pocket. The agony of 
 the moment was such that Mark's dream 
 changed, and, in a flash, he had aged by 
 several years, and found himself a man. He 
 still stood looking across the wind-swept 
 plain, but Luce was no longer by his side, 
 and his heart was heavy, so that he wept 
 even in his sleep. When he had gazed a 
 long time across the plain, he saw before him 
 a blood-red flower of such exceeding beauty, 
 that he drew nearer to pick it. A sudden 
 fear fell on him, for he knew, though none 
 had said so, that the flower was the ven-
 
 62 THE WHITE COTTAGE ^ 
 
 geance of God. Great as was his fear, even 
 as great was his desire to gain possession of 
 the flower. But when he put out his hand it 
 was thrust back on him wounded and bleed- 
 ing. Again and again he tried and failed, 
 and still trying, awoke. The bee had found 
 its way out through the open window, and 
 the kitchen was more silent than ever, but 
 standing in the doorway was the tall figure 
 of a woman. Her hair was grizzled, the 
 face, worn and lined, had yet that about it 
 which bespoke youth rather than age. It 
 seemed to Mark, looking at her, that never 
 had he seen a face at once so striking and so 
 sad ; but sleep still lay heavy about him, it 
 was as if she were part of his dream. 
 
 The woman advanced a few steps nearer. 
 " Can 'ee tell me if a man o' the name o' 
 Lupin lives anywhere in these parts ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 Mark started upright in his chair. Dream- 
 ing or awake he knew now that she was no 
 ordinary woman, but the chosen instrument
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 63 
 
 of God's vengeance. While he still sought 
 for words to answer her question, the broad 
 figure of the old farmer suddenly appeared 
 in the doorway. To Samuel Bompas' more 
 prosaic mind his visitor seemed much the 
 same as any other female, and equally unwel- 
 come. 
 
 " My good woman," he said shortly, " now 
 that you have found your way into the 
 house I wud be much obliged if you wud do 
 me the favour to find your way out." 
 
 "I was but axing a civil question," she 
 replied, turning towards him. 
 
 " That I can well believe," he said, " for 
 the axing o' questions is a woman's trade. 
 But as for me, I ain't no encourager o' 
 female cooriosity, so I'll thank 'ee to march, 
 and that sharp." 
 
 The colour shot up in the woman's pale 
 face. "Axing a question you've a right to 
 know iddn't curiosity," she answered, and 
 turning, went out as she was bid. 
 
 Mark gazed after the retreating figure,
 
 64 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 while his mind, filled with vague conjectures, 
 worked rapidly. " What do 'ee reckon her 
 wanted wi' Lupin ? " he asked, turning his 
 eager eyes upon his cousin. 
 
 The old farmer slowly scratched his head. 
 " Naught good ; further than that, not being 
 a fathomer o' females I can't undertake to 
 say," he answered. " But there," he con- 
 tinued, after a moment, in a phlegmatic 
 voice : " Men the like o' Ben Lupin always 
 play up old Nick wi' the maidens. You 
 have lamed that to your cost. Happen 
 Luce 'ull have to larn the same. Not that I 
 have got aught personal agin the man, 'tis 
 the way o' sich to act lightsome. Law jay ! 
 I don't jidge. The nature inside o' un forces 
 
 un on." 
 
 Mark did not reply; the scene he had 
 witnessed in the little white- washed cottage 
 returned to him, and he sat staring out across 
 the fields, his heart full of pity for the 
 woman he loved. Had she been betrayed 
 as he had been betrayed? Then his mood
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE C5 
 
 changed, a fierce triumph took possession of 
 him. It was not his own wrongs he was 
 called upon to avenge, but hers. The 
 thought was full of sweetness, and his face 
 lit up in exultation. 
 
 The farmer regarded him with a mystified 
 expression. " Whativer be there to make 
 so merry over ? " he asked. 
 
 Mark did not stay to answer, but, rising, 
 hurried out of the house. 
 
 " Hivers ! " exclaimed his cousin, glancing 
 after him, " it takes a deal more than a good 
 memory for the old to understand the 
 young." 
 
 The road to Bere-Upton wound in and out 
 among farm lands, the wind caught the 
 cherry blossoms, flinging them full in his 
 face. Nature, rejoicing in her vitality, 
 seemed to call upon him to assert his man- 
 hood.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THAT afternoon, when the grey mist drifted 
 shore-wards, Lupin, a basket of codlin across 
 his shoulders, climbed the hill on his way to 
 sell fish. He was bare-footed, " his feet had 
 never been christened wi' the rest o' un," and 
 rebelled against the confinement of boots. 
 Salt had dried in fine white scales upon his 
 sinewy legs and on the trousers rolled up to 
 the knee. He whistled to himself as he 
 walked along; overhead the elms had burst 
 into leaf, in front of him the road stretched 
 bare and solitary, except for the figure of a 
 woman on the horizon. Twilight gathering, 
 he hastened his pace. Suddenly he ceased to 
 whistle, and the woman, turning, came tow- 
 ards him. 
 
 " I knowed 'ee by that dreesh 1 note o 7 
 yourn," she said. 
 
 1 Dreesh thrush. 
 66
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 67 
 
 The colour forsook his face, the lines stiff- 
 ening under the pressure of emotion. 
 
 " What are you doing here ? " he asked. 
 " Ain't I said that I have done wi' 'ee ? " 
 
 " But Ben, I bain't the same woman that I 
 was then." 
 
 " I have done wi' 'ee," he repeated. 
 
 She drew nearer, her tall figure dwarfed 
 him ; but when she spoke her voice sounded 
 tremulous and pleading. 
 
 u I bain't no drunkard now," she exclaimed 
 excitedly. " I've given it up, I've fought 
 agin it all these ]ong months. Times and 
 times when the drink hunger was upon me 
 I've flung myself down and gnawed the bare 
 stones rather than give way to ut." 
 
 Lupin remained unmoved. " I have done 
 wi' 'ee," he said. 
 
 A fruitless anger took possession of her. 
 " 'Tiddn't truth you're speaking," she cried. 
 " You can't cast me off the same as thic." 
 
 " I alles ses what I mean," he answered, 
 fixing his eyes on hers that glowed back at
 
 68 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 him out of their sunken sockets like patches 
 of dark-coloured fire. 
 
 " But Ben," she urged, " I ain't no drunk- 
 ard now. 'Tis dree months since a drop o' 
 spirits crossed my lips." 
 
 He laughed harshly. "Three months, 
 what's three months ! But if 'twas three 
 score o' years I wudn't take 'ee back." 
 
 "I be your wife. You can't change ut. 
 Us was married honest." 
 
 " But that don't bind me to live wi' 'ee." 
 
 She was silent, scanning his face in vain 
 for some sign of relenting. 
 
 " 'Twudn't be the same living wi' me now 
 as 'twas afore," she said after a pause. " I've 
 made the little cottage vitty, and the flowers 
 be coming up trustful. There was a mort o' 
 yaller crocus in the patch aside the door when 
 I hiked off." 
 
 His determination to sever all connection 
 with this woman corroded and ate away 
 the pity her words awoke in his heart. 
 " Hester," he answered, " have 'ee ever
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 69 
 
 knowed me go back from my word? 
 'Tiddn't no use argying. "Tis just drawing 
 away so much breath." 
 
 " But folks ain't got no right to a will the 
 same as thic," she exclaimed helplessly. 
 
 A smile hovered for a moment about the 
 corners of his mouth. " Life wi' such men 
 as I be," he answered, " iddn't a consarn o' 
 right and wrong, but jest whether us can 
 drive through to what us wants." 
 
 She sank down beside the hedge. " Ben," 
 she exclaimed, " you said once if us had a 
 chile you wud feel nearer to me. Who 
 knaws but that the Almighty 'ull give us a 
 chile yet." 
 
 He turned away and his thoughts trav- 
 elled back to Luce. "I have no need o' 
 your chile," he answered coldly. 
 
 The tears gathered in her eyes and rolled 
 one by one down her worn, white face. 
 
 " Don't 'ee say sich things as that," she ex- 
 claimed brokenly ; " a chile's a chile." 
 
 A sudden whim seized him to tell her the
 
 70 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 truth. "Aye," he answered, "and 'tis a 
 chile that stands a-tween us." The pain of 
 his revelation was so great that it deadened 
 her power of suffering. 
 
 " I sort o' knowed that 'twud be me not 
 you that ud bide faithful," she answered 
 dully. 
 
 "Hester," he asked in a gentler voice, 
 "why do 'ee care so much for my acting 
 faithful ? I've always treated 'ee harsh 
 from the first." 
 
 She laughed a little bruised laugh. " No 
 woman ever knowed yet what 'tis that 
 makes her care for the likes o' you; but 
 many another arter her 'ull follow the same 
 road to zarrer." 
 
 Hester Lupin rose to her feet ; far below, 
 visible through a gap in the trees, was the 
 White Cottage, and by a sudden mutual 
 instinct the man and woman looked towards 
 it. 
 
 "Who be thic maid that stands a-tween 
 us ? " she asked.
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 71 
 
 "Her lives over yonder," lie answered 
 slowly, " wi'in call o' the sea.'* 
 
 "And does her know the marriage lines 
 'ull never be hers ! " 
 
 There was silence, and Lupin turned his 
 dark, dare-devil eyes full on his wife. " Her 
 has the marriage lines," he said. 
 
 Hester gave a short, quick cry. " They're 
 mine afore the law. You dursn't give them 
 to no other woman." 
 
 "Aye, the law's on your side, sure 
 enough," he answered; "but time be on 
 mine. You can gi'e me over to prison, but 
 you can't tarn me back to 'ee when I come 
 out o' it a free man." 
 
 " Oh Ben," she entreated, " tarn back to 
 me now, and I'll never cast it at 'ee that 
 you've acted wrongful." 
 
 His face hardened. "I've said my say 
 and you must bide by it." 
 
 " But be your say zo banging girt a thing 
 ezthic?" 
 
 "You can have your revenge," he an-
 
 72 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 swered, a sudden gleam of satisfaction light- 
 ing up his dark face. " You can gi'e me 
 over to the law." 
 
 " Tiddn't revenge I want." 
 
 " Most women 'ud take it." 
 
 "I hain't no jidge o' t'others," she an- 
 swered. " I can only speak for myself." 
 
 A sudden keen need of her revenge came 
 to him. " But you must have more spirut," 
 he exclaimed angrily. "Don't 'ee see I've 
 acted black ? " 
 
 " Spirut," she repeated, " I never put no 
 vally on sich. 'Tis yourself I'm needing, 
 and what should I gain by stabbing 'ee 
 cowardsome ? " 
 
 He moved impatiently. " 'Twas just they 
 obstinate one-sided ways o' yours that drove 
 me wild from the fust," he said, turning as 
 if about to leave her. 
 
 " Ben, Ben," she cried, clasping his hand, 
 "kiss me jest wance afore you go." 
 
 For a moment he stood and looked upon 
 her face, which seemed as if all the sorrow of
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 73 
 
 the world had been crushed into it, and a 
 horror seized him of this woman capable of 
 entertaining such suffering. He thrust her 
 from him and hurried away into the gather- 
 ing darkness.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 HESTER LUPIN'S parents had been small 
 farmers, and had died when she was just 
 verging on womanhood. The farm had been 
 sold, and she had gone to live in a cottage 
 near her old home. Well off for her station 
 in life, and of striking appearance, many men 
 had sought to marry her ; but till the coming 
 of Lupin, none had succeeded in touching her 
 heart. She had first seen him in the woods 
 felling trees, when she had gone there to fetch 
 water from a stream, and had watched with 
 a certain unconscious pleasure the big muscles 
 standing out on his shoulders. Ben, with 
 his quick eye for beauty, had not failed to 
 note the tall, handsome woman; but the 
 whim took him to pay no heed to her, except 
 that he would fall to whistling as she drew 
 
 74
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 75 
 
 near, knowing well that she must needs stay 
 and listen. Once though, while they stood 
 thus, a little boy, sore of heart and weeping 
 bitterly, came running past them through 
 the wood; they, loving children, turned to 
 follow it. Caught up in Lupin's arms the 
 boy looked into the ugly brown face without 
 fear and was comforted, and Hester, who was 
 sad, for she bore always a hidden fear about 
 with her, felt comforted also. From that 
 time she began to love Ben. He married her, 
 meaning to be faithful, but the excess of her 
 love wearied him. Then did that which she 
 had feared so long come on her, and she be- 
 came a drunkard ; and as for Lupin, he stole 
 away through the dewy woods back to his 
 old free roving life, and soon had forgotten 
 her existence. She waited long for his re- 
 turn, fighting against her besetting weakness 
 till she all but overcame it, then she set out 
 to seek him. Now they had met and parted. 
 Left alone, Hester stood a long time gazing 
 downward across the fields at the White
 
 76 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 Cottage, then turning away she began to 
 slowly climb the hill. Her home on the out- 
 skirts of a town lay some fifty miles further 
 inland. Night fell ; she tramped on, seeking 
 the nearest station, but losing herself in the 
 narrow country lanes that wound in and out 
 and seemed to lead nowhere in particular. 
 At last, overcome by fatigue, she sank down 
 beside a gate. The moon flung its light on 
 her bowed figure and on the tall hedgerows 
 where, amidst a clatter of faint sounds, 
 Spring crept rustling towards fruition. A 
 sense of solitude fell on everything, till even 
 the distant lowing of cattle seemed but a far- 
 off echo of silence. The breeze died away. 
 Sighing, the woman rose to resume her jour- 
 ney, and as she did so Mark Tavy came down 
 the lane. All day he had been seeking 
 Hester Lupin and now, with a pang of as- 
 tonishment, he recognised in the tall com- 
 manding figure the woman who had broken 
 in upon his dream. Halting opposite her he 
 eagerly scanned her face.
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 77 
 
 " You seek Ben Lupin ? " he said, " and I 
 can tell you where to find 'un." 
 
 She started at the mention of her hus- 
 band's name. 
 
 "I hate 'un," Mark continued. "Mayhap 
 you do too." His voice as he spoke shook 
 with passion, and drawing nearer he thrust 
 his white contracted face close to hers. 
 
 " "Why do you hate 'un ? " she asked, 
 shrinking back. 
 
 He burst into a jough laugh. " Cuz he 
 stole the woman I love from me. That's 
 why. But God'll punish 'un for it. God 
 'ull no let 'un bring black sorrow into other 
 folks' lives for nought. His sins 'ull find 
 'un out. Even now they be tracking after 
 'un step for step." 
 
 She shivered and glanced round as if 
 she heard the passing tread of aveng- 
 ing Justice, and Mark continued thickly: 
 "'Tis yourself that be God's Appointed. 
 Tis yourself that the Almighty has chosen 
 to be the instrument o' His wrath. 'Tis
 
 78 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 yourself that shall bear witness agin Ben 
 Lupin." 
 
 "No, no," she protested hurriedly, "I'll 
 have naught to do wi' ut." 
 
 "But you must speak out," Mark insisted. 
 " There be innocent folk to be saved. There 
 be other women consarned in this." 
 
 She strove to regain full control of her 
 faculties before replying. " Who told 'ee I 
 was consarned in this matter ? " she asked at 
 length. 
 
 o 
 
 There was a moment's silence, and then 
 Mark determined to play a bold game. 
 " You be consarned in it cuz you be Ben 
 Lupin's wife," he answered. " Anyways," he 
 added with a sudden lapse into weakness, 
 " that is what I hold you to be." 
 
 She laughed defiantly. "Do 'ee reckon 
 if I was his lawful wife I'd let un live wi 7 
 t'other woman ? " she asked. 
 
 He scanned her face, vainly trying to read 
 all that was written there. "I can't tell," 
 he exclaimed indecisively.
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 79 
 
 She turned from him in contempt. 
 " Vule," she exclaimed, " you bain't the sort 
 that can afford to play wi' vengeance. 
 Leave ut to the Almighty. You talk vorrid 
 enough about *un." 
 
 " I'll larn the truth in spite o' 'ee," he an- 
 swered, shame sending the hot blood spurt- 
 ing across his brow. " I've acted fair all 
 my life, and 'tiddn't to be believed that the 
 Almighty is going to see me wronged." 
 
 Hester Lupin, who had walked away a 
 few paces, stopped short and turned her sad, 
 tragic face towards him. "There be more 
 wrongs in the world than just yours and 
 mine," she answered. "S'pose the Almighty 
 in righting 'em wor f o'ced to let ours bide ? " 
 Then, without further speech, she left him 
 and pursued her way. -
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 HESTER LUPIN went back to her own vil- 
 lage, and when she reached her door it seemed 
 to her as if she was about to enter the house 
 of a stranger, and that her home lay far away 
 in the little White Cottage by the sea. In the 
 long, lonely nights that followed, she would 
 wake suddenly, thinking she heard Ben 
 Lupin's voice bidding her return; then she 
 would rise from her bed and peer out into 
 the darkness, but no sound would break the 
 silence, for the call came not from her hus- 
 band, but was the cry of her own longing. 
 Despair fell upon her because she could nei- 
 ther silence the voice nor obey the summons. 
 Then arose the temptation to seek forgetful- 
 ness in drink, but she resisted it because Ben 
 Lupin might yet return, and she would not 
 of her own will raise the barrier between 
 them higher. 
 
 80
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 81 
 
 Seven months passed away, and one August 
 morning as she stood gazing at the hills, be- 
 yond which lay the sea, the longing to look 
 on the White Cottage, and on the face of the 
 woman Ben Lupin loved, refused to be denied. 
 She stole out, and, hardly conscious of what 
 she did, followed the road leading to the sta- 
 tion and entered the train which drowsed 
 with her slowly past the fields on its way to 
 Bere-Upton. The afternoon tide was just on 
 the flow when she reached the cottage ; far 
 out the water crept shorewards in long green 
 transparent lines. Hester drew closer and 
 peered timidly across the garden at the small 
 white house. The fuchsia bushes were in 
 full bloom, hollyhocks stood up straight and 
 tall beside the porch, the breeze bowing their 
 heads and bearing a scent of sea things, 
 passed her towards the hills. A sudden 
 f aintness seized Hester ; she steadied herself 
 against the gate, and as she did so, Luce 
 opened the door and looked out. For 
 a moment surprise held the girl silent,
 
 82 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 then she advanced a few steps down the 
 path. 
 
 "What ails 'ee?" she asked. "But then 
 do come in, do, and rest yourzelf ; you look 
 most mazin' white and divered." 
 
 Hester made no reply, but raising her eyes 
 fixed them on the younger woman's face. 
 She marked with a pang of jealousy how the 
 mysterious needs and claims of coming 
 motherhood, while robbing the features of 
 their freshness, had given them spiritual dis- 
 tinction, the fruit of long brooding thoughts. 
 Grudgingly she traced the motherhood in the 
 face of the woman whose child was yet un- 
 born, and felt the cruel pangs of the barren 
 in the presence of fertility. Then she turned 
 aside, and looked towards the White Cottage, 
 which should have been her home. Drawing 
 herself upright, she advanced, and pushing 
 back the door she, with a gesture superb in 
 its pride, seemed to welcome Luce across the 
 threshold. The girl followed in puzzled 
 silence.
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 83 
 
 Within, the room was dark and cool. A 
 sound of hammering came from a shed at the 
 back of the house. 
 
 Hester shivered. " Who's over to there ? " 
 she asked, indicating the direction from 
 whence the sound came. 
 
 " 'Tiddn't no wan but Ben, ray husband, 
 that is," Luce answered. " He's making a bit 
 o' a cradle," she added shyly. 
 
 There was silence. Hester sank down on 
 a seat and covered her eyes as if to shield 
 them from the light. 
 
 Watching her, Luce caught the glitter of a 
 gold ring on the upturned hand. She drew 
 nearer. "I zee," she exclaimed, "that you 
 be a married woman yoursel'. Wor'ss ever 
 fearzome afore the chile was borned to 'ee? 
 Sort of longing for un and yet kind o' timid 
 o' his coming ? " 
 
 The elder woman straightened herself with 
 a jerk. " I niver had no child, on'y wanted 
 un," she answered stiffly. 
 
 " Ah," exclaimed Luce, " 'tis wonderful
 
 84 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 kooris feeling un wi' 'ee by day and by night 
 and all the time being held back from the 
 claiming o' un afore the world. Eh but he 
 lies close, and when the time is here for his 
 coming he'll not be more my lad than he 
 be now. Still," she added softly, " I shud 
 dearly like to hannel un and show un to his 
 vether." 
 
 There was no reply, and after a moment 
 Luce picked up some needlework from the 
 table. 
 
 " Zee," she added, bending forward, " this 
 is just a little snip o' a shift I've bin making 
 for un. Tis fine and soft, a chile's skin do 
 fret that powerful easy. Thic be the back, 
 and you lays un down upo' your knee and 
 mops it round un, zo." 
 
 At this moment Ben Lupin entered the 
 room "unobserved, and stood half-hidden by 
 the tall clock near the door. Hester, pushing 
 aside the work, sat staring straight in front 
 of her. Slowly her large dark eyes filled 
 with tears. Thinking of her own barrenness,
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 85 
 
 the girl's words sounded as a cry of triumph 
 over her. 
 
 " 'Tis cruel work talking o' childer to the 
 childless," she exclaimed. 
 
