Red spider, a novel

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RED SPIDER

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SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. LTD., NEW-STREET SQUARE
LONDON

RED SPIDER

A NOVEL

BY THE

REV. S. BARING GOULD

AUTHOR OF

' JOHN HERRING ' ' MEHALAH ' ' EVE '
ETC.

A NEW EDITION

LONDON
CHATTO & WINDUS

1906

PR

I90&

PREFACE.

FIFTY YEARS AGO ! Half a century has passed since the
writer was a child in the parish where he has laid the
scene of this tale.

There he had a trusty nurse, and a somewhat romantic
story was attached to her life. Faithful, good creature !
She was carrying the writer in her arms over a brook by
a bridge elevated high above the water, when the plank
broke. She at once held up her charge over her head,
with both arms, and made no attempt to save herself,
thinking only of him, as she fell on the stones and into
the water. He escaped wholly unhurt, owing to her
devotion.

Many years after, the author read a little German story
which curiously recalled to him his nurse and her career.
When a few years ago he revisited the scenes of his child
hood, he thought to recall on paper many and many
a recollection of village life in the south-west of England
in one of its most still and forgotten corners. So he has
taken this thread of story, not wholly original in its initia
tion, and has altered and twisted it to suit his purpose, and
has strung on it sundry pictures of what was beginning to
fade half a century ago in Devon. Old customs, modes of
thought, of speech, quaint sayings, weird superstitions are
all disappearing out of the country, utterly and for ever.

vl PREFACE

The labourer is now enfranchised, education is universal,
railways have made life circulate freer ; and we stand now
before a great social dissolving view, from which old things
are passing away, and what is coming on we can only partly
guess, not wholly distinguish.

In revisiting the parish of Bratton Clovelly, the author
found little of the outward scenery changed, but the modes
of life were in a state of transition. The same hills, the
same dear old moors and woods, the same green coombs, the
same flowers, the same old church, and the same glorious
landscape. The reader will perhaps accept with leniency
a slight tale for the sake of the pictures it presents of
what is gone for ever, or is fast fading away. Coryndon's
Charity, of course, is non-existent in Bratton parish. The
names are all taken, Christian and sire, from the early
registers of- the parish. Village characteristics, incidents,
superstitions have been worked in, from actual recollections.
The author has tried to be very close in local colour ; and,
if it be not too bold a comparison, he would have this little
story considered, like one of Birket Foster's water-colours,
rather as a transcript from nature than as a finished,
original, highly-arranged and considered picture.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTEB PAOH

I. THE BROTHERS-IN-LAW 1

II. THE MONEY-SPINNER 8

III. WELLON'S CAIRN 15

IV. THE WHITE HARE 26

V. 'TIMEO DANAOS ET DONA PEBENTES' . . . . 30

VI. THE PROGRESS OF STRIFE 37

VII. CORYNDON'S CHARITY 45

VIII. A MALINGERER 53

IX. CHARLES LUXMORE 61

X. ON THE STEPS 68

XI. IN THE LINNEY 76

XII. LANGFORD 82

XIII. THE BEVEL 90

XIV. THE LAMB-KILLER ....... 102

XV. A BOLT FROM THE BLUB , 109

XVI. KEEPING WATCH ....... 117

XVII. MRS. VEALE 127

XVIII. TREASURE TROVE 136

XIX. A DEAD DOG . . . , 142

XX. A FIVE-POUND NOTE , ,148

viii CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

XXI. KBFUSED I .... .... 157

XXII. THE HAYSEL 163

XXIII. A BRAWL 170

XXIV. THE HAND OF GLORY 178

XXV. THE HARE HUNT 185

XXVI. BITTER MEDICINE ,193

XXVII. AFTER SWEETNESS 199

XXVIII. A FIRST STEP .208

XXIX. A BLOW 216

XXX. YES! . . . t 223

XXXI. THE NEW MISTRESS 230

XXXII. THE CHINA Doo 236

XXXIII. AMONG THE GORSE 242

XXXIV. THE VISITATION 251

XXXV. A WARNING 257

XXXVI. A SETTLEMENT 265

XXXVII. A BOWL OF BROTH 272

XXXVIII. THE LOOK-OUT STONE 281

RED SPIDER.

CHAPTER I.

THE BROTHERS-IN-LAW.

HEIGH ! for a badger-skin waistcoat like that of Hillary
Nanspian of Chimsworthy ! What would not I give to be
the owner of such a waistcoat ? Many a covetous glance
was cast at that waistcoat in the parish church of Bratton
Clovelly, in the county of Devon, on Sunday, where it
appeared during public worship in a pew ; and when the
parson read the Decalogue, many a heart was relieved to
learn that the prohibition against covetousness did not
extend to badger-skin waistcoats. That waistcoat was
made of the skin of a badger Hillary Nanspian had himself
drawn and killed. In colour it was silver-grey graduating
to black. The fur was so deep that the hand that grasped
it sank into it. The waistcoat was lined with red, and had
flaps of fur to double over the breast when the wind lay in
the east and the frost was cruel. When the wind was wet
and warm, the flaps were turned back, exposing the gay
crimson lining, and greatly enhancing its beauty. The
waistcoat had been constructed for Hillary Nanspian by
his loving wife before she died.

Hillary Nanspian of Chimsworthy was a big, brisk,
florid man, with light grey eyes. His face was open,
round, hearty, and of the colour of a ribstone pippin. He
was, to all appearance, a well-to-do man. But appear
ances are not always to be trusted. Chimsworthy, where

2 RED SPIDER

he lived, was a farm of two hundred acres ; the subsoil
clay, some of the land moor, and more bog ; but the moor
was a fine place for sheep, and the bog produced pasture
for the young stock when the clay grass land was drought-
dry. Hillary had an orchard of the best sorts of apples
grown in the West, and he had a nursery of apples, of
grafts, and of seedlings. When he ate a particularly good
apple, he collected the pips for sowing, put them in a papei
cornet, and wrote thereon, ' This here apple was a-eated of

I on ' such and such a day, ' and cruel good he were

too.' (Cruel, in the West, means no more than ' very.')

The farm of Chimsworthy had come to Nanspian through
his wife, who was dead. His brother-in-law was Taverner
Langford of Langford. Taverner's mother had been a Hill,
Blandina Hill, heiress of Chimsworthy, and it went to her
daughter Blandina, who carried it when she married to her
Cornish husband, Hillary Nanspian.

Taverner Langford was unmarried, getting on in years,
and had no nearer relative than young Hillary Nanspian,
his nephew, the only child of his deceased sister Blandina.
It was an understood thing in the parish of Bratton Clovelly
that young Hillary would be heir to his uncle, and succeed
to both Langford and Chimsworthy. Taverner said nothing
about this, and took no particular notice of Hillary junior,
but, as Hillary senior and the parish argued, if Taverner
does not leave everything to the young one, whom can he
make his heir 1 Hillary was a warm-blooded man. He
suffered little from cold ; he liked to live in his shirt
sleeves. When rain fell, he threw a sack over his shoulders.
He drew on his cloth coat only for church and market. He
was an imposing man, out of his coat or in it, big in girth,
broad in beam, and tall of stature. But especially imposing
was he when he rode to market on his white cob, in his
badger-skin waistcoat turned up with crimson. The con
sciousness that he was, or ought to be, a man of substance
never left him. His son Hillary would be a wealthy yeo
man, and he — he Hillary senior — was the father of thia

THE BROTHERS-IN-LAW 3

son, this wealthy yeoman prospective. On this thought he
puffed himself up. Considering this, he jingled the coins
in his pocket. Boasting of this he drank with the farmers
till he was as red in face as the lappets of his waistcoat

Adjoining the house was a good oak wood covering the
slope to the brook that flowed in the bottom. Fine sticks
of timber had been cut thence, time out of mind. The
rafters of the old house, the beams of the cattle-sheds, the
posts of the gates, the very rails (' shivers/ as they were
locally called), the flooring (' plancheon ' locally), all were
of oak, hard as iron ; and all came out of Chimsworthy
wood. An avenue of contorted, stunted limes led to the
entrance gates of granite, topped with stone balls ; and the
gates gave admission to a yard deep in dung. The house
was low, part of cob — that is, clay and straw kneaded and
unbaked — part of stone laid in clay, not in lime. In the
cob walls, plastered white, were oak windows, in the stone
walls two granite windows. The house was shaped like
the letter T, of which the top stroke represents the stone
portion, containing the parlour and the best bedroom over
it, and the stairs. The roofs were thatched. There was
more roof than wall to Chimsworthy, which cowered almost
into the ground.

At the back of the house rose the lofty bank of Broad -
bury, the highest ridge between Dartmoor and the Atlantic.
The rain that fell on the Down above oozed through the
shale about Chimsworthy, so that the lane and yards were
perpetually wet, and compelled those who lived there to
walk in wading boots.

In shape, Broadbury is a crescent, with the horns east
and west, and the lap of the half moon lies to the south.
In this lap, the nursery of countless streams, stands Chims
worthy, with a bank of pines behind it, and above the
black pines golden gorse, and over the golden gorse blue
sky and fleecy white clouds. The countless springs issue
from emerald patches of bog, where bloom the purple butter-
wort, the white grass of Parnassus, the yellow asphodel,

B2

4 RED SPIDER

and the blood-tipped sundew. The rivulets become rills^
and swell to brooks which have scooped themselves coombs
in the hill slope, and the coombs as they descend deepen
into valleys, whose sides are rich with oak coppice, and the
bottoms are rank with cotton grass, fleecy and flickering as
the white clouds that drift overhead.

Chims worthy had originally belonged to the Hills, a
fine old yeoman family, but the last of the Hills had carried
it by marriage to the Langfords of Langford. How it had
gone to Hillary Nanspian by his marriage with the daughter
of Mrs. Langford has already been told.

Langford had been owned for many generations by the
Langfords, once a gentle family, with large estates both in
l£ratton Clovelly and in Marham Church, near Bude in
Cornwall. Nothing now remained to Taverner but the
ancestral house and the home estate of some four hundred
acres. Chimsworthy had been united with it by his father's
marriage, but lost again by his sister's union with the
Cornishman Nanspian.

Something like twenty-four months of married life was
all that poor Blandina had ; and since he had lost his wife,
Hillary had remained a widower. Many a farmer's daughter
had set her eyes on him, for he was a fine man, but in vain.
Hillary Nanspian had now lived at Chimsworthy twenty-
two years. His son Hillary was aged twenty.

Langford was a different sort of place from Chimsworthy,
and Taverner Langford was a different sort of man from
Hillary Nanspian. Langford stood higher than Chims
worthy. It was built on the edge of Broadbury, but slightly
under its lea, in a situation commanding an extensive and
Buperb view of Dartmoor, that rose against the eastern
horizon, a wall of turquoise in sunshine, of indigo in cloudy
weather, with picturesque serrated ridge. The intermediate
country was much indented with deep valleys, running north
and south, clothed in dark woods, and the effect was that of
gazing over a billowy sea at a mountainous coast.

Not a tree, scarce a bush, stood about Langford, which

THE BROTHERS-IN-LAW 5

occupied a site too elevated and exposed for the growth of
anything but thorns and gorse. The house itself was stiff
slate-roofed, and with slate-encased walls, giving it a harsh
metallic appearance.

Taverner Langf ord was a tall, gaunt man, high-shouldered,
with a stoop, dark-haired, dark-eyed, and sallow-complex-
ioned. He had high cheekbones and a large hard mouth.
His hair was grizzled with age, but his eyes had lost none
of their keenness, they bored like bradawls. His eyebrows
were very thick and dark, looking more like pieces of black
fur glued on to his forehead than natural growths. He
never looked anyone steadily in the face, but cast furtive
glances, with which, however, he saw vastly more than did
Hillary with his wide grey-eyed stare.

Taverner Langford had never married. It had never
been heard in Bratton that he had courted a girl. His
housekeeping was managed by a grey-faced, sour woman,
Widow Veale. As Hillary Nanspian was people's church
warden, Taverner Langford was parson's churchwarden.
The Reverend Mr. Robbing, the rector, had appointed him,
at the Easter vestry five years before the opening of this
tale, because he was a Dissenter. He did this for two
reasons: first, to disarm Langford's opposition t ) the Church;
and secondly, to manifest his own tolerance- an easy tole
rance that springs out of void of convictions. The two
wardens were reappointed annually. They and two others
acted as feoffees of an estate left in charity for the poor.
They let the land to each other alternate years at a shilling
an acre, and consumed the proceeds in a dinner at the
1 Ring of Bells ' once a year. The poor were provided with
the scraps that fell from the feoffees' table.

Taverner Langford was respected in the place and
throughout the neighbourhood, because he represented a
family as old as the parish church, a family which had once
owned large possessions, and maintained some state ; also
because he was an exceedingly shrewd man, whom no one
could overreach, and who was supposed to have amassed

6 RED SPIDER

much money. But he was not a popular man. He was
taciturn, self-contained, and shunned society. He drank
water only, never smoked nor swore ; with the fanners he
was unsociable, with the labourers ungracious, in all his
dealings he was grasping and unyielding. Dishonourable
he was not ; unscrupulous he was not, except only in ex
acting the last penny of his bargains.

Hillary Nanspian's presence was commanding and he
was fond of his glass, smoked and swore ; the glass, the pipe,
and an oath were all links of good fellowship. Nevertheless,
he also was not a popular man. In the first place he was
a foreigner — that is, a Cornishman ; in the second, he was
arrogant and boastful.

The brothers-in-law got on better with each other than
with others. Each knew and allowed for the other's infirmi
ties. Towards Taverner, Hillary bated his pride ; he had
sufficient discretion not to brag in the presence of a man to
whom he owed money. Hillary was a bad man of business,
wasteful, liberal, and careless of his money. He had saved
nothing out of Chimsworthy, and, after a run of bad seasons,
had been forced to borrow of his brother-in-law to meet
current expenses.

Taverner and Hillary were not cordial friends, but they
were friends. Taverner felt, though he did not acknowledge,
his isolation, and he was glad to have his brother-in-law to
whom he could open his lips. Knowing himself to be of a
good old gentle family, Taverner kept himself from terms of
familiarity with the farmers, but he was too close with his
money to take his place with the gentry.

There was one point on which Hillary was irrationally
sensitive ; there was also a point on which Taverner was
tender. Each avoided touching the delicate and irritable
spot in the other. Once, and only once, had Naiispian
flared up at a word from Langford, and for a moment their
friendship had been threatened with rupture.

Hillary Nanspian was, as has been said, a Cornishman,
and the rooted, ineradicable belief of the Devonians is that

THE BROTHERS-IN-LAW ^

their Celtic Trans-Tamarian neighbours are born with tails.
The people of Bratton Clovelly persisted in asserting that
Nanspian had a tail concealed under his garments. When
first he entered the parish, rude boys had shouted after him
inquiries about the caudal appendage, and he had retaliated
so unmercifully that their parents had resented it, and the
chastisement, instead of driving the prejudice out, had
deepened it into indelible conviction. 'For why,' it was
argued, * should he take on so, unless it be true 1 '

He was annoyed at church by the interested attention
paid to him by the women and children when he seated
himself in the Chimsworthy pew, and when riding to
market, by the look of curiosity with which his seat on
the saddle was watched by the men.

The only occasion on which the friendship of Langford
and Nanspian threatened a cleavage, was when the former,
whether with kindly intention or sarcastically cannot be
determined, urged on Hillary the advisability of his publicly
bathing in the river Thrustle, one hot summer day, so as to
afford ocular demonstration to the people of the parish that
they laboured under a delusion in asserting the prolongation
of his spine. This proposition so irritated Nanspian, that
he burst into a tempest of oaths, and for some weeks would
not speak to his brother-in-law. Though eventually recon
ciled, the recollection of the affront was never wholly
effaced.

The sensitive point with Taverner Langford was of a
very different nature. Not being a married man he was
obliged to engage a housekeeper to manage his dairy, his
maids, and his domestic affairs generally. His housekeeper,
Mrs. Veale, was a vinegary woman, of very unpleasant
appearance. She managed admirably, was economical,
active, and clean. The mere fact, however, of her being at
Langford was enough to give rise to some scandal. She
was intensely disliked by ail the servants on the farm and by
the maids in the house.

* Why don't Mr. Langford get rid of the woman, so ill-

8 RED SPIDER

favoured, so sharp-tongued, so unpleasant, unless he can't
help hisself?' was reasoned. 'You may depend on it
there's something.'

Taverner was touchy on this matter. He broke with
Farmer Yelland for inquiring of him flippantly, ' How goes
the missus 1 '

Langford detested the woman, who had a livid face,
pink eyes, and a rasping voice ; but as scandal attached to
him with such a creature in his house, he argued : How
much more consistency would it assume had he a better
favoured housekeeper !

' Moreover,' he reasoned, ' where can I get one who will
look after my interests so well as Mrs. Veale ? If she be
bitter to me, she's sloes and wormwood to the servants.'

CHAPTER II.

THE MONEY-SPINNER.

A LITTLE spark will burn a big hole — a very little spark
indeed was the occasion of a great blaze of temper, and a
great gap in the friendship of the brothers-in-law. Lang-
ford possessed this disadvantage : it lay so high, and was so
exposed, that it lacked cosiness. It had nowhere about it
a nook where a man might sit and enjoy the sun without
being cut by the wind. Broadbury was the meeting-place
of all the winds. Thither the wind roared without let from
the Atlantic, and to the back of it every tree bowed from
the north-west ; thither it swept from the east with a leap
from the rocky crests of Dartmoor, sparing the intervening
park-like lowlands.

Chimsworthy had no prospect from its windows ; but it
stood at the source of an affluent of the Tamar, and beyond
its granite gates, across the lane that led up to Broadbury,
was a stile, and beyond the stile a slope with a view down

THE MONEY-SPINNER 9

the valley to the setting sun and the purple range of
Cornish tors above Liskeard, Caradon, Boarrah, Kilmar,
and Trevartha.

On Sunday evenings, and whenever the fancy took him,
Taverner Langford would descend Broadbury by the lane,
cross the stile, and seat himself on a rude granite slab on
the farther side of the hedge, that had been placed there
by one of the Hills — it had been the ' quoit ' of a great
prehistoric dolmen or cromlech, but the supporters had
been removed to serve as gateposts, and the covering-stone
now formed a seat. On this stone Taverner Langford
spent many an hour with his chin on the handle of his
thorn stick, looking over the wood and meadows and arable
land of Chimsworthy, and scheming how money might be
made out of the farm were it profitably worked. He noted
with jealous eye the ravages caused by neglect, the gaps in
the hedges, the broken roofs, the crop oi thistles, the choked
drains bursting many yards above their mouths, bursting
because their mouths had not been kept open. The farm
had been managed by Taverner's father along with Lang-
ford, and had been handed over on Blandina's marriage, in
excellent condition, to Nanspian, and had gone back ever
since he had enjoyed it. This angered Langford, though
he knew Chimsworthy would never be his. * This is the
sort of tricks to which young Larry is reared, which he will
play with Langford. As the bull gambols, so capers the
calf.'

Hillary did not relish the visits of Taverner to the
Look-out Stone. He thought, and thought rightly, that
Langford was criticising unfavourably his management of
the estate. He was conscious that the farm had deterio
rated, but he laid the blame on the weather and the badness
of construction of the drains — on everything but himself.
1 How can you expect drains to last, put down as they are,
one flat stone on edge and another leaning on it aslant 1
Down it goes with the weight of earth atop, and the passage
is choked. I'll eat a Jew without mint- sauce if a drain so

io RED SPIDER

constructed will last twenty years/ Chimsworthy could
never go to Taverner, what right then had he to grumble if
it were in bad order ?

When Langford came to the Look-out Stone Hillary
soon heard of it, and went to him in his shirt- sleeves, pipe
in mouth, and with a jug of cyder in his hand. Then some
such a greeting as this ensued :

* Trespassing again, Taverner ? '

* Looking at the land over which I've walked, and
where I've weeded many a day, with my father, before you
was thought of in Bratton Clovelly.'

Then Hillary drew the pipe from his lips, and, raking
the horizon with the sealing- waxed end, said, ' Fine land,
yonder.'

'Moor — naught but moor,' answered Langford dis
paragingly.

* No cawding of sheep on peaty moor,' said Nanspian
triumphantly.

' No fattening of bullocks on heather,' replied Taverner.
* It is wet in Devon, it is wetter in Cornwall.'

' Wetter ! That is not possible. Here we live on the
rose of a watering-can, pillowed among bogs.'

* There are worse things than water,' sneered Langford,
pointing to the jug.

* Ah ! ' said Hillary in defence. * Sour is the land that
grows sour apples and sour folks.'

* Heaven made the apples — they are good enough. Man
makes the cyder — which is evil. Thus it is with other
good gifts, we pervert them to our bad ends/

This was the formula gone through, with slight varia
tions, whenever the brothers-in-law met at the granite seat.
A little ruffle of each other, but it went no further.

Hillary Nanspian was a talker, not loud but continuous,
He had a rich, low, murmuring voice, with which he spoke
out of one side of his mouth, whilst he inhaled tobacco
through the other. It was pleasant to listen to, like the
thrum of a bumble-bee or the whirr of a winnowing fan.

THE MONEY-SPINNER II

The eyes closed, the head nodded, and sleep ensued. But
every now and then Hillary uttered an oath, for he was
not a man to wear a padlock on his lips, and then the
dozing listener woke with a start. When that listener was
Taverner, he uttered his protest. 'The word is uncalled
for, Hillary ; change it for one that sounds like it, and is
inoffensive and unmeaning.'

There was much difference in the way in which the two
men behaved when angered. Hillary was hot and blazed
up in a sudden outburst. He was easily angered, but soon
pacified, unless his pride were hurt. Taverner, on the other
hand, though equally ready to take umbrage, took it in
another fashion. He turned sallow, said little, and brooded
over his wrong. If an opportunity offered to resent it, it
was not allowed to pass, however long after the event.
One evening the brothers-in-law were at the Look-out
Stone. Hillary was standing with his foot on the block on
which Taverner sat.

4 I'll tell you what,' said Nanspian, c I wish I'd got a
few thousands to spare. Swaddledown is for sale, and the
farm joins mine, and would be handy for stock.'

' And I wish I could buy Bannadon. That will be in
the market shortly, but I cannot unless you repay me what
you have borrowed.'

' Can't do that just now ; not comfortably, you under
stand.'

' Then what is the good of your scheming to buy Swad
dledown ? A man without teeth mustn't pick nuts.'

1 And what is the good of your wanting Bannadon when
you have as much as you can manage at Langford ? A man
with his mouth full mustn't take a second bite till he's
swallowed the first.'

Then neither spoke for a few moments. Presently,
however, Hillary drew a long whiff, and blew the smoke
before him. Slowly he pulled the pipe from between his
lips, and with the end of the stem pointed down the valley.
'It would be something to be able to call those fields my own,'

12 RED SPIDER

1 That would be pulling on boots to hide the stocking
full of holes,' sneered Taverner. Hillary coloured, and his
eyes twinkled. ' There is no picking feathers off a toad, or
flothes off a naked man,' he muttered ; ' and if you squeeze
a crab-apple you get only sourness. If I were not your
brother-in-law I shouldn't put up with your words. But
you can't help it. Sloes and blackberries grow in the same
hedge, and their natures are as they began. Older they
grow, they grow either sweeter or sourer.'

' Ah ! ' retorted Taverner, ' out of the same acre some
grow wheat and others nettles.'

* It is all very well your talking/ said Hillary, putting
his thumbs in his waistcoat arm-holes, and expanding.
' You, no doubt, have made money, one way or other. I
have not ; but then, I am not a screw. I am a free-handed,
open man. God forbid that I should be a screw ! '

' A screw holds together and a wedge drives apart,' said
Taverner.

' I don't know,' said Hillary, looking across lovingly at
the Swaddledown fields, 'but I may be able to find the
money. My credit is not so low that I need look far. If you
will not help me others will.'

' How can you raise it ? on a mortgage ? You cannot
without young Hillary's consent, and he is not of age.'

1 Luck will come my way some time,' said Nanspian.
* Luck is not nailed to one point of the compass, brother
Langford. Don't you flatter yourself that it always goes
to you. Luck veers as the wind.'

I That is true, but as the wind here sets three days out
of four from the west, so does luck set most time towards
the thrifty man.'

* Sooner or later it will turn to me/

I 1 know what you mean. I've heard tell of what you
have said to the farmers when warmed with liquor. The
wind don't blow over a thistlehead without carrying away
some of its down and dropping it where least wanted. I've
heard your boasts, they are idle — idle as thistledown. Do

THE MONEY-SPINNER 13

you think you'll ever succeed to Langford ? I'll live to see
your burying.'

' My burying won't help you to Chims worthy/ retorted
Hillary. * My Larry stands in your way. Heigh ! I said
it ! The luck is coming my way already ! ' he exclaimed
eagerly. He put down his foot, placed both palms on the
slab of granite, and leaned over it.

'Not a moment before it is needed/ said Taverner
' You've had some bad falls, and they'd have been breakdown
tumbles but for my help. I suppose you must let Swaddle-
down go ; it's a pity too, lying handy as the button at the
flap of your pocket.'

1 She is coming my way as fast as she can ! '

1 What, Swaddledown I '

* No ! Luck ! Look ! running right into my hands.
The money-spinner ! '

1 The money-spinner ! ' Taverner started to his feet.
' Where ? Whither is she running ? '

' Stand out of the sunlight, will you ! ' exclaimed
Hillary. * How can I see and secure her with your shadow
cast across the stone ? '

I Where is she ? '

I 1 tell you she is making direct for me. I knew the
luck would come if I waited. Curse you ! Get on one
side, will you 1 '

' Don't swear/ said Langford, standing at the other end
of the granite slab, and resting his hands on it. 'The
money-spinner is a tickle (touchy) beast, and may take
offence at a godless word. I see her, she has turned. You've
scared her with your oaths, and now she is running towards
me.'

' She's going to fetch some of your luck and bring it to
my pocket ; she's on the turn again.'

' No, she is not. She is making for me, not you.'

* But she is on my stone. She has brought the luck to me.1
1 She may be on your stone now, but she is leaving it

for my hand, as fast as her red legs can carry her.'

14 RED SPIDER

1 You're luring her away from me, are you 1 ' cried
Hillary, blazing as red as any money-spinner.

' Luring ! She's running her natural course as sure as
a fox runs before the wind/

4 Stand out of the sun ! It is the ugly shade you cast
that chills her. She goes where she may be warmest.'

1 Out of thine own mouth thou speakest thy condemna
tion,' scoffed Langford. ' Of course she goes to the warmest
corner, and which is warmest, my pocket or thine ? — the
full or the empty 1 '

' The spinner is on my stone, and I will have her ! ' cried
Hillary.

'Your stone ! — yes, yours because you got it and Chims
worthy away from me.'

c The spinner is by your hand ! ' roared Nanspian, and
with an oath he threw himself across the stone and swept
the surface with his hands.

Langford uttered an exclamation of anger. { You have
crushed — you have killed her ! There is an end of luck to
you, you long-tailed Cornish ourang-outang ! '

Hillary Nanspian staggered back. His face became
dark with rage. He opened his lips, but was inarticulate
for a moment ; then he roared, ' You say that, do you,
you — , that let yourself be led and tongue-lashed by
your housekeeper.'

' Our friendship is at an end/ said Langford, turning
livid, and his dark bushy brows met across his forehead.
' Never shall you set foot in Langford now.'

1 Never ! It will come to my Larry, and I'll drink your
burying ale there yet.'

' Larry shall never have it.'

' You can't keep him out,' exclaimed Hillary.

' Do not be so sure of that,' said Taverner.

' I am sure. I have seen the parchments.'

* I know them better than you,' laughed Langford. Then
he went to the stile to leave the field.

THE MONEY-SPINNER 15

1 111 have the law of you,' shouted Hillary ; ' you are
trespassing on my land.'

' I trespassing ! ' mocked Langf ord ; * this is a stile lead
ing to Swaddledown.'

1 There is no right of way here. This is a private stile
leading only to the Look-out Stone. I will have the law of
you, I swear/

Thus it was that the friendship of twenty-two years
was broken, and the brothers-in-law became declared and
deadly enemies. The friendship was broken irremediably
by an insect almost microscopic — a little scarlet spider no
larger than a mustard-seed, invested by popular superstition
with the power of spinning money in the pocket of him who
secures it.

CHAPTER III.
WELLON'S CAIRS,

WHILST Hillary Nanspian and Taverner Langford were
falling out over a minute red spider, Hillary junior, or Larry
as he was called by his intimates, was talking to Honor Lux-
more in a nook of the rubble of Wellon's Cairn.

Wellon's Cairn is a great barrow, or tumulus, on Broad*
bury, not far from Langworthy. Its original name has been
lost. Since a certain Wellon was hung in chains on a gal
lows set up on this mound for the murder of three women,
it has borne his name.

The barrow was piled up of stones and black peat earth,
and was covered with gorse, so that the old British warrior
who lay beneath may indeed be said to have made his bed
in glory. The gorse brake not only blazed as fire, but
streamed forth perfume like a censer. Only on the summit
was a bare space, where the gallows had stood, and Wellon
had dropped piecemeal, and been trodden by the sheep into
the black soil.

16 RED SPIDER

On the south-west side, facing the sun, was a holloa.
Treasure-seekers had dug into the mound. Tradition said
that herein lay a hero in harness of gold. The panoply
that wrapped him round was indeed of gold, but it was
the gold of the ever-blooming gorse. Having found no
thing but a few flint flakes and broken sherds, the seekers
had abandoned the cairn, without filling up the cavity.
This had fallen in, and was lined with moss and short
grass, and fringed about with blushing heath and blazing
gorse.

