Westward Ho [171]
letter had cost to the gentle heart of Francis Leigh.
He showed the letter triumphantly to St. Leger; and he was quite wise enough to gainsay no word of it, at least aloud; but quite wise enough, also, to believe in secret that Frank looked on the matter in quite a different light; however, he contented himself with saying:
"The man is an angel as his mother is!" and there the matter dropped for a few days, till one came forward who had no mind to let it drop, and that was Jack Brimblecombe, now curate of Hartland town, and "passing rich on forty pounds a year.
"I hope no offence, Mr. William; but when are you and the rest going after--after her?" The name stuck in his throat.
Cary was taken aback.
"What's that to thee, Catiline the blood-drinker?" asked he, trying to laugh it off.
"What? Don't laugh at me, sir, for it's no laughing matter. I drank that night naught worse, I expect, than red wine. Whatever it was, we swore our oaths, Mr. Cary; and oaths are oaths, say I."
"Of course, Jack, of course; but to go to look for her--and when we've found her, cut her lover's throat. Absurd, Jack, even if she were worth looking for, or his throat worth cutting. Tut, tut, tut--"
But Jack looked steadfastly in his face, and after some silence:
How far is it to the Caracas, then, sir?"
"What is that to thee, man?"
"Why, he was made governor thereof, I hear; so that would be the place to find her?"
"You don't mean to go thither to seek her?" shouted Cary, forcing a laugh.
"That depends on whether I can go, sir; but if I can scrape the money together, or get a berth on board some ship, why, God's will must be done."
Will looked at him, to see if he had been drinking, or gone mad; but the little pigs' eyes were both sane and sober.
Will knew no answer. To laugh at the poor fellow was easy enough; to deny that he was right, that he was a hero and cavalier, outdoing romance itself in faithfulness, not so easy; and Cary, in the first impulse, wished him at the bottom of the bay for shaming him. Of course, his own plan of letting ill alone was the rational, prudent, irreproachable plan, and just what any gentleman in his senses would have done; but here was a vulgar, fat curate, out of his senses, determined not to let ill alone, but to do something, as Cary felt in his heart, of a far diviner stamp.
"Well," said Jack, in his stupid steadfast way, "it's a very bad look-out; but mother's pretty well off, if father dies, and the maidens are stout wenches enough, and will make tidy servants, please the Lord. And you'll see that they come to no harm, Mr. William, for old acquaintance' sake, if I never come back."
Cary was silent with amazement.
"And, Mr. William, you know me for an honest man, I hope. Will you lend me a five pound, and take my books in pawn for them, just to help me out?"
"Are you mad, or in a dream? You will never find her!"
"That's no reason why I shouldn't do my duty in looking for her, Mr. William."
"But, my good fellow, even if you get to the Indies, you will be clapt into the Inquisition, and burnt alive, as sure as your name is Jack."
"I know that," said he, in a doleful tone; "and a sore struggle of the flesh I have had about it; for I am a great coward, Mr. William, a dirty coward, and always was, as you know: but maybe the Lord will take care of me, as He does of little children and drunken men; and if not, Mr. Will, I'd sooner burn, and have it over, than go on this way any longer, I would!" and Jack burst out blubbering.
"What way, my dear old lad?" said Will, softened as he well might be.
"Why, not--not to know whether--whether--whether she's married to him or not--her that I looked up to as an angel of God, as pure as the light of day; and knew she was too good for a poor pot-head like me; and prayed for her every night, God knows, that she might marry a king, if there was one fit for her--and I not to know whether she's living in sin or not, Mr. William.--It's more than I can bear, and there's an end of it. And if she is married
He showed the letter triumphantly to St. Leger; and he was quite wise enough to gainsay no word of it, at least aloud; but quite wise enough, also, to believe in secret that Frank looked on the matter in quite a different light; however, he contented himself with saying:
"The man is an angel as his mother is!" and there the matter dropped for a few days, till one came forward who had no mind to let it drop, and that was Jack Brimblecombe, now curate of Hartland town, and "passing rich on forty pounds a year.
"I hope no offence, Mr. William; but when are you and the rest going after--after her?" The name stuck in his throat.
Cary was taken aback.
"What's that to thee, Catiline the blood-drinker?" asked he, trying to laugh it off.
"What? Don't laugh at me, sir, for it's no laughing matter. I drank that night naught worse, I expect, than red wine. Whatever it was, we swore our oaths, Mr. Cary; and oaths are oaths, say I."
"Of course, Jack, of course; but to go to look for her--and when we've found her, cut her lover's throat. Absurd, Jack, even if she were worth looking for, or his throat worth cutting. Tut, tut, tut--"
But Jack looked steadfastly in his face, and after some silence:
How far is it to the Caracas, then, sir?"
"What is that to thee, man?"
"Why, he was made governor thereof, I hear; so that would be the place to find her?"
"You don't mean to go thither to seek her?" shouted Cary, forcing a laugh.
"That depends on whether I can go, sir; but if I can scrape the money together, or get a berth on board some ship, why, God's will must be done."
Will looked at him, to see if he had been drinking, or gone mad; but the little pigs' eyes were both sane and sober.
Will knew no answer. To laugh at the poor fellow was easy enough; to deny that he was right, that he was a hero and cavalier, outdoing romance itself in faithfulness, not so easy; and Cary, in the first impulse, wished him at the bottom of the bay for shaming him. Of course, his own plan of letting ill alone was the rational, prudent, irreproachable plan, and just what any gentleman in his senses would have done; but here was a vulgar, fat curate, out of his senses, determined not to let ill alone, but to do something, as Cary felt in his heart, of a far diviner stamp.
"Well," said Jack, in his stupid steadfast way, "it's a very bad look-out; but mother's pretty well off, if father dies, and the maidens are stout wenches enough, and will make tidy servants, please the Lord. And you'll see that they come to no harm, Mr. William, for old acquaintance' sake, if I never come back."
Cary was silent with amazement.
"And, Mr. William, you know me for an honest man, I hope. Will you lend me a five pound, and take my books in pawn for them, just to help me out?"
"Are you mad, or in a dream? You will never find her!"
"That's no reason why I shouldn't do my duty in looking for her, Mr. William."
"But, my good fellow, even if you get to the Indies, you will be clapt into the Inquisition, and burnt alive, as sure as your name is Jack."
"I know that," said he, in a doleful tone; "and a sore struggle of the flesh I have had about it; for I am a great coward, Mr. William, a dirty coward, and always was, as you know: but maybe the Lord will take care of me, as He does of little children and drunken men; and if not, Mr. Will, I'd sooner burn, and have it over, than go on this way any longer, I would!" and Jack burst out blubbering.
"What way, my dear old lad?" said Will, softened as he well might be.
"Why, not--not to know whether--whether--whether she's married to him or not--her that I looked up to as an angel of God, as pure as the light of day; and knew she was too good for a poor pot-head like me; and prayed for her every night, God knows, that she might marry a king, if there was one fit for her--and I not to know whether she's living in sin or not, Mr. William.--It's more than I can bear, and there's an end of it. And if she is married