 " Zo 'tis, zo 'tis," Luce admitted with ready 
 sympathy. "But then you iddn't noways 
 old, mayhap you'll have a chile o' yer own, 
 zome day. I cud find it in my heart to wish 
 it for 'ee. Like enough, too, your man do 
 weary for a lad the zarne ez yoursel'." 
 
 Hester rose to her feet. " He's long since 
 given over wearying," she exclaimed harshly. 
 
 " He must be terrible t'other from Ben," 
 Luce answered. 
 
 The elder woman laughed. " Do you 
 reckon he's zo different ? " 
 
 "Ess, fay." 
 
 " I knowed a Ben, but he wor a hard man. 
 Waiting corned ill to him." 
 
 " Poor soul ! " exclaimed Luce. " My lad 
 be always tendersome wi' me, though he do 
 act high-handed and spirity to other folks at 
 times."
 
 86 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 "You have niver tried un. 'Tiddn't no 
 childless hearth that he'll be axed to sit by 
 year in year out." 
 
 " No ; but he's mortal jealous o' the child 
 that's coming for all o' thic. Whiles I be 
 fo'ced to wait till he has dropped off to zlape 
 afore I as much as dare call the little 'un 
 to mind. But then I don't worry. I knaws 
 well enough that when wance the chile is 
 
 
 
 here Ben ull no grudge him aught in reason, 
 and as to the easyfying o' life, a lad looks to 
 have that droo his mother." 
 
 For a while no sound was audible in the 
 room but the slow, laboured ticking of the 
 eight-day clock, and then Hester stepped for- 
 ward and caught Luce by the arm. 
 
 "Do 'ee reckon," she exclaimed fiercely, 
 " that life 'ull always run along smooth for 
 'ee, the zame ez it has ? Haven't 'ee niver 
 heard o' zarrer ? Who be you and yours that 
 you shud hope to escape it? Do 'ee think 
 cuz the chile lies safe agin your heart now 
 that the day 'ull niver come when he'll stray
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 87 
 
 far from 'ee ? Do 'ee count that the Ben you 
 have lamed to trust in the saft months o' 
 courting 'ull be the zame droo life ? " 
 
 The younger woman drew away her arm 
 and sank down on the nearest chair. 
 
 " It scares me to hear 'ee talk zo," she pro- 
 tested. " What do mak' 'ee do it ? Zee, I am 
 all o' a trembly." 
 
 "I don't want to scare 'ee," Hester an- 
 swered in a sad voice. " I don't wish 'ee no 
 harm, nay, more'n that, I cud find it in my 
 heart to wish 'ee wull. To add to your zar- 
 rer 'ull take nought from the weight o' mine." 
 
 She ceased speaking, and her eyes fell on 
 Ben Lupin. For a moment the husband and 
 wife looked at one another, then silently she 
 passed him by and left the house. He 
 turned and gazed after her, his face white 
 and contracted. A sudden gust of wind 
 caught the door, shutting it with a slam, and 
 he stood and stared mechanically at the bare 
 panels. True, his secret still remained un- 
 disclosed, but not till that moment had he
 
 88 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 realized how great was the gift he had been 
 willing to accept, and his manhood trembled 
 beneath the weight of a craven gratitude. 
 He had never analysed his love for Luce, nor 
 understood how rapid had been its growth, 
 or how closely his happiness had become 
 bound up with hers. He had believed him- 
 self strong enough to do wrong and bear the 
 punishment of his wrong-doing ; but standing, 
 a silent spectator of the scene between the 
 two women, a novel sensation had come to 
 him ; for the first time in his life he had been 
 afraid. His whole nature revolted against 
 the harbouring of fear, but he could not 
 thrust it from him, stronger than his pride 
 was this strange new need of happiness. 
 Unobserved by him it had sprung up in his 
 heart, sheltered by the presence there of the 
 one woman he had ever learned to love. He 
 dared not risk the loss of her affection, and yet 
 the failing to face that risk involved the sur- 
 render of everything that hitherto he had 
 held most dear. His pity for Hester died
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 89 
 
 within him, he could not afford to be pitiful ; 
 but still dumbly wrestling with this strange 
 new problem he came forward to where Luce 
 sat, and flung himself down beside her on 
 the worn horsehair settle. 
 
 She slipped her hand into his. " Oh, lad," 
 she exclaimed, " I've been that scart." 
 
 Lupin allowed her fingers to lie in his 
 palm, but took no notice of her remark. 
 Surprised at his silence, she scrutinised his 
 face more closely. 
 
 " What be 'ee worriting over ? " she 
 asked. "You don't look noways yerzulf." 
 
 He did not answer. The words sounded 
 in his ears, but he remained blank to their 
 meaning. 
 
 A fear seized Luce; she raised herself, 
 and, leaning forward, caught both his hands. 
 " Thic f urren woman wor nought to 'ee I " 
 she asked.. 
 
 He stared dully into the girl's face, but 
 returned no answer. She flung herself upon 
 her knees before him.
 
 90 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 " Ben, Ben," she exclaimed, shaking him 
 with all her strength, as if she must arouse 
 him out of the strange lethargy into which 
 he had fallen, " What wor 'ee doing all the 
 long years you were away from me ? " 
 
 " Why do 'ee ax thic now ? " he said at 
 length. 
 
 "I don't know," she answered feebly, 
 " only I'm afeard." 
 
 The words ended in a cry, as a curious 
 sharp pain tore its way through her body, 
 and she fell sobbing against his knee. He 
 lifted her up, and carrying her into the next 
 room, put her on the bed. After a while 
 the pain lost some of its fierceness ; she 
 begged him to lie down beside her, and 
 when he had done so she placed her face 
 close to his and her tears fell upon his 
 cheeks.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 IT so chanced that when Hester left the 
 White Cottage Septimus Spong was seated 
 on a neighbouring fence. Her pale face, 
 with its expression of tragic suffering, at 
 once attracted his attention, and, being a 
 man of some little curiosity, he decided to 
 follow the stranger. Before slipping down 
 from the fence, however, he stayed a mo- 
 ment to knock the ashes out of his pipe. 
 Day was setting towards dusk when he 
 turned in pursuit, but the tall figure in front 
 of him was outlined clearly enough against 
 the hill. Lupin had few relatives, and 
 Spong, running over the list of them in his 
 mind, could think of no one but an aunt in 
 Australia. 
 
 " Well, 'tis to be hoped her's sommat 
 
 more'n a relative," he murmured; "but the 
 
 01
 
 92 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 ins and outs o' things be pleasurable know- 
 ing anyways." 
 
 He quickened his pace, and, as he did so, 
 Hester Lupin swerved and fell in. a heap 
 across the path. Hurrying forward, Spong 
 saw that she had fainted; he raised her to 
 a sitting position, and her head sank back 
 among the ferns on the hedge side. The 
 situation was developing almost too rapidly, 
 and he stood looking down at her in puzzled 
 silence. After a moment she opened her 
 eyes. 
 
 "Do you reckon you cud git as far as 
 the Lupins' cottage if I wor to lend 'ee a 
 hand?" he said. 
 
 She shuddered. " I'll bide where I be for 
 a bit, and then I'll hike home along," she 
 answered. 
 
 Spong's curiosity, which had nagged un- 
 der the stress of circumstances, was at once 
 re-aroused. " Do 'ee live far from here ? " 
 he asked. " I fancied you wor a furrener." 
 
 She closed her eyes and appeared not to
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 93 
 
 hear the question. Somewhat baffled, he 
 glanced at her hand to see if she wore a 
 wedding ring, and then back at her face, the 
 sadness of which stirred his heart with pity. 
 He felt ashamed of prying into her affairs, 
 and, turning away, looked sheepishly down, 
 the lane. After a while she raised herself, 
 and asked him to help her as far as the vil- 
 lage. They crept forward at a slow pace, 
 she leaning heavily on his arm, till at length 
 they reached a small inn called " The Fisher- 
 man's Desire." 
 
 "Mayhap I shud do well to rest here a 
 bit," she said. 
 
 " Ess, fay," he agreed eagerly ; " a drop o' 
 spirrats 7 ud put fresh life into 'ee." 
 
 A curious expression, half eager, half 
 afraid, crossed her face, but she made no 
 comment and they entered the inn together. 
 The room was empty, and Spong went in 
 search of the landlord, returning after a 
 few minutes with a bottle of rum and two 
 glasses on a tray. He poured out some of
 
 94 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 the spirits and pushed it across the table to 
 Hester. She put out her hand and drew it 
 closer, but did not drink The smell of the 
 spirits filled the room. Leaning back in 
 her chair she closed her eyes; her hands, 
 gripped tight together, were folded on her 
 knee. From time to time her throat twitched 
 as if she were swallowing. Suddenly she 
 bent forward, thrust her lips to the glass, 
 sucking up the liquid with a hideous sound 
 of hurry. Spong watched her in dismay, 
 but she had forgotten his presence. 
 
 Seizing the bottle, she filled and refilled 
 her glass with pure spirits. An unsexed ex- 
 pression came into her face, the wan cheeks 
 seemed to cave together ; it was as if some 
 oubliette of the soul had opened through 
 which her womanhood had sunk out of sight. 
 
 The sweat began to gather on Spong's 
 forehead ; he wiped it off with his hand. 
 A fear of being found in this woman's com- 
 pany beset him. He wondered what his 
 neighbours would think.
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 95 
 
 " Law jay ! " he exclaimed, rising from 
 his seat, " who cud ha' believed it o' her, 
 law jay ! " 
 
 Then Hester's mood changed. Bending 
 forward, she caught Septimus Spong by 
 the arm, thrusting him back into his chair. 
 
 " What have I zed ? " she cried. " What 
 have I told 'ee ? No wan must knaw that 
 I be Ben Lupin's wife." A flood of maudlin 
 tears silenced her for a moment. " Who is 
 it," she continued, glancing round, "that 
 keeps on a-zaying I ba wife to Ben Lupin 
 over to the White Cottage? I tull 'ee no 
 wan must knaw cuz they wad up and tull it 
 to the law, and the law iddn't to be trusted 
 wi' sich things ; the law 'ud put un in 
 prison, that's wat the law 'ud be after 
 doing." 
 
 She was silent a moment, and stretching 
 Out a trembling hand, searched vaguely 
 round for the bottle of spirits. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "I be his wife, not her; 
 and the chile that is coming shud ha' been
 
 96 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 my chile. Who told 'ee the chile's my 
 chile ? " She stopped speaking, and her 
 eyes fell on her wedding ring ; she twisted 
 it round. " I can't understand," she con- 
 tinued ; " there's sommat I must have 
 forgot." 
 
 Overwhelmed with astonishment, Spong 
 sat silently staring at the drunken woman. 
 She eyed him dazedly, a slow smile broaden- 
 ing her face, her head nodding. After a 
 moment the upper half of her body slid 
 forward, first slowly, then with a jerk on to 
 the table. 
 
 The postman waited no longer, but rose 
 and fled. Once back in his own cottage he 
 tried to collect his thoughts and review the 
 situation. Spong, by nature, was what the 
 villagers called an " interfering man " ; he 
 liked, as he called it, to " hold the strings of 
 things." Now it seemed as if his desire was 
 about to be granted, and yet there was much 
 in the situation that did not please him. 
 He could have wished to have learned the
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 97 
 
 truth in any other way than the way he 
 had; neither could he disabuse his mind 
 of the thought that the drunken woman 
 had tried to guard her secret even at the 
 moment when she was betraying it, and 
 this knowledge filled him with uneasiness. 
 Still, in common justice to the village 
 and his own intelligence, the truth must 
 be told and morality avenged. There could 
 be little doubt that it was a grand part 
 that he was being called upon to play, 
 though he could have wished for a more 
 overwhelming sense of righteousness in the 
 playing of it. 
 
 At last he decided to go to bed and 
 sleep on the question, having learnt by ex- 
 perience that a man can see further into 
 the truth after a good night's rest. Sleep, 
 however, refused to visit him, and the soft 
 yellow dawn spreading across the fields 
 found him still undecided as to his ulti- 
 mate course of action ; on one point alone 
 had he come to a decision, and that was he
 
 98 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 would go down to Ben Lupin and tell him 
 what he thought of his behaviour. 
 
 He rose and dressed; opening a chest 
 of drawers he drew out his best coat ; there 
 was nothing, he knew from experience, like 
 being sure of one's personal appearance 
 when admonishing others, and Spong felt 
 very sure of himself indeed as he walked 
 across the fields to the White Cottage. The 
 door was open, smoke pushing out from the 
 chimney; he was surprised, for the hour 
 was still early. 
 
 A moment later, Lupin hurried down 
 the path, thrusting his arms into his coat as 
 he ran, jumped the gate at the end of the 
 garden and rushed away in the direction of 
 the village. 
 
 The little postman's heart gave a thud of 
 dismay. What was the reason of this haste 
 on Lupin's part ? Had he been warned ? 
 Was he attempting to escape from the hands 
 of the law? At the thought Spong's de- 
 termination hardened. He advanced down
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 99 
 
 the garden path and rapped at the door. 
 There was no answer, he was about to repeat 
 the knock when his ear caught the sound 
 of moaning. An unpleasant thrill passed 
 through him and he hesitated whether to ad- 
 vance or retreat. After a moment, however, 
 the braver counsel prevailed ; he entered the 
 cottage and softly pushed open the bedroom 
 door, the latch of which was unfastened. A 
 dim light entered with him and Spong could 
 see the figure of a woman huddled together 
 in the corner of the wooden bed. Her face 
 was buried in the pillow, and she sobbed as 
 one who suffered greatly, for she was travel- 
 ling through the pains to the joys of mother- 
 hood. 
 
 " Ben, Ben," she moaned, " what makes 'ee 
 bide away zo long? I'm scart wi'out 'ee. 
 Oh, lad, I want 'ee to hold my hand and tell 
 me 'tis nobut our chile, your chile and mine, 
 that mayhap the pain won't be zo mortal 
 bad to bear. I'm fear'd to bide here all 
 alone, I'm fear'd, I'm fear'd."
 
 100 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 Spong crept out of the house, his eyes 
 full of tears, and his round, puckered face 
 redder than usual. 
 
 "Law jay ! " he exclaimed, leaning against 
 the fence. " I cudn't find it in nay heart to 
 part 'em things must jest bide ez they ba."
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 MOST people entertain an idle belief that 
 they can keep a secret if they are so minded, 
 little realizing that not good-will alone but 
 a rare amount of self-repression is needed 
 to accomplish this feat successfully. It is 
 probable that if Spong had not determined, 
 under no circumstances, to reveal Hester 
 Lupin's secret he might have found his task 
 easier of achievement ; but having once taken 
 the fatal resolution, the secret remained up- 
 permost in his mind and seemed ever on the 
 point of accidentally slipping into the light 
 of day. Three weeks passed, however, and 
 no one in the village was the wiser for 
 Spong's discovery. The effort necessary to 
 maintain silence was so great that once, on 
 meeting Lupin accidentally in the street, the 
 
 101
 
 102 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 little postman pulled up short with an in- 
 voluntary expectation of being thanked, and 
 when Lupin passed without so much as 
 vouchsafing a glance in his direction, Sep- 
 timus Spong's heart hardened and he mut- 
 tered the word "gratitude" in a tone of fine 
 sarcasm. Later the same day, returning 
 from his rounds, he met Mark Tavy, and for 
 the first time in his life felt a sense of fellow- 
 ship for the young fellow. Mark turned 
 and walked beside him, and, after a mo- 
 ment's silence, the postman burst out : 
 
 " That there Ben Lupin is a black 'un and 
 no mistake." The speech was so sudden and 
 unexpected, that Mark straightened himself 
 much as if he had received a blow in the 
 body. 
 
 " What makes 'ee say that ? " he asked. 
 
 But the little postman had already begun 
 to regret having spoken, and shut his lips 
 close to avoid further indiscretions. 
 
 Mark scanned his face eagerly. Since the 
 meeting with Hester he had not ceased to
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 103 
 
 hope that he would some day alight on facts 
 detrimental to Lupin's reputation. 
 
 " It's my belief," he said at last, " that you 
 have come across that woman." 
 
 Spong wheeled round and looked at him. 
 " Have 'ee zeed her yursulf ? " 
 
 " Yes, and had speech with her too." 
 
 " Law jay ! " exclaimed Septimus, " and 
 wor her drunk ? " 
 
 " Drunk ? No, sober as a charch." 
 
 " Well, then," replied the postman slowly, 
 " I reckon her wur more zilent than speechful. 
 Poor soul, her has need to ha' a care o' her 
 company." 
 
 " What do 'ee mean by that ? " 
 
 " Nought, nought," said Spong, once more 
 resuming his way. " Only when I calls to 
 mind how her let on when her had took a 
 drap too much and the things she zed. Why, 
 I wor that gapnesting and overtook you 
 might ha' runned me droo wi' wan o' they 
 long skewers o' the widdy's, and I shudn't 
 ha' taken no notice whatsoiver."
 
 104 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 Anxiety to know more sharpened Mark's 
 wits, a sudden inspiration came to him ; he 
 glanced round, there was no one in sight. 
 " Septimus," he said, " you be a careful man 
 and a man folks ha' learnt to trust." 
 
 " Ess, fay," Spong interrupted. " I be all 
 that and more." 
 
 " You see a deal further than your neigh- 
 bours." 
 
 " Tis no but the truth." 
 
 " And you wud ha' made a better p'lice- 
 man than the wan us ha' got." In making 
 the assertion Mark well knew that he was 
 falling in with one of the little postman's 
 cherished illusions. 
 
 Spong's face brightened. " I niver had no 
 'pinion o' Constable Garge in my life," he 
 said emphatically. 
 
 There was a moment's pause. Mark drew 
 in his breath ; he was about to make a bid 
 for the secret 
 
 " Do 'ee reckon," he said, turning quickly 
 and facing his companion, " that if so be it
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 105 
 
 had been you that had the acting for the law 
 in this here village, Ben Lupin wud be the 
 free man to-day that he be ? " 
 
 " No, begore," Spong burst out, " he wud 
 ha' been jailed this week ago, sarving his five 
 years for bigamy." 
 
 The complete success of his stratagem left 
 Mark surprised rather than elated, but, after 
 a while, a bitter joy filled him. " Luce iddn't 
 wife to Ben Lupin after all," he exclaimed, 
 with exultation. 
 
 " Well, don't bawl it out so that the whole 
 parish can hear 'ee, anyway," Spong remon- 
 strated, throwing an uneasy glance behind 
 him. " Law jay," he continued, after a pause, 
 "'twud be a narrer heart that cudn't find 
 room in it to pity both o' 'em, wife and maid ; 
 for how the one is to be righted wi'out it 
 going rare hard for t'other poor zoul, be 
 more'n I can zee." 
 
 But Mark was in no mood to weigh such 
 a question in the balance. "Things won't 
 bide as they be," he answered.
 
 106 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 Spong's round face lengthened. " Don't 
 'ee be after making no mistake," he replied 
 with vigour. "Tiddn't no matter to be 
 lightly meddled with, and the man that takes 
 it on hiszulf to interfere ull ez like ez not ha' 
 the breaking o' Luce Myrtle's heart for his 
 pains. You can't strip a maid sich ez her be 
 o' decency and rispact and reckon to be 
 thanked for your trouble." 
 
 The blood, cramped into the young fisher- 
 man's veins, rose and beat against the walls 
 of his brain. " A lad cud make an honest 
 woman o' her," he said huskily. 
 
 A vision of Luce as he last saw her, lying 
 in the old wooden bed, rose before Spong. 
 
 " Mayhap her wud feel a deal honester left 
 ez her be," he answered, after a pause. 
 "Zims almost ez if it took more'n the law 
 and the Church to make folks man an' wife." 
 
 Mark did not answer. The two men 
 strode along, the one with a heart filled 
 with pity, the other with bitterness. At 
 Widow Flutter's door they parted, and
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 107 
 
 Mark continued his way to the quay where 
 his boat was anchored. Jumping on board, 
 he hoisted sail and steered out to sea. He 
 wanted to be alone, he wanted to think, but 
 his mind, paralyzed by emotion, could as- 
 similate nothing, and his twitching lips 
 formed the same sentence over and over 
 again. 
 
 "Her isn't no wife of his," he muttered; 
 " her isn't no wife o' his." 
 
 The boat, noseing her way through a head 
 sea, rose and fell; he shifted the sail, laid 
 her over upon another tack and she swung 
 round, running almost parallel with the 
 cliffs. To leeward, the White Cottage, the 
 setting sun full on the small windows, stood 
 looking down upon him with red, shiny 
 eyes. For weeks he had avoided glancing 
 in that direction, but to-day he flung back 
 his head and stared up defiantly; and the 
 little cottage, as some living thing, seemed to 
 realize the change in him. It grew less self- 
 confident; the light fading, its eyes looked
 
 108 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 no better than the windows of a dead soul. 
 A sense of triumph filled Mark ; he longed 
 to return, and in retaliation for the many in- 
 dignities thrust upon him, to seize Luce and 
 tear her from this cottage that had forfeited 
 the right of sanctity. 
 
 " I cud gi'e her an honest name," he said. 
 Yet, even as he spoke, Spoug's words re- 
 echoed through his mind: "Mayhap her 
 wud feel honester left ez her is." 
 