In this bright and fragrant hollow, secluded from the
world, and sheltered from the wind that wafted down OKI
her the honey breath of the furze, and exposed to the warmth
of the declining sun, sat Honor Luxmore ; and near her,
not seated, but leaning against the side of the excavation,
stood Hillary junior talking to her.

Hillary was like his father, well built, fair-haired, and
flushed with life. His eyes were blue, quick and honest,
sparkling with fun ; and his bearing was that of the heir of
Chimsworthy and Langford. There was unmistakable self-
reliance in his face, making up, in measure, for lack of
superior intelligence.

Honor Luxmore demands a fuller account than young
Hillary.

Some way down the lane from Wellon's Cairn stood a
cottage. This cottage was constructed on the bank or
hedge above the roadway, so that the door was reached by
a flight of steps, partly cut in the rock, partly constructed of
stone. A handrail assisted ascent and descent. The cottage
seemed to have taken refuge up the side of the bank to
escape from the water in the lane. Actually the roadway
was cut through shale to some depth, leaving the cottage
on the true surface of the land. The road had no doubt in
part been artificially cut, but certainly it had been also
scooped in part by the water, which, issuing from the joints
of the shale, converted it into a watercourse. The sides of
the road were rich with moss and fern, and the moss a.nd

WELLOWS CAIRN 17

fern were spangled with drops that oozed out of the rock.
Below the steps was a spring, in a hole scooped in the side
of the loose, shaley rock.

The cottage itself was of cob, whitewashed, with a
thatched roof, brown and soft as the fur of a mole. The
windows were small and low. In this cottage lived Oliver
Luxmore, a man poor in everything but children, and of
these he possessed more than he knew how to provide for.
The cottage was like a hive. Flaxen-haired boys and girls
of all ages might be seen pouring out on their way to
school, or swarming home in the evening. They were all
pretty children, with dazzling blue eyes and clear com
plexions and fair hair, from the youngest, a little maid of
three, upwards ; and what was better than beauty, they
were patterns of neatness and cleanliness. According to
the proverb, cleanliness comes next to goodliness, but these
little Luxmores were both cleanly and goodly. The good
liness they drew from their parents, but the cleanliness was
due to Honor, the eldest daughter of Oliver Luxmore, who
stood to her brothers and sisters in the place of mother, for
the wife of Luxmore had died three years ago, just after the
birth of the youngest.

The father was a carrier, and drove a van on Fridays
to Tavistock, and on Saturdays to Okehampton, the market-
days at these respective places. On the other week-days
he worked for the farmers, doing odd jobs, and so earning
money for the sustenance of his many children.

Oliver Luxmore was a quiet, dreamy, unenergetic man,
who was hampered by a belief that he was the right heir to
a good property, which would certainly be his if only he
were able to find the necessary registers, but what these
registers were, whether of marriage or birth, he was un
certain. At the extreme limits of the parish, in a pretty
situation, lay a good house of Queen Anne's reign, with
some fine trees, and traces of gardens, and a fishpond,
called Coombe Park, which had belonged to the Luxmoores
or Luxmores. But this property had been sold, and Oliver

J8 RED SPIDER

maintained that if he had had but one hundred pounds
wherewith to find the registers, Coombe Park could not
have been sold, and he would be a squire there, with a good
fortune. He had visited a lawyer in Okehampton, and
another at Tavistock, to ask them to take up his case on
speculation, but Oliver's ideas were so hazy as to his
pedigree, never resolving themselves into definite state
ments of fact, that both one and the other declined to
touch his claim unless they were given some certain ground
on which to work.

Then he went to the Rector of Bratton, and with his
help extracted all the entries of births, marriages, and
deaths of the Luxmores — pages of them, showing that
from the beginning of the sixteenth century the name had
abounded there, and belonged to or was assumed by persons
of all ranks and conditions. Then Oliver took this list to
the Okehampton lawyer.

' Look here/ said he, ' my eldest daughter is called Honor,
and in 1662 John Luxmore, gentleman, and Temperance, his
wife, had a daughter baptised called Honor. That's proof,
, is it not 1 '

' Why was your daughter christened by this name ? '

'Well, you see my wife was Honor, and so we called
our first girl after her.'

This may be taken as a specimen that will suffice of
Oliver's evidences, and as a justification of the solicitors
declining to take up his claim.

' It is one hundred pounds that is wanted to do it,1
said Oliver Luxmore. 'If I had that to spend on the
registers, it would come right enough. I always heard my
father say that if we had our rights we shouldn't be in the
cottage in Water Lane.'

Oliver spent money and wasted time over his ineffectual
attempts to prove his descent and establish his rights, but
he had not the slightest idea what to search for and how to
search. He did not even know his grandfather's Christian-
name, but believed it began with a J, for he had an old

WELLOWS CAIRN 19

linen shirt that was marked in the tail with J. L., and was
BO strong and sound that he wore it still. J. might stand
for John, or James, or Joseph, or Jeremiah. But then he
was not quite sure the shirt had belonged to his grandfather,
but he had heard his mother say she believed it had.

On days when he might have been earning money he
would wander away to Coombe Park, prowl round the
estate estimating its value, or go into the house to drink
cyder with the yeoman who now owned and occupied it,
to tell him that his claim might yet be established, and to
assure him that he would deal honourably and liberally with
him when he turned him out. The yeoman and his wife
regarded him as something of a nuisance, but nevertheless
treated him with respect. There was no knowing, they
said, but that he might prove in the end to be the heir,
and then where would they be? Oliver woulcMiave liked
to see the title-deeds, but of these he was not allowed a
glimpse, though he could not have read them had he seen
them, or made his claim the clearer if he had been able to
read them.

We have said that Oliver Luxmore worked for the
farmers on the days of the week on which he was not
carrying between Bratton and Tavistock and Okehampton ;
but Thursdays and Mondays were broken days. On Thurs
days he went about soliciting orders, and on Mondays he
went about distributing parcels. Thus he had only two
clear days for jobbing. The work of a carrier is desultory,
and unfits him for manual labour and for persevering work.
He gets into idle, gossiping ways. When he picks up a
parcel or a passenger he has to spend a quarter of an hour
discussing what has to be done with the parcel, and has to
settle the passenger comfortably among the parcels, without
the passenger impinging on the parcels, or the parcels in
commoding the passenger.

Oliver was an obliging, amiable man. In the front of
his van was) a seat, the top of which could be raised on
hinges, and in which he deposited watches that went to be

03

20 RED SPIDER

cleaned, books of the Reading Club that travelled between
subscribers, medicine bottles and boxes of pills, ribbons,
brooches, and other delicate goods. The lid of this box was
sat on and kept secure by Oliver. He was devoid of humour.
To every commission, to every joke, to every reprimand, he
had but one answer, * Certainly, certainly, very true/

' Oliver,' said Nanspian one day, c I can suggest to you
a means of increasing your income. Put a sitting of eggs
under you when you go to market, and sell the young
chickens when you get there/

' Certainly, certainly, sir, very true,' was his civil reply,
without a muscle of his face moving.

* Oh, Mr. Luxmore ! ' exclaimed Mrs. Robbing, the
rectoress, ' this is the same book you brought me last
month from the parsonage at Maristowe. I have had it
and returned it, and now you bring it me again. Mind it
goes back on Friday ; and you shall not be paid for your
trouble, as I cannot be expected to read the same book over
twice.'

* Certainly, certainly, ma'am, very true.'

' Oh, Mr. Luxmore,' said Mrs. Yeale, ' you are to mind
and match me the silk, cut on the cross, and if the shade
be out, I won't take it, you must return it, and pay for it
from your own pocket.'

* Certainly, certainly, ma'am/

1 The "Vivid/ as Mr. Luxmore's van was called, belied its
name. There was no vividity (pass the word) about it. It
went slowly up hill, because the horse had so much to draw.
It went slower down hill, because it had to back against
such a prodigious weight, descending by natural velocity.
There was not a mile — not half a mile — of level road be
tween Bratton Clovelly and the market-towns.

The carrier's horse was a rough creature, brown, with
a long tail, thick mane, and coarse hair about the fetlocks,
of the colour of tow. It lived in a precarious manner ; the
children cut grass in the hedges for it, and it was sometimes
turned out on Broadbury, with hobbles on its feet. It ate

WELLOWS CAIRN 21

the refuse of Luxmore's vegetable garden, the turnip-tops,
the potato parings, the maggot-nibbled outer cabbage leaves,
and the decayed apples from his trees. Once, when the
horse had knocked his nose, and Luxmore had put a linseed
poultice over it, in a bit of sacking tied round the head with
four stout tapes, when his back was turned the horse curled
his tongue out of his mouth, detached the poultice, and ate
it, linseed, sacking, and tapes, to the last grain and thread.
There was nothing but stones that horse would not eat.
He bit away great pieces from his manger. He took a bite
out of Luxmore's trousers, he gnawed the bark off the
cherry-tree by his gate, he gobbled up nettles, thistles,
furze, as though his appetite were as vitiated as an East
Indian's.

Oliver Luxmore had to put up with a good many bad
debts ; his business did not bring him in much money ; he
was never able to lay by a penny : how could he with so
many mouths to feed at home ? Honor would have been
unable to make both ends meet unless she had been a
manager. The family would have been better off if Charles,
the eldest son, two years the senior of Honor, had fulfilled
his duty to his own. But Charles, having reached the full
wage -earning age, had enlisted, and was away on foreign
service. His father and sister did not even know where
he was, for he had not troubled himself to write since his
departure. Charles had always been a wild and headstrong
boy who needed a firm hand over him to direct him right.
But Oliver Luxmore's hand was weak, and the mother, a
shrewd, painstaking woman of decided character, had made
the boy obstinate and sulky, by exerting over him the
authority which should have been exercised by his father.

After the death of his wife, Oliver remained as weak
as during her life, very good-natured, and so pliant as to
bend to the wills of his children, even to that of his
youngest, Temperance, aged three. The family would in
disputably have run wild, and his affairs gone to ruin, had
not Honor assumed her mother's place, and ruled the little

house with energy and decision. Her rule was firm but
loving, and few of the children ventured to disobey her,
not even the thirteen-year-old Joseph, or her next sister,
Kate, aged seventeen ; no, not even her father, Oliver j
indeed, he was the least difficult to manage of all. There
were nine children in all. Charles, Honor, Kate, Joseph,
have already been mentioned, so has little Temperance the
baby. Between Joseph and Temperance came Pattie, that
is Patience, Willie, Martha, and Charity. The children
were all pretty and well- conducted. Charles was no longer
a child. He was away. He therefore is not reckoned
among those who were pretty and well-conducted.

Honor was tall ; her bearing very erect ; her well-knit,
vigorous frame, the glance of her clear hazel eyes, her firm
mouth, all combined to inspire respect and insure sub
mission. The respectability of her father, the honesty of
her brothers and sisters were due to Honor, and to Honor
alone. But for her presence in the house everything would
have gone wrong. Kate was too lively and careless to
manage it, the others too young, her father helpless. Had
she not been there to keep home orderly, and the children
neat, Oliver would have drifted to the tavern to bury his
troubles in the ale-can, and the little ones would have sunk
into squalor and strife, and struggled out of childhood into
misery, beggary, and vice.

The children had inherited from their father blue eyes
and very fair hair ; they had lovely complexions, and clear,
bright colour ; some of them had certainly derived from
him also an inertness of character which left them and their
futures at the mercy of the persons and the chances that
should surround or fall in their way. This was not the
case with Kate, who had character of her own, though
very diverse from that of her eldest sister. Kate promised
to be the beauty of the family. Her blue eyes twinkled
with mirth and mischief, like summer seas. She had a
roguish dimple in her cheeks, and an expression of con
sciousness of her good looks on her face.

WELLOWS CAIRN «J

Honor was different in appearance, as in character, from
the rest. She hardly seemed to belong to the family. She
had hair the colour of barley-sugar, and hazel-brown eyes.
She looked every one whom she addressed straight in the
face, and was absolutely void of vanity ; she asked no ad
miration like Kate. She was contemptuously indifferent to
her looks, and yet she was never untidy. All the rest were
better dressed than herself. She never gave herself new
clothes ; she had an old store of her mother's to draw from
for her own clothing ; but though her gown was antiquated
and often patched, it was never ragged, never had tape and
thread ends hanging from it. She had inherited her grand
mother's scarlet cloak, and was the last person in that
neighbourhood to wear such a garment. This she only
wore on Sundays, but she wore it on every Sunday, summer
as well as winter, when she went to church. She also wore
red stockings, and as she was taller than her mother, and
her mother's gowns could not be lengthened, a good deal of
red stocking showed. She wore these stockings simply be
cause they were her mother's and had to be worn out, and
because Kate objected to them for her own feet. Perhaps
it was the shortness of the skirts that gave to Honor a look
of length of red limb below the scarlet cloak a little gro
tesque, that occasioned the boys of Bratton to nickname
her ' the Bed Spider.'

The mischievous Kate teased her by asserting that she
got her name from her hair ; but Honor's hair was not red,
it was not even chestnut brown, it was golden brown, like
beech-leaves in autumn — a very rare, but a most beautiful
colour. It was all one to Honor what hair she had, all one
to her what the boys styled her. No girl could be jealous
of her ; she had no eyes for the lads, her whole heart, her
every thought was centred in home. As the chapter-house
of a cathedral is built in a circle and leans on one central
pillar, and as the fall of that pillar would insure the ruin of
the house, so was it with the cottage of the Luxmores — on
her it rested. This she knew, and the little self-conscious-

24 RED SPIDER

ness she possessed was the consciousness that on her all
leaned for support, and to her owed their uprightness.

1 What a lot of socks and stockings you have got on the
furze bushes about you/ said Hillary.

4 Yes — like to have. There are so many little feet at
home that tread holes/

' You must be glad that they are two-footed, not four-
footed animals, those brothers and sisters of yours.'

' I am, or I could not darn their stockings, much less
knit them.'

Hillary thought a moment ; then he said, looking at a
pair of very much darned red stockings hung over a branch
of heather, 'You know they call you the Red Spider,
and they say true. The Ked Spider brings luck wherever
she goes. I am sure you are the money-spinner in your
house.'

' I ! ' exclaimed the girl, who coloured slightly, and looked
up ; ' I — I spin, but never money.'

' Well, you bring luck.'

c I keep out ill-luck,' she answered with confidence ; ' I
can do no more, but that is something, and that takes me
all my time. I have hardly leisure to sleep.'

* Why have you brought all these stockings out on the
Down ? Are you going to convert Wellon's Cairn into a
second-hand mercer's shop ? '

' Larry, in spite of proverb to the contrary, I am forced
to do two things at a time. I have Diamond to watch as
well as stockings to darn. The poor beast is not well, and
I have brought him from the stable. The little ones are at
school, except of course Temperance, and Kate is with her
cutting grass in the lane for Diamond.'

* What would you do if you lost Diamond ? ' asked
young Hillary.

*O Larry, don't even suggest such an evil. If you
whistle you call up wind, and if you whisper the name of
the devil he looks in at the door. We got into debt buying
Diamond, and it took us three years to work our way out

WELLOWS CAIRN z$

Now we are clear, and it would be too dreadful to get into
debt again. You know, Larry, what the mothers do with
children who have the thrush. They pass them under a
bramble that grows with a loop into the ground. Like
enough the little creatures lose the thrush, but they carry
away scratches. Debt, to my thinking, is like treatment ;
you get rid of one evil by sticking yourself full of thorns.
So take my advice, and never get into debt/

' I'm not like to,' laughed the young man, ' with Chims-
worthy behind me and Langford before me.'

'Never reckon on what you've not got,' said Honor.
1 That's like buying the hogshead before the apples have set,
or killing a pig without having the pickle-tub. Langford
is not yours, any more than Coombe Park is ours.'

( Langford must come to us Nanspians some day, you
know, Honor. Not that I reckon on it. God forbid.
May Uncle Taverner live for ever. But it gives a chap
confidence to know that a large estate will come to him in
the end.'

' Don't reckon on that,' said Honor.

1 It can't fail. It stands so in the deeds.1

* But Mr. Langford might marry.'

Hillary would have burst into a hearty laugh at the
idea, had not Honor laid her hand on his arm to arrest him,
and raised the forefinger of the other to impose silence.

Sitting up on its hind legs, in a begging posture, at the
mouth of the excavation, was a white hare. It looked at
the young people for a moment, doubtingly, inquiringly.
Then Hillary stirred, and with a flash it was gone.

Hillary exclaimed, ( 0 Honor ! is it not the picture of
Mrs. Vealel'

26 RED SPIDER

CHAPTER IV.

THE WHITE HARE.

'I HAVE seen the white hare before, several times/ said
Honor Luxmore.

' You have ? Do you know what folks say ? '

* They say that it is unlucky to see a white hare ; but I
think nothing of that.'

' I do not mean that/ said Hillary laughing. * But
they say that when a witch goes on her errands she takes
this shape. Perhaps, Honor/ he went on with roguery in
his twinkling eyes, ' Mrs. Yeale is off over the Down in
quest of her master. He has gone to the Look-out Stone
to have a talk to my father.'

'Nonsense, Larry. I put no credit in those tales of
witches • besides, I never heard that Mrs. Veale was one —
not properly.'

* She is white with pink eyes, and so is the hare/ argued
Hillary, ' and spiteful she s, certainly. I hope, if that were
her, she won't be bringing mischief to you or to me. We
shall see. If that were her, Uncle Taverner will be coming
home directly. Folks say that he is afraid of her tongue,
and that is the only thing in heaven or hell he is afraid of.'

Honor uttered an exclamation of surprise and alarm. A
black ungainly figure stood before them, black against the
glowing western sky. She recovered herself at once and
rose respectfully. Hillary turned and recognised his uncle.

* Well, Uncle Taverner ! ' he exclaimed, ' you have come
on us suddenly. We were just talking about you.'

1 Ah ! ' answered Longford, leaning on his stick and
lowering at him, ' leave me out of your talk and your calcu
lations altogether. I dare say you have been reckoning on
my shoes, and how well they would fit your young feet. No,
no ! no feet of yours shall ever be thrust into them.' Then

THE WHITE HARE 27

seeing that Hillary was disconcerted, he laughed a harsh,
bitter laugh. ' Your father and I have parted for ever.
We have quarrelled ; I will not speak to him more. To
you I speak now for the last time also. As Nanspian has
split with Langford, Chimsworthy and Langford will not
splice. Remember that. Go to work, young man, go to work
instead of standing idling here. Your father is in my debt,
and you must help him to earn the money to pay it off.' Then
he turned to Honor, and said, ' Why are you here, instead
of watching your horse ? Diamond is down in the gravel-
pit, on his side, dead or dying.'

Honor sprang up with a cry.

1 The white hare/ said Hillary, ' has brought the ill-luck
— to both of us at once/

Neither of the young people gave another thought to
Taverner Langford. Honor was in distress about the horse,
and Hillary was desirous of assisting her. He accompanied
her to the spot, a hole dug in the surface of the moor for
rubble wherewith to mend the road. Diamond had either
made his way into it by the cart road, or had fallen over the
edge. He lay on his side panting.

' Poor fellow/ said Hillary gravely, * Diamond is done
for/

1 Oh, I ought not to have let him from my sight/ cried
Honor, stung with self-reproach.

I You could do nothing for him/ said the young man.
* He is not dying from your neglect. Look here, Honor, do
you see that hoof -print ? He walked in, he did not fall
over the edge. Every beast when it feels death approach
tries to hide itself, as though it were ashamed — as though
death were a crime. It is so, Honor.'

c 0 Larry ! What can I do ? What can I do for poor
Diamond ? '

' You can do nothing but pat him and let him go out of
the world with a word of love.'

I 1 will do that. I will indeed ! ' Then she caressed
the old horse, and stroked its cheek and nose, and spoke to it

28 RED SPIDER

tenderly. Diamond raised his head, snuffed, rubbed his
head against his young mistress, then laid it down again on
the stones and died.

Honor's tears flowed, but she was not one to make a
demonstration of distress. She said : * I must go home,
Larry, and get supper ready for the children. I can do
nothing here now. '

' I am very sorry for you,' said Hillary, showing more
emotion than she ; ' I am indeed, Honor. I know what a
terrible loss this will be to your father, and he is too proud
a man to go round with a brief. Put your hand to mine,
Honor ; we shall always be good friends, and I will do what
I can for you ; but it cannot be much now that Uncle
Taverner is across with us, and about to exact his money.
I will tell you what. I will get my father to lend you our
horse Derby for awhile, till we can scheme what is to be
done. I wish I'd got a quarter of an acre of land of my
own, and I would sell it and give you the money wherewith
to buy another horse. I would, in truth and sincerity,
Honor.'

* I am sure of that,' answered the girl ; ' I know I can
always trust to your good-will and kind offices. Good-bye !
I must go.'

Then Hillary went slowly homewards. The sun had
gone down in the west, and the sky was full of after glory.
A few level bars, steps of vivid fire, were drawn against the
sky, and there was, as it were, a pavement of sapphire strewn
with the down from a flamingo. The moor stood with every
furze-bush on its margin and two small cairns on the edge
blotted black against the blaze. As Hillary descended
from the moor he got into the Chimsworthy Lane, shadowed
by a plantation of Scottish pines his father had made twenty
years ago, and which stood up high enough to intercept the
light.

1 Poor Honor ! ' mused Hillary. ' Whatever will she
and her father and all those little uns do without the horse ?
A earlier without a horse is a helpless animal. I don't like

THE WHITE HARE 29

to ask iny father too much for the Luxmores, and seem hot
about them, or he will be thinking I am in love with Honor,
which I am not. Some chaps think a young fellow cannot
speak to a girl, or even look at her, without being in love
with her. I like Honor well enough, as a friend, but no
more.'

The road was very rough, he could not descend fast
because of the loose stones. In rainy weather the way
was a watercourse, and the water broke up the shale rock
that formed the floor and scattered it in angular fragments
over the road.

1 What a ridiculous notion, that I should be in love with
a carrier's daughter ! I, a Nanspian of Chimsworthy, and

heir ' he stopped. ' No — that part is not to be, though

how Uncle Taverner will do us out of Langford is more
than I can imagine. That he should marry and have a
family is clean too ridiculous ! Confound that stone ! It
nigh turned and broke my ankle. If Honor's father had
Coombe Park it would be another matter. Then, possibly,
I might think of her in a different way ; but — a cottage
girl ! — a carrier's daughter ! Luxmore is not a bad name.
But then they have the name and nothing else. I'll cut
myself a stick, or I shall be down on my nose. I should
not care for Honor to see me to-morrow with a broken
nose. These pines may be a shelter, but they cast a very
black shadow, and the rabbits breed in the plantation like
midges in a duck-pond.'

He cut himself a stick and went on. If Honor were
here, I should be forced to lend her a hand, and then if
father or any one were to meet us, there'd be laughter and
jokes. I'm mighty glad Honor is not here.'

Presently he got beyond the pines.

The hedges were high, the way still dark.

' Good heavens ! ' he exclaimed, ' the white hare
again ! '

As he cried out, a white animal ran up the lane, passed
him and disappeared.

30 RED SPIDER

' Confound it/ said Hillary. 'I wish I had not seen
that. Why what have we here ? '

He ran forward. In the lane, across it, where the stile
to the Look-out Stone allowed a streak of western light to
stream across the road, lay Hillary Nanspian senior, insen
sible, on his face, with the broken cyder jug in his hand.

* Father ! what ails you ? Speak ! ' cried Hillary junior.
He tried to lift the old man ; he could raise but not carry
him. The anger aroused by his contention with Langford
had brought on a fit.

CHAPTER V.

'TIMEO DANAOS ET DONA FERENTES.'

HONOR LUXMORE sat near the window, weaving a hamper
out of willow twigs. Her sister Kate was similarly en
gaged. By the fire sat Oliver, smoking and watching the
smouldering peat on the hearth. The sisters earned money
by making baskets. Down in the bottoms, in the marshy
land, grew willow-bushes ; and they were allowed by the
farmers to cut as much as they needed free of charge. To
wards Christmas, indeed from the 1st of October, there was
a demand for * maunds/ in which to send away game aa
presents. Honor, Kate, and even some of the younger
children could plait withies into hampers, which their father
took into Launceston and Tavistock on market-days and
sold. Little figures make up long sums, and so the small
proceeds of the basket- weaving formed no inconsiderable
profit in the year, out of which Honor was able to clothe
her sister Kate and one of the other children.

Silence had lasted some time in the room ; Oliver leaned
forward with his elbows on his knees, dreamily watching
the fire. At last he said, * Whatever I am to do for a
horse I cannot tell. I've sold the carcass to Squire Impey

*T1MEO DANAOS ET DONA FE RENTES' 31

to feed the hounds with for a half-sovereign, and the skin
for another ten shillings. That is all I got for Diamond.
I suppose I shall have to give up carrying and go on the
land. To think of that, I that should be in Coombe Park
riding about in a gilded coach with four cream horses and
long tails and a powdered coachman on the box — that I
should become a day labourer for lack of a horse ! '

' Never mind about Coombe Park, father. It is of no
use looking down a well for a lost shilling. Young Mr.
Larry Nanspian will lend you a horse for awhile.'

' What will that avail ? ' asked Oliver disconsolately.
' It is like sucking eggs when you've got the consumption.
It puts off the dying a few days, but it don't cure.'

' The last horse was paid for. You are not in debt.'

' Ah ! but then I had not so many little ones growing
up. I could be trusted to pay. But now they consume
every penny I earn.'

* They cost more as they grow up, but they also earn
something. I've a mind to do this, father. You know
I've been asked by several gentlefolk to go to their houses
and reseat their cane-bottomed chairs, but I've never liked
to go because of the distance, and because I wouldn't leave
the house and the children. But now Kate is old enough
to take my place and do such little matters as are needed
here during the day, I will go about and do the chairs.'

Oliver Luxmore laughed. 'You'll never buy a horse
with cane bottoms. No, that won't do. I'll give up carry
ing and go work on the roads. You don't know what
grand new macadamised roads are being laid out ; they are
carrying them round slopes, where before they went straight
up. They are filling in bottoms, and slicing into hills.
Thousands upon thousands of pounds are being spent, and
there are whole gangs of men engaged upon them.'

* No, father, you are too old for that work. Besides,
those who go to the road-making are the rough and riotous
young fellows who want high wages, and who spend their
money in drink. No, such society is not for you,'

32 RED SPIDER

' I don't see that,' said the father. c As you say, the
wages are very high \ I am not so old that I cannot work.'
' You are unaccustomed to the kind of work.'

* I should get into the way of it, and I am no drunkard
to waste my money.'

{ But you are a Luxmore.'

Oliver held up his head. That last was an unanswer
able argument. He considered for awhile, and then he
said, * I cannot borrow the money of Mr. Nanspian, he is
ill. It is, of course, useless my asking Mr. Langford, he is
not a lending, but a taking man.'

' If we worked out the first debt, we can work out the
second,' said Honor. * I know that you can get nothing
from Chimsworthy, and I do not suppose you can get any
thing from Langford, nevertheless you might try. Mr.
Langford knows you to be an industrious and a conscien
tious man. He has but to look in your face, father, to be
sure that you would rather be cheated than cheat any one.
Try Mr. Taverner Langford to-morrow.'

' It is no good,' sighed Oliver. ' Only wear out shoe
leather for nothing. You go if you think anything of the
chance. Folks say, walk with Hope, or you are walking
backwards.'

' I— I go to Mr. Langford ! '

1 No need for that, when I have come to you,' answered
a voice at the open window.

Honor started, looked up, and saw Taverner Langford
there, looking at her, and then at Oliver.

1 Won't you step in and take a chair, sir ? ' asked Honor,
rising and moving towards the door.

* No, I am well where I am,' answered Taverner, leaning
his elbows on the bottom of the window and peering in.
He wore a broad-brimmed hat, that shadowed the upper
part of his face, but out of this shadow shone his eyes with
phosphoric light.

* Father,' exclaimed Honor, f here is Mr. Langford.'
Oliver had risen and stood with his pipe in one hand

*TIMEO DANAOS ET DONA FERENTES* 35

leaning against one jamb of the chimney, looking wonder-
ingly at the visitor. Langford had ascended the steps from
the lane, and thus had appeared suddenly before the Lux-
mores.

From the window no one that passed was visible unless
he were seated on the top of a load of hay carted along the
lane from the harvest field.

Oliver Luxmore went to the window, and, like his
daughter, asked, * Will you step inside, sir ? '

' No, thank you/ answered Langford, c I can talk very
comfortably standing where I am. I know you to be a
sensible man, Luxmore, and to have your eyes about you,
and your ears open. There is no man goes about the
country so much as you. They say that in a town the barber
knows all the news, and in the country the carrier. Now
I'll tell you what I want, Luxmore, and perhaps you'll do
me the favour to help me to what I want. I'm short of
hands, and I want a trusty fellow who can act as cattle-
driver for me. I won't have a boy. Boys over-drive and
hurt the cattle. I must have a man. Do you know of one
who will suit ? '

Oliver shook his head. ' I don't know that I do, and I
don't know that I don't.'

'You are talking riddles, Luxmore. What do you
mean 1 '

' Well, sir,' answered the carrier with a sigh, ' my mean
ing is this. Poor Diamond is dead, and I am thinking of
giving up the carrying trade.'

