The Torch and Other Tales Part 29

"Neither one nor t'other," she answered. "I thought to find you mad naturally; but I'm not the sort to s.h.i.+rk my duty, whatever you are. For better, for worse I took you, and I'd meant, if I found you cracked, to put you away nice and comfortable in a proper asylum, where they'd look after you, as became an unfortunate man with good friends. But you're not mad, only deceived by a d.a.m.ned rascal. Drop that rock and come here and listen to me."

He obeyed her and crept a foot or two nearer.

"What's happened be this," she said. "The Almighty have punished us for loving each other too well. I've wors.h.i.+pped you and, till Solomon Chuff came along, you wors.h.i.+pped me. And G.o.d wouldn't stand for such wickedness on our part, so He threw dust in your eyes and led you out into the wilderness--to home with a lot of navvies and be deceived by a rare rascal. And you've had your dose by the look of you; and I've had mine; and what I've suffered you'll never know, I a.s.sure you."

He went whiter than a dog's tooth behind his black hair, and his eyes bulged on her. He crept a bit nearer and she held out her hand. But the little loony had got his pride yet.

"I ban't so sure," he said. "No doubt you've come with a tale; but you'll have to hear me first. Your tongue be running a thought too smooth I reckon. How do I know this is truth? Why should I believe you afore Bill?

He's sworn on his oath that Chuff spends half his time along with you and the banns be called. He's come, as I tell you, off and on, to let me know everything, and never a good word for you."

"You ought to break his neck," said Jenny. "However, you ain't heard all yet. It may interest you to know that at last I've promised to marry--not Chuff--he's old enough to be my father--but Bill himself."

"And you've come here to tell me that?"

Nicky looked round for his stone again.

"No, I have not. I've come firstly to forgive you, which be a lot more than you deserve, and secondly to take you home."

"'Tis for me to forgive you I reckon; and why for should I?"

"I've worn black for a year and prayed for your soul and eaten the bread of tears and lived like the widow-woman I thought I was--just lived in the memory of our beautiful life together," she says. "That's all you've got to forgive, Nicky. And it didn't ought to be partickler hard I should think. Poison--poison--that's what you've been taking--poison--sucking it down from Bill Westaway, like a little child sucks cream."

"And you tell me you're going to marry the man--or think you are? What's that mean?"

Spider had come right alongside of her now.

"On one condition I shall certainly marry him, so you needn't pull no more faces. I told him I'd take him if he found all that was left _of you in the river_! And so I will." "But I ban't in the Dart! I ban't in the Dart!

I'm alive!" cried Nicky--as if she didn't know it.

"Working along with these quarry men have made you dull seemingly," she answered. "It is true no doubt that you ban't in the Dart; but that's no reason why Billy Westaway shouldn't find you there. He's quite clever enough for that. He's a cunning, deep rogue, and I'll lay my life he'll find you there. He's separated us for a whole bitter year, to gain his own wicked ends, and if you can't see what he's done you must be mad after all."

"And what if I refuse to come back?" he asked, his monkey face still working.

"Then I'll marry Bill--rascal though he is. When I look into the past and think how he used to tell me you were running after the girls behind my back! But did I believe him? No! I boxed his ears and told him where the liars go. I didn't run away and hide from my lawful husband."

Nicky took it all in very slow.

"I'll have such a fearful vengeance on that dog as never was heard about!"

he swore. "Strike me blind if I don't! I'll strangle him with these hands afore the nation."

"You can tell about that later," she said. "Meantime you'd best forget your kit and come home this minute. You've grown cruel rough and wild seemingly. You want me after you."

"I shall calm in fullness of time," he told her, "and no doubt be the same as ever I was before this fearful affair happened. I never thought to take off my clothes, nor yet wash again. I've been like a savage animal with such troubles as I've suffered; but now, thank the watching G.o.d, my woes be very near pa.s.sed seemingly, and I've got my honour and my pride and a wife and a home also."

"Come back to 'em then!" begged Jenny, and the little creature put his spider arms around her and pressed her to his s.h.i.+rt.

"You must certainly wash again, and the sooner the better," she said; then she kissed his hairy muzzle and patted his head and thanked the Lord for all His blessings. As for Spider, he pawed her and called upon heaven and wept out of his dirty eyes.