 Such an attitude, so illogical and yet so 
 like a woman, filled him with bitterness. 
 Gladly would he have imagined Luce as ris- 
 ing superior to it, but the faith failed him. 
 The law was on his side, but the law was of 
 scant account among women, they neither 
 understood nor heeded it. Then he tried to 
 juggle with facts. What right, he asked 
 himself, had he to withhold the truth from 
 Luce? If she failed to value her good 
 name, it behoved him to guard it the more 
 closely. To and fro, he wove the woof of 
 his desire between the warp of fact, till all
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 109 
 
 that was most false in the picture startled 
 him by its verisimilitude. Slowly night 
 closed in upon him, and as the dusk deep- 
 ened he seemed to span more nearly the gulf 
 that lay between Luce's happiness and his own. 
 
 " Zome day her'll thank me for speaking 
 out," he said. The words startled him ; he 
 did not know his purpose was already fixed. 
 He glanced back, the land was hidden in the 
 general greyness, nothing was visible but the 
 wide stretch of sea around, and the wide 
 stretch of sky above. A sense of his own 
 insignificance came to him, his spirit shrank 
 altogether. 
 
 He flung himself down into the bottom of 
 the boat. 
 
 " O God ! " he sobbed out, " Ben's given 
 me tumble cause to hate un and her was 
 to ha' been my wife." 
 
 Yet this confession of an unworthy motive 
 was but tentative and half-hearted, for it 
 was part of his faith that he was a good 
 man and that his cause was just.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 CONSTABLE GAUGE was seated in the arm- 
 chair before the fire when Spong entered 
 Widow Flutter's cottage. An expression of 
 solid contentment rested on the policeman's 
 face, his long legs were stretched out at full 
 length, his corn-coloured beard curled across 
 
 O ' 
 
 his chest, spreading itself out as some great 
 tuft of seaweed afloat on a wave. The pang 
 of jealousy that shot through Spong at the 
 sight of his rival was followed by a soothing 
 feeling of triumph; he hugged his secret 
 more closely, and eyed his gigantic rival with 
 contempt born of a wider knowledge of the 
 affairs of the village. There was a short 
 silence while the widow, her plump, fresh 
 face a little flushed, busied herself in pouring 
 Spong out a cup of tea. Glancing about 
 
 him, his attention was attracted by five large, 
 
 no
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 111 
 
 coloured glass balls reposing on a table near 
 the fire. 
 
 " Why," he exclaimed, drawing his chair 
 forward, " whativer have us got here ? " 
 
 " Nought less than a present," replied the 
 widow, smiling; "the same ha' been brought 
 from Barnstaple fair, not longer ago than 
 the night afore last." 
 
 Spong's contempt for his rival deepened. 
 " Glass balls," he said, " wor a poor exchange 
 for the doing o' dooty." 
 
 The reply did not seem exactly to the 
 widow's taste. 
 
 " There's dooty and dooty," she answered 
 with some sharpness; "and the coloured 
 balls have ez much meaning attached to 'em 
 ez any Christian, for all they be made o' glass. 
 And if you doubt my word, you can ax Con- 
 stable Garge." 
 
 " Law jay ! " said Spong. whose temper 
 was rising, " if I wor to put a question, 
 'twou'd be ez to the use o' sich trash." 
 
 " Wull, wull," Constable Garge interposed
 
 112 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 in an even voice, " they wor made more for 
 ornament than for use, I reckon, baing, so to 
 speak, things o' taste. Leastways, that wor 
 how I put it to the missis at the stall. 
 'Mother,' ses I, * I be thinking o' gitting 
 married, and I want sommat wi' a look to 
 it.' " 
 
 At the word " married," Spong gave a loud, 
 indignant snort ; but the constable, appearing 
 not to notice the interruption, proceeded 
 calmly with his tale. 
 
 " Then ses she to me, ' You couldn't go for 
 to do a wiser thing than buy they five col- 
 oured balls. There's the blue wan,' she ses, 
 * the same colour ez the stripes across Her 
 Majesty's breast; red, that 'ull put 'ee in 
 mind of battle, murder and sudden death, the 
 same being, ez the Prayer-Book ses, always 
 in our midst ; green stands for the Emerald 
 Isle, a part o' England, tho' I've heard a place 
 wi' ways ; yaller 'ull tell 'ee ivery Saturday 
 night to put your money faithful in your 
 wife's hand ; purple pictures life, not over-
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 113 
 
 full o' zarrer or o' joy, but fair eating and 
 clothes to taste.' Wi' that I paid down my 
 money, thinking I cudn't do a much wiser 
 thing." 
 
 The constable relapsed into silence. Spong, 
 for his part, was more impressed than he 
 cared to admit. He had had a sneaking ad- 
 miration for the glass balls from the first mo- 
 ment that he set eyes on them, but the wealth 
 of metaphorical meaning attributed to them 
 by their donor almost took his breath away. 
 He realized too that this well-chosen present 
 had been the means by which his rival had 
 ingratiated himself with the widow, and the 
 knowledge increased his desire to humiliate 
 Constable Garge in her presence. 
 
 " If I chose to put tongue to speech," he 
 burst out, " I cud tell 'ee that ez wud make 
 'ee think o' sommat else azide glass balls." 
 
 At this remark the widow showed signs 
 of evident curiosity, but Constable Garge 
 merely spread himself out more comfortably in 
 his chair, raised one heavy eyelid, gazed a mo-
 
 114 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 ment at the angry little postman, and then, 
 without further ado, dropped off to sleep. 
 
 " Zlape away, you banging girt bumble- 
 head ! " exclaimed Spong in a voice of ex- 
 treme irritation ; " wan wud reckon, to see 
 'ee, that a constable's vally lay in his stom- 
 ach and not in his wits." 
 
 A loud snore was the only reply; even 
 the widow seemed a trifle surprised. 
 
 " Well, well," she remarked, " he's done a 
 hard day's work, no doubt." 
 
 " Wark ! " Spong repeated, " 'tis precious 
 little wark he do do. Why, if things were 
 left to he, all the jails wud go empty, and 
 ivery rapscallion in the country-side 'ud be 
 free to ride in a coach." 
 
 The widow was no friend to backbiting. 
 " La, la ! Mr. Spong," she exclaimed, " how 
 you do run on agin him, to be sure." 
 
 " And reason I have for the zame." 
 
 "Wull," she answered, rising from her 
 seat, "will 'ee take a drap o' sloe gin if I 
 wor to pour it out for 'ee ? "
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 115 
 
 At the mention of sloe gin, the sleeping 
 form of Constable Garge twitched violently. 
 
 " I don't so much mind if I do," Spong 
 answered in a pleasanter tone. 
 
 The gin was brought, and as the liquid 
 trickled with a plop-plop into the glasses, 
 a sound more resembling a groan than a 
 snore came from the policeman's chair. 
 
 " How heavy he do dream, poor man ! " 
 "Widow Flutter remarked, glancing at her re- 
 cumbent admirer. 
 
 "Thick wits zlape sound," Spong an- 
 swered ; " and thick-witted he be and no 
 mistake. Why " and the little postman 
 edged his chair nearer to the widow as he 
 spoke "I cud tell 'ee zommat that he wi' 
 all his prying ain't found out, and zommat 
 he wud gi' a deal to know." 
 
 "La!" said the widow, "what a pusson 
 for information you do be, Mr. Spong." 
 
 " I marks what 1 zees, that is what I does, 
 Widow Flutter." 
 
 " And yet 'tiddn't you that be constable,"
 
 116 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 she said; adding after a pause, however, 
 thoughtfully, "but there iddn't a finer-built 
 man in all the village, no one wi' more length 
 o' leg than Constable Garge." 
 
 " What's length o' leg put aside length o' 
 wit ? " remarked Spong testily. 
 
 " To be sure," the widow answered in a 
 soothing voice, " there comes times when us 
 needs the both." 
 
 "If so be us has 'em to fall back on, 
 Widow Flutter, always providing thic," 
 Spong observed. " Why, there is a man in 
 this village I cud jail at this very minute ez 
 sure ez I sit here. He wud need more'n his 
 own share o' wit to escape me, but he ain't 
 got nought to fear from Constable Garge, 
 and can snap his vingers at the law the same 
 ez honest folk." 
 
 " La," exclaimed the widow, " what dread- 
 ful tales you do tell. It quite makes 
 the cold shivers run down my back only 
 to hear 'ee. And who may the pussen 
 be?"
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 117 
 
 "A'tween ourselves, no other man than 
 Ben Lupin." 
 
 " Ben Lupin ! Well, I niver. I've always 
 heard folks say he poached." 
 
 " 'Tiddn't poaching," Spong answered with 
 gravity befitting the disclosure he was about 
 to make. "'Tis sommat a long way wuss 
 than poaching." 
 
 " Dear, dear ! " 
 
 There was a moment's pause, during which 
 Spong drained his glass and set it back on 
 the table with a bang. 
 
 *' 'Tis bigamy," he exclaimed in an im- 
 pressive whisper. 
 
 The widow threw up her hands. 
 " Heaven presarve us ! " she ejaculated. 
 "And Luce that I've known from a child, 
 and her a mother. I be more sorry than I 
 can zay. But howiver did you come to larn 
 sich a thing ? That's what I should like to 
 knaw." 
 
 Thus adjured, Spong related the whole 
 story, from beginning to end. Barely had
 
 118 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 he finished before the constable woke up, 
 and remarked that he believed that he must 
 have been asleep. " But," he said, " he cud 
 smell liquor all droo his dreams." 
 
 This last statement brought a smile once 
 more to the widow's face. She fetched an 
 extra glass, and when Constable Garge had 
 drunk to the "Health, happiness, and 
 general good sense o' the company," the 
 party broke up; the two rivals returning 
 home, and the widow, sighing more than 
 once over the contrariness of things that 
 allowed the Ben Lupins of this world to 
 ruin the lives of honest, self-respecting 
 women, lit her candle and retired upstairs 
 to bed.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 ON the hill above the White Cottage, and 
 about a quarter of a mile from the village 
 stood Bellow House, generally known as the 
 Great House. It was a big, rambling grey 
 stone building, exposed on all sides except 
 the north, where the wind was planted out 
 by a larch wood. A stranger approaching 
 from the road never lost sight of the house, 
 which stared at him down the bare hill 
 slopes as if it had no secrets to hide, and 
 expected a like frankness from all comers. 
 There was a touch of the same sentiment 
 about the old Squire, who loved a plain fact 
 plainly told, and was liberal of everything 
 except speech. It was to the Squire that 
 Mark now turned. Once having made up 
 his mind to reveal the secret, he anticipated 
 
 119
 
 120 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 scant difficulty in putting his decision into 
 practice, yet, when he passed the cottage on 
 his way to the Great House a curious un- 
 easiness took possession of him, and he 
 wished his errand well over and himself well 
 out of it 
 
 Luce was seated beneath the low, 
 thatched porch, sewing, and the baby, 
 asleep, lay stretched out upon her knees. 
 She glanced up at Mark's approach and 
 beckoned to him. He passed on, taking no 
 notice ; then, with a sudden change of in- 
 tention, turned and came back and stood 
 leaning across the wicket gate. A big 
 apple-tree all a-blow with bees and blossom 
 thrust its scent between him and the house 
 and seemed in some subtle way to personify 
 the sweet fragrance of the home it shel- 
 tered. 
 
 The peacefulness of the scene struck 
 the young fisherman as being unnatural, 
 uncalled for he could not ' harmonize it 
 with the errand on which he was bent.
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 121 
 
 Pushing open the gate, he came close to 
 Luce, scanning her face; surely Lupin's 
 love must have stamped its desecration 
 there. She raised her eyes; pity, tender- 
 ness, affection, were all in the gaze she 
 returned to his. He tried to pierce deeper 
 to the well-spring of her being, but of that 
 which he sought he could find no trace. 
 Bitter disappointment filled him, it was to 
 be his sacred right and duty to rehabilitate 
 this woman in her own eyes and in the 
 world's, to wipe away the stains from her 
 motherhood with his own good name, and 
 she seemed so unconscious of the hard 
 straits she was in, that she half led him to 
 doubt her need of help. He glanced from 
 her to the interior of the scantily furnished 
 kitchen, and realized, not without pride, 
 that it would have looked less bare had he 
 been master, for he had put by a full fifty 
 pounds so that his wife should never have 
 cause to hang down her head before her 
 neighbours.
 
 122 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 Luce had known of this store, for week 
 by week as he had added his bits of money 
 to the heap in the small iron-clamped 
 money-box, he had told her the exact 
 sum the chest contained, and would make 
 her take it out and count it afresh for 
 the mere pleasure that the click-click of 
 the coin gave him often too, he had been 
 vexed because she had not shown a similar 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 The thought came to him that poverty 
 was a fine sharpener of men's appetites, 
 and that Luce, having gone hungry, would 
 have a keen taste for the once despised 
 gold. A half smile crossed his lips as he 
 turned and looked down at her ; there was 
 sweetness in gratifying the needs of this 
 woman who, up till now, had seemed to 
 have scant needs to gratify. 
 
 " Luce," he said, " I have they fifty 
 pounds by me still." 
 
 She smiled across at him, only half grasp- 
 ing his meaning.
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 123 
 
 " What fifty pounds be thic ? " she asked. 
 
 There was a moment's pause while Mark 
 tried ineffectually to smother his resentment 
 at her lack of comprehension. He had im- 
 agined her tracking him thought by thought, 
 and, as it were, fingering the money over and 
 over in her mind. 
 
 " The lil' place looks half starved," he ex- 
 claimed contemptuously. 
 
 She did not answer, but, bending down, 
 kissed the sleeping child. His face con- 
 tracted, anger and misery fought for posses- 
 sion of his heart. 
 
 " Do you love the chile ? " he asked in a 
 rough voice. 
 
 She rose and laid the baby in the cradle 
 before replying. 
 
 " Lad," she said, putting her hand upon his 
 arm, " do be friends wi' me, do, and then I 
 do think I shall have nothing left to wish 
 for." 
 
 " Friends," he repeated, shaking himself 
 free. " Who cares aught for sich ez thic ? "
 
 124 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 An expression half sad, half tender, came 
 into her face. 
 
 " Us wor niver more'n friends, Mark," she 
 answered gently ; " but us have been friends 
 iver since us wor childer." 
 
 His heart rose in rebellion against her. It 
 seemed to him that she was trying to cheapen 
 his love, to class it out from being love at all. 
 
 " Tis zommat a mort different from thic 
 that I veel for 'ee, and you know it," he re- 
 plied. 
 
 She turned from him to the open window. 
 " Zims ez if you must be mistook, lad," she 
 said softly. 
 
 He did not answer. The pity which filled 
 him a few short moments back had departed, 
 and in its place a dull anger burnt in his 
 heart. For the first time the desire came to 
 him to punish this woman who was so indif- 
 ferent to his love, to teach her through suffer- 
 ing the lesson that kindness failed to instil. 
 
 " I must be gwaying," he exclaimed. " I've 
 zommat to zay to the Squire up to the Great
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 125 
 
 House. Maybe you and Lupin '11 have cause 
 to hear o' me agaio," and swinging round on 
 his heel, he left the cottage. 
 
 He did not regret having spoken thus has- 
 tily, the blood burned too hot in his heart 
 and brain for regret to find a place there, and 
 yet he had meant to keep his visit to the 
 Great House a secret between the old Squire 
 and himself. On he went, nursing his anger, 
 drawing quick visions of the future when 
 Luce should have learned at last to distin- 
 guish the sham Lupin from the real man. 
 Bared to his sins, Ben Lupin would be ugly 
 showing. Mark gloried in the thought of 
 the revelation that was in store ; he would 
 not have rung down the curtain now for the 
 plaudits of God and man the stage was set, 
 the actor had but to walk on. 
 
 Pushing back the gate, Mark entered Bel- 
 low grounds ; then, for no apparent reason, 
 his mood changed, his anger died, and he was 
 possessed by chill foreboding. A distaste 
 seized him for the bare hill slopes against
 
 126 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 which every object showed prominently, and 
 the first glance at which sufficed to reveal 
 that he was not the only man that had busi- 
 ness with the Squire that morning. Ahead, 
 marching up the drive with a fine disregard 
 of the fact that his gigantic body jutted out 
 in high relief, was Constable Garge. A pang 
 of envy shot through Mark. A sudden ques- 
 tion leaped into his mind. He knew well 
 that this man had often been called upon to 
 denounce the guilty: on this morning the 
 constable's errand and his own might not be 
 dissimilar. " What then," he asked himself, 
 " made the man so at ease ? " No sense of 
 secret shame seemed to cling to him; he 
 walked with the free gait of the honest. 
 
 Unconsciously, the young fisherman turned 
 sea-wards a longing came to him to be out 
 among the big, broad-breasted waves and 
 feel the sharp lick of their tongues upon his 
 face. He would be at ease out there, would 
 feel no doubt as to the issue, and yet he had 
 had many a hard tussle with the sea when
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 127 
 
 neither knew whether they fought as friends 
 or foes. 
 
 He stood for a long time staring across 
 the water, his eyes following a track of light 
 till it vanished in the curves of the horizon. 
 Often when a child, he had dreamed of that 
 track of light, and, waking to find darkness 
 lying on everything, would make believe that 
 the broad gold band was still without, rib' 
 boning the whole earth. Other dreams re- 
 turned to him till his heart grew heavy with 
 the weight of them. What had manhood 
 brought to be compared to those boyish vis- 
 ions that had struck out towards the un- 
 known future in just such another long gold 
 track of light ? Thinking of childhood, its 
 hopes, desires, its straining towards the no- 
 bler, a distrust of himself as he now was 
 came to him. It was as if the child, return- 
 ing again and taking on the flesh of the man, 
 found the garment unhallowed. Mark gazed 
 into his heart with clear-seeing eyes and 
 shuddered at what he saw ; for a brief mo-
 
 128 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 ment, that seemed to stretch on for years, 
 he was permitted to stand face to face with 
 his own spirit bent, distorted, shrivelled, 
 maimed, it cried to him through dumb lips 
 for more light, more room to expand, to 
 grow it could not breathe in the sodden 
 air of his desires. 
 
 Far below, at the hill's foot, stood the 
 White Cottage. He glanced from it to the 
 Great House and, doing so, a question shot 
 through his mind. Should he go back be- 
 fore it was too late, leave his errand undone, 
 and Lupin to other hands for punishment? 
 This respectability that he would force on 
 the woman he loved at the cost of discredit- 
 ing her in the world's eyes and her own, 
 what was it but the desire to drive her into 
 marriage with himself? Was there, then, 
 no price too high for her to pay for the 
 satisfying of his need of her ? Surely, sure- 
 ly, he had seen the matter in another light 
 than that; it was for her he was fighting, 
 not for himself.
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 129 
 
 Once unbound, however, the eyes of his 
 conscience refused to be bandaged back from 
 seeing, nor could he again deceive himself. 
 He had reached the parting of the ways, 
 and the Mark Tavy that he loved so well 
 the Mark who had stood by the Almighty 
 when the Almighty had been loath to stand 
 by him, was about to plant his foot on the 
 wrong road. Slowly the beads of sweat 
 gathered on the young fisherman's forehead. 
 How often had he not taken it as some 
 sweet-scented garment to cover the naked- 
 ness of his many failures ! We can all sin, 
 but we cannot afford to count the cost be- 
 forehand, and Mark flung aside the reckon- 
 ing lest, when the day of payment arrived, 
 he should have already paid full measure 
 and running over. 
 
 Thrusting his hat down over his eyes, he 
 hurried forward. If this thing was to be 
 done, then let him get the strain of waiting 
 off his mind. A few minutes later he was 
 in the presence of the Squire who sat leaning
 
 130 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 far back in his chair, the tips of his fingers 
 pressed together, his brow creased in 
 thought. He paid no heed to Mark, ap- 
 pearing unaware of his presence. Cap in 
 hand, the young fisherman stood looking 
 down at the short, thick-set figure, awaiting 
 the moment when he should receive permis- 
 sion to explain his errand. The speech 
 which he had prepared beforehand seemed 
 to tickle his tongue, and he had a ridiculous 
 fear lest, at some unexpected noise, the 
 words might bob off, leaving their import to 
 take care of itself. As the moments ticked 
 slowly past, the strain of the long drawn-out 
 silence became almost unbearable to him. 
 
 At last the Squire raised his head and sent 
 a cold, questioning glance across at the young 
 fisherman. 
 
 "Well? "he said. 
 
 There was no reply from Mark, his care- 
 fully prepared speech seemed nailed to his 
 tongue and as devoid of meaning as a scare- 
 crow left in a field when the ripened corn
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 131 
 
 has been cut and carried. At last he found 
 words. 
 
 " I've always," he exclaimed, " acted up- 
 right and God-fearing." He stopped short, 
 bewildered, he had come to indict Ben Lupin, 
 not to vindicate himself. 
 
 The Squire raised his eyebrows but made 
 no comment, and Mark anger, jealousy, bit- 
 terness, the need of Luce's love and the fear 
 of parting with self-respect making a strange 
 turmoil in his heart stood looking at this 
 imperturbable old man, who, unmoved and 
 critical, gazed back at him and seemed in 
 some subtle way to represent Mark's own 
 long dormant conscience. A craving for help 
 came to Mark, and he stretched out his hand 
 as one seeking support. 
 
 "Sir," he said thickly, "if a man had 
 acted black to 'ee and you had it in your 
 power to do the same by 'un, what wud 'ee 
 do?" 
 
 The question, thrust so unexpectedly upon 
 him, startled the Squire; he sat up and
 
 132 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 waited a moment before answering. A slow 
 smile crossed his face. 
 
