A-Village-Hampden 
 
 BY Algernon Gissing
 
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 L I E) RARY 
 
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 828)
 
 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 NEW AND POPULAR NOVELS 
 
 AT ALL THE LIBRARIES. 
 
 THYME AND RUE. By Margaret B. Cross. 
 
 2 vols. 
 
 DISHONOURED. By Theo Gift, author of ' Pretty 
 
 LITTLE MISS COLWYN. By Adeline Sergeant, 
 
 author of ' No Saint,' • Jacobi's Wife,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 CUTTING FOR PARTNERS. By John Cordy 
 
 Jeaffreson, author of ' Live it Down,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 TILL THE GREAT ASSIZE. By Vere C layering, 
 
 author of 'A. Modern Delilah,' ' Barcaldine,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 LONDON: HURST & BLACKETT, LIMITED.
 
 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN 
 
 BY 
 
 ALGERNON GISSING 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'BOTH OF THIS PARISH,' ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON : 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 1890. 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 U3 
 
 V.I 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 .\> 
 
 
 CHAPTEK 
 
 
 I. 
 
 The Tenant of Sedgecomb . 
 
 IL 
 
 Re Jonathan Wayfer, deceased 
 
 III. 
 
 Two Elders . . . . 
 
 IV. 
 
 Social 
 
 . 
 
 V. 
 
 The School-mistress . 
 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Mayor's Levee . 
 
 
 VII. 
 
 rai. 
 
 Reflections 
 
 A Dance in the Granary 
 
 
 IX. 
 
 The Dregs . 
 
 
 X. 
 
 Wayfer sleeps . 
 
 
 XL 
 
 The Awakening . 
 
 
 XII. 
 
 Rose Cottage . 
 
 
 I 
 
 33 
 68 
 87 
 112 
 137 
 172 
 188 
 223 
 243 
 263 
 291
 
 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE TENANT OF SEDGECOMB. 
 
 It was a fine frosty morning of early 
 October, and Giles Radway was sitting at 
 the hill-top beneath a dark cloud of pine 
 trees, breaking his last heap of stones. He 
 had crept slowly on from pile to pile 
 throughout the summer, reducing each 
 carelessly thrown heap of rugged blocks 
 to a symmetrical mound of small and 
 fairly equal fragments ; and he now looked 
 forward to spending the next six months 
 of winter in spreading them, with the same 
 deliberation, upon the roads. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 Z A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 Giles was the byway roadman of the 
 rural parish of Shipcombe, situated in a 
 remote part of the county of Gloucester. 
 He had laid his piece of sacking upon the 
 small portion of the heap ah^eady broken, 
 and was comfortably seated upon it. With 
 his hammer he dragged forward the large 
 blocks, as required, and split them and then 
 re-split with a regular ringing stroke. A 
 silver veil of frost still lay upon his 
 shaded side of the road, covering the 
 stones and the crisp dead leaves amongst 
 them, as well as the broad margin of 
 matted grass and herbage which stretched 
 outwards from the hedge. Upon both 
 sides of the way the hedgerows were tall 
 and untrimmed : the one at Giles' back, 
 screening the red, scaled trunks of the 
 already mentioned pines, consisted for the 
 most part of maple bushes, and from time 
 to time one of the bright yellow leaves, 
 which still lingered amongst the branches, 
 would be wafted to his feet by some gentle
 
 THE TENANT OF SEDGECOMB. 6 
 
 breath of air which whispered softly as it 
 threaded the dark clump overhead. 
 
 After working for a few minutes, the old 
 man would look leisurely around him, and 
 upon such occasions he would have dis- 
 played to any observer a fresh-coloured, 
 sharp-featured face of much intelligence 
 and ffood humour. He would examine a 
 fossil which his hammer had laid open in 
 the stone, or a leaf, or a flower still lin- 
 gering at his side ; he would smile at the 
 bold robin which perched upon a stone 
 before him and regaled him with its shrill, 
 defiant song ; or laugh with the wood- 
 pecker's ringing peal, which came to him 
 from the hillside elm trees below. Lastly, 
 he would look up to the sky — that spark- 
 ling autumn morning sky — and there his 
 eye would linger longest. This plain old 
 man seemed to find in it an inexhaustible 
 picture. First he looked towards the sun, 
 whose orb was just now veiled behind a 
 dapple screen ; sunk, as it seemed, beneath 
 
 B 2
 
 4 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 a cluster of smooth grey boulders left by 
 the ebbing tide. As his eye stole gradu- 
 ally upwards, the stones grew smaller and 
 smaller, and lost all tint of grey, until 
 they ended towards the zenith in an ex- 
 panse of shingly beach — of dazzling minute 
 pebbles, or perchance of silver spray ; for 
 Giles could not very accurately determine, 
 as the strong light which suifused that 
 ocean made his old eyes blink. He had 
 quickly to withdraw them, and trace the 
 narrow bar in the south which stretched 
 from east to west. This led to other 
 realms. 
 
 Whilst surveying the western horizon, 
 absorbed in such thoughts as the scene 
 prompted in his unsophisticated mind, 
 Giles was aroused from his reverie by the 
 sound of a human voice. He withdrew 
 his eyes at once from their distant gaze, 
 and looked consciously about him. No- 
 body was in sight, but that was easily 
 explained, inasmuch as the road took a
 
 THE TENANT OF SEDGECOMB. 5 
 
 rectangular turn only a few yards off. 
 Moreover, the old man's face showed no 
 appearance of surprise, but, on the con- 
 trary, immediately assumed a half-smiling, 
 genial aspect as if about to greet a friend. 
 The voice continued audible, and was evi- 
 dently engaged in song. It was a strong 
 tenor voice, with an obvious singing capa- 
 city, and it was at this moment vigorously 
 adapting to its own key the strains of a 
 Scottish song, ' Ye banks and braes o' 
 bonnie Doon.' 
 
 4 
 
 Giles had not to wait long, for within a 
 minute or two the expected figure turned 
 that corner in the road, and came onwards 
 ringing. He was but half way through 
 the last verse Avhen he reached the place 
 where Radway sat, so that he stood before 
 the smiling roadman deliberately to com- 
 plete his song. The singer was a young 
 man of robust frame and healthy coun- 
 tenance, offering anything but a senti- 
 mental appearance ; far from sprucely
 
 6 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 dressed, but apparently a gentleman. As 
 he finished the plaintive ditty, he flour- 
 ished aloft a stout stick which he carried, 
 and exclaimed : 
 
 ' There, Giles, your grandfather couldn't 
 have beaten that, not with flute, clarionet, 
 and double-bass accompaniment.' 
 
 ' No, no, Mr. Gabriel, that he couldn't 
 to a certainty. He didn't know that air, 
 however, in fact.' 
 
 ' Of course he didn't,' replied Gabriel, 
 smiling to himself ' It is a grand morn- 
 ing,' he added, looking around; 'just such 
 a morning as makes it the very devil to 
 leave this country-side.' 
 
 ' Most beautiful morning. You be a- 
 going back to London then to-day, sir?' 
 
 ' Yes, I leave the village at eleven. I 
 came up here for my last constitutional, 
 and to rail at things in general. Why 
 can't I be you, Giles? I could break 
 stones just as well ; look !' he said, grasping 
 the larger hammer which lay idle, and
 
 THE TENANT OF SEDGE COMB. 7 
 
 splittino^, with a steady blow, one of the 
 largest blocks. 'Your life would just 
 suit me; no wonder you are a philosopher.' 
 
 ' No philosopher,' replied Radway, laugh- 
 ing and shaking his head ; ' very far from 
 it. But I can quite understand you, sir. 
 1 shouldn't like to live in a large town 
 myself I had a desperate wish one day 
 to see the world, but I shall never do it 
 now. I be too old for travelling, and my 
 rheumatics be such a hindrance an' all !' 
 
 ' You be satisfied where you are, Giles. 
 You are one of the blessed of the earth, 
 depend upon it.' 
 
 *So it do appear to me, Mr. Gabriel,' 
 said Giles, looking up wistfully at his 
 companion. 'There be a deal talked 
 nowadays, by the younger men more 
 especially, concerning getting on in towns, 
 and concerning the uncommon dulness of 
 life in the country, but it seems to I but a 
 vain notion at last.' 
 
 ' Very greatly, I believe it is. The
 
 8 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 majority of us must be poor anywhere, 
 but I would rather have poverty in the 
 country than in the town. Nine out of 
 ten that go to towns don't get on at all. 
 Perhaps they come here by a Bank-holiday 
 trip to see you, in a bit better coat than 
 they left in, but they don't tell you how 
 they have managed to buy the coat, or 
 whether it is paid for at all. But never 
 mind this, Giles ; I didn't come up here 
 to be dragged into uncomfortable talk by 
 you. We have to make the best of a bad 
 job, or else we fare badly. Just look at 
 those clouds !' 
 
 ' Most wonderful ! I was but looking 
 at them when you came, sir.' 
 
 ' Ay, well ; 1 shall think of that sight in 
 the fogs next month,' remarked Gabriel, 
 after gazing for a few seconds in silence. 
 ' It is doubtful when I shall see such 
 again, Giles,' he added, knocking a piece 
 of stone with his stick. ' I don't suppose 
 I shall be down at Christmas ; not unless
 
 THE TENANT OF SEDGECOMB. ^ 
 
 things change miraculously, at least — 
 which I don't expect them to do.' 
 
 Giles immediately looked his gravest. 
 
 ' That be bad news, however, sir. We 
 beunt a-going to lose you and Mrs. 
 Bewglass?' 
 
 The remark was made in a tone of 
 indirect interrogation, of which this old 
 man was a master. 
 
 ' No, no ; my mother will live here as 
 usual, of course. She couldn't live any- 
 where else.' 
 
 Then followed a short silence. There 
 was, as a rule, but little restraint of inter- 
 course between these widely different men, 
 odd as it may appear; but, during this last 
 holiday sojourn of Gabriel Bewglass in his 
 native village, there had been a topic agi- 
 tating the minds of both which was scru- 
 pulously avoided in their conversation. 
 The young man was the son of the late 
 vicar of the parish, who had died within 
 the last twelve months, and it was some
 
 10 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 well-known unsatisfactory circumstances 
 consequent upon that death which was 
 the screened subject of their thoughts. 
 The above remarks constituted a nearer 
 approach to any direct conversational men- 
 tion of these matters than had hitherto 
 been exchanged between them. 
 
 'I suppose there is plenty of gossip 
 about us, Giles ?' observed Gabriel, pre- 
 sently, apparently with the intention of 
 keeping up the subject now that it had 
 been touched upon. Radway was nothing 
 loath to take the hint. 
 
 ' It be much talked about, of course, 
 sir,' was the reply ; ' being that your 
 father was so much liked in the parish. 
 Without meaning no disrespect, some do 
 say as it be the doing o' this new man ; 
 but I can hardly think that. I know no- 
 thing about him, of course, for he don't 
 come amongst the like o' we as your father 
 did ; but he don't seem a bad man, not by 
 appearance, however.'
 
 THE TENANT OF SEDGECOMB. 11 
 
 'He is very far from a bad man. Per- 
 haps not the most ideal parson, but as a 
 man, I believe, essentially worthy. Don't 
 let that notion go about. It is only a 
 question of law, which as you know, Giles, 
 is not equivalent to charity. It isn't like- 
 ly that the law can bother to concern 
 itself with the private heart-ache of in- 
 dividuals.' 
 
 ' It seems not, Mr. Gabriel ; but, talking 
 of law, it appears a strange affair to I, beg- 
 ging your pardon, sir, that this law con- 
 cerning dilapidations, as they call them, 
 should apply to a clergyman such as your 
 father was, for I know ' 
 
 ' Of course, it must apply to all if to 
 any. But look here, Giles, now Ave have 
 got upon this miserable topic I will ask 
 you a question. It seems that the largest 
 sum claimed is in respect of the farm 
 buildings of Sedgecomb, old Wayfer's place, 
 and certainly they are in a disgraceful 
 state. Did you ever hear from Wayfer,
 
 12 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 or anybody else, of iny father's having 
 allowed him. sums of money at different 
 times with w^hich to carry out repairs ?' 
 
 'Not a word, Mr. Gabriel, that I didn't,' 
 replied the old man, looking intensely in- 
 terested, and keeping his lips slightly apart 
 after he had made the statement. 
 
 ' Well, don't say anything about it, of 
 course. I can trust you. My good father 
 was so incompetent in affairs of business 
 that it is not an unlikely tale. My mother 
 has some vague idea that he mentioned to 
 her that he had done so ; but as Wayfer 
 disclaims it, and as I have no reason to 
 believe him dishonest, I suppose it is a 
 mistake. At any rate, the buildings have 
 never been repaired for a century or two, I 
 should think, whether money was allowed 
 or not. No doubt it is a mistake ; don't 
 say anything about it, especially as the un- 
 fortunate Wayfer is probably so near his 
 end. He is no better, I suppose?' 
 
 ' I heard this morning as they didn't ex-
 
 THE TENANT OF SEDGECOMB. 13 
 
 pect him to live throughout the day. They 
 fetched Miss Sulby, the school-mistress, to 
 him at six o'clock. He can't abide nobody 
 else near him : most curious man. But he 
 was ever so.' 
 
 ' Really so bad as that ! He was a 
 strange creature. I remember when I 
 was a boy, I was always afraid of him, 
 and was terrified if I met him in the cop- 
 pice alone.' 
 
 Bewglass turned as he spoke to survey 
 the prospect, and as he did so he listened* 
 to the distant buzz of a thrashing machine, 
 rising and falling incessantly as it was 
 busily fed with sheaves. A skylark or two 
 also were rising from a stubble-field at hand, 
 and other birds twittered or sang outright 
 from various points around him. 
 
 Another sound also there was, which 
 had been audible for a few moments, and 
 which could be heard very far in that 
 morning atmosphere ; namely, the clatter of 
 a horse's hoofs. Gabriel commented upon
 
 14 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 it to his companion, and they listened to it 
 for some time in silence. 
 
 ' Are the hounds out to-day, Giles ? It 
 sounds like somebody late.' 
 
 ' I think they be, sir, but I haven't seen 
 nothing of 'em. He beunt a-losing much 
 time now, that's certain ; and I do believe 
 as he be a-coming up the hill.' 
 
 ' Yes, he certainly is. He will be about 
 Mr. Kimble's buildings.' 
 
 This sound, on a sparkling morning, has 
 a peculiarly pleasant effect, and the two 
 took a playful interest in noting its fur- 
 ther progress. It was evidently advancing 
 towards them. 
 
 ' ISTow he is under the trees,' remarked 
 Bewglass, with head erect. ' I thought 
 that would make him walk. Listen now ; 
 he must be reaching the corner. Yes, I 
 can see his hat ; he has broken into a trot. 
 I will give him a couple of minutes,' — and 
 Gabriel therewith took out his watch.
 
 THE TENANT OF SEDGE COMB. 15 
 
 The horse came quickly on, with a rider 
 leaning forward on the saddle ; both pairs 
 of eyes were fixed upon him. 
 
 ' Why, it's young Michael Wayfer him- 
 self !' exclaimed Bewglass, as he repocketed 
 his Avatch. 
 
 ' Sure enough,' assented the roadman, 
 with surprise. 
 
 Gabriel stepped aside into the frosted 
 o:rass to o:ive a wide berth to the animal ; 
 but, as soon as the rider recognized the 
 two figures, he pulled up the bridle sharp- 
 ly. The horse stopped opposite their heap 
 of stones. 
 
 ' Come and see my father, Mr. Bew- 
 glass,' exclaimed the horseman, in breath- 
 less haste, without any ceremonious pre- 
 lude. ' They say he's dying, and he wants 
 to see you. He must see you, he says.' 
 
 Bewglass received the summons with 
 calmness enough. He replied, with his 
 customary composure,
 
 16 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 'See me? Certainly, if he wishes it. 
 I'll go on at once, as I have to leave Ship- 
 combe this morning.' 
 
 'Take this horse,' said young Wayfer, 
 leaping from the saddle at the moment. 
 ' Don't lose no time, sir.' 
 
 * By all means,' assented the other, 
 taking possession of the vacated seat. ' I'll 
 lose no time.' 
 
 Nothing suited Gabriel Bewglass better 
 than a scamper on horseback through the 
 clear autumn air, whether to visit a dying 
 man or to discharge any other more cheer- 
 ful errand. He left Michael Wayfer to 
 exchange some words with Giles Radway 
 by the roadside, while he himself made the 
 best of his way to the farmhouse of Sedge- 
 comb. The distance he had to ride would 
 be about three miles or upwards, seeing 
 that there was no direct cut across the 
 fields. He descended the hill first to the 
 village of Shipcombe, and from the farther 
 end of the village, by the green, he took
 
 THE TENANT OF SEDGECOMB. 17 
 
 the road at rif^ht angles which led west- 
 wards. In a few niinutes he had crossed 
 the two or three fields which separated the 
 house from the road, and was riding into 
 the silent farmyard. 
 
 The place seemed unusually silent to 
 Gabriel as the horse's hoofs rang upon the 
 stones. Everything about it appeared 
 conscious of the ominous absence of the 
 master, down to the very sparrows amongst 
 the straw. The fowls strode about and 
 raked amongst the dirt with exceptional 
 silence and deliberation, an occasional, 
 grave and inward * cluck ' from a sober, 
 shaggy-legged matron being the only evi- 
 dence of their presence. Stable doors were 
 closed, and no sound came from within : 
 even the clashing of tin pails and the 
 clattering of servants' boots was not heard 
 through that open doorway in the house. 
 The visitor alone was to be heard as he 
 led the horse across the yard and fastened 
 the bridle to a ring in the wall beside the 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 door : but there seemed nobody to hear 
 him ; his noise attracted nobody's atten- 
 tion. The house itself gave a hollow 
 sound as he stepped on to the flags within, 
 and it would have caused young Bewglass 
 little, if any, surprise, had he found it 
 necessary to go from one empty chamber 
 to another throughout that rambling 
 building to search for the dying man who 
 had summoned him ; discovering him, per- 
 chance, at last, in the loneliness of death, 
 in some half-furnished, dusky bed-room 
 beneath the rat-eaten rafters. 
 
 This, however, did not await him. As 
 soon as he stepped into the ' house,' the 
 large inhabited kitchen so-called, he be- 
 held a middle-aged and a young female 
 engaged quietly in some menial employ- 
 ment there, whilst an elderly woman dozed 
 by the fire. They scarcely raised an eye 
 to him as he entered ; certainly showed 
 not the slightest disposition to address 
 him. The two went on quietly with their
 
 THE TENANT OF SEDGECOMB. 19 
 
 work, as though ignorant of his presence, 
 and the third continued to doze. Gabriel, 
 therefore, must take the initiative himself. 
 
 ' Can I see Mr. Wayfer ?' he demanded 
 of the elder of the active women. 
 
 ^ Dunt knaw, sir,' she replied. 
 
 ^ Is anybody with him?' 
 
 ' Iss, Miss — but 'ere her be.' 
 
 The colloquy was interrupted by the 
 silent entrance of a young lady to the 
 room. 
 
 ' I thought it would be you, Mr. Bew- 
 glass. Will you come upstairs at once ?' 
 
 ' Are you alone with him, Miss Sulby ?' 
 the young man asked, as they ascended 
 the creaky staircase. 
 
 ' Yes. His daughters won't come. But 
 I don't think he could do with them if 
 they did. The doctor will be here in a 
 moment ; he wants to see you before the 
 doctor comes.' 
 
 ' He is quite collected, I suppose ?' 
 
 ' Oh, yes ; but he will not live long, I 
 
 c2
 
 20 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 am sure. I am sflad vou had not sfone 
 
 iD 
 
 you 
 
 Mr. Bewglass.' 
 
 They went along a passage, the floor of 
 which was covered with a strip of worn- 
 out oil-cloth, and the walls, which were 
 without paper, sadly required a fresh coat 
 of white-wash. Miss Sulby, as the young 
 lady seemed to be called, glided softly 
 through an open doorway at the end of 
 this passage, and young Bewglass followed. 
 He then found himself in a bed-room, 
 presumably the invalid's, for fearsome 
 sounds were audible. It was a large, bare 
 room, with a patch of carpet by the bed- 
 side only, and necessary furniture of the 
 very plainest description. The bed, how- 
 ever, was a massive oaken four-poster, 
 devoid of hangings, and at the foot of it 
 lay a large black oak chest, with lid and 
 sides curiously carved. The ceiling was 
 the shape of the roof, the great white- 
 washed rafters sloping to the shallow mul- 
 lioned windows, before Avhich the blinds
 
 THE TENANT OF SEDGECOMB. 21 
 
 were drawn. A man endeavoured to raise 
 himself at the sound of footsteps, but im- 
 mediately sank again with a despairing 
 groan. The young lady went up to him. 
 
 ' Be that young Bewglass ?' he said, in a 
 husky voice. 
 
 ' Yes, Mr. Wayfer ; will you speak to 
 him now ?' 
 
 ' 'Eess, leave him wi' me ; but dunt 'e 
 gwo far off.' 
 
 Miss Sulby accordingly left the room, 
 and closed the door behind her. Gabriel 
 took the chair by the bed-side. 
 
 'Not so well this morning, Mr. Wayfer?'* 
 he observed, feeling by no means at home 
 in his present unaccustomed employment. 
 
 ' Noa, I'll never be well again, — never 
 again. Mebbe I 'ev time to tell 'e. I've 
 telled Michael. I dwunt knaw where I 
 be a-going to, Mr. Bewglass,' he said, with 
 an apparent transference of thought, as he 
 turned his gaunt old hopeless visage to- 
 wards his visitor. ' Eh, if I could but
 
 22 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 knaw that ! I never knawed right about 
 heaven and hell ; never could give my 
 mind to it from a boy ; never had no 
 abilities at it, never. I were always given 
 to the farmin' line. Miss Sulby be a-teach- 
 ing me a bit, but I be desperd backard. 
 But what am I a-maundering over? That 
 beunt the affair as I wanted to ask 'e 
 about. Beunt ye the son of Mr. Bew- 
 glass, the ]3n.rson ? Of course 'e be. Miss 
 Sulby says as I must ask forgiveness for 
 anything as I 'ev done wrong. 'Ullt for- 
 give me, Mr. Bewglass ? I never knawed 
 as 'em 'ud come against you when he were 
 dead.' 
 
 ' I don't know of any wrong you have 
 done to me, Mr. Wayfer.' 
 
 ' Beunt 'em a-suing you for the money 
 to repair my buildings ? You came to ask 
 me about it awhile since.' 
 
 ' Yes, they are ; at least they are suing 
 my father's executors.' 
 
 ' Well, I had the money out o' the rent
 
 THE TENANT OF SEDGE COMB. 23 
 
 from your father. Eess, I had it, and that 
 be the truth. They'd ought to ha been the 
 best buildings i' the parish, and I meant 
 to ha' done it ; but times got bad — times 
 got desperd bad, and I never did it — 
 never.' 
 
 The man had to stop to recover his 
 breath. Gabriel waited for a moment and 
 then spoke. 
 
 ' You really had it, then. How much did 
 you have?' 
 
 ' Michael — 'ev the figures ; ur '11 make it 
 up to 'e. I meant to do it, that I did. 
 Will 'e forgive me before I go ? Egh, if X 
 could but knaw where I be a-going to ! It 
 be so dark sometimes, uncommon dark.' 
 
 ' Certainly, I will forgive you readily 
 enough, if it will do you any good. You 
 need not let that affair trouble you.' 
 
 'Michael 'ull make it up to 'e. Duntbe 
 hard on him, times be bad, Mr. Bewglass. 
 Ye said ye'd forgive me ?' 
 
 The old man seemed to experience a
 
 24 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 strong sense of relief as Gabriel repeated 
 the word ' forgive.' It seemed to be to 
 the sound of that word alone, as issuing 
 from the young man's lips, that the dying 
 figure clung, and without any thought of 
 associating with it a contributory feeling 
 in himself His eyes grew less painfully 
 eager. 
 
 ' Her said as I must ask to be forgiven,' 
 he continued to mutter to himself, ' and he 
 have said the word. I dwunt feel so dis- 
 mal; but I dwunt know what kind o' 
 land it be. Ull 'em 'ev the four-field or 
 the six-field system, Mr. Bewglass? Egh ! 
 I be over old to start on new land; I'll 
 never get such a good sample o' barley as 
 ofi" the Old Knolls, never ; ye couldn't 
 beat it in all Cotsol', and I never heard tell 
 of a better barley country. 'St knaw what 
 breed o' sheep 'em have? Them white- 
 feaced divils, I'll warr'nd, and I never could 
 abide 'em : 'em never looked kind i' my 
 pasture.'
 
 THE TENANT OF SEDGECOMB. 25 
 
 Bewglass was far from a nervous man, 
 but he was deeply impressed by this 
 ghastly figure mumbling of the unknown 
 fields. He would gladly have helped him, 
 but how hopeless was all effort ! How 
 could he direct this mind into any reason- 
 able channel? Now that the purpose of 
 his errand was accomplished, and he had 
 given the man his shrift, further delay 
 seemed useless. He rose, therefore, quietly 
 from his chair, with the intention of with- 
 drawing unobserved from the chamber, a 
 course which seemed to offer little difficulty, 
 insomuch as the man was absorbed in his 
 confused speculations upon the future. 
 However, it was not so easy as he expected. 
 At the first movement of his visitor old 
 Wayfer was drawn from his entangled train 
 of thought, and he fixed his eyes upon the 
 stalwart Gabriel by his Side. He stretched 
 out his hand towards him, but from it 
 Bewglass involuntarily shrank. Perhaps 
 he felt a momentary return of that boyish
 
 26 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 fear of whicli he had spoken. The dying 
 man started up at the movement, and sat 
 erect for the space of a second. He made 
 an effort to utter some words, but they 
 could not escape from his throat ; then he 
 fell back again upon the pillow. Bew- 
 glass hurriedly left the room. 
 
 The doctor had ridden away, and Gabriel 
 and Miss Sulby were crossing the farm- 
 yard. By the gate through which they 
 would have to pass two men were standing, 
 one of whom was young Michael Wayfer. 
 They appeared to be engaged in an alter- 
 cation, for their voices were loud and rough, 
 and by the movement of Wayfer's arms it 
 seemed likely to end in blows. 
 
 ' Get off the premises, I tell you ! You 
 shan't see him at all. By gum, I'll put 
 you off!' 
 
 ' You can't see him now, Riley,' said 
 Bewglass, coming up ; ' not if you want to 
 speak to him. He's dead.'
 
 THE TENANT OF SEDGECOMB. 2< 
 
 Both men stared at him in amazement, 
 as though the news was the most unex- 
 pected in the workl. 
 
 ' Dead !' 
 
 '- Yes, he is dead ; so you may as w^ell 
 cease your quarrelling.' 
 
 The man, whom Bewglass had named 
 Riley, and who appeared of the labouring 
 class, muttered an im.precation at the news 
 and turned with much sullenness aw^ay. 
 Wayfer put a question or two to Miss 
 Sulby, then she and Gabriel departed, 
 leaving the young farmer standing by the 
 gate. 
 
 Neither spoke until they were half-way 
 across the first field, w^hen Bewglass broke 
 the silence. 
 
 ' Was that some family quarrel, Miss 
 Sulby ?' 
 
 'Evidently,' she replied; 'but nothing 
 new between them. it is a notorious 
 house for feuds. I don't think any two 
 members of it hold intercourse of any
 
 28 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 kind. I don't know what Riley could 
 "Nvant there, for the old man disliked him 
 and his wife more than all the rest. It is 
 a dreadful state of things.' 
 
 ' I suppose it is,' remarked Gabriel ; ' but 
 I must say it amuses me. Such incredible 
 compositions !' 
 
 The school-mistress made no reply. She 
 seemed much subdued ; no doubt affected 
 by her recent impressive experiences. 
 Moreover, she was unable to view things 
 in this light manner, and perhaps she was 
 grieved by anybody else being able to do 
 so. Her eyes were, for the most part, 
 fixed upon the grass as they walked, and 
 she gave very short replies to any observa- 
 tion from her companion. When they 
 reached the road, and the subject of their 
 conversation changed. Miss Sulby aroused 
 herself somewhat. 
 
 ' I am glad I did not miss this experi- 
 ence, for, at the risk of shocking you, Miss 
 Sulby, I must say it was picturesque.
 
 THE TENANT OF SEDGECOMB. 29 
 
 Two hours later, and I should have left 
 the village/ 
 
 ' You go to-day, of course,' said the 
 young lady, not referring to the first part 
 of his remarks. 
 
 * Yes ; go back to imprisonment. It 
 concerns me to leave my mother so 
 poorly, but private feelings have to be 
 smothered just now. She is not amongst 
 aliens. You for one will see her occasion- 
 ally, won't you ?' 
 
 ' It is the chief happiness of my life to 
 have the friendship of Mrs. Bewglass. I^ 
 am afraid of tiring her by going so often.' 
 
 ' Never fear that. She thinks it a kind- 
 ness, and enjoys nothing better. She 
 must feel it very lonely. You can't go 
 to her too often, I can assure you of that. 
 I wish I could look in myself some- 
 times.' 
 
 ' I suppose you do, Mr. Bewglass. You 
 don't seem to care much for your town 
 life.'
 
 30 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 ^ I don't seeni to care for any, Miss 
 Sulby. I have no doubt I should be sick 
 of the country in six months.' 
 
 * I don't think you would,' replied the 
 school-mistress. ' You malign yourself to 
 say so.' 
 
 ^ You have got a better opinion of me 
 than I have myself, I know. It is an old 
 quarrel. I did think I should succeed in 
 exposing myself this time ; you refuse 
 ''proof controvertible" of my barbarous 
 irresoluteness.' 
 
 ' I had got some little way towards a 
 change of opinion, I must say, until I 
 heard you read the ballads that evening; 
 that put me again into my old state of 
 perplexity. You will not persuade me 
 that you would suifer ennui in the country, 
 Mr. Bewglass.' 
 
 'You are very difficult to persuade of 
 anything. I suppose it is your habitual 
 attitude of authority which makes you so 
 dogmatical. You feel that we are all
 
 THE TENANT OF SEDGECOMB. 31 
 
 pupils and that we have no right to in- 
 fluence your decisions.' 
 
 ' That is a character I least desire to 
 have, and I hope it is not my true one,' 
 said Miss Sulby, smiling. 
 
 ' True enough, I assure you. Brood 
 over it. No, I'm not going in ; I want to 
 see Mr. Kimble, and I mustn't waste much 
 time about it. I will walk up with you, if 
 I may?' 
 
 They walked on together so far as the 
 school-house, continuing the train of con- 
 versation into which they had drifted, and,, 
 just as they were separating, Mr. Kimble 
 himself came down the road. Bewglass 
 joined him, and they w^alked down the 
 village in active conversation, turning 
 together through the garden-gate before a 
 picturesque cottage, the residence of Mrs. 
 Bewglass. 
 
 In less than half-an-hour Gabriel Bew- 
 glass was in a dog-cart on his way to the 
 market-town, which was the nearest point
 
 32 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 at which he could join the railway, feeling 
 as prepared as he ever was for a succession 
 of months in a din^y government office. 
 That night he was reading an evening 
 newspaper in the crowd assembled before 
 the pit entrance of a theatre in the Strand.
 
 33 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 EE JONATHAN WAYFER, DECEASED. 
 
 As the clock of the abbey church chimed 
 the quarters over the quiet little town of 
 Dormantley, Miss Ruth Sulby was coming 
 out of the yard of the ' Chequers Inn/ 
 She had done what shopping she had 
 found necessary, and had packed her 
 parcels safely under the seat of Mr. Kim- 
 ble's dog-cart, which lay in the inn-yard ; 
 still it wanted half-an-hour to the time of 
 her appointment at the lawyer's office. It 
 was half-past two that had gone. 
 
 From having seen Miss Sulby in attend- 
 ance upon the death-bed of that rugged 
 old farmer, it will hardly be supposed that 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 she was of a nervous temperament ; never- 
 theless, she was conscious of an uncomfort- 
 able flutterinfy sensation as this particular 
 hour approached. In such a feeling itself, 
 jDerhaps, there was nothing remarkable. 
 All women dislike entering a lawyer's 
 office, or at least experience a feeling of 
 peculiar nervousness if ever called upon 
 to do so. Perhaps the sternly practical 
 nature of this kind of business may be 
 especially antagonistic to the sympathetic 
 view of the universe in which most women 
 habitually dwell ; or possibly the conven- 
 tional myths concerning the legal race, so 
 long deeply rooted in the popular mind, 
 have something to do with the continu- 
 ance of this nervous attitude towards it. 
 Whatever the cause of the general feeling, 
 we need not seek any abstract explanation 
 of it in this particular case. Miss Sulby's 
 reasons for feeling nervous were peculiar 
 to herself 
 
 Anxious to escape to some unfrequented
 
 RE JONATHAN WAYFER, DECEASED. 35 
 
 corner in which to pass the intervening 
 time, Ruth went in the direction of the 
 parish church. She walked quickly along 
 the pavement of Cowl Street, and disap- 
 peared through the ancient archway be- 
 neath the black-timbered gable under which, 
 in all probability, some of the unsuppressed 
 abbots had passed. Then she found her- 
 self in the quiet green churchyard through 
 which the public footpath went, and be- 
 yond which was a large pasture-field 
 sloping to the river. This was retired 
 enough. That Abbot's Gateway was the 
 line of separation between two worlds. 
 At one step she had traversed a period of 
 several centuries. Here again was the 
 repose of monastic times, a state of things 
 which apparently offered peculiar attrac- 
 tions to the school-mistress of Shipcombe. 
 Even the wind did not seem to have the 
 right of entrance to the place. It could 
 be heard whistling in those giant, leafless 
 elm-trees by the vicarage gateway, and 
 
 d2
 
 36 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 seemed to snort through the nostrils of 
 those hideous gargoyles ; but to the silent 
 graveyard it was unable to descend. 
 
 Miss Sulby's mind was so preoccupied 
 to-day that she was not conscious of much 
 beyond the loneliness and quiet of the 
 place. The thought of the coming in- 
 terview precluded all others of a more 
 picturesque and imaginative kind. Ab- 
 sently she traversed the gravel pathway, 
 regardless of the lettered tomb-stones upon 
 each side of it, which usually engaged so 
 much of her attention. It was not until 
 there was another clanging of the quarters 
 from the belfry that she was aroused. At 
 the sound of the bells she stopped, and 
 looked to the ground as she listened. In 
 doing so her eyes fell upon a particular 
 gravestone, which was close beside the 
 pathway, and it appeared at once to in- 
 fluence her thoughts. A harassed look, 
 which had hitherto ruffled her refined fea- 
 tures, left her, and it was gradually re-
 
 RE JONATHAN WAYFER, DECEASED. 37 
 
 placed by one of serene contemplation. 
 That stone interested her ; as a matter of 
 fact, it always had interested her : she 
 could never pass through the graveyard 
 without musing upon it. 
 
 As she looked down at the stone, it was 
 seen of how deep a tinge of reflection her 
 features were susceptible. I have called 
 them refined, and they unquestionably were 
 so. Her face bore the stamp of intellect 
 most subtly blended with feeling. Judg- 
 ing from this particular moment, the lat- 
 ter quality seemed to have predominance, 
 but the way in which the full-formed lips 
 were normally closed showed that it ac- 
 knowledged the restraint of the former. 
 With regard to the mere form of her fea- 
 tures, they were well, but not faultlessly 
 made. The general appearance was attrac- 
 tive, made especially so by a pair of expres- 
 sive blue-grey eyes. The cheeks, perhaps, 
 were somewhat wanting in fulness, but 
 they were of an unmistakably healthy tint.
 
 38 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 That stone was simple enough, impres- 
 sive as it seemed to Miss Sulby. It was 
 but a flat slab upon the ground, and bore 
 a very short legend on its surface. There 
 was no name of the dead ; no number of 
 her years. All the record of the one buried 
 there was in these few words, into the 
 carved letters of which the bright green 
 moss had long since crept : ' In memory of 
 a gentle and very dear wife.' Nothing more 
 was to be learned of her. Ruth Sulby had 
 never asked for more. She felt in fact that 
 the mention of ephemeral details would 
 have impaired the stone's significance. 
 