' Giving up the " Yivid " ! You are not in your secses,
man/

1 Ah, sir, how am I to buy a new horse ? The price is
up and money is scarce — leastways with me. Horses ain't
to be bought on promises no more than they are to be
reared on wind.'

4 Want a horse, do you ? Of course the " Yivid " won't
go by herself except down hill, and that is what every one
and every thing can do unassisted. It is the getting up

D

34 RED SPIDER

hill that costs a strain. Ah, Luxmore, I could show you
two men, one going up and the other down, going down as
fast as the laden van on Rexhill, without a horse to back
against it. You've only to look to Chimsworthy to see that.
I need not say in which direction to turn your eyes to see
the contrary.'

He pushed up his hat and looked at the carrier, then at
Honor. He did not deign to cast a passing glance at Kate.

* Then, sir/ said Oliver, ' if the worst came to the worst
— I mean, sir, begging your pardon, and no offence intended,
if I could not get another horse, and where it is to come
from the Lord Almighty only knows — I'd have to work for
my living some other way, and I might be glad to take
service with you. I was even thinking on going to the
roads that be making, but Honor won't hear of that, so I
reckon it can't be.'

1 No,' answered Taverner, with his eyes resting on
Honor, * no, she is quite right. Your proper place is at
home with the family The men on the roads are a wild
lot.'

' So she said,' the carrier put in humbly, ' and of course
Honor knows.'

1 Now look you here, Luxmore,' said Taverner, ' I'm not
a man to squander and give away, as every one in Bratton
knows, but I'm not as hard as they are pleased to say, and
where a worthy man is in need, and no great risk is seen by
myself, and I'm not out of pocket, I don't mind helping him.
I do not say but what I'll let you have my grey for keep.
She's not an infant. There's not much gambol about her,
but there is a deal of work. You shall have her for awhile ;
and pay me ten shillings a week, as hire. That is a favour
able offer, is it not ? '

The carrier stood silent with astonishment. Honor's
cheeks flushed with pleasure and surprise, so did those of
Kate.

* Your grey ! ' exclaimed Luxmore. c I know her welL
She's worth five-and -twenty pounds.'

*TIMEO DANAOS ET DONA FERENTES* 35

' She may be. I do not know. I will not consider
that. I do not want her just now, and shall be glad to lend
her for her keep and a trine. You are an honest man.
Your family is like mine — come down in the world.'

' All ! ' exclaimed the carrier, raising his head proudly,
1 1 reckon Coombe Park is where I should be, and all I
want wherewith to get it is a hundred pounds and a register.'

' That may be,' said Taverner ; ' there were Luxmores
in Bratton as long as there have been Langfords, and that
goes back hundreds of years. I do not want to see you fall
to the ground. I am ready to lend you a helping hand.
You may fetch away the grey when you like. You will
have to sign an acknowledgment, and promise to return her
in good and sound condition. Always safest to have a
contract properly executed and signed, then there can be
no starting up of a misunderstanding afterwards.'

' I am to have your grey ! ' Oliver Luxmore could not
believe in his good fortune, and this good fortune coming
to him from such an unexpected quarter. ' There now 1
Honor said I was to go up to Langford and see you. She
thought you might help, and 'twas no use in the world
asking at Chimsworthy.'

' Honor said that ! ' exclaimed Taverner, and he looked
at the girl and nodded approvingly.

Then Luxmore, who had been sitting in his shirt-sleeves,
took his coat and put it on, went to the nail and unhooked
his hat.

1 1 don't mind if I go and look at the grey,' he said.
He had sufficient prudence not to accept till he had seen.

Whilst Oliver Luxmore was assuming his coat, Lang-
ford, leaning on his arms in the window, watched the active
fingers of Honor, engaged in weaving a basket. Her feet
were thrust forward, with the red stockings encasing them.

'Ah!' said Taverner, half aloud, half to himself; 'I
know a red spider that brings luck. "Well for him who
secures her.'

Just then voices were audible, bright and clear, coming

30 RED SPIDER

from the lane ; and in a few minutes up the steps trooped
the younger children of the carrier, returning from school.
Each, even the boy of thirteen, went at once to Honor,
stood before her, and showed face and hands and clothes.

' Please, Honor/ said one little girl, ' IVe got a tear in
my pinafore. I couldn't help it. There was a nail in the
desk/

' Well, Pattie, bring me my workbox.'

How clean, orderly, happy the children were ! Each
before going to school was examined to insure that it was
scrupulously neat ; and each on returning was submitted to
examination again, to show that it had kept its clothes
tidy whilst at school, and its face and hands clean.

Regardless of the presence and observations of Lang-
ford, Honor mended Pattie's pinafore. She was accustomed
to do at once what she observed must be done. She never
put off what had to be done to a future time. Perhaps this
was one of the secrets of her getting through so much
work.

When each child had thus reported itself to Honor,
she dismissed it with a kiss, and sent it to salute the father.

' You will find, each of you, a piece of bread-and-butter
and a mug of milk in the back kitchen,' she said. Then
the children filed out of the room to where their simple
meal was laid out for them.

'Busy, systematic, thrifty,' said Taverner Langford,
looking approvingly at Honor. ' The three feet that stay
Honour.' Whether he made this remark in reference to
her name the girl could not make out ; she looked up sud
denly at him, but his face was inscrutable, as he stood with
his back to the light in the window, with his broad-brimmed
hat drawn over his eyes.

Her father was ready to depart with Langford. As the
latter turned to go, he nodded to the girl in an approving
and friendly way, and then turning to her father, as he pre
pared to descend the steps, said, ' What a maid that eldest
daughter of yours is 1 Everything in your house is clean,

*T1MEO DANAOS ET DONA FERENTES* 37

everything in place, even the children". The sphere is not
big enough for her, she has talents for managing a farm.*

' Ah ! ' groaned Luxmore, ' if we had our rights, and

Coombe Park came to us ' The sisters heard no more.

Their father had reached the foot of the steps.

When both he and Langford had disappeared, Kate
burst out laughing.

* 0 Honor ! ' she said, ' that screw, Mr. Langford ! how
his voice creaked. I thought all the time he was speaking
of a screw driven into father, creak, creak, creak ! '

I For shame, Kate ! Mr. Taverner Langford has done
us a great kindness. He must not be ridiculed/

I 1 do not believe in his kindness,' answered the lively
Kate. * The grey has got the glanders, or is spavined, that
is why he wants to lend her. Unless father is very keen,
Mr. Langford will overreach him.' Then she threw aside
the basket she had been weaving. ' There, Honor, that is
done, and my fingers are sore. I will do no more. No—
not even to buy the grey with my earnings. I am sure that
grey is coming to bring us ill-luck. I turned my thumb in
all the time that Mr. Langford was here, I thought he had
the evil eye, and — Honor — his wicked eye was on you.'

CHAPTER VI.

THE PROGRESS OP STRIFE.

So it fell out that two worthy men, landowners, brothers-
in-law, in the parish of Bratton Clovelly, each a church
warden, each a pillar of religion, Jakim and Booz, one of
the Temple, the other of the Tabernacle, were at variance
About what ? About nothing, a little red spider, so minute
that many a man could not see it without his spectacles.

The money-spinner had provoked the calling of names,
the flying forth of fury, the rush of blood to the head of

38 RED SPIDER

Hillary Nanspian, and a fit. It was leading to a good deal
more, it was about to involve others beside the principals.

But the money-spinner was really only the red speck
at the meeting-point of rivalries, and brooding discontents
and growing grievances. Nanspian had long chafed at the
superiority assumed by Langford, had been angry at his
own ill-success, and envious of the prosperity of his
brother-in-law. And Langford had fretted over the thrift-
lessness of Nanspian, and the prospect of his own gains
being dissipated by his nephew.

Hillary was a boastful and violent man. Taverner was
suspicious and morose. But Nanspian was good-natured
at bottom : his anger, if boisterous, soon blew away.
Langford's temper was bitter ; he was not malevolent, but
he harboured his wrongs, and made a sort of duty of re
venging them.

The love of saving had become so much a part of
Taverner's soul, that it caused him real agony of mind to think
that all he had laid by might be wasted by young Hillary,
who, brought up in his father's improvident ways, was sure
to turn out a like wastrel. Moreover, he did not like
young Larry. He bore him that curious aversion which
old men sometimes manifest for the young. Taverner had
be/m an ungainly youth, without ease of manner or social
warmth. He had never made himself friends of either
sex ; always solitary, he had been driven in on himself.
Now that he was in the decline of life he resented the pre
sence in others of those qualities he had never himself
possessed. The buoyant spirits, the self-confidence, the
good humour, the pleasant looks, the swinging walk of
young Larry were all annoyances to Langford, who would
have taken a liking to the lad had he been shy and
uncouth.

Formerly, scarcely a day had passed without the
brothers-in-law meeting. Sometimes they encountered
accidentally on Broadbury, or in the lanes, at other times
they met by appointment at the Look-out-Stone. They

THE PROGRESS OF STRIFE 39

discussed together the weather, the crops, the cattle, the
markets. Hillary was a shrewd man, and had seen more
of the world than Taverner, who had, however, read more
books than the other. Langford had respect for the
worldly experience of his brother-in-law, and Nanspiar.
venerated the book learning in the other. The Chimsworthy
brother could see various ways in which money might be
made, and had even made suggestions by which he of
Langford had reaped a pecuniary profit, but he was too
lazy a man to undertake new ventures himself, too lazy
even to properly cultivate in the old way the land on which
he lived.

Hillary was conscious that he was falling in the estima
tion of his brother-in-law. He was chafed by the sense of
his indebtedness to him. He saw no way of escape from
the debt he owed save by Taverner's death, and he began
to have a lurking hope of release in that way. He was
not stimulated to activity. ' What is the advantage of
making a labour of life/ he asked — not of his brother-in-law
— ' when a man has a comfortable property, and another
in reversion ? '

The great day of all, on which the kindly relations of
the brothers-in-law were brought forward and paraded
before the parish, was on the feast day of Coryndon's
Charity. Then Hillary Nanspian arrived arm in-arin with
Taverner Langford, Hillary in his badger-skin waistcoat
with red lappets, Taverner in dark homespun, with black
cravat and high collar. As they walked down the village
every man touched his hat and every woman curtsied.
When they came to a puddle, and puddles are common in
the roads of Bratton Clovelly, then Hillary Naiispian would
say, ' Take care, Taverner, lest you splash your polished
boots and dark breeches.' Thereupon the brothers-in-law
unlinked, walked round the puddle, and hooked together
on the further side. At the dinner — which was attended
by the Rector, who sat at the head and carved, the way-
warden and the overseer, the landlord of the 'Ring of

*o RED SPIDER

Bells/ where the dinner was held, and several of the principal
farmers, ex-feoffees, or feoffees in prospective— speeches
were made. Hillary, with a glass of runi-and-water and a
spoon in. it, stood up and spoke of his fellow- churchwarden
and feoffee and brother-in-law in such a rich and warm
speech, that, under the united influence of hot strong rum,
and weak maudlin Christianity, and sound general good-
fellowship, and goose and suet pudding, the tears rose into
the eyes of the hearers, and their moral feelings were as
elevated as if they had heard a sermon of Mr. Romaine.

After that, Taverner proposed the health of his co-feoffee
and churchwarden in a nervous, hesitating speech, during
which he shuffled with his feet on the floor, and his hands
on the table, and became hot and moist, and almost cried
— not with tender emotion, but with the sense of humilia
tion at his own inability to speak with fluency. But, of
course, all present thought this agitation was due to the
great affection he bore to his brother-in-law.

When Parson Robbins, the Rector, heard of the
quarrel, he was like one thunderstruck. He could not
believe it. ' Whatever shall I do ? I shall have to take a
side. Mercy on us, what times we live in, when I am
forced to take a side ! '

As to the farmers generally, they chuckled. Now at
last there was a chance of one of them getting into
Coryndon's Charity and getting a lease of the poor's lands.

Hillary Nanspian recovered from his fit, but the breach
between the brothers-in-law was not healed. When he
again appeared at market he was greatly changed. The
apoplectic stroke, the blood-letting, the call in of the
money owed to Langford, had combined to alter him. He
was not as florid, as upright, as imperious as before. His
face was mottled, the badger-skin waistcoat no longer fitted
him as a glove, it fell into wrinkles, and the hair began to
look as though the moth had got into it. A slight stoop
appeared in his gait. He became querulous and touchy.
Hitherto, when offended, he had discharged a big, mouth-

THE PROGRESS OF STRIFE 41

filling oath, as a mortar throws a shell ; now he fumed, and
swore, and grumbled. There was no appeasing him. He
was like the mitrailleuse that was to be, but was not then.
Hitherto he had sat on his settle, smoking, and eating his
bread-and- cheese, and had allowed the fowls to come in
and pick up the crumbs at his feet. Now he threw sticks
at them and drove them out of the kitchen.

Encounters between the brothers-in-law were unavoid
able, but when they met they pretended not to see each
other. They made circuits to avoid meeting. When they
passed in the lane, they looked over opposite hedges.

The quarrel might, perhaps, have been patched up, had
it not been for the tongue of Mrs. Veale. Taverner Lang-
ford disliked this pasty-faced, bleached woman greatly, but
he was afraid of dismissing her, because he doubted whether
it would be possible for him to provide himself with as good
a manager in his house and about the cattle. Though he
disliked her, he was greatly influenced by her, and she
found that her best mode of ingratiating herself with him
was by setting him against others. She had a venomous
dislike for the Nanspians. ' If anything were to happen
to the master, those Nanspians would take all, and where
should I be ? ' she reasoned. She thought her best chance
of remaining at Langford and of insuring that something
was left to her by the master in consideration for her faith
ful services was to make him suspect and dislike all who
surrounded him. He listened to her, and though he dis
counted all she said, yet the repetition of her hints and
suggestions, and retailed stories, told on him more than he
allowed himself to believe. Through her he heard of the
boasts of his brother-in-law, and his attention was called
to fresh instances of mismanagement at Chimsworthy. At
one time Mrs. Veale had audaciously hoped to become
mistress of the place. Langford was a lone shy man, how
could he resist the ambuscades and snares of a designing
woman 2 But Mrs. Veale in time learned that her ambi
tion in this direction was doomed to disappointment, and

42 RED SPIDER

that efforts made to secure the master would effect her own
expulsion. She therefore changed her tactics, dared to
lecture and give him the rough of her tongue. Langford
endured this, because it showed him she had no designs on
him, and convinced him that she was severe and faithful.
And she made herself indispensable to him in becoming the
medium of communication between himself and those with
whom he was offended. He had sufficient of the gentleman
in him to shrink from reprimanding his servants and
haggling with a dealer ; he was miserly, but too much of a
gentleman to show it openly. He made Mrs. Yeale cut
down expenses, watch against waste, and economise in
small matters.

How is it that women are able to lay hold of and lead
men by their noses as easily as they take up and turn about
a teapot by its handle ? Is it that their hands are fashioned
for the purpose, and men's noses are fitted by Nature for
their hands'? Although the nose of Taverner Langford
was Roman, and expressive of character and individuality,
Mrs. Yeale held him by it j and he followed with the doci
lity of a colt caught and led by the forelock.

It was a cause of great disappointment to Hillary that
Taverner was in a position to give him annoyance, whereas
he was unable to retaliate. Langford had called in the
money he had advanced to his brother-in-law ; it must be
repaid within three months. Langford had threatened the
father and son with disinheritance. On the other side, he
was powerless to punish Langford. The consciousness of
this was a distress to Nanspian, and occasioned the irrita
bility of temper we have mentioned. Unable to endure
the humiliation of being hurt without being able to return
the blow, he went into the office of the lawyer Physick, at
Okehampton.

1 Mr. Physick,' said he, * I want to be thundering dis
agreeable.'

1 By all means, Mr. Nanspian. Very right and proper.1

* I'm going to be very offensive.'

THE PROGRESS OF STRIFE 43

* To be sure. You have occasion, no question.'

* I want a summons made out against Mrs. Veale, that
is, the housekeeper of Taverner Langford.'

' The deuce you do ! ' exclaimed the lawyer, starting
into an erect position on his seat. 'The housekeeper of
your brother-in-law ! '

' The same. I want to hit him through her/

* Why, Lord bless me ! What has come to pass 1 \
thought you and Mr. Langford were on the best of terms.'

'Then, sir, you thought wrong. We are no longer
friends ; we do not speak.'

' What has occasioned this ? '

Nanspian looked down. He was ashamed to mention
the red spider ; so he made no reply.

1 Well ! and what is the summons to be made out for 1 *

' For giving me a stroke of the apoplexy.'

' I do not understand.'

'You must know,' said Hillary, lowering his voice,
' that I have a notion Mrs. Veale is a witch ; and when
Langford and I fell out she came meddling with her witch
craft. She came as a White Hare.'

' As a what ? '

' As a White Hare/ answered Hillary, drawing forth a
kerchief and blowing his nose, and in the act of blowing
fixing the lawyer over the top of it with his eyes, and saying
through it, ' My Larry saw her.'

Mr. Physick uttered a sigh of disappointment, and said
ironically, ' This is not a case for me. You must consult
the White Witch in Exeter.'

' Can you do nothing 1 '

1 Certainly not. If that is all you have come about, yon
have come on a fool's errand.'

But this was not all. Nanspian wanted to raise the
money for paying his brother-in-law. Mr. Physick was
better able to accommodate him in this. ' There is another
matter I want to know,' said Nanspian. ' Taverner Lang-
ford threatens to disinherit me and my Larry. Can he do

44 RED SPIDER

it ? I reckon not. You have the settlements. The threat
is idle and vain as the wind, is it not ? '

' Langford is settled property in tail male/ answered the
solicitor. 'Should Mr. Langford die unmarried and without
male issue, it will fall to you, and if you predecease, to your
son.'

* There ! ' exclaimed Hillary, drawing a long breath, * I
knew as much ; Larry and I are as sure of Langford as if
we had our feet on it now. He cannot take it from us.
We could, if we chose, raise money on it.'

' Not so fast, Mr. Nanspian. What aged man is your
brother-in-law ? '

' Oh, between fifty-eight and sixty.'

* He may marry.'

* Taverner marry! ' exclaimed Hillary; he put his hands
on his knees and laughed till he shook. * Bless me ! whom
could Taverner marry but Mrs. Veale ? — and he won't take
her. He is not such a fool as to turn a servant under him
into a mistress over him. But let him. I give him Mrs.
Veale, and welcome. May I be at the wedding. Why, she
will not see this side of forty, and there is no fear of a
family.'

' He may take some one else.'

'She would not let him. She holds him under her
thumb. Besides, there are none suitable about our neigh
bourhood. At Swaddledown are only children, Farmer
Yelland's sister at Breazle is in a consumption, and at the
rectory Miss Bobbins is old. No, Mr. Physick, there is
absolutely no one suitable for him.'

' Then he may take some one unsuitable.'

45

CHAPTER VII.

CORYNDON'S CHAKITY.

THE opinion gained ground in Bratton Clovelly that it was
a pity two such good friends and worthy brothers-in-law
should quarrel and be drawn on into acts of violence and
vengeance, as seemed probable. As the Coryndon feoffee
dinner drew on, expression was given to their opinion
pretty freely, and the question was debated, What would
happen at the dinner ? Would the enemies refuse to meet
each other ? In that case, which would cede to the other ?
Perhaps, under the circumstance, the dinner would not
take place, and the profits, not being consumed, would be
given to the widows. That might establish a dangerous
precedent. Widows in future years might quote this, and
resist the reintroduction of the dinner. Fortunately widows,
though often violent and noisy, are not dangerous animals,
and may be browbeaten with impunity.

Nevertheless a general consensus of opinion existed
among the overseers and way-wardens, acting, ex-, and
prospective, that the dinner must not be allowed to fall
through even for one year. Englishmen, with their
habitual caution, are very much afraid of establishing
a precedent.

Hillary Nanspian was spoken to on the subject, and he
opined that the dinner must be held. ' If Taverner Lang-
ford is ashamed to meet me, let him stay away. I shall pay
him every penny I owed, and can look him in the face. We
shall be merrier without him/

Notice of the dinner was sent to Langford ; he made
no reply, but from his manner it was concluded that he
would not attend.

The day of the Trust dinner arrived. Geese had been

46 RED SPIDER

killed. Whiff ! they could be smelt all down the village
to leeward of the inn, and widows came out and sniffed up
all they were likely to receive of Coryndon's Charity. Beef
was being roasted. Hah ! The eye that peeped into the
kitchen saw it turning and browning before the great wood
fire, and when the landlord's wife was not talking, the ear
heard the frizzle of the fat and the drop, drop into the pan
beneath.

What was that clinking ? Men's hearts danced at the
sound. A row of tumblers was placed on the dresser, and
spoons set in them. In the dairy a maid was taking cream,
golden as the buttercup, off the pans to be eaten — believe
it, non-Devonians, if you can, gnash your teeth with envy
and tear your hair — to be eaten with plum-pudding. See 1
yonder stands a glass vessel containing nutty- white celery
in it, the leaves at the top not unfolded, not green, but of
the colour of pale butter. Hard by is a plate with squares
of cheese on it, hard by indeed, for, oh — what a falling off
is there ! — the Devon cheese is like board.

About the door of the ' King of Bells ' was assembled a
knot of men in their Sunday best, with glossy, soaped faces.
They were discussing the quarrel between the brothers-in-
law when the Rector arrived. He was a bland man, with
a face like a suet-pudding ; he shook hands cordially with
every one.

* We've been talking, parson, about the two who have
got across. 'Tis a pity now, is it not ? '

Parson Bobbins looked from one to another, to gather
the prevailing opinion, before he committed himself. Then,
seeing one shake his head, and hearing another say, ' It's a
bad job,' he ventured to say, ' Well, it may be so considered/
He was too cautious a man to say ' / consider it so ; ' he
could always edge out of an * It may be so considered.1
Parson Bobbins was the most inoffensive of men. He
never, in the pulpit, insisted on a duty lest he should offend
a Churchman, nor on a doctrine lest he should shock a
Dissenter. It was his highest ambition to stand well with

CORYNDOWS CHARITY 47

all men, and he endeavoured to gain his point by disagreeing
with nobody and insisting on nothing.

' I hear/ said Farmer Yelland, ' that the two never meet
sach other and never speak. They are waiting a chance of
flying at each other's throats.'

1 Ah ! ' observed the Rector, ' so it has been reported in
the parish.' He was too careful to say ' reported to me.'

1 Why, pity on us ! ' said a little cattle-jobber with a
squint ; ' when folks who look straight before them fall
across, how am I to keep straight with my eyes askew 1 '

Every one laughed at these words. Harry Piper, the
speaker, was a general favourite, because his jokes were
level with their comprehension, and he did not scruple to
make a butt of himself. The sexton, a solemn man, with
such command over his features that not a muscle twitched
when a fly walked on his nose, even he unbent, and creases
formed about his mouth.

1 Now look here,' said Piper, ' if we don't take the matter
in hand these two churchwardens will be doing each other
a mischief. Let us reconcile them. A better day than
this for the purpose cannot be found.'

* Mr. Piper's sentiments are eminently Christian,' said
the Rector, looking round ; then qualifying his statement
with ' that is, as far as I can judge without going further
into the matter.'

1 Will Master Nanspian be here ? ' asked one.

* I know that he will,' answered the cattle-jobber, ' but
not the other, unless he be fetched.'

1 Well, let him be fetched.'
' That is,' said the Parson, ' if he will come.'
There was then, leaning against the inn door, a ragged
fellow with a wooden leg, and a stump of an arm into
which a hook was screwed — a fellow with a roguish eye, a
bald head, and a black full beard. Tom Grout lived on
any little odd jobs given him by the farmers to keep him
off the parish. He had lost his leg and arm through the
explosion of a gun when out poaching. Now he drove

48 RED SPIDER

bullocks to pasture, cows to be milked, sheep to the com
mon, and wired rabbits. This was the proper man to send
after Taverner Langford.

1 You may ride my pony/ said the cattle-jobber, * and
so be quicker on your way.;

* And,' said the guardian of the poor, * you shall dine on
the leavings and drink the heel-taps for your trouble.'

As he went on his way, Grout turned over in his mind
how he was to induce Taverner Langford to come to the
dinner. Grout was unable to comprehend how any man
needed persuasion to draw him to goose, beef, and plum-
pudding.

On his way he passed Hillary Nanspian, in his badger-
skin waistcoat with red lappets, riding his strawberry mare.
He was on his way to the ' Ring of Bells.'

* Whither away, Grout ? ' shouted Hillary.

' Out to Broadbury, after Farmer Burneby's sheep that
have broken/

Then he rode on.

When he reached the gate of Langford, he descended.
At once the black Newfoundland house-dog became furious,
and flew at him, and with true instinct snapped at the calf
of flesh, not the leg of wood. Tom Grout yelled and swore,
and made the best of his way to the door, where Taverner
and Mrs. Yeale appeared to call off the dog.

' It is a shame to keep dogs like that, vicious brutes
ready to tear a Christian to tatters.'

*I didn't suppose you was a Christian, hearing your
heathenish oaths,' said Mrs. Veale ; ' and as to the tatters,
they were there before the dog touched you.'

* The parson has sent me,' said Grout, ' and he would
not send me if I were not a Christian. As for my tatters,
if you will give me an old coat, I'll leave them behind.
Please, Mr. Langford, the feoffees and guests are at the
" Ring of Bells," and cannot begin without you. The beef
is getting cold, and the goose is becoming burnt.'

1 Let them fall to. The dinner is sure to be good.'

CORYNDOWS CHARITY 49

1 flow can they, master, without you or Mr. Nanspian?1

1 Is he not there ? '

1 Not a speck of his fur waistcoat visible, not a glimmer
of his blue eye to be seen. Ah, Mr. Langford, such a
dinner! Such goose, with onion stuffing, and sage, and
mint, and marjoram ! I heard the butcher tell our landlord
he'd never cut such a sirloin in all his life as that roasting
for to-day ; smells like a beanfield, and brown as a chestnut !
As for the plum-pudding, it is bursting with raisins ! '

I That will suffice/ said Taverner, unmoved by the de
scription. ' I do not intend to go.'

4 Not intend to go ! Very well, then, I shall have to go
to Chimsworthy and bring Mr. Nanspian. I'll tell him you
haven't the heart to meet folks. You prefer to hide your
head here, as if you had committed something of which you
are ashamed. Very well. When he hears that you durstn't
show, he will go and swagger at the " Ring of Bells "
without you.'

I 1 do not choose to meet him. He may be there after
all.'

* Not a bit. When I left all were assembled, and he
was not there. May I be struck dead if he was there!
The parson said to the rest, " Whatever shall we do without
Master Langford, my own churchwarden, so to speak — my
right hand, and the representative of the oldest and grand
est family in the place ? That is a come-down of greatness
if he don't turn up at the feoffees' dinner." May I die on
the doorstep if these were not his very words ! Then he
went on, " I did reckon on Master Langford to be here to
keep me in countenance. Now here I lay down my knife
and fork, and not a bite will I eat, nor a cut will I make
into that bubbling, frizzling, savoury goose, unless Taverner
Langford be here. So go along, Grout, and fetch him." '

1 Is that true ? ' asked Langford, flattered.

* May my remaining leg and arm wither if it be not !
Then Farmer Burneby up and said, " He durstn't come,
he's mortally afraid of meeting Hillary Nanspian," '

i

50 RED SPIDER

' Did he say that 1 ' asked Taverner, flushing.

1 Strike me blind if he did not ! '

' 111 come. Go on, I will follow.'

When Grout returned to the ' Ring of Bells,' he found
Nanspian there, large and red. The cripple slipped up to
Piper and whispered, ' He'll be here, leave a place opposite
the other, and fall to at the beef.'

* The fly,' observed the parson to a couple of farmers —
' the fly is the great enemy of the turnip. It & Hacks the
seed-leaves when they appear.'

' That is true.'

* Now, what you want with turnips is i good shower
after the seed has been sown, and warmth to precipitate
the growth at the critical period. At least, so I have been
informed.'

* It is so, parson.'

* In wet weather the fly does not appear, or the plant
grows with sufficient rapidity to outstrip the ravages of the
fly.'

' To be sure, you are quite right, sir.'

This fact of the turnip- fly was one of the few scraps of
agricultural information Parson Robbins had picked up,
and he retailed it at tithe, club, and feoflee dinners.

Then the landlord appeared at the inn door, and
announced, * All ready, gentlemen ! sorry you have been
kept waiting ! '

At the moment that Nanspian and the parson entered,
Langford arrived and went after them, without seeing the
former, down the passage to the long room. The passage
was narrow, tortuous, and dark. ' Wait a bit, gentlemen/
said the host, ' one at a time through the door ; his Rever
ence won't say grace till all are seated.'

* Here is a place, Master Langford,' said Piper, ' on the
right hand of the parson, with your back to the window.
Go round his chair to get at it.'

Taverner took the place indicated. Then the Rector
rapped on the table, and all rose for grace.

CORYNDOWS CHARITY 51

As Langford rose he looked in front of hyn, and saw the
face of Nanspian, who sat on the Rector's left. Hillary had
not observed him before, he was looking at the goose.
Wh*en he raised his eyes and met the stare of Taverner,
his face became mottled, whereas that of his brother-in-law
turned white. Neither spoke, but sank into his place, and
during dinner looked neither to right, nor left, nor in front.
Only once did Taverner slyly peep at Hillary, and in that
glimpse he noted his altered appearance. Hillary was
oldened, fallen away, changed altogether for the worse.
Then he drew forth his blue cotton pocket-handkerchief
and cleared his nose. Neither relished his dinner. The
goose was burnt and flavourless, the beef raw and tough,
the potatoes under-boiled, the apple-tart lacked cloves, the
plum -pudding was over- spiced, the cheese was tough, and
the celery gritty. So, at least, they seemed to these two,
but to these two alone. When the spirits were produced
all eyes were turned on Hillary Nanspian, but he neither
rose nor spoke. Taverner Langford was also mute. ' Pro
pose the health of the chairman/ whispered Piper into
Hillary's ear.