 "Well," he exclaimed, "I know what I 
 should be inclined to do." 
 
 Mark wasted no time upon the answer. 
 
 " Sir," he continued, " s'posing thickey 
 man had robbed 'ee of the wan woman that 
 wor dear to 'ee, and s'posing the law wor on 
 your side to give her back to 'ee agin, an' 
 s'posing he stopped short and turned his 
 white haggard face away from the Squire 
 towards the wind-swept sea "lier wor to 
 veel honester left ez her wor what wud 'ee 
 do then, sir? Wud 'ee fo'ce her to take 
 shelter wi' 'ee ? " 
 
 The August sun was high in the heavens 
 and the hush of summer lay upon every- 
 thing ; thrush, blackbird and woodlark were 
 all silent, waiting for mellow September to 
 resume their song. There was a long pause. 
 The Squire rose and came to where Mark 
 was standing. 
 
 " My lad," he said, laying his hand on the
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 133 
 
 young fellow's arm, " you have given me a 
 tough question, but I think you and I are of 
 the same opinion as to the answer." 
 
 *" And what be thic, sir ? " Mark asked 
 breathlessly. 
 
 "To leave her where she felt most shel- 
 tered," replied the Squire in a low voice. 
 
 A silence ensued, so beaten upon by 
 thought that it seemed to both men the air 
 was full of sound. 
 
 " But," -exclaimed Mark at last, " you for- 
 git, sir, that the law be on my side. You 
 wudn't have me bide quiet and zee the law 
 put to nought ? " 
 
 The old magistrate smiled grimly. "It 
 strikes you as strange advice coming from 
 my lips, eh ? " 
 
 " I cud give her an honest name, sir. 'Tis 
 just thic." 
 
 " And would she take it from you ? " 
 
 Mark was silent. The question seemed so 
 simple and yet so cruel. 
 
 " I've loved her ever since her wor a snip
 
 134 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 o' a chile," he said at last. Then, turning 
 away, he left the house without further pro- 
 test. Dazed and startled, he could neither 
 understand himself nor the Squire. Why 
 had he not told his tale and yet he felt glad 
 that he had not told it, but his heart was sore 
 because Luce could never know how much 
 the silence had cost him. 
 
 After a while he drew near the White 
 Cottage once more ; the soft crooning notes 
 of a woman singing to her child floated to 
 him through the open window. Mark flung 
 himself down beside the hedge. Seated on 
 a stone, between him and the house, and to 
 all appearance fast asleep, was Constable 
 Garge. His stolid form swayed from side 
 to side, rocked, it might be, by its own in- 
 ertia. Mark, listening to the woman's voice, 
 paid no heed to aught else ; peace, to which 
 he had long been a stranger, stole in upon 
 him. He stretched out his arms ; it seemed 
 to him that he was protecting Luce, fencing 
 round her happiness with the hopes torn
 
 from his own heart. She could never now 
 be his, yet never had she felt more near to 
 him. 
 
 And she, unconscious of his presence, sang 
 to her child. 
 
 When many moments had passed, Ben 
 Lupin, a basket of fish slung across his 
 shoulder, came up the steep path by the 
 clifE. At the sound of his all but noiseless 
 tread, Constable Garge awoke, and, rising, 
 laid his hand upon Lupin's arm and whis- 
 pered something in his ear. Lupin reeled 
 forward, then, recovering himself, the two 
 men stood confronting each other. 
 
 " Who told 'ee that I had another wife ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 The soft crooning song floated out through 
 the open window. Constable Garge listened 
 uneasily. Stooping, he picked up the basket 
 of fish that had fallen to the ground. 
 
 " Wull 'ee go in and tull Luce ? " he asked, 
 pointing towards the cottage ; and Lupin 
 went in.
 
 136 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 There was a long silence, and Mark cov- 
 ered his ears with his hands and lay listen- 
 ing, listening. He did not know for what 
 he listened, but, through the still air came 
 the cry as of a woman stricken unto death.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 WHEN Lupin entered the cottage in search 
 of Luce, he found her seated in a corner of 
 the old wooden settle, the baby stretched out 
 upon her knees. He stood for a moment 
 looking at them, unobserved : the woman, 
 pale from her recent illness yet with a cer- 
 tain indescribable charm added to her 
 beauty; the child, small, puckered, pink, 
 and but for the fact that it formed a neces- 
 sary complement of the picture, so hideous. 
 A broad ray of light fell, cutting them off 
 from the rest of the world; and they, ab- 
 sorbed in the joy of living, recked little of 
 any existence outside their own. 
 
 To Ben Lupin standing there, they did not 
 seem apart, but rather as the sweet presence 
 chamber of his well-being, outside of which 
 his happiness could not stray. Dumbly he 
 
 137
 
 138 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 struggled with the message he had to de- 
 liver; the coined speech of the world he had 
 just quitted had no currency in this, its 
 logic no place, its facts no correlation ; only 
 the tall clock, ticking on, joined with each 
 sweep of the pendulum these two diverse 
 worlds, subjecting each alike to the inexora- 
 ble law of change. Raising his eyes, Lupin 
 fixed them on the familiar white disc, where 
 the moon, masquerading as a forlorn maiden, 
 gazed down upon a bold and pink-faced 
 world. There seemed to him something pe- 
 culiarly cruel in the conduct of this old 
 friend, thus refusing to stay its course, 
 marching forward indifferent to the fact 
 that the moments it was now called upon 
 to measure, were not ordinary moments but 
 precious beyond compare. The tall clock 
 ticked on, each beat louder than the last, 
 till Lupin glanced behind him thinking that 
 he heard the step of Constable Garge. But 
 the door was closed, and the burly figure of 
 the constable remained outside. How long
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 139 
 
 though would he consent to wait? What 
 was the measure of his patience ? Lupin 
 had lost count of time, and could not tell 
 if hours or but a few scant moments had 
 elapsed since he had entered the cottage. 
 
 A pressed feeling beset him, he had so 
 much to say, so short a time to say it in. 
 There was something almost grotesque in this 
 sudden need for haste; hitherto Time had 
 been his tool, now it appeared that he must 
 play the part of tool to Time. Speech had 
 always come easily to Lupin, but the task of 
 shattering his own image in Luce's heart was 
 too hard, and words failed him. He was 
 filled with regret that he had taken such 
 small pains at school. After all, it appeared 
 that learning was not to be despised and might 
 stand a man in good stead who was in sore 
 need of help. He moved nearer, and she 
 raised her head and smiled. A sudden dark- 
 ness fell upon him, and he stumbled forward 
 as one blind. Rising quickly, Luce caught 
 his hand.
 
 140 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 "Your vingers be stone cold," she ex- 
 claimed in a startled voice. " What do make 
 'em so cold ? You be veeling bad, lad. I 
 do be zure that you be veeling bad." 
 
 " No," he answered, " 'tiddn't thic." 
 
 " Ah, but 'tis," she said. " You niver take 
 no care of yerzulf, and half your time your 
 clothes is wringing wet. 'Tis a wonder you 
 haven't caught your death o' chill before 
 this." 
 
 Impatience filled him because she failed to 
 understand. 
 
 " You were always a slow zee-er," he an- 
 swered. " Speech be more helpful to 'ee than 
 sight." 
 
 She rubbed his hands with her soft warm 
 fingers. " I know I be slow in the up-take." 
 
 Lupin did not reply, but sat down on the 
 settle, resting his head against one of the 
 rickety arms. " I wish I wor more o' a schol- 
 ard," he exclaimed at last. " Wuds come 
 easy to sich." 
 
 The expression of Luce's face grew troub-
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 141 
 
 led. " Why do 'ee need to be picking and 
 choosing your wuds all to-wance ? " she asked. 
 
 " Speech always fitted things wi' me afore," 
 he said querulously. 
 
 " You have a tongue and a way with it," 
 she answered, smiling. " Toll, lad, tull on." 
 
 He was silent a long time. " There be the 
 wuds that 'ud tell 'ee, but I can't bring 'em 
 to mind," he exclaimed, looking up at her 
 despairingly. " They be simple wuds anuff, 
 nought upstanding about 'em." 
 
 Laying the baby back in its cradle, Luce 
 came and knelt in front of Lupin, taking 
 both his hands in hers. A smile, half sad, 
 half humorous, and wholly tender, played 
 across her face as she looked at this strong 
 man and spoke to him much as she would to 
 a naughty child. 
 
 " Now what is it you've been and done, 
 Ben ? " she asked ; " zome banging girt vool- 
 ishness that you be moast ashamed to let on 
 about. Jest tull me what 'tis right 'way and 
 ha' done wi' it. You knaw wull that you be
 
 142 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 always a deal easier in your own mind when 
 you ha' zed things out." 
 
 Lupin had always been peculiarly sensitive 
 to this woman's tenderness, though he re- 
 sented the same quality in others ; but to-day 
 it seemed but to make the task before him 
 more hard and bitter. 
 
 " You wudn't talk like thic if you knawed 
 all," he said. 
 
 " Tail, lad, tull, it makes me scart to hear 
 'ee speak so." 
 
 He drew himself together, and the old 
 dare-devil expression, which his face had lost 
 of late, returned. " 'Tis just that us have 
 got to part," he exclaimed. 
 
 She made no comment, and he continued 
 harshly, surprised that the words he had 
 long sought seemed suddenly at hand, and 
 hastening, lest they and his courage should 
 fail him. 
 
 " 111 come back to 'ee when I've served my 
 time; they can put me in prison, but they 
 can't keep me for iver. 'Tis true anuff that
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 143 
 
 you iddn't no wife o' mine, the way the law 
 hez it, but I niver cared for t'other woman 
 the zame as I do for 'ee ! " 
 
 She gazed dully at him, and he saw with 
 despair that she had not understood him, and 
 searched his mind for words to make his 
 meaning clearer. 
 
 Stating the truth at last in all its bald, 
 brutal simplicity and nakedness : " That 
 woman," he said, " that tall stranger woman 
 that corned in here the day our chile wor 
 borned, her be my wife." 
 
 Then Luce understood, and her woman- 
 hood rent itself with one long protesting cry. 
 Hurriedly, Lupin took her in his arms; she lay 
 against his breast, her heart beat on his heart, 
 and he felt the slow receding of her love 
 from him as a great physical agony that could 
 not be borne. He clasped her more close. 
 
 " Us be the zame ez us wor afore," he said ; 
 " the law can't wark no difference : the law 
 can take me away from 'ee now, but it can't 
 keep us apart for iver."
 
 144 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 Unconsciously he raised his voice, speak- 
 ing, as a man speaks to some one far off. 
 Constable Garge, waiting without, grew im- 
 patient at the long delay, and coming to the 
 door, knocked loudly. At the sound Lupin 
 rose, carried Luce into the inner room, laid 
 her on the bed, and she turned her face from 
 him, hiding it in the pillows. He took one 
 of her limp, nerveless hands and clasped it 
 tight between his own. 
 
 "They be come to fetch me away. Zay 
 zommat, Luce, afore I go," he asked beseech- 
 ingly- 
 
 She did not answer him. 
 
 " Zay zommat," he repeated. " I wull 
 come back to 'ee, and things 'ull be the zame 
 ez they wor afore." 
 
 But still she did not reply. 
 
 He flung himself down beside her on the 
 bed. "I must be leaving 'ee, dear heart. 
 Don't 'ee understand that I must be leaving 
 'ee ? They've come for me. They be gway- 
 ing to take me to gaol. When diminet vails
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 145 
 
 and the sea comes creeping in you'll be here 
 all by yerzulf. You'll miss your lad, Luce, 
 zay that you'll miss your lad. I knaw I ain't 
 acted rightful, but I niver loved t'other 
 woman the zame ez I love 'ee. Zay zommat, 
 Luce, zay zommat." 
 
 Coiling herself together, she shivered. He 
 waited for an answer, but none came. Then 
 in despair, he rose, and casting one last glance 
 at the small shrinking form, he left her, and 
 going out gave himself up to Constable 
 Garge, who, for safety's sake, clapped the 
 handcuffs on his wrists, for after all it does 
 not do to sacrifice too much to neighbourly 
 feeling. 
 
 So the two men walked in silence past 
 Myrtles' cottage and "The Fisherman's 
 Desire," and up the long, winding street. 
 Seeing them, the villagers trooped out of 
 their houses, flung questions, but Constable 
 Garge, marching very upright, answered 
 never a word; and Lupin listening for 
 Luce's voice, for the sound of her hurry-
 
 146 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 ing steps, was deaf to all else. The street 
 ceased, and was replaced by a lane, wind- 
 ing between high hedges to the market 
 town. Lupin glanced behind, but the road 
 lay as bare as the walls of the cell in 
 which he was locked later. But it was 
 there, when night fell, that the Luce he 
 had waited for came to him. He had 
 fallen asleep and he saw her in his 
 dreams: she strove with all her strength 
 to raise the weight that lay as a stone 
 upon his heart, but for that she had not 
 the power. When he awoke she was 
 there no longer. Neither was she present 
 at his trial, when he was tried for bigamy, 
 found guilty, and sentenced to be im- 
 prisoned for five years. Yet ever with 
 his dreams she would return and strive 
 to roll away the stone from his heart, 
 till at last, the years passing on, the stone 
 sank into his heart and became, as it were, 
 the heart itself; then she ceased to visit 
 him, for what good lay in such coming.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE feeling of the villagers, on learn- 
 ing the reason of Ben Lupin's arrest, was 
 one of genuine pity for the girl he had 
 betrayed, mixed with a strong sense of 
 what was due to themselves as neigh- 
 bours ; for, if Luce had been deceived, it 
 was certain that the people of Bere-Upton 
 had been no less so. Indeed, when they 
 came to talk the matter over quietly, they 
 were inclined to think that the deception 
 practised on them had been more gross. 
 
 It was perhaps this, taken with the fact 
 that the real culprit was safely locked out 
 of the way in gaol, that served more than 
 anything to curb in their sympathy, and 
 led by short and easy stages to their con- 
 sidering Luce, if not the chief delinquent, 
 at least as willing accomplice after the 
 
 147
 
 148 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 act. They did not, however, include the 
 girl's parents in their condemnation. In- 
 deed, Mrs. Myrtle was an object of general 
 sympathy, coming as she did from good 
 stock, and meeting her trouble in so 
 genteel a fashion that one of the villagers 
 observed : " It was a lesson in good 
 manners only to see her." 
 
 The impression was perhaps the more 
 marked because Luce's mother, while ex- 
 tracting the subtle essence from the sym- 
 pathy extended to her, made it apparent 
 that the occasion was not one for con- 
 dolence, nor would condolence be accepted. 
 Indeed, it would have taken a person of 
 sturdy faith in the stoutness of their own 
 legs to venture forth on such an errand, 
 and only one was known to have at- 
 tempted it, and she was a chapelite, and 
 kept a fine stock of spiritual pride as a 
 salve for sore limbs. 
 
 Mrs. Myrtle's temporal blend, however, 
 proved more than a match for the latter in
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 149 
 
 the combat that ensued. She had received 
 her visitor in the silk dress reserved for Sun- 
 days and festivals. The bodice, cut long in 
 front, and insufficiently stiffened, had a trick 
 of doubling back upon its wearer whenever 
 she assumed a sitting attitude, obliging her 
 husband, John Myrtle, who, if slow was sure, 
 to lean forward and press it into place with a 
 click Thus gowned, Luce's mother produced 
 such an impression on her visitor that the 
 latter contracted a distaste for whalebone and 
 silks as productive of an unnatural " up-lift " 
 to pride when found in combination. 
 
 Good birth like murder will out, and 
 nothing at this point could afford a more 
 striking contrast than the behaviour of John 
 Myrtle and his wife; but then, all the world 
 knew that he had been a work-'us lad with 
 no parents to speak of. There was an unre- 
 strained sincerity about his grief that made 
 it, to the critical taste of the village, almost 
 vulgar. 
 
 He sat by the kitchen sink, unwashed, yet
 
 150 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 within reach of water, his great, hairy chest 
 exposed, and shaken by tearless sobs. " 'Twor 
 a throw-back to his mother," the villagers 
 said, who, to her shame, had been deceived 
 and cast upon the streets. 
 
 The White Cottage stood alone, but some 
 little distance away was a small, slate-roofed 
 house, from the upper windows of which a 
 view of the cottage could be obtained. Here 
 it was that those villagers who had nothing 
 better to do betook themselves, being desirous 
 of noting the number of Luce's visitors. This 
 required but little arithmetical skill, for, 
 though the door of the White Cottage stood 
 wide open, no one went either in or out. 
 
 After some time, however, Septimus Spong 
 came slowly down the lane, bearing on his 
 arm a basket of kidney beans which he in- 
 tended to present to Luce. At once a num- 
 ber of curious eyes were turned in his direc- 
 tion, and one of the villagers went so far as 
 to call out and ask him where he was going. 
 Spong seemed to find this sudden interest in
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 151 
 
 his movements embarrassing; he slackened 
 pace, then, stopping short, stared shame- 
 facedly at the open door of the White Cot- 
 tage. His hesitation only served to increase 
 the interest of the onlookers, and the villager 
 who had previously addressed him, came out 
 on purpose to inquire the reason of his inde- 
 cision. The man's curiosity was not gratified, 
 Spong turning the tables on the questioner 
 by asking, " Why, if he wor so anxious, he 
 didn't go in hiszulf ? " 
 
 At this moment the rector was seen ap- 
 proaching. The Kev. Benjamin Baugh was 
 an old man, whose one remedy for the ills 
 that overtook his parishioners was the gift of 
 a bottle of port wine and half a crown, and 
 if, as it now and again chanced, the cure 
 scarce fitted the complaint, he was sore put 
 to it to find a better remedy. Happily, how- 
 ever, matters seldom came to so sore a pass, 
 and though the villagers as a whole were for 
 moving with the times, few of them were ad- 
 vanced enough to find the rector's gift unac-
 
 152 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 cep table. Spong at once opened the garden 
 gate for the rector to walk through, and then 
 moved, as he explained later, by " kooriosity," 
 he followed him into the cottage. Luce stood 
 by the window, staring over the sea. She 
 paid no attention to her visitors' entrance, 
 but Widow Flutter, who was nursing the 
 baby, rose and curtseyed. 
 
 The rector waved her back into her seat, 
 and, drawing forward a chair, sat down in 
 front of her. Among Luce's few friends no 
 one, perhaps, was more genuinely sorry for 
 her than the Rev. Benjamin Baugh, but his 
 sympathy, as with that of so many of us, got 
 sadly skimped in the expressing. " Fe, fa, 
 fo, ftim," he ejaculated slowly, and raising a 
 red and muscular fore finger, he poked the 
 baby hard in the ribs between each word. 
 There was a brief pause while the child's 
 crimson face grew purple with astonishment 
 and pain, then it burst into a yell of execra- 
 tion. The rector, whose finger was already 
 poised for a second series of pokes, drew back
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 153 
 
 his chair, not a little disconcerted at the re- 
 turn his playful sally had met with; but 
 Widow Flutter restored him to equanimity 
 by observing that the child cried, " Because 
 it felt itzulf zo honoured." 
 
 Awakening from her dream, Luce came 
 forward and took the baby herself, and as 
 she stood there looking down with her sad, 
 serious eyes at the rector, a sudden uneasi- 
 ness seemed to fall on the Rev. Benjamin 
 Baugh. Rising hastily, he bade her good- 
 day, and shuffled off. Neither did Spong 
 linger, but when the villagers, tired of 
 watching, had returned to their homes, he 
 came again and dug up a patch of ground 
 that Lupin had left half-tilled. It was here, 
 later in the evening, that John Myrtle found 
 him, and the two fraternised in silence. 
 From time to time the little postman would 
 stop working, push his hat further back on 
 his head and wipe the sweat from his face 
 with his sleeve, and at such moments John 
 Myrtle, half rising from the barrow where
 
 154 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 he was seated, never failed to spit on his 
 hands as if he were just about to lay hold 
 of the vacated spade, only to relapse once 
 more back into idleness. After a while he 
 left Spong and entered the cottage. Widow 
 Flutter, having put things in order, had 
 gone home; the child slept, lulled by the 
 sea, which was in no mood to make a dis- 
 play. John Myrtle found a chair close to 
 the cradle and sat down. A curious sensa- 
 tion came to him. It was much as if the 
 child that lay there sleeping so unconcern- 
 edly were himself for he too had been a 
 child of shame: a like indifference had filled 
 him in those far-off days ; he supped in life 
 and waxed strong, knowing only that the 
 breast that fed him was sweet, and not that 
 it covered an aching heart. Thinking of it, 
 pitying tears for the mother long since dead 
 darkened his eyes; he half longed that she 
 might live again so that he might give her 
 now that which he had owed her then. 
 The dusk of a long summer evening deep-
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 155 
 
 ened into night, and Luce came from the 
 inner room, and, sinking down beside her 
 father, laid her head upon his knee. There, 
 in the dim twilight, he became part bearer 
 of her sorrow, suffering, and shame. He 
 was not a clever man, John Myrtle, and the 
 few times his mind had been set stirring it 
 had been by emotion, not thought ; but deep 
 within, and unknown to himself, the mother 
 he had long held dead still lived, enabling 
 him to understand his daughter's grief. 
 
