Into the Highways and Hedges Part 59

George's luck seemed to infect her, but Benjamin waxed angry.

Mrs. Sauls sent George away at last, unwillingly. "You are disturbing your uncle, which is not fair. And really, you know, I don't require to be taught how to suck eggs. Go away!" she cried.

"Does it disturb you to be looked at, Uncle Benjamin? I beg your pardon," said George politely; and retreated to the other end of the room to chaff Lyddy, and amuse his gentle little aunt, who never could understand why any one ever disliked dear George or thought him sarcastic.

"There!" said Lyddy yawning, when their guests had departed; "I thought they were never going. Isn't it comical to see what a fuss George always makes over poor Aunt Lyddy? I declare I believe he'll end by marrying _that_ kind of simple, meek woman, though he flirts with the go-ahead ones."

"I wish he would!" said George's mother. "Your Aunt Lyddy is a good woman--a much better woman than I am; though I must own," she added, with an inflection of voice that was very like her son's, "that I believe that's partly because she's too stupid to be anything else. But George would be very kind to a----"

"To a good little fool!" said Lyddy. "I really think he would. Well, are you coming to bed?"

"Presently," said Mrs. Sauls. But when Lyddy had gone, she went down to the smoking room.

"Ah! I thought your curiosity wouldn't keep till the morning!" cried George, when she opened the door.

"My dear! You've found the diamonds! Where are they?"

He stretched out his hand, the locket lying on his palm face upwards.

"In my hands," he said.

"And where were they, George?"

"In that saint's!" He laughed, and laid it down on the table. "Mother!

you and I were too charitable; we thought he would draw the line at that."

He told her the whole story then, walking up and down the room while he talked. He was very triumphant, and slightly flushed; she could have fancied he had been drinking just enough to elate him, but that George never drank; and, in spite of the triumph, the old woman's heart ached for him.

"You remember I told you that I had mislaid some papers?" he said. "I recollected suddenly that I had left them at the governor's house, so I went back there this evening; I found them. (I shall begin to say I am led by the Spirit soon.) On leaving the house, I came upon that fine old parson from Lupcombe. He wanted to cut me; he thought I had trumped up the whole story about his pet preacher, out of personal spite, I believe. He implied as much in the witness box, and I was determined to have it out with him. Upon my word, mother, though I've small liking for parsons, I like that one; he's a splendid old specimen. Well, the snow came down hard on us and shortened our colloquy. He went on his way, having delivered his mind as boldly as if he were safe in the pulpit, where no man can answer him; and I was just crossing the road, when a runaway cart came tearing along. I saw a woman, with a bundle in her arms, slip as she tried to get out of the way. The roads are in a fearful state; one might skate from here to the gaol; and the drifts of snow were whirling up into our eyes. I caught the horse's bridle. The wheels hadn't gone over the woman, but she was knocked down almost under the brute's hoofs. I had to pick her up. She wasn't much hurt, I fancy; only a good deal shaken, and a little bruised."

He paused for a moment. Something in his voice had revealed to his mother who the woman was.

"You saved the preacher's wife!" she said.

"I felt I ought to apologise for my presumption," said George. "But I really couldn't help it. I--I didn't see who she was till she lay in my arms."

He put his head down on his hands for a second as he stood by the mantelpiece. He could feel her in his arms still in the midst of that whirling snow, her head on his shoulder for once, her eyes closed.

"Tom Thorpe was with her; he was just a few steps in front. He turned round when he heard me shout, and he caught the reins on the other side.