' I am people's churchwarden,' answered he sullenly.

'Propose the health of the chairman/ said his right-
hand neighbour to Langford.

* I am a Dissenter/ he replied.

Then the Rector stood up and gave the health of the
King, which was drunk with all honours.

' Shall we adjourn to the fire ? ' asked he • ' each take
his glass and pipe.'

Then up rose the Rector once again, and said, ' Ahem I
Fill your glasses, gentlemen. Mr. Langford, I insist. No
shirking this toast. You, Mr. Nanspian, need no per
suasion. Ahem ! '

Piper came round and poured spirits into Langford's
glass, then hot water.

1 Ahem ! ' said the Rector. ' I have been in your midst, I
may say, as your spiritual pastor, set — set — ahem ! — under

£2

52 RED SPIDER

you these forty years, and, I thank heaven, never has
there been a single discord— ahem !— between me and my
parishioners. If I have not always been able to agree with
them — ahem ! — I have taken care not to disagree with
them ! I mean — I mean, if they have had their opinions,
I have not always seen my way to accepting them, because
I have studiously avoided having any opinions at all. Now
— ahem ! — I see a slight jar between my nearest and
dearest neighbours,' he looked at Langford and Nanspian.
« And I long to see it ended/ ('Hear, hear, hear!') 'I
express the unanimous opinion of the entire parish. On
this one point, after forty opinionless years, I venture —
ahem ! — to have an opinion, a decided opinion, an emphatic
opinion'— (immense applause) — *I call upon you all, my
Christian brethren, to unite with me in healing this un
seemly quarrel — I mean this quarrel : the unseemliness is
in the quarrel, not in the quarrellers.'

Langford drank his gin- and- water not knowing what he
did, ana nis hand shook. Nanspian emptied his glass.
Both looked at the door: there was no escape that way,
the back of burly Farmer Brendon filled it. All eyes were
on them.

' Come now,' said Piper, * what is the sense of this
quarrel ? Are you women to behave in this unreasonable
manner ? You, both of you, look the worse for the squabble.
What is it all about?'

' Upon my word, I do not know,' said Nanspian. ' I
never did Langford a hurt in my life. Why did he insult
me?'

* I insult him ! ' repeated Taverner. ' Heaven knows I
bore him no ill-will, but when he dared to address me as——'

* I swear by ' burst in Hillary.

* Do not swear ! ' said Langford, hastily. ' Let your
yea be yea.' The ice was broken between them. One had
addressed the other. Now they looked each other full in
the face. Hillary's eyes moistened. Taverner's mouth
twitched.

CORYNDOWS CHARITY 53

1 Why did you employ offensive language towards me \ '
asked Hillary.

' I ! ' exclaimed Taverner ; ' no, it was you who addressed
me in words I could not endure/

The critical moment had arrived. In another moment
they would clasp hands, and be reconciled for life. No one
spoke, all watched the two men eagerly.

' Well, Taverner,' said Hillary, ' you know I am a hot
man, and my words fly from my tongue before I have cooled
them.'

* I dare say I may have said what I never meant.
Most certainly what I did say was not to be taken
seriously.'

' But,' put in Parson Bobbins, ' what was said 1 '

* Judge all,' exclaimed Taverner. * I was angry, and I
called Hillary Nanspian a long-tailed Cornish ourang-
outang.'

The moment the words were uttered, he was aware that
he had made a mistake. The insult was repeated in the
most public possible manner. If the words spoken in pri
vate had exasperated Hillary, how much more so now !

Nanspian no sooner heard the offensive words than he
roared forth, ' And I — I said then, and I repeat now, that
you are nose-led, tongue-lashed by your housekeeper, Mrs,
Veale.' Then he dashed his scalding rum-and- water in the
face of his brother-in-law.

CHAPTER VIII.

A MALINGERER.

THE time taken by the ' Vivid ' over the journey to and from
the market towns was something to be wondered at. A good
man is merciful to his beast. Certainly Oliver Luxmore was
a good man, and he showed it by his solicitude for the welfare

54 RED SPIDER

of the grey. On Friday he drove to Tavistock market at a
snail's pace, to spare the horse, because it had to make a
journey on the morrow to Launceston or Okehampton. On
Saturday he drove to market at a slug's pace, because the
grey had done such hard work on the preceding day. The
road, as has been said, was all up and down hill, and the hills
are as steep as house roofs. Consequently the travellers by
the ' Vivid ' were expected to walk up the hills to ease the
load, and to walk down the hills lest the weight of the
1 Vivid ' should carry the van over the grey. The fare one
way was a shilling, the return journey could be made for
sixpence. All goods, except what might be carried on the
lap, were paid for extra. As the man said who was conveyed
in a sedan-chair from which the bottom had fallen out, but
for the honour of the thing, he might as well have walked.
Passengers by the * Vivid ' started at half-past six in the
morning, and reached the market town about half-past
eleven. They took provisions with them, and ate two meals
on the way. They also talked their very lungs out ; but
the recuperative power of their lungs was so great that they
were fresh to talk all the way home. The van left the town
at four and reached Bratton at or about nine.

A carrier must naturally be endowed with great patience.
Oliver Luxmore was by nature thus qualified. He was
easy-going, gentle, apathetic. Nothing excited him except
the mention of Coombe Park. His business tended to make
him more easy-going and patient than he was naturally. He
allowed himself to be imposed upon, he resented nothing, he
gave way before every man who had a rough, and every
woman who had a sharp, tongue. He was cheerful and
kindly. Every one liked him, and laughed at him.

One Saturday night, after his return from Okehampton,
Oliver was taking his supper. The younger children were
in bed, but Kate was up ; she had been to market that day
with her father. Kate was a very pretty girl, sharp eyed,
sharp witted — with fair hair, a beautiful complexion, and
eyes blue and sparkling — turquoises with the flash of the

A MALINGERER 55

»pal in them. She was seventeen. Her father rather spoiled
her. He bought her ribbons and brooches when the money
was needed for necessaries.

' I brought Larry Nanspian back part of the way with
me/ said Oliver. c His father drove him into town, but the
old man stayed to drink, and Larry preferred to come on
with me.'

' That was well of him,' said Honor, looking up with a
smile.

* We talked of the grey,' continued the carrier. c Larry
was on the box with me. I put Kate inside, among the
clucking, clacking old women. Larry asked me about the
grey, and I told hjm how that we had got her. He shook
his head, and he said, "Take care of yourself, Luxmore,
lest in running out of the rain you get under the drip. I
don't believe that Uncle Taverner is the man to do favours
for nothing." '

1 Did he say that ? ' asked Honor. ' He meant nothing by
it — he was joking.'

' Of course he was joking. We joke a good deal together
about one thing or another. He is grown a fine fellow. He
came swinging up to me with his thumbs in his armholes
and said, " Mr. Luxmore, Honor won't be able to withstand
me in this waistcoat. She'll fall down and worship." '

1 Did he say that ? ' asked Honor, and her brow flushed.

' Tush ! you must not take his words as seriously meant.
He had got a fine satin waistcoat to-day, figured with
flowers. He pulled his coat open to show it me. I sup
pose he thought the satin waistcoat would draw you as a
scarlet rag will attract rabbits.'

Honor turned the subject.

* What more did he say about Mr. Langf ord ? '

' Oh, nothing particular. He told me he was sorry that
his father could not spare us a horse, to keep us out of the
clutches of his uncle Taverner. Then he laughed and said
you had warned him not to run into debt, and yet had led
the way yourself,'

56 RED SPIDER

' Run into debt, how ? '

Oliver evaded an answer. 'In going up the hills, Kate
and he walked together. He got impatient at last, and
walked on by himself, and we never caught him up again.'

Honor did not look up from her work. She was mend
ing some clothes of one of the children.

' He asked me a great deal about you,' said Kate. * He
said it was a shame that you should stick at home and
never go to market, and see life.'

* How can I, with the house to look after ? When you
are a little more reliable, Kate, I may go. I cannot now.'
Suddenly they heard a loud, deep voice at the door.

c Halloo ! what a climb to the cock-loft.'

They looked startled to the door, and saw a man stand
ing in it, with military trousers on his legs, and his hands
in his pockets, watching them, with a laugh on his face.

* You have some supper ! That's well. I'm cussed
hungry. Walked from Tavistock. Why weren't you there
to-day, father ? '

* It is Charles ! ' exclaimed Luxmore, springing to hia
feet, and upsetting the table as he did so — that the cyder
jug fell and was broken, and spilt its contents, and some
plates went to pieces on the slate floor.

1 Charlie, welcome home ! Who would have expected
to see you ? Where have you been ? What have you done ?
Have you served your time 1 Have you got your dis
charge 1 Lord, how glad I am to see you ! '

Charles Luxmore, who entered the cottage, was a tall
man ; he looked ragged and wretched. His shoes were
worn out, and his feet, stockingless, showed through the
holes. His military trousers were sun-scorched, worn,
badly patched, and in tatters about the ankles. His coat
was split down the back, brown where exposed to the brunt
Df the weather. His whole appearance was such that one
Who met him in a lonely lane would be sensible of relief
he had passed him, and found himself unmolested.

* Halloo ! there,' said he, drawing near to the fallen

A MALINGERER 57

table, picking up the broken jug, and swearing, because the
last drops of cyder were out of it. ' What are you staring
at me for, as if I were a wild beast escaped from a caravan I
Curse me, body and bones, don't you know me ? '

* Charles ! ' exclaimed Honor, ' you home, and in this
condition ? '

* Dash it ! is that you, Honor 1 How you have shot
up. And this you, Kate ? Thunder ! what a pair of
pretty girls you are. Where are the rest of the panpipes ?
Let me see them, and get my greeting over. Lug them
out of bed that I may see them. Curse it, I forget how
many of them there are.'

' Seven, beside our two selves,' said Honor. * Nine in
all.'

' Let me see them. Confound it ! It must be got

' The rest are in bed,' said Honor. ' They must not be
disturbed out of their sleep.'

' Never mind. Where is the old woman 1 '

* I do not know whom you mean, Charles.'

1 Mother. Where is she 1 '

'Dead, Charles.'

He was silent for a moment. Then he said, ' Fetch the
little devils, I want to see them.'

'Charles, for shame ! ' exclaimed Honor, reddening and
frowning, and her brown eyes flashed an angry light.

' Tut, tut ! soldier's talk. You won't find my tongue
wear kid gloves. I meant no harm.'

' You shall not speak of the children in such terms,' said
Honor, firmly.

' Halloo ! Do you think I will stand being hectored by
you?'

'There, there,' threw in Oliver Luxmore, 'the boy
meant nothing by it. He has got into a careless way of
expressing himself. That is all.'

' That is all,' laughed Charles, ' and now I have a true
soldier's thirst, and I am not a dog to lap up the spilt

58 RED SPIDER

liquor off the floor. What is it, beer ? Is there any brandy
in the house ? *

* You can have a drop of cyder/ said Honor, with frown
ing brows. ' Or, if that does not please you, water from
the spring. The cyder is middling, but the water is good.'

1 No water for me. Fetch me the cyder.'

* There is a hogshead in the cellar under the stairs in
the back kitchen,' said Honor. ' Fill yourself a mug of it.'

* You can fetch it for me.'

* I can do so, but I will not,' answered Honor. ( Charles,
I will not stir hand or foot for a man who will speak of his
innocent little brothers and sisters as you have done.'

* Take care of yourself ! ' exclaimed Charles, looking at
her threateningly.

She was not overawed by his look. Her cheeks glowed
with inner agitation. ' I am not afraid of you,' she said,
and reseated herself at her work.

' I will fetch the cyder,' offered the good-natured Kate,
springing into the back kitchen.

'That is a good, dear girl,' said Charles; 'you and I
will be friends, and stand out against that dragon.'

He took the mug. ' Pshaw ! this is not sufficient. I
am thirsty as desert sand. Fetch me a jugful.'

' There is not another jug in the house,' said Kate. ' I
will fill the mug again.'

Just then at the kitchen door appeared a white figure.

' Whom have we here 1 ' exclaimed Charles.

' Joe ! what has brought you down ? Go to bed again/
said Honor.

4 Not a bit ; come here. I am the eldest in the house.
I take the command by virtue of seniority,' shouted Charles,
and springing from the chair, he caught the little white
figure, brought the child in, and seated him on his knee.
*I am your brother,' said Charles. 'Mind this. From
henceforth you obey me, and don't heed what Honor says.1

Honor looked at her father, Would he allow this 1
Oliver made no remark.

A MALINGERER 59

* What is your name, young jack-a-napes V asked Charles,
'and what brings you here ? '

' I am Joseph, that is Joe/ answered the little boy. * I
heard your voice, and something said about soldiers, and I
crawled downstairs to see who you were.'

1 Let the child go to bed,' asked the father. ' Ha will
catch a chill in his nightshirt.'

'Not he/ replied Charles. 'The kid wants to hear
what I have to say, and you are all on pins, I know.'

' Well, that is true/ said Oliver Luxmore. ' I shall be
glad to learn what brings you home. You have not served
your full time. You have not bought yourself out. If you
were on leave, you would be in uniform.'

' Oh, I'm out of the service/ answered Charles. ' Look
here.' He held out his right hand. The forefinger was
gone. * I cut it off myself, because I was sick of serving
his Majesty, tired of war and its hardships. I felt such an
inextinguishable longing for home, that I cut off my trigger
finger to obtain my discharge.'

* For shame, Charles, for shame ! ' exclaimed Honor.

' Oh, you are again rebuking me ! You have missed
your proper place. You should be army chaplain. I've
been in India, and I've fought the Afghans. Ah ! I've
been with General Pollock, and stormed and looted Cabul.'

I You have been in battle ! ' exclaimed little Joe.

I 1 have, and shot men, and run my bayonet into a dozen
naked Afghans.' He laughed boisterously. 'It is like
sticking a pig. That sack of Cabul was high fun. No
quarter given. We blew up the great bazaar, crack ! boom !
high into the air, but not till we had cleared away all the
loot we could. And, will you believe it ? we marched away
in triumph, carrying off the cedar doors of Somnath, as
Samson with the gates of Gaza. Lord Ellenborough ordered
it, and we did it. But they were not the original gates
after all, but copies. Then, damn it, I thought '

' Silence/ said Honor indignantly. ' With the child oo
your knee will you curse and swear 2 '

60 RED SPIDER

'An oath will do no harm, will it, Joe?' asked the
soldier, addressing the little boy, who sat staring in his face
with wonder and admiration. ( A good oath clears the
heart as a cough relieves a choking throat, is it not so,
Joe ? or as a discharge of guns breaks a waterspout, eh ? '
The little boy looked from his brother to his sister. It was
characteristic of the condition of affairs in the house that
he did not look to his father.

* I don't know, brother Charles,' answered he. ' Honor
would not allow it, she says it is wicked.'

' Oh, she ! ' mocked the soldier. * I suppose you are
under petticoat government still, or have been. Never
mind, Joe. Now that I am come home you shall take
orders from me, and not from her.'

' Joe,' said Honor sternly, ' go at once to bed.'

* He shall stay and hear the rest of the story. He shall
hear how I lost my finger.'

The child hesitated.

Then Honor said gravely, ' Joe, you will do that which
you know to be right.'

At once the little boy slipped from his brother's knee,
ran to Honor, threw his arms round her neck, kissed her
on both cheeks, and ran away, upstairs.

' So, so,' said Charles, * open war between us ! Well
sister, you have begun early. We shall see who will obtain
the victory.'

' I don't think Honor need fear a soldier who cuts off
his finger to escape fighting,' said Kate.

' What, you also in arms against me ? ' exclaimed Charles,
turning on the younger sister.

* You asked Joe if he were under petticoat government,
and sneered at him for it ; but you seem to be valiant only
when fighting petticoats/ retorted Kate.

* I'm in a wasp's nest here,' laughed Charles.

' Never mind Kate,' said Oliver, ' she has a sharp tongue
Tell us further about your finger.'

' I lost more than my finger — I lost prize-money and a

A MALINGERER 6l

pension. As I told you, I was weary of the service, and
wanted to get home. I thought I should do well with all
the loot and prize-money, and if I were wounded also and
incapacitated for service, I should have a pension as well ;
so I took off my finger with an axe, and tried to make
believe I was hurt in action. But the surgeon would not
allow it. I got into trouble and was discharged with the
loss of my prize-money as a malingerer/

'You are not ashamed to tell us this?7 exclaimed
Honor.

' It was a mistake,' said Charles.

' We are ashamed to sit and listen to you/ said Honor,
with an indignant flash of her eyes, and with set brows.
* Come, Kate, let us to bed and leave him.'

* Good-night, malingerer/ said Kate.

CHAPTER IX.

CHAELES LUXMORB.

THE next day was Sunday. Charles lay in bed, and did
not appear to breakfast. Oliver Luxmore, Kate, and the
younger children were dressed for church. Honor remained
at home alternately with Kate on Sunday mornings to take
care of Tempie, the youngest, and to cook the dinner. This
was Honor's morning at home.

Oliver Luxmore stood in doubt, one moment taking his
Sunday hat, then putting it back in its card box, then again
changing his mind.

Before they started, Charles swaggered into the kitchen,
and asked for something to eat.

' Where are you all going to, you crabs, as gay as if
fresh scalded ? ' asked Charles.

1 This is Sunday/ answered his father, « and I was think-

62 £E SPIDER

ing of taking them to church ; but if you wish it, I will
remain at home.'

{ Suit yourself/ said Charles contemptuously, ' only
don't ask me to go with you. I should hardly do you credit
in these rags, and the parson would hardly do me good. In
India there were four or five religions, and where there is
such a choice one learns to shift without any.'

* What had I better do 1 ' asked Oliver turning to Honor.
1 Go to church with the children, father. I will remain

with Charles.'

' I am to have your society, am I ? ' asked the soldier.
' An hour and a half of curry, piping hot ! Well, I can en
dure it. I can give as well as take. Let me have a look
at you, Kate. A tidy wench, who will soon be turning the
heads of the boys, spinning them like teetotums. Let me
see your tongue.' Kate put out her tongue, then he chucked
her under the chin and made her bite her tongue. The tears
came into her eyes.

' Charles ! you have hurt me. You have hurt me very
much.'

* Glad to hear it,' he said contemptuously. ' I intended
to do it. The tongue is too long, and too sharp, and de
mands clipping and blunting. I have chastised you for
your impertinence last night.'

' I suppose I had better go,' said Oliver.

' Certainly, father,' answered Honor.

Then, still hesitating at every step from the cottage to
the lane, Oliver went forth followed by seven children.

Charles drew a short black pipe from his pocket, stuffed
it with tobacco, which he carried loose about him, and after
lighting it at the fire on the hearth, seated himself in his
father's chair, and began to smoke. Presently he drew the
pipe out of his mouth, and looking askance at his sister,
said, ' Am I to forage for myself this morning ? '

Honor came quietly up to him, and standing before him,
said, * I spoke harshly to you, Charles, last night. I was
angry, when you talked of the dear little ones offensively,

CHARLES LUXMORR 63

But I dare say you meant no harm. It is a bad sign when
the words come faster from the lips than the thoughts form
in the heart. You shall have your breakfast. I will lay
it for you on the table. I am afraid, Charles, that your
service in the army has taught you all the vices and none
of the virtues of the soldier. A soldier is tidy and trim,
and you are dirty and ragged. I am sorry for you ; you
are my brother, and I have always loved you.'

1 Blazes and fury ! ' exclaimed Charles ; ' this is a new
fangled fashion of showing love. I have been from home
five years, and this is the way in which I am welcomed
home ! I have come home with a ragged coat, and there
fore I am served with cold comfort. If I had returned with
gold guineas I should have been overwhelmed with affection.

' Not so/ said Honor gravely. ' If you had returned
with a sound character we would respect the rags ; but
what makes my heart ache is to see, not the tattered
jacket, but the conscience all to pieces. How long is it
since you landed ? '

1 Five or six months ago.'

* Where have you been since your return ? '

1 Where I could spend my money. I did bring some
thing with me, and I lived on it whilst it lasted. It is not
all gone yet. Look here.' He plunged his hand into his
trousers pocket and jingled his coins carelessly in it.

' There ! ' said he, ' you will feel more respect for me,
and your love wake up, when you see I have money still, not
much, but still, some. Curse it, I was a fool not to buy
you a ribbon or a kerchief, and then you would have re
ceived me with smiles instead of frowns.'

Honor looked him steadily in the face, out of her clear
hazel eyes. ' No, Charles, I want no presents from you.
Why did not you return to us at once ? '

' Because I had no wish to be buried alive in Bratton
Clovelly. Are you satisfied ? Here I am at last.'

1 Yes,' she repeated, c here you are at last. What are
you going to do now you are here 1 '

64 RED SPIDER

'I don't know,' answered her brother with a shrug.
Then he folded his arms, threw out his legs, and leaned
back in the chair. ' A fellow like me, who has seen the
world, can always pick up a living.'

Honor sighed. What had he learned ? For what was
he fitted <{

' Charles,' she said, ' this is your father's house, and
here you were born. You have as true a right to shelter
in it as I. You are heartily welcome, you may believe
that. But look about you. We are not in Coombe Park.
Including you we make up twelve in this cottage. What
we live on is what your father earns by his carrying ; but
he is in debt, and we have no money to spare, we cannot
afford to maintain idlers.'

' Take my money,' said Charles, emptying his pocket on
the table.

1 No,' answered Honor. * For a week we will feed you
for nothing. That money must be spent in dressing you re
spectably. By next week you will have found work/

* Maybe,' said the soldier. * It is not every sort of work
that will suit me. Any one want a gamekeeper about
here 1 '

* No, Charles, there is only Squire Impey in this parish ;
besides, without your forefinger, who would take you as a
gamekeeper ? '

1 The devil take me, I forgot that.'

* Curses again,' said Honor. 'You must refrain your
mouth before the children.'

f I have not gone to church,' said Charles sullenly, ' be
cause I didn't want to be preached to j spare me a sermon
at home.'

* Charles,' said Honor, c I have hard work to make both
ends meet, and to keep the children in order. You must
not make my work harder — perhaps impossible. If you
remain here, you will need my help to make you comfort
able and to put your clothes in order. You will throw an
additional burden on me, already heavily weighted. I do

CHARLES LUX 'M 'ORE 65

not grudge you that. But remember that extra work for an
additional member means less time for earning money a*
basket- weaving. We must come to an understanding. I do
not grudge you the time or the trouble, but I will only give
them to you on condition that you do not interfere with my
management of the children, and that you refrain your
tongue from oaths and unseemly speech.'

Charles stood up, went to her, took her by both ears^
and kissed her. ' There, corporal, that is settled/

Honor resented the impertinence of laying hold of her
by both ears, but she swallowed her annoyance, and accepted
the reconciliation.

1 1 have a good heart,' said Charles, c but it has been
rolled in the mud.'

' Give us the goodness, and wash off the soil,' answered
Honor. Then she brought him some bread-and-butter and
milk. * Charles,' she said, ' I will see if I cannot find some
of father's clothes that will fit you. I cannot endure to see
you in this condition.'

' Not suitable to the heir of Coombe Park, is it 1 '
laughed Charles. * Is the governor as mad on that now aa
of old 1 '

' Say nothing to him about Coombe Park, I pray you/
urged Honor. * It takes the r^erve out of his arms and the
marrow from his bones. It may be that we have gentlo
blood in us, or it may not. I have heard tell that in old
times servants in a house took the names of their masters.'

* I have always boasted I was a gentleman, till I came
to believe it,' said the soldier. * You'd have laughed to hear
me talk of Coombe Park, and the deer there, and the
coaches and horses, and father as Justice of Peace, and
Deputy-Lieutenant, and all that sort of thing, and hia
wrath at my enlisting as a private.'

* I should not have laughed. I should have cried.'
'And, Honor, I reckon it is the gentle blood in my

veins which has made a wastrel of me. I could never keep
my money, I threw it away like a lord/

66 RED SPIDER

Honor sighed. The myth of descent from the Lux-
mores of Coombe Park had marred her father's moral
strength, and depraved her brother's character.

* There they come, the little devils ! ' shouted Charles/
springing up and knocking the ashes out of his pipe, which
he put away in his waistcoat pocket.

* Charles ! ' again remonstrated Honor, but in vain,
Her elder brother was unaccustomed to control his tongue.
There was a certain amount of good nature in him, inherited
from his father, and this Honor thankfully recognised;
but he was like his father run to seed Luxmore would
have become the same but for the strong sustaining
character of his daughter.

Charley went to the door, and stood at the head of the
steps. Along the lane came Oliver Luxmore with hia
children, Hillary junior and Kate bringing up the rear.

* Now then, you kids, big and little ! ' shouted Charles,
1 see what I have got. A handful of halfpence. Scramble
for them. Who gets most buys most sweeties.' Then he
threw the coppers down among the children. The little
ones held up their hands, jumped, tumbled over each other,
quarrelled, tore and dirtied their Sunday clothes, whilst
Charles stood above laughing and applauding. Oliver
Luxmore said nothing.

' Come in, come in at once ! ' cried Honor, rushing to
the door with angry face. * Charles, is this the way you
keep your promises ? '

1 1 must give the children something, and amuse myself
as well/ said the soldier.

Honor looked down the road and saw Kate with young
Hillary Nanspian. They were laughing together.

* There now/ said Kate, as she reached the foot of the
steps, 'Honor, see the young fellow who boasts he will
make you fall down and worship his waistcoat.'

4 It was a joke,' said Larry, turning red. He poked hia
hat up from his right, then from his left ear ; he was over
come with shame.

CHARLES LUXMORE 67

Honor's colour slightly changed at the words of her
sister, but she rapidly recovered herself.

* So,' continued the mischievous Kate, ' you have como
round all this way to blaze your new waistcoat in the eyea
of Honor, because she could not come to church to worship
it?'

Young Nanspian looked up furtively at Honor, ashamed
to say a word in self-exculpation.

'Talk of girls giving themselves airs over their fine
clothes ! ' said Kate, ' men are as proud as peacocks when
they put on spring plumage.'

'It serves you right, Mr. Larry/ said Honor, 'that
Kate torments you. Vanity must be humbled.'

1 1 spoke in jest/ explained Hillary. ' All the parish
knows that when I joke I do not mean what I say. When
a word comes to my lips, out it flies, good or bad. All the
world knows that.'

' All the world knows that/ she repeated. * It is bad
to wear no drag on the tongue, but let it run down hill to
a smash. Instead of boasting of this you should be
ashamed of it.'

* I am not boasting/ he said, with a little irritation.

' Then I misunderstood you. When a man has a fault,
let him master it, and not excuse himself with the miserable
reason, that his fault is known to all the world.'

1 Come, Honor, do not be cross with me/ he said, running
up the steps, and holding out his hand.

* I am not cross with you/ she answered, but she did not
give him her hand.

* How can I know that, if you will not shake hands ? '

c Because all the world knows I tell no lies/ she answered
coldly, and turned away.

f 2

68 RED SPIDER

^

CHAPTER X

ON THE STEPS.

FOR a week Charles Luxmore made a pretence of looking
for work. Work of various kind was offered him, but none
was sufficiently to his taste for him to accept it. He had
still money in his pocket. He did not renew his offer of it
to Honor. She had fitted him in a suit of his father's clothes,
and he looked respectable. He was often in the ' Ring of
Bells/ or at a public-house in a neighbouring parish. He
was an amusing companion to the young men who met in
the tavern to drink. He had plenty to say for himself, had
seen a great deal of life, and had been to the other side of
the world. Thus he associated with the least respectable,
both old and young, the drunkards and the disorderly.

He was not afflicted with bashfulness, nor nice about
truth, and over his ale he boasted of what he had seen and
done in India. He said no more about his self-inflicted
wound ; and was loud in his declamation against the injus
tice of his officers, and the ingratitude of his country which
cast him adrift, a maimed man, without compensation and
pension. When he had drunk he was noisy and quarrel
some ; and those who sat with him about the tavern table
were cautious not to fall into dispute with him. There was
a fire in his eye which led them to shirk a quarrel.

About a mile from the church in a new house lived a
certain Squire Impey, a gentleman who had bought a pro
perty there, but who did not belong to those parts. No one
knew exactly whence he came. He was a jovial man, who
kept hounds, hunted and drank. Charles went to him, and
he was the only man for whom he condescended to do some
work, and from whom to take pay ; but the work was oc
casional. Charles was an amusing man to talk to, and Impey
liked to have a chat with him, Then he rambled away to

ON THE STEPS 69

Coombe Park, where he made himself so disagreeable by his
insolence, that he was ordered off the premises. His father
and brothers and sisters did not see much of him ; he re
turned home occasionally to sleep, and when the mind took
him to go to market, he went in the van with his father.

Much was said in the place of the conduct of Charles
Luxmore — more, a great deal, than came to the ears of
Honor. Oliver heard everything, for in the van the parish
was discussed on the journey to market, and those who sat
within did not consider whether the driver on the box heard
what they said. Oliver never repeated these things to his
eldest daughter, but Honor knew quite enough of the pro
ceedings of Charles without this. She spoke to Charles
himself, rebuked him, remonstrated with him, entreated him
with tears in her eyes to be more steady; but she only made
matters worse ; she angered him the more because he knew
that she was right. He scoffed at her anxiety about him
self ; he swore and burst into paroxysms of fury when she
reprimanded him.