 How long the school-mistress would have 
 thus remained in meditation it would be 
 hard to say. She was not actually a 
 dreamer, although she occasionally allowed 
 her thoughts to range pretty much at will. 
 Upon the subject of this gravestone, it is 
 possible that they might have had excep- 
 tional licence, had not an incident occurred 
 which was to put a stop to all abstract
 
 EE JONATHAN WAYFER, DECEASED. 39 
 
 thinking. She was suddenly recalled to 
 herself by the sound of a footstep on the 
 path, evidently at no great distance from 
 herself. She turned in the direction of 
 it, and a positive frown disturbed the 
 serenity of her countenance. A man was 
 approaching her. A vision of the lawyer's 
 office again possessed her. Sentiment fled 
 afar. 
 
 Upon a closer inspection of him, the 
 intruder ought to be recognizable. His 
 garments were misleading : it is Mr. Mi- 
 chael Wayfer. He was indeed the same 
 individual who, as a breathless horseman, 
 had accosted young Bewglass on the road 
 several weeks before. That spruce black 
 clothing in which he was now dressed re- 
 moved all appearance of affinity with the 
 soil, such as his working-day garb undoubt- 
 edly presented. He came up to her and 
 stopped. No kind of greeting was ex- 
 changed, and from the abrupt opening of 
 their conversation it was evident that this
 
 40 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 was not the first occasion of their convers- 
 ing to-day. 
 
 'Aren't you going to the office, then, 
 Miss Sulby ?' said Wayfer when beside her. 
 
 • Yes, I am,' was the reply, made, not in 
 anger, but with the emphasis of a resolution 
 quite recently formed. 
 
 ' It is time to be going,' he said, looking 
 up at the church tower. ' Won't you — ' 
 
 * I shall come presently. I would rather 
 go alone.' 
 
 ' 0, well, of course, if you would — mind, 
 they shall not say anything to annoy you ; 
 if they do, I'll make 'em pay for it, that I 
 will.' 
 
 ' Do not trouble about me, Mr. Wayfer. 
 It will not matter what they say.' 
 
 Wayfer turned to walk away, not parti- 
 cularly well pleased with Miss Sulby 's tone. 
 But, looking round, he said : 
 
 ' You might as well ' 
 
 ' I shall go alone,' she said again, this 
 time decisively.
 
 RE JONATHAN WAYFER, DECEASED. 41 
 
 ' Very well ;' and he strode away without 
 further effort at persuasion. 
 
 As he passed through the Abbot's Gate- 
 way, the clock again told the quarters : 
 four times, and then the big bell struck 
 three. A few seconds after, the chimes 
 were lazily playing ' Barbara Allen,' the 
 strains of which were but rudely handled 
 by the wind. 
 
 From Cowl Street Ruth passed into the 
 High Street, and here was that moderate 
 degree of activity which distinguished 
 market day in Dormantley as in other, 
 little agricultural towns. The easterly 
 Martinmas wind, which came sweeping 
 with such determination along the wide 
 thoroughfare, could not quite succeed in 
 making the people hurry about their 
 vocations, although it did prevent the 
 majority from standing to talk at street 
 corners. The women and girls, with their 
 poultry and dairy produce, or heaps of 
 green vegetables, who occupied the cobble-
 
 42 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 paved space between the foot-pavement 
 and roadway, were rubbing their hands 
 and stamping their feet as Ruth passed by 
 them, making it plain that they received 
 indifferent shelter from the row of car- 
 riers' and farm-carts which occupied the 
 bleak space by the ready-cash grocer's at 
 the corner. Even the sheep beyond looked 
 cold, huddled together in their temporary 
 pens ; and, as was only too obvious from 
 their noses, the men who tended the cattle 
 standing there had their own opinions as 
 to their masters' conduct in not availing 
 themselves of the new covered-in mart 
 which the enterprising local auctioneer had 
 recently built solely for their use and 
 benefit. It added neither to their nor to 
 Ruth's comfort that the roadway of the 
 ancient High Street was macadamized, and 
 that, dark and dry and smooth as it seemed, 
 the wind had only swept up the gritty dust 
 into those insignificant dappled patches in 
 order the better to whisk them up into
 
 RE JONATHAN WAYFER, DECEASED. 43 
 
 unoffending eyes just wlien their owners 
 were least expecting it. 
 
 At last Miss Sulby had passed the busiest 
 part, and was drawing near to a row of 
 houses which, from the shrubs within the 
 railings and the ivy and virginia-creeper 
 which grew up the fronts, seemed to be 
 private dwelling houses. Most of them 
 were, but one was rendered more conspicu- 
 ous than the rest by bearing a brass plate 
 upon the railings. At this one Ruth 
 stopped, and then turned rather preci- 
 pitately through the gateway. 
 
 The young lady was not accustomed to 
 the unceremonious usages of business, so 
 that she timidly knocked at the inner door, 
 on the glass pane of w^hich Avas the word 
 ' Clerks.' She was bidden enter from 
 within in that blunt tone of voice peculiar 
 to the race of junior clerks. Ruth did not 
 know what to say when she had entered, 
 so that the boy and the thin, tall youth, 
 who were writing at the desk there, stared
 
 44 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 at her for a second or two witli an ill- 
 repressed twinkle in their eyes. The young 
 lawyer's-clerk enjoys peculiar privileges 
 with regard to young ladies of his own 
 particular circle, which perhaps accounts 
 for his free-and-easy air with womankind 
 in general. Miss Sulby got oif easily, 
 owing to her good looks, and perhaps 
 partly also to the look of gravity which 
 still marked her face. 
 
 '■ Miss Sulby from Shipcombe ?' asked 
 the tall youth, interrogatively, when he 
 had eyed the visitor long enough. 
 
 He always kept up with the appoint- 
 ments at the office, and he knew what re 
 was on hand for three o'clock to-day. He 
 had, in fact, himself copied the letters sent 
 to the various persons in connection with 
 it. 
 
 ' Yes,' replied Ruth. 
 
 ' Come this way, please.' 
 
 Ruth followed him through a door- 
 way and upstairs, the clerk leading with
 
 RE JONATHAN WAYFER, DECEASED. 45 
 
 three steps at a time. At the head of the 
 stairs was another door (doors, of course, 
 are an especial feature of a lawyer's office), 
 and this one the clerk opened with one 
 hand whilst he pretended to knock with 
 the other. 
 
 ' Miss Sulby, sir,' he said, and made way 
 for Ruth to enter. 
 
 Then he was heard to descend the 
 stairs in two bounds, the friction of his 
 hands upon the bannister-rail and the 
 varnished paper being distinctly audible. 
 He took his place upon his stool in the 
 manner customary to well-conditioned 
 clerks ; — the action is the same as in 
 leap-frog, only, instead of clearing the 
 object bestridden, the body is skilfully 
 placed upon it where the hands have 
 rested. Which feat performed, he turned 
 to look at his admiring junior, and 
 said, with a peculiar movement of one 
 eyelid, 
 
 ' Oh, jam !'
 
 46 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 ' Is that a friend of yours, Spindles ?' 
 asked tlie boy. 
 
 ' Boy !' returned Spindles, sharply, ' how 
 often must I tell you that I'm Mister to 
 you, if you please ?' 
 
 Mr. Spindles was appeased, and the two 
 proceeded to discuss amicably the charms 
 of the young lady from Shipcombe. 
 
 Meanwhile, Miss Sulby had taken the 
 chair which was offered her, and was 
 timidly looking about. The gentleman who 
 was in authority, and whom she naturally 
 took to be the lawyer, (he was in reality 
 only the superior clerk, and was unad- 
 mitted to the full dignity of a Solicitor of 
 the Supreme Court,) was of middle age 
 and genial manners, with perhaps a slight 
 tendency to what is generally called self- 
 importance. There were five people in the 
 room besides, arranged on chairs in front 
 of the dusky book-case, two men and three 
 women. The latter were ostentatiously 
 clothed in ill-fitting, mourning habili-
 
 EE JONATHAN WAYFER, DECEASED. 47 
 
 ments. Amongst the males v/as Mr. 
 Michael Wayfer. 
 
 The sound of eager, not to say angry, 
 voices had suddenly ceased as the last 
 comer had entered the room. Nobody 
 present, except Mr. Philpin, the lawyers 
 representative, could pretend to be in a 
 good temper. Indeed, it is remarkable 
 how great a quantity of ill-temper and ill- 
 feeling of every kind can be brought to- 
 gether at a meeting of the beneficiaries of 
 a small estate. This is perhaps the best 
 opportunity for seeing a display of the 
 essential, pitiful meanness of uncultivated 
 human nature. That an estate should 
 have to be divided at all seems to be the 
 peculiar grievance of each party, and from 
 this general standpoint much difference of 
 opinion upon mere minor details very natu- 
 rally follows. Not unfrequently it happens 
 that two or more of those interested sink 
 their own original cause of difference, and 
 wage common war upon one who possesses
 
 48 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 a greater claim to their animosity than 
 that existing between each other. The 
 combination generally proves to be be- 
 tween those equally low in the scale of 
 legatees against one or more of those above 
 them. An extraordinary amount of un- 
 written family history is disclosed upon 
 these occasions, mostly in the form of accu- 
 sation and rejoinder. Motives are attri- 
 buted and conduct brought under review, 
 from a period so very remote that it would 
 seem to be taken for granted by those 
 engaged that their whole course of domestic 
 life from infancy until then had been 
 ordered with a view to this one particular 
 hour. 
 
 The commonest form of accusation is, of 
 course, that of undue influence over the 
 immediate testator. That alone is capable 
 of a great variety of colours, but all are 
 alike in leading to mere wholesale personal 
 abuse. There are more technical causes 
 of complaint, which lead at least to some
 
 49 
 
 semblance of an argument, but which can 
 only delay for a season the inevitable ter- 
 mination. It is these which give extension 
 to the causes of discontent, and carry back 
 the argument to a former generation. The 
 testator's title is impugned ; old quarrels 
 are revived ; it was well known that he 
 imposed upon somebody, or was at best a 
 fraudulent trustee. Aunt Sally, that weak- 
 minded sister of his, for whom he promised 
 to provide ; that — 0, an inexhaustible list 
 of crimes and misdemeanours of such a 
 nature as can easily be imagined ; and the 
 long-concealed knowledge of which has, if 
 they only knew it, constituted in those 
 very accusers the high offence of mis- 
 prision of felony to which penalties are 
 attached. 
 
 Amongst the various sources of disa- 
 greement it does not fall to the lot of every 
 estate to possess such a satisfactory one as 
 in the case of this family of Wayfer. It 
 produced a remarkable unanimity amongst 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 the discontented ones, and the innocent 
 cause of it was none other than Miss Ruth 
 Sulby. All family differences were for 
 the time lost si^ht of in her enormities. 
 The three women in mourning, who were 
 sisters, all married daughters of the de- 
 ceased Wayfer, could positively find some 
 topic upon which they were heartily 
 agreed. It is unreasonable enough, surely, 
 that one should be deprived of a few 
 pounds by a brother or a sister; but it is 
 a step too far that one should suffer it at 
 the hands of an utter stranger. Mr. Jona- 
 than Wayfer, the testator, had so far for- 
 gotten himself as to bequeath a legacy of 
 two hundred pounds to ' Ruth Sulby, 
 school-mistress of Shipcombe aforesaid, in 
 remembrance of her very great kindness to 
 me,' as the words of the will had it ; left 
 some of his money, in short, to a person 
 other than those who had been actually 
 expecting it, and who were consequently
 
 EE JONATHAN WAYFER, DECEASED. 51 
 
 the only ones in any way entitled to it. 
 
 So strong was the feeling of resentment 
 in the injured ones that they could forget 
 much of the rancour with which they re- 
 garded the objectionable relative the half- 
 brother. That was the Michael Wayfer 
 already mentioned, who was not much 
 more than half their age : for the testa- 
 mentary dispositions of the late Wayfer 
 were not the only causes of discontent 
 which he had brought into his family. 
 Blessed with three buxom daughters — all of 
 whom were married, by the way — he had, 
 nevertheless, comparatively late in life, 
 thought fit to take a second wife, with the 
 consequence of adding this half-brother to 
 his family. Here on the face of it were 
 not the elements of warm family unity. 
 
 It was into the polluted atmosphere 
 naturally surrounding such a state of cir- 
 cumstances that Miss Sulby had at this 
 moment stepped. The voices had ceased 
 
 E 2 
 
 UBRARV 
 ONIVERSTTY OF lUJNf
 
 52 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 at her entrance, but looks had not changed. 
 As Ruth took her chair, one of the sisters 
 greeted her with, 
 
 ' You've kep us awaiting, Miss Sulby, I 
 hope you know.' 
 
 ' Not many minutes, Mrs. Riley,' inter- 
 posed Mr. Philpin, who had viewed Ruth 
 with interest and seemed inclined to take 
 her part. ^ We are all here now, and will 
 proceed to business.' 
 
 With this he took up some papers from 
 the table, and stood on the hearth-rug with 
 his back to the fire. He then placed one 
 hand upon his bald forehead (it was bald, 
 but of course to himself only unusually 
 high) as he began to broach the matter in 
 hand. 
 
 ' Shall I read the will, Mr. Crump ?' he 
 said, looking towards the senior executor. 
 ' Very good,' in reply to a chorus of noes ^ 
 *You all know the terms of it. Quite 
 a simple, straightforward will. I drew it 
 myself, and may say that — but no matter.
 
 RE JONATHAN WAYFER, DECEASED. 53 
 
 The executors have realized the estate, 
 ladies, in the terms of the will, the net 
 result being — pounds shillings and pence.' 
 Mr. Philpin read details from the account 
 which he held in his hand : then follow^ed 
 details of the incidental expenses : and 
 finally the amount remaining in hand for 
 division amongst those entitled under the 
 will. 
 
 All heard him in silence thus far, and the 
 three proceeded to scrutinize the account 
 which he passed round for their inspection. 
 
 ' Yes, that be right enough,' exclaimed 
 one of the sisters, as the three heads were 
 raised up simultaneously from the docu- 
 ment. ' That beunt what I've got to 
 quarrel with.' 
 
 ' Then the amount is divided as follows, 
 according to the terms of the will,' pro- 
 ceeded Mr. Philpin, looking at another fool- 
 scap sheet which he held out before him. 
 *To Mr. Michael Wayfer one thousand 
 pounds '
 
 54 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 ' As well as all the farm stock,' inter- 
 posed Mrs. Bonaker, firmly. 
 
 ' And the lease o' the place and all them 
 crops just got in,' added Mrs. Riley, with 
 less control over her feelings. 
 
 ' Nay, don't speak, Susannah,' said Mrs. 
 Creed, the third sister ; ' how any father 
 could beshame ' 
 
 ' Well, you can't alter the will anyhow,' 
 exclaimed Mr. Crump, impatiently. ' Let 
 us get on.' 
 
 ' To Miss Ruth Sulby two hundred 
 pounds,' continued Mr. Philpin. 
 
 ' That be my item I' cried Mrs. Riley, 
 snatching at it like a pike at a bait. 
 ' How comes her to have all that money ? 
 
 ' By the will, of course,' said Philpin, 
 showing much surprise. 'No, no, Miss 
 Sulby ' 
 
 ' But they tell me as her can't take it,' 
 exclaimed Mrs. Bonaker, ' seeing how her 
 've got hold of it.' 
 
 ' Now, stop your noise,' interposed young
 
 EE JONATHAN WAYFER, DECEASED. 55 
 
 Wayfer, looking -fiercely at his defiant 
 sisters. 
 
 Ruth had risen from her chair as soon 
 as her name was mentioned, and had said 
 something to Mr. Philpin which the other 
 voices had prevented from being generally 
 heard. She continued standing whilst the 
 ensuing contest arose around her ; only 
 endeavouring to speak to Mr. Philpin when 
 any opportunity offered. 
 
 The three sisters repeated their objec- 
 tions simultaneously, but in different keys. 
 Young Wayfer confronted them in a threat- ^ 
 ening attitude and with loud voice. The 
 quasi-lawyer endeavoured to interpose. He 
 was prepared for high words, of course, 
 but hardly for actual opposition to the 
 will. 
 
 ' Her can't take it,' cried all the women 
 together. 
 
 ' What — what do you mean ?' said Mr. 
 Philpin. ' Do you oppose the will ? You 
 should have lodged a caveat. You can't
 
 56 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 contest the will now. Here's probate under 
 seal, and the executors are bound ' 
 
 * Her can't take it. I know the law.' 
 
 * I have never had the intention of tak- 
 ing it,' interposed Ruth, whose face was 
 flushed and her lip quivered. ' I came here 
 to say so.' 
 
 It was scarcely audible. 
 
 ' If a bad woman influences an old man 
 when ur beunt over strong,' continued Mrs. 
 Riley. 
 
 ' Come, come, Mrs. Riley, that won't do 
 here,' said Mr. Philpin, who in truth was 
 hardly equal to the occasion; 'slander — 
 actionable words. We have no evidence 
 before us ' 
 
 His voice was drowned by the altercation 
 which was proceeding between two of the 
 sisters and Michael Wayfer, the latter of 
 whom, true to his promise, was taking up 
 the cudgels on Miss Sulby's behalf. 
 
 ' I'll have you all before the magistrates, 
 if you say another word against her,'
 
 BE JONATHAN WAYFEK, DECEASED. 57 
 
 shouted the young man. ' You never 
 come near the old man when he is alive — ' 
 
 ' You took good care as only young 
 women did come about him,' shrieked one 
 of his opponents. ' We know all about 
 you, young man. It's you as ought to go 
 before the magistrates, and will do afore 
 long by the looks o' things.' 
 
 What would have been the result of the 
 contest under the feeble management of 
 Mr. Philpin it is difficult to say. Fortun- 
 ately, at this moment, he received a valu- 
 able reinforcement in the person of his ^ 
 principal, who had just come into the office 
 and was drawn to his chief clerk's room by 
 the unusual noise proceeding from it. 
 Three or four voices were at their height 
 as the lawyer opened the door, but all 
 ceased as he came forward into the room. 
 His brows were knit and his hat still on 
 his head. 
 
 ' What's this uproar about, Mr. Phil- 
 pin ?' said the principal, casting his eye
 
 58 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 upon the assembly, and particularly upon 
 Ruth who was still standing by her chair. 
 
 ^ Re Jonathan Wayfer, deceased, sir/ 
 was all the reply the clerk gave in a dol- 
 orous tone of voice. 
 
 Mrs. Riley speedily informed him of 
 more, and the lawyer at once saw the 
 nature of the situation. 
 
 ' Is this the young lady whose legacy is 
 disputed ?' he said, looking at Ruth. 
 
 ^ Young lady, indeed!' cried Mrs. Bon- 
 aker, ' I be told as such young ladies can't 
 take a legacy. Beunt that law, sir?' 
 
 To this both Mrs. Riley and Mrs. Creed 
 saw fit to answer. 
 
 ' Silence !' cried the lawyer, angrily. ' If 
 any of you speak another word, I'll pack 
 you all out of the office instantly. This 
 isn't a pot-house, remember.' 
 
 The women's eyes showed rebellion, but 
 they gave in to the air of command. 
 
 ' Now, Miss Sulby, have you got any-
 
 EE JONATHAN WAYFER, DECEASED. 59 
 
 thing to say upon the matter in hand ?^ 
 the gentleman asked. 
 
 ' I don't wish to take the money, sir/ 
 she replied. ' I came here to say so.' 
 
 All the women stared ; this w^as the 
 first time they had heard Ruth's words. 
 
 * Not take it ! But the money is yours ; 
 nobody can deprive you of it. It says 
 in the wall " in remembrance of very great 
 kindness." You must take it, of course.' 
 
 Somebody raised a voice, but was si- 
 lenced by a look from the lawyer. 
 
 ' I would rather not take it, sir. I am 
 not obliged to take it, am I ?' 
 
 'Well, the executors must pay it to 
 you, but of course you can do what you 
 like with it when you have got it. Don't 
 pay any heed to what these people say. 
 From my knowledge of old Mr. Wayfer, I 
 know that you wouldn't have got it if you 
 had not deserved it.' 
 
 ' Anyone but his own family,' ventured
 
 ■60 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 Mrs. Creed. • Eh, my ! that a parent ' 
 
 ' It was nothing, sir,' muttered Miss 
 Sulby, modestly. 
 
 ' Come now, think better of it and take 
 the money ; you will find it useful at some 
 time of your life.' 
 
 Miss Sulby appeared to acquiesce, and 
 went up to the table to sign the papers as 
 directed by Mr. Philpin. When she had 
 done so, the latter handed her a bundle of 
 bank-notes which made up the amount of 
 her legacy. Ruth's hand trembled as she 
 took them, and perhaps she was paler than 
 •usual. She looked across at the scowling 
 women, then walked towards them with a 
 firm step. She dropped the notes in the 
 lap of Mrs. Riley, with just an appearance 
 of having thrown them, and said, as she 
 did so, 
 
 ' Take the money, Mrs. Riley. I never 
 meant to touch a farthing of it, but they 
 made me. It is yours now. — May I go now, 
 sir?' she continued, turning to the lawyer.
 
 EE JONATHAN WAYFER, DECEASED. 61 
 
 ' Ye-es/ he answered, quite taken aback 
 by the unusual incident. ' You have no- 
 thing more, Mr. Philpin ?' 
 
 ' No, sir.' 
 
 The lawyer hastened to open the door 
 for Ruth, and she hurriedly left the office. 
 
 ' Wh-what am I to do with all this T 
 cried Mrs. Riley, who was sitting motion- 
 less wdth her mouth open. 
 
 ' Whatever you like,' replied the gentle- 
 man, with perhaps too little restraint over 
 his feelings. ' It is yours now, at any rate^ 
 and I hope it will do you much good. 
 Come, Mr. Philpin, get the business fin- 
 ished and send them away.' 
 
 Mr. Philpin, who was a man of unusual 
 sensibility, had been more amazed than 
 his principal by the course things had 
 taken, and it took him some seconds ta 
 collect himself. However, the lawyer's^ 
 words recalled him, and, as that gentleman 
 left the room, the interrupted business w^as 
 proceeded with. Papers were signed and
 
 62 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 the other shares distributed in a remark- 
 ably short space of time. All the women 
 were unusually subdued, but significant 
 looks were turned upon Mrs. Riley by her 
 less fortunate sisters, and no doubt the last 
 words upon the transaction were yet to 
 come. Young Wayfer sat in dogged, 
 scowling silence ; and Mr. Crump, the 
 senior executor, was very anxious to be 
 assured that no responsibility attached to 
 the legal representatives uf the estate. 
 AVhen he was fully convinced of this, the 
 incident had little more concern for him. 
 He was glad to get off about his business, 
 and vowed that it should be the last time 
 of his undertaking any such thankless 
 office as that of executor or trustee. 
 
 ' What are you going to do, Susannah ?' 
 asked Mrs. Creed, when the business was 
 at an end, and they were preparing to leave 
 the office. ' It's the queerest affair as I ever 
 heard tell of.' 
 
 ' I be perplexed in a manner,' replied
 
 EE JONATHAN WAYFER, DECEASED. 63 
 
 Mrs. Riley. ' They can't say as it's my 
 doing, ho^vever.' 
 
 *That they can't,' assented Mrs. Bona- 
 ker, in doubtful humour. ' If it's one it's 
 three ; and they as bear the blame should 
 share ' 
 
 ' Are you sure it's quite lawful, Mr. 
 Philpin ?' eagerly inquired Mrs. Riley again, 
 not heeding her sister's unexpected com- 
 ment upon her former remark. ^ I wouldn't 
 go contrairy to law. I'm sure I'd never a 
 thought of such a thing ; that I hadn't.' 
 
 ' Lawful enough ; mere personalty ; it 
 goes by delivery,' re^Dlied Philpin, bluntly, 
 as he tied up the bundle of papers at the 
 table. He spoke as if his thoughts were 
 elsewhere. 
 
 The two men had already left the office, 
 but the women seemed to have some hesi- 
 tation in doing so. They stood talking by 
 the doorway of Mr. Philpin's room, and 
 Mrs. Rilc}^ required to be once more assured 
 of the legality of her method of acquiring
 
 64 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 this money. She appeared to have a lin- 
 gering suspicion of herself, notwithstand- 
 ing the repeated assurance, and she was 
 the last of the three to leave the room. 
 She was going through again in her mind 
 every stage of the proceedings, and she 
 was really unable to see that there was 
 any blame attaching to her. She could 
 see Ruth standing there, with the height- 
 ened colour in her cheeks, making no at- 
 tempt at reply to the gross accusations 
 brought against her ; and for some reason, 
 as Mrs. Riley contemplated the figure, she 
 did not feel able to regard it with that 
 strong degree of righteous indignation of 
 which she was at first conscious, and which 
 she so well knew was the young woman's 
 due. At last the top stair cracked under 
 the portly step, and Mrs. Riley descended, 
 at a measured pace, with much squeaking 
 of boots and rustling of her black gown. 
 Mr. Spindles and the boy were of course 
 at the window to see her depart, and her
 
 EE JONATHAN WAYFER, DECEASED. 65 
 
 two sisters awaited her at the doorstep. 
 The three walked away together, talking 
 as only three such beneficiaries can talk. 
 Mr. Philpin was now at liberty to follow 
 his reflections. 
 
 Miss Sulby had gone back to the inn 
 and was sitting in a room there awaiting 
 Mr. Kimble. This gentleman, who was a 
 principal farmer at Shipcombe, had driven 
 her in his dog-cart to the town, and she was 
 to be taken home in the same manner. In 
 her present state of feeling, she would 
 rather have fled from the town and walked 
 home, notwithstanding the seven good 
 miles of hilly road which lay between. 
 At first it was but a passing thought, then 
 an inclination requiring some resistance. 
 Very soon it was on the point of having 
 its own w^ay. She could not endure the 
 sitting still there. There was more than 
 half-an-hour before Mr. Kimble's time for 
 departure. For obvious reasons, she dared 
 not walk about the streets to-day. At 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 last go she must. She left a message for 
 the farmer with the landlady, and then went 
 out into the street. 
 
 She encountered nobody whom she was 
 anxious to avoid, and she was soon upon 
 the old stone bridge over the river. She 
 glanced at the water as she passed over, 
 and turned round to look at the picturesque 
 town which she was leaving. Then another 
 look at the water, — the river was full and 
 very muddy, rolling lazily along deter- 
 mined not to be bullied out of its usual 
 pace by all the autumn rains and a crew 
 of impatient tributaries to boot, — and 
 iinally Ruth stepped over the parish 
 boundary. The few outlying houses were 
 soon passed, and then her eyes were fixed 
 upon the bare orchards and market gardens 
 which stretched along the roadside for the 
 first mile beyond the town : then upon the 
 ridge of hills in the distance before her, 
 at the foot of which lay the village that 
 she had to reach.
 
 RE JONATHAN WAYFER, DECEASED. 67 
 
 Miss Sulby'sface brightened as she looked 
 at this prospect, and the piercing wind 
 seemed to drive out the thoughts which 
 had been troubling her throughout the 
 day. Dull and cold as it was, and cheer- 
 less as the country looked, beneath the 
 dark ridges of unbroken clouds which were 
 scudding over, it exercised some strong 
 and joyous influence over the young, ob- 
 servant school-mistress. She did not seem 
 to feel the want of colour, either in sky or 
 field. The fragrant breath of mere honest 
 earth, taking its ease after the months of 
 labour, seemed to give her as much satis- 
 faction as all the perfumes of overladened 
 summer. She walked on briskly with a 
 light step. 
 
 Before she had got beyond the first hill, 
 Mr. Kimble overtook her and they rode 
 back together to their quiet village of 
 Shipcombe. 
 
 f2
 
 68 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 TWO ELDERS. 
 
 Michael Wayfer was in a state of angry 
 perplexity when he left the lawyer's office. 
 The conduct of the school-mistress had 
 amazed him : he could make nothing what- 
 ever of it. 
 
 The moral of that old story about the 
 chameleon and its disputed colour is capable 
 of extensive application. As we are all 
 well aware, everybody's spectacles are of a 
 diiferent colour. White to me may be 
 black to you, reader, red to a third, whilst 
 the fourth will with oaths pronounce it 
 
 green. 
 
 It was not a matter of contested colour
 
 TWO ELDERS. 69 
 
 exactly which exercised the mind of Way- 
 fer ; the difficulty in his case was the re- 
 cognition of any colour at all. At first 
 sight he was unable to conceive any con- 
 ditions under which he should have acted 
 as Miss Sulby had done, therefore the 
 situation was unintelligible to him. He 
 was grappling with it throughout the 
 whole of that afternoon's market, and 
 again as he ambled along on his way 
 homewards to Shipcombe. It was in fact 
 all owing to this that the young farmer's 
 horse was allowed to make such a leisurely 
 journey of it. 
 
 Wayfer was just now particularly in- 
 terested in Miss Sulby personally ; why 
 else his unusual curiosity about her mo- 
 tives ? He was no more given to the 
 analysis of psychological problems in an 
 abstract spirit than any other man of 
 average capacity. His greatest intellectual 
 effort lay in the parry and thrust of 
 agricultural commercial life, — a branch of
 
 70 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 business no wbit less a matter of mutually 
 attempted circumvention than other de- 
 partments of the mercantile world. Young 
 as he was, (at this time about five-and- 
 twenty,) from natural aptitude well trained, 
 this man was every bit as successful in the 
 game as his more experienced neighbours, 
 if seasons and prices would only have 
 allowed him to benefit by his shrewdness. 
 Such being the basis of his inner life, it is 
 not surprising that Ruth's conduct was to 
 him difficult of comprehension. She had 
 clearly nothing to get by giving up a 
 legacy of two hundred pounds. 
 
 What made the matter the more per- 
 plexing was that Wayfer looked for excep- 
 tional motives in all the conduct of the 
 school-mistress. He was aware that she 
 was essentially diiFerent from himself, and 
 further, was different from other women of 
 his acquaintance. His attention had been 
 drawn to her during her benevolent atten- 
 tions to his dying father, and no little
 
 TWO ELDERS. 71 
 
 personal annoyance to Miss Sulbyhad been 
 the result of his consideration. To analyze 
 the man's exact feelings towards her would 
 have been an undertaking of no small 
 difficulty. That they savoured somewhat 
 of a tender quality was to be supposed 
 from his outward behaviour towards her. 
 Nor could they wholly depend upon that 
 legacy of two hundred pounds ; for, if it 
 had been so, he would as easily have flung 
 her from his imagination as she had flung 
 the bank-notes from her hand. It would 
 be difficult to say, though, that the money 
 had had no part in giving a turn to his 
 inclinations. All Wayfer tradition would 
 have been violated had it been otherwise. 
 
 But for this feeling of uncertainty with 
 regard to the nature with which he had to 
 deal, doubtless Wayfer would the sooner 
 have come to the inevitable conclusion 
 that the school-mistress had relinquished 
 her money simply out of fear ; bullied out 
 of it by the savage treatment of those three
 
 72 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 half-sisters of his. He was, of course, com- 
 pelled to come to it at last as much out of 
 sheer despair of finding any other explana- 
 tion as of the element of hope which such a 
 conclusion carried with it. Such a tangi- 
 ble motive did not preclude all thought of 
 remedy. 
 
 The farmer was n earing the village of 
 Shipcombe when he came to this under- 
 standing with himself. The wind was still 
 howling from the east, and whistling 
 through the bare elm-trees. The dark 
 clouds seemed to be drawing nearer to the 
 earth as the hour of evening came on 
 Indeed, it was already twilight under the 
 fifreat avenue which shaded the road near 
 the entrance to the village. At this point 
 Wayfer pulled himself together and urged 
 his horse to a sharp trot. He turned off 
 by the chestnut-tree upon the green, not 
 entering the village. He glanced ,up the 
 street as he passed, but there was nobody 
 to be seen. It did not occur to him that
 
 TWO ELDERS. 73 
 
 there mi^Iit be something else worthy of 
 observation. The handful of picturesque 
 old houses were but mortar and stones, 
 possibly in need of considerable repair ; the 
 hill which formed their background only a 
 very serious nuisance in the face of agri- 
 cultural employment carried on near the 
 summit. After a short ride the young 
 man leaned down to open a gate in the 
 hedgerow with his riding- whip, then slam- 
 med it behind him, and trotted over the 
 green ridge to the house known as Sedg- 
 comb. A sheep-dog and a fox-terrier came . 
 rushing out to meet him, but he took no 
 notice of them. When he had dismounted 
 and they still leaped upon him, he si- 
 lenced them with angry words. After 
 stabling his horse he strode into the house. 
 ' What the deuce are you doing here ?' 
 he exclaimed, in a surly tone, to an old 
 man whom he found sitting over the 
 kitchen-fire. ^ You are always sure to be 
 where you are not wanted.'
 
 74 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 ^ Pax vobiscum, Saint Michael !' was the 
 giggling reply ; little as latinity was to be 
 expected from the speaker's appearance. 
 ' As T have said before, " the ass knoweth 
 his master's crib, and the bird of the air 
 his nest." ' 
 
 He spoke as one who stood in no fear of 
 the other's ill-humour ; as one, too, wha 
 was fairly confident of his own power of 
 restoring equanimity. He met Wayfer's 
 sullen looks with a grin peculiar to himself. 
 From this first view of the old gentleman 
 it would have been difficult to say ofi-hand 
 to what class of the community he be- 
 longed. He was certainly no ordinary 
 rustic. The highly coloured appearance 
 of the centre of his small face was the only 
 conjectural index to the prevailing habits 
 of his life. He was slightly built, and had 
 obviously never made his living at the tail 
 of the plough. He wore cloth garments, 
 his coat being of a rusty black except where 
 it approached the neck; this part was
 
 TWO ELDERS. 75 
 
 very nearly white. He hardly appeared 
 reputable enough for a minister of any 
 most unendowed denomination. 
 
 Wayfer soon showed signs that he had 
 no intention of seriously resisting him ; 
 displayed chiefly in a dogged silence which 
 followed a minute or two's further grum- 
 bling. He sat down to the meal which 
 was laid ready for him on the kitchen - 
 table, and kept his eye upon the plate with 
 which he was engaged. 
 
 ' Market flat, I s'pose ?' hazarded the 
 visitor, from his chair by the Are. 
 
 * Help yourself, and don't talk to me,' 
 replied Wayfer, pushing the jug of beer an 
 inch or two across the table. 
 
 The middle-aged woman who Avas en- 
 gaged at another table brought forward a 
 glass, and the elder was not slow in avail- 
 ing himself of the invitation. He carried his 
 glass with him to the fire, and, after taking 
 a draught, placed it upon the shelf-seat 
 fixed in the large old-fashioned ingle by
 
 76 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 the side of the cat which was curled up 
 there. 
 
 It was not often that the young farmer 
 kept up his ill-humour so long in the pre- 
 sence of Christopher Clinkscales. The latter 
 knew well how far he might go, and was 
 by no means deficient in tact. He knew 
 that every Wayfer had a will of his own, 
 and he was shrewd enough not to risk the 
 loss of an acquaintance which had deve- 
 loped so satisfactorily since the death of 
 this young man's father. He awaited con- 
 tentedly the lifting of the clouds. 
 
 Whilst Wayfer is bringing himself to a 
 more amiable frame of mind, with the help 
 of another jug Of beer and a second liberal 
 allowance of cold mutton, we may look 
 somewhat more closely at this nondescript 
 visitor of his. The latter s eyes were still 
 fixed upon the fire with an odd, half- 
 vacant expression peculiar to them ; their 
 glistening, it may be mentioned, was due 
 to an involuntary moisture, rather than to
 
 TWO ELDERS. 77 
 
 any intellectual eagerness behind. His face, 
 as I have said, was small, the greater part 
 of it being covered by a heavy moustache 
 blended with whiskers of the type gener- 
 ally designated mutton-chop : the chin and 
 lower jaw were occasionally shaved. These 
 two latter features, however, were so small 
 that his face seemed to end with the over- 
 hanging moustache. His forehead was, 
 comparatively, as insignificant as his chin, 
 notwithstanding that the hair was reced- 
 ing towards the crown. All his hair was 
 grey, and one could with safety iix his 
 minimum age at three-score. 
 
