Nestleton Magna Part 10

Here, in his excitement, Old Adam rose up in his stirrups and unconsciously brought his stick down on the flanks of his Rosinante, with a thwack that would have startled any other steed into at least a momentary spurt. Balaam, however, only c.o.c.ked his ears in mild astonishment, as who should say, "What in the world is the matter with the old man now?" or, rather, for it isn't possible to think of him cogitating in any other language than his master's, "What i' t'

wolld's up wi' t' aud chap noo?"

Just at this point Adam had reached a narrow gate which opened into a gra.s.sy lane, leading to Marlpit Wood, the scene of his labours for the day. There, bestriding a handsome bay, and in the act of attempting to open the gate with the handle of his riding whip, was a fine, handsome young gentleman, whose dark eyes gleamed with good temper, and whose general appearance was indicative of rank, high spirits, and kindliness of heart. This was none other than Philip Fuller, and no sooner did Adam Olliver set his eyes upon him than he resolved there and then to fulfil his promise to Judith to "see about it," and to "have it out" with the delinquent himself.

"Ah'll oppen t' yat fo' yo' if y'll wayte a minnit;" and, dismounting, he fulfilled his promise, and stood with his limp and battered "Jim Crow" hat in his hand, before the young gentleman had an opportunity to reply.

"Thank you," said Philip, with a bright, open smile, and, putting his hand in his pocket, he pulled out a coin with the view of paying for the favour he had received.

"Nay," said Adam, "Ah deean't want payin' for it. Ah sud hae 'ad te oppen it for mysen; an' if ah hedn't it wad hae been varry meean te see yo' bother'd, an' gan on indifferent. Bud if yo'll excuse ma', sor, ah sud like te say a wod or two te yo', an' ah wop yo' weean't be offended. Mah neeam's Adam Olliver, an' ah lives next deear te Nathan Blyth, an' ah thinks as mitch aboot his lahtle Lucy as ah deea aboot me' aun bairns. Oh, sor!" and Adam lifted his honest sun-brown face in strong appeal, "deean't draw Natty's yow' lam' away frev 'im, poor fellow! He hez bud' hor, an' if onny 'arm sud 'appen tiv her, it'll breck his 'art an' hor's an' all. She's as good as she's pratty, bless 'er! an' it wad be twenty thoosand pities, as weel as an awful sin, te bring disgrace on 'er heead, an' sorrow tiv' 'er 'art. Deean't, ah pre' you, rob Natty of his darlin'. Yisterday, ah was clippin' a hedge yonder by Marlpit Wood, an' ah saw a m.u.t.h.e.r-bod teeachin' 'er yung 'un te flee. T' aud bod flutter'd and chirrup't up an' doon, an' roond aboot, the varry picther o' happiness, an' t' poor lahtle gollin'

cheep'd an' hopp'd, an' flew as happy as it's mother. A sparro'-hawk com' doon, like a flash o' leetnin', an' teeak'd lahtle thing away iv his claws. Ah tell you, Maister Philip, t' way that poor m.u.t.h.e.r-bod pleean'd an' twitter'd, an' hopp'd, frae bush te tree, an' frae tree te bush, wild wi' grief, was aneeaf te melt a flint. Maister Philip!

deean't be a hawk; bud let Natty's pratty lahtle singin'-bod be, an'

G.o.d'll bless yo'."

Philip Fuller listened in amaze. A bright ingenuous blush tinged his cheek at the mention of Lucy's name, and as the old man proceeded, in rude, homely eloquence, to plead, as he thought, the cause of injured innocence, the colour deepened until it might easily have been misread as an evidence of conscious guilt. Not the slightest shadow of anger, however, rested on his features, as he looked into the gleaming eyes of the "old man eloquent." On the contrary, his clear perception showed him in Old Adam the true and knightly sympathiser with innocence and beauty; the chivalrous knight in corderoy and hodden grey, who, if needs be, would peril life and limb to champion his darling against all comers suspected of unrighteous intent.

"Deean't be vexed, Maister Philip," he proceeded. "Ah meean neea harm, you knoa ah deean't, but ah can't abide te see lahtle Lucy pinin' away i' sorro', an' 'er fayther gannin' aboot like a man iv a dreeam. She's nut the la.s.s for you, yo' knoa. A lennet an' a eeagle's ill matched, an' ah want yo' te promise mah 'at yo'll let her alooan, weean't yo'?"