1 Do not you suppose/ said he, c that I am going to be
brought under your thumb, like father and the rest.'

Possibly she might have been more successful had she
gone to work more gently. But with her clear under
standing she supposed that every one else could be governed
by reason, and she appealed to his sense, not to his heart.
He must see, she argued, to what end this disorderly life
would lead, if she put it before him nakedly. She sup
posed she could prove to him her sisterly affection in no
truer way than by rebuke and advice.

Although Honor's heart was full of womanly tenderness
there was something masculine in her character. There
could not fail to be. Since her mother's death she had been
the strength of the house ; to her all had held. Circum
stances had given her a hardness which was not natural
to her.

Charles vowed after each fresh contest with Honor that
be could not go near the cottage again. He would go

70 RED SPIDER

where, out of range of her guns ; but he did not keep
his vow. It was forgotten on the morrow. Honor was
not a scold. She had too good judgment to go on rebuking
and grumbling, but she spoke her mind once, and acted with
decision. She withstood Charles whenever his inconsiderate
good nature or his disorderly conduct threatened to disturb
the clocklike working of the house, to upset the confidence
the children had in her, and to mar their simplicity. She
encountered his violence with fearlessness. She never became
angry, and returned words for words, but she held to her
decision with toughness. Her father was afraid of Charles,
and counselled his daughter to yield. Opposition, he argued,
was unavailing, and would aggravate unpleasantnesses.

Honor suffered more than transpired. Her brother's
disrepute rankled in her heart. She was a proud girl, and
though she placed no store on her father's dreams of Coombe
Park, she had a strong sense of family dignity, and she was
cut to the quick when Charles's conduct became the talk
of the neighbourhood. Never a talker, she grew more than
ever reserved. When she went to or returned from church
on Sunday, she shunned acquaintances ; she would not linger"
for a gossip in the churchyard, or join company with a
neighbour in the lane. She took a child by each hand, and
with set face, and brows sternly contracted, looking neither
right nor left, she went her way. Brightness had faded
from her face. She was too proud to show the humiliation
she felt at heart. ' Oh my,' said the urchins, ' bain't Bed
Spider mighty stuck up ! Too proud to speak to nobody,
now, seeming.'

Honor saw little of young Larry. Once or twice he
made as though he would walk home with her from church,
but she gave him no encouragement ; she held little Charity's
hand, and made Charity hold that of Martha, and kept
Charity and Martha between her and the young man,
breaking all familiar converse. She had not the heart to
talk to him.

' You need not take on about Charles/ said her father

ON THE STEPS Ji

one day. c Every one knows that you are a good girl, and
makes allowances for a soldier/

I Disorderly ways,' answered Honor, ' are like infectious
diseases. When one has an attack, it runs through the
house.'

' Why do you not encourage folk to be friendly ? Yoa
hold yourself aloof from all.'
Honor sighed.

I 1 cannot forget Charles, and the shame he is bringing
on us. For me it matters little, but it matters much to the
rest. The children will lose sense of fear at bad language,
lies and bragging. Kate is a pretty girl, and some decent
lad may take a fancy to her ; but who would make a maid
his wife who had such a brother ? '

* Oh ! as for that, young Larry Nanspian is after her.
You should see how they go on together, toumenting and
joking each other/

Honor coloured and turned her face aside. She said
nothing for a minute, then with composed voice and manner
she went on.

' See the bad example set to Joe. He tries his wings to
fly away from me, as is natural ; boys resist being con
trolled by the apron. He sees his elder brother, he hears
him, he copies him, and he will follow him down the road
to destruction. We must get Joe away into service unless
we can make Charles go, which would be the better plan of
the two.'

' Charles has been away for some years. We must not
drive him out of the house now we have him home again.'

' Father, I wish you would be firm with him.'

1 1 — I ! ' he shook his head. ' I cannot be hard with
the boy. Remember what he has gone through in India, in
the wars. Look at his poor hand. Home is a place to
which a child returns when no other house is open to it.'

Honor looked sadly at the carrier. No help was to be
had from him.

' I suppose, father,' she aaid, ' that there are rights all

72 RED SPIDER

round. If Charles comes home claiming the shelter of our
roof and a place at our table, he is bound in some way. He
has no right to dishonour the roof and disturb the table. I
grudge him no pains to make him comfortable, but I do ex
pect he will not make it impossible for me to keep the home
decent/

' Of course, of course, Honor/ said the carrier, rubbing
his palms slowly between his knees, and looking vacantly
into the fire. * That is reasonable.'

* And right/ said Honor. * And, father, you should make
a stand. Now, all the responsibility falls on me.'

1 Oh, yes. I will make a stand ; certainly, certainly/
said Luxmore. c Now let us change the subject.'

' No/ answered the girl. ' I cannot, and I will not.
Charles must be made to conduct himself properly. I will
not allow the little ones to hear his profane talk, and see
his devil-may-care ways. Mother committed them to me,
and I will stand between them and evil. If it comes to a
fight, we shall fight. All I wish is that the fight was not
to be between brother and sister.' Her voice became hard,
her brows contracted, her face became pale with intensity
of feeling.

* There, there ! ' groaned Oliver Luxmore, ' don't make
out matters worse than they are. A sheep looks as big as
a cow in a fog. You see ghosts where I see thorn-trees.
Be gentler with Charles, and not so peremptory. Men will
not be ordered about by women. Charles is not a bad boy.
There is meat on a trout as well as bones. All will come
right in the end.'

Honor said no more. Her eyes filled ; she stooped over
her needlework to conceal them ; her hand moved quickly,
but the stitches were uneven.

* I will do something, I will indeed/ said Luxmore rising.
He took his hat and went out, but returned quickly a few
minutes later, agitated, and went through the room, saying
hastily, * Honor ! he is coming, and — I think — drunk.

Then he escaped into the back kitchen and out into the

ON THE STEPS 73

paddock in the rear where he kept his horse. That was all the
help Honor was likely to get from him — to be forewarned.

Next moment two of the children flew up the steps
frightened and heated.

' 0, Honor ! Charlie is tight ! '

Honor stood up, folded her needlework, put it aside, and
went to the door.

* Children,' she said, ' go behind into the field to father.'
Then she went to the head of the steps and looked down
the lane.

She saw her brother coming on with a lurching walk,
holding a stick, followed by a swarm of school-children,
recently dismissed, who jeered, pelted him, and when he
turned to threaten, dispersed to gather again and continue
tormenting. Charles was not thoroughly drunk, but he
was not sober. Honor's brow became blood -red for a
moment, and her hand trembled on the rail ; but the colour
left her forehead again, and her hand was firm as she de
scended the steps.

At the sight of Honor Luxmore the children fell back,
and ceased from their molestations.

' Halloo, Honor ! ' shouted Charles, staggering to the
foot of the steps. * A parcel of gadflies, all buzz and sting !
I'll teach 'em to touch a soldier ! Let me pass, Honor,
and get away from the creatures.'

' No, Charles,' answered his sister, ' you do not pass/

'Why not T

' Because I will not let you — drunk.'

' 1 am not drunk, not at all. It is you who are in
liquor. Let me pass.' He put his hand on the rail, and
took a step up.

* You shall not pass ! ' she spoke coolly, resolutely.

' Curse you for a pig-headed fool,' said Charles, ' I'm
not going to be stopped by such as you/

' Such as I shall stop you,' answered Honor. c Shame
on you to dishonour the steps by which our mother went
down to her burial ! Verily, I saw her in my dreams,

74 RED SPIDER

putting her hands over her face in her grave to hide the
sight of her son.

* Stand aside/

* I will not budge ! '

' I was a fool to come home,' muttered Charles, ' to be
pickled in vinegar like walnuts. I wish I'd stayed away.'

* I wish you had, Charles, till you had learned to conduct
yourself with decency.'

* I will not be preached to,' he growled ; then becoming
lachrymose, he said, * I come home after having been away,
a wanderer, for many years. I come home from bloody
wars, covered with wounds, and find all against me. This
is a heartless world. I did expect to find love at home,
and pity from my sister.'

*I love and pity you,' said Honor, 'but I can only
respect him who is respectable.'

' "Let me pass ! '

1 1 will not, Charles.1

Then he laid hold of her, and tried to pull her off the
steps j but she had a firm grip of the rail, and she was
strong.

The children in the lane, seeing the scuffle, drew near
and watched with mischievous delight. Charles was not so
tipsy that he did not know what he was about, not so far
gone as to be easily shaken off. Honor was obliged to hold
with both hands to the rail. He caught her round the
waist, and slung her from side to side, whilst oaths poured
from his lips. In the struggle her hair broke loose, and fell
about her shoulders.

She set her teeth and her eyes glittered. Fire flamed
in her cheeks. She was resolved at all costs not to let him
go by. She had threatened that she would fight him, and
now, before she had expected it, the fight was forced upon
her.

Finding himself foiled, unable to dislodge her, and un
able to pass her, Charles let go, went down the steps, and
kicked and thrust at the support of the handrail, till he

ON THE STEPS 75

broke it down. Then, with a laugh of defiance, he sprang
up the steps brandishing the post. But, when the rail gave
way, Honor seized it, and ascending before him, facing him,
stepping backward, she planted herself against the cottage
door, with the rail athwart it, behind her, held with both
hands, blocking the entrance.

Charles was forced to stay himself with the broken post
he held, as he ascended the steps.

' Honor ! ' he shouted, ' get out of the way at once, I
am dangerous when opposed.'

' Not to me,' she answered ; * I am not afraid of you,
drunk or sober. You shall not cross this doorstep.'

He stood eyeing her, with the post half raised, threaten
ingly. She met his unsteady gaze without flinching. Was
there no one to see her there but the tipsy Charles and the
frightened children ? A pity if there was not. She was
erect, dignified, with bosom expanded, as her bare arms
were behind her. Her cheeks were brilliant with colour,
her fallen hair, raining about her shoulders, blazed with the
red evening sun on it, her large hazel eyes were also full of
fire. Her bosom heaved as she breathed fast and hard.
She wore a pale, faded print dress, and a white apron.
Below, her red ankles and feet were planted firm as iron on
the sacred doorstep of Home, that she protected.

As Charles stood irresolute, opposite her, the children
in the lane, thinking he was about to strike her, began to
scream.

In a moment Hillary Nanspian appeared, sprang up the
steps, caught Charles by the shoulder, struck the post out
of his hand, and dragging him down the steps, flung him
his length in the road.

1 Lie there, you drunken blackguard ! ' he said ; ' you
shall not stand up till you have begged your sister's pardon,
and asked permission to sleep off your drink in the stable.'

76 RED SPIDER

CHAPTER XL

IN THE LIXNEY.

NEXT morning, when Charles Luxmore awoke, he found
himself lying on the hay in the little ' linney,' or lean-to
shed, of his father. The door was open and the sun
streamed in, intense and glaring, In the doorway, on a
bundle of straw, sat his sister Honor, knitting. The sun
was shining in and through her golden hair, and the strong,
fiery light shone through her hands, and nose, and lips,
crimson — or seemed to do so. Charles watched her for
some time out of his half-closed eyes, and confessed to him
self that she was a fine, noble-looking girl, a girl for a
brother to be proud of. Her profile was to the light, the
nose straight, the lips sharp-cut, now expanded, then closed
tight, as moved by her thoughts, and her hair shone like
the morning clouds above the rising sun.

' What ! sentinel, keeping guard ? ' shouted Charles,
stretching his limbs and sitting up. * In custody, am 1 1
Eh?'

1 1 have brought you your breakfast, Charles,' answered
Honor. * There is a bowl of bread and milk at your elbow.'

He was hungry, so he took the bowl. His hair was
ruffled, and full of strands of hay ; he passed his hand over
his face.

' I've had many a sleep in a barn before now,' he said ;
'there are worse bedrooms, but there is one drawback.
You can't smoke a pipe in one, or you run the chance of
setting fire to bed and house. I did that once, and had a
near scratch to escape before the flames roasted me. Best
was, I managed to escape before any one was on the spot,
so I was not taken up ; suspicion fell on a labourer who
had been dismissed a fortnight before.'

* And you said nothing ? '

IN THE LINNEY 7?

* Certainly not. Do you take me for a fool ? '
Honor's lips contracted, so did her brow.

Charles put the spoon into the bread and milk, then, as
he was setting it to his mouth, burst out laughing, and spilt
the sop over his clothes.

' It was enough to make a fellow laugh,' he explained.
* To see last night how scared the kids were — Martha and
Charity — and how they cut along when they saw me coming
home.'

' This is not a cause for laughter. If you had a heart
you would weep.'

* I thought I caught sight of father/

* You did, but he also turned and left you. He could
not face you as you were. You should be ashamed of your
self, Charles.'

' There, there ! ' he exclaimed impatiently, * I will listen
to no rebukes. I was not drunk, only a bit fresh.'

' Drunk or fresh matters little, you were not in a fit
condition to come home ; and what is more, I will not allow
you to live in this cottage longer.1

< You will not ? '
'No, I will not.1

* Who is to prevent me ? '

< I will.'

' You ! — and what if I force you out of the way, and go
in and brave you ? '

'You may go in, but I leave and take with me all
the little ones. I have made up my mind what to do ; I
can work and earn enough to support the children, but I
will not — no, I will not let them see you and hear you
more.'

He looked at her. Her face was resolute. She was the
girl to carry out her threat.

' I curse the day I came back to see your wry face/ he
muttered, and rolled over on his side, away from her.

She made no reply. Her lips quivered. He did not see
it, as he was no longer looking at the door.

78 RED SPIDER

1 Home is home/ he said, c and go where one will there
are threads that draw one back to it.'

Honor was softened. 'I am glad, Charles, that you love
home. If you love it, respect it.'

' Don't fancy that I came home out of love for you.1

Honor sighed.

* I came home to see how father fared about Coombe
Park, and how mother was flourishing.'

* Well, Charles, I am glad you thought of father and
mother. You must have a right heart, at ground. Mother
is dead, but I know she shames over your bad conduct, and
would rejoice were you to mend.'

* ' How do you know that ? There is no postal communi
cation with the other world, that I am aware of.'

* Never mind how I know it, but I do.'

' I was a fool to return. There is no kindness left in the
world. If there were I should find a pinch at home, and
pity from you.'

* Charles, if I have been harsh with you, it has been
through your own fault. God, who reads all hearts, knows
that I love you. But then, I love all the rest of my
brothers and sisters, and now that mother is not here to
see after them, whom have they got but myself to protect
them ? I defend them as a cat defends her kittens from a
dog. Charles, I am sorry if I have been rough and unkind,
and unsisterly to you, but indeed, indeed I cannot help
myself. Mother laid the duty on me when she was dying.
She caught my hand — so,' she grasped his wrist, and looking
earnestly in his face, said, * and laid it on me to be father
and mother to the little ones. I bent over her and kissed
her, and promised I would, and she died with her hand still
holding my wrist. I feel her grip there to this day, when
ever danger threatens the children. When you first came
into the house, on your return, I felt her fingers close as
tight on me as when she died. She is always with me,
keeping me up to my duty. I cannot help myself,
Charles ; I must do what I know I ought, and I am sure

IN THE LINNEY 79

it is wrong for me to allow you to remain with us longer.
Consider, Charles, what the life is that you are now leading.1

* The life is all right,' said he moodily. ' I can pay my
way. I have more brains than any of these clodhoppers
round, and can always earn my livelihood.'

' Begin about it/ urged Honor.

'Time enough for that when the last copper is gone
wherewith to stop a pipe and fill a can of ale.'

1 0 Charles ! Charles! ' exclaimed his sister, 'your own
coppers are spent long ago. Now you are smoking the
clothes off your little brothers' and sisters' backs, and
drinking and squandering the little money I have for feed
ing them. For shame ! ' the blood rushed into her cheeks
with sudden anger, as the injustice of his conduct presented
itself before her vividly. ' Your father works that you may
idle I It is a shame ! It is a sin.'

' Hold your tongue ! '

' I will not hold my tongue,' she answered hotly. ' You
know how good, and gentle, and forbearing father is, how
ready he is to give everything to his children, how unwill
ing to say to any one a harsh word, and you take advan
tage of his good nature ; you, that should be building up
the house, are tearing it down on the heads of all of us,
father, Kate, Patience, Joe, Willy— down to little Temper
ance, all, all ! '

' That is right, Honor, comb his head with a rake and
the locks will lie smooth.'

Both Honor and Charles looked up. Hillary stood be
fore them in the doorway. The girl had turned her face to
her brother, and had not observed his approach. She was
ill-pleased at his arrival. She wished no stranger to inter
meddle with her family troubles.

' You here ? ' exclaimed Charles, starting to one knee.
1 Mr. Larry Nanspian, I owe you something, and I shall
repay it when the occasion comes. Not now, though I
have a mind to it, because I have a headache. But I can
order you off the premises. Get along, or I'll kick you.'

80 RED SPIDER

Larry gave a contemptuous shrug with his shoulders,
and looked to Honor.

1 Well, Honor, have you a good-morning for me ? '

CI have ordered you off the premises/ shouted
Charles.

* Shall I pitch him into the road again ? ' asked Larry
of the girl.

Then Honor said, * I did not ask your help yesterday,
and I do not seek your interference now.'

Charles burst into a rude laugh. 'You have your
answer, Mr. Larry,' he said ; ' about face and away with
you, and learn that there is one girl in the place whose
head you have not turned.'

'If I am not wanted, of course I go,' said Hillary
annoyed.

Then he walked away, whistling, with his hands in his
pockets. ' There are more cherries on the tree than that
on the topmost twig,' he said to himself in a tone of dis
satisfaction. ' If Honor can't be pleasant others are not
so particular.'

Larry Nanspian was a spoiled lad. The girls of Bratton
made much of him. He was a fine young man, and he was
heir to a good estate. The girls not only did not go out of
their way to avoid him, but they threw themselves, un-
blushingly, ostentatiously in his path ; and their efforts to
catch him were supported by their mothers. The girls
hung about the lanes after church hoping to have a word
with him, and sighed and cast him languishing glances
during Divine worship. Their mothers flattered him. This
was enough to make the lad conceited. Only Honor kept
away from him. She scarcely looked at him, and held him
at a distance. The other girls accepted his most impudent
sallies without offence; he did not venture a jest with Honor.
Her refusal of the homage which he had come to regard as
his due piqued him, and forced him to think of Honor more
often than of any other girl in the place. He did not know
his own mind about her, whether he liked or whether he

IN THE LINNEY Si

disliked her, but he knew that he was chagrined at her
indifference.

Sulky, he sauntered on to Broadbury, towards Wellon's
Cairn. The moor was stretched around, unbroken by a
hedge, or wall, or tree. Before him rose the Tumulus.
* Hah ! ' he said to himself, ' she was ready to talk to me
here ; we were to have been good friends, but that cursed
White Hare brought us all ill-luck.'

As he spoke, to his surprise he saw something white
emerge from the cutting in the side. He stood still, and
in a moment Mrs. Veale leaped out of the hollow, went over
the side, and disappeared down a dyke that ran in the
direction of Langford.

The apparition and disappearance were so sudden, the
sight of the woman so surprising, that Hillary was hardly
sure he was in his senses, and not the prey to a halluci
nation. He was made very uncomfortable by what he had
seen, and instead of going on towards the mound, he turned
and walked away.

* This is wonderful,' he said. ' Whatever could take
Mrs. Yeale to Wellon's Cairn ? If it were she — and I'd
not take my oath on it — I'm too bewildered to guess her
purpose.'

He halted and mused. 1 1 always said she was a witch,
and now I believe it. She's been there after her devilries,
to get some bones or dust of the gibbeted man, or a link of
his chain, to work some further wickedness with. I'll see
Honor again, I will, for all the airs she gives herself, and
warn her not to sit on Wellon's mount. It's not safe.'

82 RED SPIDER

CHAPTER XIL

LANGFORD.

HONOR put on her hat and threw a kerchief over her
shoulders, and took her little brother Willy by the hand.

' Whither are you going, Honor ? ' asked Kate.

' I am going to find a place for Charles, as he will not
seek one for himself. I have turned him out of this house,
and must secure him shelter elsewhere.'

* Who will have him ? ' asked Kate contemptuously.
She was less forbearing with Charles than Honor. Honor
did not answer immediately.

I Try Chimsworthy,' suggested Kate ; * Larry would put
in a word for us.'

Honor slightly coloured. She put on her red cloak.

* I cannot, Kate. Larry and Charles have quarrelled.'

* Larry bears no grudges. I will answer for him.'

I 1 do not wish to ask a favour of the Nanspians.'
« Why not?'

Honor made no reply. She clasped the child's hand
tightly and closed her lips. Then, without another word,
she left the cottage. Kate shrugged her shoulders.

Honor went slowly up the lane to Broadbury ; she did
not speak to her little brother, her head was slightly bowed,
she was deep in thought, and hectic spots of colour tinged
her cheeks.

* What ! Honor, in your scarlet ! ' exclaimed Larry.
She looked up in surprise. He had come up to Broadbury
the second time that day, drawn there irresistibly by desire
to see Honor. He thought it probable, as the day was fine,
that she would go there with her knitting.

'What has brought you to Broadbury in this array,
Honor ? ' asked Hillary, standing before her, and intercept
ing her path.

LANGFORD 83

* I am on my road to Langford,' answered the girl with
composure.

1 Take care, Honor, take care where you go. There is
a witch there, Mrs. Veale ; if you get in her bad books you
will rue it. I have seen her to-day at Wellon's Cairn
gathering the dead man's dust, out of which to mix some
hell-potion.'

Honor shook her head.

* It is true,' said Hillary earnestly , ' she jumped and
ran — an(j her ways were those of that White Hare we saw
at the mound. Nothing will now persuade me that she
was not that hare. Do not go on, Honor ; leave Langford
alone. No luck awaits you there/

I Nonsense, Larry, you cannot have seen Mrs. Veale up
here.'

I 1 tell you that I did. I saw something white hopping
and running, and I am sure it was she in the hole scooped
by the treasure-seekers.'

* What can she have wanted there ? '

1 What but the dust of old Wellon ? And what good
can she do with that ? None — she needs it only for some
devilry. Do not go near her, Honor ; I have come here on
purpose to warn you that the woman is dangerous/

* I must go on,' said Honor. ' It is kind of you, Larry,
but I have business which I must do at Langford. I have
never harmed Mrs. Yeale, and she will not want to hurt me.
But now, Larry, let me say that I am sorry if I offended
you this morning. I spoke rather rough, because I was
afraid of a quarrel and a fight between you and Charles.
Do not take it amiss. Now do not stay me, I must go
forward/

' I will let you go on one promise — that you will not
cross Mrs. Veale/ He caught her hand.

' How can I give offence to her ? She is nothing to me,
nor I to her. You must really make way, Larry/

He shook his head. « I don't like it,' he said ; but he
could not further stay her.

02

84 RED SPIDER

Langford lies under the brow of Broadbury, looking
over the tossing sea-like expanse of hill and dale. It lies
at a very considerable elevation, nearly a thousand feet
above the sea, and to protect it from the weather is covered
with slate, as though mail-clad. Few trees stand about it
affording shelter. Honor walked through the yard to the
door and thrice knocked. Very tardy was the reply. Mra.
Yeale opened the door, and stood holding it with one hand,
barring the entrance with her body and the other hand.
She was in a light cotton dress, from which the colours had
been washed. Her face, her eyes, her hair had the same
bleached appearance. Her eyelashes were white, over
hanging faded eyes, to which they gave a blinking uncertain
look.

' What do you want ? ' asked the housekeeper, looking
at her with surprise and with flickering eyes.

1 1 have come to see Mr. Langford,' answered Honor ;
1 is your master at home 1 '

1 My master, oh yes ! ' with a sneer, ' my master is at
home — my mistress not yet. Oh no ! not yet/

( I want to see him/

' You do ? Come, this is sharp, quick work. You fol
low one on another as April on March.1

Honor did not understand her. She thought the woman
was out of her mind. She made no reply, but looking
firmly at her, said, * I will go into the kitchen and sit down
till your master is disengaged. Is he in the house now ? '

* You know he is, and you know who is with him.'
Honor drew her brother after her, and entered. She

was too proud to give the woman words.

* What do you want 1 Where are you going ? ; asked
the housekeeper, standing aside to let Honor pass, but
casting at her a look so full of malevolence, that Honor
turned down her thumb in her palm instinctively to counter
act the evil eye. Honor took a kitchen chair and seated
herself. ' I will wait here,' she said, ' till Mr. Langford

LANGFORD 85

Mrs. Veale stood, still holding the door, looking at her,
her white face quivering, her eyes flickering. The child,
startled, crept close to his sister, and clung to her.

Mrs. Veale came forward, without removing her eyes
from the girl. ' Take care ! ' she said in a husky voice.
* Take care ! you are not here yet.'

Then Honor laughed.

* Not here, Mrs. Veale ? What do you mean ? I am
here.'

Before the housekeeper could speak again men's voices
were audible in the passage, and, to her astonishment,
Honor recognised that of her father. She rose at once,
and confronted him and Taverner Langford as they entered
the kitchen.

'What — you here?' exclaimed Oliver Luxmore with
undisguised astonishment. ' Why, Honor, what in the
world has drawn you to Langford ? I did not know that
you and Mrs. Veale were friends.'

' I have come to speak to Mr. Langford,' was her reply,
spoken quietly ; ' but I am glad, father, that you are here,
as I should prefer to speak before you. May we go into
the parlour ? '

She looked at Mrs. Veale as much as to say that she
did not care to speak before witnesses.

' Mrs. Veale,' said Langford, with a sharp tone, ' I heard
steps from the parlour door two minutes ago. I object to
listeners at key-holes. Do you understand ? '

He did not wait for an answer, but turned and led the
way down the passage he and Luxmore had just emerged
from.

Little Willy uttered a cry. * Don't leave me with the
old woman, please, please, Honor ! '

' You shall come with me,' answered the girl, and she
drew the child with her into the parlour.

1 Here we are,' said Taverner, shutting the door. ' Take
a seat, take a seat ! The little boy can find a stool at the
window.'

86 RED SPIDER

' Thank you, Mr. Langford, I will not detain you five
minutes. I prefer to stand. I am glad my father is here.
Doubtless he has come on the same matter as myself.'

The two men exchanged glances.

* I have come to ask you to try Charles,' she continued.
1 Some little while ago you told father that you wanted a
man to act as drover for you. I have not heard that you
have met with such a servant. Try my brother Charles.
He is doing no work now, and Satan sets snares in the way
of the idle. If you will please to give him a chance, you
will confer on us a great favour, and be doing a good work
as well, for which the Lord will reward you.'

' That is what has brought you here ? ' asked the
yeoman.

' Yes, sir.1

* Have you heard it said throughout the country that I
am not a man to grant favours ? '

1 1 do not heed what folks say. Besides, I know that
this is not so. You have already acted very kindly to us.
You lent father a very good horse.'

* Why have you not applied elsewhere ? at Chimsworthy,
for instance.'

* Because I do not wish to be beholden to the Nanspians,
sir,' answered Honor.

' You do not approve of your sister keeping company
with that Merry Andrew,' said Taverner approvingly.

' She does not keep company with him,' answered the
girl gravely.

* At any rate she lets him dance after her, draws him
on. Well, well ! it is natural, perhaps. But don't advise
her to be too eager. Young Larry is not so great a catch
as some suppose, and as he and his father give out. Look
at Chimsworthy — a wilderness of thistles, and rushes
springing where grass grew to my recollection. There ia
no saying, some day you may be seated at Coombe Park,
and then the Nanspians will be below you.'

' Coombe Park ! ' echoed Honor, looking at her father,

LANGFORD 87

then at old Langford. ' Surely, sir, you think nothing of
that 1 Do not encourage father in that fancy ; we never
were and never will be at Coombe Park.'

' Honor ! ' exclaimed Oliver Luxmore, working his feet
uneasily under the table, 'there you are wrong. The
Luxmores have had it for many generations. You have
only to look in the registers to see that.'

1 Yes, father, some Luxmores have been there, but not
our Luxmores as far as we know. I wish you would not
trouble your head about Coombe Park. We shall never
get it. I doubt if we have a thread of a right to it. If we
have, I never saw it/

' We shall see, we shall see,' said the carrier. c Gins
haven't got lawyers' minds, and don't follow evidence/

* I have undertaken to go with your father to Lawyer
Physick at Okehampton,' said Taverner Langford, ' and to
help him to have his right examined.'

'Nothing can come of it but heart-breakings,' sighed
Honor ; ' father will slip certainties to seize shadows.'

' I have nothing to lose,' said Oliver, ' and much to gain/

Honor knew it was in vain to attempt to disabuse him
of his cherished delusion. She so far shared his views as
to believe that the family had gentle blood in their veins,
and were descended somehow, in some vague, undefined
manner, from the Luxmores of Coombe Park, through,
perhaps, some younger son of a junior branch, and she
liked to suppose that the beauty and superiority of manner
in her brothers and sisters were due to this, but she did not
share in her father's expectations of recovering the property.
Her understanding was too clear to harbour this.

' I will go back to what I asked of Mr. Langford/ she
said, after a pause. ' Will you take my brother Charles
into your service, sir ? He wants a firm hand over him.
He is not bad at heart, but he is infirm of purpose, easily
led astray. If he were here with you, he would be far from
the " King of Bells," and his work would sever him from
idle companions/

88 RED SPIDER

' So, you don't want him to be at Chimsworthy t '

'I do not desire to be under obligation there.'