 After looking once or twice fruitlessly 
 towards his friend, he chuckled something 
 to himself about the virtue of patience, 
 and brought forth a newspaper from his 
 pocket. He then adjusted a pair of old 
 heavily-rimmed eye-glasses, and pretended 
 to read by the light of the fire. His tac- 
 tics were the best that could have been 
 adopted. He had not been long engaged
 
 78 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 over his paper before the heavy chair in 
 which the young farmer had been sitting 
 was thrust back noisily over the stone floor, 
 and the man walked forward slowly to- 
 wards the fire. Clinkscales made no alter- 
 ation in his position, being still bent 
 forward to get the firelight upon his paper. 
 Of course, Wayfer was now irritated by his 
 silence, and looked down at the man's head 
 with knitted eyebrows. It was, then, simply 
 a question of prevailing stubbornness. 
 
 ' Now, then,' exclaimed Wayfer at last, 
 displaying still further annoyance at being 
 obliged to give in, ' what do you want with 
 me ?' 
 
 ' Do you feel better ?' inquired Clink- 
 scales, facetiously, looking up as he re- 
 moved the glasses from his nose. 
 
 ' Stop your fooling, or else 3^ou'll go. 
 I'll not put up with it to-night.' 
 
 ' I am quite agreeable. I didn't begin 
 it,' was the reply. ^ But I'll have a drop 
 more beer, if there's any in the jug,' he
 
 TWO ELDERS. 79 
 
 added, stepping to the table and pouring 
 out what remained. 
 
 ' Care to see the Reformer T 
 
 The paper was held out as Christopher 
 sat down in his chair. 
 
 * No, not now ; you can leave it. I am 
 going into the village, and I want you to 
 come too.' 
 
 ' 'St going to Giles' singing-class ?' asked 
 Clinkscales, with surprise, and not without 
 a suspicion of scorn. 
 
 * Singing-class, — no. But has he begun 
 'em again ?' 
 
 ' To-night ; so he told me. He asked me 
 to go, but my liver's weak. You might as 
 well have a singing-class for the bulls of 
 Bashan as for them of Shipcombe. That's 
 my opinion, and I ought to know some- 
 thing about it, too, for I made pianos for 
 nigh ten years of my life, and heard Jenny 
 Lind times. I'd never ought to have left 
 London, for * 
 
 ' Don't begin that,' said Wayfer, fearing
 
 80 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 the topic from previous experience. ^ Come 
 along with me.' 
 
 Clinkscales drank off the contents of his 
 glass, and then took up his overcoat and 
 hat from a chair. He grumbled audibly 
 as he struggled into his coat, and with 
 difficulty buttoned it, for the back part of 
 the collar was turned inwards. Thus 
 equipped, he followed Wayfer into the 
 yard, tucking his hands into his sleeves 
 for warmth as he went. They crossed the 
 fields in the direction of the gate by which 
 the farmer had recently entered. 
 
 'Now look here, Christopher,' the young 
 man began, before they had gone many 
 paces, ' you set up for being desperate 
 wise. What can make a woman refuse a 
 legacy ?' 
 
 The question took the elder by surprise. 
 His mind was not especially clear at this 
 time of the evening, and it was difficult 
 for him under such conditions to get his 
 thoughts out of the groove into which
 
 TWO ELDERS. 81 
 
 tliey had settled themselves. He was just 
 now in the streets of London, where, as he 
 said, he had spent the early years of his 
 life, and in which, in imagination, he spent 
 very much of his time now. There was 
 such a complete incongruity between the 
 question and the subject of his thoughts, 
 that he was longer than usual in gathering 
 his brains together. The inquiry had to 
 be repeated before it elicited any reply. 
 
 • Refuse a legacy ? Let me see : never 
 knew a case. It's rather hard to imagine. 
 But stop, — has she refused it ?' 
 
 ' Yes,' replied Wayfer, angrily. ' She 
 only went to the office to refuse it, so she 
 said. When they made her take it, she 
 gave it next minute to that — that — sister 
 Riley. What's got hold of the girl ?' 
 
 ' Let me see,' mused the philosopher. 
 ' That's sing'lar . . . Religion, Michael,' he 
 added, in a moment, ' that's the bottom of 
 the matter. It drives out all common 
 sense: always keeps you back in the world.' 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 ^ That's why you are so low, isn't 
 it?' 
 
 ' Certainly. I was mad on religion in 
 my young days, as I've often told you, 
 and it's paying me out now. You can 
 never throw it oiF. I ain't surprised at 
 the girl doing it : not a bit.' 
 
 ' Come, if you're drunk I don't want to 
 be bothered with you,' said Wayfer, more 
 seriously. 
 
 * Drunk ! Not much chance of it now- 
 a-daj^s,' replied the other, sulkily, leaning 
 against the gate at which they had stopped. 
 
 ' Well, then, do you know what should 
 make her refuse it ?' 
 
 ' It's religion, I tell you. It'll make you 
 do anything.' 
 
 One of Mr. Clinkscales' fixed ideas was 
 the baleful influence of what he called 
 religion, and when in doubt as to the ex- 
 planation of any piece of particularly foolish 
 conduct he never failed to offer this as the 
 solution.
 
 TWO ELDERS. 83 
 
 ^Why, aren't they allowed to take 
 legacies ?' 
 
 ' They are not allowed to do anything 
 that will help 'em on in the world, and 
 that's a truism. But look here, Michael, 
 my man, you needn't fret about the legacy. 
 You can't get the girl, let alone the legacy. 
 I've got news. They tell me as it's a settled 
 thing between her and young Bewglass. 
 If it isn't settled, it's next door. I have 
 that on good authority. No names.' 
 
 ' Her and the devil !' exclaimed Wayfer, 
 quickly opening the gate and nearly 
 throwing down the little man. 
 
 ' Well, well ; no personal assault, if you 
 please. I s'ppose you'll allow me an 
 opinion. It's a truism what I tell you.' 
 
 'We'll see about that,' said Wayfer, 
 when they were in the road. ' I've sailed 
 away fine enough until to-day.' 
 
 ' What if you have !' growled Clinkscales. 
 * I have this news on good authority, I tell 
 you. Besides, if she's thrown the legacy 
 
 g2
 
 84 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 away, what's the good of her to you ? Do 
 you think she'll do for a farmer's wife ? 
 ha! ha!' 
 
 Clinkscales did not laugh, — he never did 
 laugh ; his risible faculties were confined 
 in expression to a chuckle or a snigger. 
 
 'That's nothing to you,' exclaimed 
 Wayfer, in reply. ' If I want her, that's 
 enough. Where do you get this news? 
 It's all a lie. Do you think a fellow like 
 that would marry a school-missus ?' 
 
 ' I never cook my eggs twice. I've told 
 you, and you can do what you like with 
 the news. A prophet never gets honour — ' 
 
 The farmer did not hear the oracular 
 conclusion : he turned away in wrath, and 
 set oiF briskly down the lanes, followed by 
 the grumbling Christopher. The latter had 
 to take two steps to every one of the 
 other's, and was then still about two paces 
 behind. He did not care to be very far 
 off, for the night was rapidly closing in, 
 and if anything tried Mr. Clinkscales'
 
 TWO ELDERS. 85 
 
 nerves it was darkness in a higli wind. 
 He did not like the sound of swaying 
 branches without being able to see their 
 movements, and the&e^easterly winds which 
 usher-in November have the particular 
 habit of making the most of such a sound. 
 They do not sink with the day, like an 
 honest blustering west, but keep up a 
 pitiless chase through the darkest hours 
 which precede the waning moon. Neither 
 attempted to speak again until they came 
 out by the village green. From here some 
 window lights were visible, but very little 
 else. The elder man grasped his compan- 
 ion's arm. 
 
 ' Where are you going to ?' he said. 
 'To Giles's : she'll be there, won't she ?' 
 ' Joice '11 be there an' all, man.' 
 To this Wayfer made no response ; he 
 led the way on up the village. Most of 
 the windows showed a light; — some through 
 the blind ; some from the uncertain blaze 
 of a fire, over which could be seen a
 
 86 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 labouring man with his pipe ; and two or 
 three through the stock of petty wares 
 which constituted a shop. They passed the 
 part where windows were most plentiful, 
 and then came agap of about ahundred dark 
 yards. Here Clinkscales ran against the 
 wall, and audibly muttered an imprecation. 
 Shortly after this, they reached a detached 
 cottage, in the windows of which could be 
 seen the shadow of a plant upon the blind. 
 Wayfer stopped at the door, and heard 
 within the sounds of a violin being tuned : 
 in a moment he lifted the latch, and entered 
 without ceremony, his companion following 
 close upon his heels.
 
 87 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 SOCIAL. 
 
 A TIN oil lamp stood alight upon the table, 
 and before the fire, one at each end of the 
 hearth-rug, sat an old man and a young 
 woman. The former held a fiddle on his. 
 knee, and, as he raised his face to look to- 
 wards the door when it was opened, he 
 was easily recognizable as our acquain- 
 tance Giles Radway, the roadman. The 
 girl, too, raised her eyes, but let them fall 
 almost as soon as she had done so. 
 
 ' 0, Michael, be that you ?' said Giles, in 
 a cheery voice. ' And Master Clinkscales 
 an' all. Come in, come in !' 
 
 ' Evening, Giles,' remarked Christopher,
 
 88 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 whose eyes were unpleasantly dazzled by 
 the strong light upon entering: as he spoke, 
 he wiped them with a red cotton pocket- 
 handkerchief. ' 'Tis an uncommon dark 
 night.' 
 
 ' 'T be, Master Clinkscales, evidently,' 
 replied Giles ; ^ although J han't been out 
 myself since dusk. Quite a gale, too, by 
 the sound of it, however.' 
 
 * 1 call it a 'urricane, and nothing short 
 of it. I can't abide a wind.' 
 
 ' So you've said afore, and yet there 
 beunt much of you to stand in the way of 
 it,' observed Giles, with a good-natured 
 smile. 
 
 ' 'Taint quantity, Giles, but quality as is 
 wanted in this world. That's a truism 
 you should bear in mind, Joice,' said 
 Clinkscales, turning towards the young 
 woman already mentioned, who was smil- 
 ing at her father's remark. 
 
 Christopher was quite favourable to face- 
 tiousness when not directed within any
 
 SOCIAL. 89 
 
 distance of his own person. He always felt 
 that Joice Radway did not treat him with 
 sufficient respect. 
 
 ' You are expecting plenty, Giles,' Way- 
 fer said, looking at the chairs which were 
 arrano;ed round the table. ' Your class 
 must be looking up.' 
 
 ' The chairs be a-ready, Michael, for they 
 as like to come,' replied Radway, simply. 
 ' Mebbe they'll be filled before the winter's 
 over. I don't expect many to-night, of 
 course, as it be the first.' 
 
 ' Does Miss Sulby come to 'em now ?' was 
 Wayfer's next inquiry. 
 
 Some difference seemed to have come 
 over this young farmer since his entrance 
 to Radway 's cottage. Alien to him as such 
 a quality will no doubt be thought, there 
 was a suspicion of sheepishness about him 
 as he sat in this little room. As he put 
 the above question, it looked very much 
 as if he were fidgeting in his chair. He 
 flattered himself that he had uttered his
 
 90 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 words with the perfection of unconcern, 
 and possibly he had done so : nevertheless, 
 it drew the eyes of Joice from Mr. Clink- 
 scales with whom she was talking to 
 Michael himself. The movement was 
 made quite naturally, and there was no 
 particular expression on her face to show 
 that the glance was anything but a casual 
 one. Wayfer, however, felt her eyes upon 
 him, of which perception his knitted eye- 
 brows gave evidence. 
 
 'No, Michael, her beunt a-coming this 
 winter,' replied Radway, with his eyes 
 bent down upon his fiddle. 'But Miss 
 Silverside told me as it were not unlikely 
 that she should come in sometimes.' 
 
 Then Giles struck a fiddle-string with 
 his finger and tightened it. The pleasant 
 face of the old man was to-night seen to 
 advantage. He had a clean, bright-coloured 
 complexion which a meagre grey beard set 
 off well. His blue-grey eyes displayed 
 considerable intelligence, and they were
 
 SOCIAL. 91 
 
 often lit up with a twinkle of conscious 
 humour rare in a face of pure rustic ex- 
 traction. His nose was rather large and 
 sharp, but noticeably well-shaped ; his 
 lips bore that look of unobtrusive serenity 
 often to be observed in characters of a 
 truly musical tendency. At times of com- 
 plete repose his face might be caught 
 touched with a suspicion of sadness, in all 
 likelihood an unconscious reflection of no 
 definitely perceived sensation. In honour 
 of his visitors, Giles had to-night donned 
 a brown jacket of thick warm material,* 
 otherwise his garb w^as that of a comfort- 
 able agricultural working-man. 
 
 The contrast between Radway and Clink- 
 scales in this juxtaposition ivas striking 
 and suggestive. The former was the elder 
 by a few years, but in the matter of age 
 the difference was not noticeable : the ex- 
 pression upon the respective faces was 
 everything. One could have experienced 
 no surprise at hearing that Christopher
 
 §2 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 had been in his day a bankrupt, and that 
 he was now discontented with the world at 
 large ; nor could one have done so upon 
 being told that Giles, poor as he had ever 
 been, had never been known to owe a 
 penny. This latter was not indeed in- 
 variably the case, but the exceptions to it 
 had been short-lived and few. The first 
 of them befell in his early life, when 
 he had a sickly wife and family of small 
 children on his hands, and he himself ren- 
 dered helpless by an accident in the hay- 
 field : when, live as frugally as conscien- 
 tious poverty compelled him, the baker's 
 bill was a matter of twelve shillings every 
 Saturday. Upon this occasion alone had 
 Oiles been on the point of foundering, but 
 he was saved by the human feeling of the 
 baker himself. Giles could be often heard 
 to tell the story even yet. 
 
 'Never you mind, Giles,' had said this 
 magnanimous baker, when the customer 
 had declared his inability to pay for an-
 
 SOCIAL. 93 
 
 other loaf. 'Never you mind about the 
 bill. You've been a good customer to I, 
 and you shall not want the bread. Pay 
 me when you can.' 
 
 The only other occasion of similar mis- 
 fortune was but a few years later than the 
 first one. It was then that Giles' cottage 
 had been burned to the ground. It was 
 his own unencumbered bit of freehold. 
 Again it was his well-known integrity of 
 character which stood by him. A sub- 
 scription was raised among his well-to-do 
 neighbours, promoted by Mr. Bewglass,' 
 the late vicar of the parish, and a goodly 
 sum was raised for the re-building. Still, 
 when all was done, and the new cottage 
 erected, there remained a balance of some 
 thirty pounds unprovided for. There seem- 
 ed nothing for it but a mortgage, had not 
 the builder stepped in with a neighbourly 
 suggestion. 
 
 'Look here, Master Radway,' said this- 
 other considerate creditor, ' I know you
 
 '94 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 and you know T. I be in no hurry for the 
 money. Let us spread it over three years. 
 You can pay me ten pounds a year.' 
 
 These two glimpses of Giles' past history 
 give us some idea of what we may call the 
 material character of the man. 
 
 Mr. Christopher Clinkscales was the 
 direct opposite of all this. Creditors were 
 not hasty to trust him, having, it is to be 
 supposed, found him not to have been cast 
 in a particularly honest mould. His ap- 
 pearance, as has been said, bespoke it. It 
 pronounced, in unmistakable accents, un- 
 reality, insubstantiality, as plainly as ever 
 did stuccoed house-front in want of repair. 
 Clinkscales had been born and bred in the 
 town. 
 
 One may hardly draw a general deduc- 
 tion from the contrast in these two men, 
 temptingly as it thrusts itself upon the 
 attention. All town life is by no means a 
 simulacrum, any more than all country life 
 is a solid reality. Nevertheless, the balance
 
 SOCIAL. 95 
 
 would seem to be in favour of the country, 
 if we mean by this term absolute rusticity. 
 The offspring of a town life in the mass, 
 even to a higher level than some might 
 feel disposed to admit, is at best a carica- 
 ture of something higher, — a caricature of 
 the civilisation of the time. The offspring 
 of a rural life is at no time such a carica- 
 ture ; always of itself a reality. It becomes 
 daily more difficult to draw this distinction 
 between the two phases, but it is happily 
 still far from impossible. The town-bred 
 vulgar is so contemptibly short of what* 
 he would appear to be : the basest and 
 most sordid rustic is^ on the other hand, 
 actually what he appears to be. To 
 clinch the matter in a couple of figurative 
 words : the town speaks an anomalous 
 cockney jargon ; the country speaks a 
 historical dialect, let it be as rude as you 
 please. 
 
 Christopher Clinkscales, then, was a 
 specimen of this caricature of civilized
 
 96 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 life. Such a specimen is to be seen hang- 
 ing about many of our most remote villages 
 in these days ; generally, of course, about 
 the spittoons in the taj)-room of the public- 
 house. Their means of livelihood are 
 always more or less a mystery. They are 
 kin to somebody in the neighbourhood, 
 and possibly sponge upon the relationship. 
 All are not so fortunate as our friend 
 Clinkscales. More was known of him 
 than is known of the majority of his 
 class. 
 
 It was nearly thirty years ago since he 
 had seen the delightful opportunity of 
 snatching to himself a livelihood without 
 any need thenceforth of unpleasant exer- 
 tion on his own part. He was not the 
 man to let such a tide escape him. He 
 had come to Shipcombe to marry a cousin 
 of his, and he had married her. It could 
 not be asserted positively that he had 
 done an honest day's work since. It is 
 needless to add that the attractive cousin
 
 SOCIAL. 97 
 
 possessed the bulk of her father's savings ; 
 a small investment which produced enough 
 to support a simple household in a small 
 village. If Clinkscales was ever directly 
 tasked with his mercenary conduct, he 
 cited in defence the example of Elijah,, 
 who, in the day of his necessity, was 
 ordered to Zarephath to be sustained by a 
 widow woman there. 
 
 With the majority in the village Clink- 
 scales was undoubtedly a favourite. He 
 had acquired amongst his neighbours a 
 remarkable reputation for wisdom, and 
 possibly on this account he had received 
 the honorary designation of The Mayor. 
 Over many he exercised a very marked 
 influence, more especially, of course, over 
 the younger members of the community. 
 There is nothing strange in this. A man 
 of discontent is not now without disciples 
 in any parish in the land. Most people 
 crave for discontent. It is the business of 
 this Clinkscales species to dispense it, and 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 this particular specimen did his duty well. 
 
 Michael Wayfer was his most important 
 convert. Since the death of Michael's 
 father quite an intimate friendship had 
 developed between the two. The young 
 farmer had caught some of the infec- 
 tion of the time, and he enjoyed the cheap 
 rant with which Clinkscales regaled him 
 upon what we noAv call socialism, and 
 radicalism generally. The advanced jour- 
 nals which Christopher received from a 
 London friend weii'e eagerly devoured by 
 his disciples in the village, and the princi- 
 ples which they inculcated were duly 
 digested, — digested, at least, so far as the 
 personal requirements of each consumer 
 demanded. Ludicrous enough were the 
 results of it in many cases. 
 
 Giles Radway, possibly because he was 
 proof against these revolutionary doctrines, 
 came in with many others for a good share 
 of Mr. Clinkscales' contempt. The road- 
 man was seen to be of a distinctly lower
 
 SOCIAL. 99 
 
 order, — a mere rustic viewing life from the 
 standpoint of the parish of Shipcombe. 
 The attitude of Giles was not calculated 
 to better his position in the opinion of 
 this philosopher. It was one of natural 
 humility and complete unconsciousness of 
 self. He paid a kind of deference to his 
 learned neighbour, seldom presumed to 
 enter into an argument with him, however 
 strongly opposed to the sentiments he 
 expressed, unless it were upon any point 
 of religion. Xobody was more impressed 
 with the inferiority of his own talents. 
 He had never formed to himself a conscious 
 theory of life. Any good work in which 
 he engaged was merely the outcome of 
 instinctive impulse. 
 
 This singing-class, for instance, which 
 was to have a commencement in his cottasfe 
 to-night, was a good illustration of his 
 general attitude. It was a relic of his 
 former life. The class had, in fact, only 
 been revived the previous winter after a 
 
 h2
 
 100 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 break of thirty years (at the instance, it 
 should be mentioned, of Miss Sulby the 
 school-mistress), and the reception which 
 it had then met with had encouraged the 
 old man to make the trial another year. It 
 was quite a voluntary undertaking for the 
 rational amusement of those who cared to 
 avail themselves of it. It formed no part 
 of a devised social scheme in Giles Rad- 
 way, whatever may have been the school- 
 mistress' thoughts with regard to it. 
 Several of the young men and women of 
 the village gladly took part in the gather- 
 ing, whilst a few of the elders also attended, 
 both young and old being, no doubt, at- 
 tracted more by the allurements of an 
 informal social meeting than by any en- 
 thusiasm for the music itself. As Rad- 
 way has already intimated, the class was 
 this year to have the support of Miss 
 Silverside, the vicar's daughter. 
 
 Whilst we have been making this ex- 
 amination of the two most noticeable
 
 SOCIAL. 101 
 
 members of the company, several others 
 have taken places amongst them. The two 
 or three ungainly youths, who came in 
 with half-suppressed giggles as they pushed 
 €ach other forward, kept together in a 
 corner enjoying a little fooling on their 
 own account. A tall old rustic stood by 
 Giles's chair, taking a part in the conversa- 
 tion which Clinkscales was promoting ; 
 this was Peter Rule, head carter to Mr. 
 Kimble. Nathan Bench, a fellow musician 
 — the clarionet was his forte — and old 
 Benjamin Hazard, the hedger, a thin-faced 
 old man, who stooped very much, were 
 also near to Giles. Wayfer, too, still sat 
 there, but apparently in a state of dis- 
 satisfaction. He took but little part in 
 the conversation. Joice Radway, once or 
 twice, addressed herself especially to him, 
 assuming as she did so an air of familiarity ; 
 but Michael's attitude repelled her. 
 
 ' Well, Giles,' Mr. Clinkscales was re- 
 marking, ' you won't alter my opinion. It's
 
 102 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 a waste of time. 'Twas all very well in 
 your day, when the country was asleep, to 
 fiddle away and to pretend to sing, but it 
 won't do now. You ought to turn this 
 class into a club for discussing social 
 principles ; that's what we want now-a- 
 days.' 
 
 ' I don't understand anything about 
 they. Master Clinkscales,' replied Radway. 
 ' I was always quite a home-spun man, 
 and I belong to the old system. Of course, 
 things be a deal altered from what they 
 were ; but I can't see how music be a Avaste 
 of time even in these days. I think we 
 should be better off if we had more of it.' 
 
 ' Ye be right an' all, Giles,' chimed in 
 Nathan Bench. ' Us wants making more 
 joysome, I believe, and I dwunt knaw 
 nothing as ull do it better than music. It 
 beunt no good a-going down to the 
 'Arrow and having the drink, for ye dunt 
 get no joy out of it, and ye lose your 
 money an' all. As for your social princi-
 
 SOCIAL. 103 
 
 pies, Master Clinkscales, I dunt see as 'em 
 do ye much good at last.' 
 
 ' Noa,' assented Peter Rule, with a head 
 shake. ' I be of your opinion, Nathan.' 
 
 ' It's no matter what people like you 
 think,' asserted Clinkscales. ' You've no 
 intellects ; you don't know what you want. 
 If I had the management of you, I'd ' 
 
 Mr. Clinkscales' harangue was cut short 
 by a knock upon the outer door, and the 
 consequent whisper of ' Miss Silverside ' 
 which passed amongst the assembly. Joice 
 immediately rose from her chair and went 
 to the door. 
 
 It proved to be the young lady whose 
 name was just mentioned, the pleasant 
 sound of her voice preceding her into the 
 room. As she entered, all present rose, 
 (including even the revolutionary mayor,) 
 and remained standing in bashful atti- 
 tudes. There were more present than the 
 lady had expected to see, and the rich 
 colour which the wind had brought into
 
 104 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 her cheeks for a moment overspread her 
 face. She shook hands with Giles Radway, 
 and passed a general greeting to the rest 
 of the assembly. All then rearranged 
 themselves, one at least of the company 
 noticing that Michael Wayfer had taken a 
 seat by the door. 
 
 The chief musician and the vicar's 
 daughter entered into a preliminary con- 
 versation. Miss Silverside had not been 
 present at these meetings before, and Giles 
 had particular delight in talking to her 
 about them. No less had she in listenino; 
 to him, for she enjoyed his rustic tongue 
 as much as the matter of his conversation. 
 She saw a reflection of his natural sur- 
 roundings in it, just as much as in other 
 natural country sounds. His tones seemed 
 to suggest orchards and green pastures, 
 where the apples lazily ripen and the 
 sheep lazily nibble, undisturbed by any of 
 the anxieties of artificial life. 
 
 ' It were a custom of my father's. Miss
 
 SOCIAL. 105 
 
 Silverside, very many years agorie. Our 
 family were always quite hands for music 
 up to my great-granfer's time; quite a gift 
 at it. He've told me times — he always took a 
 vast of pleasure in talking of bygone times, 
 poor man, — he've told me times that in 
 his young days, up to the time of his mar- 
 riage, in fact, the instruments of the Ship- 
 combe choir were all played by they of his 
 own family. He played the violin him- 
 self, and he played it well, that he did ; 
 his eldest brother, that were my Uncle 
 Willum, played the clarionet ; his father 
 played the flute, and his granfer the bass 
 viol. Then a number of them sang in the 
 choir, of course ; and they were capital 
 hands in the belfry an' all. The same 
 family could ring a touch of St. Dunstan's 
 doubles ten six scores in something under 
 forty minutes, which w^as thought to be 
 good work at that day.' 
 
 ' I should think so,' replied the young 
 lady. ^ It is something to be proud of
 
 106 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 *'Twere just their bias, you see, miss. 
 Of course, different folks have different 
 likings.' 
 
 * Of course ; but it is a pity that every- 
 body has not a taste for music' 
 
 * I agree with you, miss, in that respect,^ 
 replied Radway ; ' but I must ask you to 
 excuse me, for I be a-wasting your time 
 and my own with my long-legged tale. 
 However, you were kind enough to say 
 something to me in the road this morning 
 concerning these classes, and of course, as 
 we be but plain, home-spun folk, we shall 
 be indebted to you ' 
 
 ' No, no, Mr. Radway,' the young lady 
 hastened to interpose. ' I wish you to let 
 me come just like one of the rest, and to 
 be entirely under your direction. I shall 
 not be presumptuous enough to say any- 
 thing whatever about the class.' 
 
 'That be kind of you, however,' said 
 Giles. ' In that case, then, of course, we'll
 
 SOCIAL. 107 
 
 do the same as we did last 3'ear,' he added, 
 looking round at those assembled. 
 
 ' You were saying, Mr. Radway, that you 
 had thought of taking some of the songs 
 from Shakespeare for this winter's practice.' 
 
 ' I had thought, as you say, miss, of try- 
 ing first some of the settings of Shak- 
 speare's songs. There be some grand 
 things amongst 'em. I have an old book 
 here which contains quite a collection of 
 the best, and I'll copy out ' 
 
 ' But you needn't do that,' said Miss 
 Silverside. ' There are several of them in 
 Novello*s cheap series of part songs, only 
 three-half-pence each, and I shall be glad 
 to give you what copies you want, if j^ou 
 will allow me.' 
 
 Giles raised his eyebrows and looked 
 with delight into the young lady's face as 
 he replied, 
 
 ' Well, to be sure ! I can never thank 
 you, miss, for this kindness, however.'
 
 108 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 * I should think that would be better. 
 But what collection is this, Mr. Radway?' 
 
 The old man moved with alacrity to Miss 
 Silverside's chair and leaned down to dis- 
 play the book. They became absorbed in 
 it for a minute or two, examining with 
 interest the title page and date, the flour- 
 ishing dedication and other points of the 
 old music-book. 
 
 Whilst the conversation had been going 
 on between Giles and the young lady, the 
 rest of the company had got gradually 
 more at their ease, and they were now 
 venturing to indulge in a little by-con- 
 versation amongst themselves. Michael 
 Wayfer displayed anything but interest in 
 the subject of the consultation, and was 
 beginning to show yevy decided discon- 
 tent with his position. As soon as Giles 
 had moved across to Miss Silverside, the 
 young farmer glanced around him, giving 
 a particularly stealthy look when his eyes 
 fell upon Joice Radway. He saw that she
 
 SOCIAL. 109 
 
 was apparently engaged with what was 
 going on between her father and the young 
 lady. 
 
 Wayfer was perhaps as unmusical as any 
 human being can be ; and he made no 
 pretence, either to himself or to anybody 
 else, of having come here out of interest in 
 the fiddling proceedings. His state of 
 mind was generally understood, for it was 
 well known that he had another object of 
 interest in the neighbourhood of Giles's 
 hearth, although it was true he had dis- 
 played very little of such interest upon- 
 this occasion. That some sort of corre- 
 spondence of a tacit kind had taken place 
 between him and Joice Radway we have 
 already remarked. Engaged as Joice was 
 with the remarks of Miss Silverside, she 
 was far from unobservant even now of the 
 actions of young Wayfer. It did not 
 cause her any great surprise when she 
 next looked in the direction of the door to 
 see that the chair was empty which he had
 
 110 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 until this moment occupied. Directly slie 
 had perceived it, she heard the outer door 
 of the cottage closed, as it seemed Avith in- 
 tentional quietness. 
 
 Joice took no time to consider, but in- 
 stantly followed him. Miss Silverside and 
 the old man were still busy with the book ; 
 the rest of the company were engaged in 
 conversation. Joice reached the door with 
 but a whisper from some facetious one. The 
 wind just piped through the doorway, and 
 Joice had left the house. 
 
 Giles would gladly have lengthened out 
 indefinitely this general conversation, but 
 the young lady had too much politeness 
 to allow it. The recent movements had 
 aroused her, and she feared that they were 
 the result of impatience in those present. 
 By way of relieving them of tedium she 
 suggested that they should get to some- 
 thing practical, and asked Radway for a 
 tune. This the old man very readily gave, 
 breaking with surprising gusto into the
 
 SOCIAL. Ill 
 
 lively strains of the 'Blue Bells of Scotland.' 
 Whilst he was still playing, his daughter 
 returned to her place, and there presently 
 followed some of the part songs which had 
 been learned by the singers during the 
 previous winter. All were invigorated by 
 the exertion, and for rather more than an 
 hour afterwards did they keep up the 
 entertainment. 
 
 Giles Radway had seldom felt such a 
 glow of enthusiastic enjoyment as when he 
 returned with his lantern from havino^ 
 lighted Miss Silverside up the road to th« 
 vicarage. 
 
 ' Quite a deep knowledge o' music, Joice,' 
 he said later to his inattentive daughter ; 
 ^ quite so. Her knew the old editions well, 
 too. Mr. Gabriel Bewglass was right after 
 all. For a young lady of these days quite 
 out of the ordinary.' 
 
 But Joice could not share in his enthusi- 
 asm : her thoughts were too fully engaged 
 in another direction.
 
 112 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS. 
 
 JoiCE had not yet learned how to deal 
 with a man in ill-humour, — I mean how 
 not to deal with him at all. It is a lesson 
 which the best of women are particularly 
 slow in learning. The want of tact in this 
 instance was, of course, excusable enough, 
 for few women could have had less ex- 
 perience in the complicated humours of 
 men than this daughter of Giles Radway. 
 She had brothers, it is true, but she had 
 never lived in intimacy with them. Both 
 of them were very much older than she, 
 and they had left the paternal roof when 
 she was quite a little girl. They did not
 
 THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS. 113 
 
 now live in the same village with her. 
 Nor had Joice ever been given to keeping 
 company with young men, like the major- 
 ity of girls in her station of life. There 
 was a staidness in her behaviour which 
 had always kept her very much alone, for 
 seriousness is as hard to mate in Joice 
 Radway's position in life as it is in positions 
 somewhat higher. 
 
 From her father, then, must she have 
 learned what she knew of men's humours^ 
 and it is not thus surprising that she had 
 learned so little of them. During the 
 whole course of her life, since at least her 
 earliest childhood, the tenor of things 
 under the old man's roof had been so ex- 
 ceptionally placid, that humours, good or 
 bad, had scarce had place amongst them. 
 The training was, perhaps, unfortunate 
 for Joice, seeing that fate was to throw 
 her in the way of such an incarnation of 
 humours as Michael Wayfer. 
 
 The footing between these two was some- 
 
 VOL. T. I
 
 114 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 what ill-defined, the understanding which 
 did unmistakably exist being merely a tacit 
 one. It had been growing steadily for a 
 space of two or three years, but had reach- 
 ed no climax. Naturally Joice could but 
 conjecture, with her neighbours, that it 
 was Michael's intention to make her his 
 wife some day. Her ignorance upon this 
 point was for the most part unconscious, 
 for until within the last two weeks no 
 shadow of uncertainty had ever approached 
 her. The subject had never assumed the 
 interrogative form in her mind. She felt 
 supremely happy in the quiet course of 
 things, — for of her own mind she had long 
 been accurately informed, — and had not 
 asked, or even thought, of anything fur- 
 ther, except in the most vague and distant 
 manner. Now, however, the question had 
 confronted her, and it stood an ugly reality 
 in her path. The sudden appearance of 
 it did not exactly daunt her, but inspired 
 her rather with a reckless determination
 
 THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS. 115 
 
 to attack it. Some vague feeling of hope 
 was in her that, as she dashed against it, 
 it would vanish and prove to have been 
 but an empty apparition. It was with 
 this feeling that she had pursued Wayfer 
 from the room, when she discovered he 
 had left it. She could bear the torture no 
 longer. 
 
 When she had closed the cottage door 
 behind her, Joice stood in Tartarean dark- 
 ness — darkness made absolute. It was 
 not the mere gloom of an ordinary dark, 
 night, when cloud ridges can be dimly 
 seen, and trees and other objects look 
 black against them. This was blackness 
 itself — without form and void. The rays of 
 light which shot from the doorway seemed 
 positively to cleave a way through it, leav- 
 ing walls of solid murk on either side. It 
 made the girl hesitate. Hopeless it seemed 
 to trace anybody for a couple of yards 
 through this. But likewise had it made 
 young Wayfer hesitate, and the thought 
 
 i2
 
 116 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 of this suddenly crossed the girl's mind. 
 She called his name aloud. 
 
 There was no reply. The bare branches 
 of the tree beside the cottage swayed be- 
 fore the wind, and the noise might have 
 made it difficult for him to hear a human 
 voice. She called again, still louder than 
 before. 
 
 ' Is that you, Joice?' came in reply from 
 a point quite near to her. 
 
 ' Yes, Michael, let me speak to you.' 
 
 He took a couple of steps, and, in 
 stretching out his hand before him,, 
 touched her. He at once drew it back. 
 
 ' Why are you so unkind to me to- 
 night ?' she said, just touching his arm as 
 she did so. 
 
 ' Unkind to you ! Why, what have I 
 done ? I have not spoken a single word 
 to you since I came.' 
 
 ' No, you have not : I wish you had. Do 
 you want to give me up ?' 
 
 ' Why should I want to give you up ?'
 
 THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS. 11.7 
 
 ' You seem to have been diiFerent for the 
 last few weeks, so I thought you were tired 
 of me.' 
 
 ' Pooh!' exclaimed the other, impatiently. 
 ' Do you think a man wants to give you 
 up if he doesn't talk rubbish to you all day 
 long ? A nice life you want to lead us if 
 you think that. Where would business go 
 to?' 
 
 'No, I don't want you to do that: but 
 there is a difference between that and 
 never speaking to me at all, except a few 
 angry words. You didn't use to be like* 
 this.' 
 
 ' Didn't use to be like this ! Of course 
 not. Isn't my father dead ? And haven't 
 I got all the farm to look after on my own 
 account? And doesn't everything go as 
 wrong as it can ?' 
 