 Meanwhile, in the cottage facing "The 
 Fisherman's Desire," Mrs. Myrtle sat alone. 
 Luce was not hurt at her absence, she neither 
 missed nor needed her. There had been af- 
 fection but little sympathy between mother 
 and daughter, and trouble served rather to 
 separate than draw them together. Yet 
 Mrs. Myrtle's heart was heavy enough, and 
 her eyes smarted with the unshed tears that 
 had burned behind the lids all day. 
 
 The neighbours, their curiosity satisfied, 
 had gone home, and when the last woman's
 
 156 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 back was turned, Mrs. Myrtle had taken off 
 her black silk dress and laid it on one side 
 with a fierce snort of pride and an uncon- 
 scious sigh of relief. Then she did the 
 few little household matters that wanted to 
 be done, brushed up the hearth and sat 
 down. A clean hearth was necessary to 
 Mrs. Myrtle's peace of mind as a clear con- 
 science, and this night her conscience was ill 
 at ease. The lamp remained unlit, and in 
 the long summer dusk the old woman slowly 
 conned through the pages of her past life. 
 It seemed, after all, that she had done wrong 
 wedding John Myrtle. Other men had 
 wished to marry her there was Peter 
 Adams, a yeoman farmer who had stopped 
 in his yellow gig at her father's house every 
 Tuesday and Saturday on his way back 
 from market, and left her a cream cheese 
 and a bunch of red damask roses he had 
 married later when he learned that his suit 
 was hopeless well, his children had gone 
 up in the world. Why had she married
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 157 
 
 John Myrtle? The question had often puz- 
 zled her, and to-night it puzzled her again. 
 She had never held him to be her equal, had 
 treated him, too, with a certain severity 
 which had increased as the years drew on 
 and he showed no signs of jibbing under the 
 yoke. Bending down she stirred the fire, 
 and, doing so, a knock sounded at the door 
 and Mark Tavy entered. The flames shot up 
 and showed him, clean, neat, almost spruce. 
 
 It had been a hard day for the old woman, 
 she had borne her troubles bravely, com- 
 plaining to no one, not even to herself, but 
 now, as she looked across at the young fish- 
 erman, and noted his well-brushed clothes 
 and shiny boots, the thought struck her 
 that he at least might have stayed away, or 
 if he must come, appear less prosperous. 
 
 Mark, unconscious of the feeling he had 
 raised, drew closer and stood, hat in hand, 
 fingering the felt with long nervous fingers. 
 
 "Well," exclaimed Mrs. Myrtle sharply, 
 "what is it?"
 
 168 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 Mark tried to speak and his voice choked 
 back in his throat. He coughed and then 
 burst out uneven and rough. 
 
 " Do you reckon ? " he said," " that Luce 
 '11 have me now ? " 
 
 The question, so unexpected, struck the 
 old woman dumb ; but, after a while, though 
 words would not come to her, the tears that 
 had burned so long behind the tired, red lids 
 began to fall. 
 
 Mark put out his hand and touched the 
 back of her chair. 
 
 " Mother," he repeated, " do you reckon 
 that Luce 'ull have me now ? I wud make 
 her a good husband." 
 
 Bending forward, the proud old woman 
 pressed her thin, withered lips to his hand. 
 " My heart has been sore all day, lad," she 
 answered. 
 
 " I'll be a good son to 'ee." 
 
 " Aye, you are a good lad." 
 
 Then he turned and went out.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 SOME have found that to love was to enter 
 again as a stranger into their own hearts, 
 and many of those that hate have made a 
 like journey. It might be that Luce was 
 such a one, for though she was slow to real- 
 ize all that had befallen her, and the truth 
 took long to fit into the crevices of her heart 
 and brain, yet, as bit by bit it forced a way 
 in, pushing out before it all that hitherto she 
 had held dear, a strong new self, bitter of 
 thought and tongue, rose up and confronted 
 her. It almost seemed as if the power to 
 forgive was not hers, and her heart hardened 
 under the lack of it; she felt that Lupin 
 had done a deed for which there was no for- 
 giveness, and that she was not called upon 
 to forgive; and yet there were moments 
 when she was seized with terror, lest in spite 
 
 159
 
 160 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 of all she might forgive him. Her thoughts 
 dwelt on him continually only not with 
 love but bitterness. Sleep deserted her, and 
 when night fell she roved from room to 
 room of the White Cottage, and the child, 
 waking, wailed after her. Sometimes she 
 hated the child, and let it cry on unheeded, 
 then again she would snatch it up in her 
 arms, and press it against her heart as if the 
 touch of its tiny hand could take away her 
 over-burdening shame. One evening as she 
 sat alone, no sound breaking the stillness but 
 the see-sawing of the waves on the rocks be- 
 low, Mark came to her. He looked nervous 
 and ill at ease; self, partly scotched, had 
 left him startled at its grossness, his victory 
 over it had so near ended in a defeat, the 
 thought that his hands had all but helped to 
 draw tight the cords of shame round Luce, 
 left him shuddering. Still, threads of ela- 
 tion ran through the woof of his feelings, 
 though he himself was scarce conscious of 
 their existence; but to Luce they were glar-
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 161 
 
 ingly visible, jarring on her as some hideous 
 colour till the fabric of the man became a 
 thing of distaste to her. 
 
 Mark drew nearer, and sat down astride 
 a chair, pushing his head sheepishly for- 
 ward, and resting his chin on the back of 
 the seat. The sense of separation that 
 always haunted him when face to face with 
 this woman returned, his heart ached dully ; 
 it seemed doubly hard that the moment 
 having at last come when she needed his 
 help he should feel so. Sitting there, with 
 a bitter, disdainful expression on her face, 
 she did not look one who would lightly 
 ask for or accept help. Raising his eyes, 
 he scanned her face, half-analysing, but 
 failing to understand its expression. He 
 saw no reason why his presence should 
 be distasteful to her, therefore did not 
 believe in its being so; her eyes, for all 
 their bitterness, were fuller of sorrow, and 
 he longed to comfort her, but did not know 
 how to begin ; she had never been com-
 
 162 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 forted by that which he had found com- 
 forting. Again, he felt strangely shy at 
 the presence of the child ; it lay in the 
 cradle at her feet, and he asked himself 
 again and again why she cared to have 
 it where any stranger dropping in might 
 see it. There seemed to him something 
 unwomanly in this indifference on her part. 
 He was proud to be the man who should 
 draw the garment of respectability once 
 more about her, still he would have been 
 better pleased to have found her shivering 
 for the lack of it 
 
 By some subtle instinct, Luce divined his 
 feelings, and the knowledge awoke her to 
 one of her rare fits of tenderness for the 
 child. Stooping, she picked the baby up, 
 pressing it to her breast, kissing its eyes 
 and lips, the soft creases in its tiny, fat neck 
 and mottled arms. 
 
 Mark turned aside, trying not to watch 
 her, but she thrust the child forward, calling 
 on him to note for himself how fine a baby
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 163 
 
 it was. He pushed the child gently aside 
 and sat tugging at his blonde beard he did 
 not wish to hurt Luce, yet his manner to- 
 wards her chilled. 
 
 The girl watched him closely, her lips 
 parted in a smile, which served rather to 
 embitter than soften her face. 
 
 " Why, you haven't a word to throw at 'un 
 and he that fine limbed," she exclaimed. 
 
 " Put the chile back in the cradle, I've 
 zommat to say to 'ee," he answered abruptly. 
 
 She burst into a little rough laugh. " No," 
 she said ; " he'll bide the happier 'long o' 
 his mother." 
 
 " Ez you wull," replied the young fisher- 
 man, rising from his seat and going to the 
 window. He felt he could not unburden 
 himself of his errand, while she flaunted the 
 child in his face ; but she got up and fol- 
 owed him, bearing the child with her. 
 
 He had often been hurt by this woman, 
 but there had been some quality in the love 
 he bore her, which had made him forgive
 
 164 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 even while she yet wounded him ; now, how- 
 ever, a new feeling awoke in his heart, a feel- 
 ing he tried to stifle down lest the hour of 
 her need having come, he should turn from 
 her. Glancing round the kitchen, his eye 
 lingered on the shabby furniture, and the evi- 
 dence of her poverty stirred the pity in his 
 heart anew. 
 
 " I always hoped us wud live here together 
 zome day," he exclaimed at last. 
 
 Dully, the red began to burn in her pale 
 cheeks. Mark avoided looking into her face, 
 and, fixing his eyes on the battered wooden 
 settle, continued hurriedly, not choosing his 
 words, but catching at the first that came to 
 hand. 
 
 " Luce," he exclaimed, " won't 'ee let me 
 make things right for 'ee avore the vul- 
 lage?" 
 
 " What do 'ee meau ? " she asked in a thick 
 voice. 
 
 "To gi'e 'ee an honest name. I be jest tur 
 rible willun' to marry 'ee."
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 165 
 
 The slow-gathering indignation burst in a 
 sudden flame of red across her face. 
 
 " What be there in any name o' yours that 
 shud make a woman honest for the having 
 it ? " she exclaimed passionately. 
 
 " 'Tis a name that has always been respected 
 in the village, which is what Ben Lupin can't 
 say for his," he answered, more wounded than 
 he cared to allow, even to himself. 
 
 She drew back as from a blow. The mere 
 mention of Lupin seemed to part afresh the 
 festering wounds he had made in her life. 
 " Git you gone," she said, pointing towards 
 the open door. 
 
 But Mark did not stir. This meeting with 
 Luce, so different from all he had fore- 
 shadowed, had proved yet another foil be- 
 tween him and his hopes. He could not 
 understand why he had failed, or reconcile 
 himself to failure. 
 
 " What have I done that you shud treat 
 me the like o' this ? " he asked bitterly. 
 
 She made no reply, but laying the baby
 
 166 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 back in the cradle, went to the inner room 
 and shut the door upon him and the child. 
 
 Mark looked at the closed door, which 
 seemed a symbol of all that barred him out 
 from the heart of this woman. The child, 
 frightened at being left, fell to wailing. 
 
 "Surely," Mark thought, "she will come 
 back to comfort it." 
 
 But she did not return and the child wailed 
 on. 
 
 " Does she love the child ? " he asked him- 
 self and still she did not return. Slowly 
 the wish formed in his heart that she would 
 not come, that she would leave the child as 
 bare of comfort as she had left him; he could 
 afford to starve if Lupin's son must bear 
 him company, yet he tried to stave back his 
 hunger by the belief that she did still love 
 him, and make plausible an explanation that 
 should fit in with this belief. A new idea 
 presented itself. What if she imagined that it 
 was he who had denounced Lupin ? His heart 
 gave a great throb of relief at least, then,
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 167 
 
 he was to experience the reward of self-sacri- 
 fice. The sacrifice had not been sweet in the 
 making, but it might yet earn for him the 
 respect and affection of the one woman he 
 loved. He bowed his face upon his hands, 
 and thanked God who had given him strength 
 to do the finer thing, then he raised his eyes 
 and looked across the sea. A gracious world 
 this, that he lived in, and he felt in accord 
 with it. Rising, he stole toward the bedroom 
 door, pulling up short as a step became aud- 
 ible on the path without, and the trim figure 
 of Mrs. Myrtle passed the window. At the 
 sight all desire to linger left him, and, open- 
 ing the back door, and jumping the wall, he 
 flung himself down on the green turf beside 
 the edge of the cliff to con over and over a 
 thousand possible eventualities. 
 
 Mrs. Myrtle meanwhile had entered the 
 cottage. The baby had ceased crying, and 
 dropped off to sleep. She looked at it for 
 a moment, frowning heavily, not staying, 
 however, to waste a second glance on the
 
 168 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 small, puckered, tear-stained face, but going 
 straight to the bedroom opened the door 
 and went in. It was the first meeting of 
 mother and daughter since Lupin's arrest. 
 Luce, who was seated on a broken-backed 
 wooden chair, raised her head and stared 
 almost sullenly at the sharp-eyed old woman ; 
 she had never loved her mother, and to-day 
 her presence was unwelcome. It was of 
 scant account to Mrs. Myrtle whether she 
 was welcome, her susceptibilities were not 
 worn to a thin edge, and in no case would 
 she have troubled over so trivial a detail ; 
 but this evening her mind was filled with 
 more weighty matter. Wasting no time, she 
 went straight to the point. 
 
 " Mark Tavy's been here ? " 
 
 "Ess." 
 
 "I saw un go in. Then he's willun to 
 make an honest woman o' 'ee ? " 
 
 Luce cast a bitter, indignant look upon 
 her mother, but made no reply. 
 
 " What," exclaimed the old woman sharp-
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 169 
 
 ly, " you don't mean to tell me he's been and 
 gone back on his word ! " 
 
 For answer the girl broke into a wild 
 laugh. " Be you so mortal anxious to make 
 an honest woman o' me ? " 
 
 " Ain't I your mother ? What makes 'ee 
 ax such things ? " 
 
 " I shudn't veel no honester married to the 
 like o' he." 
 
 " That iddn't the question. Did he ax 'ee 
 is what I want to know ? " 
 
 " Ess, and I showed un the door." 
 
 "The door!" 
 
 "Ess." 
 
 There was a moment's silence while the 
 old woman fitted the meaning to the words. 
 
 "Be you off your chump or daft, or jest 
 bone-wicked?" she exclaimed, coming for- 
 ward and seizing her daughter's arm. "Is 
 your fether's good name and mine o' no 
 vally to 'ee? Don't you take no count o 1 
 'pinion o' the vullage ? " 
 
 " Didn't I tull 'ee I shud veel jest ez re-
 
 170 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 spectable left ez I he ? " Luce answered in 
 a sullen voice. 
 
 "And what do your veelings matter, I 
 shud like to know." 
 
 " I shall valler 'em, thic be all." 
 
 " You'll no marry un ? " 
 
 " No, I'll no marry un." 
 
 "And why for no?" 
 
 " Because he wud niver be no husband o' 
 mine if I wor married to un a score o' times 
 over." 
 
 " Oh, you're bone- wicked, that's what you 
 are." 
 
 " May be." 
 
 "Do you reckon to wait till Ben Lupin 
 comes out o' gaol and go and live 'long o' 
 he?" 
 
 The girl's teeth clenched on her white lips, 
 but she made no reply. 
 
 "Be that what you're after? " 
 
 " I shan't tell 'ee." 
 
 " You wud rather wait for he than marry 
 an honest respectable lad ? "
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 171 
 
 "I shan't tull 'ee naught whatsoiver." 
 Anger, vexation, surprise held Mrs. Myr- 
 tle silent a moment, then the bitterness of 
 her disappointment burst in a torrent of 
 words. 
 
 "I cudn't have believed that a chile o' 
 mine cud have so little notion o' the vally o' 
 respect. Whose blood be in 'ee that you 
 shud act so outrageous, that's what I ax ? I 
 know well enough whose 'tis, though. Oh, 
 'twas an evil day when I set eyes on your 
 f ether, for all that he's so well meaning and 
 fine limbed. A woman can answer for herself 
 afore the Lord and afore the parish, but the 
 best o' 'em can't tull who her childer wull 
 take after. 'Tis a lop twisted thing this 
 mixing o' natures in marriage. But there," 
 she ended, with a sudden change of voice, 
 " What's the use o' wasting words. You'll 
 be fo'ced to marry un, that's the long and 
 short of it. Tiddn't often that a maid left 
 ez you be gits such a chance. Most women 
 wud catch to a rag wi' a name to it let
 
 172 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 alone a decent young chap who had fifty 
 pound put by in the savings bank and a boat 
 and nets." 
 
 Luce rose and went slowly into the 
 next room, her head bent and her hands 
 listless. She was very tired, but her mind 
 was made up and the jar and worry of 
 words would not change it. 
 
 The old woman looked after her, half 
 guessing that she was powerless to alter 
 her daughter's decision. 
 
 "Her's heavy blooded the same ez her 
 fether," she exclaimed, "when once her's 
 failed into a thing 'twud take more'n pa- 
 tience to move her." 
 
 Lifting the tea-pot from the dresser, Luce 
 turned to her mother. " I'm going to make 
 myself a drop o' tea. Will you take a cup ? " 
 
 The girl's apathy, though she expected 
 nothing else, did not fail to jar on Mrs. 
 Myrtle's nerves. 
 
 "I'll take no bite nor sup in this house 
 till I see you made into an honest woman,"
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 173 
 
 she answered, and so saying she walked 
 out of the cottage, slamming the door after 
 her. 
 
 Mark was waiting on the cliffs without, 
 and when the old woman had departed and 
 the echo of her footsteps had died away, he 
 returned and knocked at the door. There 
 was no answer, and the thought came to him 
 that he would not knock again, but wait till 
 morning, when Luce would open the door 
 unto the world and he would enter with the 
 fresh breezes of the dawn. 
 
 All through the long, warm summer night 
 he lay out upon the cliffs, and looked up at 
 the stars and at a small wisp of moon scud- 
 ding among the clouds. Near by stood the 
 White Cottage, and he thought of the closed 
 door and the sleeping woman within, and it 
 seemed to him that with the opening of the 
 door of the cottage she would open the 
 door of her heart also. He grew humble, 
 knowing at last how great a thing he de- 
 manded of this woman his own love seemed
 
 174 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 a poor rag to wrap round her, yet he felt it 
 might serve to keep out the harsher winds ; 
 but most of all, as he lay there, he was 
 thankful that it was not he who had de- 
 nounced Lupin. Peace stole round him as a 
 warm garment and at last he slept. 
 
 With the first stirrings of the morn he 
 rose and came to the White Cottage door. 
 After long waiting, she opened to him, and 
 seeing him standing there her face grew 
 heavy with anger. The dew was in his 
 eyes and hair, and believing that he had 
 but to speak for her anger to leave her, he 
 laughed out fresh and strong from sheer 
 strength of manhood. 
 
 She started at the sound and drew back. 
 
 "Luce," he said eagerly, "'tworn't me 
 told on Lupin. I knawed it all along, but 
 I jest kept zilent." 
 
 For a moment the girl looked at him 
 as if she failed to grasp the meaning of 
 his words. 
 
 "When Ben doed it, what be it to me
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 175 
 
 who told on 'un," she answered, and, going 
 in, slammed back the door. 
 
 Leaving the White Cottage Mark went 
 his way. There was no reward, then, for 
 self -sacrifice.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 IT was winter; four months had passed 
 since Lupin's arrest. The gulls, driven be- 
 fore the December wind, flew screaming past 
 the White Cottage. Night drew on ; the 
 wind, howling itself into a fury of sound, 
 rushed in upon the rain-bedraggled land. 
 The little cottage cowered under the thatched 
 roof, while far below the sea eat away up- 
 wards through the base of the cliff. All 
 day the road across the hills had been bare 
 of traffic, but at the closing in of the even- 
 ing a solitary woman hurried along it, seek 
 ing shelter from the bare hedges and getting 
 but scant measure. She halted at last oppo- 
 site the White Cottage, leaning on the gate, 
 which had sunk into the sodden earth sagged 
 outwards, neither open nor shut. For a 
 long time she stood there, gazing across at 
 
 176
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 177 
 
 the windows. A streak of firelight struck 
 through the garden almost to her feet, mak- 
 ing her tall, black figure look the taller and 
 the blacker for the contrast. She shivered ; 
 then drawing herself upright, walked for- 
 ward and knocked at the door. Luce opened 
 it, and for a moment the two women stood 
 looking at one another as if each were gath- 
 ering her strength under her for combat. 
 At last Hester Lupin broke the silence. 
 
 " I've come," she said, " to die in my hus- 
 band's house." 
 
 Again silence fell upon the two. 
 
 " He lays no claim to 'ee," Luce answered. 
 
 A shiver tore through Hester; she leant 
 against the doorpost. " I be dying," she ex- 
 claimed brokenly ; " I shall soon be forced 
 to leave *un for good and all, and I feel 
 nearer to 'un here than in the cottage where 
 he turned his back on me." 
 
 Luce laughed harshly. " If you can find 
 comfort in sich things ez thic, come in and 
 welcome," she answered, standing aside.
 
 178 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 Hester entered, pride straightening and 
 giving fresh energy to her weary body. She 
 walked across the room to where Lupin's 
 chair stood. It had been pushed back 
 against the wall, a small chest thrust in 
 front, and looked as if scant use were made 
 of it. 
 
 "Thickey here be his'n ? " she said. 
 
 Luce nodded, and Hester Lupin drew the 
 chair forward and sat down near the fire. 
 Fever made brilliant her dark eyes and 
 flamed in the worn, thin face, eating into her 
 as fire and ice, so that she shivered even as 
 she was consumed. 
 
 Colder and colder grew the night, and the 
 two women cowering over the fire were 
 forced to draw closer together, yet each 
 looked upon the other as an intruder. 
 Neither spoke, but their hearts fought for 
 the possession of the same man ; while from 
 without the storm slashed in upon their com- 
 bat, ripping open the silence with a fine cut 
 and thrust.
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 179 
 
 At last Luce rose, and going into the ad- 
 joining room, returned after a moment bear- 
 ing the sleeping child in her arms. A feel- 
 ing of despair fell upon Hester at the sight 
 of the child, and she knew she was being 
 triumphed over. 
 
 The baby awoke and clamoured, pressing 
 ten pink fingers deep into the bosom that 
 fed it, and Hester, watching, felt the pain of 
 that pressure in her own breast. It seemed 
 to her that the pride on which she had fed 
 through the long night ran dry, leaving her 
 spirit bare of sustenance. Slowly the tears 
 gathered in her eyes and fell upon her face, 
 and she made no stir to hide her grief, but 
 wept stark out. Need of relief grew in her ; 
 she found words and spoke, laying bare her 
 sorrow before Luce. 
 