1 You have no objection to placing yourself under obliga
tion to me ? '

Honor did not like the tone. She did not understand
his returning to the same point ; she turned uneasily to
her father, and asked him to put in a word for poor
Charles.

* Mr. Langf ord is more likely to grant a boon to you than
to me/ answered Oliver evasively.

'Sit down, Honor,' he said. 'You have remained
standing the whole time you have been here.'

' I have been making a request,' she answered.

I The request is granted. Sit down.'

She was reluctant, yet unwilling to disoblige.

Oliver signed to her to take a place. She obeyed. She
was uncomfortable. There was an indefinable something in
the way in which the old yeoman looked at and addressed
her, something equally indefinable in her father's manner,
that combined to disturb her.

Mrs. Yeale came in on some excuse, to ask her master a
question, with her white eyelashes quivering. She cast a
sidelong glance at Honor full of malice, as she entered.
When she left the room she did not shut the door, and the
girl saw her white face and flickering eyes turned towards
her, watching her out of the darkness of the passage. She
was for a moment spell-bound, but recovered herself when
Taverner Langf ord, with an impatient exclamation, slammed
the door.

I 1 shall be glad to be rid of the old prying cat/ he said.
'Is Mrs. Veale going to leave you?' asked Honor.

Then she caught her father and Langford exchanging
glances, and her brow became hot — she hardly knew where
fore.

' I am thinking of a change,' said the yeoman.

' I hope you are going to have as good a housekeeper,1
said Honor ; ' a better you cannot have.'

LANGFORD 89

1 Oh ! ' he laughed, * a better, certainly, and — \vhat is
quite as certain — a prettier one. If I had not been sure of

that, I would not have ' he checked himself and nodded

to the carrier, who laughed.

Honor looked from one to the other inquiringly, then
asked somewhat sternly, c You would not have— what, Mr.
Langf ord ? '

' Humph ! I would not have taken Charles.'

1 What is the connection 1 ' asked the girl.

* More things are connected than sleevelinks/ answered
Langford. 'I would not have let your father have the
horse if you were thriftless at home. I would not take
Charles into service, unless I thought to find in him some of
the qualities of the sister.7

I Put my qualities, such as they are, on one side/ said
Honor roughly.

4 That,' said Langford, looking across at Luxmore, ' that
is not to be thought of.'

Then the carrier laughed nervously, and with a side
glance at his daughter.

Honor coloured. She was offended, but unable to say
at what. She put her hand on her little brother's head and
stroked it nervously.

Then the yeoman began to talk to the carrier about his
estate, the quality of the land, his cows and horses, his
woods, his pastures, the money he was able to put away
every year, and contrasted his style of farming with that of
the Nanspians at Chimsworthy. As he spoke he fixed his
eyes on Honor, to see if his wealth impressed her. But her
face expressed no concern. It was clouded ; she was thinking,
not listening.

All at once the insinuations of Mrs. Yeale rushed into
her mind. She saw her meaning. She connected that with
the looks of the two men. Blood rushed to her face. She
sprang to her feet. The room swam before her eyes.

I 1 must go,' she said. ' I am wanted at home/

90 RED SPIDER

CHAPTER XIII.

THE BEVEL.

IF to Sally in our alley and the apprentice who loved her,
1 Of all the days within the week there was no day but one
day/ so to all the maids and all the lads in country villages,
in olden times there was no day in all the year that might
compare with the day of the village Revel.

The Revel is now a thing of the past, or lingers on, a
limp and faded semblance of the robust festival that fifty
years ago was looked forward to through half the year, and
looked back on through the other half, and formed the
topic of conversation for the entire twelve months.

On Revel day horse-races were run, got up by the
village taverner, for a plated mug or a punch ladle ; wrest
ling matches were played for a champion belt, booths were
set up in streets of canvas and board for the sale of brooches,
ribbons, toys, sweetstuff, and saffron-cakes. There were
merry-go-rounds, peep-shows, menageries, and waxworks.
The cheap-jack was never wanting, the focus of merri
ment.

In and about 1849 the commons were enclosed on
which the races had been run, and the tents pitched, and
gipsies had encamped. Magistrates, squires, parsons, and
police conspired against Revels, routed them out of the
field, and supplied their places with other attractions—
cottage-garden shows, harvest thanksgivings, and school
teas.

Possibly there were objectionable features in those old
Revels which made their abolition advisable, but the writer
remembers none of these. He saw them through the eyes
of a child, and recalls the childish delight they afforded.

The day was clear and sunny. People streamed into
Bratton Clovelly from the country round, many on foot,

THE REVEL 91

others in gigs and carts, all in gayest apparel. Honor had
dressed the children neatly, had assumed her scarlet cloak,
and stood at the cottage door turning the key ready to
depart with the little eager company, when the tramp of a
horse s hoof was heard, and Larry Nanspian drew up before
the house. He was driving his dappled cob in the shafts
of a two-wheeled tax-cart.

' What, Larry ! ' exclaimed Kate, * mounted on high to
display the flowery waistcoat ? Lost your legs that you
cannot walk a mile ? '

'Not a bit, sharp-tongue/ answered the young man,
good-naturedly. ' I have come round for Honor and you
and the little ones.'

' We have feet, sixteen among us.'

' But the tiny feet will be tired with trotting all day.
You will have fairings moreover to bring home.'

' Thank you for the kind thought, Larry,' said Honor,
softened by his consideration and by the pleasant smile that
attended his words. ' Kate and I will walk, but we accept
your offer for the children.'

'I cannot take them without you,' said the young man.
'I hold the whip with one hand and the reins with the
other. I have not a third wherewith to control a load of
wriggling worms.'

' Jump in, Honor,' said Kate : ' sit between me and the
driver, to keep the peace.'

The eldest sister packed the children in behind and
before, then, without more ado, ascended the seat by Larry,
and was followed by Kate, with elastic spring.

c Heigho ! ' exclaimed the young man, ' I reckon no
showman at the Revel has half so fine wares as myself to
exhibit.'

' What, the waistcoat ? ' asked Kate, leaning forward to
look in his face.

'No, not the waistcoat,' answered he; 'cutlery, keen
and bright.'

' Your wit must have gone through much sharpening.'

$2 RED SPIDER

1 1 do not allude to my wit. I mean the pretty wares
beside me.'

'But, driver, the wares are not and never will be yours.'

As they drew near Bratton they heard a shout from
behind, and turning saw Taverner Langford driving in,
with Mrs. Veale beside him, at a rattling pace. Larry
drew aside to let them pass ; as they went by Taverner
looked keenly at Honor, and Mrs. Yeale cast her a spiteful
glance, then turned to her master and whispered something.

1 Upon my word ! ' exclaimed Larry, * I've a mind to
play a lark. Say nothing, girls, but don't be surprised if
we give Uncle Langford a hare-hunt.'

He drew rein and went slow through the street of the
' church town.' The street and the open space before the
church gate were full of people. It was, moreover, en
livened with booths. Larry was well content to appear in
state at the fair, driving instead of walking like a common
labourer, and driving with two such pretty girls as Honor
and Kate at his side. He contrasted his company with that
of his uncle. 'I wonder my uncle don't get rid of that
Mrs. Veale. No wonder he has turned sour with her face
always before him.' He shouted to those who stood in the
road to clear the way ; he cracked his whip, and when
some paid no attention brought the lash across their
shoulders. Then they started aside, whether angry or
good-humoured mattered nothing to the thoughtless lad.

He drew up before the ' Ring of Bells/ cast the reins
to the ostler, jumped out, and helped the sisters to descend,
then lifted the children down with a cheerful word to each.

The little party strolled through the fair, Honor holding
Charity by her left and Temperance by her right hand;
but the crowd was too great for the youngest to see any
thing. Honor stooped and took the little girl on her right
arm, but immediately Larry lifted the child from her to
his shoulder.

1 See ! ' whispered Joe, holding a coin under Kate'a
eyes, ' Larry Nanspian gived me this.'

THE REVEL 93

' And I have something too from him,' said Pattie.

1 And so have I/ whispered Willy.

Honor pretended not to hear, but she was touched, and
looked with kindly eyes at the young man. He had his
faults, his foolish vanity ; but there was good in him, or
he would not trouble himself about the little ones. She
had not been able to give the children more than a penny
each for fairing. The village was thronged. The noise
was great. The cheap-jack shouted in a voice made hoarse
by professional exercise. The ringers had got to the bells
in the church tower. At a stall was a man with a gun,
a target, and a tray of nuts, calling ' Only a halfpenny a
shot ! ' There was Charles there trying the gun, and his
failures to hit the bull's-eye elicited shouts of laughter,
which became more boisterous as he lost his temper. The
barrel was purposely bent to prevent a level shot reaching
the mark. A boy paraded gaudy paper-mills on sticks
that whirled in the wind — only one penny each. A barrel
organ ground forth, ' The flaxen-headed Plowboy,' and a
miserable blinking monkey on it held out a tin for coppers.
Honor was so fully engrossed in the children, watching
that they did not stray, get knocked over or crushed, that
she had not attention to give to the sights of the fair ; but
Kate was all excitement and delight. Larry kept near the
sisters, but could not say much to them : the noise was
deafening and little Temperance exacting.

Presently the party drsw up before a table behind
which stood a man selling rat poison. A stick was at
tached to the table, and to this stick was affixed a board,
above the heads of the people, on which was a pictorial
representation of rats and mice expiring in attitudes of
mortal agony. The man vended also small hones. He
took a knife, drew the edge of the blade over his thumb
to show that it was blunt, then swept it once, twice, thrice,
this way, that way, on the bit of stone, and see ! he plucked
ft hair from his beard, and cut, and the blade severed it.
Fourpence for a small stone, sixpence, a shilling, according

94 RED SPIDER

to sizes. The coins were tossed on the table, and the honee
carried away.

1 What is it, ma'am — a hone 1 ' asked the dealer.

' No, the poison/

A white arm was thrust between those who lined the
table. Hillary turned, and saw Mrs. Veale.

* Keep it locked up, ma'am. There's enough in that
packet to poison a regiment/

Whether a regiment of soldiers or of rats he did not
explain.

At the crockery stall Larry halted, and passed Tem
perance over to Honor. Now his reason for driving in
the spring- cart became apparent. He had been commis
sioned to purchase a supply of pots, and mugs, and dishes,
and plates, for home use. Honor also made purchases at
this stall, and the young man carried them for her to his
cart, as well as his own supply. Then she lingered at a
drapery stall, and bought some strong material for frocks
for the youngest sisters. Whilst she was thus engaged,
Larry went to a stall of sweetstuff, presided over by a man
in white apron, with copper scales, and bought some twisted
red and white barbers' poles of peppermint. Immediately
the atmosphere about the little party was impregnated with
the fragrance of peppermint.

A few steps beyond was a menagerie. A painted
canvas before the enclosure of vans represented Noah's
ark, with the animals ascending a plank, and entering it
by a door in the side. In another compartment was a
picture of a boa-constrictor catching a negro, and opening
his jaws to swallow him. Over this picture was inscribed,
* Twine, gentle evergreen,' and the serpent was painted
emerald. In another compartment, again, was a polar
scene, with icebergs and white bears, seals and whales.

* Oh, we must see the wild beasts ! ' exclaimed Kate.

A consultation ensued. Larry wished to treat the
whole party, but to this Honor would not agree. Finally,
it was decided that Kate, Joe, and Pattie should enter,

THE REVEL 95

and that Honor should remain without with the children.
Accordingly the three went in with Larry, and presently
returned disappointed and laughing. The menagerie had
resolved itself into a few moulting parrots, a torpid snake
in a blanket, two unsavoury monkeys, and an ass painted
with stripes to pass as a zebra.

Adjoining the menagerie was another exhibition, even
more pretentious. Three men appeared before it on a
platform, one with a trumpet, another with cymbals, the
third with a drum. Then forth leaped clown, harlequin,
and columbine, and danced, cut jokes, and went head over
heels. The clown balanced a knife on his nose ; then
bang ! toot, toot ! clash ! bang, bang, bang ! from the
three instruments, working the children into the wildest
speculation. Honor had spent the money laid aside for
amusement, and could not afford to take her party in, and
she would accept no further favours from Larry.

Just then up came Charles.

* Halloo, mates ! you all here ! ' he shouted, elbowing
his way to them. ' That is prime. I will treat you ; I've
a yellow boy,' he spun a half-sovereign in the air and
caught it between both palms. 'Come along, kids. I'm
going to treat half a dozen young chaps as well. Shall I
stand for you, Larry ? ' he asked contemptuously, ' or have
the thistles and rushes sold so well you can afford to treat
yourself ? '

Larry frowned. 'I see my father yonder signing to
me,' he said. * I must go to him.'

Then Hillary worked his way to the rear, offended at
the insolence of Charles, red in face, and vowing he would
not do another kindness to the family.

Old Nanspian was in the long-room of the 'Ring of
Bells,' at the window. He had caught sight of his son,
whose flowered satin waistcoat was conspicuous, and was
beckoning to him with his clay pipe ; he wanted to know

whether he had bought the crockery — vulgo ( cloam ' as

desired, and what he had paid for it.

96 RED SPIDER

1 Come on, you fellows ! ' called Charles to some of hia
companions. * How many are you 1 Six, and myself, and
the two girls, that makes nine sixpences, and the little uns
at half-price makes five threepences. Temperance is a
baby and don't count. That is all, five-and-nine ; shovel
out the change, old girl, four-and-three.'

He threw down the gold coin on the table, where a
gorgeous woman in red and blue and spangles, wearing
a gilt foil crown and huge earrings, was taking money and
giving greasy admission tickets. The circus was small.
The seats were one row deep, deal planks laid on trestles.
Only at one end were reserved places covered with red
baize for the nobility, gentry, and clergy, who, as a bill
informed the public, greedily patronised the show. On
this occasion these benches were conspicuously empty. The
performers appeared in faded fleshings, very soiled at the
elbows and knees : the paint on the faces was laid on
coarsely ; the sawdust in the ring was damp and smelt
sour.

The clown cut his jests with the conductor, carried off
his cap, and received a crack of the whip. He leaped high
in the air, turned a somersault, and ran round the arena
on hands and feet, peering between his legs.

A dappled horse was led out, and the columbine
mounted and galloped round the ring. Every now and
then the hoofs struck the enclosing boards, and the chil
dren shrank against Honor and Kate in terror. Then a
spray of sawdust was showered over the lads, who roared
with laughter, thinking it a joke.

A second horse was led out to be ridden by the har
lequin, but the clown insisted on mounting it, and was
kicked off". Then the harlequin ran across the area, whilst
the horse was in full career, and leaped upon its back, held
the columbine's hand, and round and round they went
together. All was wretchedly poor. The jokes of the
clown were as threadbare as the silks, and as dull as the
spangles on the equestrians. Poverty and squalor peered

THE REVEL 97

through the tawdry show. But an audience of country
folk is uncritical and easily pleased. The jests were
relished, the costumes admired, and the somersaults ap
plauded. All at once a commotion ensued. The queen in
red and blue, who had sold the tickets of admission, ap
peared in a state of loud and hot excitement, calling for the
manager and gesticulating vehemently. The performance
was interrupted. The horses of harlequin and columbine
were restrained, and were walked leisurely round the arena,
whilst the lady in gauze (very crumpled) seated herself on
the flat saddle and looked at the spectators, who curiously
scrutinised her features and compared opinions as to her
beauty. Presently the clown ran to the scene of commo
tion. The queen was in very unregal excitement, shaking
her head, with her pendant earrings flapping, very loud
and vulgar in voice ; some of the audience crowded about
the speakers.

Then Honor was aware that faces and fingers were
pointed towards the bench which she and her party occu
pied, and in another moment the manager, the crowned
lady-manageress, the clown, now joined by the harlequin,
who had given his horse to a boy, and a throng of inquisi
tive spectators, came down — some across the arena, others
stumbling over the deal benches — towards the little party.

1 That's he ! ' shouted the lady in crimson and blue,
shaking her black curls, puffing with anger, and indicating
with a fat and dirty hand. 'That's the blackguard who
has cheated us.' She pointed at Charles.

The columbine drew rein and stood her horse before
the group, looking down on it. She had holes in her
stockings, and the cherry silk of her bodice was frayed.
Kate saw that.

1 Look here, you rascal ! What do you mean by trying
to cheat us poor artists, with horses and babies to feed,
and all our wardrobe to keep in trim, eh ? What do you
mean by it T

Then the clown in broad cockney, { What do you mean

H

93 RED SPIDER

by it, eh ? Some one run for the constable, will you f
Though we be travelling showmen we're true-born Britons,
and the law is made to protect all alike.'

* What is the matter ? ' asked Honor rising, with the
frightened Temperance in her arms clinging to her neck
and screaming, and Charity and Martha holding her skirts,
wrapping themselves in her red cloak and sobbing.

1 Ah, you may well ask what is the matter ! ' exclaimed
the queen. ' If that young chap belongs to you in any
way, more's the pity/

* It is an indictable offence,' put in the manager. * It
is cheating honest folk ; that is what it is.'

Charles burst out laughing.

* I've a right to pay you in your own ooin, eh ? ' he
said contemptuously, thrusting his hands into his pockets,
and planting a foot on the barrier.

1 What do you mean by our own coin ? ' asked the
angry manageress, planting her arms akimbo.

* Giving false for false,' mocked Charles.

' It is insulting of us he is ! ' exclaimed the columbine,
from her vantage post. ' And he calls himself a gentle
man/

' Pray what right have you to invite the public to such
a spectacle as this ? ' asked Charles. ' You have only a
couple of screws for horses, and an old girl of forty for
columbine, a harlequin with the lumbago, and a clown
without wit— and you don't call this cheating ? '

* Turn him out ! ' cried the lady in crumpled muslin,
1 it's but twenty-three I am/

c What is this all about ? ' asked Honor, vainly en
deavouring to gather the cause of the quarrel and compose
the frightened children at the same time. The bystanders,
indignant at the disparagement of the performance, hissed.
All those on the farther side of the arena, losing their awe
of the sawdust, came over it, crowding round the gauzy
columbine and her horse, asking what the row was about,
and getting no answer.

THE REVEL 99

The columbine was obliged to use her whip lightly to
keep them off. Boys were picking spangles off the saddle
cloth, and pulling hairs out of the mane of the horse.

1 How many was it ? Fourteen persons let in ? ' asked
the manager.

' And I gave him back change, four-and-three/ added
the manageress.

'You shall have your cursed change,' said Charles.
* Get along with you all. Go on with your wretched per
formance. Here are four shillings, the boys shall scramble
for the pence when I find them.' He held out some
silver.

' No, I won't take it. You shall pay for all the tickets,'
said the woman. ' You ain't a-going to defraud us nohows
if I can help it. Let's see, how many was you ? Four-
and-three from ten makes five-and-nine.'

' I can't do it,' said Charles, becoming sulky. * If you
were the fool to accept a brass token you must pay for
the lesson, and be sharper next time. I have no more
money.'

1 Cheat ! cheat ! Passing bad money ! ' the bystanders
groaned, hissed, hooted. Charles waxed angry and blazed
red. He cursed those who made such a noise, he swore
he would not pay a halfpenny, he had no money.
They might search his pockets. They might squeeze him.
They would get nothing out of him. They might keep the
brass token, and welcome, he had nothing else to give
them. He turned his pockets out to show they were
empty.

The whole assembly, performers in tights, muslin,
velvets, ochre and whitening, the spectators — country
lads with their lasses, farmers and their wives — were
crushed in a dense mass about the scene of altercation.
Many of the lads disliked Charles for his swagger and
superiority, and were glad to vent their envy in groans
and hisses. The elder men thought it incumbent on them

Hi

ioo RED SPIDER

to see that justice was done ; they called out that the
money must be paid.

Charles, becoming heated, cast his words about, re
gardless whom he hurt. The manager stared, the queen
screamed, the clown swore, and columbine, who held a
hoop, tried to throw it over the head of the offender, and
pull him down over the barrier. By a sudden movement
the young man wrenched the whip from the hand of the
manager, and raising it over his head threatened to clear
a way with the lash. The people started back. Then
into the space Honor advanced.

' What has he done ? I am his sister. Show me the
piece of money.'

' Look at that — and turn yeller,' exclaimed the mana
ger's wife. * Darn it now, if I ain't a-gone and broke one
o' them pearl drops in my ear. Look at the coin,' she
put the token into the girl's hand. * What do yer say to
that ? ' Then she whisked her head of curls about as if
to overtake her ear and see the wreck of pearl-drop —
silvered glass which had been crushed in the press. ' And
this also, young man, comes of yer wickedness. What am
I to do with one pendant ? Can't wear it in my nose like
an Injun. Now then, young woman in scarlet, what do
yer call that ? '

Honor turned the coin over in her palm.

' This is a brass tradesman's token,' she said ; ' it is not
money. We stand in your debt five-and-ninepence. I
have nothing by me. You must trust me ; you shall be
paid.'

* No, no ! we won't trust none of you/ said the angry
woman. 'We ain't a-going to let you out without the
money. Pay or to prison you walk. Someone run for the
constable, and I'll give him a ticket gratis for this even
ing's entertainment.'

Then many voices were raised to deprecate her wrath
'This is Honor.' 'Trust Honor as you'd trust granite.'
* Honor in name and Honor in truth.' ' Honor never

THE REVEL 101

wronged a fly.1 * Bed spider is a lucky insect.' 'Why
don't the red spider spin money now ? '

« Leave her alone, she's good as gold. She can't help if
the brother is a rascal.'

But though many voices were raised in her favour, no
hands were thrust into pockets to produce the requisite
money.

Honor looked about. She was hot, and her brow
moist ; her lips quivered ; a streak of sun was on her
scarlet cloak and sent a red reflection over her face.

'We will not be beholden to you, madam,' she said,
with as much composure as she could muster. Then she
unloosed her cloak from her neck and from the encircling
arms of Temperance. ' There,' she said, ' take this ; the
cloth is good. It is worth more money than what we owe
you. Keep it till I come or send to redeem it.'

She put the scarlet cloak into the woman's hands, then
turned, gathered the children about her, and looking at
those who stood in front, said with dignity, * I will trouble
you to make way. We will interrupt the performance no
longer.'

Then, gravely, with set lips and erect head, she went
out, drawing her little party after her, Kate following,
flushed and crying, and Charles, with a swagger and a
laugh and jest to those he passed, behind Kate.

When they came outside, however, Charles slunk away.
The six young men whom Charles had treated remained.
They had worked their way along the benches to dissociate
themselves from the party of the Luxmores, and put 011 a
look as if they had paid for their own seats. ' We needn't
go, for sure,' whispered one to another. * We be paid for
now out of Miss Honor's red cloak.'

ioi RED SPIDER

CHAPTER XIV.

THE LAMB-KILLER.

HONOR could not recover herself at once. Her heart beat
fast and her breathing was quick. Her hands that clasped
the children twitched convulsively. She looked round at
Charles before he slipped away, and their eyes met. His
expression rapidly changed, his colour went, his eyes fell
before those of his sister. He drew his cap over his face,
and elbowed his way through the crowd out of sight.

Honor felt keenly what had occurred ; she was the
sister of a rogue ; the honourable name of Luxmore was
tarnished. How would her father bear this ? This, the
family honour, was the one thing on which he prided him
self. And what about Charles ? Would not he be forced to
leave the place she had found for him 1 Would Taverner
Langford keep in his employ a man who cheated ?

But Honor took a more serious view of the occurrence
than the general public. Popular opinion was not as cen
sorious as her conscience. Those whom Charles had at
tempted to defraud were strangers — vagrants belonging to
no parish, and without the pale, fair game for a sharp man
to overreach. If the public virtue had protested loudly in
the show, it was not in the interests of fair dealing, but as
an opportunity of annoying a braggart.

Honor, wounded and ashamed, shrank from contact
with her acquaintances, and with Kate worked her way
out of the throng, away from the fair, and home, without
seeing more of Larry.

Kate took Charles's misconduct to heart in a different
way from Honor ; she was angry, disappointed because her
pleasure was spoiled, and fretted. But the children, as
they trotted homewards, were not weary of talking of the
wonders they had seen and the enjoyment they had had.

THE LAMB-KILLER 103

In the evening Hillary drove up with his spring-cart,
and called the girls out to take their fairings from his trap,
some crocks, a roll of drapery, and some other small
matters. Hillary was cheerful and full of fun. He re
peated the jokes of *.he cheap-jack, and told of the neigh
bours that had been taken in. He mentioned whom he
had met, and what he had seen. He allowed the dappled
horse to stand in the road, with the reins on the ground,
whilst, with one foot planted on the steps, he lingered
chatting with the girls before their door. He was so
bright and amusing that Kate forgot her vexation and
laughed. Even the grave Honor was unable to forbear a
smile. Of the disturbance in the circus caused by Charles
he said nothing, and Honor felt grateful for his tact. He
remained talking for half an hour. He carried the girls'
parcels into the cottage for them, and insisted on a kiss
from the tiny ones. It almost seemed as if he were tarry
ing for something — an opportunity which did not offer ;
but this did not occur to the girls. They felt his kindness
in halting to cheer them. Their father was not yet re
turned from the fair. They were not likely to see Charles
again that day.

4 By the way, Honor/ said Larry, * you have some
lambs, have you not ? '
' Yes, five/

1 Can you fasten them and the ewes in at night ? '
' No— we have no place. But why ? They will not
take hurt at this time of the year.'

c Don't reckon on that,' said the young man ; * I've
heard tell there is a lamb-killer about. Farmer Hegadon
lost three, and one went from Swaddledown last night.
Have you not heard ? Watches must be set. None can
tell whose dog has taken to lamb-killing till it is seen in
the act.'

'A bad business for us if we lose our lambs/ said
Honor. ' We reckon on selling them and the ewes in the
fall, to meet our debt to Mr. Langford for the horse.'

104 RED SPIDER

1 Then forewarned is forearmed. Lock them up.'
'It can't be done, Larry. You can't pocket your
watch when you're without a pocket.'

'In that case I hope the lamb-killer will look else
where. That is all. Good-night. But before I go mind
this. If you have trouble about your lambs, call on me.
I'll watch for you now you have not Charles at your com
mand. We're neighbours and must be neighbourly.'
' Thank you heartily, Larry. I will do so.'
Then the lad went away, whistling in his cart, but
as he went he turned and waved his hand to the sisters.

The children were tired and put to bed. Kate was
weary and soon left. Honor had to sit up for her father,
whose van was in request that day to convey people and
their purchases from the fair to their distant homes. A ter
Oliver had come in and had his supper, Honor put away
the plates, brushed up the crumbs, set the chairs straight,
and went to bed. Kate and the children were sound
asleep. Honor's brain was excited, and she kept awake.
She was unobserved now, and could let her tears flow.
She had borne up bravely all day ; the relaxation was
necessary for her now. Before her family and the world
Honor was reserved and restrained. She was forced to
assume a coldness that was not natural to her heart.
There was not one person in the house who could be relied
on. Her father was devoid of moral backbone. He re
membered the commissions of his customers, but his memory
failed respecting his duties to his children and the obligations
of home. Kate had too sharp a tongue and a humour too
capricious to exercise authority. She set the children by
the ears. As for the little ones, they were too young to
be supposed to think. So Honor had to consider for her
father and the other seven inmates of the cottage, also of
late for Charles — to have a head to think for nine crea
tures who did not think for themselves. There was not
one of the nine who stood firm, who was not shiftless.
There are few occupations more trying to the temper than

THE LAMS-KILLER 105

the setting up of nine-pins on a skittle-floor. Honor did
not become querulous, as is the manner of most women
who have more duties to discharge than their strength
allows. She was over-taxed, but she sheltered herself
under an assumption of coldness. Some thought her
proud, others unfeeling. Kate could not fathom her.
Oliver took all she did as a matter of course. He neither
spared her nor applauded her. Perhaps no one in the
parish was so blind to her excellence as her father. Kate
was his favourite daughter.

Honor dried her tears on the pillow. What would the
end be ? Kate was at her side fast asleep. Honor leaned
on her elbow and looked at her sleeping sister. The moon
was shining. A muslin blind was drawn across the win
dow, but a patch of light was on the whitewashed wall,
and was brilliant enough to irradiate the whole chamber.
Kate's light silky hair was ruffled about her head. She
lay with one arm out, and the hand under her head ; her
delicate arm was bare. Honor looked long at her ; her
lips quivered, she stooped over Kate and kissed her, and
her lips quivered no more. ' How pretty she is,' she said
to her own heart; 'no wonder he went away whistling
" Kathleen Mavourneen." '

All at once Honor started, as though electrified. She
heard the sheep in the paddock making an unwonted
noise, and recalled what Larry had said. In a moment
she was out of bed, and had drawn aside the window-blind.
The sheep and lambs were running wildly about. Some
leaped at the hedge, trying to scramble up and over ;
others huddled against the gate leading to the lane. Honor
opened the casement and put forth her head. Then she
saw a dark shadow sweep across the field, before which the
clustered sheep scattered.

Honor slipped on a few garments, descended the stair,
opened the kitchen door, and went forth armed with a
stick. The lamb-killer was in the paddock, chasing down
one of the flock that he had managed to separate from the

io6 RED SPIDER

rest. Honor called, but her voice was unheeded or un
heard, owing to the bleating of the frightened sheep. She
ran through the dewy grass, but her pace was as nothing
to that of the dog. The frightened lamb fled from side to
side, and up and down, till its powers were exhausted;
and then it stood piteously bleating, paralysed with terror,
and the dog was at its throat and had torn it before Honor
could reach the spot.