 ' But you used to tell me when you were 
 bothered with things, and were glad to get 
 away and talk with me, so you said.' 
 
 Poor Joice seemed doomed to make
 
 118 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 matters worse. Fancy a slighted mistress 
 reminding the vacillating lover of past 
 tenderness, and by way of appeasing ill- 
 humour too ! 
 
 ' You're enough to make anybody swear/ 
 exclaimed Michael, taking two or three 
 wrathful strides through the darkness. 
 ' You go in, Joice,' he said, when he had 
 come up to her again, 'and leave me alone. 
 I must get home.' 
 
 ' Won't you have a lantern ? you can 
 never find your way in this darkness.' 
 
 She said this after he had pretended to 
 kiss her ; but he only muttered a ' No,*" 
 and left her standing there. He stopped 
 in the road before he had gone far and 
 waited to see her re-enter the house. When 
 the door was again closed, he walked 
 slowly on, not in the direction of his own 
 home. 
 
 The school-house was at the extreme end 
 of the village, some little distance beyond 
 Giles Radway's cottage. It was towards
 
 THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS. 119 
 
 this part that Wayfer was now goin^. He 
 kept, so far as he could judge, to the mid- 
 dle of the roadway. He had passed the 
 vicarage, which was on the opposite side 
 to Giles's, only perceptible by means of 
 the light above the doorway, and he was 
 now peering through the darkness on the 
 other hand. It was necessary to proceed 
 cautiously, holding his hands out at full 
 length before him, so as to receive 
 timely notice of the wall. Presently he 
 came in contact with the railings. These 
 railings enclosed a square yard which stood 
 between the school itself and the mis- 
 tress' residence. From here he could see 
 a light in the window of the former which 
 surprised him; he paused there to consider. 
 Wayfer tried to keep up a feeling of 
 boldness over this errand which he had 
 taken in hand. It was by no means an 
 easy matter for him, for Miss Sulby, though 
 scrupulously polite, had never disguised 
 the attitude which she meant to assume
 
 120 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 towards anything like advances from him. 
 It was true he had the exceptional support 
 to-night of a strong feeling of the disinter- 
 estedness of this particular mission. He 
 came as one of the executors of the late 
 Mr. Jonathan Wayfer, to discuss business 
 matters with an injured legatee. This he 
 required to keep clearly before him. The 
 position was not, indeed, exactly a false 
 one. He did feel the gross treatment to 
 which Ruth had been subjected, and he 
 was fully prepared to take any steps within 
 his power for redressing the wrong which 
 had been done to her. If the doins: so 
 should in any way advance him in the 
 school-mistress's regard, then he was by no 
 means averse from benefiting by the ad- 
 vantage. His slow progress in this respect 
 was to-night an especially irritating con- 
 sideration to him. Possibly that piece of 
 news which Clinkscales had entrusted to 
 him on the road was, in some measure, the 
 cause of it.
 
 THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS. 121 
 
 As the thought recurred to him now, he 
 pulled at the iron gate upon which his 
 hand lay and found it was locked. Miss 
 Sulby occupied her cottage alone, an ar- 
 rangement which had possibly strength- 
 ened the executor in his business. It was 
 also, however, the cause of this very incon- 
 venient arrangement of the gate. The 
 cottage and school stood at right angles to 
 the road, and the doors to both opened 
 ■upon the yard within the railings. This 
 was the only approach. He shook the 
 gate again, more violently than before. 
 
 This time the action did not pass un- 
 observed, for the sound of a dog's bark 
 came from within the school. This sound 
 and the light gave unmistakable evidence 
 of the mistress' being in there, and not in 
 the habitable portion. For what purpose 
 Wayfer did not pretend to conjecture. 
 His only fear was that she would not be 
 alone. The dog barked furiously for some 
 seconds, and then lowered its voice into a
 
 122 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 growl. Presumably this was in response 
 to somebody's commands. Presently it 
 barked again, the sound this time coming 
 evidently from just behind the door. Way- 
 fer could now hear Ruth's voice speaking 
 to the dog. At once he tried the gate 
 again, with the result of infuriating the 
 animal within. 
 
 Miss Sulby, too, had heard the sound^ 
 and the key was turned in the lock. As 
 she opened the door a little way the dog 
 struggled in her arms, and made it impos- 
 sible for anything to be heard. She suc- 
 ceeded in silencing him at last, or at any 
 rate in making his uproar intermittent, and 
 she heard the voice which addressed her. 
 
 ^Who is it?' cried Ruth, in reply. 
 
 ' Michael Wayfer.' 
 
 ' I cannot speak to you now,' she said, 
 opening the door a little wider. 
 
 ' It is only about the legacy,' he hastened 
 to assert. ' 1 am not going to see you 
 wronged.'
 
 THE SCHOOL-MISTEESS. 12S 
 
 ' Do not trouble about me. Nobody has 
 done me any wrong.' 
 
 ' But I think they have, and I'm not 
 going to see it done. The money is yours 
 by rights, and the woman's as good as stole 
 it. Let us have a little talk about it.' 
 
 ' I cannot talk to you to-night. I da 
 not wish to talk to anybody about it. I 
 did not want the money.' 
 
 ' But it was yours. Nobody has a right 
 to frighten you out of it.' 
 
 ' Frighten me out of it !' exclaimed Ruth, 
 with some addition which sounded like a 
 laugh. ' Do you think I gave it her from 
 fear? Think no more about it, Mr. 
 Wayfer.' 
 
 ' Why should you throw two hundred 
 pounds away ? There's something at the 
 bottom of it. You might as well tell me 
 your reason, for I can help you to get it 
 back for all you think so lightly of me. I 
 know how to manage that lot.' 
 
 ' I must not stand here in the cold,' was
 
 124 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 Miss Sulby's final answer to him. ' I tell 
 you truly that f have no reason to give. I 
 simply did not want the money, and never 
 had a thought of taking it since I first 
 knew it had been left to me. If you really 
 wish to be kind to me, you will believe 
 what I say, and never speak another word 
 to me about it.' 
 
 'Very well then, T will,' said Wayfer, 
 changing the tone in which he spoke. ' I 
 only wanted to be kind to you from the 
 first, and I hope you'll think none the 
 worse of me for it. I'll do nothing that 
 you don't want me to do. Good-night.' 
 
 ' Good-night,' came from the narrow 
 opening in the doorway, and Ruth again 
 locked herself in the solitary school-room. 
 It was some minutes before the young 
 farmer left his position by the railings. 
 
 Miss Sulby returned to her work in 
 which she had been interrupted The 
 school-room in which she was engaged was,
 
 THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS. 125 
 
 in the main, like other parish school-rooms. 
 There were rows of desks and benches, a 
 black-board in one corner, a harmonium in 
 another, a bare, dusty floor, and so forth ; 
 and yet the impression which the place 
 made was not that of bare discomfort, of 
 arid principia distastefully obtruded, but 
 savoured somewhat of the amenities of a 
 cultivated dwellinoj. There were maps and 
 simple views of Eastern customs, to be 
 sure, upon the walls, but there were other 
 things besides. Good plates of birds and 
 animals were arranged in suitable places ; 
 large views and various woodcuts also, 
 taken from the best illustrated papers. On 
 the mantel-piece, instead of only dust and 
 a few pieces of half used chalk, were vases 
 of wild flowers (fresh ones, gathered in this 
 month of November) and grasses, dry from 
 the summer, but still hanging in all their 
 pristine gracefulness. On brackets against 
 the walls, at equal intervals around the 
 room, was a series of busts, in plaster-of-
 
 126 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 Paris, of typical heroes in various depart- 
 ments of life: literary, theological, mili- 
 tary, and the rest. Room was found even 
 for further embellishment, and it was 
 npon this that the school-mistress was at 
 present engaged. 
 
 Upon a newspaper, laid open on one of 
 the desks, was a motley heap of leaves. To 
 these had Ruth returned after her colloquy 
 with her visitor. Upon a closer examina- 
 tion, the leaves proved to be dry, but they 
 still had the beauty of autumn colour- 
 ing ; they had been pressed by the zealous 
 school-mistress for their present purpose. 
 As she disturbed the heap to select what 
 she wanted for a suitable arrangement, 
 its full splendour was revealed. Even 
 the poor lamp-light could not deprive it 
 of its glory. When Miss Sulby chose a 
 particularly fine specimen, she regarded it 
 more closely, and perhaps passed some 
 compliment upon it aloud. The variety of
 
 THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS. 127 
 
 the leaves seemed infinite, alike in colour 
 and shape. From the golden palmate 
 chestnut to the golden willow slip, what a 
 marvellous array ! The russet bracken was 
 there, the pale ash, and the blushing rowan; 
 the precious coins from the beech-twigs 
 which had again scattered their hoards to 
 the winds; the yellow, deli cat ely-lobed 
 maple, and her bigger, sharp-pointed 
 brother, the sycamore, variegated with his 
 curious autumn blotches ; the wild gera- 
 niums, blushing to the very heart ; bram- 
 ble sprays, most variable of all, from 
 lightest gold, through crimson and olive- 
 green, to black. All these and many more 
 were there : all gathered and pressed by 
 the school-mistress for her scholars. She 
 had been busily arranging them about the 
 room at the time of the interruption. 
 
 The interview with Wayfer had dis- 
 turbed the current of her thoughts. She 
 was leaning over and handling the leaves,
 
 128 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 but obviously with no definite purpose. 
 It was a few minutes before she was able 
 to proceed with her occupation. 
 
 The dog had again curled himself up on 
 the little worn hearth-rug before the empty 
 grate. When at last his mistress passed 
 him in the course of her resumed work, 
 her eye caught that of the faithful terrier, 
 who was wrinkling his brow to look up at 
 her as he tucked his nose in the joint of a 
 back leg. He asked, as plainly as intelli- 
 gent eye could ask, for a word of approval, 
 and he saw that his mistress understood 
 him. His wagging tail knocked upon the 
 floor before the words were uttered which 
 were already on her tongue. 
 
 ' Good old Dash,' she said, leaning down 
 to stroke his smooth brow ; ' you'll take 
 care of mistress, won't you? you'll keep 
 the robbers away.' 
 
 After this brief interchange of kindly 
 sentiments, Dash was allowed to fall off 
 into a doze, whilst Ruth continued to be
 
 THE SCHOOL-MISTKESS. 129 
 
 busy with her occupation. For about half- 
 an-hour longer she stayed there, and then 
 her work was done. After giving a final 
 survey to the room, she shrugged her 
 shoulders from cold, and then put a light 
 to her lantern. The other lamp was ex- 
 tinguished, and Miss Sulby crossed over to 
 her dwelling. 
 
 Here too was loneliness ; but decidedly 
 an air of homely comfort, so far as mate- 
 rial adjuncts were concerned. When the 
 lamp had been lighted, and the fire stirred, 
 Ruth sat down upon a chair which stood 
 beside the table, and rested her fore- 
 head on her hand. Some books lay open 
 upon the table with the appearance of hav- 
 ing been recently left, and upon them the 
 young woman's eyes were fixed. Whether 
 she was thinking about them or not, could 
 not be definitely stated : in all probability 
 not. The fit of meditation did not last 
 long; with a sudden determined move- 
 ment, her chair was pulled in to the table, 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 1 30 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 and she became unmistakably engaged with 
 the books before her. 
 
 The school-mistress was extremely me- 
 thodical, as was no doubt necessary to one 
 of her profession ; her strictness, however, 
 was applied as firmly to her own habits 
 as to those of the children with whom she 
 had to deal. All her leisure time w^as 
 duly apportioned amongst the various 
 subjects which she herself wished to pur- 
 sue, and to-night she was devoting to her 
 French reading. She was as yet but a student 
 in the language, and the manuscript vocab- 
 ulary which she made as she went along was 
 open beside the dictionary. The book was 
 George Sand's ' Fran9ois le Champi.' 
 
 In addition to the general air of comfort 
 about this room, there was in it an unmis- 
 takable reflection of the simple refinement 
 of the occupier's tastes. The mere furni- 
 ture was plain enough, but not ugly. It 
 is not, however, these substantial items 
 which give character to a room. Horse-
 
 THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS. 131 
 
 hair and morocco give but a peep into the 
 pocket, which is not an infallible index 
 of intellectual distinctions. With the 
 same materials to work upon, various 
 hands produce very various results. As 
 we have seen Miss Sulby's school-room, we 
 will also examine her private sitting-room 
 in some detail. 
 
 Against the wall by the door was a piano 
 with a piece of music open upon it. On 
 the top were two cabinet portraits in 
 standing frames, — one, that of a clergyman^ 
 not generally known ; and the other that 
 of a more distinguished contemporary, 
 John Ruskin. The picture on the wall 
 above was Holman Hunt's, ' The Light of 
 the World.' 
 
 Above the sofa was a hanging book-case 
 of four shelves, containing the school- 
 mistress's private library, with a picture 
 upon each side. The collection of books 
 was a miscellaneous one, but was notice- 
 able because of its including so many of 
 
 k2
 
 132 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 the classical helles lettres, in addition to the 
 merely professional works. The geogra- 
 phies, arithmetics, and such books were 
 relegated to the top shelf. The theolo- 
 gical, or, more strictly speaking, devotional 
 works occupied the second, Including 
 amongst them the ' Imitatio,' some volumes 
 of Baring-Gould's 'Lives of the Saints,' to- 
 gether with sundry volumes of present-day 
 High Church sermons and prayer-books. 
 The two lower shelves were filled with 
 general literature and historical works, 
 most of them in the cheap reprinted edi- 
 tions so abundant since the opening of the 
 present decade. Ranged amongst these 
 latter must be noticed two or three of 
 Ruskin's ethical works, amongst them 
 'Sesame and Lilies,' and 'Ethics of the 
 Dust.' 
 
 The mantel-piece was adorned with a 
 vase at each end, from which rose bunches 
 of wild grasses about two feet high, bend- 
 ing gracefully in their natural positions.
 
 THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS. 133 
 
 In the centre was a timepiece, and around 
 it little vessels containing wild-flowers, 
 dried leaves, everlasting flowers, in addi- 
 tion to a couple of brass candlesticks 
 The picture hanging above was a large 
 photograph, in an Oxford frame, of Glou- 
 cester Cathedral, that city being the place 
 of Miss Sulby's birth. In the wall on each 
 side of the fireplace was a store-cupboard 
 reaching from ceiling to floor. Upon a 
 stand before the window were some ordi- 
 nary pot-flowers. 
 
 Such was the room in which Miss Sulby 
 was now sitting in the light of a white- 
 shaded oil-lamp. The wind was still 
 audible without, but only some movement 
 in the fire, the rustling of the pages of the 
 dictionary, or a sigh of satisfaction from 
 the dog as he rearranged himself upon the 
 hearth-rug, broke the silence within the 
 room. If at any moment the student be- 
 came conscious of the silence, she would 
 read out the translation aloud by way of
 
 134 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 keeping her attention more closely upon 
 it. 
 
 Thus for an hour did Ruth continue to 
 work. It was half-past eight when she 
 ao^ain rose from her chair. This time the 
 books were put in their places upon the 
 shelf, and the student took up a candle 
 from a corner table. With this alight she 
 went into the little room which was her 
 kitchen, and got the things she wanted 
 for her supper. The meal promised to be 
 frugal enough. Two slices of bread and 
 butter were put upon a plate, and she was 
 now pouring out a glassful of milk from a 
 basin. These things she carried on a tray 
 to her parlour, and settled herself again 
 before the tire. The dog had opened his 
 eyes at the sound of movements, but had 
 considered himself most comfortable where 
 he was. He showed no expectation of 
 sharing in the meal, although it was im- 
 possible for him to repress that mournful 
 glance of self-restraint. Upon principle,
 
 THE SCHOOL-MISTKESS. 135 
 
 Ruth was blind to it. She sat with her 
 feet towards the fender and partook of her 
 meal with a book open in her hand. 
 
 This may have seemed carrying her 
 discipline too far, but the occasion was 
 exceptional. The action of Wayfer still 
 clung about her, and threatened a fit of 
 idle meditation. Such the school-mistress 
 always strenuously resisted, and her most 
 effective weapon was a book. This indi- 
 vidual book had been taken from the 
 second shelf of her book-case, and with iX 
 she was engaged for upwards of an hour. 
 When the hands of the clock were nearing 
 the hour of ten, it was replaced upon the 
 shelf, and the candle was again brought 
 forward. 
 
 The dog needed no summons of the 
 voice. As soon as his mistress had taken 
 a match from the box, the animal raised 
 his head and looked towards her with 
 a significant expression. He then got 
 slowly to his legs, after which he simul-
 
 136 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 taneously stretched himself and yawned. 
 Finally, he stood with his fore-feet upon 
 the rim of the fender and his nose in close 
 proximity to the bars of the grate. Whilst 
 Euth drew the bolt of the door for the 
 night, she said ' Come, Dash !' and the dog 
 pattered slowly to her side. The next mo- 
 ment he was curled up in a circular basket 
 at the foot of the stairs, and his mistress 
 went in to extinguish the lamp. With a 
 sigh, the dog heard the door closed upstairs, 
 and all was quiet for the night.
 
 137 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE MAYOR S LEVEE. 
 
 For some days Michael Wayfer was greatly 
 unsettled. It is a fact that he was going 
 through a slight attack of sentimental dis- 
 turbance ; it was not to be supposed that; 
 in a nature such as his, the essential disease 
 would go very deep or would be of very 
 long continuance. He was born for a 
 practical man, but even such men seldom 
 wholly escape the infection incident to this 
 period of life. There were one or two ad- 
 ventitious attributes certainly in Michael's 
 case which served to distinguish it from a 
 normal attack, and which served, moreover, 
 to aggravate the disorder in a considerable 
 degree.
 
 138 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 Wayfer was of himself drawn towards 
 Miss Ruth Sulby from some cause or 
 other ; but he was drawn towards her with 
 additional intensity since his friend Clink- 
 scales had informed him of the sympathy 
 existing between that young lady and Mr. 
 Gabriel Bewglass. It is an insignificant 
 fact, and one in no way directly affecting 
 this narrative, but one which may never- 
 theless be casually mentioned here, that 
 ' the news ' which Clinkscales had confided 
 to his friend upon this matter rested upon 
 no better authority than that of the Mayor 
 himself. The statement was, moreover, 
 made from mere conjecture and had no 
 foundation in fact. It had been hazarded 
 by Clinkscales as an innocent fiction, cal- 
 culated to rid his friend's mind of a topic 
 which was becoming annoying. So far 
 from this being the result, the disclosure 
 had, as has been said, only intensified 
 Wayfer's feelings in the matter. 
 
 Prior to this, he was conscious of a grow-
 
 THE MAYOR S LEVEE. 139 
 
 irig antipathy towards young Bewglass. 
 There seemed little ground for it, for the 
 late vicar's son was an admittedly inoffen- 
 sive being personally, and between him 
 and Michael Wayfer there had been posi- 
 tively no intercourse whatever. The only 
 occasion upon which there had been any 
 approach to it was at the time of the death 
 of the latter's father, when, as we knoWy 
 Michael had himself fetched Bewglass to 
 receive the dying man's disclosure. It 
 must have been in connection with this- 
 that the feeling had arisen, for before his 
 father's death Wayfer had no suspicion of 
 dislike towards this man of whom he knew 
 so little. 
 
 Whatever the cause, Wayfer felt really 
 embittered at the supposed news of the 
 footing between Bewglass and Miss Sulby, 
 and was by it confirmed in a violent per- 
 sonal antipathy towards the former. He 
 was not without a suspicion of the utter 
 hopelessness of his own addresses to the
 
 140 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 school-mistress, and this was not without 
 its effect upon his feelings just mentioned ; 
 nevertheless, he was resolved to sustain his 
 pursuit of the lady with redoubled per- 
 tinacity. It would require something sub- 
 stantial to turn him from a course upon 
 which he had thus decided, for he was en- 
 dowed with a remarkable degree of stub- 
 bornness and impetuosity. 
 
 The mental disturbance arising from 
 these considerations seriously hindered 
 him in his business. The keen interest 
 with which he usually devoted himself to 
 agricultural traffic very noticeably abated, 
 if it did not temporarily disappear alto- 
 gether. He knew that for a year or two 
 his father had lost money on his farm, 
 and, now that affairs were finally settled, 
 he knew what a small capital he had at 
 his back ; nevertheless, he neglected the 
 occupations by which alone he knew he 
 could keep himself afloat ; and abandoned 
 his mind to these empty considerations of
 
 THE mayor's levee. 141 
 
 which we have been speaking. In his 
 recklessness he did not take seriously to 
 drinking, as possibly a weaker nature 
 might have done ; still he undoubtedly 
 drank more than he had been previously 
 in the habit of doing. He seldom passed 
 the door of the * Harrow Inn ' whenever in 
 its neighbourhood. This tendency, at least, 
 met with the entire approval of his friend 
 Christopher Clinkscales. 
 
 One morning, feeling the disquiet espe- 
 cially upon him, he left Sedgecomb with 
 the definite object of going down to the 
 inn. He knew that at any rate Clinkscales 
 would be there, and this old toper had 
 a great fascination for him. Wayfer 
 cared for the company of nobody else in 
 the village, and, moreover, he persuaded 
 himself that there was no other company 
 there worth having. He thought highly 
 of the sagacity of his loquacious friend, 
 and paid more heed to the advice which 
 he tendered than perhaps the adviser him-
 
 142 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 self was aware. This topic of the young 
 farmer's attitude to the school-mistress 
 was about the only one upon which they 
 quarrelled, and that one was, as a rule, 
 avoided between them. They had much 
 else to occupy their attention. 
 
 Mr. Clinkscales was, as Wayfer expected, 
 in the bar of the ' Harrow Inn ;' it was the 
 only place where he could with any satis- 
 faction pass the solid day. That atmo- 
 sphere of beer and stale tobacco smoke 
 w^as as necessary for his lungs as the liquor 
 itself was for other organs. Moreover, it 
 was to be had for nothing, which was in 
 these days an important consideration. 
 
 Christopher's financial position was not 
 a flourishing one, as we are already well 
 aware. Yet it was vastly more satisfactory 
 than that of multitudes of his betters. 
 For his dinner he had to give no thought ; 
 in itself a position which placed him far 
 above the majority of mankind. House- 
 hold affairs, as he always said, he left to
 
 THE mayor's levee. 143 
 
 his wife ; and the providing for dinner, 
 rent, and other such trivial outgoings, was 
 included in this general announcement. 
 In fact, the only point at which this man 
 condescended to come in contact with 
 economics at all was over the daily ex- 
 penditure of a certain sum of threepence. 
 This would not seem to offer any insuper- 
 able difficulties of calculation, seeing, as I 
 have said, that it had not to concern itself 
 with any of the common-place necessities 
 of daily sustenance. But to Christopher it 
 was capital, and as such it brought with it 
 all the harassing perplexities of advan- 
 tageous speculation. The insignificant 
 sum of threepence had, in short, to provide 
 its owner with liquor for the day, and it 
 required the shrewdest calculation to wring 
 from it anything like an appreciable quan- 
 tity. Few could have stretched it as far 
 as Mr. Clinkscales. 
 
 This daily threepence was an institution 
 of long standing, being an allowance from
 
 144 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 his wife out of her separate estate. Since 
 some unfortunate business speculations, in 
 which the ruin of his house was threatened, 
 he himself was content to limit his ambi- 
 tion to the judicious outlay of this modest 
 sum. The bankruptcy had meant very 
 little to him, for he himself was from the 
 outset penniless, and his wife had rescued 
 from it the bulk of her separate property. 
 This still aiforded them a certain income 
 of some fifteen shillings a week, which 
 Mrs. Clinkscales supplemented by the 
 profits of a petty shop. 
 
 It will be seen, then, that the grey mare 
 was here by far the better horse, and she 
 was by no means beneath making the most 
 of her position. Every morning after 
 breakfast was the same ceremony gone 
 through, as it had been now for more than 
 twenty years. It had originated, no doubt, 
 in a scheme for humbling Mr. Clinkscales, 
 but there was nothing whatever to show^ 
 that it had ever wrought such an effect
 
 THE mayor's levee. 145 
 
 upon him. There was the same jingling of 
 the keys as the cupboard drawer was opened, 
 then the same dull chinking of the pence. 
 
 Mrs. Clinkscales would as soon have 
 thought of giving it him in a silver piece 
 as she would have thought of giving it 
 him in gold. It was always in the dirtiest 
 form available consistent with legal tender. 
 Every night were the contents of her till 
 examined, and the greenest, greasiest, 
 most disreputable of pence consigned to 
 that remarkable collection in the cupboard* 
 drawer. Then they were always presented 
 to him with the same deliberative insult. 
 One was placed upon his right hand, one 
 upon liis left, whilst the third was put in 
 front, forming an equilateral triangle with 
 the others. The good man never took 
 them up at once, but nodded his head in 
 recognition, with a ' Thank you, my dear,' 
 addressed to the copper at the apex. His 
 wife's remark had of late years dissolved 
 into a look. 
 
 VOL. L L
 
 146 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 Some men might have found the posi- 
 tion humiliating, but not so Mr. Clink- 
 scales. Possibly his rude sense of humour 
 may have helped him to pass it over. It 
 is certain that there was a slight wrinkling 
 beside the eyes as he gathered up his cop- 
 pers and conveyed them to his pocket. 
 He accepted his position with the supremest 
 magnanimity. 
 
 From the sarcasm of his wife he would 
 go in excellent humour to the inn, and 
 there he would light his pipe. He gener- 
 ally had the morning hours alone, unless 
 by chance a tramp came in in passing. 
 He could not call for ale at once, so he 
 made the most of the atmosphere. He 
 had as usual this morning snuggled in the 
 tire corner of the settle, with the last Satur- 
 day's paper in his hand. It was dirty and 
 limp from general use, with signs of crack- 
 ing about the creases. Clinkscales himself 
 had handled it for five days, and was not 
 now likely to find anything fresh in it
 
 THE mayor's levee. 147 
 
 However, lie had little choice of occupation. 
 
 ' Oh, only you, Mr. Clinkscales,' said the 
 landlady, having heard the sound of foot- 
 steps upon his entrance. 
 
 'You couldn't have nobody better, Mrs. 
 Honniball, could you?' asked the visitor, 
 with a grin, and at the same time throw- 
 ing the newspaper on to the seat beside 
 him. ' But that's always the wa}^ You 
 never miss your mother till she's gone. 
 You'll find out my value when I'm out of 
 reach.' 
 
 ' You do good to the house, Mr. Clink- 
 scales, there be no gainsaying it. What 
 wi' your learnin' an' all.' 
 
 ' I wish all could see as clear as you can, 
 Mrs. Honniball. Now reckon up last night. 
 I kept count on purpose. There was the 
 finger-raising, the thickest wrist, and South 
 Wales ; not to speak of Jay's hay-rick, and 
 the tumbler demonstration — five gallons — 
 no, the last two were halves — four gallons 
 o' the best w^hen you wouldn't have had a 
 
 l2
 
 148 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 quart o' dcler. T could see it in their eyes. 
 They wanted bringing up to it, and there 
 are no two opinions as to who brought 
 'em. You agree there, Mrs. Honniball?' 
 
 ' Iss, ril not deny that. Honniball usself 
 said it.' 
 
 ' Why, of course, he couldn't help. 
 Won't that stand a pint o' best, Mrs, 
 Honniball — eh ?' 
 
 ' W^e beunt unneighbourly, Mr. Clink- 
 scales, as you've known these twenty years. 
 You shall 'ev a pint for luck this mornings 
 whether or no ; but I can't stop to talk wi" 
 you.' 
 
 Mr. Clinkscales rubbed his hands before 
 the lire whilst the ale was being drawn. 
 This was an unexpected piece of good 
 fortune, all owing to the particular morn- 
 ing mood of Mrs. Honniball. He could 
 never depend upon her. When he had 
 got the ale, he had little difficulty in ex- 
 cusing her company, knowing, as he said 
 he did, what an excellent housewife she
 
 THE mayor's levee. 149 
 
 was, and how she was always doing some- 
 thing for somebody. 
 
 When Christopher had just moistened 
 his iips he walked in the direction of the 
 window, handling in his breeches pocket 
 the as yet unbroken threepence. That 
 pint of ale must go a long way ; supply 
 his needs, in fact, until some rational neigh- 
 bour should look in who would be willing 
 to stand him another. It was against the 
 man's principles to break into his own 
 copper before the hours of the evening. It 
 offered better opportunities for investment 
 at that time than at any other. 
 
 He soon tired of looking from the win- 
 dow. As he was indifferent to the attrac- 
 tion of that ivy-covered projecting gable 
 and the black and svhite cottage beside it, 
 there was very little to engage his atten- 
 tions. There was a dog or two sniffing 
 about the strip of grass between the foot- 
 path and the roadway, and some ducks in 
 the pond lower down, but no other form
 
 150 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 of life was visible. Shrugging his shoulders 
 and audibly grumbling, he returned to his 
 corner by the iire. 
 
 ' Ugh ! Nineteenth century, near the 
 end ! Might as well be in the fifteenth. 
 More liquor then, 'xpect. Damned luck ; 
 damned luck.' 
 
 He again took up the paper and puffed 
 away at his pipe. He had not been still 
 long, before there were sounds of footsteps 
 upon the threshold, and Michael Wayfer 
 walked forward into the room. 
 
 ' Ha, my boy !' cried Clinkscales, joy- 
 ously. ' Just the man I wanted. Come 
 and be comfortable.' 
 
 Wayfer made no reply, but pulled a 
 chair up to the fire and spread his hands 
 out before him. 
 
 ' Things are quiet,' Clinkscales went on. 
 ' I never knew such a God-forsaken hole as- 
 this. Nothing to do.' 
 
 The new comer obtained his liquor and 
 took a draught of it.
 
 THE mayor's levee. 151 
 
 ' Of course there's nothing to do, except 
 to get bankrupt. Nothing '11 pay in the 
 country.' 
 
 ' That's what you rich farmers say,' re- 
 plied the other ; ' but you make your 
 money all the same.' 
 
 ' That's a lie, Clinky. I'm out of pocket 
 every year. We shan't get on till we get 
 Ireland over here. Things 'ud do if there 
 were no rents, or if there were reasonable 
 rents.' 
 
 ' Ay ay, you're right enough there. 
 The land question wants looking to; but 
 it is in your own hands.' 
 
 *It isn't in our own hands at all. What 
 can we do ?' 
 
 'Air your grievances. Support the right 
 men. There are some fine men springing 
 up now. You'll see changes, Michael. 
 But you're in bad hands. It is the very 
 devil to have a parson for a landlord, and 
 that's a truism.' 
 
 ' That's the first true word you've said.'
 
 152 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 * How are you getting on with the Bew- 
 glass affair ?' said Clinkscales, lowering his 
 voice as he spoke. 
 
 'Getting on ! I'm not getting on at all. 
 How can I get on with it. It's enough to 
 make a fellow swear to think of it. What 
 did the old fool want to leave that monev to 
 the girl for ? That would have paid it. He 
 knew what times were. He might have 
 kept his old chaps shut to the end. I was 
 a damned fool to fetch the fellow to him. 
 Nobody 'ud have known anything about 
 it but for that. It makes me mad some- 
 times.' 
 
 As Clinkscales listened, he was drawing 
 some indefinite diagram upon the table 
 with the aid of the end of his pipe and 
 some spilt beer. After a few seconds he 
 looked up with a ludicrous aspect of seri- 
 ousness in his looks. 
 
 * Now, look here, Michael,' — he spoke in 
 a low tone and leaned his face forward to 
 his companion — ' I have been studying this
 
 THE mayor's levee. 153 
 
 case, and I'll give you my opinion. You 
 needn't pay that money at all, if you don't 
 want to.' 
 
 Wayfer looked in surprise at his adviser, 
 and then replied, rather impatiently, 
 
 ' But they know about it. They'll go to 
 law.' 
 
 ' They can't go to law. They have 
 nothing to go to law upon. They have no- 
 thing to prove the claim, man. You told 
 me that they didn't even know the amount 
 of it. Your father was near his end, you 
 can swear that his head was deranged afc 
 the time. They can't make you pay the 
 money unless you like.' 
 
 Wayfer fixed his eyes upon the fire, and 
 for some time there was silence. Then he 
 looked into the other's face. 
 
 ' You are right, Clinky, I'll think about 
 it,' he said, slowly. 
 
 Clinkscales was speedily drinking the 
 last half of his ale, and presently he re- 
 placed the empty glass upon the table
 
 1 54 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 ostentatiously. Wayfer was too absorbed 
 to take the hint immediately. 
 
 ' Yes, I'll think about it,' he repeated. 
 ' They can't prove it. They've no document 
 of it.' 
 
 Clinkscales chuckled in the manner 
 habitual with him. 
 
 'Here, Mrs. Honniball !' shouted Wayfer, 
 ' Bring us a quart o' your best, — but, nay^ 
 we'll have something stronger. What '11 
 you have, Clinky?' 
 
 'Whisky and lemon,' replied the other, 
 his eyes running over with inward laughter, 
 which they very easily did. 
 
 The two glasses of mingled whisky and 
 lemonade were brought, and the conver- 
 sation resumed. 
 
 Presently the sound of a cart rumbling 
 up the village street took Wayfer to the 
 window. He looked out and saw a heavy 
 four-wheeled wain with a semi-circular 
 covering upon it coming up the road. 
 
 ' Who is it ?' asked Clinkscales.
 
 THE mayok's levee. 155 
 
 ' Old Peter ; he'll come in, I'll bet.' 
 
 Wayfer was right. The cart stopped in 
 the middle of the road, and a heavy step 
 was at the doorway. The carter put his 
 head over the panels which formed the 
 back of the seat occupied by the Mayor. 
 
 ' Come in, Peter,' cried Clinkscales. 
 ' Plenty of room.' 
 
 ' Cold, Master Clinkscales ; uncommon 
 cold,' said Peter, coming forward to the 
 tire, with much sniffing of the nose, and 
 bringing the cold outer air with him in the 
 flaps of that long white coat of his. *He 
 gave a knock with his cart-whip upon the 
 table as he took a seat. 
 
 *Been to Dorm'tley, Peter?' 
 
 ' Eess. 'T be a blake road, Master 
 Clinkscales. I'll 'ev a quart o' threepenny 
 ale, if you please, Mrs. Honniball ; I be 
 uncommon flat,' added Peter, turning to 
 the landlady who had come in to his 
 summons. 
 
 ''St brought my kettle back, Peter?'
 
 156 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 asked the woman before going to get the ale. 
 
 ^ 0, eess, o' course,' replied the old carter, 
 getting up from his seat. ' I'd clean for- 
 got it : my recollection be a-getting so 
 middlin'. I 'ev it sure enough, Mrs. 
 HonnibalL' 
 
 When Peter had handed over the kettle 
 and it was seen to be right, he took up the 
 mug which had been placed on the table 
 and raised it slowly to his lips. His eyes 
 twinkled at the foam lingering on the sur- 
 face, and then he looked towards Wayfer 
 with : ' My 'spects to 'e. Master Wayfer ; 
 and Master Clinkscales an' all,' he added, 
 turned towards that worthy. With that 
 Peter took a deep draught of the liquor. 
 Clinkscales had his eyes fixed upon the 
 countryman all the time with a critical 
 gaze. He gave an audible chuckle as the 
 mug was replaced upon the table. 
 
 'Feel better, Peter?' 
 
 ' I do, Master Clinkscales. Ale seems 
 more solider 'an cider this cold weather.'
 
 THE mayor's levee. 157 
 
 ' Cider, bah ! 'Teunt fit for pigs ; 't 
 least not for those as have any intellects. 
 Thin, Peter, thin.' 
 
 ' I 'ev heard 'e say that afore, Master 
 Clinkscales ; but it beunt so weak as e'd 
 imagine. But, of course, ye be a town- 
 bred man, and I've heard 'em say as it 
 eunt thought much on in the towns. It 
 do well enough for the like o' we.' 
 
 ' Certainly, man. As I say, you've no 
 intellect to feed. You can always judge 
 of a man by his liquor. If cider don't give 
 a man gripes, he has a poor head-piece.^ 
 
 Wayfer laughed, and the carter gazed 
 for some seconds into the fire. 
 