"Vexed! No," said Philip; "on the contrary, I esteem you for your love to Lucy, and I respect you for your candour; but you are under a great mistake. G.o.d is my witness, Adam Olliver; I mean no harm to Lucy Blyth, and would rather suffer the loss of my right arm than bring a tear to her eye, or sorrow to her father's hearth."

"G.o.d i' heaven bless yo' for that wod," said Adam, with deep feeling; "you lahtle knoa hoo it releeaves mi' mind, an' ah's sorry 'at ah've judg'd yo' hardly, but ah've seen yo' mair than yance or twice, when ah thowt 'at there was room te fear."

"Well, well," said Philip, with a smile, "you need be under no concern of that kind, for, on the honour of a gentleman, and the faith of a Christian, I mean all that I have said."

"Prayse the Lord!" said Adam. "As for t' honour ov a gentleman, sum gentlemen hae queer nooations aboot that, an' ah wadn't trust 'em as far as ah could fling 'em on t' strength on't. Bud t' faith ov a Christian's anuther thing, an' if yo' hae _that_ it'll keep beeath you an' hor an' ivveryboddy else oot o' harm's way. The blood ov Jesus Christ cleansis frae all sin, an' ah pray 'at yo' may knoa it an' feel it all t' days o' yer life. Excuse mah for makkin' sae free wi' yo', sor," said Adam, again touching his time-worn hat, "bud you've teean a looad off my heart as big as Kesterton Hill."

With mutual "Good-mornings" they separated; the one to ply his slas.h.i.+ng-knife on Farmer Houston's quick-wood, the other to pursue his homeward way to Waverdale Hall, with a new subject for study and new material for thought.

Leaving Adam Olliver to jog along the gra.s.sy lane on the back of patient and unwitting Balaam, let us accompany the handsome scion of the house of Fuller, and listen to his communings, stirred as he was by his interview with Lucy's rustic friend and champion.

"She loves me," was his first thought; "to me she would never own it.

But Adam Olliver knows it, and misreads my heart as much as one man can misread another's. Lucy, my darling, for love of you I would barter Waverdale Hall without a sigh; I would harden my hands at the anvil, and hammer and sing as merrily as Blithe Natty, if you might brighten my cottage home! What shall I do? My proud and stately father will never permit such an unequal match but, with all his pride, he loves me dearly, and I cannot, will not, be disloyal to so great a love, and disobey his will."

He heaved a sigh from the depths of his perplexed and anxious spirit; then his mind reverted to Adam Olliver's words, "The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin." And again the refrain heard in the cottage service rung in his ears,--

"To you is it nothing that Jesus should die?"

"What _does_ it mean? I would give the world to know and feel that cleansing power, to know and feel that Jesus died for me."

Slowly, but definitely and surely, the young patrician was being led by Providence and Grace to the Lamb of G.o.d that taketh away the sins of the world.

Nor were the cogitations of the grand old hedger less interesting. His shrewd, observant mind had noted the clear, transparent character of the youthful squire, had been struck with the honest ring of his manly disclaimer, and lapsing into his old habit of making Balaam his confidant, he said,--

"Balaam, thoo an' me's a cupple ov aud feeals. What business hae we te jump te conclusions aboot uther fooaks' faults? We mun try te leeak at yam a bit mair. Here ah've been at it fotty year an' mair, talkin'

aboot an' praisin' t' charity 'at thinks nae evil, an' here ah've been bleeamin' that yung fello' withoot judge or joory. Oh, Adam, Adam!

Thoo mun gan te skeeal ageean an' larn t' a-b ab's o' Christian charaty! Them 'at's fost te fling a steean had better keep their aun winder-shutters in, or they'll hae plenty o' brokken gla.s.s, an' ah feel as meean as though I hadn't a woll payne left i' mahn. Ah's waintly misteean if that's nut as feyn a young chap as ivver rayd a hoss, an' ah'll pray 'at the Lord may mak' him a bonnin' an' a s.h.i.+nin'

leet."

Adam Olliver's prayers were not wont to be in vain.

CHAPTER XV.

NATHAN BLYTH IS THE VICTIM OF A GUNPOWDER PLOT.

"As woods, when shaken by the breeze, Take deeper, firmer root, As winter's frosts but make the trees Abound in summer fruit;

So every bitter pang and throe That Christian firmness tries, But nerves us for our work below, And forms us for the skies."

_Henry Francis Lyte._

A few days after the evening when Lucy Blyth was rescued from the unpleasant attentions of Black Morris by her own true knight, the scapegrace in question once again met Lucy in the twilight; and, though sufficiently sober now, he was inclined to force his imaginary and unappreciated claims upon her notice. This time, however, Lucy, whose patience had been fully tried, held her ground, and summoned all her courage for resolute resistance and a final dismissal of her persistent wooer.