 " I went to 7 un over to there," she began in 
 a low, hoarse voice. " They allows you in 
 certain days. 'Tis a banging girt building, 
 Exetur prison ; a mortal lot o' bricks went 
 to the making o' it. A having place if you
 
 180 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 were to die there, your spirut wud niver git 
 out, you be that barred and locked back from 
 the free air. I said to mezulf when I cast eyes 
 on it, 'tis contrary folks are to put my Ben 
 away in sich, he who wor always for an open 
 door. They had got passages there wi' an 
 echo to 'em that vallers you step by step ez 
 you walk, and sort o' says, * You can't git 
 out ; do what 'ee will, you can't git out.' Ben 
 must ha' heard it a-saying thic scores o' times, 
 and terrible angered he's been no doubt. 
 They'll have to do zommat ; he'll no bide long 
 o 7 that, he niver could bear being faced. 
 Then the tidiness o' it all 'ull tarn his stomach ; 
 he dearly liked to have his things lie about, 
 and for all that he wor zo fond o' hacking 
 and chipping, I had to hunt round for his 
 knife ez many times ez he laid it down. Poor 
 lad, he's got no wan to worrit round arter 'un 
 now, though, from what I saw o' the place, 
 'tis a deal too tidy for aught to go astray in 
 it!" 
 
 She stopped speaking, and Luce turned
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 181 
 
 away to hide her face ; but Hester paid no 
 heed to her, and after a moment went on with 
 her tale. 
 
 "They makes 'ee write your name in a 
 book, so I wrote 'un down. ' Hester Lupin ' 
 I wrote; but I wor narvous, and the man 
 cudn't make nought o' the writing. He axed 
 me to read it, and I read it. * Wife o' 'un ? ' 
 he says, and I says, ' Ess, wife o' 'un.' Wi' 
 that he went out and left me, and I tried to 
 git my scattered senses together, for Ben 
 niver cud bide loose-fitting talk. But the 
 only wuds that drummed droo my head wor, 
 ' wife o' 'un, wife o' 'un ! ' Zometimes they 
 would zound tumble loud, the zame ez if 
 every mortal stone in Exetur gaol had taken 
 tongue to hiszulf, and then again they wud 
 jest clitter-tippy-toe ; but w'ether they wor 
 loud or w'ether they wor zaft, I wor forced 
 to listen to 'em. Arter a bit, the man corned 
 along back. * I've told 'un you be here,' he 
 said. 'Did he say ought?' I axed. 'He 
 said, " Be her mortal personable ? " And I
 
 182 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 told 'un you had zarrer stamped across your 
 vace,' the man answered. l What did he say 
 to thic ? ' I axed. ' Jest nought. He fell all 
 of a-trembly ; that's what he did.' ' I never 
 knawed 'un do that afore,' I answered. * Ah,* 
 said the man, l gaol 'ull bring things out that 
 nought ulse will.' Wi' that he told me to 
 valler 'un, and I vallered 'un. When us got 
 to the door o' the cell, there wor a lil' pane 
 o' glass in it, no bigger than your hand. 
 ' Look in,' he says, ' and you'll zee 'un.' But 
 I couldn't bring mezulf to spy on Ben. The 
 man undid the door, and us went in." 
 
 Again she fell silent, and Luce, who had 
 craned her head forward, listening to the 
 story, drew back suddenly. 
 
 The fear that she should forgive him and 
 be left defenceless against his pleadings, 
 swept down upon her with renewed force. 
 " If I shud f orgi'e 'un," she muttered ; " if I 
 shud forgi'e 'un ! " 
 
 After some moments Hester Lupin con- 
 tinued, her voice sinking almost to a whisper.
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 183 
 
 " He wor standing wi' his back tarned to 
 us," she said. " High up over his head wor 
 a lil' snip o' a winder ; there wor nought to 
 be zeen out o' it, less maybe a patch o' sky. 
 The man he bided at the door, and I went 
 vorrid to Ben. He didn't tarn, Ben didn't, 
 but just stood sort o' listening. He wor 
 all o' a-trembly, and thet made me fear'd, 
 beca'se I had niver zeen 'un the like o' 
 that afore. I put out my hand to touch 
 'un, and then I drapped it down agin my 
 side ; thickey words, l Wife o' 'un,' l wife o 7 
 'un,' sang droo my head, giving me no 
 rast. 
 
 " ' Luce,' he said. I didn't make 'un no 
 answer, for my heart thrust itzulf in atween 
 me and speech. 
 
 " * You've been long a-coming,' he said. 
 And still I didn't make 'un no answer. 
 
 "'I've wearied a-bit waiting for 'ee,' he 
 said. I cudn't fine wuds I jest cudn't. 
 
 "'I shud niver break my heart for no 
 woman living, they bain't worth it,' he said,
 
 184 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 sort o' proudful. Then he stopped quat, and 
 all the spirut went out o' 'un, and he fell to 
 crying the zame ez a chile. 
 
 " ' You've bin long a-coming,' he said. 1 1 
 niver reckoned on 'ee biding away like thic.' 
 I cudn't find wuds, for 'twor you he hun- 
 gered arter." 
 
 She ceased speaking, and the wind roaring 
 in the chimney made a noise like a gigantic 
 humming-top, a-spin on a plain of steel ; the 
 door and windows shook and rattled ; but 
 rising clear of all other sounds was the cease- 
 less clamour of the sea. Mechanically Luce 
 rose and stirred the fire; she did not know 
 what she was doing ; it seemed to her that 
 something in her brain was being drawn to 
 full stretch, and each nerve was alert for the 
 moment of the breaking. A sob low, scarce 
 audible thrust its way through Hester Lu- 
 pin's lips ; it sounded like a smothered cry 
 torn off short in the throat. Luce made no 
 motion to comfort her, neither did Hester 
 seek comfort. Each had ceased to think on
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 185 
 
 the other's presence, or to be conscious of 
 aught but her own grief. 
 
 " I cudn't finds wuds," Hester repeated. 
 " I cudn't find wuds. How cud I vind wuds 
 when 'tworn't me that he hungered after. He 
 tarned his starved face on me, and I looked 
 back to 'un, but cudn't vind wuds. He 
 worn't angered the zarae ez he wud ha' been 
 wance, he wor jest starved wi' waiting. He 
 didn't zay nought, but sort o' told me wi' his 
 eyes that I cudn't be no help to 'un, zo arter 
 a bit I tarned and went." 
 
 She fell into a silence as bare as the tale 
 she told, while without the wind and sea 
 pursued their conflict unrestrained. 
 
 The keener cold of dawn shivered through 
 the room, the fire sank together and went 
 out, the two women sought shelter side by 
 side in the old wooden bed. Hester slept ; 
 fever burning strange pictures on her brain, 
 dimmed in moments of semi-consciousness, 
 distorted, vivid, grotesque, as sleep laid hold 
 of her once more ; but Luce lay stiff and still,
 
 186 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 her wide-open eyes staring into the darkness. 
 Word by word she went back over Hester 
 Lupin's story, peeling it down to the very 
 roots. 
 
 " I dursn't forgi'e 'ee, Ben," she muttered ; 
 "Idursn't, I dursn't." 
 
 When dawn crept between the closed shut- 
 ters she turned from the thought of Lupin to 
 think upon herself, and there in the dimly 
 lighted room she became conscious of the 
 change that was being wrought in her, realiz- 
 ing that in stemming back forgiveness her 
 nature was hardening, but she welcomed the 
 change, for it seemed a fresh barrier between 
 herself and Ben. In thought she gathered 
 herself together for the blow she would one 
 day deliver to a soul as sore wounded as her 
 own, and all the while the quick pain-drawn 
 breathing of Hester Lupin thrust itself noisily 
 upon her meditations, as if it would remind 
 her that close at hand lay a soul wounded 
 unto death. 
 
 Luce turned and looked at Hester in the
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 187 
 
 gathering light. The thin, sorrow- stamped 
 face, the grey hair, the feverish, twitching 
 hands, awoke in her neither compassion nor 
 hate. Strangely enough she did not hate 
 Lupin's wife, regarding her rather with a 
 vast indifference. She knew the woman was 
 dying, and from grief ; the knowledge made 
 her shudder at her own strength. She 
 glanced down at her plump hands and arms 
 thinking that grief had made poor way with 
 its task so far as she was concerned. A 
 laugh forced her clenched teeth apart ; after 
 all what did it matter whether she lived or 
 died ? Sorrow had hardened her against its 
 own onslaught. The tall clock in the kitch- 
 en struck the hour ; hearing it she got up, 
 huddled on her clothes with careless haste 
 and lit the fire. She then made some tea 
 and cutting off a hunch of bread eat it dry 
 with hungry relish, the long, sleepless night 
 behind her having left the edge of her appe- 
 tite unimpaired. 
 
 Hester did not stir, but twice as the day
 
 188 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 advanced she draped herself to the small 
 
 OO 
 
 courtyard where the pump stood and drank 
 feverishly of the ice-cold water. Luce raised 
 no voice to restrain her, though the sight 
 irked her womanly instincts. It was Hester 
 Lupin's affair; she had forced herself into 
 the White Cottage to die, and she might 
 have the ordering of her own dying. 
 
 Night came round, again the two women 
 lay side by side in the old wooden bed. This 
 time it was Luce who slept. Awakening 
 later she saw Hester Lupin standing beside 
 the cradle. The child was in her arms, its 
 lips pressed up against her bare bosom, 
 while her long grey hair curled over the 
 small, puckered face and about her shoul- 
 ders. The window stood wide open, the 
 bleak air blowing full on them. Did Hester 
 mean to kill the child ? For a moment Luce 
 lay and watched her, then springing out of 
 her bed almost tore the baby from Hester 
 Lupin's arms. 
 
 " What wud 'ee do wi' 'un ? " she asked,
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 189 
 
 surprised at her own vehemence of emotion. 
 " You can kill yourzulf and welcome, but the 
 
 chile's mine and " She stopped short, 
 
 something freezing back the coming words. 
 Going to the cradle she was about to lay the 
 baby back, when a glance at Hester's face 
 told her she had to do with a woman no 
 longer responsible for her actions. 
 
 " Git back to bed, do," she said in a quiet- 
 er voice. " The fever's on 'ee and 'tis bad 
 work playing with sich." 
 
 But Hester did not stir, and stood look- 
 ing at the child as if she were about to 
 snatch it back from Luce. " Give me the 
 little lad," she exclaimed, holding out her 
 arms. 
 
 "You are not in a fit state to be trusted 
 
 wi' un." 
 
 " He be my own child, and safer wi' me 
 than wi' stranger folk, though they be so 
 mortal anxious to steal 'un away." 
 
 Luce walked to the bed and turned 
 back the clothes. " Come," she said sooth-
 
 190 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 ingly, "and git in between the blankets: 
 you'll catch your death o' cold standing 
 there." 
 
 For a moment Hester Lupin stood, her 
 dark brilliant eyes fixed on Luce. "You 
 reckon I be sick," she answered, "and not 
 fit to be trusted wi' my own chile ; but he's 
 all I have now Ben's took from me." 
 
 Luce turned away, a feeling of pity stirred 
 in her heart for the first time since sorrow 
 had hardened it. "Git into bed," she said 
 huskily, "me and the chile 'ull lay down 
 aside 'ee." 
 
 Hester did as she was bid. 
 
 For a short time the nearness of the child 
 seemed to sooth her, and she lay with her 
 hand touching the baby's shawl ; but after a 
 while she sat up suddenly and began speak- 
 ing in an excited voice. 
 
 " 'Tiddn't no manner o' use axing me to be 
 quiet, I know what 'twill be; zo zoon ez I 
 drap off to slape, you'll slip away wi' the 
 chile and I shall niver set eyes on 'un agin.
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 191 
 
 But I'll not be zo voolish. Ben, he'll think 
 the world of me now I've got a little lad. 
 He always said that a chile wor a draw 
 home to folks the like o' hiszulf. A wild, 
 unreasonable man Ben in zome things, but 
 terrible took up wi' childer. Us wor man 
 and wife five years afore this wan corned to 
 us, and many's the time Ben's been fo'ced to 
 sit azide a lonesome hearth a-waiting for his 
 coming. Ess, and my heart has ar-.hed wish- 
 ing for 'un too. Spring and fruiting time 
 wor always bitter to me, for it zim'd to come 
 home more than iver then what 'twor to be 
 childless ; and Ben he felt the zame, for 
 'twas spring when he left me, a barren 
 woman, sitting aside a bare hearth." 
 
 She stopped speaking and stretched out 
 her feverish hand towards the child. " Let 
 'un be here in my arms, I shall feel easier 
 wi' 'un zo. I've hungered arter 'un five long 
 years, and now he's come I can't bear 'un 
 out o' my zight." 
 
 Luce changed the child to the other arm
 
 192 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 so as to bring it closer to the sick woman. 
 It seemed strange to her that she should lie 
 there and listen to Hester Lupin's ravings 
 and that she should not hate but humour 
 her. Was her love less dead than she fan- 
 cied? And would she end by pitying and 
 trying to save the life of a woman whose ex- 
 istence cast the blight of shame upon her 
 own ? She could not believe it, and yet, as 
 she looked at Hester, who had fallen into 
 a troubled sleep, the thought came that 
 the doctor ought to be fetched without 
 delay. 
 
 She rose and went to the kitchen, carrying 
 the child with her. Why should she trouble 
 to fetch the doctor ? Let Hester die. She 
 began to busy herself tidying the room, 
 washing and putting away the breakfast 
 things. Suddenly, however, she laid aside 
 the work in hand and going to the door 
 looked out. The wind had dropped and the 
 ground was black with frost. Across the 
 hills the road wound, bare of traffic. She
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 193 
 
 threw a shawl round her head, and running 
 to the garden gate glanced down the lane. 
 There was no one in sight. The cold was 
 piercing ; she might stand a couple of hours 
 and not cast eyes upon a living soul. Some- 
 thing must be done and that quickly. Re- 
 turning to the cottage she peeped through 
 the bedroom window at Hester. The bed- 
 clothes had been thrown partly back, but 
 seeing that the sick woman still slept, Luce 
 determined to fetch the doctor herself. She 
 cast one glance at the White Cottage as she 
 hurried away. A strange sense of forebod- 
 ing possessed her, then she burst into a 
 laugh of derision, knowing well that all she 
 had cared for on earth had perished with her 
 own honour. 
 
 She took scant time over her errand, a 
 bare twenty minutes by the clock, but when 
 she returned, Hester had gone and the child 
 also. For a moment Luce stood beside the 
 empty cradle, and the gates that had so long 
 stemmed back her love from her child shook
 
 194 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 as if about to be forced apart. Her eyes 
 fell on tlie soft warm shawl in which the 
 baby had been wrapped, and at the sight of 
 it the winter cold bit through her. 
 
 The doctor entered. 
 
 "Her's gone and taken the chile," she 
 said ; and not waiting for a reply went out. 
 
 She did not know in which direction to 
 seek, and let her eyes rove along the frozen 
 ground, as if she expected to see the print of 
 Hester's bare feet. A flock of starlings, 
 closely packed, flew past, scavenging for 
 food ; but nothing else stirred ; all nature 
 seemed shrunk within ill-fitting garments. 
 
 The doctor joined her. 
 
 " I will put some men on to search. This 
 is a matter of life and death." 
 
 Luce made no reply, but listened to him 
 hurrying away on his errand, her eyes still 
 fixed on the frozen ground. She could think 
 of nothing but the terrible cold and the 
 child as being forced to meet it bare, except 
 for his little flannel gown. All day and for
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 195 
 
 many days after parties of men were out 
 on a vain search. Then one evening Luce 
 packed a small bundle of things together, 
 locked the door of the White Cottage and 
 went herself to find her child. At the near- 
 est town she spent the few shillings she had 
 on thread, needles, buttons, that she might 
 resell the same again, and earn sufficient to 
 support her on her quest.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 FOUR summers passed away and the vil- 
 lagers ceased to trouble themselves over 
 Lupin's affairs, agreeing that the place was 
 well quit of him and that the gaol had come 
 into its own. 
 
 It was once more August and evening. 
 The curlew that had flown inland to breed 
 were hurrying seaward, followed by their 
 young. Luce had not returned and the 
 White Cottage stood vacant. At the close 
 of each day's work, Mark lit the fire in the 
 small, shabbily furnished kitchen and put 
 the kettle on to boil, as if he expected Luce 
 to return that night. Sometimes he climbed 
 to the top of the hill, and looked away 
 across the valleys, thinking that he might 
 see her on one of the long, winding roads. 
 This August evening he did see her. She was 
 
 196
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 197 
 
 carrying a small bundle, and walked wearily. 
 Hastening forward he relieved her of her 
 load and they returned together along the 
 same track that he had come. Neither 
 spoke. When the White Cottage rose in 
 sight Luce stopped involuntarily; tears 
 filled her eyes and fell upon her face. 
 Mark would have comforted her, but he had 
 no words, so they trudged on once more in 
 silence. Drawing nearer she saw that 
 smoke rose from the chimney and the door 
 of the cottage stood open. She glanced 
 questioningly at Mark. 
 
 " I reckoned maybe you wud come back 
 along home to-night," he explained. 
 
 Her face fell. " What did make 'ee think 
 I wud come to-night o' all nights ? " she 
 asked, after a pause, surprise fighting with 
 disappointment in her voice. 
 
 He turned away his head. "I didn't 
 reckon speshil on 'ee coming to-night." 
 
 " Have 'ee been and lit the fire afore to- 
 night?"
 
 198 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 "Ess." 
 
 " Many times afore ? " 
 
 " Ess, most nights." 
 
 " Why it be nigh on four years agone that 
 I wor here ! " 
 
 " I reckoned you might drop in any time." 
 
 Luce sighed wearily. " I've been far," she 
 said. "I shall be glad to bide still and 
 rest." 
 
 Pushing open the wicket gate she crossed 
 the garden and sank down on the small seat 
 under the porch. 
 
 For a moment, Mark watched her, unde- 
 cided whether to follow or not ; then, with 
 sudden determination, he turned and went 
 away. 
 
 His absence passed unnoticed by Luce, 
 whose mind was filled with other thoughts. 
 She had found no trace in her wanderings of 
 either Hester or the child, and now, as she 
 sat looking in through the half-open door, the 
 empty cottage seemed like a charnel-house 
 ready to receive her, and she was afraid to
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 199 
 
 enter. She was seized with surprise that she 
 had ever come back. Why had she? What 
 was it that had drawn her home even against 
 her will ? She had fostered no false hope of 
 finding the child alive on her return. 
 
 After a while she rose and went in. The 
 kettle was singing on the hob, and the small 
 table was pushed forward and laid ready for 
 tea, but Luce noticed neither of these things. 
 Pier eyes sought the spot where the cradle 
 always stood, dreading, yet longing, to see it; 
 but the deal box set on roughly made rockers 
 stood in its accustomed place no longer. 
 After much search she found the cradle 
 stowed away in the shed behind the house 
 where Mark had hidden it out of sight. She 
 guessed it was he who had done this, to spare 
 her pain ; but she resented being spared the 
 pain. Picking up the cradle she returned 
 again to the kitchen and placed it in the same 
 spot by the fire where it had been put by 
 Lupin, on the day it had been made. Then 
 flinging herself down on the floor she cast
 
 200 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 her arms round the shabby wooden box and 
 burst into tears. 
 
 Night fell and the tide ebbed with it, the 
 moonlight cutting the retreating waters like a 
 blade. The far-off noises of the village were 
 hushed, but to Luce, lying there in the still- 
 ness, the house was full of sound. She shiv- 
 ered, for, though she knew that Ben Lupin 
 and her child were with her, there was no 
 companionship in their presence, and she was 
 sore pressed with loneliness. 
 
 Many weeks passed and Luce continued 
 living at the White Cottage; people were 
 surprised at this, partly because the Rev. 
 Benjamin Baugh had offered to take her into 
 his service at the rectory, but more perhaps 
 that they held the cottage to be a marking 
 spot, and her remaining there a help to keep- 
 ing alive the memory of the past in men's 
 minds. 
 
 On this matter Mrs. Myrtle found herself 
 in accord with the village. She had never 
 entered the White Cottage since the day Luce
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 201 
 
 refused to marry Mark Tavy ; she had, how- 
 ever, spent many bitter moments waiting for 
 her daughter to visit her ; but Luce, numb to 
 all but her own suffering, failed to notice her 
 mother's absence. The old woman could not 
 believe in disapprobation so well merited be- 
 ing held so cheap, and was for ever picturing 
 Luce kept back by the fears that forgiveness 
 would not be forthcoming. Not that Mrs. 
 Myrtle had the least desire to refuse the for- 
 
 
 
 giveness : she merely held her small, wizened 
 head high, as befitted a woman who might at 
 any moment be called upon to dispense it. 
 
 Meanwhile, she kept a watchful eye on Mark. 
 It was a matter of no small comfort to her that 
 though Luce had cast him aside he evinced 
 no desire to salve his sores by marriage with 
 another woman. Neither did she fail to note 
 that his material affairs prospered, and that 
 in consequence he had risen in public opinion 
 from a man of small account to one the vil- 
 lage could without shame speak well of. All 
 things considered, this was no small stride
 
 202 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 for a young man to take in four years the 
 village being slow to speak well of any one, 
 holding that ill words were easier found and 
 more suiting to most men's behaviour. 
 