 ' Do the learnin' affect the innards, then, 
 Master Clinkscales ?' he inquired at last. 
 
 ' Of course it do. Do you expect a 
 scholar to have the same innards as a 
 carter ?' 
 
 ' Well,' mused Peter, ' I never knawed 
 that afore ... But I 'ud rather 'ev the 
 cider, arter all,' added he. ^ I can't think
 
 158 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 as the learning be as useful on a hot day 
 in harvest.' 
 
 ' You're not far wrong, Peter,' interposed 
 Wayfer, who was, for the most part, 
 absorbed in his own thoughts. 
 
 ' There were a rick a-fire at Foxcote last 
 night. Mister Clinkscales. 'T be a-smoking 
 still — was doing as I corned by, however.' 
 
 The two others looked up with alacrity 
 at this piece of information. 
 
 ' Rick fire ! How did it catch ?' asked 
 Wayfer. 
 
 ''Em didn't rightly knaw ; but it seemed 
 by appearance to ha' been done o' purpose, 
 so 'em telled me.' 
 
 ' Sure to have been done on purpose, of 
 course,' said Clinkscales. ' They're not 
 over fond of Yarnold.' 
 
 ' 'Twere only a rick o' straw, for Master 
 Yarnold had thrashed early ; moreover, ur 
 be fully insured, so ur 'unt lose much. 
 But 'em say as ur were flitting about i'
 
 THE mayor's levee. 159 
 
 the niglit a-feared most despert. 'Em 
 thought as he were demented.' 
 
 ' It didn't get to any buildings, then ?' 
 said Wayfer. 
 
 *Noa ; no buildings. 0, noa ; they kep' 
 it off the hayricks an' all.' 
 
 ' I wonder who's starting that game. 
 You'll see that there'll be some more 
 before they've done. One fire never comes 
 alone; not when it is the work of an 
 incendiary.' 
 
 ' There's like to be more, I 'xpects, Mas- 
 ter Clinkscales. But I can't see what gooS 
 'em gets by burning good stuff. It beunt 
 no loss to nobody, only to the insurances.' 
 
 ' It is to give 'scape to their feelings, 
 Peter. They are discontented with the 
 state of things, and no cause to wonder. 
 Aren't you discontented yourself?' 
 
 ^Noa, that I beunt.' 
 
 ' Then you ought to be,' exclaimed 
 Clinkscales. ' You w^ould be if you had
 
 160 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 any intellect. You ought to be taught to 
 be.' 
 
 ' I be uncommon thankful as I 'evn't no 
 intelleck,' replied the carter, rising up from 
 his chair to go. ' It do appear to be a 
 curious concern. It never do no good, I 
 believe ; begging your pardon, Master 
 Clinkscales. 'E tell me as it makes your 
 innards keck over cider, and makes 'e dis- 
 contented wi' the work as 'e 'ev to do. 
 Seemingly it teaches 'e wrong religion an' 
 all. 'Em tell me as ye be all infidels in 
 the towns, however.' 
 
 Peter Rule had reached the door by 
 the time he had finished his remarkable 
 oration. 
 
 'A man can't argue with you, Peter, so 
 you had better get ofi^ to your work. 
 You're an animal.' 
 
 'Eess, I ull. Master Clinkscales. I'll 
 say good-day to 'e ;' and the carter 
 departed. 
 
 ' By gum, I must get mine insured if
 
 THE mayor's LEVEE. 161 
 
 they are getting to that work,' observed 
 Wayfer, when the two were together. 
 
 ' I should, Michael ; but they won't come 
 your Avay. They can't abide Yarnold. 
 They've nothing against you.' 
 
 ' But look here, Christopher ' 
 
 Wayfer was interrupted by yet another 
 corner. Shuffling footsteps were heard in 
 the doorway, and both faces were turned 
 in that direction. A man appeared there 
 dressed like a labourer, with a pinched, 
 discontented-looking visage. 
 
 • Cold,' said he, in a surly tone, walking 
 forward to a chair. 
 
 ' It is cold, Master Riley,' returned 
 Clinkscales. ' Make yourself comfortable.' 
 
 No word passed between Wayfer and 
 the new-comer, but looks did. They were 
 obviously upon no good footing. 
 
 ' Have you heard of this rick-iire, Riley?' 
 asked Clinkscales. 
 
 ' Noa ; what rick-iire ?' 
 
 Clinkscales gave what information he 
 
 A^OL. I. M
 
 162 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 had, to which the other seemed to j^ay 
 great attention. 
 
 Wayfer was going to the door. 
 
 ' I'll see you again, Clinkscales,' he said, 
 as he passed him. 'You can come up to- 
 night, if you like.' 
 
 When the other two were alone. Clink- 
 scales made an attempt to continue the 
 conversation, but silence had fallen upon 
 Riley. He was evidently disinclined to 
 talk, so his companion acquiesced. The 
 latter thrust his pipe between the bars of 
 the grate to re-light it, and then took up 
 the paper. Riley also made preparations 
 for smoking. He produced a black clay 
 pipe and a piece of twist from one waist- 
 coat pocket, and a large knife from the 
 other. He cut up the tobacco in his left 
 palm, and then scooped it into the pipe, 
 pressing it well in with a very dirty fore- 
 :finger. His pipe, too, was then thrust 
 between the bars, and he began afterwards 
 to puff away in silence.
 
 THE mayor's levee. 163 
 
 This last comer was an unpleasant-look- 
 ing man, by no means cleanly of person. 
 His name was Ephraim Riley, and he was 
 the husband of Michael Wayfer's half- 
 sister, of whom we have already had men- 
 tion. Notwithstanding his unfavourable 
 appearance, he was entitled to the name 
 of petty farmer, for he rented about sixty 
 acres of mixed land, possessed a team of 
 ill-conditioned horses, a couple of cows, 
 some pigs, and so forth. He did not 
 look particularly flourishing, nor would 
 one have taken him for an individual of 
 enterprise. He had, nevertheless, begun 
 his life as an ordinary day labourer, 
 w^hereas he now had a stout youth in his 
 own employment. 
 
 It was generally thought that much of 
 his advancement was attributable to his 
 wife, and doubtless there was much truth 
 in this popular supposition. She at least 
 was born of an energetic stock (her father, 
 Jonathan Wayfer, having raised himself 
 
 M 2
 
 1 64 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 from the rank of carter), and we can readily 
 suppose that she had inherited a share of 
 his practical characteristics. It was quite 
 possible for her to have felt that what her 
 father had been able to accomplish her 
 husband could do as well — under the 
 guidance, at least, of her OAvn judicious 
 self. Perhaps, also, her father's altered 
 position in the world aroused some sort of 
 pride in her, and suggested the necessity 
 of altering her own. 
 
 Ephraim Riley's advancement seemed to 
 have brought him but little satisfaction. 
 He had not been a badly-disposed man^ 
 but merely one lacking energy and ambi- 
 tion. His father-in-law had accurately 
 gauged him, and had aptly announced his 
 decision. 
 
 ' Ephraim Riley,' he said, ' were but a 
 poor creature, and couldn't do better than 
 wamble in another man's furrow.' 
 
 He could have gone on happily enough 
 as an unskilled labourer at ten shillings a
 
 THE mayor's levee. 1 65 
 
 week, doing his work just well enough to 
 pass with a not over-strict employer. Under 
 such conditions, he would have slept sound- 
 ly at nights. But, for this life of satisfac- 
 tion, he must not have for a wife Susannah 
 Wayfer. With her it was impossible. She 
 goaded him to action for which he was in 
 no way fitted, and yet which he had not 
 sufficient resolution to resist. The conse- 
 quence was that in course of time he had 
 lost his dull equability of temper, and had 
 got in its place a sour moroseness which 
 made his hfe a torment to himself, as w(!ll 
 as an encumbrance to others. The marvel 
 was that he had not taken to drinking. 
 He had never been known to be the worse 
 for liquor. 
 
 Notwithstanding his altered position, 
 the man was still body and soul a labourer. 
 In the grumbling state to which he had 
 got, he did not grumble about the position 
 of farmers, but about that of labourers. 
 €linkscales found him a very different
 
 166 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 individual to handle from the stubborn 
 unimpressionable Peter Rule. Discontent- 
 ed with his own position in the world, 
 Riley was easily persuaded that our planet 
 w^as topsy-turvy from its foundation. 
 Clinkscales, therefore, generally found in 
 him an appreciative listener. 
 
 The disagreement between Wayfer and 
 this man was a family one. Michaels 
 father had been bitterly opposed to Riley's 
 marriage with his daughter, and a violent 
 quarrel had been the consequence. This 
 the son had inherited, and the ill-footing 
 received constant nourishment from the 
 attitude of Michael himself to his brother- 
 in-law. The son thought no better of 
 Riley than the father had done, and he 
 took no greater pains to disguise his con- 
 temptuous feelings towards him. Naturally 
 this had engendered a very deeply-rooted 
 antipathy in the mind of the despised. 
 Sluggish as Riley's nature was in general^ 
 in this respect it partook of a very active
 
 THE mayor's levee. 167 
 
 degree of virulence. He never spoke much 
 about it, but no doubt his resentment only 
 gnawed the deeper by reason of his silent 
 nursing of it. 
 
 By way of getting his companion's 
 thoughts into the right direction, Clink- 
 scales began to read out the list of local 
 bankrupts which appeared in the Dor- 
 mantley Mirror. He was not ostensibly 
 addressing his remarks to his moody friend, 
 but as there was no third person present, 
 and as Clinkscales was beyond the primi- 
 tive necessity of reading to himself aloud, 
 his object was sufficiently apparent. 
 
 From the Gazette extracts the reader 
 wandered to a law report, — a case in which 
 a landlord had recovered a considerable 
 sum from a tenant under circumstances 
 which appeared harsh to Clinkscales. It 
 was all new to Riley, for, although the 
 information had been for several days 
 before the public, it had failed to reach 
 him. He was not good at reading, and in
 
 168 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 consequence but seldom handled a news- 
 paper. The effect upon him was percepti- 
 ble, and, when Clinkscales was well ad- 
 vanced in a third extract anent disputed 
 tithes, his companion was fully aroused. 
 
 ' Them tithes be a knavish concern,' 
 he interposed, as a comment upon the 
 case. 
 
 ' Robbery, robbery,' added the other. 
 
 ' Go on. Master Clinkscales.' 
 
 ' There now. Master Riley, isn't that 
 bigoted robbery ?' asked the reader, when 
 he had done, looking up with the eye-glasses 
 on the tip of his nose. ' Isn't that plunder- 
 ing the poor, eh ?' 
 
 ' It do seem uncommon like it. But he 
 were only a farmer.' 
 
 'But what affects a farmer affects you. 
 You're all in the same boat. They talk 
 about the tithes falling on the landlord, 
 but it's all sawdust. Ain't that case proof 
 enough, Riley? What can they say after 
 that?'
 
 THE mayor's levee. 169 
 
 ' I dunt want to pay the parsons ; 'em 
 dwunt do nothing for 1.' 
 
 * Of course they don't ; but the peo23le 
 won't see it. Now look at this new man 
 here. He gets your money, and what does 
 he do with it ? He don't spend a penny 
 in the village. Last week he gave fifty 
 pounds for one bit of an old book, and 
 that's more than a man can earn in a year 
 with working thirteen hours a day His 
 missus drives about the country, sticking 
 herself up with the gentry instead of doing 
 something for the people.' • 
 
 ' But Mr. Bewgiass were of a different 
 sort,' suggested Riley. 
 
 ' Of course he was. I'll say nothing 
 against him ; but there's an exception to 
 every rule. And you see what he comes 
 to. There's his widow left without a 
 penny, and now this man's claiming iiYQ 
 hundred pounds from her to build up his 
 stables and farm buildings.' 
 . ' Be that so. Master Clinkscales ?' asked
 
 170 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 Riley, positively witli some display of 
 interest in the topic. 
 
 ' Of course it be, man. I shouldn't be 
 surprised to see her sold up. They tell 
 me that he has the law to do it.' 
 
 ' By gum, that beats all that ever I 
 heard. Mr. Bewglass were kind to me. 
 Ur promised as I should be parish clerk 
 if old Caldicott 'ud ha' died.' 
 
 ' But talking of Bewglass, puts me in 
 mind of Michael ' Wayfer. What is the 
 dilFerence between you ?' 
 
 Riley's face changed at once. 
 
 'That be nothing to you, Master Clink- 
 scales,' he said, in a surly tone. 
 
 'That's a truism, too,' replied Clink- 
 scales, with a chuckle. ' I meant no offence, 
 man. It seems to me, though, that you 
 might be useful to each other if you were 
 friends. He's the right sort is Michael 
 Wayfer.' 
 
 ' Ur 'ev done no good to I, however.' 
 
 ' You know your own business, of course.
 
 THE mayor's levee. 171 
 
 I don't want to interfere. 'St going to the 
 supper to-morrow ?' 
 
 ^Eess. I'll go in for a bit. Did 'em 
 catch they as set that rick a-fire, Master 
 Clinkscales?' 
 
 ' They have not done yet. They won't 
 catch 'em. Nobody's ever caught at that 
 work.' 
 
 After this, Riley gradually relapsed into 
 his former state of reserve. Try how 
 Clinkscales would, he was unable to draw 
 him out again. The clouds, from which 
 his face had not been at any time fr^e, 
 were welded into one uniform veil. The 
 scanty ditch-water flow of his conversation 
 wholly ceased. Presently he drank off hi& 
 ale, and, without another syllable, depart- 
 ed. Mr. Clinkscales continued to muse 
 about him as he looked into the fire. 
 
 ' Just the man for dirty work. He'd 
 shoot Wayfer if he was paid for it.'
 
 172 - i 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 REFLECTIONS. 
 
 As Michael Wayfer was going up the 
 village from the inn, busied with that 
 thought which Clinkscales had imparted 
 to him, he encountered Joice Radway. 
 The meeting was an unfortunate one, as 
 was obvious from the faces of both parties. 
 Wayfer was not ignorant of the aspect his 
 conduct must assume to the eyes of people 
 in general, nor was he ignorant of Joice's 
 perception of it. Her attitude to it, more- 
 over, made his position the more difficult. 
 Had she taunted him with his faithless 
 behaviour, as he knew the generality of 
 girls would have done, his course would 
 have been easy enough. It was Joice's
 
 KEFLECTIONS. 173 
 
 patience whicli touched what was human 
 in his nature, and brought about his 
 feeling of discomfort. Since the interview 
 in the dark, she had not passed another 
 word upon the matter. 
 
 In the present pre-occupied state of his 
 mind, the meeting was peculiarly distaste- 
 ful. He had not the face to entirely ignore 
 her, nor yet to pass her by as an ordinary 
 acquaintance : so when they came up to 
 each other he stopped. He attempted a 
 smile as he did so. 
 
 'All right, Joice?' he said. 
 
 'Yes, Michael.' 
 
 ' I can't stay now, as I am busy. You — 
 you'll come to the dance to-morrow night, 
 I suppose ?' 
 
 The tone was a dagger in the heart of 
 the other, although Wayfer had intended 
 it to be quite pleasant. 
 
 ' Yes, I shall come. You will be there 
 too ?' — she looked up to, his face as she 
 spoke.
 
 174 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 ' Oh, yes. Good-bye.' And, with a nod, 
 he went on his way. 
 
 For the rest of the day Joice was miser- 
 able. Not that in these days she was ever 
 much otherwise ; but there are degrees 
 even in wretchedness. 
 
 Her great perplexity lay in deciding 
 what to do ; for, strange as it may seem, it 
 did not occur to her to do nothing. True, 
 she was. effectually checked as regarded 
 Wayfer himself. She was disabled for 
 further action towards him. She was more 
 nervous in commencing action in another 
 quarter, although she was aware of the 
 direction in which it should lie. Joice 
 knew quite well that girls were daily 
 deserted : deserted too in painful circum- 
 stances with which her own offered no 
 comparison. But she shrank from realising 
 that such fate awaited her. We never 
 can realise to ourselves that a threatened 
 calamity will actually befall us. Some- 
 thing will interpose to avert it. Why
 
 REFLECTIONS. 175 
 
 Wayfer had wearied of her she did not 
 pretend to determine ; but, as to who was 
 to benefit by the change, she had a very 
 accurate suspicion. It was this that made 
 her position the more difficult. She had a 
 genuine love for Miss Sulby. The latter had 
 even shown her the most substantial marks 
 of kindness, and how could she go before 
 her with the upbraiding of jealousy on her 
 lips ? But Ruth knew, thought Joice, 
 knew how her whole life was wrapped up 
 in it. 
 
 With her father, Joice had not discussed 
 her situation. Both preserved a rigid re- 
 ticence with regard to it. The old man 
 had not failed to notice the change in his 
 daughter of late, nor had he had any diffi- 
 culty in assigning to it a cause. It was as 
 obvious to him as it was to his daughter 
 that Michael Wayfer had altered in his 
 attitude towards them ; but, unlike Joice, 
 he attributed it to a reason quite wide of 
 the mark. Wayfer s father was dead ; he
 
 176 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 now had money and a farm of his own ; he 
 was altogether in a different position from 
 when he first took a fancy to Joice. Giles 
 Radway knew enough of the world for 
 this. He was well aware of the humble- 
 ness of his own position in the eyes of that 
 world, and of course it was natural enough 
 that the promising young farmer should 
 turn his attention somewhat higher. 
 
 Still, there was much genuine philoso- 
 phy in the old countryman. As he thought 
 of these things, a smile played upon his face 
 at the recollection of some episode in early 
 life in which the father of this very Way- 
 fer had played a part. In that vision of 
 the past, Giles Radway was the benefactor 
 and Jonathan Wayfer the suppliant. But 
 Giles entertained no shadow of resent- 
 ment. He possessed a happy, objective 
 frame of mind, (the result of the reality 
 of his religion,) which made him equal 
 to the very highest of philosophers. 
 Never had he held out his hand from any
 
 KEFLECTIONS. 177 
 
 sordid motive, therefore lie was indifferent 
 to all ingratitude and neglect. Theirs was 
 the loss not his. For his part, he could 
 pass this pleasant smile upon the trans- 
 actions. However, Giles's reading of the 
 present situation was not quite accurate. 
 His daughter had hit it better; but she 
 had the advantage of that penetrative 
 power of reading which belongs to love's 
 fine wit. No thought like this of her 
 father's had ever crossed Joice's mind ^ 
 she handled merely the resultant facts. 
 
 So Michael was going to the dance : the 
 thought of this occupied her most of the 
 afternoon. She could think of nothing 
 but Mr. Kimble's harvest supper. It was 
 not that her mind was pleasantly employed 
 in the vision of dancing with partners in 
 that large illuminated granary, amidst the 
 exhilarating strains of fiddle and clario- 
 net, and the incessant clatter of tongues. 
 She looked forward to it with widely 
 different sensations from those she had 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 experienced last year. Tremors there were, 
 it is true, but not such as those with which 
 we anticipate keen pleasures. The event 
 was to decide somethinoj which lay heavy 
 on her mind. There she would come into 
 contact with Miss Sulby and Michael 
 Wayfer together, and the informal nature 
 of the entertainment would enable her to 
 profit by the situation. 
 
 At last, when daylight had almost gone, 
 her father returned home to tea, or rather 
 to a mixed meal of dinner and tea. He 
 had been busy spreading stones upon the 
 road over the hill-top, so that it had been 
 inconvenient for him to reach home at 
 midday. On such occasions he took with 
 him some bread and cheese, and a small 
 bottle of home-made parsnip wine diluted 
 with water, to serve for luncheon, and 
 Joice had something extra for him at tea- 
 time. A savoury odour greeted Giles's 
 nostrils as he entered his dusky cottage, 
 and he saw his daughter in the light of the
 
 REFLECTIONS. 179 
 
 fire leaning over a frying-pan. By the 
 time the old man was seated, she had 
 emptied the contents into a vegetable dish 
 which stood upon the fender, and then 
 she lit the lamp, and pulled down the 
 blinds. 
 
 ' Now, father, it is ready. Are you 
 cold?' 
 
 'Rather cold, Joice; but this scarf do 
 make avast odds. It be a-closing-in rather 
 damp to-night.' 
 
 The two pulled up to the table and 
 Joice poured out the tea. Giles addressed 
 himself to the vegetable dish. In the lamp- 
 light it was seen to contain a dark- coloured 
 conglomerate, which consisted, in fact, of 
 a preparation of miscellaneous vegetables 
 which had remained over from former 
 meals. They were now blended into this 
 irrecognizable mixture by being chopped 
 up together and fried in bacon fat. 
 
 They did not converse much at meals. 
 After they had proceeded for some time in 
 
 n2
 
 180 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 silence, Joice spoke. The old man had 
 just put his cup upon the cloth, and was 
 raising the saucer to his lips. 
 
 ' Why does not Miss Sulby come to the 
 singing-class now, father?' she said, look- 
 ing down at her plate. 
 
 'That I don't rightly know, Joice,' was 
 the reply. 'But I believe it were as some 
 o' the young men wanted to make friends. 
 Her yent like a-many o' the girls, any 
 more than you be yourself; but her didn't 
 tell me a dale about the matter. Her 
 never did say much about herself as you 
 know. It beunt from no displeasure with 
 we ; very far from it, in fact. 0, no, her 
 beo^o'ed me not to imagine as it were that.' 
 
 ' I know it is not that,' said Joice, ' for 
 she is just the same to us.' 
 
 ' Just the same, o' course,' assented the 
 old man, as he helped himself to the dish 
 that was before him. 
 
 After that they again lapsed into silence. 
 
 When Joice had Avashed and put away
 
 REFLECTIONS. 181 
 
 the tea-things, she sat down in a chair 
 opposite to her father. He was handling 
 his fiddle with the intention, as he had 
 stated, of playing over the airs which 
 would be wanted for the next day's danc- 
 ing. He had scarcely begun when the 
 cottage door was opened and closed. This 
 was followed by a knock at their inner 
 <:loor, and immediately thereafter a head 
 appeared through the doorway. 
 
 ' Now then, Master Radway, can you 
 give shelter to a tramp?' 
 
 ' Wh}^ Mr. Kimble !' exclaimed Radway, 
 when his scrutinizing glance had given 
 way to laughter. ' Come in, sir, pray.' 
 
 The visitor accepted the invitation and 
 came forward into the room. 
 
 ' Haven't the nightingales come yet 
 then ?' 
 
 'No, sir, not to-night,' replied Giles, as 
 well as he could through his laughter. ' It 
 beunt their night.' 
 
 Giles enjoyed mightily this gentleman's
 
 182 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 vein of mirth, and thought nobody in the 
 world could excel him in joking. As Mr. 
 Kimble came forward, he greeted Joice/ 
 and pulled up a chair to her side. 
 
 This visitor was the principal farmer in 
 Shipcombe, and always a good friend to 
 Giles. As Mr. Kimble took his seat, 
 Radway fixed radiant eyes upon his 
 face. It was a countenance to look 
 upon with envy, at least in its present 
 aspect of good humour. The whole 
 face in the lamp-light was ruddy with 
 the glow of obtrusive health. The cold 
 night air had thus heightened it, but 
 Mr. Kimble was at no time pale. The 
 bushy whiskers on each cheek were quite 
 grey, as was also his thick head of hair. 
 His mouth was kept free by the razor and 
 was an unmistakable index to the man. 
 One would have said that the face was- 
 capable of a very different expression from 
 its present one, if the attendant circum- 
 stances were different. Those lips were
 
 REFLECTIONS. 183 
 
 never unclinclied without purpose, if it 
 were only to crack a bad joke. Energy 
 peeped out at all points, to the exclusion, 
 some might have thought, of the gentler 
 qualities. It was hard to imagine such a 
 man capable of a mean action ; but it 
 would not have surprised one to be told 
 that he might have kept to the letter of a 
 bond when another would have stretched 
 it out of sympathy. Justice and benevo- 
 lence are not synonymous. Mr. Kimble 
 had both, but in practice the two were not 
 likely to clash in his hands. However, 'it 
 may be safely hazarded that a man given 
 to cracking such bad jokes as those of 
 Mr. Kimble, could never be anything but 
 human. 
 
 Master Rad way's testimony was undoubt- 
 edly worth something, and his feeling was 
 obvious enough in his face. There was 
 nothing actually familiar in his attitude, 
 but at the same time he appeared perfectly 
 at ease. He did not go out of his way to
 
 184 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 be deferential, as he undoubtedly did 
 towards the majority of those of Mr. 
 Kimble's class. Giles felt towards this gen- 
 tleman as most of us feel towards those 
 who understand us, and whose good opin- 
 ion we are proud to call ours. This genial 
 feeling was heightened in Giles's case be- 
 cause of the superiority of his friend's 
 social position. Perhaps nothing could 
 display more strongly the essential worthi- 
 ness of the nature of both. 
 
 ' I was just coming up from Mrs. Bew- 
 glass',' said the visitor, when they were all 
 seated, ' so I thought I'd look in to see 
 that you were ready for the supper to- 
 morrow night, Giles. You've not broken 
 all your strings ?' 
 
 ' 0, no, sir. All sound as a bell. I was 
 but just a-going to try them.' 
 
 ' Go a-head, then.' 
 
 Giles played through the ' Keel Row,' to 
 which Mr. Kimble whistled by way of 
 accompaniment.
 
 REFLECTIONS. 185 
 
 ' That'll do,' cried Mr. Kimble, when 
 it was finished. ' You're coming, Joice, of 
 course?' 
 
 Yes, sir. 
 
 'There'd be plenty disappointed, if you 
 didn't. I'll answer for that — eh, Giles ?' 
 
 The young woman blushed, and her 
 father laughed. 
 
 ' I hear as things be a-going badly with 
 Mrs. Bewglass, sir,' remarked Giles, after 
 that. 
 
 *Yes, yes, very badly. But who has 
 been gossiping to you about it?' 
 
 ' It be but the general rumour,' the old 
 man hastened to assert. * Poor lady, it be 
 hard at her time of life !' 
 
 ' It is. But I mustn't stay any longer. 
 Don't be late to-morrow, Giles.' 
 
 Mr. Kimble was again upon his feet, and 
 making his way towards the door. 
 
 ' 0, no, sir.' 
 
 'You'd better thresh your wheat this 
 week, Giles,' remarked the farmer, as he
 
 186 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 stood in the doorway. * We can spare the 
 machine any day you want it.' 
 
 'Thank you, sir, I'm sure,' re23lied the 
 other, with a bow. ' I see the prices be 
 up. They tell me as the Lammas wheat 
 be a-casting badly.' 
 
 ^ Very badly. Good-night, Joice ; good- 
 night, Giles ;' and the visitor had gone. 
 
 Radway returned to the fireside. 
 
 ' Quite one of the old sort, Joice,' he re- 
 marked. 'There be but few like him,, 
 however.' 
 
 ' He did not want to talk of Mrs. Bew- 
 glass. You ought not to have mentioned 
 it, father.' 
 
 'True enough. It w^ere my mistake. 
 But there'll be no offence ; no harm done.' 
 
 ' Did Mr. Bewglass die very much in 
 debt, father?' 
 
 ' 0, no, very far from it. It be that 
 surveyor's report for what they call dilapi- 
 dations as be the item, so they tell me. 
 The vicar, Mr. Silverside, be a-claiming
 
 EEFLECTIONS. 187 
 
 nearly four hundred pounds from tlie poor 
 
 lady, and I understand as her have nothing 
 
 to pay it with.' 
 
 ' But Mr. Gabriel will help his mother.' 
 ' That ur would o' course ; but ur've no 
 
 money, Joice. Only just enough to live 
 
 on, however, and to keep his mother an^ 
 
 all.' 
 
 ' Well, I think law is a wicked thing,^ 
 
 concluded the daughter, with emphasis.
 
 188 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 A DANCE IN THE GRANARY. 
 
 The following day was the eventful Wed- 
 nesday, long looked forward to in Ship- 
 combe, and in the evening was held the 
 harvest supper. It was later than usual 
 this year, first on account of Mr. Kimble's 
 hill crops being seriously retarded by the 
 bad autumn weather, and latterly by sev- 
 eral engagements of the good farmer him- 
 self. He never had the supper until he 
 could be present to preside in person. He 
 was the only farmer in the district who 
 kept up the old custom, and it was con- 
 sequently an occurrence of some impor- 
 tance to the neighbourhood. Mr. Kimble, 
 being somewhat old-fashioned, was not so
 
 A DA.NCE IN THE GRANARY. 189 
 
 squeamish as to grudge his men the oppor- 
 tunity of getting drunk once a year at his 
 expense, immoral as we are rightly growing 
 to consider it in these days. Everybody 
 in the district attended, at the after-supper 
 dance if not at the actual feast. It was 
 quite as great an event as the wake itself, 
 and much greater than the club dinner, 
 because this latter institution was con- 
 fined to the male population mainly. 
 
 Mr. Kimble's gardener had been active 
 for a day or two in doing what was pos- 
 sible for the decoration of the srranarv. In 
 
 t>' 
 
 this work he had had an energetic ally in 
 Miss Dorothy Silverside. As her father 
 had only held the vicarage for about 
 twelve months, she still showed a con- 
 siderable zeal in all popular and social 
 undertakings of the parish ; much to the 
 disapprobation, it may be mentioned, of her 
 mother. This lady had an intense repug- 
 nance towards anything that was vulgar. 
 She could contribute her subscription,
 
 190 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 €illow her name to appear as a patroness, 
 ^ven dispense soups and jellies (through 
 her cook) with the most philanthropic of 
 ladies ; but she could not personally come 
 in contact with the common life around 
 her. Her daughter, on the other hand, saw 
 no reason why she should not do in her 
 own person what her mother preferred to 
 do vicariously. The resultof the joint efforts 
 of the gardener and the young lady was a 
 very tasteful disposal about the granary 
 of corn, flowers, shrubs, and evergreens. 
 When lit up in anticipation of the guests, 
 the room had a very unbarnlike appearance. 
 Long before nine o'clock, the hour ap- 
 pointed for the dancing to begin, troops of 
 villagers and servants from the neigh- 
 bouring farms were flocking to the ren- 
 dezvous. All were in Sunday attire, and 
 radiant with holiday countenances. The 
 air of the assembly-room grew redolent of 
 various pomades and inexpensive species 
 of scent, which blended with the inevitable
 
 A DANCE IN THE GRANARY. 191 
 
 chaff-like aroma of a granary and the car- 
 bonic acid from the plants, in addition to 
 the odour from the paraffin lamps. To 
 pass the time until the principal detach- 
 ment should join them, — those partaking 
 of the supper at the house, — the youth 
 indulged in various forms of primitive 
 horse-play. Leap-frog of a clumsy kind 
 for the more active ; prodding in the 
 stomach and consequent simulated wrest- 
 ling for those who were heavier, and 
 who yet had equal need of passing off 
 somehow the superabundant energy. 
 
 Clinkscales was there, come to claim a 
 share of the beer, and he was at present 
 equally taken up with his patronizing dis- 
 quisitions to the elders and his resentment 
 of the disrespectful familiarity of youths. 
 He felt some relief at the appearance of 
 his friend Michael Wayfer, and the two im- 
 mediately joined in separate conversation. 
 
 Very soon after the arrival of Wayfer, 
 a gentleman entered the place who seemed
 
 192 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 a stranger amongst those assembled there. 
 He surveyed the room with curiosity, but 
 no face seemed to respond to his with recog- 
 nition. It was impossible to think him an 
 agriculturist, such a contrast was he to all 
 those who were present. He was obvious- 
 ly well advanced in middle age, for his sandy 
 beard was tinged with grey and his figure 
 displayed the proportions of maturity. He 
 was clothed with some appearance of elabor- 
 ation, and in a manner which made his 
 position in life more difficult to determine. 
 Nothing pronounced him flagrantly vulgar, 
 although he did not bear the stamp of re- 
 fined breeding ; his frock coat was such as 
 eminently became him, and his Avatch 
 chain was of quite modest pretensions. 
 That jingling, which was audible as he 
 moved, proceeded from no obtrusive seal 
 pendents, but from an inoffensive rimless 
 eye-glass which hung by a black cord from 
 around his neck, and dangled low down 
 against his waistcoat.
 
 A DANCE IN THE GRANARY. 193 
 
 The gentleman's fingers were often play- 
 ing in its vicinity, apparently more from 
 nervousness than ostentation, for the glass 
 had not yet been raised to his eye. At 
 length, something suspended from a beam 
 over his head engaged his attention, and he 
 raised his face to look more closely at it 
 through his eye-glass. The movement 
 offered some assistance in forming a judg- 
 ment of him, by displaying the point at 
 which his clothing most distinctly be- 
 trayed him. His beard had hitherto 
 screened his brilliant tie, which filled the 
 open space in his waistcoat with a patch 
 suggesting the midsummer sky. It was, 
 moreover, that flat kind of expanse which 
 inevitably gives a hint of coloured flannel 
 behind. The visitor, then, must be of 
 plebeian extraction. 
 
 His eye had surveyed all the room and 
 its decorations before it fell upon Wayfer 
 and Clinkscales. When at last these two 
 were observed in a far corner of the room, 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 r
 
 194 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 the gentleman crossed over with alacrity 
 and held forth his hand to the young 
 farmer. Wayfer cast his eyes upon him 
 with a look of surprise. 
 
 ^How do you do, Mr. "Wayfer? The 
 mirth is not yet at its height.' 
 
 ' Why, how do you do, Mr. Philpin ? 
 Who on earth thought of seeing you 
 here ?' 
 
 ' Come — a — come to take a part in the 
 vanity, Mr. Wayfer.' 
 
 * Mr. Philpin, to be sure!' exclaimed 
 Clinkscales, holding forth his hand in his 
 turn, with a scrutinizing glance at the 
 visitor's coat. ^Didn't recognize you for 
 the moment, sir.' 
 
 Mr. Philpin it undoubtedly was, that 
 gentleman whom we saw in authority in 
 the lawyer's office and whom most of us 
 have doubtless forgotten. It was difficult 
 to recognise him in the midst of such in- 
 congruous surroundings. 
 
 ' I hope times are well with you, Mr.
 
 A DANCE IN THE GRANARY. 195 
 
 Clinkscales,' said the quasi-lawyer, slight- 
 ly bowing as he took the other's hand. 
 
 ' Might be better, sir, and that's a 
 truism. It's a vile century, Mr. Philpin ; 
 a time of transition when men of intellect 
 go to the wall. Don't you find it so ?' 
 
 ' There's much in what you say, Mr. 
 Clinkscales,' replied Philpin, using an un- 
 compromising phrase as less offensive than 
 a contradiction or expression of disagree- 
 ment. 
 
 ' Why, of course. Did you ever study , 
 logic, sir? But of course you have ac- 
 quired it in the course of your profession. 
 I can prove to you, Mr. Philpin, by logic 
 that everything, institution, social, politi- 
 cal, and — and cetera is in a bad way. 
 All rotten, and must be carted away if the 
 world is to breathe. First, now ' 
 
 Mr. Clinkscales' harangue was cut short 
 by the distant strains of a violin and the 
 consequent bustle of preparation amongst 
 those assembled. All unseemly jesting was 
 
 o2
 
 196 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 immediately stopped, and the youths, who 
 but a moment before had been so remark- 
 ably active, lapsed into the most sheepish 
 of rustics. The sound of the music came 
 nearer, and the confused tread of feet was 
 heard in the rick-yard below. The scuffle 
 advanced up the stone steps, and heads 
 appeared through that doorway in the 
 corner. All eyes were turned towards it 
 with eagerness, and murmured applause 
 greeted the first couple that stepped for- 
 ward. These were Mr. and Mrs. Kimble 
 in person. A few of their select friends 
 were behind them ; then came the body of 
 farm-servants. Amongst them were the 
 musicians of the evening : Mr. Giles Rad- 
 way, the violin, and Mr. Nathan Bench, 
 the clarionet. 
 
 When all had got settled into places, the 
 host stepped forward to the front. Silence 
 fell upon the whole assembly. 
 