"It is almost too much," he said; "but mark me, I'll never rest no more till I've took my revenge on that anointed devil from h.e.l.l and torn his throat out!" Knowing the nature of the man, however, Jenny didn't fret too much about that. They went afore the master of the works presently, and being a human sort of chap, he took a sporting view of the situation and let Spider go along with his wife; which he did do. He had certainly suffered a good bit one way and another, owing to his own weak-minded foolishness, and found himself meek as a worm afore Jenny and terrible thankful to be in sight of better times.

"I wanted to die, too," his silly wife a.s.sured him; "but Providence knew better and saw the end from the beginning."

"Providence shan't be forgot," promised Nicky. "I'll turn over a new leaf and even go to chapel I shouldn't wonder--after I've done in William Westaway."

III

They spent that night at Plymouth, and she made Nicky sc.r.a.p his clothes and get a new fit out; and the next day she took him home. No doubt her yellow cat was terrible pleased to see the pair of 'em; but the home-coming had its funny side too, for none marked them arrive--'twas after dark when they did so--and they'd only just finished their meal, when come heavy footsteps up the path, and Jenny well knew the sound of 'em.

"'Tis Bill Westaway!" she said. "He don't know as I've been away and no doubt he's found what he's pretending to search for. Slip in here, afore I let him come in, then you'll hear all about yourself."

There was a cupboard one side of the kitchen fireplace, and being quite big enough to take in Spider, he crept there, and his wife put home the door after him, but left a little s.p.a.ce so as he could hear. And then she went to the cottage door and let in the visitor. 'Twas William sure enough, and his face was long and melancholy.

"A cruel time I've had--more in the river than out of it," he said. "I'm bruised and battered and be bad in my breathing parts also along of exposure and the wet. I dare say I've shortened my life a good bit; but all that was nothing when I thought of you, Jenny. And now I'm terrible afraid you must face the worst. I've made a beginning, I'm sorry to say."

He drew a parcel from under his arm and laid out afore her the wreck of a water-sodden billyc.o.c.k hat, a rag of a dark-blue flannel s.h.i.+rt and one ginger-coloured sock in a pretty ruinous state.

"What d'you make of these here mournful relics?" he asked. "Without doubt they once belonged to your Spider, and where I found'em I'm afraid his poor little bones ain't far off."

"They be even nearer than you think, William Westaway," she said. "In fact, I've found'em myself."

"Found'em!" he gasped out, glazing with his s.h.i.+fty eyes at her and a miz-maze of wonder on his face.

"Found'em--not in the Dart neither; but at Meldon Quarry. Nicky is alive and well, and you know it, and you always knew it. And your day of reckoning be near!"

She paused. You might have thought she'd expect for her husband to leap out of the cupboard, but he didn't; he bided close where he was, like a hare in its form; and she knew he would.

Of course Bill Westaway felt a good bit disappointed. He cussed Spider up hill and down dale and poured a torrent of rude words upon him.

"That know-nought, black swine come back! And you put him afore the likes of me I You don't deserve a decent man," he finished up. "And the patience and trouble I've took, thinking you was worth it!"

"Go!" she said. "You're a wicked, bare-faced scamp, and G.o.d, He'll reward you. You did ought to be driven out of Little Silver by the dogs, and no right-thinking person ever let you over their drexels[1] no more."

[1] Drexels = Thresholds

"I'm punished enough," he told her. "Good-bye, my silly dear! A thousand pities you've took that little worm back. You'd have grown very fond of me in time. I'm worth a wagon-load of such rubbish as him."

He lit his pipe, cussed a bit more, hoping Spider would front him, and then went away, banging the gate off its hinges very near; and after he was well clear of the premises Nicky bounced out of his cupboard full of brimstone and thunder.

"Lock the door," he said, "or I'll be after him and strangle him with these hands!"

"I most feared you'd have blazed out and faced the wretch," said Jenny--to please the little man.

"I managed to hold in. I drew out my knife however; but I put it back again. I hadn't got the heart to spoil the night of my home-coming. His turn ain't far off. His thread's spun. Nothing short of his death be any good to me--not now."

"Us'll forget the scoundrel till to-morrow, then," said Mrs. White.

It was six months later and summer on the wane, when I met a fisherman on the river--a gent I knew--and made him laugh a good bit with the tale of they people.

"And what did Spider do after all, Mr. Bates?" inquired the fisher, when I came to the end of the story, and I answered him in a parable like.