 Mark did not again visit the White Cot- 
 tage. His absence surprised Luce; the 
 quality of self -repression struck her as being 
 new to the man and set her wondering. She 
 felt a sudden need of his companionship; 
 after all, they had been great friends as 
 children. 
 
 One evening, as she was seated sewing 
 at the window, she saw him far off on the 
 rocks searching for laver. Putting on a 
 shawl she ran out, stopping a moment to 
 wonder at herself before hurrying down the 
 narrow cliff path. It was some years since 
 she had been upon the shore; an unexpect- 
 ed light-heartedness possessed her as she 
 jumped from rock to rock across the amber 
 pools of salt water. Long past scenes of 
 Mark's and her own childhood returned to 
 her mind, and her heart warmed to him more
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 203 
 
 than it had for many years. He stood look- 
 ing seawards, so that her approach remained 
 unnoticed ; as she drew nearer she half 
 smiled, thinking of his surprise. At the last 
 moment he turned and saw her, the colour 
 reddening his face and then ebbing out. 
 
 " Luce ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 The smile still hovered about her lips. 
 " Well ! " she answered ; and when he still 
 remained silent, she came a few steps nearer 
 and peered into his basket. " What do 'ee 
 be looking for ? Lavers ? " 
 
 " Ess." 
 
 " I've a good mind to give 'ee a hand.'' 
 
 " You'd better take off they boots then." 
 
 She sat down obediently. 
 
 " Your feet iddn't brown the zame ez they 
 wor," he remarked when the thick woollen 
 stockings had been peeled off and pushed 
 into the boots. 
 
 "No, I s'pose they iddn't," she agreed, 
 glancing at her feet. 
 
 He swung round on his heel. " The tide's
 
 204 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 on the turn. 'Tiddn't no manner o' use 
 looking for laver now." 
 
 An expression of disappointment crossed 
 Luce's face. "'Tis lonesome over to the 
 cottage," she said after a pause. 
 
 Mark did not answer. A big stickleback 
 glided out from under the stone on which he 
 was standing. Luce watched the fish nose 
 its way round the pool. 
 
 " Do 'ee mind how we used to hunt they 
 ez childer ? " she asked. 
 
 "Ess." 
 
 " I shud dearly like to catch this 'un and 
 let 'un go arter," she said, rising. 
 
 Mark made no effort to help her. 
 
 " I can't catch 'un all by myself," she 
 added. 
 
 Then he came to her assistance. The 
 pool was deep, and the stickleback fleet of 
 fin, and Mark soon forgot all but the chase 
 on which he was bent. Luce laughed, 
 counting each laugh and putting it by in her 
 memory. She could not quite escape her
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 205 
 
 loneliness even then, but she felt as if she 
 were on the point of escaping. The advanc- 
 ing tide drove them from their sport. Luce 
 picked up her boots and walked barefoot. 
 A soft, intermittent breeze blew off shore, 
 and a scent of heather mixed with sea 
 smells. Crossing the rocks they came to 
 a wide stretch of white sand, behind which 
 rose the samphire-striped cliffs, while far 
 above two hawks floated motionless as if 
 asleep. 
 
 Luce drew in a deep breath. "I do be 
 plazed to look at it all," she said. 
 
 Mark did not answer. The girl's unex- 
 pected friendliness troubled him. He did 
 not wish again to raise false hopes, the lay- 
 ing of them cost too much. True, it was as 
 well known to him as to the rest of the vil- 
 lage that Luce's love for Lupin had turned 
 to hatred. Deep down in the young fisher- 
 man's heart, however, there lurked a suspi- 
 cion of such a sudden transformation ; he felt 
 that the rapidity of the change must entail a
 
 206 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 lack of thoroughness in the process, which 
 would leave the whole fabric of the thing 
 open to the rot. In his opinion, Luce, like 
 the rest of her sex, was fickle. Who, he 
 asked himself, could depend on the con- 
 stancy of either her love or hate ? 
 
 But even while he pondered the matter 
 his need of her increased, and he was fain 
 to distrust his own judgment. Rough hand- 
 ling had not altered the man's nature much ; 
 it had grown a little softer, perhaps, a little 
 stronger, and showed a certain meagre capac- 
 ity for expansion. The spirit's growth is a 
 subtle thing, not lightly to be measured. 
 
 They had reached the narrow cliff path 
 and Luce had begun to ascend. Mark hesi- 
 tated a moment whether to follow her or not. 
 She glanced down at him. Something in 
 the expression of the thin, eager face raised 
 towards her brought the tears into her eyes. 
 
 " You do look divered, lad ! " she ex- 
 claimed. " What do make 'ee look so div- 
 ered ? "
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 207 
 
 He fell quickly back into the shadow of 
 the cliff. 
 
 " 'Tiddn't nought but your fancy," he an- 
 swered. Then slinging the basket over his 
 shoulder, he turned away. " I be gwaying 
 back along by the beach," he said, and left 
 her. 
 
 It was about this time that something 
 happened which once more reinstated Lupin 
 in the good opinion of his fellows. Spong 
 found no small satisfaction in the knowledge 
 that though not the primary cause he him- 
 self had not a little to do in the bringing of 
 this change about. 
 
 The matter fell in this way. One morn- 
 ing a letter addressed to Lupin, and bearing 
 a foreign postmark, reached the village. 
 Lupin being still in prison, the question 
 arose whether the letter should be delivered 
 at the White Cottage during his absence, or 
 await his return, lying securely meanwhile 
 in a drawer at the post-office. The post- 
 mistress was for retaining the letter, wish-
 
 208 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 ing, she said, " to keep an eye on it." Spong, 
 stirred by a like desire, was anxious that the 
 letter should be given into his charge. Both 
 parties being persons of determination, it is 
 doubtful how the dispute would have ended 
 had not the village interfered, which it did 
 in the following fashion. A meeting was 
 held at " The Fisherman's Desire," and the 
 envelope containing the letter laid on the 
 table for general inspection. No one pres- 
 ent required more than a glance at the en- 
 velope to come to the conclusion that the 
 contents were a matter of public interest, 
 but each being a little doubtful of what 
 might be passing in his neighbour's mind, 
 was careful not to formulate his opinion in 
 words. Though, as they all remarked, a let- 
 ter might as well be never written as never 
 read. 
 
 At this stage of the proceedings, beer was 
 handed round, every man paying for his 
 neighbour, a custom much in fashion among 
 the villagers, as it imparted a sense of being
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 209 
 
 generous and left no one out of pocket by 
 the transaction. Tongues became loosened 
 and Spong rose to address the company. 
 
 " He was not," he said, " going to argy, 
 being no believer in arguefication, holding 
 sich as more hindrance than help. 
 
 "The letter," he explained, "came from 
 Australia, the same being a colony of the 
 Crown. He hoped that all present would 
 agree that what consarned the Crown con- 
 sarned them." 
 
 The company was not slow in signifying 
 assent, one man volunteering the remark that 
 " He didn't want to set up for being a 
 Radical, but he would say the Crown was 
 terrible having." 
 
 Spong took no notice of the interruption. 
 " What consarns the Crown consarus us," he 
 repeated. "Thickey letter came from a 
 colony o' Queen Victoria's and let they that 
 have anything to say, say it." And with 
 this he once more resumed his seat, putting 
 the letter on the table and his hand over it.
 
 210 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 A silence ensued, the company crowding 
 closer round the table, trying to peer through 
 Spong's fingers at the letter beneath. 
 
 " I've opened 'un unbeknown ! " he ex- 
 claimed excitedly. 
 
 The others craned forward, drawing in 
 their breath, the host alone preserving suffi- 
 cient presence of mind to remark that Septi- 
 mus Spong must pay for the beer. 
 
 The little postman raised no protest ; true, 
 paying for the beer would take a good slice 
 out of a week's wage, but that seemed small 
 compared with the pleasure in store. His 
 red face grew redder as, after searching in 
 his pockets for his spectacles, he found to 
 his dismay that they had been left in his old 
 coat hanging up against the door of his 
 kitchen. The company however graciously 
 consented to wait while a boy was de- 
 spatched to fetch them, regaling themselves 
 on Spong's beer and some well-merited abuse 
 of Lupin thrown in to pass the time. 
 
 Septimus did not join in either amuse-
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 211 
 
 ment ; it was sufficient for him that he had 
 gained his point ; the letter was to be read 
 and he to read it. 
 
 At last the boy arrived, breathless, with 
 the spectacles tightly clasped in his hand. 
 The sight of him awoke a desire in Spong's 
 heart to prolong the joys of anticipation. 
 Unknown to him the wish stood every 
 chance of being gratified, for as he slow- 
 ly and deliberately fitted the spectacles on 
 his nose he discovered that both glasses 
 had fallen out. It was with difficulty that 
 he suppressed a cry of dismay. As yet no 
 one else had noticed the absence of the 
 glasses, the eyes of all present being fixed on 
 the unopened letter ; but he could not but 
 ask himself how lonsr would the loss remain 
 
 O 
 
 undiscovered, and what would happen when 
 the moment of discovery came. Well he 
 knew that the patience of the company had 
 been exhausted with the beer and that there 
 was not one of all there present who would 
 be willing to wait till the missing glasses
 
 212 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 were found. Shorn of his glasses the little 
 postman had but scant power of seeing ; the 
 thought, however, of any other than himself 
 being the first to read the letter was unbear- 
 able. He determined to play a bold game. 
 There was metal in the man, and in this mo- 
 ment of emergency his courage belled sound. 
 
 " Move, can't 'ee ? " he exclaimed. " How 
 do 'ee reckon a man can zee wi' 'ee all fiddling 
 round the light like so many mothses ? 
 
 " Law jay ! " he continued, as the company, 
 thus adjured, fell back a step, "there be a 
 deal more shadder than aught else about the 
 bodies o' 'ee, and by the same token I'll thank 
 'ee to stand in the shadder." 
 
 During the general scuffle of feet that en- 
 sued, Spong spread the letter out upon the 
 table. The writing was cramped, unclear, 
 and not one word could the little postman 
 decipher ; but his blood was up, and if 
 through the irony of an inconsiderate fate he 
 was deprived of the reading of the letter, he 
 determined to make as good a guess at the
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 213 
 
 contents as would the wisest under a like cir- 
 cumstance. It did not take him many min- 
 utes' rapid thinking to come to the conclusion 
 that the letter contained news of a legacy, 
 but his mind was still wavering as to the ex- 
 act amount when the host of the inn sug- 
 gested "an extry drop all round at Mr. 
 Spong's expense." 
 
 Delay, it was fast becoming evident, was 
 a too expensive luxury to be indulged in, 
 and the little postman decided to have done 
 with it. 
 
 "I must tell 'ee," he began, clearing his 
 throat, and unconsciously making a dive be- 
 hind him with his hand as if in search of his 
 leather post-bag, " that this do be a death-bed 
 letter." 
 
 The spirits of the company rose at the an- 
 nouncement. 
 
 " Did he die hard ? " they asked. 
 
 " He did, poor man, he did/' Spong an- 
 swered, shaking his head. 
 
 "Whatworit?"
 
 214 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 " The zame ez takes most o' 'em. Inter- 
 nals." 
 
 " Well, I niver ; and over to Australie." 
 
 " A terrible spontaneous place for the zaine, 
 so thay tells me," the little postman answered, 
 his round, red face shining with excitement. 
 
 " And be ut all writ down on thicky bit o' 
 paper ? " 
 
 " Ess, in black and white, though the man 
 that did the job suffered a dal from the rheu- 
 matiz in his fingers." 
 
 There was a certain acidity about the tone 
 of the latter half of the remark. 
 
 " They has rheumatiz over to there, then ? " 
 
 " Zims zo." 
 
 " Iddn't there no more'n the letter than 
 thick ? " 
 
 " There's money in it, that's what's in it," 
 Spoug answered in a solemn voice. 
 
 " Begore ! " 
 
 " And what may be the sum ? " asked the 
 host. 
 
 The little postman leant back in his chair,
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 215 
 
 while his small, deep-set eyes seemed to grope 
 inward. " Aj ? " he exclaimed slowly, " Now 
 what do you reckon it be ? " 
 
 " Fifty pun," said the host in a shaky voice. 
 
 Again Spong leant back in his chair, drew 
 in his breath and puffed it slowly out. 
 " More'n that," he answered. 
 
 " Begore ! " the company exclaimed. 
 
 The host's voice became shakier. " A hun- 
 dred ! " he suggested. 
 
 Spong leant farther back in his chair and 
 his eyes grovelled deeper in. " More'n that," 
 he repeated. 
 
 " Begore ! " exclaimed the company. 
 
 u 'Tis to be hoped that he'll mind that he 
 was born and bred in these parts," put in the 
 man whose son knew about Shropshire. 
 
 " Five hundred ! " said the host with 
 twitching lips. 
 
 Spong sat suddenly upright in his chair. 
 " Double ut," he said, and then fell back once 
 more. The company raised their hands, ex- 
 claiming, " Lauwrd ha' mussy on us ! The
 
 216 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 double o' five hundred bain't a penny less 
 than a thousand pun." 
 
 " Not a penny less," Spong admitted. 
 
 " Heaven heal us," said the company. 
 
 " And may Ben Lupin be ez good to me ez 
 I shall always be to he," devoutedly remarked 
 the man whose son knew about Shropshire. 
 
 " Us be all vriends o' he," the company 
 snapped back. 
 
 The host, who had been silent some time, 
 now broke in. " Us must give he a public 
 welcome home when his time's up. I reckon 
 to myself that all things considered he should 
 be proud and willun to pay for the beer. A 
 mort o' beer a man's fill." 
 
 The host rose. " But what I'm saying 
 to myzelf all the time," he exclaimed, laying 
 his hand on Spong's shoulders, " ' What shud 
 I do,' I ses to myself, ' if beer wor given free 
 fust and Ben Lupin cut up green and wudn't 
 pay for ut arter ? ' There be no way back 
 when the ale be wance drunk." 
 
 One by one those present began to steal
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 217 
 
 away each wishful of being the first to give 
 news of the legacy, till at last Spong and the 
 innkeeper were left alone. 
 
 " I shud like to ha' a look at thic letter 
 myzelf if so be I might," said the host. 
 
 " No ! " Spong replied, putting his hand 
 over it and shutting his teeth with a snap, 
 " the letter is in my keeping and he don't pass 
 out o' ut. Leastways, not willunly." 
 
 "Zims that the money worn't long wi' ut." 
 
 " The money's to valler." 
 
 "'Tis a far vallering from Australie. 
 S'posing it never corned ? " 
 
 Spong faced round to the inn-keeper. " I 
 niver heard tull that you wor to be the better 
 for ut, anyways," rising and inadvertently 
 leaving the envelope exposed. The next mo- 
 ment the host had picked it up and begun 
 eagerly the contents. 
 
 " Why," he exclaimed, falling back against 
 the bar, tiddn't nought but ordinary writers' 
 trash. The iddn't no mention o' any legacy 
 at all."
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 TIDINGS of the legacy did not take long to 
 reach the White Cottage, Mrs. Myrtle her- 
 self acting as bearer of the news. The old 
 woman felt that the sudden windfall that 
 had been strewn in Lupin's path afforded in 
 some unaccountable way an explanation of 
 her daughter's obstinate refusal to marry 
 Mark. Personally, she, together with the 
 majority of the villagers, had long since 
 come to the conclusion that Hester and the 
 child perished on the bleak December night 
 four years back. Hitherto, however, this 
 belief had had but small influence on her 
 schemes for the future, feeling as she did 
 that a man so out-of -elbows with respectabil- 
 ity could do little to rehabilitate her daugh- 
 ter in the eyes of the world. But backed 
 by a thousand pounds Ben became at once a 
 
 218
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 219 
 
 person of consequence, and Mrs. Myrtle was 
 not slow to acknowledge the fact. Less 
 alert of mind than his wife, John Myrtle 
 failed to look at the matter in the same 
 light. " He could not," he said, " see what 
 the thousand pounds had to do with the 
 matter," and no reason that his wife could 
 adduce served to clear his mental vision. 
 There was little doubt that so long as Hester 
 Lupin's death remained unproved, the law 
 stood behind John Myrtle's side of the argu- 
 ment, yet the old woman surmised that a 
 fallacy lay concealed under the apparent 
 coincidence, and that laws made for the 
 well-to-do would not in the end be found to 
 run contrary to the desires of a man who 
 owned a thousand pounds. Meeting Mark 
 Tavy at this time she was surprised to find 
 that her feelings towards the young fisher- 
 man had imperceptibly undergone a change ; 
 she no longer held him in the same high es- 
 teem; something she hardly knew what 
 had lowered him in her estimation. Stop-
 
 220 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 ping in front of Mark, sue peered up in his 
 face. 
 
 " Well ! " she exclaimed, " have you heard 
 the news ? " 
 
 " What news ? " he answered vaguely. 
 
 " Oh, you're behindhand as usual why, 
 what news should it be? Ben Lupin has 
 been left a thousand pounds." 
 
 " So folks say. I wonder if there be any 
 truth in it." 
 
 " 'Tis true enough," Mrs. Myrtle answered 
 sharply. " Ben iddn't like some o' us. Luck 
 'ull run for 'un sooner or later." 
 
 The old woman's altered manner made 
 but scant impression on Mark, who had 
 grown strangely indifferent to what the out- 
 side world thought of him. 
 
 " Well," he answered, " I hope 'tis true, 
 he'll need all the luck he can git." 
 
 Mrs. Myrtle drew in her lips a trick she 
 had when displeased. 
 
 " You'll see they'll marry now," she said. 
 
 " Who do 'ee mean by they ? "
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 221 
 
 " Her and Ben." 
 
 "Luce?" 
 
 " Who else should I mean ? " 
 
 Mark turned away sharply : " Tiddn't 
 possible ; Ben's wife may be alive, for aught 
 he knows." 
 
 " The law u'll make it easy for 'un." 
 
 " 'Tiddn't in the power o' the law. 
 
 " You'll see 'twill come about as I say." 
 
 There was a tone of conviction in the old 
 woman's voice that Mark found hard to lis- 
 ten to with indifference. The memory of 
 Luce's unexpected friendliness towards him- 
 self returned to his aid. " Her'll never for- 
 gi'e 'un : he wronged her too much for that." 
 
 " Her's forgiven 'un already, though may- 
 be her don't know it." 
 
 " What makes 'ee s&y thic ? " 
 
 " Why did her come back along home if 
 her hadn't? Her knows well enough 'tis 
 here he could find her if he so wished." 
 
 Again Mark was silent awhile. A 
 thought had passed through his mind, send-
 
 222 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 ing the colour into his face. "Her's been 
 more friendzoine to me o' late," he said shyly. 
 
 The old woman laughed. It was not a 
 pleasant laugh, Mrs. Myrtle's, originating as 
 it did more in contempt than amusement, 
 and Mark winced while the colour in his 
 face deepened. " Maybe her didn't mean 
 nought," he exclaimed. 
 
 "Aye, you may rest content wi' that," 
 Mrs. Myrtle answered. "Her 'ull many 
 Ben Lupin, and though 'twas an ill day for 
 her when first she set eyes on 'un, I shan't 
 raise no word agin the weddin." 
 
 Mark turned on his heel and left her. It 
 was waste of time to protest. All that the 
 old woman prophesied might well come to 
 pass ; and yet, as he walked away, the hope 
 of one day winning Luce's love, which had 
 been re-awakened in his heart, still smoul- 
 dered. Hurrying forward he found him- 
 self suddenly in front of the White Cot- 
 tage. He had not noticed the way his steps 
 were leading him. The door stood open,
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 223 
 
 and he paused irresolute whether to enter or 
 no. Of what good was it for him to come 
 here ? What could he tell this woman ? 
 What ask her that she would grant ? Soft 
 summer scents blew across to him from the 
 garden, and a gillyflower nodded overhead, 
 where it had grown in a crevice of the 
 white-washed wall. Reaching up Mark 
 picked it. The flower's homely smell seemed 
 to entice him to enter, and pushing open the 
 gate he went in. Again he stopped short, 
 surprised at the sound of sobbing. From 
 where he stood the interior of the kitchen 
 was visible, and he could see Luce seated at 
 the table, her head buried in her arms. Be- 
 side her was a small bundle of clothes and a 
 basket packed with food. His thoughts re- 
 turned with a sudden rush to the Sunday 
 morning five years ago, when she had told 
 him of her unfaithfulness. He could almost 
 hear her voice : 
 
 " I wanted to be true to 'ee, I tried to be 
 true to 'ee, but lad I just worn't."
 
 224 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 It seemed to him standing there that he 
 had never wholly forgiven her until this mo- 
 ment. Raising her head she saw him. Mark, 
 scarce knowing what he did, entered the 
 cottage. For a moment she sat up straight 
 watching his approach, then her head 
 sank down once more upon her arms, 
 and she burst afresh into tears. Mark 
 stretched out his hand and touched her 
 shyly. 
 
 "Luce," he said; "Luce." 
 
 She did not answer, and his eyes wandered 
 from her to the bundle and freshly packed 
 basket. 
 
 " Be 'ee going away ? " he asked. 
 
 "'Ess." 
 
 " Why don't 'ee bide long wi' us ? " 
 
 " This iddn't no place for me here." 
 