 ' I am not going to make a speech, my 
 friends,' Mr. Kimble began, ' as you have
 
 A DANCE IN THE GRANARY. 197 
 
 not come to see or hear me. I only wish 
 to bid you all welcome, and to express my 
 jpleasure at seeing so many of you assem- 
 bled. I think these yearly meetings do 
 €very one of us good, and it appears that 
 you are of my opinion. As has been the 
 case for the last fifteen years, the arrange- 
 ments to-night are in the hands of my 
 gardener, Mr. Jelf, and I believe he knows 
 how to give you general satisfaction. You 
 all know the one condition that I make, 
 and it is hardly necessary to repeat it. To 
 Mr. Jelf must all differences be referred, 
 and I expect implicit obedience to his 
 directions. Now I hope you will enjoy 
 yourselves thoroughly, and have nothing 
 to regret when it is over.' 
 
 Directly Mr. Kimble's voice had ceased, 
 another was raised at the opposite end 
 of the room. It was immediately recog- 
 nised as that of Mr. Christopher Clink- 
 scales. 
 
 ' Three cheers for Mr. and Mrs. Kimble !
 
 198 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 Hip, hip, hurrah ! ! !' And very heartily 
 they were given. 
 
 The rino;ing still lingered amongst the 
 rafters, when the musical instruments broke 
 forth. It was the irresistible ' Keel Row' 
 that had been chosen, and no further in- 
 vitation was found necessary. The two to 
 whom had been awarded the honour of 
 opening spun out on the expanse of boards 
 before them, and they were immediately 
 followed by others. All became at once a 
 scene of bustle and dust. 
 
 No sooner had the dance thus com- 
 menced, than Mr. Kimble was looking 
 anxiously about him. He was evidently 
 in search of somebody. He elbowed his 
 way about amongst the throng, looking in 
 this direction and that, with obviously 
 increasing impatience. At last he encoun- 
 tered Joice Radway, who wore anything 
 but a merry countenance. The gentleman 
 seized hold of her arm.
 
 A DANCE IN THE GRANARY. 199 
 
 'Where's Miss Sulby, Joice? Have you 
 seen her?' 
 
 Joice started at the question, as if it had 
 touched a thought of her own. 
 
 ' I have not seen her, sir. I don't think 
 she has come.' 
 
 ' Not come ! What the deuce does she 
 mean?' 
 
 Again Mr. Kimble proceeded with his 
 search, putting his question to several 
 others he encountered. Nobody had seen 
 the school-mistress ; Joice, then, must te 
 right in her conclusion. Now the master 
 was elbowing his way to the door in the 
 corner, and presently he was in the fresh 
 night air. All the houses Avere distinguish- 
 able in the moonlight, and black shadows 
 were thrown across the road. Mr. Kimble 
 hastened to the silent school-house. The 
 gate into the yard was locked, and he 
 shook it quite angrily in his impatience. 
 Simultaneously he called out at the top of
 
 200 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 his voice, and v/as answered by the savage 
 bark of Ruth's dog. 
 
 The voice must have been audible 
 throughout the village, so that it would 
 easily go through that closed door and 
 shutters. It aroused no feeling of surprise 
 in Miss Sulby. She knew Mr. Kimble by 
 this time, and she had been fearing this 
 sound through the whole of the evening. 
 In imagination she had heard it before ; 
 but this time it was no delusion. She 
 went nervouslv to the door and walked 
 out to the gateway. 
 
 * What on earth are you doing in there? 
 Unlock this gate for me instantly.' 
 
 Ruth did so with all submission, having 
 brought the key out with her for the 
 purpose. 
 
 ' I didn't feel quite well,' she muttered 
 to her visitor, as she was doing it. 
 
 Mr. Kimble took her by the arm, and 
 almost dragged her into the house. The 
 dog had become silent at the known voice,
 
 A DANCE IN THE GKANARY. 201 
 
 and followed the two through the door- 
 way. When they stepped into the quiet 
 lamp-light of the room, the gentleman 
 turned Ruth round to face him, and laid 
 a hand gently upon each of her shoulders. 
 She looked up at him with a smile. 
 
 ' You don't look as if you had much 
 amiss. It's nothing but those cursed 
 books. Leave them and come along with 
 me.' 
 
 ' I really don't feel inclined for the 
 uproar.' 
 
 ' Nonsense ! It's the very thing to do 
 you good. 1 consider it an insult that you 
 haven't come.' 
 
 Ruth knew the futility of resisting him, 
 nevertheless she made one further attempt. 
 
 ' I won't have any excuses. You needn't 
 dance if you don't feel inclined to, but 
 come down to the room you shall. I have 
 never had a better assembly. It is incom- 
 plete without you. The vicar and his 
 daughter have come in. Now run and put
 
 202 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 on your things, for the people will think I 
 have left them.' 
 
 In a few minutes she was ready to ac- 
 company him. The lamp was left alight 
 upon the table, and Ruth ordered the dog 
 to his place upon the rug. The two then 
 hurried off to the granary. 
 
 Others were on the look-out for Miss 
 Sulby besides Joice Radway and the mas- 
 ter of the feast. As soon as the dancing 
 had commenced, Wayfer sidled off from his 
 two elderly companions. Even Mr. Phil- 
 pin showed an inclination to be moving, 
 and was uneasy under Clinkscales' disser- 
 tation. At last he could sustain his posi- 
 tion no longer, and eagerly made use 
 of his eye-glass. The next moment Mr. 
 Clinkscales was standing solitary. 
 
 It chanced that, as Mr. Philpin took his 
 survey of the assembly, Mr. Kimble and 
 the school- mistress had just joined it. 
 They appeared to have given a direction 
 to his footsteps, for his eyes were riveted
 
 A DANCE IN THE GRANARY. 203 
 
 upon them as he proceeded. When within 
 a few yards of where they were standing, 
 he found that he was at the elbow of 
 Michael Wayfer. The lawyer immediately 
 mastered his diffidence, and, with an air of 
 stately courtesy, presented himself to the 
 provider of the entertainment. 
 
 ' Bless me, Philpin !' cried Mr. Kimble, 
 when he saw him, ' you must be younger 
 than I thought you, if you can come as far 
 as this to see some dancing. Why didn't 
 you come in to supper ?' 
 
 • Should not have thought of presuming 
 so far, sir,' replied the other, with his 
 customary bow. 
 
 At that moment Miss Sulby recognised 
 him, and he showed his appreciation of her 
 gracious remembrance. 
 
 ' Hem ! good-evening, Miss Sulby ;' with 
 a repetition of the stately obeisance. 
 
 'What! You know Mr. Philpin, then, 
 do you ? I'll be bound he has come over 
 purposely to dance with you.'
 
 204 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 There was perhaps more truth in the 
 jest than was suspected ; at least, Mr. Phil- 
 pin betrayed the slightest nervous con- 
 fusion. He played vigorously with his 
 eye-glass as he responded. 
 
 ' Nothing would give me greater pleas- 
 ure in my journey ;' and his eyes rested 
 upon the face of the school-mistress. 
 
 ' Come, Miss Sulby, you'll never be able 
 to resist that,' cried Mr. Kimble. 
 
 ' May I have the pleasure ?' added the 
 gallant Mr. Philpin. 
 
 ' I did not mean to dance at all to- 
 night.' 
 
 'That's nothing but a half sort of re- 
 fusal. Don't you be put oiF with it, Phil- 
 pin. It will do 3^ou all the good in the 
 world, my girl ; now won't it, Bessie?' said 
 Mr. Kimble, appealing to his wife. 
 
 ' Yes, yes, Ruth ; dance with the gentle- 
 man.' 
 
 At that moment Ruth encountered the 
 glance of Michael Wayfer.
 
 A DANCE IN THE GRANARY. 205 
 
 ' Just one, then,' slie said, and accepted 
 the hand which Mr. Philpin extended to- 
 wards her. 
 
 ' I want one with you myself next,' ex- 
 claimed Mr. Kimble, as they were whirled 
 away into the throng. 
 
 Another pair almost immediately fol- 
 lowed them. It was Wayfer and Joice 
 Radway. 
 
 Mr. Philpin's countenance was radiant. 
 He had got all that he desired, all that he 
 had travelled for from Dormantley that 
 November night, and he looked supremely 
 happy in the acquisition. 
 
 Another there was who was not far be- 
 neath him. She too had got her only wish. 
 Joice could scarcely yet believe it, after all 
 those gloomy forebodings. All was un- 
 real about her ; she was dancing on the 
 clouds. Frequently had she to lift her 
 eyes to his face to convince herself that it 
 was not all a dream. But there could be 
 no mistake ; there was nothing intangible
 
 206 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 about young Wayfer. It was his arm that 
 was around her ; his breath that occasion- 
 ally touched her. More than once Joice's 
 tears were between the lashes, once one had 
 broken the gates ; but nobody ever saw it. 
 All that, at least, she knew must be hidden. 
 Nothing on her part should spoil this 
 wonderful restoration to favour. Perhaps 
 she had been misunderstanding him of late. 
 
 Thus they spun away with all the ap- 
 pearance of enjoyment. No wicked fairy 
 seemed present to chill those spirits with 
 her spite. Even Clinkscales himself seemed 
 content, for he had established himself by 
 the barrels. His speeches to all who came 
 for refreshment led only to additional 
 merriment, for nobody was yet in a mood 
 to pay him serious attention. It was the 
 attempt of everybody to cajole him into a 
 dance ; but in this nobody was able to 
 succeed. 
 
 Mr. Kimble kept his eye upon Philpin, 
 and a merry mischievous eye it was. As
 
 A DANCE IN THE GRANARY. 207 
 
 the rotund gentleman whirled panting by 
 him, the farmer launched good-natured 
 jokes at his head, which were enjoyed by 
 all within hearing. His wife felt occasion- 
 ally called upon to repress him, but her 
 reprimands were of little avail. Every- 
 body to-night w^as a fit subject for his 
 raillery, and he meant to give licence to 
 his mirth. 
 
 At length the looked-for couple was 
 missing, and Mr. Kimble set off to seek 
 them. They were sitting on a bench in a 
 far corner, recovering some degree of com- 
 posure. One at least of them seemed to 
 be in considerable need of it. Mr. Philpin 
 held a crimson silk handkerchief to his 
 forehead and audibly panted for breath. 
 
 ' I am afraid you have done too much, 
 Mr. Philpin,' observed Ruth, in a tone which 
 quite ravished her partner. 
 
 ' No — pher — pher — urh — pher — — 
 no ! It — has made — me twenty — years 
 younger. How b-b-beautifully — you dance,
 
 208 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 Miss Sulby. I could have gone on with it 
 for ever.' 
 
 Ruth did succeed in restraining her smile. 
 
 ^ But,' went on the gentleman through 
 his gasps ; ' but it is awkward that one 
 cannot talk.' 
 
 ' It is not the most convenient situation 
 for conversation.' 
 
 ' Would you like some fresh air, Miss 
 Sulby?' said Philpin, as he put his hand- 
 kerchief away. 
 
 ' 0, no, thank you.' 
 
 ^Did — didyou receive the paper, Miss Sul- 
 by? Marked— the "Ode to Womanhood"?' 
 
 Mr. Philpin put the question under his 
 breath. Ruth displayed her surprise. 
 
 ' You did ! Ha, very good — not a word ! 
 But won't you come into the air for a 
 minute or two ? You look heated, and this 
 room is getting ' 
 
 ' No, thank you. I shall go home before 
 very long. I only came for a short time 
 as Mr. Kimble wished it.'
 
 A DANCE IN THE GRANARY. 209 
 
 ' But, — but you will not go home 
 aloue ?' 
 
 ' 0, yes, Mr. Philpin, I shall. There is 
 nothing to fear in Shipcombe. I have only 
 a short distance to go.' 
 
 ' But you will not deny me the 
 privilege ^ 
 
 Something at that moment flashed across 
 the school-mistress's mind. Wayfer and 
 Joice had passed closely before her, per- 
 haps it was they that had prompted the 
 thought. She altered the reply which 
 she had been about to give. 
 
 ' I should be sorry to interrupt your en- 
 joyment, when you have come so far ' 
 
 ' Interrupt my enjoyment ! If you go, 
 you — my dear Miss Sulby, I have no en- 
 joyment — nothing would give me greater 
 pleasure than to accompany you.' 
 
 ' It is very kind of you, Mr. Philpin. 
 I shall be glad then to accept of your 
 company.' 
 
 See the look upon the good man's face. 
 
 VOL. I; p
 
 210 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 He did indeed at that moment look quite 
 young again. At the next his countenance 
 fell. Mr. Kimble had just come in sight. 
 
 'You will let me know when you are 
 ready?' said Philpin, in a hurried way to 
 his companion. 
 
 ' Well done, Philpin, my man !' was the 
 farmer's jovial greeting. 'You beat us all 
 to smithereens.' 
 
 ' All the praise is due to my partner, 
 sir,' said Mr. Philpin, with the utmost 
 modesty. 
 
 'You had a good one, I know. But 
 come, you will be wanting some refresh- 
 ment. Miss Sulby will excuse you for a 
 few minutes.' 
 
 The two went in the direction of Clink- 
 scales' corner, and presently Ruth also 
 moved from her place. Before the latter 
 had gone very far along the room, she 
 found Joice sitting upon a seat by herself. 
 They greeted each other with pleasure, and 
 fiuth sat down upon the same bench.
 
 A DANCE m THE GRANARY. 211 
 
 Whilst they talked, a portly woman swept 
 close before them and looked very fixedly 
 at the school-mistress. The latter imme- 
 diately recognized her, and acknowledged 
 her by a slight inclination of the head. 
 The woman thereupon stopped and asked 
 if she could speak to Miss Sulby alone. 
 Ruth rose up and the two walked leisurely 
 away. Joice saw them disappear through 
 a crowd. 
 
 The request had caused considerable 
 surprise to Miss Sulby, and it was with- 
 -curiosity she followed her companion to a 
 corner. This woman had no children at 
 the school, so that could not be the sub- 
 ject of the consultation. It was the larger 
 of the two women who showed the most un- 
 easiness. Ruth was tolerably composed. 
 
 ' I have been thinking about this money,' 
 began one of them. 
 
 ' You need not trouble about that, Mrs. 
 Riley. I have not had another thought 
 about it.' 
 
 p2
 
 212 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 Mrs. Riley stared into her companion's 
 face until Ruth blushed. 
 
 ' But I 'ev. You'd better take some of 
 it back. I never wanted to take none of 
 it from you.' 
 
 ' I would rather not, thank you. It 
 was never my intention to accept it. 
 You have more right to it than I have.' 
 
 ' 'S like I 'ev,' replied the other ; ' but I 
 dwunt feel over comfortable about it. It 
 was yours by the wdll.' 
 
 ' Never mind anything about that. I 
 don't wish to have it, so let that satisfy 
 you.' 
 
 ' Well, 'e bist a queer un. Take a 
 hunderd of it. I 'ev it, i' my skirt here.' 
 
 ' No, thank you. If that is all you w^ant 
 to ask me, it is no use our talking.' 
 
 'Take fifty.' 
 
 ' Not a penny. Give it to your sisters 
 if you do not want it yourself 
 
 'Nay, that I 'unt !' cried the woman^ 
 with much determination.
 
 A DANCE IN THE GRANARY. 213 
 
 ^ Then do whatever you like with it, for 
 I do not wish to have it.' 
 
 Ruth showed an inclination to move and 
 put an end to the conversation. 
 
 ' Well, if I can't move yer, I can't : but 
 ■dunt say as I got it unrighteously.' 
 
 ' I have never hinted at such a thing,' 
 said Ruth, emphatically. 
 
 ' No, I knovf you 'evn't ; but there be 
 them as has.' 
 
 ' Of course, I can't help that. You can 
 tell them that I refuse to take it.' 
 
 The two passed again into the throng 
 and separated. 
 
 It was some time later, when Miss Sulby 
 was standing alone, with a thought of 
 summoning Mr. Philpin to escort her 
 home, that Michael Wayfer approached 
 her. He had been endeavouring through- 
 out the evenino; to brinsr about such an 
 interview, but hitherto with no success. 
 Miss Sulby had been with equal pertinacity 
 plotting to frustrate him, and he suspected
 
 214 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 it. It would have been quite simple for 
 him to have asked her hand in the face of 
 everybody present, and nobody would 
 (yes, one, but only one would) have passed 
 any comment upon it. It was perfect!}^ 
 reasonable that he should dance with the 
 school-mistress, as much so as that he 
 should dance with anybody else in the 
 room ; but he had not made the request. 
 Not made it, because he had been unable 
 to encounter her under what he con- 
 sidered favourable circumstances. A more 
 experienced diplomatist would have acted 
 very differently, as we know, and would 
 without difficultv have achieved his 
 desire. 
 
 However, at last he had caught Ruth as 
 he had been hoping to do for so long. He 
 was by her before she was aware. Her 
 countenance was quite firm and showed 
 no suspicion of uneasiness. Wayfer kept 
 as much command over himself as he was 
 able.
 
 A DANCE IN THE GRANARY. 215 
 
 ' Are you at liberty, Miss Sulby ? will 
 you dance with me ?' 
 
 * I must not dance any more, thank you. 
 I am quite tired.' 
 
 She had had one turn with Mr. Kimble, 
 since that with the man of law. 
 
 'Just one round,' urged Wayfer. 'I 
 have not had one with you.' 
 
 ' I am too tired. I should not have 
 danced at all if Mr. Kimble had not made 
 me.' 
 
 ' I have looked forward all night to 
 having one with you. There is no other 
 partner worth dancing with.' 
 
 ' That at any rate is not true, and you 
 have no right to say it.' 
 
 Ruth's colour rose with her resentment. 
 
 ' It is quite true, whatever you say. If I 
 had known that you would not have danced 
 with me, I should not have come at all. I 
 only came to dance with you.' 
 
 Ruth restrained her feelings, and looked
 
 216 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 into the man's face with firmness. She 
 spoke calmly. 
 
 ' Mr. Wayfer, you know what I think of 
 such statements from you and yet you con- 
 tinue to make them. If you do not know 
 how to behave to others, I can at least tell 
 you how you are to behave to me, and if 
 you have any spark of gentlemanly — no, 
 mere manl}^ feeling you will attend to it. 
 You have no right to use such words to 
 me. You have no right to incessantly 
 annoy me as you do. Having once told 
 you that your attentions are distasteful to 
 me, you ought to know that it is ungentle- 
 manly to thrust them upon me whenever 
 you find an opportunity. It becomes in- 
 sulting ; and there is little credit in in- 
 sulting a woman who has no means of 
 effectually resenting it. Had I such 
 means, jou would not dare to do it. It is 
 because I am alone that you persecute me. 
 You had better engage in some worthier 
 employment.'
 
 A DANCE IN THE GKANARY. 217 
 
 Thereupon Ruth turned her back upon 
 her admirer, and almost walked into the 
 arms of Joice Radway. The latter s face 
 betrayed that she had overheard them, and 
 she turned slowly to follow after the 
 school-mistress. Wayfer strolled away in 
 another direction. 
 
 Miss Sulby was directing her footsteps 
 to the corner whence the doorway gave an 
 exit from the granary. She was oblivious 
 of her promise to Mr. Philpin, indeed of 
 all save the quiet of her own room. She 
 w^ished that she could have sunk into this 
 by some miracle, without the physical 
 effort of walking thither. Joice kept quite 
 close at her heels. 
 
 By the very greatest good fortune, Mr. 
 Kimble was absent from the assembly, so 
 that Ruth escaped without any difficulty. 
 An encounter with the boisterous humour 
 of the farmer would have vanquished her 
 at this moment, so strong was the tension 
 upon her nerves. In fact, the gentlest
 
 218 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 touch miglit have done so, like a finger 
 upon the vibrating bell-metal. She reached 
 the open air without having suffered such 
 contact, and in a few seconds she had grown 
 calmer. 
 
 Ruth, however, had not made her escape 
 unnoticed. Mr. Philpin had had his eye 
 fixed upon her, although he was engaged 
 with another partner, and he had seen the 
 sudden dismissal of Wayfer. It was im- 
 possible for him not to view it with pleasure, 
 but immediately he began to tremble for 
 himself. Miss Sulby had disappeared at 
 that fatal corner. 
 
 He felt that there was not an instant to 
 be wasted, but he was fully equal to the 
 occasion. His partner was abandoned with 
 scant ceremony, and he himself shot 
 directly across the ring. In his eagerness 
 he came in contact with a heavy couple, 
 who came revolving with the solidity of a 
 sphere, and an unlooked-for catastrophe 
 was the result. Mr. Philpin rebounded
 
 A DANCE IN THE GRANARY. 219 
 
 from the collision, being incomparably the 
 lighter of the agents, and lay prostrate in 
 the middle of the floor. He was at once 
 surrounded by a sympathetic, if laughing, 
 group, all eager to offer assistance, for the 
 good-humoured gentleman had made him- 
 self a general favourite. He was found to 
 have suffered no injury, and he turned his 
 accident to a joke. His eye-glass alone had 
 been broken. 
 
 If Joice had not followed Miss Sulby 
 from the assembly, it is possible that poor 
 Philpin's hopes would have been frustrated. 
 When he got out into the rick-yard he 
 would undoubtedly have lost his way 
 there, and very likely would have found 
 himself in the green duck-pond. He was 
 by no means familiar with the locality, and 
 the moon was already near setting. He 
 hesitated when he stepped out into the 
 darkness, and exclaimed, with some bitter- 
 ness, — ' I have missed her ! Oh, grant me 
 thy ray, gentle Luna !'
 
 220 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 As his eyes grew accustomed to tlie 
 obscurity, he could distinguish the objects 
 around him. There was something moving 
 there, about ten yards off, and towards it 
 he strode with impetuosity. 
 
 ^Miss Sulby!' he cried, at the top of his 
 voice. 
 
 The movements stopped. 
 
 ' Why, it is Mr. Philpin !' exclaimed Ruth 
 to her companion, and the breach of her 
 promise flashed upon her. 
 
 'Yes, it is,' cried the gentleman, vehe- 
 mently, immediately recognising the voice 
 of his charmer. 
 
 They stayed for him to come up to 
 them, which he was not long in doing. 
 
 ' My dear Miss Sulby, you ' 
 
 'I am so grieved, Mr. Philpin, that I 
 should have forgotten. It really was quite 
 unintentional. I left suddenly in a state 
 of confusion.' 
 
 This apology made ample amends, being 
 said in so earnest a voice. Indeed, Mr.
 
 A DANCE IN THE GRANiUiY. 221 
 
 Philpin, when lie came to think over it 
 afterwards, gave thanks for the incident 
 that had occasioned it. He felt the sweet 
 sound of it now, and could hardly conceal 
 his transport. 
 
 ' Miss Sulby, you make me most happy.' 
 Ruth requested Joice to accompany 
 them, and the three set off towards the 
 school. The third was not exactly to 
 Mr. Philpin's taste, but he recognized 
 the happiness of even small mercies. 
 He talked just as if Joice were not there, 
 so eager was he to avail himself of the 
 occasion. 
 
 The gate was, of course, reached much 
 too soon, and Mr. Philpin must take his 
 farewell. He lingered for some seconds 
 before going, although Ruth had with- 
 drawn quickly her hand from the warm 
 pressure which he was anxious to bestow. 
 She and Joice were already at the doorway, 
 when Mr. Philpin again summoned Ruth 
 to him. He put his face over the railings
 
 222 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 and she stood within a reasonable distance. 
 
 ' You did receive the newspaper, Miss 
 :Sulby ?' he said, in a tremulous whisper. 
 
 ' 0, yes. Did you send it ? Did you 
 mark it ?' 
 
 * Yes — yes, and 1 wrote it.' 
 
 Mr. Philpin had made the confession 
 which had been trembUng upon his 
 tongue all the evening, and he then took 
 his departure to the granary.
 
 223 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE DREGS. 
 
 Michael Wayfer was not a very sensitive 
 mortal, so that he did not feel the sting of 
 Ruth's reproof as some others might have 
 
 done. It had simply made him immeasur- 
 
 • 
 
 ably angry, and subsequently immeasur- 
 ably reckless. He went directly from the 
 interview to the beer barrels, and tried to 
 drown his chagrin in a cup or two. In a 
 short time he was in a better humour, at 
 least judging from his outward appearance, 
 and he was seeking for a more amenable 
 partner. He had but little difficulty in the 
 quest, there being only too many eager to 
 receive him. Soon he grew positively 
 playful with the girls.
 
 224 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 Mr. Philpin also was in highest feather 
 and in very great favour with everybody. 
 During an interval in the dancing, he even 
 gave the company a song, which was re- 
 ceived with uproarious acclamation. There 
 were others emboldened by his example, 
 and this diversion in the entertainment 
 became frequent. 
 
 It was already a good hour after mid- 
 night, and Mr. Kimble and ^his party had 
 long since left. All present were giving 
 themselves more unreservedly to gaiety, 
 were resorting more frequently to Mr. 
 Clinkscales. This gentleman offered open 
 arms to everybody, being as yet only in 
 the highest state of hilarity. Like all 
 well-regulated topers, Mr. Clinkscales 
 went through properly defined gradations. 
 From the argument of comparative so- 
 briety, he advanced by rapid strides to dis- 
 putation ; curiously, to this succeeded 
 unreasonable hilarity, which was again 
 to be displaced by comprehensive if some-
 
 THE DREGS. 225 
 
 what incoherent abuse ; from this he 
 drifted speedily to finis. 
 
 Mr. Philpin paid but small attention to 
 the liquor ; he had come solely for spiritual 
 enjoyment, and he had found it in quite an 
 unexpected degree. When he saw in what 
 direction things were tending, he felt 
 that it was time for his departure. He 
 was not averse, however, from partaking 
 of a stirrup-cup, so he directed his steps 
 towards the barrels for that purpose. He 
 found some little difficulty in getting near 
 them. 
 
 From the noisy laughter which pro- 
 ceeded from the throng in that corner, it 
 was evident that something particularly 
 enjoyable was engaging general attention. 
 Mr. Philpin pushed his way forward by 
 degrees, and presently got a view of the 
 proceedings. Two or three youths had 
 laid hands upon Clinkscales, and were in 
 the act of raising him bodily from the 
 ground. 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 ' Is he drunk ?' asked Philpin of a sage- 
 looking by-stander. 
 
 ' Noa ; Master Clinkscales can hold a 
 vast o' drink. 'Em be a-going toputun on 
 the barrel.' 
 
 So Mr. Philpin observed as he watched 
 them. The Mayor was on the point of 
 being enthroned. It was a picture to 
 which only a Teniers could do justice 
 There was Mr. Clinkscales sitting astride 
 the cask, with young men upon each 
 side for supporters. The right hand one 
 none other than Michael Wayfer, for it 
 was he who had first suggested the prank. 
 The Mayor, as all voices now called him, 
 was quite overcome by his laughter. His 
 head rolled irresponsibly about his shoul- 
 ders, and moisture trickled freely from 
 his eyes. His overhanging moustachios 
 were matted together with liquor, a drop 
 occasionally falling to his waistcoat. He 
 broke from time to time into an audible 
 giggle, that inordinately vacuous giggle
 
 THE DREGS. 227 
 
 of incipient intoxication. It proved irre- 
 sistibly infectious to his audience, and 
 many liad to hold their sides and lean 
 forward. Several times Mr. Clinkscales 
 held out his hand as if to address them, 
 but he was constantly overcome by his 
 giggle. 
 
 ' Take your time, Master Mayor, an' it '11 
 come,' cried a particularly sympathetic 
 member of the throng. 
 
 Another handed him a pint pot of liquor, 
 which exercised the desired influence. He 
 held it without spilling any great quantity, 
 and very soon had subdued his fit of 
 laughter. He looked down w^ith gravity 
 at the assembly. 
 
 ' Now, boys,' he said. ' I can thank you ; 
 thank you — for the honour you have done 
 me. Proudest moment of my life, as the 
 saying is.' 
 
 ' Hear, hear !' issued from somebody not 
 far off. 
 
 ' Who said " hear, hear " ?' cried the 
 
 q2
 
 228 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 orator, with a sudden movement which 
 upset much of the beer. ' Skunk ! Do 
 you deny it? He daren't show himself. 
 He ' 
 
 ' Go on !' said Wayfer. 
 
 ' Proudest moment of my life, as I was 
 saying when that low-bred Tory attacked 
 me. But before I make a speech, friendsy 
 1 — I want to propose a toast ; so all of you 
 get ready the liquor. I propose the health 
 of Mr.— Mr. Bradlaugh, the President of 
 our Republic !' 
 
 ' No politics !' cried somebody at the back 
 of the crowd. 'I propose Mr. Kimble.' 
 
 Glinkscales had his face hidden by the 
 pint pot at the moment, but heard the words 
 which had been spoken. Nobody else had 
 made any response to the first toast which 
 had been proposed. 
 
 'Eess, us '11 drink to Mr. Kimble,' ex- 
 cLaimed many voices at once. 
 
 The Mayor looked upon them with
 
 THE DREGS. 229 
 
 ' Is there opposition to my toast ? Don't 
 3^ou know your friends, people?' 
 
 ' Come on, we'll drink Bradlaugh !' was 
 the reply, in tones very like those of Way- 
 fer. It was taken up by the boldest of the 
 youths, and Bradlaugh became the cry. 
 Clinkscales waxed warm under it. 
 
 ' I should think you will drink to Brad- 
 laugh,' he cried, rolling over towards Way- 
 fer ; 'the 'greatest man — this cent'ry has 
 prodooced. Who was that talking o' no 
 politics? Let him come forward if he 
 dare. Isn't politics the chief-concern of 
 working men ? Isn't it that as is to make 
 'em free? Speak now, I'm open to dis- 
 cussion. Nobody can say that I'm 
 biassed ' 
 
 ' Only to th' drink, Master Clinkscales.' 
 
 ' Nobody can say that I am biassed, — 
 damn it, turn that blackguard out ! While 
 I sit here I have the right to address you. 
 I am elected by the voice of the people. 
 Vox populi vox dei, as the saying is. But
 
 230 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 I am getting away from the point. I 
 asked who it was that opposed Bradlaugh. 
 Nobody dare give an answer. I tell you 
 he's the man that '11 put the world into- 
 order. He's the man that '11 give the 
 power to the people.' 
 
 ' Drink the health of Master Kimble !' 
 
 ^.Mr. Kimble's the greatest enemy you 
 have. He keeps you all in your slavery — ^ 
 
 ' Nay, drap that !' cried many of the 
 elders. 
 
 ' He is one of the thieving capitalists, — 
 one of the highway robbers. How has he 
 got his thousand acres ? By robbing all 
 you of yours. But for Kimble I should 
 be a rich man. You would all of you be 
 rich men. Divide up his farm amongst 
 you, and you'll get a score acres each. Is 
 he a friend to you that keeps you from it ? 
 Are you born to make the money for 
 him?' 
 
 ' Whose is the drink as you be a-sitting 
 on ?'
 
 THE DREGS. 231 
 
 ' Drink that has been stolen from you, 
 and it's about the worst that ever I 
 tasted.' 
 
 Mr. Clinkscales had store of such rant 
 within him, and he continued to pour it 
 forth abundantly. It offered diversion to 
 those around him. One sane onlooker at 
 least was there present who did not seem 
 to appreciate the scene, and this was our 
 simple-minded friend, Mr. Philpin. He 
 relinquished his intention of having ale 
 when he saw what was the condition of its 
 president. He was very genuinely dis- 
 gusted at the spectacle, and enraged at 
 the tenor of the remarks made. He strode 
 away with clouded visage to the musicians. 
 He had struck up quite a friendship with 
 Giles Radway. Giles was just preparing 
 to take his departure, having handed over 
 his fiddle to a younger man who was will- 
 ing to sit out the requirements of the 
 company. 
 
 ' 'St think o' toddling home, Mr. Philpin?'
 
 232 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 ^It's time for respectable people to be 
 going, Master Radway, after that disgrace- 
 ful scene going on at the other end ; most 
 disgraceful scene I have ever witnessed. I 
 certainly think it ought to be put a stop to.' 
 
 ' Mr. Clinkscales be a terrible hand for 
 the drink,' 
 
 ' But he is trying to raise a bad feel- 
 ing against Mr. Kimble,' rejoined Philpin, 
 with increasing indignation. ' He has got 
 drunk through the kindness of this gentle- 
 man, and is now slandering him and the 
 good liquor he has got drunk on. I 
 should like to take proceedings against 
 him. The words could be brought within 
 the statute.' 
 
 • They appear to be getting at variance,' 
 remarked Radway, as a shout came from 
 the corner referred to. ' 0, eess, I see, 
 Master Jelf have 'em already in hand. 
 Quite a man for deciding a diiference be 
 the gardener, Mr. Philpin. A tall man 
 and not easily handled.'
 
 THE DREGS. 233 
 
 The uproar had now engaged general at- 
 tention, and all were flocking to the corner 
 whence it issued. Mr. Jelf had been at- 
 tracted by Clinkscales' oratory, and had very 
 soon begun to grapple with the situation. He 
 commenced by trying friendly persuasion, 
 but it was at once obvious that that was 
 not going to avail him. It sufficed to draw 
 the politician's anger upon his own head, 
 and a replenished torrent of abuse burst 
 from the beer barrel. Mr. Jelf tried no 
 longer verbal persuasion ; he was not a 
 man with an unlimited stock of patience. 
 Silently he elbowed his way through the 
 throng, beckoning two or three others to 
 attend him. Apparently Mr. Clinkscales 
 partially understood the movements, for 
 in an incapable manner he was trying to 
 divest himself of his coat. His hand was 
 inextricably involved in the sleeve when 
 the gardener came up beside him. Wayfer 
 was unceremoniously shoved from his 
 station, and the clutch of a vice was upon
 
 234 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 Clinkscales. For a moment Wayfer seemed 
 inclined to attempt a rescue, but he was 
 still a quart or two short of decision. The 
 shout was raised as the Mayor was dragged 
 from the barrel to the ground, and im- 
 mediately a pathwa}^ opened out through 
 the crowd for Mr. Jelf to pass through 
 with his victim. The gardener required 
 no assistance until he reached the steps, 
 and then there was plenty at hand. There 
 were but three minutes between the en- 
 thronement and the rick-yard where Mr. 
 Clinkscales was comfortably deposited. It 
 was there that the next daylight was to 
 find him. 
 
 This was, of course, no unexpected in- 
 cident in the night's diversion, and all went 
 on as usual after it had happened. 
 
 Mr. Philpin and Giles Radway, however, 
 took their departure when they had wit- 
 nessed the settlement of Clinkscales. They 
 went to the cottagfe of the latter in order
 
 THE DREGS. 235- 
 
 to engage in a few minutes' sober conver- 
 sation before exchanoin o; the final farewell. 
 Giles felt very agreeably flattered by this 
 legal gentleman's attention, and perhaps 
 conducted himself somewhat too obsequi- 
 ously. Giles never liked to presume, and 
 when he reached the door of his cottage his 
 invitation was given with hesitation. . 
 
 ' Will you be pleased to walk in for a 
 minute or two, sir ?' 
 
 Mr. Philpin had no hesitation in ac- 
 cepting. 
 
 ' It be already beyond my bed-time,' re- 
 marked Giles, as they entered the cottage 
 door ; ' so that a few minutes more or less 
 'ull make but little odds. You'll not drive 
 home to-night, Mr. Philpin ?' 
 
 ' 0, no ; I have a bed at the " Harrow," 
 if I get time to make use of it.' 
 
 ' You may very well say that, sir,' said 
 Giles, with his ready laugh at what seemed 
 to savour of humour. ' Well, Joice, you
 
 236 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 shouldn't have sat up for I on no account.' 
 ' I haven't been long here, father. I 
 stayed with Miss Sulby a long time.' 
 
 Mr. Philpin's countenance was radiant 
 at once. He had not at first identified 
 Joice as the young woman who had been the 
 third of the party that went to the school- 
 house. He drew his chair close to Joice. 
 
 * You will be very fond of Miss Sulby, 
 my dear ?' 
 
 ' Yes, sir, very fond of her. She is very 
 kind to me.' 
 