When she approached the dog leaped the hedge and
disappeared through a gap in the bushes at the top. The
girl went about the field pacifying the sheep, calling them,
and counting them. They came about her skirts, pressing
one on another, bleating, entreating protection, interfering
with her movements. Two of the lambs were gone. One
she had seen killed \ a second was missing. She searched
and found it ; it had been overrun and had got jamiaed
between two rails. In its efforts to escape, it had become
injured. Its life was spent with exhaustion and fear, but
it was not quite dead. It still panted. She disengaged
the little creature, and carried it in her arms into the
house, followed by the agitated ewes, whom she could
hardly drive back from the garden gate.

Honor did not expect the dog to return that night, but
she sat up watching for a couple of hours, and then re
turned to her bedroom, though not to sleep.

Here was a fresh trouble come upon the family. The
loss of two lambs, in their state of poverty, was a serious
loss, and she could not be sure that this was the end. The
dog might return another night and kill more, and that
•was a crushing loss to poor people.

Next morning, when Kate and the children heard the
news, their distress was great. Many tears were shed
over the dead lambs. Kate was loud in her indignation
against those who let their dogs rove at night. She was
sure it was done on purpose, out of malice. It was im
possible to suppose that the owner of a lamb-killer was
ignorant of the proclivities of his dog. If they could only

THE LAMB-KILLER 107

find out whose dog it was they would make him pay for
the mischief.

* I suppose, father, you will sit up to-night and watch
for the brute.'

1 1 — I ! ' answered the carrier. * What will that avail ?
I never shot anything in my life but one sparrow, and that
I blew to pieces. I rested my gun-barrel on the shiver
(bar) of a gate, and waited till a sparrow came to some
crumbs I had scattered. Then I fired, and a splash of
blood and some feathers were all that remained of the
sparrow. No, I am no shot. The noise close to my ear
unnerves me. Besides, I am short-sighted. No ; if the
dog takes the lambs, let him, I cannot prevent it.'

' But you must sit up, father.'

1 What can I do ? If I saw the dog I should not
know whose 'twas. Honor saw it, she can say whose it
was.'

' I do not know. It struck me as like Mr. Langford's
Hover, but I cannot be sure ; the ash-trees were between
the moon and the meadow, and flickered.'

' Oh ! if it be Rover we are right.'

' How so, father ? '

' Langford will pay if his dog has done the damage.'

' He must be made to pay,' said Kate. ' He won't do
it if he can scrape out.'

' I cannot be sure it was Rover,' said Honor. ' I saw a
dark beast, but the ash flickered in the wind, and the
flakes of moonlight ran over the grass like lambs, and the
shadows like black dogs. I was not near enough to make
sure. Unless we can swear to Rover, we must be content
to lose.'

1 Mr. Langford will not dispute about a lamb or two/
said Oliver, rubbing his ear.

' Then he will be different in this to what he is in every
thing else,' said Kate.

* He won't be hard on us,' said her father. Honor was
accustomed to see him take his troubles easily, but he was

io8 RED SPIDER

unwontedly, perplexingly indifferent now, and the loss was
grave and might be graver.

'I will watch with you to-night, Honor,' said Kate.
c And what is more, I will swear to Rover, if I see the end
of his tail. Then we can charge the lambs at a pound a-
piece to old Langford.'

* As for that,' said the father, with a side-glance at his
eldest daughter, * Mr. Langford — don't call him old Lang-
ford any more, Kate, it's not respectful — Mr. Langford
won't press for the horse. It lies with you whether we
have him for nothing or have to return him.'

He spoke looking at Honor, but he had addressed Kate
just before. The latter did not heed his words. Honor
had been crossing the room with a bowl in her hands. She
stood still and looked at him. A question as to his mean
ing rose to her lips, but she did not allow it to pass
over them. She saw that a knowing smile lurked at her
father's mouth-corners, and that he was rubbing his hands
nervously. The subject was not one to be prosecuted in
the presence of her brothers and sisters. She considered
a moment, then went into the back kitchen with the bowl.
She would make her father explain himself when they were
together alone.

Dark and shapeless thoughts passed through her mind,
like the shadows of the ash foliage in the moonlight. She
was full of undefined apprehension of coming trouble. But
Honor had no time to give way to her fears. There was
no leisure for an explanation. The dead lambs had to be
skinned and their meat disposed of.

Honor was busily engaged the whole morning. She
was forced to concentrate her mind on her task, but unable
to escape the apprehension which clouded her. It did not
escape her that her father's manner changed, as soon as
the children were despatched to school and Kate had gone
forth. He became perceptibly nervous. He was shy of
being in the room with Honor, and started when she spoke
to him. He pretended to look for means of fastening up

THE LAMB-KILLER 109

the flock for the night, but he went about it listlessly.
His playful humour had evaporated ; he seemed to expect
to be taken to task for his words, and to dread the expla
nation. His troubled face cleared when he saw Hillary
Nanspian appear at the top of the hedge that divided the
Chimsworthy property from the carrier's paddock. The
young man swung himself up by a bough, and stood on the
hedge parting some hazel-bushes.

' What is this I hear ? The lamb-killer been to you
last night ? '

1 Yes, Larry, and I am trying to find how we may pen
the sheep in out of reach. IVe only the linney, and that
is full.'

' Are you going to sit up ? '

'No, Larry, I am not a shot, and like a beetle at night.'

' I'll do it. Where are Kate and Honor ? I promised
them I would do it, and I keep my word. Little Joe tells
me Honor thinks the dog was Rover. What a game if I
shoot Uncle Taverner's dog ! I hope I may have that
luck. Expect me. I will bring my gun to-night.'

CHAPTER XV.

A BOLT FROM THE BLUB.

HONOR'S kitchen work was done. She came to her father
after Larry Nanspian had departed, and said, 'Now,
father, I want to know your meaning, when you said that
it lay with me whether you should keep the horse or not ? '

Then she seated herself near the door, with a gown of
little Pattie's she was turning.

c It was so to speak rigmarole,' answered Oliver colour
ing, and pretending to plait a lash for his whip.

She shook her head. ' You did not speak the words
without purpose.'

I to RED SPIDER

'We lead a hard life/ said Oliver evasively. 'That
you can't deny and keep an honest tongue.'

' I do not attempt to deny it,' she said, threading a
needle at the light that streamed in through the open door.
The carrier looked at her appealingly. Behind her, seen
through the door, was a bank of bushes and pink foxgloves,
' flopadocks ' is the local name. He looked at the sunlit
picture with dreamy eyes.

' I shouldn't wonder,' he said, ' if there was a hundred
flowers on that there tallest flopadock.'

' I should not either,' said Honor without looking off
her work. Then ensued another pause.

Presently the carrier sighed and said, c It be main
difficult to make both ends meet. The children are growing
up. Their appetites increase. Their clothes get more
expensive. The carrying business don't prosper as it ought
Kate, I reckon, will have to go into service, we can't keep
her at home ; but I don't like the notion — she a Luxmore
of Coombe Park.'

' We are not Luxmores of Coombe Park, but Luxmores
out of it,' said Honor.

* Coombe Park should be ours by right, and it rests
with you whether we get our rights.'

' How so ? This is the second hint you have given that
much depends on me. What have I to do with the re
covery of Coombe Park ? How does the debt for the
horse rest with me ? '

' It is a hard matter to be kept out of our rights,' said
Oliver. ' A beautiful property, a fine house and a fish
pond — only a hundred pounds wanted to search the registers
to get it.'

'No hundred pounds will come to us/ said Honor
' The clouds drop thunderbolts, not nuggets. So as well
make up our minds to be where we are.' .

' No, I can't do that/ said the carrier, plaiting vigor
ously. ' You haven't got a bit of green silk, have you, to
finish the lash with ? '

A BOLT FROM THE BLUE in

1 Whether from wishing or from working, no hundred
pounds will come/ continued the girl.

1 And see what a rain of troubles has come on us/ said
the carrier. 'First comes your poor mother's death,
then the horse, now the lambs, and on top of all poor
Charles/

1 More the reason why we should put aside all thought
of a hundred pounds.'

'Providence never deserts the deserving/ said Lux-
more. * I'm sure I've done my duty in that state o' life in
which I am. It is darkest before dawn/

; I see no daylight breaking/

' Larry Nanspian makes great count of Kate/ mused
Luxmore, and then abruptly, ' confound it ! I've plaited
the lash wrong, and must unravel it again/

' What will come of Larry's liking for Kate ? Will
that bring us a hundred pounds and Coombe Park ? ; asked
Honor bluntly.

' I can't quite say that. But I reckon it would be a
rare thing to have her settled at Chims worthy/

' No/ said Honor, ' not unless Larry alters. Chims-
worthy grows weeds. The old man is more given to boasting
than to work. Larry cares more to be flattered than to
nind the plough/

' I won't have a Luxmore of mine marry out of her
station. We must hold up our heads/

' Of course we must/ said Honor. ' What am I doing
all day, thinking of all night, but how we may keep our
heads upright c( '

1 What a mercy it would be not to be always fretting
over ha'pence ! If you and Kate were well married, what
a satisfaction it would be to me and what a comfort all
round/

' Do not reckon on me/ said Honor ; ' I shall not marry,
I have the children to care for. You do not want to drive
me out of the house, do y', father ? '

' No, certainly not. But I should like to see you and

112 RED SPIDER

Kate well married, Kate to Larry Nanspian and Chiras
worthy, and you — well, you equally well placed. Then you
might combine to help me to my own. Consider this, Honor !
If we had Coombe Park, all our troubles would clear like
clouds before a setting sun. Charles would no longer be
a trouble to us. He shows his gentle blood by dislike for
work. If he were not forced to labour he would make a
proper gentleman. Why then, Honor, what a satisfac
tion to you to have been the saving, the making of your
brother ! '

' Then won't stand on the feet of Iff said Honor.

1 It depends on you/

' How on me ? ' she rested her hands on her lap, and
looked steadily at her father. He unravelled his lash with
nervous hands. Honor saw that they shook. Then with
out turning his eyes from his plaiting, he said timidly, * I
only thought how well it would be for us if you were at
Langford.'

* How can I be at Langford ? Mrs. Veale is the house
keeper, and I do not wish for her place/

* Oh no, not her place — not her place by any means/
Baid her father.

' What other place then ? ' she was resolved to force
him to speak out, though she guessed his meaning.

He did not answer her immediately. He looked
at the ' flopadocks ' through the front door, then he
looked to see if there was a way of escape open by the
back.

*I — I thought — that is to say — I hoped — you might
fancy to become Mrs. Langford/

Honor rose proudly from her seat, and placed her
needlework in the chair. She stood in the doorway, with
the illumined hedge behind her. If Oliver had looked at
her face he could not have seen it ; he would have seen
only the dark head set on a long and upright neck, with
a haze of golden brown about it. But he did not look

A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 113

tip ; he drew a long breath. The worst was over. He
had spoken, and Honor knew all.

In the morning the carrier had flattered himself it would
be easy to tell Honor, but when he prepared to come to the
point he found it difficult. He knew that the proposal
would offend his daughter, that it would not appear to her
in the light in which he saw it. He was afraid of her, as
an inferior nature fears one that is greater, purer than
itself. Now he felt like a schoolboy who has been caught
cribbing, and expects the cane.

'You see, Honor,' said he in an apologetic tone,
'Taverner Langford is a rich man, and of very good
family. It would be no disgrace to him to marry you,
and you cannot reckon to look higher. I don't know
but that his family and ours date back to Adam. He
has kept his acres, and we have lost ours. However,
with your help, I hope we may recover Coombe Park and
our proper position. What a fine thing, Honor, to be
able to restore a fallen family, and to be the means of
saving a brother ! Taverner Langford is proud, and
would like to see his wife's relations among the landed
gentry. He would help us with a hundred pounds.
Indeed, he has almost promised the money. As to the
horse, we need not concern ourselves about that, and the
lambs need trouble you no more. There is a special bless
ing pronounced on the peace-makers, Honor, and that
would be yours if you married Taverner, and Kate took
Hillary, for then Langford must make up his quarrel with
the Nanspians.'

Honor reseated herself, and put her work back on her
lap. Oliver had not the courage to look at her face, or
he would have seen that she was with difficulty controlling
the strong emotion that nigh choked her. He sat with
averted eyes, and maundered on upon the advantages of the
connection.

'So/ exclaimed Honor at length, 'Taverner Langford

I

114 RED SPIDER

has asked for me to be his wife ! But, father, he asked
before he knew of that affair yesterday. That alters the
look. He will back out when he hears of Charles's conduct.'
'Not at all. I saw him yesterday evening, and he
laughed at the story. He took it as a practical joke played
on the circus folk — and what harm ? Everyone likes his
jokes, and the Revel is the time for playing them/

* He has not dismissed Charles ? '

* Certainly not.'

* I would have done so, had he been my servant.1
Then she leaned her head on her hand and gazed before

her, full of gloomy thought. Her father watched her, when
he saw she was not looking at him.

' The advantage for Charles would be so great,' he said.

* Yes,' she exclaimed, with a tone of impatience. 4 But
there are some sacrifices it is not fair to expect of a sister.'

' Consider that, instead of being a servant in the house,
Charles would regard himself as at home at Langford. He
is not a bad fellow, his blood is against his doing menial
work. When he mounts to his proper place you will see
he will be a credit to us all. You don't take razors to cut
cabbages. I, also, will no longer be forced to earn my
livelihood by carrying. If your mind be healthy, Honor,
you will see how unbecoming it is for a Luxmore to be a
common carrier. Lord bless me ! When I am at Coombe
Park, you at Langford, and Kate at Chimsworthy, what
a power we shall be in the place. Why, I may even
become a feoffee of Coryndon's Charity ! Langford is rich.
He has a good estate. He has spent nothing on himself
for many years. There must be a lot of money laid by
somewhere. He cannot have saved less than three hun
dred pounds a year, and I should not stare to hear he had
put by five. Say this has been going on for twenty years.
That amounts to ten thousand pounds at the lowest reckon
ing. Ten thousand pounds ! Think of that, Honor. Then
remember that old Hillary Nanspian is in debt to Taverner
Langford, and pressed to raise the money, as the debt has

A BOLT FROM THE SLUE 115

been called up. You must persuade Taverner to let the
money lie where it is, and so you will bring peace to Chims-
worthy.'

Honor shook her head.

* It cannot be, father,' she said, in a low tone.

1 1 feared you would raise difficulties,' he said, in an
altered, disappointed voice. ' Of course he is too old for
you. That is what you girls think most about/

She shook her head.

* Perhaps you have fancied someone else/ he went on ;
'well, we can't have plum cake every day. It is true
enough that Taverner Langford is not a yellow gosling ;
but then he has ten thousand pounds, and they say that
a young man's slave is an old man's darling. He won't
live for ever, and then you know '

Honor's cheeks flushed ; she raised her head, passed her
hand over her brow, and looking at her father with dim
eyes, said, c That is not it — no, that is not it.' Then with
an access of energy, 'I will tell you the real truth. I
cannot marry whom I do not love, and I cannot love whom
I do not respect. Mr. Langford is a hard man. He has
been hard on his kinsman, Mr. Nanspian, and though
the old man had a stroke, Mr. Langford never went near
him, never sent to ask how he was, and remained his
enemy. About what? I've heard tell about a little red
spider. Mr. Langford may be rich, but he loves his money
more than his flesh and blood, and such an one I cannot
respect.'

The carrier forced a laugh. ' Is not this pot falling foul
of kettle ? ' he asked. ' Who is hard if you are not ? Have
you shown gentleness to Charles, who is your very brother 1
Whereas Nanspian is but a brother-in-law.'

' I have not been hard with Charles. I must protect
the children from him. He is my brother, and I love him.
But I love the others also. I will do all I can for him,
but I will not have the others spoiled for his amusement/

'We don't all see ourselves as others see us,' said

II

Ii6 RED SPIDER

Oliver sulkily. Honor was stung by his injustice, but she
made no reply. She took up her sewing again, but she
could not see to make stitches. She laid her work again
on her lap, and mused, looking out of the door at the fox
gloves, and the honeysuckle and wild rose in the hedge.
The scent of the honeysuckle was wafted into the room.

* Why should Mr. Langf ord want me as his wife ? ' she
asked dreamily ; ' surely Mrs. Yeale will suit him better.
She is near his age, and accustomed to his ways. Besides/
she paused, then resumed, 'there have been queer tales
about him and her/

* Pshaw, Honor ! a pack of lies/

* I have no doubt of that,' she said ; c still — I cannot see
why he wants me/

' Honor, my child/ said her father slowly and with his
face turned from her ; ' he and Nanspian of Chimsworthy
don't hit it off together, and the property is so left that
if he hasn't children it will pass to his sister's son, young
Larry. The old man can't bear to think of that, and on
their reckoning on his dead shoes, and he'd draw a trump
from his pack against those Nanspians/

Honor flamed crimson and her eyes flashed. ' And so
— so this is it ! I am to help to widen the split ! I am
to stand between Larry and his rights ! Father, dear
father, how can you urge me ? How can you hope this ?
No, never, never will I consent. Let him look elsewhere.
There are plenty of maidens in Bratton less nice than me.
No, never, never will I have him/

Oliver Luxmore stood up, troubled and ashamed.

c You put everything upside down/ he said ; c I thought
you would be a peace-maker/

* You yourself tell me that I am chosen out of spite to
make the strife hotter. Now you have told me the why,
the matter is made worse. Such an offer is an outrage.
Never, father, no, never, never/ she stamped, so strong,
so intense was her disgust. 'I will hear no more. I
grieve that you have spoken, father. I grieve more that

A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 117

you have thought such a thing possible. I grieve most of
all that you have wished it.'

I Turn the offer over in your mind, Honor,' he said,
sauntering to the door, from which she had withdrawn.
She was leaning against the wall between the door and the
window, with her hands over her face. c Milk runs through
the fingers when first you dip 'em, but by turning and
turning you turn out butter. So, I dare be bound, the
whole thing will look different if you turn it over.'

I 1 will put it away from me, out of my thought,' she
said hotly. She was hurt and angry.

' If you refuse him we shall have to buy a horse.'
1 Well, we must buy. I will work the flesh from my
fingers till I earn it, and get out of obligation. But I
never, never, never will consent to be Taverner Langford's
wife, not for your sake, father, nor for that of Charles.'

' Well,' said the carrier ; ' some folks don't know what
is good for 'em. I reckon there's a hundred bells on that
there flopadock. I'll go and count 'em.'

CHAPTER XVI.

KEEPING WATCH.

IN the evening Hillary the younger arrived, according to
promise, with his gun. Oliver Luxmore feebly protested
against troubling him. ' It is very good of you, Larry, but
I don't think I ought to accept it.'

* It is pleasure, not trouble,' answered Larry.

' If the dog does not come to-night, I will keep
guard on the morrow,' said the carrier. ' I may not be
able to shoot the dog, but I can scare him away with a
bang.'

' I hope to kill him,' said Hillary. ' Have you not heard
that a guinea is offered for his carcass ? Several farmers
have clubbed and offered the reward.'

Ii8 RED SPIDER

' Have your lambs suffered, Larry t '

' Ours are all right ; driven under cover.'

The young man supped with the Luxmores. He was
full of mirth. Kate did not spare her tongue ; she
attacked and he retaliated, but all good-humouredly.
' They make a pair, do they not 1 ' whispered Oliver to
his eldest daughter. * Better spar before marriage and kiss
after, than kiss first and squabble later/

' Larry,' said Honor, ' I will keep the fire up with
a mote (tree-stump). You may be cold during the night,
and like to run in and warm yourself.'

* Ay, Honor,' said her father. f Have a cider posset on
the hob to furnish inner comfort.'

' Let no one sit up for me ; I shall want nothing,'
answered Hillary, ' unless one of you girls will give me an
hour of your company to break the back of the watch.'

* Your zeal is oozing out at your elbows,' said Kate.
' Honor or I, or even little Joe, could manage to drive away
the dog.'

'But not shoot it,' ret? rted Hillary. 'Lock your door,
and leave me without. I shall be content if I earn the
guinea.'

' I will remain below,' said Honor quietly. ' We must
not let all the burden rest on you. And if you are kind
enough, Larry, to look after our lambs, we are bound to
look after you.'

' If one of you remains astir, let it be Honor,' said the
young man. ' Kate and I would quarrel, and the uproar
would keep the dog away.'

' I do not offer to sit up to-night,' said the carrier, ' as
my turn comes on the morrow, and I have had heavy
work to-day that has tired me.'

Then he rose, held out his hand to Larry, kissed his
daughters, and went upstairs to his room. Kate followed
him speedily. Larry took up his gun and went out, and
walked round the field. Then he came to the kitchen and
said, ' All is quiet, not a sign to be seen of the enemy.

KEEPING WATCH 119

I hope he will not disappoint me. You must have your
red cloak again.'

'My red cloak ? ' repeated Honor.

* Ay, your red cloak that you parted with to the woman
at the circus. I heard about it. If I shoot the dog, half
the prize money goes to you.'

c Not so, Larry. It is, or will be, all your own.'

I But you first saw the dog, you share the watch, you
keep up the fire, and brew me a posset. How was it with
David's soldiers ? What was his decision ? They that
tarried with the stuff should share with those that went
to war. You have Scripture against you, Honor, and will
have to take ten-and-six.'

* Don't reckon and divide before the dog is shot.'

' If he comes this way he shall sup off lead, never doubt.
Then you shall have your red cloak again.'

Honor sighed. ' No, Larry, I shall never see it more.
The fair is over, the circus gone, whither I know no more
than what has become of yesterday.'

'Charles behaved very badly. Of course I did not
mention it before, but we are alone together now,vand I
may say it.'

' He did not act rightly — he meant it as a joke.'

I 1 can't forgive him for robbing you of your pretty red
cloak. Here, Honor, take it. I have it.'

Then he pulled out a closely folded bundle and extended
it to her. The girl was surprised and pleased. This was
considerate and kind of Larry. She had noticed him
carrying this bundle, but had given no thought as to what
it was. Her eyes filled.

1 Oh Larry ! God bless you for your kindness.'

* I was tempted to hang it round my neck till I gave it
back ; I should have looked quite military in it.'

* It was my mother's cloak,' she answered quickly.
'You might have worn it and it would have done you
good. My mother will bless you out of paradise for your
consideration. Oh my dear, dear mother ! she was so

120 RED SPIDER

wise, and thoughtful, and good/ Honor spread the cloak
over the young man's head. ' There,' she said, ' take that
as if she had touched you. You have lost your mother.'

' Yes, but I do not remember her.'

' Oh ! it is a bad thing for you to be without your
mother, Larry/ She paused, then held out her hand to
him, and her honest eyes met his glowing with gratitude,
swimming with feeling.

* All right,' he said. ' No thanks. We are neighbours
and good friends. If I help you to-day you will stand by
me to-morrow. That is so, is it not, dear Honor ? '

He threw his gun over his shoulder and went out into the
meadow. He was glad to escape the pressure of her hand ;
the look of her eyes had made his heart beat with unwonted
emotion. She had never given him such a look before.
She was not as cold as he supposed. He was aware that
he had acted well in the matter of the cloak. He had gone to
the manageress of the circus directly he heard what had
taken place, and had made an offer for the garment. The
woman, seeing his eagerness to secure it, refused to surrender
it under a sum more than its value. He had bought it with
the sacrifice of the rest of his pocket-money. That was one
reason why he hoped to kill the dog. He would replenish
his empty purse. In this matter he had acted as his heart
dictated, but he was quite aware that he had done a fine
thing. Honor paid him his due, and that raised Honor in his
estimation. ' She has heart,' he said, c though she don't often
show it. A girl must have heart to do as she did for that
worthless brother.'

Whilst Larry stood without waiting for the dog, Honor
was within, sitting by the fire, a prey to distressing
thoughts. She was not thinking of Larry or of Charles ;
she was thinking of what had passed between her and
her father.

She occupied a low stool on the hearth, rested her head
in her lap, folded her hands round her knees. The red
glow of the smouldering fire made her head like copper, and

KEEPING WATCH 12 1

gave to her faded red stockings a brilliancy they lacked by
day.

She had dimly suspected that something was plotted
against her on the occasion of her visit to Langford, when
she had found her father with Langford. What she had
dreaded had come to pass. Her father had consented to
sell her so as to extricate himself from a petty debt, but,
above all, that he might be given means of prosecuting his
imaginary claims. Coombe Park was a curse to them. It
had blighted Charles, it had spoiled her father's energies,
it was doomed to make a breach between her and her father.
She had never herself thought of Coombe Park ; she had
treated its acquisition as an impossible dream, only not to
be put aside as absurd because harboured by her father.
She was conscious now of a slight stirring of reproach in
her heart against him, but she battled against it and beat
it down. Strong in her sense of filial respect, she would
not allow herself to entertain a thought that her father
was unjust. She apologised to herself for his conduct. She
explained his motives. He had supposed that the prospect
of being mistressof a large house, over wide acres, would
fill her ambition. He meant well, but men do not under
stand the cravings of the hearts of women. But, explain
away his conduct as she would, she was unable to dissipate
the sense of wrong inflicted, to salve the wound caused by his
apparent eagerness to get rid of her out of the house. The
back door was opened softly.

' Honor ! still awake ? '

• Yes, Larry/

' Will you give me a drop of hot cider ? I am chilled.
Have you a potato sack I can cast over my shoulders ? The
dew falls heavily.'

1 No sign of the dog yet ? '

* None at all. The sheep are browsing at ease. It is
dull work standing at a gate watching them. I wish the dog
would come.'

' Let us change places, Larry. You come by the fire

122 RED SPIDER

and I will watch at the gate. The moment that I see him
I will give warning.1

1 And scare him away ! No, Honor, I want the prize-
money.'

* Then I will come out and keep you company. Here
Are two potato sacks, one for your shoulders, the other for
mine. If we talk in a low tone we shall not warn off the
dog.'

* That is well, Honor. So we shall make the hours spin.
The moon is shining brightly. There have been clouds, and
then the dew did not fall as cold and chill. I have been
hearkening to the owls, what a screeching and a hooting they
make, and there is one in the apple-tree snoring like my
father.'

* Have you been standing all the while, Larry ? '

* Yes, Honor, leaning against the gate. If there had
been anything to sit on I should have seated myself. My
fingers are numb. I must thaw them at your coals.'

He went to the fire and held his hands in the glow.
' Honor ! ' he said, ' you have been crying. I see the glitter
of the tears on your checks.'

* Yes, I have been crying — not much.'

* What made you cry ? '

' Girl's troubles,' she answered.

1 Girl's troubles 1 What are they ? '

* Little matters to those they do not concern. Here is
a low stool on which the children sit by the hearth. I will
take it out and set it under the hedge. We can sit on it
and talk together awaiting the dog.'

1 What is the time, Honor ? Is the clock right 1
Eleven ! I will wait till after midnight and then go. He
will not come to-night if he does not come before that. He
will have gone hunting elsewhere. Perhaps he remembers
that you scared him last night.' Honor carried out a low
bench, and placed it near the gate under the hedge where a
thorn tree overhung.

' We shall do well here,' said Hillary. ' The dog will

KEEPING WATCH 123

not see us, and we shall know lie is in the field by the fright
of the sheep.'

He seated himself on the bench and Honor did the same
at a distance from him— as far away as the bench permitted.
She had thrown the potato sack over her head, and wore it
as a hood ; it covered her shoulders as well, and shaded her
face. The dew was falling heavily, the meadow in the moon
was white with it, as though frosted, and through the white
sprinkled grass went dark tracks, as furrows, where the
sheep had trodden and dispersed the sparkling drops.

* Do you hear the owls ? ' asked Larry. * I've heard
there are three which are seen every night fleeting over
Wellon's Cairn, and that they are the souls of the three
women Wellon killed. I've never been there at night, have
you, Honor ? '

I No, I do not go about at night/

I 1 should not like to be on Broadbury after dark, not
near the old gibbet hill, anyhow. Listen to the old fellow
snoring in the apple-tree. I thought owls slept by day and
waked by night, but this fellow is dead asleep, judging by
the noise he makes.'

After silence of a few moments, during which they
listened to the owls, ' I wonder, Honor,' said the young man,
' that you liked to sit on the mound where Wellon was hung.
It's a queer, whisht (uncanny) place/

' I only sit there by day, and that only now and then
when I can get out a bit. I have not been there for some
time.'

Then ensued another pause.

* I wish you would tell me one thing,' said the girl, ' yet
it is what I have no right to ask. Do you owe Mr. Lang-
ford a great deal of money ? '

' Oh yes/ answered Hillary carelessly, * a great deal.
'He has called it in, and we shall have to pay in a month or
two/

' Can you do so out of your savings ? '

* We have uo savings. We shall go to Mr. Physick^-

T24 RED SPIDER

father and I — and get a mortgage made on the property.
It is easily done. I am of age. Father couldn't have done it
by himself, but I can join and let him/ He held up his head-
He was proud of the consequence gained by consenting to
a mortgage.

* The first thing you have to do with the property is to
burden it,' said Honor.

Hillary screwed up his mouth.

* You may put it so if you like.' Instead of looking round
at him admiring his consequence, she reproached him.

'That is something to be ashamed of, I think,' she
said.