I left him to take her home. She is living close to the prison. I think she hadn't time to realise that I had saved her, which was fortunate; for she would possibly have preferred being killed. I had picked up the bundle she was carrying, and had it still in my hand. I considered whether I would run after them and give it to Tom Thorpe; but then I thought I'd send it round by a servant to-night, and not force her to speak to me. Modesty is always my strong point, you know. Besides, though I am not thin-skinned, she has made me understand that,--what was it?--that she'd rather take hot coals in her bare hands, than help from me. So I took the bundle to my rooms, and--(observe the leading of the Spirit again! I could preach a sermon on that subject to the preacher now!)--I called Lucas to do up the things tidily, and take them. There was a jersey, and a woollen s.h.i.+rt, and a cloth cap. I didn't want to touch them. It was Lucas--not I--who found out. The cap had been torn, her bundle had gone under the wheel; it was so torn that the lining was loose. Lucas, bless his tidiness! took it up to brush off the dirt. In brus.h.i.+ng it, he felt something between the cloth and the lining. He put in his fingers--he is always curious, but I'll allow that his curiosity was inspired on this occasion--and he pulled out _this_ plum! It had been lying safely _perdu_ for some time. If that pious man's leading spirit hadn't rounded on him and taken to leading me instead, he would have carried those diamonds on his revered head to all his meetings for the next six months--supposing he got off, of which he had a good chance. It would hardly have been safe to get rid of them in England; but, perhaps, he would have had 'a call' to convert the sinners over the Channel. He generally uncovers when he prays, doesn't he? otherwise, I should think the diamonds would have touched him as a very 'direct and sensible blessing,' and would have given great force to his pet.i.tions."

"Don't, George!" said Mrs. Sauls quickly. "If the man was a hypocrite, he'll swing for it; but that's no reason why you should blaspheme."

"I? I am in an unusually religious frame of mind," said George. "Aunt Lyddy told me to be thankful to Providence for my preservation just now; and so I am, very. I've got my desire over mine enemy, which is a Biblical source of congratulation! Barnabas Thorpe always says it's the 'Lord' when he takes what he wants. Let me follow that holy man's example; if his 'Lord' has given him into my hand, it would be wicked not to rejoice."

"Do you suppose his wife knew that he had the diamonds?" interrupted Mrs. Sauls.

"No, I don't," said George. "It _would_ be blasphemy to suppose that."

He was walking up and down again, but that question about the preacher's wife sobered him a little; and presently he sat down, playing with her locket in one hand and shading his face with the other.

"And yet I don't know," he said. "She may have known--G.o.d knows--no! I think it is the devil knows--what may happen when a woman is bound to _such_ a saint. In any case it's not her fault."

"But she will suffer if he's hanged," said Mrs. Sauls; and George looked up.

"Yes; she will," he said. "That's not my affair. The fool always suffers with the knave, and the innocent with the guilty. I didn't make that excellent universal law. But I am not so moonstruck as to let a rogue off for the sake of a woman who won't touch me with a pair of tongs.

Why, mother, what do you take me for? What do you want? I've never known you so unreasonable. Why shouldn't I bring a man to justice who has tried to kill me? Who am I to upset heaven's decrees? Do you want me to compound a felony? I believe you do! I am ashamed of you, old lady!"

"I am a foolish old woman, my boy," said Mrs. Sauls. "Perhaps it's because I am getting feeble and old now, that I can't bear to hear you talk so."

And George suddenly dropped the savagely bantering tone, and sat down on the sofa beside her, and pulled her closer to him. "Nonsense! 'old and feeble!'" he said. "There's not much feebleness about you, mother. I say, you make me feel on a par with my uncle! My foot itches to kick him when I hear him bullying Aunt Lydia. Have I been bullying you?"

"No, my dear. You are quite the best son in all the world, and not in the least like your uncle," said Mrs. Sauls. "Besides, you wouldn't find me so easy to bully as your Aunt Lyddy, though I remember----"

She did not say what she remembered; but George knew well enough.

They both remembered some scenes that had probably helped to make George the man he was, both for good and evil. Isaac Cohen had been a brutal husband, and a tyrannical father, till the day when George discovered that he was big enough to defend himself, and strong enough to prevent his mother from being ill-treated--at any rate, in his presence.

"Don't remember!" said Isaac's son. "My father is best forgotten. I hope I don't remind you of him. If I do, I certainly ought to be heartily ashamed of myself."

It was a bitter thing to say of a father, but then the facts hadn't been sweet; and his mother, at least, knew how much besides bitterness had been developed by them. It was seldom that she referred to those days that were past, but she had touched on them for a purpose now. Her son's love for her had deepened with the necessity of protecting her; in alluding to that, she knew that she was pulling at her strongest hold on him. Certainly she was, as he called her, a clever old woman.