 ' Of course,' observed Philpin, more 
 absently. 'Of course; kind to everybody 
 around her. 0, womanhood 1' ' 
 
 The apostrophe proceeded no further. 
 Mr. Pliilpin sometimes began his thoughts 
 aloud. 
 
 * And you left her safely in her — at her 
 — by her hearth, Miss Joice ?' 
 
 ' Quite safely, sir.' 
 
 ' Ah, beautiful ! What a pretty picture
 
 THE DREGS. 237 
 
 you would have made whilst engaged in 
 your consultation ! If I could only have 
 been the dog upon the hearth-rug ! Miss 
 Sulby has a dog, I believe ?' 
 
 ' Yes, sir.' 
 
 ' Dear little creature it must be ! 
 
 Blessed beyond But excuse me, Mr. 
 
 Radway,' he said, suddenly, altering his 
 tone. ' The penalty of poets, Mr. Giles : 
 impressionable, imaginative. That was a 
 deplorable incident we witnessed. The 
 baseness of ingratitude! "Blow, blow, 
 thou winter wind !" and so forth.' 
 
 Mr. Philpin imitated the blast from 
 his own lungs, as though to sweep away 
 Clinkscales from his memory. 
 
 ' I am afraid, too, — very much afraid, 
 — surprised at one of his parentage, Mr. 
 Radway ; I am afraid that Mr. Michael 
 Wayfer ' 
 
 The gentleman's eyes completed the 
 sentence to Giles's comprehension.
 
 238 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 ' I never knew Michael take too mucli o' 
 the drink before,' remarked Giles, shaking 
 his head. 
 
 Joice's eyes rested upon her father for a 
 moment. 
 
 ' Bad for one beginning in life. Nothing 
 so injurious to a good name. I always 
 thought him a steady young man ; but I 
 have seen very little of him.' 
 
 * Steady as any in the parish, Mr. Phil- 
 pin, that ur be — have been up to this 
 night, however. But there be some excuse, 
 in a manner, at the harvest dance.' 
 
 ' No excuse whatever, Mr. Giles. Never 
 excuse intoxication. No true man can 
 give way to it.' 
 
 ^ That be uncommon true, after all,' 
 added Radway, more to himself than to his 
 companion. 
 
 Joice displayed great uneasiness during 
 this conversation, trying ineffectually to 
 hide her burning face. 
 
 ' It is a cold night to sleep out,' ob-
 
 THE DREGS. 239 
 
 served Pliilpin ; ' but I am afraid there are 
 many who will try it.* 
 
 The look upon Joice's face altered at the 
 observation, but neither of the men noticed 
 it. She seemed to pay no further heed to 
 the conversation. In a few minutes, she 
 withdrew to her bed-room. Philpin also 
 soon took his departure. 
 
 In the meantime things were progressing 
 in the granary. After the eviction of 
 Clinkscales, order was restored amongst 
 the assembly, and dancing was indulged m 
 as before. 
 
 Michael Wayfer, however, sought no 
 partner. He sat moodily over against the 
 barrels, and responded to nobody's jest. As 
 we know, he had no habitual tendency to 
 drinking, as Giles has already remarked ; 
 but to-night seemed to be the exceptional 
 occasion. He was constantly refilling his 
 mug, and the effect of it was very obvious 
 upon him. His head seemed uncomfort-
 
 240 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 ably heavy. He sat supporting it with 
 both his hands, his elbows resting upon his 
 knees. In him inebriation wrought no 
 hilarity. That enthronement of Clink- 
 scales is not inconsistent with this state- 
 ment : he indulged in that prank quite 
 consciously. 
 
 He seemed far enough away from all 
 activity, scarcely conscious of what went 
 on around him. The music and the danc- 
 ing entered confusedly into his thoughts, 
 no doubt giving them their tendency, al- 
 though themselves lost sight of in the 
 crowd. There were little profit in attempt- 
 ing to analyze such confusion. 
 
 After long sitting in this state of ap- 
 parent inanition, a change came over the 
 young farmer rather suddenly. There 
 had been no outward cause to excite it, 
 for everybody now took care to avoid him ; 
 so that we must attribute it to some 
 inscrutable mechanism of his disarranged 
 mind. From his moping attitude he rose
 
 THE DREGS. 241 
 
 to his feet, and for a moment looked 
 savagely about him. The dance was pro- 
 ceeding in disorder, as was inevitable at 
 that hour of the morning, and he had 
 some difficulty in steadying his eye to re- 
 gard it. He succeeded in doing so for 
 about a minute, and then turned his face 
 away with dissatisfaction. As he skirted 
 round the wall of the granary, he did not 
 exchange a single word with anybody. Mr. 
 Jelf overtook him at the doorway, and said 
 something to him in a low voice. At 
 AVayfer's stare he repeated his words more 
 distinctly. The young man shook his 
 head with impatience. 
 
 ' I am all right,' he said. ' Do you think 
 I am drunk ?' 
 
 The gardener offered no further inter- 
 ference, but closed the door and re-arranged 
 the curtain which screened it. A lamp was 
 hung outside at the top of the steps which 
 led down into the yard, and for a few 
 seconds Wayfer stood still beneath it. He 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 242 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 then slowly descended to the ground. He 
 seemed to advance cautiously through the 
 darkness, and with a steadier step than was 
 to be expected. As he passed by the rick 
 near the gateway, his eye was drawn to a 
 light moving behind it. It had only been 
 visible for a second, and might possibly 
 have been a deception of his imagination. 
 He paid no heed to the occurrence, for he 
 was collected enough to find a ready ex- 
 planation. Even if a light had in reahty 
 heen there, it need cause no surprise upon 
 this occasion. 
 
 The cool air seemed at first to revive 
 Tiim, and, now that his eyes were accustomed 
 to the starlight, he went along the road 
 without much difficulty. A good walk, 
 however, yet lay before him.
 
 243 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 WAYFER SLEEPS. 
 
 The night was clear and starlight, but the 
 moon had long since sunk beneath that 
 south-western ridge of hills. Joice Rad- 
 way was sitting at her window, revolving 
 unpleasant thoughts, with no light to aid 
 her but what came from the stars. It was 
 quite sufficient for her to think by. In 
 the face of many conflicting motives, she 
 was endeavouring to plan a right course 
 of conduct, and it is not surprising that 
 she found it a difficult task. It was a case 
 of Feeling holding a debate with Reason, 
 and without the time in which to do it 
 coolly. Joice knew that she must pro- 
 
 r2
 
 244 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 nounce the decision speedily, else have it 
 pronounced irrevocably for her. Mr. 
 Philpin had been the innocent immediate 
 cause of all this perplexing self-discussion. 
 A review of all the occurrences of the 
 night, however, offered little matter that 
 was cheering. Her long interview with 
 the school-mistress had caused Joice more 
 disturbance than consolation ; to say no- 
 thing of those other incidents which had 
 preceded it in the granary. The pleasant 
 dream in which she had undertaken her 
 dancing had been very rudely broken, and 
 she had been left in a more bewildered con- 
 dition than at any time previously. Of 
 the certainty for which she had sought, 
 she had undoubtedly got possession, and 
 a very uncomfortable acquisition she found 
 it. Towards Miss Sulby, it is true, she 
 felt differently, and was repentant for her 
 former misconstruction ; but there was very 
 little consolation in that. It had given 
 back to her a friend full of sympathy ; but
 
 WAYFER SLEEPS. 245 
 
 is sympathy of any profit save to the 
 one heart which bestows it? Joice had 
 listened most patiently to her friend's ad- 
 vice, and had left her with a determin- 
 ation to act on it : within the very first 
 hour afterwards she was finding how diffi- 
 cult it was to do so. 
 
 Joice had miscalculated the strength of 
 her own feelings. Ruth had impressed 
 upon the artless young woman the ne- 
 cessity of inaction ; a course, as we know, 
 particularly hard for the one counselled to 
 adopt. She must accept her position 
 patiently, so had the youthful moralist in- 
 sisted, and bear it with womanly dignity. 
 If Wayfer should persist in his estrange 
 ment, then it was proof that he was un- 
 worthy to love her. Platitudes as these 
 may sound to very many of us, they were 
 by no means such when addressed to Joice 
 Hadway. She had an ardent temperament, 
 not brought under restraint by conven- 
 tional training, although owning true
 
 246 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 allegiance to broad womanly instincts 
 Fortunately her nature was lofty, so that 
 her mistakes would be childlike and venial. 
 Harsh words or indifferent treatment 
 from Michael Wayfer could not affect 
 Joice's feelings towards him. Her out- 
 ward behaviour to him it might, for a re- 
 buff to any action on her part caused her 
 torture ; but of pride she had little more 
 than a faithful dog. She thought as kind- 
 ly of him, therefore, to-night as she had 
 ever done, and would have sacrificed her- 
 self for his welfare. Joice's face flushed 
 whenever the thought of his present con- 
 dition occurred to her. Mr. Philpin had 
 stated that he had drunk too much, and 
 her father had acquiesced. Bitterly could 
 she feel the shame of it, and she would 
 have hidden him ; but the danger also she 
 felt. The road to Sedgecomb was an 
 awkward one, ugly hints had been passed 
 as to his sleeping out of doors. To bring 
 the matter more vividly before her im-
 
 WAYFER SLEEPS. 247 
 
 agination, an incident of but a week ago 
 would cling to her most tenaciously. A 
 man in an adjoining parish, when return- 
 ing home in the condition referred to, had 
 perished in a ditch. The inquest was in 
 the paper, and the coroner had drawn a 
 moral which Joice had little thought could 
 concern her. It concerned her desperately 
 to-night. But he must not run the risk, 
 she herself would go secretly and protect 
 him. It was the first time he had ever 
 done it, and even her father, rigid as he 
 was upon the drink topic, had excused 
 him ; she herself could of course doubly 
 do so. For a single fall, his life must not 
 be endangered. He should live to undo it ; 
 he was not like those creatures who rose 
 up before her as she contemplated the 
 subject of drunkenness : he never could 
 be. 
 
 This prompt decision in the hesitating 
 thinker came almost immediately upon the 
 closing of her father's bed-room door. The
 
 248 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 old man retired after the departure of Mr. 
 Philpin, and Joice knew that after the 
 exertions of the night there was little fear 
 of his being wakeful. Without the small- 
 est difficulty she could escape, and all her 
 nature urged her to it : she delayed but a 
 few minutes longer. 
 
 When silence pronounced her father at 
 rest, Joice moved away from the window. 
 Her out-door garments were speedily put 
 on, and her shoes removed from her feet; 
 then she stole silently down-stairs. Tak- 
 ing an old tin lantern from a cupboard, she 
 lit the candle inside and put the box of 
 matches in her pocket. Yet a few seconds 
 she listened at the foot of the stairs ; but 
 there was no sound to disturb her. The 
 key of the outer door seemed to make a 
 great noise in being reversed in the lock, 
 but in reality it was nothing: nobody else 
 had heard it. The wind moaned angrily 
 round the house as Joice left it, and she 
 drew her shawl more tightly around her.
 
 WAYFER SLEEPS. 249 
 
 It Avas a beautiful night, though dark. 
 She hurried up the road, which here 
 began a gradual ascent, and she was soon 
 beside the school-house. All there was 
 dark and still. A short distance beyond, 
 Joice came in view of the light which hung 
 at the granary door, the ray of which 
 seemed to span the whole space between 
 the barn and herself. At sight of this she 
 extinguished her lantern and then quicken- 
 ed her pace. Somebody passed her with 
 
 shuffling steps, but it was neither his figure 
 
 • 
 
 nor gait. She escaped onwards unobserved, 
 and was very soon safe in the rick-yard. 
 
 Long did she lean with her shoulder 
 against that straw rick and her eyes fixed 
 upon the lamp above the door. She could 
 easily distinguish anybody coming out 
 from thence, and was herself quite secure 
 against detection. More than an hour she 
 stayed there, shivering with cold and 
 trembling with nervousness ; and yet he 
 did not appear. As the minutes advanced,
 
 250 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 a fresli fear possessed Joice. Was it possi- 
 ble that he had gone before her arrival at 
 the place ? This doubt was quite sicken- 
 ing, and very nearly subdued her. The 
 danger, however, was of short duration. 
 The door was again opened, and Wayfer 
 stood in the lamplight. 
 
 Yes, he stood there alone, upright and 
 steady. How wickedly they had wronged 
 him ! He was as sober as any of them. 
 How else could he descend so securely 
 those steep steps ? 
 
 As he began to descend them, Joice fled 
 round the straw rick, and quickly put a 
 match to her lantern. She was scarcely 
 yet conscious of what she intended to 
 do. She came out from her hiding-place, 
 but quickly drew backwards. He must 
 surely have seen her ! She was vexed at 
 her own clumsiness. Again the light was 
 extinguished. 
 
 Wayfer had caught a glimpse of the 
 lantern, and had stopped for a moment ;
 
 WAYFER SLEEPS. 251 
 
 but as we know he had quickly passed on- 
 wards. Joice could hear his slow foot- 
 steps when he was out in the road, and 
 then she ventured to come forth. As he 
 went on down the village, she kept a short 
 distance behind him, screening herself by 
 the shade of the wall and watching his 
 every footstep. She thought he occasionally 
 stumbled, but then she did the same. 
 Anybody must stumble when walking in 
 the night time. 
 
 They had got about half way through 
 the village when further self-deception 
 was impossible. Joice's heart sank as she 
 watched him : their report had been true. 
 Once or twice she darted forward, but as 
 suddenly drew back. How was it possible 
 to help him? At any rate she could watch 
 him, and this she continued to do. She 
 might save him from any serious calamity, 
 such as she now saw might very possibly 
 befall him. They were as yet only by the 
 village green, the worst part of the road
 
 252 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 was to come. But he had taken the rip^ht 
 turn ; that was a difficulty removed. 
 
 Joice had taken it, too, and was stand- 
 ing still in the roadway. Her eyes were 
 fixed upon the hill slope, quite regardless 
 of her charge. She was watching what 
 appeared to be a curious phenomenon. It 
 was but a short distance away from her, 
 and yet she could not conceive what it 
 was. She knew that the fields upon her 
 left hand formed a ridge on the hill slope, 
 and that just beyond them was the farm- 
 house of Michael Wayfer. Trees and 
 hedgerows were black, and so was the hill- 
 top where the stars ended. All around 
 was dark, save for that strano^e li^ht 
 amongst the elm trees, in that one par- 
 ticular spot. It was not a fixed light, 
 like a lamp in a cottage window; only a 
 dull uncertain glare stretching from earth 
 to sky. Trunks and branches were before 
 it, standing like sombre giants. As Joice 
 watched it, filled with awe and fear, the
 
 WAYFER SLEEPS. 253 
 
 ■Nvind blew briskly by her and gave her the 
 explanation she wanted. As she drew in a 
 breath through her nostrils, she muttered 
 with a shudder : 
 
 ' It is fire.' 
 
 The explanation brought her anything 
 but relief. A thrill of horror passed through 
 her, as she pictured the scene. Awful 
 enough in the day, but terrible in the ex- 
 treme during the night. Joice's imagin- 
 ation was quick, so that she was impressed 
 by the picture to the full. She could see 
 all the details of the spectacle, for she had 
 witnessed one fire in her life. But whence 
 could this fire be proceeding ? That ques- 
 tion agitated her at once, without her 
 being able to find an answer. Could it — ? 
 But no, it seemed to be in the position of 
 the coppice ; the wood though could hard- 
 ly be on fire. It might be, on second 
 thoughts ; Joice had read in a book of 
 such things. 
 
 Terror banished all lighter considerations,
 
 ^54 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 and she decided to hurry on to Wayfer. 
 As she looked for his figure in the road, a 
 sound attracted her attention. It was a 
 horse trotting quickly through the dark- 
 ness and evidently in her own direction. 
 She had the presence of mind to put a 
 light to her lantern, and then ran forward 
 to look for Wayfer. He lay stretched at 
 full length across the road. The horse's 
 steps were rapidly approaching, so that 
 Joice was nervous for his safety, forget- 
 ful of the protection of her light. She 
 dropped the lantern, to the ground, and 
 seized the young farmer by the shoulders. 
 Her strength was not equal to the task, so 
 she immediately desisted from the effort 
 to remove him, and stood upright with the 
 lantern in her hand. The horseman was 
 that instant upon her. The horse's hoofs 
 flashed fire as he drew up, and a voice 
 exclaimed loudly, 
 
 ' Wayfer's ricks be a-fire ? Who bist ?' 
 ' This is Wayfer here in the road,' cried
 
 WAYFER SLEEPS. 255 
 
 Joice, as distinctly as she was able. ' Move 
 him, move him !' 
 
 The man saw at once the situation, and 
 alighted to drag Wayfer into the hedge 
 bottom. Joice seized the bridle of the 
 horse. 
 
 * Be 'em a-dancing yet ? Why, it be 
 Joice Radway !' 
 
 'Yes, some of them are, but I don't 
 tnow how many. Is it a bad fire ?' 
 
 ' The ricks o' new hay, and 'tull catch 
 the wheat if 'em beunt sharp about it. 
 There be nobody there.' 
 
 ' Go — go on, and fetch them. I am all 
 right.' 
 
 The man leaped to his horse, and Joice 
 watched the sparks from the hoofs as he 
 departed. Then she drew near to the hedge 
 with her lantern, and looked at the figure 
 which lay sleeping there. She sat down upon 
 the grass beside it, and blew out her light. 
 She could bear up against it no longer ; 
 she let her face fall into her hands.
 
 256 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 Meanwhile the messenger sped on to the 
 village to arouse the capable population. 
 He stopped first to give information to the 
 policeman, and then went to Mr. Kimble's 
 granary. The news here naturally raised a 
 commotion. There were plenty of young 
 men ready enough to offer assistance and 
 to take part in the enterprise with gusto. 
 A gang was very speedily organized, and 
 they at once set off for the scene of the 
 fire. The horseman rode away to Dormant- 
 ley to obtain the assistance of a fire 
 engine. 
 
 The glare in the sky had grown brighter, 
 and it increased the ardour of the volun- 
 teers. The volumes of smoke w^hich rolled 
 along the hillside before the breeze were of 
 course invisible, but all the air was filled 
 with the ominous reek. An element of 
 horror possessed the country where but a 
 few hours before had breathed the very 
 spirit of peace. It was the contrast 
 which made it the more impressive to such
 
 WAYFER SLEEPS. 257 
 
 a temperament as that of Joice Radway. 
 The young woman sat supporting her 
 chin, her elbow resting on her knee and 
 her eyes fixed upon that lurid patch. 
 Her spirit quailed before it. She was re- 
 vived by that rush of hurrying feet and 
 the uproar of voices coming nearer. Some 
 of the men carried lanterns ; she saw them 
 quickly approaching. She was suddenly 
 conscious of her position, and she started 
 to her feet. Not many yards away there 
 was a gate in the hedge ; this she scrambled 
 over and crouched down amongst the 
 brambles. She shuddered at their sounds 
 of hilarity as they came rollicking along. 
 Many of them carried buckets to be of 
 service with the water, and in the meantime 
 they made them serve as primitive instru- 
 ments of music. They were now even 
 with her place of concealment, and must be 
 very near to the sleeping Wayfer. Joice's 
 feelings were at once turned into another 
 
 channel. They must inevitably see him ; 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 — yes, she heard the announcement of the 
 discovery ; the lanterns were upon him ; 
 coarse remarks were being made. She 
 could have died for very shame. They 
 were trying to arouse him, but their efforts 
 were in vain. They did not linger long. 
 
 When the last of them had left him, 
 Joice rose up from her place and got back 
 into the road. She might have returned to 
 her home for any service she could render, 
 if only her feelings would have allowed 
 her. She was drawn irresistibly after that 
 noisy throng, and she followed them with 
 trembling. They turned off into the fields, 
 slamming the gate behind them, and she 
 too went after. She presently left the 
 direct track and crept cautiously towards 
 the hedge. It seemed very dark, as her 
 eyes were dazzled by the glare of the fire. 
 When she had surmounted the grassy ridge 
 and got to the side of a clump of trees, the 
 blazing ricks burst full upon her view. 
 The angry roar of the flames was audible,
 
 WAYFER SLEEPS. 259 
 
 whenever a gust of wind swept over them, 
 and the constant volley of sparks shot far 
 into the darkness. This timid watcher crept 
 onwards still further, and sheltered herself 
 behind the thick trunks of an elm tree. 
 
 The fire had evidently got a firm hold 
 of several ricks. Blue and green flames 
 played angrily about the thatch, whilst 
 occasionally large patches were fanned to 
 a massive white heat. The flitting human 
 beings looked ghastly in the glare ; the 
 effect being heightened by the indefinite- 
 ness of their surroundings. Those trees 
 which were standing near, and of which 
 only the fronts were plainly visible, seemed 
 to draw back into the darkness behind 
 them with affrighted stare at the sight 
 from which they were unable to escape : 
 they looked very literally rooted to the 
 ground with terror. The twigs of the un- 
 cut hedge, which stood scarce a yard from 
 the ricks, were all aglow at the leafless tips 
 and shrivelling from the excessive heat, 
 
 s2
 
 260 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 Even Joice herself could feel the warmth, 
 distant as she was from the spot. The 
 movements of the buckets were visible as 
 they passed along the line of men, and the 
 shouts of those engaged mingled awfully 
 Avith the roar of the wind and the flames. 
 For a moment Joice turned away, to pres& 
 her face against the rough bark of the tree 
 which supported her ; but she was suddenly 
 again aroused. A universal shout had 
 rent the air, and she looked eagerly for an 
 explanation. 
 
 She gazed intently at the scene, and 
 thought that she perceived a light beyond 
 the limits of the massive ricks ; but again 
 it was invisible ; she held her breath with 
 expectation. The hiss of that bucket of 
 water, which had been handed by the men 
 up the ladder, had not been audible to her, 
 but it had not extinguished the outbreak. 
 After a few minutes of painful excitement, 
 Joice could deceive herself no longer. The 
 fire had taken a stride.
 
 WAYFER SLEEPS. 261 
 
 Having tremulously assured herself of 
 this, she could continue there no longer. 
 She raised herself from the trunk against 
 which she had been leaning and fled hastily 
 across the field. She lingered at that spot 
 in the road to grope about in the dark. 
 The sleeping figure was distinguishable ; 
 but if the noise of those men had not 
 aroused him what hope for feeble effort of 
 hers. Joice knelt to whisper something 
 in his ear, then proceeded on her way to 
 the village. As she turned the corner in 
 the road by the green, the sound of dis- 
 tant rumbling alarmed her. Her mind 
 was too agitated to prompt an explanation, 
 so that the effect upon her was in no way 
 surprising. Straightway she turned her 
 face up the broad village street and ran as 
 fast as her strength would enable her. 
 Nothing checked her until she stood 
 panting before her father's cottage. 
 
 In the meantime that mysterious rum- 
 bling came nearer, and lights flashed quick-
 
 262 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 ly along the hedges. The scamper of 
 horses now mingled with the sound. 
 There was a halt at the foot of the village, 
 and the clamour of men's voices was 
 audible. The turn was then taken as 
 directed, and Sedgecomb was very soon 
 reached. 
 
 The efforts with the water could only 
 be defensive. Joice's fears were but too 
 well founded; the adjacent ricks of wheat 
 had taken lire. The fire had taken such 
 permanent possession by the time that the 
 small engine arrived that the supply of 
 water at their command was helpless 
 against it. All attention was given to the 
 buildings to prevent the conflagration 
 from becoming general. In this their efforts 
 were successful, but day was dawning 
 before they were assured of it. 
 
 When Michael Wayfer mounted the 
 green ridge and looked down towards hi& 
 homestead, the hose was still playing upon 
 the smoked and grimy walls.
 
 263 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE AWAKENING. 
 
 It was one of the beautiftil mornings of 
 November, mild and spring-like, (for, not- 
 withstanding universal calumny, Novem- 
 ber, too, has his hours of smiling,) when 
 Wayfer paused upon the green ridge to 
 behold the smouldering remnants of his 
 gathered crops. He stood beside the 
 clump of trees, by which Joice had stood 
 only a few hours before, gazing in 
 silence. His hand was raised to his fore- 
 head and carried before his eyes ; then he 
 looked again at the stupefying prospect. 
 Was it a continuation, merely, of that 
 drunken night-mare ?
 
 264 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 A stiff west wind whistled through the 
 black branches above him, branches which 
 looked doubly black against the rosy sky 
 overhead. The range of hills ran in a 
 north easterly direction and the laggard 
 sun had not yet made his appearance above 
 them, although he was giving glorious, if 
 bodeful, evidence of his awakening. The 
 eastern hill-tops were intensely clear, and 
 there was peeping above them a light 
 purple bar of cloud, separated by a narrow 
 strait from the indeterminately-edged patch 
 of roseate mist which rose upwards to- 
 wards the zenith. Over the expanse of 
 heaven stretched the crimson tresses of 
 Aurora, scattered in divine profusion. 
 The effect of this spectacle upon the view 
 no doubt intensified the impression of 
 which Wayfer was sensible as he stood 
 there, although he was utterly unconscious 
 of there being a sky at all above him. He 
 saw nothing but a smouldering rick-yard. 
 Presently he ventured to advance,
 
 THE AWAKENING. 265 
 
 striding slowly in the direction of the 
 smoke. It did not disappear upon his 
 approach, as he had been half-consciously 
 expecting it to do. The figures about it 
 he could recognize, and they, too, had 
 caught sight of him. Onwards still, until 
 he came up ; speech with them was im- 
 possible ; nobody addressed him. Passing 
 through the farm-yard gate, Wayfer went 
 into the house alone. Various looks were 
 fixed upon him. 
 
 ' Well, thee bist a queer un !' exclaimed 
 one of the men, who had been watching 
 him, — one, too, who had been grappling 
 with the fire since the original alarm was 
 given. * Not a word for nobody and us has 
 saved his house from destruction.' 
 
 ' Wayfers were ever a queer lot, Martin,' 
 remarked old Benjamin Hazard, the hedger, 
 *• to within the stretch o' my recollection, 
 however; and that be a tidy space o' 
 years.' 
 
 * That ' em were, Benjamin, I can testy
 
 266 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 to that/ interposed another, who looked 
 well begrimed with smoke and water, al- 
 though apparently well advanced in years. 
 ' I can mind Jonathan's father, when ur 
 was shepherd to Master Kimble, — that were 
 
 Stephen Kimble, the granfer ' 
 
 ^ Eess, eess.' 
 
 * Granfer to the Mr. Kimble as at pre- 
 sent be,' he continued, turning his remarks 
 from the impatient elder to those who 
 could not pretend to such a lengthened 
 experience. ' As I were a-saying, I can 
 mind Jonathan's father, they called un 
 Bandy Wayfer; that weren't his right 
 name, of course, but ur always went by 
 it. Ur was grissened Matthew or Mark, I 
 believe, but I yent sure, for ur never got 
 the name as parson gave un ' 
 
 ' Matthias were his right name as ur 
 was a-grissened by,' interposed Benjamin 
 Hazard. 
 
 * Ye 'ev put me right, Benjamin : Mat- 
 thias it was. It were on account of his
 
 THE AWAKENING. 267 
 
 legs as ur got the name Bandy. But to 
 go back. I can mind this Bandy Wayfer, 
 when ur was shepherd, ur was ever a des- 
 perd still silent man. I were under-carter's 
 boy at that time, and I'd used to be quite 
 a-feared at un.' 
 
 ' Ur was a curious man sure enough,^ 
 assented Hazard. ' Quite a miser wi' the 
 money an' all. Ur had a coffer by his 
 bed full o' gold, so I heard tell : it were 
 common report, however, in fact. He it 
 were as began to put the Wayfers i' the 
 uppard line. Butur 'ud never spend any 
 urself. 0, no ! Ur left all the more for 
 Jonathan o' course.' 
 
 ' But beunt ur a-going to give we any- 
 thing?' asked Martin Stickly. ' If us had 
 all been drunk as ur were urself, the whole 
 barton and the beasts an' all ud ha' perish- 
 ed ; udn't 'em, Stephen Gates?' 
 
 ' That 'em would, Martin. Then these 
 ingine men ull want something, afore 'em 
 gwoes back to Dorm'tley. Why, here be
 
 268 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 Peter Rule a-comin^ over tlie bill. Peter 
 yent a man to come over soon if there be 
 work a-stirring.' 
 
 * I be a-going to see what 'em purpose 
 doing,' remarked Stickly, who had had no 
 thought of expending labour gratuitously 
 in saying another's property. According- 
 ly he went across towards the men in charge 
 of the fire-engine. 
 
 Before Martin had reached his destin- 
 ation, however, he heard a voice calling 
 him by name from the farm-yard. He 
 looked quickly enough and saw Michael 
 Wayfer himself standing there. 
 
 * What time did you come here?' asked 
 Wayfer. 
 
 ' 'Tweren't much arter two o'clock, 
 Master Wayfer.' 
 
 ' Were you with the first ?' 
 
 ' Yes, I handled the very first bucket,' 
 was the reply, given with alacrity. 
 
 'Tell one of the fire-men to come here to 
 jne.'
 
 THE AWAKENING. 269' 
 
 There was another short, consultation 
 with him, and then Wayfer returned once 
 more into the house. During the short 
 interview, however, he had led Martin 
 Stickly to modify his opinion of him, by 
 giving him a substantial sum to share with 
 his comrades. The firemen were equally 
 satisfied. In giving the money Wayfer had 
 stated that he should supply no food or 
 liquor upon his own premises, so that, as 
 soon as they were satisfied as to the safety 
 of the place, he hoped they would all with- 
 draw to the village. They soon had satis- 
 fied themselves upon this matter, having 
 in fact done so shortly before the arrival of 
 the farmer ; but it was deemed expedient 
 to occupy themselves on the spot until his 
 appearance. 
 
 The flow of conversation was kept up to 
 a very surprising degree on the return 
 journey to the village. The company had 
 naturally separated into groups of three or 
 four, and each detachment was occupied
 
 270 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 With its own peculiar topic. Everyone 
 offered its particular points of interest ; 
 but let us walk with this handful of elders, 
 whose converse is the least voluble, and 
 who ought to impart through it a maximum 
 of rugged wisdom, if grey hairs be any 
 warrant for this commodity. Even Giles 
 Radway was amongst them, having arrived 
 upon the scene but a minute after Peter 
 Rule ; but he seemed to walk for the most 
 part in silence. It was Peter's own voice 
 that was at this moment addressing his 
 companions. 
 
 ' I can't see no good in it, Benjamin,' he 
 was saying; 'not no how. I were talking 
 with Mr. Clinkscales but a day or two 
 back, the day afore yesterday, in fact, when 
 I looked into the " Harrow," — it were the 
 day after Master Yarnold's fire — and we 
 couldn't come no agreement about it. Of 
 course, I beunt no hand at the learning, 
 never was from a boy ; but dost think as 
 the intelleck 'ev much to do with a right
 
 THE AWAKENING. 271 
 
 understanding o' these concerns, Master 
 Radway ?' 
 
 ' In my judgment, Peter,' replied Giles, 
 being thus directly referred to ; 'in my 
 judgment, learning and the intelleck be 
 two diverse aifairs. Mr. Clinkscales have 
 considerable abilities, far beyond the like 
 o' we, of course, in most respects ; but 
 concerning some items I can't think as ur 
 be altogether right. I wish no disrespect 
 to anybody, very far from it, it beunt my 
 place to judge what be right or wrong 
 in anybody 'cept myself; but, as I may say 
 to you, it do appear to me as though the 
 learning o' Mr. Clinkscales be more con- 
 siderable than his intelleck. To answer 
 your question, however, Peter, I may say 
 as I think any Christian man may judge 
 o' these things without his being anything 
 of a scholar — or only in a very small way, 
 however.' 
 
 ' That be just as I think it,' said Peter. 
 
 ' But Master Clinkscales yent a Gristin,'
 
 272 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 cried out Stephen Gates, who was one of 
 the outside men of the four, ^ I heard un 
 declare that on Saturday night at the 
 ^' 'Arrow " long since.' 
 
 Radway shook his head with gravity. 
 
 ' Of course not,' added Hazard. ' I 'ev 
 heard un becall the parsons sky-high an' 
 all.' 
 
 'But a Gristin man may do that, Ben- 
 jamin,' said Gates, possibly with some view 
 to self-justification. 
 
 ' They tell me as there beunt no Giis- 
 tins in the towns ; is that like to be 
 true?' 
 
 ' In some measure, I be afeared,' replied 
 Radway, to whom the query had been put. 
 ' Mr. Gabriel Bewglass have told me strange 
 tales, however.' 
 
 ' But, Gristin or no Gristin, there be a 
 power o' truth in Master Clinkscales' 
 words,' suggested Gates. 
 
 ' I can't agree with 'e, Stephen.' Rule 
 was the speaker. ' Certainly ur spoke
 
 THE AWAKENING. 273 
 
 the truth in saying as there ud be more 
 fires than Master Yarnold's, but I could ha* 
 said that myself before I'd had my ale. 
 But it beunt truth as us ought all to be 
 uncontented, and that be what Master 
 Clinkscales says.' 
 
 ' Right, Peter, right.' 
 
 ' But 'e beunt right,' asserted Gates. 
 ' See what wages 'em gets in the towns. 
 Why dunt 'em give we the same ?' 
 
 ' Us hasn't the same abilities at things 
 as them in the towns,' suggested Peter 
 Rule. 
 
 ' I 'unt believe that ; that I 'unt. I 'ev 
 seed they men from the towns a time or 
 two, and bless 'e, they 'ev no notion o* 
 thatching a rick or clipping a sheep no 
 more 'an that mound.' 
 
 ' That yent their calling, you see, Ste- 
 phen,' interposed Benjamin Hazard. 
 
 ^ And concerning wages,' said Radway, 
 ' it be difficult to judge. For some things 
 beunt so cheap in towns. Considering all 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 thinojs, you can get more for sixpence in 
 the country than 'e can for a shilling in 
 the towns, Mr. Bewglass have told me 
 that.' 
 
 ' I believe as there be some truth in that, 
 too,' said Rule. ' Them have no gardens 
 an' all, and rents be dear.' 
 
 ' Well, anyhow, I 'ud rather have twenty 
 shillings than ten,' grumbled Stephen 
 Oates. 
 
 ' Eess, o' course,' replied Peter. 'But 
 'st thinks as e'll get it by burning ricks ?' 
 
 ' I a'nt burned no ricks, mun, no more 'an 
 ye 'ev yourself. I corned to try and put 
 her out though, and that be more 'an 'e did. 
 Nobody be i' the right but Peter Rule i' 
 this parish.' 
 
 ' Dunt have no difference, Stephen,' in- 
 terposed the pacific Radway. ' Peter didn't 
 mean as e'd burned ricks yourself, o' 
 course.' 
 
 ' They tell me as Master Wayfer beunt
 
 THE AWAKENING. 275 
 
 issured. Ur med well look ^lum,' said 
 Hazard. 
 
 ' Eeh ! Be that the case ? Well, well ! 
 There must ha' been near fifty tons of 
 hay.' 
 
 ' Iss, more than that, I'll warr'nd 'e. 
 And ur had the best grain i' the parish this 
 year. I heard Mr. Kimble urself saying so 
 at the harvest time. 'Tull be a desperd 
 loss for un.' 
 
 ' That it 'ull. Beunt 'e a-coming to the 
 "'Arrow," Benjamin Hazard?' cried out 
 Oates, as he turned oif at the village 
 corner. 
 
 *Noa, I'll get whum.' 
 
 The companions had nearly all separated 
 at this corner, the majority of the members, 
 however, had gone in the direction of the 
 * Harrow Inn.' Peter and Giles kept com- 
 pany for some distance further, when 
 they also parted. The latter returned to 
 his cottage to speak with his anxious 
 
 T 2
 
 276 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 daughter before going up the hill to hi& 
 road work. He found Joice standing in 
 the doorway eagerly awaiting him. 
 
 In the meantime, Michael Wa3^fer also 
 had his occupation. When he had dis- 
 missed the men in the manner we have 
 seen, he withdrew to his bed-room. He 
 watched from his window the last of them 
 disappear over the green ridge ; then for 
 some time there was a mighty splashing of 
 water. In a quarter-of-an-hour he issued 
 from his doorway a new man. His face 
 had assumed its usual fresh coloured 
 appearance, and he was dressed in his 
 ordinary working clothes. As he stepped 
 into the farm-yard his dogs ran forward to 
 greet him, and he actually found a word 
 to bestow upon them. He passed on to 
 the burning ricks. 
 