 " What do make 'ee feel so ? " 
 
 There was no reply, and silence fell be- 
 tween them, broken at last by Mark. 
 
 " He'll be home along soon." 
 
 She shivered. Watching her a feeling of
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 225 
 
 envy passed through the young fisherman. 
 " Be 'ee a-feard o' 'un ? " he asked. 
 
 Luce raised her head with a gesture of 
 fierce pride. " Why shud I be a-feard ? " 
 
 Again there was silence. Mark walked 
 to the window and stared out across the sea. 
 He had little hope of winning this woman, 
 yet it seemed to him that he should never 
 cease striving to win her. Suddenly Luce 
 turned to him, the whole expression of her 
 face changed. 
 
 " Lad," she said, " us wor childer together, 
 and I'll tull 'ee the truth I be a-feard I 
 be a-feard o' zeeing 'un vace to vace. All 
 these long years my heart has been hard 
 agin 'un, and I reckoned maybe 'twud be all 
 wan to me whether my eyes looked on 'un or 
 no; but he be coming back, and I kind o' 
 feel 'un near ; tiddn't no furren lad zame ez 
 I thought to meet, but jest the old Ben. 
 I've been angered agin him all these long 
 years, and now my anger is gone from me 
 and I be a-feard."
 
 226 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 Mark, standing looking at her, struggled 
 with a new bitterness that had arisen in his 
 heart. Her eyes had a piteous frightened 
 expression that he had not seen there since 
 she was a child. Hester Lupin's name rose 
 to his lips, but he was afraid to utter it, 
 dreading lest the mere mention of the name 
 should set in motion some new train of 
 thought, and tend to confirm Luce in the 
 behalf that Lupin was now a free man. 
 Suddenly and against his will the words 
 came ; " Folks say that Hester Lupin's 
 dead." Mark held his breath waiting for 
 her answer, and when there was no reply 
 he slipped again into the trap of speech. 
 " Maybe Ben's quit o' her." 
 
 The girl's face hardened. " Not a-fore the 
 law." 
 
 "No," he asserted eagerly, " the law be all 
 for evidence." 
 
 Luce laughed a short, harsh laugh. " The 
 law be right," she said; "who knows but 
 her might rise and come a- 1 ween us agin ? "
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 227 
 
 There was a moment's silence which Mark 
 struggled to prolong, then he said : " S'pos- 
 ing her niver coined back" 
 
 "Her wud ha' come a-tween us; maybe 
 that's all her wants." 
 
 " You wudn't " Mark exclaimed, and 
 
 stopped short. 
 
 " I will niver valler 'un to dishonour," she 
 said huskily. " I must be gwaying," she 
 continued in an altered voice. Stooping 
 down she picked up her bundle. 
 
 Mark caught her hand. " Luce," he ex- 
 claimed, " why must 'ee go ? Bide long o' 
 me. I will make 'ee a good husband." 
 
 She looked at him as if she only half under- 
 stood what he said. 
 
 "'Twull be less lonezome for 'ee," he 
 pleaded. 
 
 " I'm fair used to being lonezome," she an- 
 swered, with a smile at the dreariness of her 
 own plight. 
 
 " But you be but a young slip o' a 
 thing now, what wull it be when you come
 
 228 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 to grow old? 'Twull be a deal lonezomer 
 then." 
 
 " 'Tiddn't o' thic I be a-f eard." 
 
 " But you be a-f eard." 
 
 The words seemed to recall the memory of 
 some new peril to her. " I must be gwaying," 
 she exclaimed hurriedly. " This is no place 
 for me." 
 
 He caught her arms and forced her back 
 into the chair. " Listen Luce, bide a bit till 
 I sell my boats, then I'll valler 'ee where 'ee 
 wull. I'll be a good husband to 'ee, Luce. 
 I'll niver cross 'ee. You'll veel a deal safer." 
 
 She had scarce listened to what he said, but 
 the last words caught and fixed her attention. 
 
 " Safer," she repeated musingly. 
 
 Mark, inwardly bitter, saw his advantage 
 and pressed it. " There ull be zomewan to 
 stand a-tween 'ee then," he said. 
 
 The girl's head sank down once more be- 
 tween her arms. " Go," she said. " I be 
 mortal wearied, and termorrer I wull tell 'ee 
 
 ess or no."
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 229 
 
 Then he went out ; but he was filled with 
 fear lest when the nisjht came she should steal 
 
 O 
 
 away under the cover of darkness, so, finding 
 shelter beside a hedge, he lay down and 
 waited. Dusk fell, the moon swung herself 
 up above the hills, and Mark, whose eyes 
 were fixed on the White Cottage, saw the 
 door open slowly. A moment later and Luce, 
 bearing her bundle, passed through the 
 wicket-gate into the road. She was crying, 
 and Mark could hear the low choked-back 
 sobs as rising to his feet he prepared to fol- 
 low her. 
 
 Up the hill she went, her slight figure 
 throwing a long shadow in the moonlight. 
 He had kicked off his boots and was follow- 
 ing her barefoot. Once she glanced round, 
 and he pressed close up against the hedge, 
 sheltering behind a great bush of sloes. He 
 allowed the distance between them to in- 
 crease, losing sight of her in the windings of 
 the road, but the sound of her weeping came 
 to him through the still night. Having
 
 230 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 climbed the hill she stopped; she had 
 reached the last point from whence the 
 "White Cottage was visible among the trees. 
 It looked small enough, with the moon shin- 
 ing down from a widespread sky above on 
 to a widespread sea beneath, but at the sight 
 of it an overpowering loneliness and fear of 
 what the future might have in store took 
 possession of her. Suddenly almost with- 
 out set purpose she began to retrace her 
 steps; then, as she went on, her purpose 
 formed and her pace became more hurried, 
 till at last she broke into a run. Stretching 
 out her arms she fled forward it was as if 
 she feared that the little cottage that stood 
 so white and compact before her eyes might 
 have vanished, lost in the tearing asunder of 
 a dream. Mark saw her reach the door, 
 wrench open the lock, and enter. 
 
 He broke into an unconscious sigh of re- 
 lief. 
 
 "Maybe her will let me work for her 
 now," he said.
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 231 
 
 When the morning came he knocked at 
 the cottage, and she came out to him. 
 
 " Be it 'ess, Luce ? " he asked tremulously. 
 
 She looked for a moment in his face, pale 
 and worn as her own. 
 
 " 'Ess," she answered.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 A FEW days later a report spread to Bere- 
 tlpton that Lupin had been released. Some 
 three weeks had yet to run before the expira- 
 tion of the sentence, and the news of his 
 premature discharge threw the village into a 
 ferment. The knowledge that after all the 
 legacy was non-existent gave a sense of per- 
 sonal loss. The indignation aroused at the 
 discovery fell not on Spong, the perpetrator 
 of the fraud, but Lupin, the villagers feeling 
 that free beer and forgiveness once united 
 could not again be cut asunder. So marked 
 was the general displeasure, that some of the 
 younger, more highly strung, and possibly 
 more moral of the Bere-Uptonites, expressed 
 their determination to duck Ben in the horse- 
 pond the moment he was rash enough to set 
 foot inside the village ; he was not, to put it 
 
 232
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 233 
 
 grimly, to be defrauded of his public wel- 
 come, merely the nature of the welcome was 
 to be changed. A certain unexpected deli- 
 cacy of sentiment prevented the villagers from 
 making their intention known to Luce ; and 
 when, late one afternoon, Lupin was descried 
 coming over the hill, she was ignorant both 
 of his coming and the reception that awaited 
 him. Her promise to marry Mark remained 
 a secret, and she tried to thrust the memory 
 of it between herself and the thought of Lu- 
 pin ; but it proved a feeble weapon of de- 
 fence, which she had already come to regret 
 having laid hands on. After all, it would 
 have been better to have fled away alone ; 
 she had but added to her burden a double 
 weight of responsibility. Courage to retract 
 her promise failed her. True, it had not been 
 of Mark that she had thought in giving her 
 consent, but none the less she had been star- 
 tled at the effect her words had on him. He, 
 for his part, had wasted no time in prepara- 
 tions for the wedding, but having sold his
 
 234 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 boats to the first bidder, had gone to a town 
 some ten miles further down the coast, where 
 she was to join him later, and from whence 
 they were to be privately married. The in- 
 terval of waiting seemed interminable to 
 Luce, each day bringing the coming of Lupin 
 nearer. There were moments in the long 
 watches of the night when it was as if he had 
 already come, recalling her imperiously to the 
 duties of wifehood. Putting out her hands, 
 she would try and thrust him from her, only 
 to grasp the thin, intangible air ; and yet she 
 felt that he had conquered, and remembering 
 her wounded honour, shrank back appalled 
 from those nuptial embraces in which her 
 spirit succumbed to his. It seemed to her 
 strange and terrifying that her wrongs no 
 longer served as a barrier between her and 
 the man who had injured her ; for close on 
 five years she had leaned on it in fancied 
 security, now it had fallen, and she knew not 
 where to lay hands upon another. 
 
 The afternoon was fast drawing to a close,
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 235 
 
 the sky, heavy with clouds, sagged earth- 
 wards in soft grey mists. Looking west a 
 darker line showed where sea and horizon 
 met. Sound travelled dully, but Luce, as 
 she sat by the open window, ceased working 
 from time to time, and listened to a hoarse, 
 confused noise that broke in upon her. It 
 was like a cry of anger torn from men's 
 mouths in the uttering, and changed to a 
 laugh, at once crueller and fiercer than the 
 passion that preceded it. Luce shuddered 
 unconsciously, though she gave little thought 
 to the reason of the tumult. On the table 
 lay a suit of Ben's old clothes ; she was put- 
 ting a patch in the sleeve. Tears trickled 
 slowly down her face as she worked, but the 
 stitches were close and fine ; it was a small 
 thing that she could do for him, and she 
 took heed that she did it well. Patched and 
 stained, they smelt of the sea, these old blue 
 serge clothes. She fingered the cloth ten- 
 derly, in some subtle way it reminded her of 
 the character of its owner.
 
 236 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 " There be wear in 'ee yit," she exclaimed. 
 " Rare good stuff but hard used. Ben and 
 'ee be much o' a muchness." 
 
 The sound of the tumult grew louder, the 
 shrill shriek of a boy making itself heard 
 above the duller roar from men's throats. 
 Putting down her work Luce rose and went 
 to the door. Far up near the head of the 
 lane a crowd heaved, kicked, screamed, now 
 lurching lop-sidedly forward a few steps and 
 then again falling back as if it were pushed, 
 pulled, and made a fool of by some invisible 
 power. Frightened and yet curious, Luce 
 approached nearer, and saw the gigantic 
 figure of Thomas Ticknor emerge for a brief 
 space from, and then lost again in, the strug- 
 gling mass. A moment later she caught 
 sight of her father laying about him right 
 vigorously with his fists. Then the crowd 
 parted, and a half-naked man rolled out 
 from among it and lay, a bloody limp heap, 
 in the middle of the road. With a shriek of 
 delight the crowd pounced and all but
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 237 
 
 reached him, when rising he scuttled forward 
 straight for the White Cottage. Slacking 
 pace a moment to shake a fist at the mob he 
 came more slowly past Luce, and she recog- 
 nized, in the bleeding, mud-bedraggled figure, 
 Ben Lupin. She watched him enter the cot- 
 tage, and when the door closed behind him 
 she turned on the crowd with a fury exceed- 
 ing its own. Half satiated, but loth to let 
 go of its prey, the mob faced her motionless, 
 stubborn, ill at ease. Intent on protecting 
 the man she loved, Luce had no words to 
 throw at the hungry crowd, yet she held it at 
 bay by sheer force of will. Driven to reflect 
 the mob at once became ashamed, edging 
 back from the woman, and she, with a quick 
 glance of scorn, turned and entered the cot- 
 tage. 
 
 In the few moments' respite Ben had flung 
 off his torn, muddy rags, and dressed himself 
 in the old blue serge suit that lay on the 
 table. His face was cut and bruised, mud 
 caked in his hair and eyes, but he had lost
 
 238 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 his hunted look, and had once more become 
 master of himself. Taking a thick stick from 
 the corner of the kitchen, he turned to Luce. 
 
 " I be gwaying out to 'em," he said. 
 
 " No, no," she exclaimed, putting out her 
 hands. 
 
 " But I be," he answered, stubborn and 
 unabashed by the thought of the sorry figure 
 he had cut but a moment back. 
 
 She flung herself upon her knees. "They'll 
 kill 'ee ! " 
 
 " I'll be quits wi' the cowards fust," he 
 answered. 
 
 She rose to her feet, a new wave of emo- 
 tion sweeping over her as she remembered 
 again all that she had to fear from this man. 
 "Go if you will," she said bitterly, "life 
 iddn't everything arter all." 
 
 Ben halted, struck by her apparent indif- 
 ference. " 'Tis all the zame to 'ee, I s'pose, 
 whether I be killed or no." 
 
 "You be nought to me now," she an- 
 swered, turning away her head.
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 239 
 
 "'Ee say thic, Luce?" 
 
 " 'Ess arter what you've done." 
 
 " You'll no live wi' me again ? " 
 
 " Do 'ee reckon I be so mortal fond o' dis- 
 honour ? " 
 
 "You'll no live wi' me again?" he re- 
 peated, raising his voice. 
 
 " Haven't I told 'ee ? " 
 
 " Luce," he exclaimed, drawing close and 
 putting his arm round her, *' 'tiddn't nought 
 but talk, thic ? " 
 
 She pushed him from her. "I do mean 
 what I say," she exclaimed feebly. " Me 
 and Mark " then she stopped short. 
 
 But Lupin paid no heed. "Where's the 
 chile ? " he exclaimed, looking round with a 
 start. " Be 'un a-zlape in t'other room ? " 
 
 She did not answer, and he rose and went 
 to the bedroom in search of it 
 
 Meanwhile, Mark, hearing from a chance 
 stranger of Lupin's return, was hurrying back 
 to Bere-Upton. He had no fear that Luce 
 would again play him false, but he cursed
 
 240 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 himself for making her trials harder. Re- 
 membering the many days that had elapsed 
 since he had obtained her consent, he was 
 filled with self -torment at his own folly. He 
 had foreseen no need of hurry, that was his 
 excuse. But he should have remembered 
 that Lupin had always forestalled him. The 
 grey mists lay low upon the hills, now rising 
 a moment to show a strip of short green turf, 
 then enshrouding the young fisherman till his 
 clothes dripped wet on his cold body. Fol- 
 lowing the line of the cliffs he suddenly drew 
 up short. Beneath him grew a mass of thrift, 
 and he remembered, with a start of pain, that 
 it was a flower Luce loved. With a smile, 
 half of contempt, at himself for wasting time 
 at such a moment on such an errand, he rap- 
 idly descended the cliff and gathered a bunch 
 of the tiny pink-faced flower. Turning to 
 go he cast a hasty glance round, and saw 
 further below, and stretching out from be- 
 neath a big rock, what in the grey misty light 
 resembled the skeleton of a hand and arm.
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 241 
 
 Startled, lie went a step nearer, and the thing 
 changed in appearance, growing to look like 
 a dead tree branch. "Wasting no further time, 
 Mark began to reascend the cliff, and had all 
 but reached the top when some power stronger 
 than his will drove him back once more. 
 Vexed at the delay he sprang down the cliff 
 side, slipping and jumping till he planted his 
 feet on the rock, and as he did so he felt the 
 big stone slowly lurch forward. Gripping a 
 thorn tree that grew near with one hand, and 
 digging the other deep into the turf, he held 
 his breath while the rock rolled down the cliff 
 and fell with a dull thud into the sea below. 
 A moment passed and Mark's eyes, following 
 the track of the stone, fell upon a skeleton 
 which, shaken out of its concealment, lay 
 stretched upon the grass. The grey hair at- 
 tached to the skull showed by its great length 
 that the skeleton was a woman's, and Mark, 
 staring down, knew instinctively that he was 
 looking on all that remained of the ill-fated 
 Hester Lupin. Near her was another and
 
 242 THE WHITE COTTAGE 
 
 smaller heap of bones. A wind rose and 
 swept away the mists so that the sea looked 
 bluer, the grass greener, and the bones whiter, 
 and Mark stared down at them till he lost 
 the power of seeing. One question circled 
 continually in his brain. " Why had he been 
 called upon to find the bones now? Why 
 not five years ago ? Why now ? " 
 
 Night fell, and when darkness had hidden 
 the skeletons he threaded his way up the 
 cliffs face, turned once more in the direction 
 of the village, and as he walked he muttered, 
 " Tiddn't to be expected that I shud tull." 
 
 The door of the White Cottage was open; 
 the moon, rising, shone in on Mark and on a 
 a small piece of pink thrift that he still held 
 in his hand. When he saw the flower he 
 suddenly cried out as one possessed : " Luce, 
 Luce ! You be free to marry who you wull." 
 
 But she had not waited to be released ; 
 the cottage was empty, she had left it to fol- 
 low Lupin.
 
 THE WHITE COTTAGE 243 
 
 Years passed ; the White Cottage fell into 
 disrepair, for the villagers held the house to 
 be unlucky, and no one ventured to live 
 there ; but each year, with the coming round 
 of summer, Mark would steal into the little 
 garden, sit beneath the apple tree, and, clos- 
 ing his eyes, dream that the cottage was his 
 home, Luce his wife, and the voices on the 
 breeze those of his children. 
 
 FINIS.
 
 OTHER BOOKS BY "ZACK" 
 
 ON TRIAL 
 
 izmo, $1.50 
 PRESS OPINIONS 
 
 " It seems impossible that this simple story of Dev- 
 onshire folk should fail to arouse enthusiasm among 
 students of good fiction. Its inspiration is so ample, 
 vigorous, and fresh, and its execution so masterfully 
 free. . . . As you read 'Zack's' pages you feel, 
 beneath the surface of expression, the strong, easy, 
 leisurely pulse of an imagination calmly exulting in 
 its own power." Academy. 
 
 "There are scenes and situations set forth with the 
 utmost simplicity of phrase which yet strike the reader 
 with that directness of impact of which Heine pos- 
 sessed the supreme secret in verse." Spectator. 
 
 "Is something more than remarkable. . . . We 
 have not read for a long time any piece of prose fic- 
 tion which impressed us so much indeed, it is a 
 question whether any woman among those now writ- 
 ing in this country has done anything so masterly. ' ' 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 " One of those rare stories that stand apart from 
 their fellows. . . . Tragic yet simple, true and 
 yet not harsh, 'ZackV story moves inevitably towards 
 the final page." Outlook. 
 
 " Few novels of the present moment are more im- 
 pressive or more vital than 'On Trial,' by the lady 
 who writes under the noni de plume of ' Zack. ' It is 
 a powerful story, grim, melodramatic, tragical, indeed, 
 but full of beauty and instinct with knowledge of 
 the human heart particularly of a woman's heart." 
 Chicago Evening Post.
 
 OTHER BOOKS BY "ZACK" 
 
 LIFE IS LIFE 
 
 And Other Tales and Episodes. I2mo^ $I. 
 
 PRESS OPINIONS 
 
 " There is something large and majestical as of 
 granite and the sea in these characters 'Zack' has 
 drawn for us. ... It is stimulating and whole- 
 some, full of zest as rough weather, near to the earth, 
 dealing with lowly types without being flippant or 
 sordid. ' ' Bliss Carman. 
 
 " In our last issue we printed an article on this 
 remarkable book. Since then we have read the 
 volume again, with the result that we advise every- 
 body who cares for distinguished work to read ' Life 
 is Life.' Although the author's first book it is not 
 merely a book of promise. It is a performance and 
 a fine performance. We welcome ' Zack ' to an upper 
 room in the House of Letters." The Academy. 
 
 " The stories are full of power. They are poignant. 
 They possess a quality of tragic and dramatic force." 
 
 The Spectator. 
 
 "There is a flavor of originality which is never 
 missing. ' Zack ' will take rank as a strong writer." 
 
 N. Y. Tribune. 
 
 " 'Zack' has shown a mastery that entitles her to 
 rank with the best short-story writers in the language. ' ' 
 
 The Bookman. 
 
 Charles Scribner s Sons I53 ~ z &*f or 
 
 A-ve. 
 k
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A 000 801 823 6 
 
 293 F. The White Cottage 
 
 ZACK 
 
 The White Cottage stands on the cliff and looks out over the sea a silent witness 
 to the happiness and sorrow which comes with the mystery called love. Luce, a 
 Devonshire maiden, fragile and bonny and sweet, promises, albeit reluctantly, to 
 marry the fisherman Mark, her comrade and lover from childhood. After the banns 
 are called, the hidden embers of a passionate love for the returning village scape- 
 grace burst into irresistible flarne. She jilts Mark ; and Ben stalwart, light- 
 hearted, and masterful leads her to the White Cottage as his wife. They are 
 happy in an affection so tender and deep that Mark' s prayer for \ engeance seems 
 an idle futility. Yet there is a thunderbolt to fall, a thunderbolt dire and fateful. 
 It would be manifestly unfair to an exceptionally able piece of work to tell further 
 how the situation is worked out. The story, however, is a tragic and intense 
 interpretation of the curious fatality of love. It may interest some readers to know 
 that " Zack" is the pen name of Miss Gwendoline Keats, and that she is a grand- 
 niece of the poet Keats. Boo/clovers Bulletin.