"Perhaps I am unreasonable," she said. "Evidence is against the preacher, and, as you say, he'll be convicted by the jury, not by you. I should rejoice to see the man who tried to kill you on the gallows; but, George, I still believe that _that_ man is innocent. Don't laugh again and talk to me of heaven."

"Well, I won't," said George; "for, in sober earnest, mother, I must say that I think heaven has had precious little to do with the affair from first to last. I am sure the preacher's marriage was concocted in the other place. I should like to ask him what he thinks of personal inspiration when he knows what I've found. But I won't quote his jargon to you if it makes you sick. I allow it was my own luck and prompt.i.tude that put into my hand the rope that will throttle him. After all, I've always found myself the only safe thing to trust to!"

"Very well, my son," said Mrs. Sauls. "But, if you respect nothing beyond yourself, you must be careful not to lose that self-respect."

George Sauls looked at her in surprise; his mother seldom spoke so to him; for, with all their apparent frankness to each other, both had a good deal of reserve, partly born of a horror of cant. She felt nervous at having said so much, but he didn't laugh this time.

"My dear mother, you are getting quite miserable; and neither I nor the preacher, even supposing him to be as good as he looks, is worth that,"

he said kindly. "I believe I've been holding forth like a stage villain; but, after all, I am not meditating any villainies. Some one comes behind me in the dark and tries to murder me; I have the man, who, I believe, did it, arrested, and then a fortunate chance puts clinching proof of his guilt into my hand. Naturally I shall produce it. As it happens, I hated Barnabas Thorpe before; but I a.s.sure you that I should act in precisely the same way if there had been no former quarrel between us, and I should be quite right. I am doing nothing unfair; you needn't be unhappy; I can't imagine why you are. I wish you would go to bed, and forget the preacher. I can't think what makes you so soft about him; you've heard of men being hanged before now. Look here, I've got a lot of writing to do to-night, and don't want to have to sit up till the small hours. To do that is very bad for my head, which ought to be of a great deal more importance to you than Barnabas Thorpe's neck.

Good-night."

He gave her a kiss as he spoke. She had been very foolish and unlike her ordinary cheerful self to-day; but then he was aware that he too had been rather excited, and his kiss was all the warmer because he had been momentarily angry, and because she had called herself old and feeble.

Certainly her tenacity of purpose was not feeble.

When her son stooped to kiss her, she made up her mind to gain her point, and she appealed instinctively to the most vulnerable part of George. He might be hard-headed, like his father, but he possessed something that his father had lacked.

"My boy, you are quite within your rights," she said. "But let me be 'unreasonable and soft' for once, and give me this fancy just because I am your old mother and ask you for it."

"What do you ask?" said George. "If it is anything on the preacher's behalf, please don't ask it; for I don't like refusing you, and you don't at all like being refused."

This was not encouraging, but Mrs. Sauls persisted. There were few things George wouldn't do for her, as she very well knew.

"You are more to me than a hundred preachers," she said. "George, if this man is hanged, I believe from my soul that you'll be sorry for it one day. Oh, I know that you are doing nothing unfair; that you've every right possible to produce those diamonds in court. I tell you, I own I am unreasonable, and a silly old woman to-night; and yet, oh, my dear, the idea haunts me that you will feel his blood on your head, because at the bottom of your heart you hate the man, not because of that blow in the dark, but because he has married the woman you want. Throw the diamonds away. Give them back to Mrs. Thorpe. Let him escape. If he is guilty, he'll suffer in the end, you may be sure. If he is innocent (and since I have seen him I feel convinced that he is), you will be glad."

She looked eagerly at him, but there was not a sign of yielding on George's face.

"I am not afraid of being haunted," he said; "though the preacher is always so illogical that I quite allow it would be highly characteristic of his ghost to try that game on me, if a jury justly convict him. No, mother! Mrs. Thorpe should have kept the diamonds when she had them. She won't get them back now. I hope to see him hang first. If he is innocent, he must be able to explain how the stones got into his possession; if he can explain and won't, he is a fool--to put it mildly--I shan't frustrate justice to save him from the fruits of his folly. I'm not his nurse to prevent the poor dear from cutting his fingers when he plays with edged tools. Why on earth should I?"