"John Morris," said she, "why will you not let me alone? Surely you can see clearly enough that I don't want you, that I won't have you, and that your conduct is downright persecution. I shall be compelled to seek means to protect myself, if you have not manliness enough to desist and leave me alone."

In vain the hot-headed victim of a fruitless pa.s.sion pleaded for "a trial." In vain he promised instant and absolute reformation in conduct and character. In vain he told her that he should be ruined, body and soul, if she turned him totally adrift.

Lucy felt that an uncompromising firmness was her only chance of escape from him, and that she must not even seem to yield one jot.

"Once for all," said she, "I will not--I never will! and, if you follow me till I die, you'll get no answer but that. I shall soon hate you if you hara.s.s and annoy me any more."

Then Black Morris lost command of his temper, if, indeed, he could be said ever to have control of it, and said, with an oath,--

"I see how it is: that cursed young squire has played his cards too well for me. He's a sly beggar; but I'll be even with him. I hate him, as I hate his father. One robbed us of our farm, and the other has robbed me of you! Let him look out, for I'll be revenged on him either with bullet or knife!"

Turning on his heel, and leaving Lucy as white as a sheet, he set off at a rapid pace towards Midden Harbour. By and bye he turned back, and overtaking her, glared in her face with a pa.s.sion simply diabolical, and said,--

"That proud fool of a father of yours thinks a precious deal about you. I asked him, like a man, to let me court you, and he said he'd rather see you dead and in your grave. Tell him he may live to do it.

Let him look out," said he, stamping with rage. "Curse him! I'll have my revenge;" and again he dashed away, this time in the direction of the Red Lion.

Lucy, more dead than alive, sped homeward on the wings of fear, and on reaching her threshold fell into a dead swoon in her father's arms.

When she had recovered she told Nathan Blyth all the events of the night. He vainly wished he could recall his needlessly angry words to Black Morris, for he saw to what danger and trouble he had exposed his darling, from the hands of one who threatened to be such a reckless and implacable enemy.

That self-willed and headstrong young fellow found at the village alehouse a number of suspicious characters, with whom he had already had too great an intimacy. Just now he was ripe and ready for any extreme of lawlessness to which they could tempt him; so, after plying him with strong liquors, they promised to aid him in his revenge. The last remnant of his self-control was gone. He became the repository of criminal confidences from which in many a sober moment afterwards he found no way of escape. His descent was now rapid; his harsh and ungenial father often quarrelled with him; even his mother--the only being who had any moral control over him--was unable to exert any restraining influence, and Black Morris was fairly launched on that sea of depravity which, except for G.o.d's miracles of mercy, will engulf all who embark on its treacherous flood.

By and bye his name began to figure often and definitely as one of a lawless gang. It was soon rumoured abroad that certain local deeds of outrage and wrong had Black Morris for an aider and abettor, and it is to be feared that there was, in some cases at least, sufficient ground for the report.

Soon afterwards Nathan Blyth began to find that he was being made the victim of a series of annoying and harmful persecutions. His flower-beds were crushed and trampled on; his fruit-trees were hacked and hewed; his limited store of live stock were stolen or poisoned.

Roused to the utmost pitch of indignation, the stalwart blacksmith sat up o' nights to watch his premises and guard his property; but in vain, as far as the discovery of the perpetrators was concerned, though it broadened the intervals between the visits of his unknown and malicious foes. Then he found that the most cruel rumours were afloat affecting the character of his darling, coupling her name with that of the young squire in a way that was utterly unwarrantable and untrue; rumours which were innocuous as far as her friends were concerned, but which were greedily seized on by a G.o.dless and unprincipled few, who were glad to seize any occasion to bespatter the "Methodies."

Poor Lucy had to drink of the bitterest cup that can be lifted to the lips of virtuous and sensitive modesty. The roses left her cheek and the light forsook her eye, and Nathan sorrowed because he knew not how to s.h.i.+eld his girl from the poisoned arrows shot by an unseen hand.

At length, however, "the wicked that rose up against them" overshot the mark, and an event transpired that opened the eyes of the villagers to the fierce and vindictive plot which had gathered round Nathan and his darling child, and turned the full flood-tide of their sympathies toward those who had been so cruelly aspersed.

One morning, when Nathan went into his shop, he began to make the smithy fire, but had scarcely applied the match when a loud explosion followed, his face was scorched by the blinding flame, and his eyes were filled with fine, sharp particles of dust from the smithy hearth.