 This man's face was susceptible of but 
 little betrayal of feeling, beyond the 
 obvious markings of anger. These were
 
 THE AWAKENING. 277 
 
 hardly to be traced there upon the present 
 occasion. There could be no longer doubt 
 as to his having grasped the reality of the 
 scene before him, and of his having assum- 
 ed some very definite attitude towards it. 
 His property was gone, and he was fully 
 conscious of the fact that he had delayed 
 the insurance too long. Popular conjec- 
 ture upon this point proved to be quite 
 accurate. Those smouldering heaps re- 
 presented the ashes of so many bank notes, 
 and at the same time a very substantial 
 proportion of the year's rent. 
 
 We cannot attribute Wayfer's apparent 
 :strength of attitude to sheer indifference 
 to the loss. He was not in a pecuniary 
 position so to regard it. The young man 
 knew what his loss meant at the first 
 moment of realizing it. A considerable 
 hole must be made in his small reserve 
 fund by this unlooked-for casualty ; a 
 consequence almost wholly the result of his 
 own gross negligence. Yes, he knew it;
 
 278 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 recognised it fully at the first instant. He 
 was not dismayed by it. 
 
 How far lie was affected by the know- 
 ledge of his own ignominious position 
 during the progress of the catastrophe 
 there was little or nothing to show. It is 
 not likely that he passed it over in uncon- 
 cern ; for he. in common wdth all the re- 
 membered Wayfer family, was reputed to 
 be endowed with a more unreasonable 
 share of pride than the majority of his 
 neighbours. The Wayfers had never shared 
 the failings of their kind, the failings at 
 least which had any savour of sensuality ; 
 and this young Michael had earned for 
 himself a certain notoriety by this single 
 display of intemperance. It was the first 
 instance of the kind in his family within 
 the limits of the recorded memory of 
 Shipcombe. 
 
 Wayfer did not stay long to regard the 
 ruin of his rick-yard. Two farm boys 
 were standing there to represent the
 
 THE AWAKENING. 279 
 
 labourers in his employment ; the men 
 having withdrawn with the body of those 
 who had been active in resisting the fire. 
 When these lads had been put to some 
 occupation in the stables, the master set 
 oiF for his daily perambulation of the acres 
 under his charge. His two dogs bounded 
 on before him. 
 
 Since sunrise the wind had been steadily 
 on the increase, and it was now threaten- 
 ing to develop into a gale. It was a very 
 salutary state of the atmosphere for one in 
 Wayfer's particular frame of mind. His 
 stalwart form showed only the slightest 
 inclination forwards, but the flapping of 
 his unbuttoned jacket spoke more plainly 
 of the atmospheric force with which he 
 was contending. The clouds had now 
 risen and overspread the whole sky ; their 
 billow-like ridges of grey, which sped on- 
 wards from the Bristol Channel, threw the 
 country into shade and seemed to intensify 
 the clearness of the horizon beneath them.
 
 280 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 The bold range of t lie Malvern hills and 
 the more distant peaks of Wales stood in 
 sombre blue against the lighter back- 
 ground. The country between looked 
 naked, but was not without its peculiar 
 charm to any bold enough to look Novem- 
 ber in the face. Villages and church 
 toAvers were visible, which half the year 
 were buried beneath green clouds of foliage; 
 wood-land and hedgerow w^ere black, inter- 
 spersed with the dull stubble field and 
 pasture. 
 
 Wayfer was not at any time very sensible 
 of the attractions of nature, so that it was 
 hardly to be expected of him now. He 
 was ascending the hill in his walk, and had 
 already crossed that large broken pasture- 
 land, (with the solitary oak tree in the 
 centre towards which the cattle drew,) the 
 slope of which was studded with rusty 
 braken and tufts of furze under whose 
 shelter still lingered a chance tottering 
 harebell or a cloud-like head of yarrow.
 
 THE AWAKENING. 281 
 
 Beyond this field was a goodly coppice, 
 and at the stile which gave entrance to 
 this enclosure the young farmer stopped, 
 resting his hand upon the topmost rail. 
 
 That he was deep in meditation was 
 very obvious ; but there was little to give 
 indication of its tendency. He was pre- 
 sumbly not listening to the wind howling 
 through the wood, nor to its fierce rustling 
 through the dry brown leaves of those 
 stubborn young oaks and elms ; his eyes 
 were not fixed upon any of the flowers^ or 
 hedo-erow berries which were scattered not 
 unplentifully around him. By his very 
 •elbow was a large hawthorn tree, all ruddy 
 with its load of haws : from it, along the 
 margin of the coppice, ran a good hundred 
 yards of miscellaneous dainties worthy to 
 be compared with the gaudy profusion of 
 summer. From amongst the hoary beard 
 of November, — those grey seed-feathers of 
 the wild clematis, — swayed the long grace- 
 ful arms of the dog-brier, bearing its pairs
 
 282 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 and triplets of coral hips, and the last 
 remnants of its golden leaflets, which were 
 now spinning off one by one before the 
 wind. A twisted wreath of red bryony 
 berries was in places apparent, rising up 
 from the matted undergrowth of the 
 ditch. Tasteless blackberries were there 
 in abundance. 
 
 There were flowers, too, of various kinds, 
 for although November does not give great 
 heed to his garden, nevertheless he has one 
 of a kind. Had Wayfer been sentiment- 
 ally inclined, he could have gathered a 
 goodly nosegay for his lady. The hedge- 
 bottom campions, white and pink, still 
 stood erect above the bright-eyed herb- 
 robert geranium : a tall Canterbury-bell 
 which had strayed from the coppice ; the 
 white and purple eyebright, with the little 
 downy hawkweed, lingered by that barren 
 patch where the stony subsoil broke through 
 its thin covering of grass. Daisies and 
 buttercups were still in the grass ; yarrow
 
 THE AWAKENING. 283 
 
 and harebell ; but they were all invisible 
 to Wayfer. 
 
 After standing for several minutes by 
 the stile, with the wind rushing boister- 
 ously about him, the man was aroused 
 from his cogitation by a slap upon the face 
 from an oak leaf. The wind had torn it 
 from the bough in desperation and had 
 taken some inches of the twig along with 
 it. It made Wayfer's cheek tingle, and 
 he brushed his hand hastily across the 
 place. He exclaimed aloud immediately 
 after, 
 
 ' I am a fool; but I've done with it. She 
 can go to the devil for me.' 
 
 Therewith he crossed the stile and took 
 the pathway through the coppice. His 
 dogs had taken licence during his fit of 
 abstraction, and he could now hear them 
 yelping with eagerness in the chase some- 
 where deep in the brushwood. Some 
 whistling and stern shouting of their names 
 at length brought them panting to his-
 
 ^84 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 heel, where they continued to walk, not 
 without sidelong glances, until they reach- 
 ed the top of the wood. They were the 
 first to bound into the pasture, which 
 formed the summit of the hill and was 
 not inaptly called Cold-Comfort, and, when 
 their master again bawled after them, the 
 terrier began to bark and paid no heed to 
 the call. 
 
 When Wayfer had followed into the 
 held, he saw the cause of the dog's dis- 
 quiet : a figure was coming in their direc- 
 tion which the young man inuiiediately 
 recognized as that of Mr. Kimble. The 
 former's face displayed an expression of 
 annoyance. In a minute or two they 
 met. 
 
 'This is a bad job, Wayfer,' said Mr. 
 Kimble, in a short business-like way. ' In- 
 sured, I suppose ?' 
 
 ' It is a bad job ; but it's done and can't 
 be helped,' said Wayfer, doggedly. 
 
 '■ Is there any track of the scoundrels ?
 
 THE AWAKENING. 285 
 
 Do you think it '11 be the same as did 
 Yarnold's?' 
 
 'I don't know. They're never found 
 out.' 
 
 Wayfer did not face Mr. Kimble as he 
 spoke to him, and moreover he seemed to 
 be under some restraint. The latter showed 
 no reflection of the feeling : he appeared 
 monarch of all he surveyed. The two 
 never pretended to be anything more than 
 neighbourly, but Wayfer hardly sustained 
 even this footing to-day. 
 
 'Now I've met you, we might as w*ell 
 settle that other affair,' said Mr. Kimble. 
 ' Have you thought anything more about 
 it ? They're coming down on us for the 
 money.' 
 
 ' I have thought about it,' was the reply. 
 ' I don't see that I am responsible.' 
 
 Mr. Kimble looked sharply in his face. 
 
 ' Not responsible, man ! What the deuce 
 do you mean by that ? Didn't your father 
 admit that he had the money ?'
 
 286 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 ' He was nigh his end : he didn't know 
 what he was talking about.' 
 
 Mr. Kimble stared again. This attitude 
 had taken him by surprise. He had never 
 pressed Wayfer for the money because he 
 had always considered it quite safe. This 
 put a different aspect upon the matter. 
 
 Mr. Kimble was the acting executor of 
 the late vicar, Mr. Bewglass, as has doubt- 
 less been already surmised, and upon him 
 devolved the unpleasant business arising 
 out of the dilapidation question. It was 
 upon this topic that the conversation now 
 turned. That parting injunction of old 
 Wayfer to his son had, as we know, been a 
 thorn in the side of the latter ; but he had 
 not until to-day seriously resolved to act 
 upon the advice of his friend Clinkscales. 
 This was part of the result of his contem- 
 plation in the wind ; and was perhaps one 
 of the consequences of the loss of his ricks. 
 It was natural for him, at any rate, to con- 
 sider his own pecuniary position first, and to
 
 THE AWAKENING. 287 
 
 escape from all responsibilities which there 
 was no likelihood of having enforced upon 
 him by aid of the law. Perhaps also 
 another more personal consideration was 
 not without its weight in his meditations. 
 
 * Come, come, Wayfer,' said Mr. Kimble 
 once more, still unable to accept these 
 appearances for reality : ' I want to talk 
 seriously. You don't mean to say that 
 you really doubt your father's sanity. You 
 know quite well that he had the money.' 
 
 ' I know nothing of the sort,' replied the 
 other. ' He was always grumbling about 
 the buildings, and if he had had the money 
 I know he 'ud ha' laid it out.' 
 
 There could be no mistake about the 
 attitude, and Mr. Kimble was obliged to re- 
 cognize it. He was a man of a very pro- 
 nounced temper, and an incident of this sort 
 was just the thing to arouse it. His eyes 
 were once more fixed upon the man before 
 him, and an angry expletive escaped his 
 lips.
 
 288 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 ' We'll see about that,' he exclaimed, a& 
 he turned and took his departure. 
 
 Wayfer inspected his sheep in this field^ 
 then strode away towards a gate in the 
 hedgerow. He passed through it into a 
 stubble field beyond, and from there began 
 again to descend the hill. 
 
 It was long before he again reached his 
 house. When he did so he found those 
 black and white heaps of ashes still 
 smouldering as when he had left them. 
 There were clusters of idlers around them, 
 who had come out of curiosity to view the 
 scene of the disaster, and it was at them 
 that the master scowled. One drew forward 
 to meet him, not regarding that stern look 
 of discouragement. It was a little man, 
 red-faced, 2:rev-whiskered and black-coated : 
 none other than the Mayor of Shipcombe. 
 
 The reception which he met with 
 would have daunted the spirit of most 
 men : but Clinkscales made a point of 
 never being disconcerted by appearances.
 
 THE AWAKENING. 289 
 
 Having been checked so deliberately in 
 his opening, he merely followed his friend 
 in silence through the farm-yard, and would 
 have entered the house in his company. 
 To this, however, Wayfer objected. 
 
 ' You can't come in now,' he said, with- 
 out facing his companion. 
 
 ' Tut, tut : just a few minutes' sociable 
 discourse. It'll take oiF ' 
 
 ' I don't want you, I tell you ; so you 
 can go.' There was no mistaking this 
 tone. 
 
 Wayfer disappeared through the door- 
 way, and Clinkscales re-crossed the farm- 
 yard. 
 
 All the afternoon was the young farmer 
 engaged about his premises, the men 
 having returned to their work shortly 
 after mid-day. His face showed less spirit 
 than in the morning, when he had battled 
 with the Avind on the high lands ; but it 
 still bore the same aspect of determination. 
 He exchanged word with nobody, beyond 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 the delivery of any necessary order, which 
 was given in the curtest manner possible. 
 He seemed to revive as the day was closing. 
 About sunset he was even humming a tune 
 as he stood at the door of the cowhouse. 
 
 The wind had sunk in some measure, 
 and there was a rift in the deepening grey 
 curtain overhead which gave a glimpse of 
 the blue space beyond with the rosy- tinted 
 cirri stretched before it. The gap closed 
 arain in a short time, and when that 
 coloured streak had disappeared from the 
 western horizon the sullen short-lived 
 twilight was ready to give place to night. 
 Then Wayfer crossed over to the house. 
 
 It was quite dark when he was again 
 fibroad : he was on his way to the village. 
 He walked steadily forward at his usual 
 even pace, not staying until he reached 
 Giles Radway's cottage. There he found 
 Joice alone.
 
 291 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ROSE COTTAGE. 
 
 After the casual encounter of Mr. Kim- 
 ble and Wayfer, in tlie field known as 
 Cold-Comfort, the former had ridden over 
 to Dormantley to consult his lawyer. He 
 had returned in a state of great dis- 
 satisfaction. On his return journey, he 
 called at a picturesque cottage which 
 stood at the foot of the village of Ship- 
 combe, by the green, and passed a few 
 minutes there. Then he went about his 
 ow^n vocations. 
 
 Later in the day Miss Sulby was a 
 visitor to the same cottage. It w^as an 
 unpretentious but inviting abode, such 
 as are common enough in the villages of 
 
 u2
 
 292 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 Gloucestershire. It faced the village green ^ 
 being separated from the road by a garden 
 enclosed by a low stone wall on the top 
 of which the ivy clustered in places. A 
 trellis-work porch served as a frame to the 
 doorway, and over it was trailing the bare 
 arms of honeysuckle and clematis. From 
 each side of it by the windows, rising up 
 the lichen tinted walls and nearly reach- 
 ing the gable points above the bed-room 
 windows, were tall-climbing rose trees^ 
 bearing still two or three blossoms near 
 the top, and naked branches of virginia- 
 creeper. The roof was still tiled with the 
 original old stone slabs, which were even 
 more richly lichened than the walls already 
 referred to. The gateway in the ivied wall 
 opened on to a smooth yellow gravel path 
 which cut in two the well-kept lawn. On 
 each side in the centre grew a hoary 
 gnarled old apple tree, with a flower bed 
 before it and behind. The syringa bush 
 at the corner by the doorway was in a
 
 ROSE COTTAGE. 293 
 
 very bare and stragojling plight ; but the 
 laurustinus, which was its neighbour, bore 
 masses of opening buds amongst its shin- 
 ing; dark o;reen leaves. This was the 
 -dwelling-place of Mrs. Bewglass, to which 
 she had removed upon her husband's 
 death. 
 
 This lady much affected the lonely young 
 school-mistress, and the two consequently 
 passed many a quiet evening together. 
 The elder was a homely old lady of widely 
 <iharitable propensities, who spent most of 
 her time in plain useful needlework for the 
 benefit of her more unfortunate neighbours. 
 Her husband had been the vicar of Ship- 
 combe for upwards of forty years, some 
 thirty of which had this lady spent in his 
 company ; and by sheer force of unaffected 
 good nature the pair had endeared them- 
 selves to the people under their charge to 
 a degree which appears to be becoming 
 -daily of rarer occurrence- 
 Mr. Bewglass would seem to have been
 
 294 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 a man of almost culpable disinterestedness^ 
 for, although in receipt of the emoluments 
 of a not inconsiderable living during the 
 number of years mentioned, when he died 
 it was found that he left his widow en- 
 tirely without provision. He had left her 
 a son, it is true, and this was a substan- 
 tial possession enough in its way, — to his 
 m.other,*no doubt, far before untold wealth 
 of silver and gold ; — but Mrs. Bewglass- 
 had to experience that a few of the pounds- 
 which had been year after year so con- 
 scientiously dispersed by the vicar would 
 have been a very useful addition to this- 
 other bequest. 
 
 In many cases, probably, a son such as- 
 Gabriel Bewglass would have been equiva- 
 lent to a moderate sum of gold, for he was- 
 an able bodied intelligent man, nearing 
 the age of seven and twenty, who had had 
 opportunities enough of securing for him- 
 self a reasonable footing in the business- 
 of the world. He had, nevertheless, for
 
 EOSE COTTAGE. 295 
 
 some reason or other failed to do so, and 
 he was still, at the time of which we 
 speak, filling some subordinate post in the 
 legal department of a government office, 
 with a salary of something less than one 
 hundred and fifty pounds a year. There 
 was no apparent reason for this unfortunate 
 condition of things, beyond perhaps the 
 obvious one of his being the son of the 
 Rev. David Bewglass, M.A. Perhaps the 
 father had endowed the son with some of 
 his own unpractical nature, without having 
 left him the means which could alane 
 remedy the deficiency. However, of the 
 son there is no present necessity to speak : 
 he was but a casual visitor to this home of 
 his mother's. He corresponded, of course, 
 frequently with her, and she posted to him 
 regularly every Monday afternoon the pre- 
 vious Saturday's Dormantley Mirror. 
 
 The twilight was sinking into darkness 
 when Miss Sulby stood before the garden 
 gate. The blinds Avere not yet drawn, so
 
 296 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 that she saw the flickering light of the fire 
 in the room and could distinguish the 
 white cap of the lady by the window. At 
 the sound of the movement of the o;ate that 
 head in the window had been raised. The 
 door was opened before Ruth reached it, 
 and the visitor was greeted with a kiss. 
 
 But they were now sitting comfortably 
 at the tea-table, with shutters closed and 
 thick curtains drawn. The room was cosy 
 and warm, the impression of home-like 
 comfort being heightened by the delicate 
 aroma of toast and tea which pervaded 
 the atmosphere. The soft musical voice 
 of the old lady, Avho naturally almost 
 mono^Dolized the conversation, harmonized 
 pleasantly with the peace and quiet of the 
 room. The cat Avas purring zealously 
 upon the hearth-rug, and the flame in the 
 grate gave an occasional whisper : some- 
 times there was the sound of a tea-cup 
 being replaced in its saucer, and some- 
 times the pouring out of tea; but all
 
 ROSE COTTAGE. 297 
 
 the sounds only added to the silence. 
 
 At last the tea-cosy was allowed to lie 
 idly upon its side at some distance from 
 the tea-pot, so that we may conjecture the 
 meal to be very nearly at an end. Mrs. 
 Bewglass pressed upon Ruth another piece 
 of cake, which was resolutely declined, 
 and then the old lady drank the remainder 
 of her tea. 
 
 • If you have finished, then, Ruth, I will 
 ring ;' and therewith Mrs. Bewglass sounded 
 the little hand-bell which stood upon the 
 table beside her. A prim maid in cap and 
 apron immediately answered the summons. 
 It was at once seen that she was carrying 
 something in her hand. 
 
 ' Please, m'm, Mr. Kimble has sent a 
 hare,' — and the animal was held out at 
 arm's length in unmistakable evidence. 
 
 ' What a beauty !' exclaimed Mrs. Bew- 
 glass. ' Who brought it, Annie ?' 
 
 ' Peter Rule, m'm.' 
 
 ' Is he here now?'
 
 298 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 ' No, m'm. He left it on his way home." 
 
 ' You had better hang it up in the back 
 kitchen to-night, but be careful to see 
 that the window is fastened, else the dogs 
 will get in like they did before. Have 
 you locked up the coal-house ?' 
 
 ' Yes, m'ln,' replied the girl, eagerly^ 
 anxious to score a point where she knew 
 what would have been the result if she 
 had given a different answer. 
 
 ' You will have to come and help me to 
 eat that, Ruth,' remarked the lady, with 
 a smile to her companion, as they seated 
 themselves in the arm-chairs. ' I wish I 
 could send it to poor Gabriel,' she added 
 the next moment. ' He will not get many 
 of such things in London. But he begged 
 me not to do so. The partridges 1 sent 
 him he said were quite Avasted, as his land- 
 lady cooked them so shamefully. Poor 
 boy!' 
 
 The good mother s exclamation of pity 
 did not arise solely from the thought of
 
 ROSE COTTAGE. . 299 
 
 her son's having to go without well-cooked 
 partridge or hare ; the mere mention of 
 his name raised in her mind a very varied 
 assortment of thoughts. 
 
 '• I am afraid he is not very happy in 
 that town life, Ruth; but he will not say 
 anvthino; to me about it.' 
 
 Mrs. Bewglass then found that her 
 hands were unemployed, so she immedi- 
 ately rose to get her work-basket. Her 
 knitting was not in it ; a journey therefore 
 to her bed-room Avas necessary. Ruth 
 surveyed the room until she returned. 
 
 The school- mistress was always subdued 
 by a peculiar feeling of enjoyment when 
 she sat in this snug little parlour. Al- 
 though it was furnished almost as plainly as 
 her own sitting-room, it brought to her an 
 incomparably deeper sense of home. The 
 furniture was old and well handled, and 
 seemed to exhale only the most fragrant 
 reminiscences. There were two large old 
 oil-paintings on the wall, portraits of some
 
 300 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 of Mrs. Bewglass's ancestors, and they with 
 their sombre gaze seemed to influence the 
 atmosphere of the place. It was hardly 
 possible that they could have countenanced 
 a noise. A dingy old book-case was in 
 one corner, containing all the books ever 
 possessed by the late clergyman, and his 
 spirit seemed to preside over them still. 
 
 After glancing hastily at these sober 
 surroundings, Ruth's eyes were fixed upon 
 the mantel-piece, and they continued to 
 look thither until a footstep was heard 
 upon the staircase. When Mrs. Bewglass 
 glided softly into the room, her visitor was 
 intently regarding the face of the prim 
 old fellow over the sideboard. 
 
 ' Haven't you brought any work, 
 Ruth ?' 
 
 ' No, Mrs. Bewglass. I thought that I 
 might read to you to-night.' 
 
 ' Lazy child ; always idle with your 
 fingers. I Avant to talk to you to-night, 
 so that you shall do some sewing for me.
 
 ROSE COTTAGE. 301 
 
 I have a little frock that you can finish/ 
 For some minutes both sat silently at 
 their work. Once or twice the elder lady 
 had looked across at her coni23anion, but 
 she did not open her lips. Mrs. Bew^lass 
 looked very beautiful as she sat there, 
 busily plying her knitting needles. She 
 looked beautiful, indeed, at all times ; but 
 the lamp-light was especially favourable to 
 her pale pure complexion. Her face was 
 rather long and thin, but perfectly formed 
 in every feature. An old-fashioned widow's 
 cap fringed her forehead from temple to 
 temple, from beneath which peeped the 
 silver hair. With the fulness and colour 
 of youth it must have been a face of 
 particular beauty. Now it suggested con- 
 templation very strongly tinged with the 
 pathetic. They were essentially feminine 
 features, and it was a womanly soul which 
 enkindled them. 
 
 When again Mrs. BcAVglass looked up, 
 she caught the eyes of her companion upon
 
 302 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 lier. That look upon Ruth's face seemed 
 to decide her, and she let her knitting fall 
 at once to her lap. 
 
 ' I have wanted to speak to you, Ruth,' 
 the old lady began, with some uneasiness ; 
 'for you are the only one that I am now 
 able to talk with. I am in very great 
 trouble.' 
 
 The school-mistress gave her reply with- 
 out speech. 
 
 '■ It will take a little time to explain, but 
 now will be the best opportunity for doing 
 it. I must really talk to somebody about 
 it. Mr. Kimble, of course, is very kind ; 
 but then he is a man and he looks at things 
 as busy men always do. I have never 
 spoken to you, Ruth, about my family 
 matters, but I expect you have heard some- 
 thing about them. However, I will begin 
 from the beginning. You know what a 
 good man my husband was — oh, I can't 
 think how it has happened, for he never 
 spent a penny upon himself ! The lawyers
 
 ROSE COTTAGE. 303 
 
 say tliat there is four hundred and seventy 
 three pounds owing from him, and he only 
 left one hundred and thii^ty pounds to pay 
 it with. My dear husband would never 
 keep any of the money which he got from 
 the living, else he might have been a rich 
 man. When he was a young man, he made 
 a promise with himself that all the money 
 which he earned in God's service should be 
 laid out again for the good of his people, 
 only keeping enough just to support him- 
 self and his family. He always said that 
 the money was not his, but was entrusted 
 to him for those who should want it. He 
 acted upon this principle all his life through, 
 and this is how it is we are so poor.' 
 
 A short silence followed this opening. 
 
 ' But did Mr. Bewglass owe so much 
 money?' said Ruth at last, with difficulty 
 finding any remark to make. 
 
 ' No, he did not owe it himself, but it 
 seems to be a rule when a clergyman dies 
 for all the property which belongs to his
 
 304 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 living to be examined and a report nriade 
 of the cost of any repairs to it which seem 
 necessary. This is how Mr. Kimble ex- 
 plains it to me. Then the amount has to 
 be paid out of the money left by the 
 clergyman who has died. If there is not 
 enough, they may sell everything he left 
 behind him.' 
 
 Ruth began now seriously to grasp the 
 situation, and looked in consternation ac- 
 cordingly. Mrs. Bewglass proceeded with 
 the narrative as well as she could. 
 
 ' It seems that there is such a large sum 
 to be paid for our property, because there 
 are so many old farm buildings upon it, 
 which are not in good repair. But the 
 tenants never complained of them. My 
 husband always did for them what they 
 thought necessary. But I must be stronger, 
 Ruth. Really I am as bad as a child, and 
 set a shameful example to you. We must 
 be prepared for trouble in this world, and 
 must bear it uncomplainingly when it
 
 ROSE COTTAGE. 305 
 
 comes. I am not distressed on my own 
 account, for an old woman like me can 
 hide her head anyw^here ; but for Gabriel !' 
 — Mrs. Bewglass looked at her companion 
 in a most distressing manner. — ' He loves 
 this little home so much. He always says 
 that it makes him a new man to come for 
 
 a single day to it ' the old lady's tears 
 
 fell upon her knitting ; — ' and — and if they 
 should break it up, Ruth, I don't knowwhat 
 I shall do.' 
 
 * Break up this home!' exclaimed Ruth, 
 looking aghast at the mere thought. ' But 
 they may not sell this furniture ? They 
 can only take your money.' 
 
 ' Everything, dear child. They may sell 
 the chairs we are sitting on, and the beds 
 in which we sleep. Mr. Kimble will not 
 tell me this ; but I know it myself 
 
 ' But — but, can it not be saved? Can- 
 not money V 
 
 ' We will not borrow money to save 
 ourselves a little trouble,' replied the old 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 lady more firmly. ' That would be no relief 
 to us at all. My chief concern, Ruth, is 
 how to keep all this from Gabriel. 1 am 
 determined that he shall not know of it 
 until after all is settled.' 
 
 * But it is not certain that they will sell 
 everything ?' 
 
 ' I consider that it is. It is useless to 
 live upon a false hope.' 
 
 ' Would it not be better to let Mr. Bew- 
 glass know, in case he can find out any 
 means of remed ?' 
 
 • No, Ruth. It might lead him to some 
 rash step, and would in any case disturb 
 him dreadfully. He must not know any- 
 thing about it, until all is settled one way 
 or the other. I have insisted upon this to 
 Mr. Kimble, until he is quite angry about 
 it, but I know my own son best, and I 
 know that it is the right thing to do.' 
 
 ' Of course, he knows about the money 
 being claimed,' continued the lady, after a 
 few minutes' silence : ' but he does not know
 
 ROSE COTTAGE. 307 
 
 to what it may lead.' (So Mrs. Bewglass 
 thought.) ' He has not the money with 
 which to pay it, else I should act different- 
 ly. It is enough that I should rob him of 
 half his earnings, which I do, Ruth.' 
 
 Mrs. Bewglass made this confession with 
 some bitterness, and Miss Sulby looked 
 across at her with surprise. 
 
 ' He keeps my home entirely, as well as 
 himself; and, whatever he says, I am sure 
 that lie pinches himself to do it. It costs 
 more to live comfortably in the town than 
 in the country ; don't you think so, Ruth ?' 
 
 ' Yes, it certainly does.' 
 
 Ruth was listening to her friend's con- 
 fession with the deepest interest ; it seemed 
 especially so at this new turn in the con- 
 versation. 
 
 ' I need not tell you of the quarrel we 
 had about it, for it was really almost a 
 quarrel ; but the self-willed boy got his 
 way. He pretended that this house was 
 as much his as mine, when he only comes 
 
 X 2
 
 308 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 to it for a fortnight in the whole year. He 
 would not hear of my going to live with 
 him in London, although I am sure we 
 could live more cheaply together. And I 
 could look after him so much better than 
 he can himself. I know that he does not 
 live well enough ; and oh, Ruth ! to see his 
 linen. It is quite black when it comes from 
 the wash. I am ashamed to think of him 
 in it ; and yet he has to pay exorbitant 
 prices. Fancy fourpence for a white shirt, 
 when it comes back as black as a duster 
 and without an atom of starch in it. I 
 advised him to take to wearing flannel ; 
 but he could never bear it.' 
 
 That was a dangerous topic for Mrs. 
 Bewglass to touch upon, for she could 
 seldom restrain her feelings about it. For 
 the moment she even forgot the graver sub- 
 ject of her trouble, in the trials to which 
 her poor son was put in his lodgings. She 
 had gathered them all for herself from the 
 most casual utterances of Gabriel. When-
 
 KOSE COTTAGE. 309 
 
 ever she directly spoke to him about them, 
 he passed her off with a laugh. He never 
 referred to them himself. 
 
 Ruth was naturally able to extend to 
 her much womanly sympathy. She would 
 have readily got up Gabriel's shirts herself, 
 or put on buttons, or darned his socks, if 
 only out of her friendship far his mother. 
 Unfortunately she was denied the oppor- 
 tunity of showing her willingness to be of 
 assistance. She did not even make any 
 statement about it to the old lady. Her 
 remarks were confined to the laundry in 
 the abstract. But Mrs. Bewglass suddenly 
 returned. 
 
 ' But I shall have to go and live with him 
 now,' she said, in an altered tone of voice. 
 ' There will be nothing else for me to do.' 
 
 ' When do you think this will happen, 
 Mrs. Bewglass?' 
 
 ' I don't know, my dear; but I believe 
 it may do so any day. I am prepared for 
 it any day.'
 
 310 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 ^ But you would get some notice of it T 
 
 ' I don't know. I am afraid the 
 lawyers are not in the habit of showing 
 much consideration for private feelings.' 
 
 'I suppose not,' replied Ruth, absently, 
 pricking her finger with the needle at the 
 same time. 
 
 ' But now I have told you, Ruth, I am 
 better. You must not be wretched about 
 it. I believe you are fond of me, and I 
 did not want the unpleasant news to come 
 upon you unawares. Let us talk of some- 
 thing else. Read something to me now.' 
 
 ' Please excuse me to-night, Mrs. Bew- 
 glass. It would only be pretence, for 1 am 
 sure that neither of us could attend to 
 anything I read. It will be better to talk.' 
 
 The old lady readily acquiesced, and they 
 gradually got into a deep conversation con- 
 cerning the distribution of various winter 
 garments, and the wants and troubles of 
 their neighbours. 
 
 Ruth took her part readily in the dis-
 
 ROSE COTTAGE. 311 
 
 cussion, and showed quite a remarkable in- 
 timacy with the tactics of charitable enter- 
 prise, as well as a minute knowledge of the 
 condition of the poorer villagers around 
 her. Nevertheless, it would have been ap- 
 parent to a shrewd observer that Mrs. Bew- 
 glass spoke with less encumbered spirits. 
 
 Miss Sulby was only -young, and had 
 consequently less command over her feel- 
 ings. The information which she had re- 
 ceived to-night had been to her no ordinary 
 blow. She could hardly have felt it more 
 had similar news been brought her of the 
 position of her own mother. The cloud 
 brooded constantly over her, even when 
 her mind was engaged in other directions. 
 
 She never stayed late with Mrs. Bew- 
 glass, but to-night she left earlier than 
 usual. She pleaded work to be prepared 
 for the morrow, and her friend made no 
 efforts to detain her. The old lady felt 
 towards her in the position of a mother, 
 and found no difficulty in bestowing upon
 
 312 A VILLAGE HAMrDEN. 
 
 the young woman all her wealth of af- 
 fection, whilst at the same time she 
 perhaps accorded her more individual 
 consideration than might have been the 
 case between parent and child. Ruth's 
 wrappages were carefully examined and 
 at once pronounced insufficient. It was 
 dangerous to go out of a warm room on 
 such a night without very elaborate pre- 
 parations. In a moment another shawl 
 had been produced and adjusted with Mrs. 
 Bewglass's own hands. 
 
 ' There, dear,' she said, when it was ac- 
 complished, and the greater part of Ruth's 
 face smothered in the folds. ' Be quick 
 and run home, and keep the shawl over 
 your mouth. Do not worry over what I 
 have told you. Good-night, God bless 
 you. I shall see you to dinner on Satur- 
 day. Good-bye.' 
 
 Ruth was forthwith bundled out of the 
 door, her old friend holding her own 
 shawl to her mouth whilst she stood by
 
 ROSE COTTAGE. 313^ 
 
 the opening. She did not shut out that 
 cold blast until her visitor was safely 
 beyond the gate into the road : when the 
 sound of it closino^ had been audible, Mrs. 
 Bewglass turned the key in the door and 
 walked slowly again to her sitting-room. 
 
 The school-mistress obeyed every in- 
 junction, and may be supposed to be none 
 the worse for her journey. Fortunately 
 there were a few gleeds still alive in her 
 fireplace, so that with the aid of the bel- 
 lows she quickly had the grate all a-glow. 
 Her dog Dash showed his joy at her 
 return in his accustomed boisterous fashion. 
 As Ruth knelt upon the rug with the bel- 
 lows, he leaped up to her shoulder with 
 screams, and pressed his cold nose against 
 her cheek. He would not desist from his 
 exertions, notwithstanding innumerable re- 
 buffs, until his mistress was seated in her 
 arm-chair and he curled up in her lap. 
 
 No work was possible for Ruth that 
 night, strong self-disciplinarian as she at
 
 314 A VILLAGE HAMPDEN. 
 
 all times was. Her imagination was beyond 
 her control upon this particular occasion, 
 and she must follow wherever it led her. 
 
 She reviewed Mrs. Bewglass's disclosures 
 with the utmost bitterness of spirit, but 
 was unable to come to any satisfactory 
 conclusions. One thing pressed itself forc- 
 ibly upon her, and that was the mother's 
 error in withholding the information from 
 her son. Ruth was acquainted with Mr. 
 Gabriel Bewglass, and she had formed her 
 own opinion of his qualities. It appeared 
 to her in the highest degree probable that 
 merely at the approach of his stalwart 
 figure these ugly difficulties would take to 
 flight. But, after all, he had no money. 
 His mother must at least be well informed 
 as to that ; and without money it did seem 
 difficult to do much. This thought took 
 Miss Sulby from her chair, and she walked 
 across to the table in the corner. A closed 
 writing-desk was upon it, which she opened 
 with a small key from her pocket, and
 
 ROSE COTTAGE. 315 
 
 therefrom she produced what seemed a thin 
 memorandum book. With it she returned 
 again to the fire. For a minute or two 
 she was calculating figures, and at last 
 pronounced the result aloud. 
 
 ' Eighty-four pounds, seven shillings, and 
 nine pence.' 
 
 Her thoughts again proceeded in silence. 
 She sat there late into the night, and 
 found but little rest when she retired 
 Some kind of scheme, however, she had 
 formed during her watching, which had 
 apparently brought her a modicum of com- 
 fort. Even the morning light seemed to 
 approve it. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 London : Printed hy Duncan Macdonald^ Blenheim Hou$e.^ W.
 
 >^