Into the Highways and Hedges Part 53

No one paid much heed to the preacher. It was a toss up whether he lived or died; but his hardy const.i.tution, and, perhaps, his innate obstinacy, pulled him through. On the fourth day after the surgeon's visit he sat upright, on the fifth he struggled to his feet. The fifth day happened to be a Sunday, which, by a time-honoured custom, was a day set apart and sacred to free fights in the middle yard. Barnabas steadied himself, with one hand against the wall, and looked around him.

He did not remember ever before to have felt physically weak. The sensation struck him as very curious.

"You'll not be trying that game again," remarked his enemy, the wardsman.

Barnabas Thorpe was a gaunt and ghastly sight, standing on his straw with the blood-stained bandage across his forehead. His face was whitened by confinement, and lined and hollowed by pain; but the sneer brought the light of battle into his blue eyes.

"Will I not?" he said grimly. "Wait an' see, man! This time we play to win."

"We? Who's fool enough to be on your side?" asked the man.

"I am on His," said Barnabas. "He leads!" He made his way along the ward while he spoke, stumbling more than once, panting from sheer weakness; and the wardsman followed, grinning.

All the men were out in the yard. Two of them were fighting, the rest were applauding. The preacher walked through the ring, and put his hands on the combatants' shoulders.

"Ye'll do that no more," he said. "It is my Master's day, an' He is here among us; an' to Him shall be the power an' th' glory."

He was so exhausted by the walk that he involuntarily leaned heavily on the man whose arm he had touched, and who stood and gaped, with awe-struck face.

In his full strength and vigour the preacher had failed--in his weakness he conquered.

So long as man is man, he must perforce bow down before the spark of Divinity that makes him human--when he sees it.

These gaol birds and outcasts "saw it" that day; saw it in the courage that had nothing to do with the animal and physical side of our nature; "saw it" in the command given by one whom they had trampled on, and well-nigh killed, who, knowing what he risked, yet risked it again, counting death no defeat.

"Let 'im be. You can't hurt such as 'im," one of the men whispered.

"He's got them standin' by him."

CHAPTER VI.

Mr. Sauls returned to town, looking a great deal the worse for his expedition into the wilds of L----s.h.i.+re.

Had he followed his natural inclination, he would have held his tongue on the subject of the sensational episode that had led to the preacher's arrest; but, seeing that the tale must become public property, he took the initiative himself, spreading the version he wished to be popular.

Mr. Sauls' deserved success in life had always been largely owing to the fact that he never hesitated to throw a sprat overboard in order to catch a mackerel. Many people see all the advantages of this proceeding clearly enough, but haven't courage to sacrifice the sprat; he had.

He was determined on two points, apparently a little difficult of combination: he was determined to punish his a.s.sailant, and, at the same time, to keep Margaret's name out of the affair. He would rather lose his case than drag her into it--which was saying a great deal.

He would have preferred, for obvious reasons, that the story about Lydia Tremnell should remain in merciful obscurity; but, nevertheless, he brought it to the light of day without flinching; for he knew that, in laying the stress on that quarrel about the woman who was dead, he prevented the suspicion that the hot words between himself and Barnabas Thorpe had had connection with the woman who was alive.

It cost him some vexation of spirit; but, for Meg's sake, he threw the sprat, and threw it boldly.

Mr. Sauls had fallen low in Meg's estimation. She would have been either more or less than human if she could have, at the same time, sided with the preacher, and seen the standpoint of the preacher's enemy. And yet, if "a man's love" is indeed "the measure of his fitness for good company here or elsewhere," Mr. Sauls was, perhaps, worthy of a better place than she guessed.

He had been lunching with the governor of the prison one morning, and had left that gentleman's house with a bad headache (for he still felt the effects of the blow), and in no very excellent humour.

For the last month he had been endeavouring to put the image of the preacher's wife out of his head; and few things are more trying to both nerves and temper than the constant struggle to prevent a recurring thought. The disembodied presence haunts the more when we abstain from clothing it with words, and it usually has its revenge. George "forgot"

Mrs. Thorpe by a most constant and unrelaxing effort.

He pulled some papers out of his pocket, meaning to read them while he walked; he could have sworn he was deeply engrossed in them, and that he was thinking of anything rather than of Margaret; and yet, among the thousand voices of that busy street, curiously enough hers reached his ear.

He had walked only two yards from the door of the governor's house. He hesitated for a second, turned round, and retraced his steps. Margaret was on the threshold, talking to the governor's servant.

"Did that brute keep her hanging about the prison? If so, he deserved a worse fate than the gallows," thought George.

"You should have gone round to the back. What business have you here?"

said the footman. George could not catch her reply, but her manner had apparently overawed the man, who was evidently wavering between insolence and respect.

"Oh, if your business is with the governor--I'll take your card in and inquire--ma'am."

The "ma'am" was said rather doubtfully, Meg's clothes being shabby.

"I've no card," said she. "Please tell the governor that I should be much obliged if he would kindly see me. I am the wife of one of the prisoners in the middle yard, and----"

"Oh, off with you!" cried the footman, his respect vanis.h.i.+ng. "The governor would have enough to do if he saw every blackguard's wife that came a-begging!" And he slammed the door in her face.

Margaret put her hand on the bell as if half inclined to make another attempt; then apparently came to the conclusion that it would be of no avail, and, with a sigh, turned away.

She saw Mr. Sauls when she descended the steps, and would have pa.s.sed him without a sign, had he not been a.s.sailed by a dogged unreasonable determination to force her to recognise him.

"You know me, Mrs. Thorpe," he said. His voice sounded a little defiant.

Meg's eyes rested coldly on him. "I know you," she answered gravely.

George reddened. It was the first and last time in his life that a snub had made him blush.

"But you are too angry to acknowledge me? Well! of course, that is natural," he said. "Naturally you cannot forgive me for being knocked on the head by the preacher. I hardly supposed that you would. A woman's justice is apt to be hard on the sinned against--when the sinner is her husband. But I--not being a woman--do not quite relish seeing you refused anything. I'll help you, if I can. The governor is a friend of mine; I will get you admittance if you like."

"No, thank you," said Margaret. George laughed rather bitterly.

"Are you too proud to accept my help? But you should never refuse a good offer, even from an enemy." Then his tone changed, for the sight of her tired face softened him.

"But I am not _your_ enemy, Margaret--Mrs. Thorpe, I mean. You will not be just to me, that is not to be expected! but you can be generous. Let me do this thing for you--in all good faith!"

He held out his hand, but Meg drew back angrily. How durst he repeat this lie about Barnabas in one breath, and in the next offer to help her? he help her!

"Ah, you hate me too much? But you are very foolish. You are making a mistake," he began; then stopped short, struck dumb by the flash of indignant scorn in her eyes.

"I do not hate you, who swear falsehoods about my husband," she said.

"One must have a little respect before one hates! I could not accept any favour from you. It would be easier," said Meg, determined that he should press her no more, and clothing her feeling in the most forcible words she could utter, "it would be easier to take hot burning coals in my bare hands than to take any help from you now."

George Sauls bit his lip and drew back a step. He wondered why this woman's words had such power to hurt him. Then he pulled himself together, and lifted his hat to her.

"Thanks--that was quite plain enough," he said. "I must really have been very dense to have required that, mustn't I? The Psalmist's hot coals were reserved for his enemies' heads, not for their hands, Mrs.

Thorpe--but that's a trifle, and I won't press the commodity on you. I most humbly regret having offered my a.s.sistance, and can only give you my word that nothing on earth shall ever induce me to attempt such a thing again. Apparently you don't think that my oaths are to be trusted, as a rule; but you may believe in that one."