1 Not at all. If I did not, Uncle Taverner could come
down on us and have a sale of our cattle and waggons and
what not. But, maybe, that would suit your ideas better 1 '

1 No,' said Honor gravely, * not at all. No doubt you
are right ; but you are old enough not to have let it come
to this. Your service on the farm ought to have been
worth fifty pounds a year for the last four years. I doubt
if it has been worth as many shillings.'

He clicked his tongue in the side of his mouth, and
threw out his right leg impatiently.

'Mr. Langford has saved thousands of pounds. He
puts by several hundreds every year, and his land is no better
than yours.'

' Uncle Taverner is a screw.' Then, jauntily, ' We
Nanspians are open-handed, we can't screw.'

' But you can save, Larry.'

' If Uncle Taverner puts away hundreds, I wonder where
he puts them away ? '

' That, of course, I cannot say.'

' I wonder if Mrs. Veale knows ? ' Then he chuckled,
and said, ' Honor, some of the chaps be talking of giving
him a hare-hunt. We think he ought to be shamed out
of letting that woman tongue-lash him as she does.'

'Larry ! ' exclaimed Honor, turning sharply on him and
clutching his arm, ' for God's sake do not be mixed up in

KEEPING WATCH 125

such an affair. He is your uncle, and you may be very
unjust.' He shrugged his shoulders.

* I'm not over sweet on Uncle Taverner,' he said. c It is
mean of him calling in that money, and he deserves to be
touch 3d up on the raw.'

' Larry, you warned me against Mrs. Veale. Now I
warn you to have no hand in this save to hold it back. It
must not be ; and for you to share in it will be scandalous.'

c How the owls are hooting ! To-whoo ! Whoo ! Whoo !
I wonder what sort of voice the old white owl has. He goes
about noiseless, like a bit of cotton grass blown by the wind/

Then Honor went back to what she was speaking of
before. ' It goes to my heart to see good land neglected.
Your nettle-seeds sow our land, and thistle-heads blow
over our hedge. Now that your father is not what he was,
you should grasp the plough-handle firmly. Larry, you
know the knack of the plough. Throw your weight on the
handles. If you do not, what happens ? '

' The plough throws you.'

{ Yes, flings you up and falls over. It is so with the
farm. Throw your whole weight on it, through your arms,
or it will throw you.'

* That old snorer is waking,' said Hillary.

' You love pleasure, and do not care for work,' pursued
Honor. ' You are good-natured, and are everyone's friend
and your own enemy. You shut your eyes to your proper
interest and open your purse to the parish. The bee and the
wasp both build combs, both fly over the same flowers and
enjoy the same summer, but one gathers honey and the other
emptiness. Larry, do not be offended with me if I speak
the truth. The girls flirt with you and flatter you, and the
elder folk call you a Merry Andrew, and say you have no
mischief in you, and it is a pity you have not brains. That
is not true. You have brains, but you do not use them.
Larry, you have no sister and no mother to speak openly
to you Let me speak to you as if I were your sister, and
take it well, as it is meant.'

126 RED SPIDER

So she talked to him. Her voice was soft and low, her
tone tremulous. She was afraid to hurt him, and yet
desirous to let him know his duty.

She was stirred to the depth of her heart by the events
of the day.

Larry was unaccustomed to rebuke. He knew that she
spoke the truth, but it wounded his vanity, as well as
flattered it, to be taken to task by her. It wounded him,
because it showed him he was no hero in her eyes ; it
flattered him, because he saw that she took a strong
interest in his welfare. He tried to vindicate himself.
She listened patiently ; his excuses were lame. She beat
them aside with a few direct words. * Do not be offended
with me/ she pleaded, turning her face to him, and then
the moonlight fell over her noble features ; the potato sack
had slipped back, * I think of you, dear Larry, as a brother,
as a kind brother who has done many a good turn to us,
and I feel for you as an elder sister.'

f But, Honor, you are younger than I am by eighteen
months/

1 1 am older in experience, Larry ; in that I am very,
very old. You are not angry with me 1 '

1 No, Honor, but I am not as bad as you make out/

* Bad ! Oh Larry, I never, never thought, I never said you
were bad. Far otherwise. I know that your heart is rich
and deep and good. It is like the soil of your best meadows.
But then, Larry, the best soil will grow the strongest weeds.
Sometimes when I look through the gates of Chimsworthy I
long to be within, with a hook reaping down and rooting up.
And now I am peering through the gates of your honest
eyes, and the same longing comes over me/

He could see by the earnest expression of her face, by
the twinkle of tears on her lashes, that she spoke out of the
fulness of her heart. She was not praising him, she was
rebuking him, yet he was not angry. He looked intently at
her pure, beautiful face. She could not bear his gaze, he
saw her weakness. He put his finger to her eyelashes.

KEEPING WATCH 127

'The dew is falling heavily, and has dropped some diamonds
here/ he said.

She stood up.

' Hark ! ' she said, and turned her head. * The cuckoo
clock in the kitchen is calling midnight. We need remain
here no longer/

* I should like to remain till day,' said Larry.
« What, to be scolded?'

* To be told the truth, dear Honor/

* Do not forget what I have said. I spoke because I
care for you. The sheep will not be disturbed to-night.
Will you have some posset and go home ? '

* Your father will keep guard to-morrow night, but the
night after that I will be here again. Oh Honor, you will
sit up with me, will you not ? ' He took her hand. ' How
much better I had been, how the Chimsworthy coomb
would have flowed with honey, had God given me such a
sister as you.'

' Well, begin to weed yourself and Chimsworthy,' she
said with a smile.

' Will you not give me a word of praise as well as of
blame ? '

c When you deserve it/

She pressed his hand, then withdrew it, entered the
cottage, and fastened the door.

Hillary walked away with his gun over his shoulder,
musing as he had not mused before.

CHAPTER XVII.

MRS. VEALE.

CHARLES LUXMORE had left the Revel shortly after the de
parture of his sisters. He returned to Langford covered
with shame and full of anger. He was not ashamed of his
rascality. He thought himself justified in playing a trick

128 RED SPIDER

on tricksters. But he was ashamed at being conquered
by his sister, and he was unable to disguise to himself that
he cut an ignoble figure beside her. At the circus there
had been a general recognition of her worth, and as general
a disparagement of himself. Why had she interfered ? He
had courted a * row ' in which he might have held his own
against the equestrians, sure of support from the young Brat-
tonians. That would have been sport, better than tumbling
in the saw-dust and skipping through hoops. If he could
only have excited a fight, the occasion would have been for
gotten in the results ; he would have come out in flaming
colours as a gallant fellow. Now, because Honor had inter
fered and put him in the wrong, he had been dismissed as
a rogue.

He knew well enough the red cloak Honor had given
away. He knew that it had belonged to her mother, and
that Honor prized it highly, and that it was very neces
sary to her.

Let him excuse himself as he would, a sense of
degradation oppressed him which he was unable to shake
off.

The behaviour of his comrades had changed towards him,
and this galled him. After leaving the circus he had
essayed swagger, but it had not availed. His companions
withdrew from him as if ashamed to be seen in his society.
The popular feeling was roused in behalf of Honor, who was
universally esteemed, rather than offended at the fraud
played on the equestrians. It was well known that he,
Charles, had not behaved towards her with consideration,
that he had increased the burden she bore so bravely. This
last act was the climax of his wrong- doing. Charles's inor
dinate vanity had been hurt, and he was angry with every
one but himself.

He returned to the farm-house, where he had been taken
in, cursing the stupidity of the villagers, the meddlesomeness
of his sisters, the cowardice of his companions, and his own
generosity.

MRS. VEALE 129

He was without money now, and with no prospect of
getting any till his wage was paid.

He turned out his pockets ; there was nothing in them,
not even the brass token. He was too proud to borrow of
his boon companions ; he questioned whether, if he asked,
they would lend him any. He doubted if the innkeeper
would let him drink upon trust. How intolerable for him
to be without money ! To have to lounge his evenings away
in the settle before the fire at Langf ord, or loafing about the
lanes ! ' I know well enough/ he muttered, ' why the louts
keep away from me. ;Tis because they know I'm cleaned
out. It's not along of that cursed token, not a bit. If I'd
my pockets full they'd be round me again as thick as flies
011 a cow's nose.7

He had only been a few days in the service of Taverner
Langford. He had entered the service rather surlily, only
because forced to do so, as Honor refused to allow him to
sleep and have meals at home. ' It'll keep me in meat for
a bit, and I'll look about me,' he said ; { but it is not the sort
o' place for a gentleman — a Luxmore.'

He had not asked leave to take a holiday on the occasion
of the Revel. He had taken it as a matter of course. The
Revel was a holiday, of course ; so is Sunday. * I don't ask
old Langford whether I'm to keep the Sabbath by doing
nothing : I do nothing. I don't ask him if I'm to enjoy
myself Revel day : I enjoy myself. These are understood
things.' He curled his lip contemptuously. 'What a
shabby wage I get, or am to get ! ' he muttered. ' No pay,
no work ; short pay, short work. That stands to reason —
like buttering parsnips.'

He sauntered into the Langford kitchen and threw him
self into the settle, with his hat on, and his legs outstretched,
and his hands in his pockets. Disappointment, humiliation,
impecuniosity combined to chafe his temper, and give him
a dejected, hang-dog appearance.

Mrs. Veale passed and repassed without speaking. She
obser ved him without allowing him to perceive that she

130 RED SPIDER

observed him. Indeed, he hardly noticed her, and he was
startled by her voice when she said, as he bent over the fire,
4 Charles Luxmore, what do y' think of the Revel now ?
I've a-been there, and to my reckoning it were grand, but,
Lord ! you've been over the world, and seen so many fine
things that our poor Revel is nought in your eyes, I reckon.'

1 Bah ! poor stuff, indeed. You should see Bombay, or
the bazaar at Candahar ! Bratton Clovelly ! Bah ! Punjab,
Cawbul, Delhi, Peshawur, Ghuznee, Hyderabad ! ' The
utterance of these -names, which he knew would convey no
idea whatever to the mind of Mrs. Yeale, afforded him re
lief. It morally elevated him. It showed him that he knew
more of the world than Mrs. Veale. ' You don't happen to
know Dost Mahommed ? '

1 Oh, dear, no ! '

1 Nor ever heard tell of him 9 '

' No, Mr. Luxmore.'

* He's an Ameer.'
' Is he now 1 '

' I've fought him. Leastways his son, Akbar Khan.1

I You wasn't hard on him, I hope ? '

* No, I wasn't that. I merely carried off the doors of
his mosque.'

* Did that hurt him much ? '

* His feelings, Mrs. Veale, awful.'

* Lord bless me ! ' exclaimed the woman, looking at him
over her shoulder as she stirred a pot on the fire, with her
queer blinking eyes studying his expression but expressing
nothing themselves.

I 1 do wonder you be home from the Revel so early. A
soldier like you, and a fine young chap, ought to have stayed
and enjoyed yourself. The best of the fun, I've heard tell,
is in the evening.'

* How can I stay at the Revel when I haven't a copper
to spend there ? ' asked Charles surlily.

* I don't like to see a grand young fellow like you sitting
at home like an old man with the rheumatics. We will be

MRS. VEALE 131

friends, Charles. I will give you a crown to buy your good-
will.' She took the money from her pocket and handed it
to him.

' I thank you,' he said grandly — she had called him a
grand young man — ' but I can't go to the Revel now.1
Nevertheless he pocketed the crown. * I've seen enough of
it, and got sick of it. Wretched stalls where nothing
is for sale worth buying, wretched shows where nothing is
seen worth seeing. I came away because the Revel wearied
me.'

* You'll find it dull here,' said the housekeeper. ' We
poor ignorant creatures think the Revel and all in it mighty
fine things, because we know no better and haven't seen the
world. It seems to me, Mr. Luxmore, you're in the wrong
place, as the elephant said to the stickleback that had got
into the ark.'

'I should just about think I was,' said Charles, kicking
out with both his heels. Mrs. Yeale was a plain, not to
Bay unpleasant-looking woman, much older than himself ;
he would not have given her a thought had she not called
him ' Mr. Luxmore,' and so recognised that he was a supe
rior being to the Dicks and Toms on the farm.

1 Peshawur ! Jelalabad ! Cawbul ! that's how they come/
said Charles. Mrs. Veale stood with hand on the handle of
the pan, an iron spoon uplifted in the other, waiting to
drink in further information. ' Through the Khyber Pass/
he added, drawing his brows together and screwing up his
mouth.

' No doubt about it/ said Mrs. Yeale. * It must be so,
if you sez it. And Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed
like of one these.' She stirred the pot ; then, thinking she
had not made herself intelligible, she explained, 'I mean
that Solomon, though the wisest of men, didn't know that,
I reckon.'

'How could he/ asked Charles, 'never having been
there ? '

* I do wonder, now, if you'll excuse the remark/ said the

K2

132 RED SPIDER

housekeeper, ' that you didn't bring the silver belt here and
hang it up over the mantel-shelf.'

1 Silver belt ? What silver belt 1 '

' Oh ! you know. The champion wrestler's belt that is
to be tried for this afternoon. I suppose you didn't go in
for it because you thought it wouldn't be fair on the young
chaps here to take from them everything.'

* I did not consider it worth my while trying for it,' said
Charles, with a kick at the hearth with his toes — not an
irritated kick, but a flattered, self -satisfied, pleased kick.
c Of course I could have had it if I had tried.'

' Of course you might, you who've been a soldier in the
wars, and fought them blood-thirsty Afghans. Lord ! I
reckon they was like Goliaths of Gath, the weight of whose
spear was as a weaver's beam.'

Charles jerked his head knowingly.

* Afghanistan was a hard nut to crack/

* Ah ! ' acquiesced Mrs. Yeale. ' So said old Goodie as
she mumbled pebbles.' Then she stood up and looked at
him. ' I know a fine man when I see him,' she said, ' able
to hold himself like the best gentleman, and walking with
his head in the air as if the country belonged to him.'

c Ah ! ' said Charles, taking off his hat and sitting erect,
1 if all men had their rights Coombe Park would be ours.'

1 Don't I know that 1 ' asked the housekeeper. c Every
one knows that. Nobody can look at you without seeing
you're a gentleman born. And I say it is a shame and a
sin that you should be kicked out of your proper nest, and
it the habitation of strangers, cuckoos who never built it,
but have turned out the rightful owners. I reckon it made
me turn scarlet as your sister's cloak to see her come crawling
here t'other day on bended knees to ask the master to take
you in. She's no lady, not got a drop of blue blood in her
veins, or she'd not ha' done that. I'll tell you what it is,
Mr. Charles. All the gentle blood has run one way and all
the vulgar blood the other, as in our barton field the sweet
water comes out at the well, and the riddam (ferruginous

MRS. VEALE 133

red water) at the alders.' She spoke with such acrimony,
and with a look so spiteful, that Charles asked, ' What has
Honor done to offend you ? '

' Oh nothing, nothing at all ! I don't stoop to take
offence at her.' Then, observing that the young man resented
this disparagement of his sister, she added hastily, * There,
enough of her. She's good enough to wash and comb the
little uns and patch their clothes. We will talk about
yourself, as the fox said to the goose, when she axed him
if duck weren't more tasty. Why have you come from the
Kevel ? There be some better reason than an empty pocket/

* I have been insulted.'

' Of course you have,' said Mrs. Veale, ' and I know the
reason. The yuung men here can't abide you. For why 1
Because you're too much of a gentleman, you're too high for
'em. As the churchyard cross said to the cross on the spire,
" Us can't talk wi'out shouting." Do you know what the
poacher as was convicted said to the justice o' peace ? " I'm
not in a position, your worship, to punch your head, but I
can spit on your shadow." *

' Without any boasting, I may admit that I and these
young clodhopping louts ain't of the same sort,' said Charles
proudly.

* That's just what the urchin (hedgehog) said to tke little
rabbits when he curled up in their nest.'

1 Ah ! ' laughed Charles, ' but the urchin had quills and
could turn the rabbits out, and I have not.'

'You've been in the army, and that gives a man bearing,
and you've been half over the world, and that gives know
ledge ; and nature have favoured you with good looks. The
lads are jealous of you.'

'They do not appreciate me, certainly,' said Charles,
swelling with self-importance.

'This is a wicked world,' said Mrs. Yeale. Then she
produced a bottle of gin and a glass, and put them at Charles's
elbow. ' Take a drop of comfort,' she said persuasively,
1 though -for such as you it should be old crusted port and

134 RED SPIDER

not the Plymouth liquor, as folks say is distilled from
turnips.'

Young Luxmore needed no pressing ; he helped himself.

1 1 reckon,' pursued Mrs. Veale, * you were done out of
Coombe Park by those who didn't scruple to swear it away.
Money and law together will turn the best rights topsy
turvy/

' No doubt about that, ma'am,' said Charles. * I've heard
my father say, many a time, that with a hundred pounds he
could win Coombe Park back.'

* Then why do you not lay out the hundred pounds ^ '
1 Because I haven't got 'em,' answered Charles.

* Oh ! they're to be got,' said the housekeeper, ' as the
gipsy said to his wife when she told 'n she was partial to
chickens.'

* It seems to me/ said the young man, ' that it is a hard
world for them that is straight. The crooked ones have the
best of it.'

' Not at all,' answered the housekeeper, * The crooked
ones can't go through a straight hole. It is they who can
bend about like the ferret as gets on best, straight or crooked
as suits the occasion.'

Charles stood up, drank off his glass, and paced the room.
The housekeeper filled his glass again. The young man ob
served her actions and returned to his seat. As he flung
himself into the settle again he said, c I don't know what
the devil makes you take such an interest in my affairs.'

Mrs. Veale looked hard at him, and answered, ' A woman
can't be indifferent to a good-looking man/ Charles tossed
off his glass to hide his confusion. So this bleached creature
had fallen in love with him ! — a woman his senior by some
fifteen years. He was flattered, but felt that the situation
was unpleasant.

' This is a bad world/ he said, * and I wish I had the
remaking of it. The good luck goes to the undeserving/

' That is only true because those who have wits want
readiness. A scrow will go in and hold where a nail would

MRS. VEALE 135

split. Coombe Park is yours by right ; it has been taken
from you by wrong. I should get it back again were I you,
and not be too nice about the means.' Charles sighed and
shook his head.

' What a life you would lead as young squire,' said Mrs.
Veale. ' The maidens now run after Larry Nanspian, be
cause he is heir to Chimsworthy, and don't give much
attention to you, because you've nothing in present and
nothing in prospect. But if you were at Coombe Park
they'd come round you thick as damsels in Shushan to be
seen of Ahasuerus,- and Larry Nanspian. would be nowhere
in their thoughts.' She laughed scornfully. * And the
fellows that turn up their noses at you now, because you
eat Langford's bread crusts and earn ninepence, how they
would cringe to you and call you sir, and run errands for
you, and be thankful for a nod or a word ! Then the farmers
who now call you a good-for-naught would pipe another
note, and be proud to shake hands. And Parson Robbins
would wait with his white gown on, and not venture to say,
" When the wicked man," till he saw you in the Coombe
Park pew. And the landlord's door at the " King of Bells "
would be ever open to you, and his best seat by the fire
would be yours. And I — poor I — would be proud to think
I'd poured out a glass of Plymouth spirit to the young
squire, and that he'd listened to my foolish words.'

Charles tossed his head, and threw up and turned over
the crown in his trousers pocket. Then, unsolicited, he
poured himself out another glass and tossed it off. That
would be a grand day when he was squire and all Bratton
was at his feet.

Mrs. Veale stood erect before him with flickering eyes.
' Do y' know the stone steps beside the door ? ' she asked.

'Yes!'

' What be they put there for? '

' They are stepping-stones to help to mount into the
saddle.'

'What stones be they?'

136 RED SPIDER

* I'm sure I can't say.'

* Right ; no more does he know or care who uses them.
Well, I'm naught, but I can help you into the saddle of
Coombe Park/

CHAPTER XVIII.

TREASURE TROVE.

CHARLES LUXMORE was not able to sleep much that night.
It was not that his conscience troubled him. He gave
hardly a thought to the affair at the circus. His imagina
tion was excited ; that delusive faculty, which, according to
Paley, is the parent of so much error and evil. The idea of
Coombe Park recurred incessantly to his mind and kept
him awake. But it was not the acquisition of wealth and
position that made the prospect so alluring; it was the
hope of crowing over all those who had despised him, of
exciting the envy of those who now looked down on him.

The c Ring of Bells ' was on the Coombe estate. How
he could swagger there as the landlord's overlord ! The
ISTanspians, Taverner Langford, had but a few hundred
acres, and the Coombe Park property was nigh on two
thousand.

Squire Impey and he would be the two great men of the
place, and as the squire at Culm Court was a hunting man,
he, Charles Luxmore, would be hand in glove with him.

It would be worth much to ride in scarlet after the
hounds, with his top boots and a black velvet cap, and the
hand holding a whip curled on the thigh so, and to jog past
old Langford, and cast him a { 'Do, Taverner, this morning ?
Middling, eh ? ' and to crack the whip at Hillary Nanspian
and shout, { Out o' the way, you cub, or I'll ride you down.'
He sat up in bed and napped his arms, holding the blanket as
reins, and clicked with his tongue, and imagined himself
galloping over the field after the hounds at full cry. Right
along Broadbury, over the fences of Langford, across

TREASURE TROVE 137

Taverner's land, tearing, breaking through the hedges of
Chimsworthy, tally-ho ! With a kick, Charles sent the bed
clothes flying on the floor.

* By George ! ' he said. * We shall have a meet in front
of Coombe Park, and Honor and Kate shall serve out
cherry-brandy to the huntsmen.' Then he scrambled about
the floor collecting his bed-clothes and rearranging them.
' 111 go to Coombe Park to-morrow, and look where the
kennels are to be. I'll give an eye also to the pond. I
don't believe it has been properly cleaned out and fit for
trout since the place left our hands. I'm afraid Honor will
never rise to her situation — always keep a maid-of-all-work
mind. Confound these bed-clothes, I've got them all
askew.'

So possessed was Charles with the idea that it did not
forsake him when morning came. It clung to him all the
day. c There's only a hundred pounds wanted,' he said, ' for
us to establish our claim.'

Then he paused in the work on which he was engaged
' How am I to reach a hundred pounds on ninepence a day,
I'd like to know ? Ninepence a day is four-and-six a week,
and that makes eleven guineas or thereabouts per annum.
I must have something to spend on clothing and amusement.
Say I put away seven guineas in the year, why it would
take me thirteen to fourteen years to earn a hundred
pounds — going straight as a nail, not as a screw, nor as a
ferret.'

In the evening Charles wandered away to Coombe Park.
The owner, a yeoman named Pengelly, who, however,
owned only the home farm, not the entire property, had
been accustomed to the visits of Oliver Luxmore, which had
been regarded as a sort of necessary nuisance. He was by
no means disposed to have his place haunted by the young
man also, of whose conduct he had received a bad report
from all sides. He therefore treated Charles with scant
courtesy, and when young Luxmore tried bluster and brag,
he ordered him off the premises,

\

138 RED SPIDER

Charles returned to Langf ord foaming with rage. Mrs.
Veale awaited him.

* The master is not home,' she said ; * where have you
been?'

* Been to see my proper home,' he answered, * and been
threatened with the constable if I did not clear away.
What do you mean by giving me all sorts of ideas and ex
pectations, and subjecting me to insult, eh? answer me
that.'

' Don't you fly out in flaming fury, Mr. Charles.'

* I'm like to when treated as I have been. So would
you. So will you, if what I hear is like to come about.
There's talk of a hare hunt.'

'A what?'

* A hare hunt.'

'Where?' Mrs. Veale stood before him growing
deadlier white every moment, and quivering in all her
members and in every fibre of her pale dress, in every hair
of her blinking eyelids.

' Why here — at Langf ord.'

She caught his arm and shook him. 'You will not
suffer it ! You will stay it ! '

' Should they try it on, trust me,' said Charles mockingly.
'Specially if Larry Nanspian be in it. I've a grudge
against him must be paid off.'

Mrs. Veale passed her hand over her brow. ' To think
they should dare ! should dare ! ' she muttered. ' But
you'll not suffer it. A hare hunt ! what do they take me
for?'

Charles Luxmore uttered a short ironical laugh. ' Dear
blood 1 ' l she muttered, and her sharp fingers nipped and
played on his arm as though she were fingering a flute.
' You'll revenge me if they do ! Trust me ! when I'm
deadly wronged I can hurt, and hurt I will, and when one
does me good I repay it — to a hundred pounds.'

1 A Devonshire expression, meaning • Dear fellow,'

TREASURE TROVE 139

She laughed bitterly. There was something painful in
her laugh. It was devoid of mirth, and provoked no laugh
ter. Although she said many odd things, invented quaint
similes, or used those which were traditional, they hardly
ever awoke a smile, her tone was so cheerless, husky and
unpleasant.

' So Farmer Pengelly insulted you ! Ha ! it would be
a most laughable conceit to prove that he had no title, and
had thrown away his thousands.'

' On Coombe Park ? '

' On what else *{ What did he say to you 1 '

'Never mind what he said. What he said hurt me.
He called me a vagabond and empty pocket, and said I
might go pack to the devil.'

1 And when you have established your right, and shown
that he bought without a proper title, then you'd stand on
the doorsteps, stick in hand, and say, Pengelly ! who has
the empty pocket ? Who is the vagabond without a house ?
Go pack to the devil. What be you to stye in a gentle
man's mansion ? Whom God Almighty made an ass bides
an ass. And cats as ain't got manners mustrkeep off Turkey
carpets.'

Then, still holding his arm, she said, ' Come here ! I've
never shown you over this house ; not that Langford is fit
to compare with Coombe Park. Yet this were a gentleman's
house once. But what were the Langfords as compared with
ths Luxmores ? You'll see a Luxmore monument at the
very altar-steps o' the chancel in Bratton Church, but tha^
of a Langford is half-way down the nave, which shows how
different they were estimated.' After a short silence Charles
felt a spasmodic quiver pass over her, like the thrill of a
peacock when spreading its tail. ' They would have a hare
hunt, would they, and put me to a public shame ? '

' No, no, Mrs. Veale,' said Charles caressingly, ' I'll put
a stop to that ; and if they venture 111 break the necks of
those that have to do with it.'

' Come with me,' said the woman hoarsely, ' I'll show

140 RED SPIDER

you all. Here/ she flung open the sitting-room door, ' here
is the parlour where your sister went down on her knees to
the master. If he'd ha' axed her to lick his boots she'd ha*
done it — no proper pride in her — and all for ninepence a
day.'

Charles became very red in the face.

' This is the desk at which the master writes and does
his accounts. In it, I reckon, be his books. I've never
seed them, and I doubt if I could make much out of 'em if
I did. Them things don't agree wi' my faculties, as the
cherub said of the armchair.'

1 Does old Langford always sit in this room ? '

1 Oh yes ! too proud to sit in the kitchen wi' such as me —
not even in winter. Then I must make his fire here every
day, and have the worry of keeping it in. There is one
thing don't suit him now he is cut wi' the Nanspians. For
merly he got all his fuel from their wood. There are no plan
tations on Langford, and the old trees are cut down. When
he got his fuel at Chimsworthy he hadn't to pay, and now
he must get a rick of firing elsewhere.' She pointed to an
old-fashioned cupboard in the wall. * There he keeps his
sugar and his tea and his currants. He keeps all under key,
lest I or the maidens should steal them. Now you look at
me and I'll show you something/ She opened an empty
place under the cupboard and knocked upwards thrice
with her fist, and the glass doors of the repository of the
groceries flew open. She laughed huskily. ( There ! if I
strike I shoot up the bolt, and the lock won't hold the doors
together. When I press them together and shut back, down
falls the bolt.'

f That is ingenious, Mrs. Veale — stay, don't shut yet. I
have a sweet tooth, and see some raisins in the bag there.'

* Now leave them alone. I've something better to show
you. Men reckon themselves clever, but women beat them
in cleverness. Go to the fire-place. Kneel at it and put
your hand up on the left side, thrust in your arm full length
and turn the hand round/

TREASURE TROVE 141

1 1 shall dirty myself. I shall get a black hand/

Of course you will. That is how I found it out. Don't
be afraid of a little soot. There is a sort of oven at the side.
This room were not always a parlour, I reckon ; there were
a large open fire-place in it, and when the grate was put in
it left the space behind not at all, or only half, filled in —
leastways, the road to the oven door was not blocked. Have
you found it ? '

* Yes,' answered Charles. * I have my hand in some
thing/

1 And something in your hand, eh ? '

* Yes, a box, a largish box.'

He drew forth a tin case, very heavy, with a handle at
the top. It was locked with a letter padlock.

1 Into that box the master puts all his savings. I reckon
there be hundreds of pounds stowed away there, may be
thousands. The master himself don't know how much.
He's too af eared of being seen or heard counting it. When
he has money he takes out the box, opens it, and puts in
the gold, only gold and paper, no silver. Banks break.
He will have none of them, but this old cloam oven he
thinks is secure. He may be mistaken.'

* How did you find this out ? '

' By his black hand. Whenever he had sold bullocks or
sheep, and I knew he had received money, so sure was he
to come in here with a white hand and come out with one
that was black, that is how I found it. I know more. I
know the word that will open the box/

4 How did you find that out 1 '

' The master was himself afraid of forgetting it, and I
chanced to see in the first leaf of his Bible here in pencil
the reference Gen. xxxvi. 23. One day I chanced to look
out the passage, and it was this : The children of Shobal
were these : Alvan, and Manahath, and Ebal, Shepho,
and Onam/ I thought a man must have a bad conscienca
to find comfort in such a passage as that. And what do y'
think t I found the same reference in his pocket-book.

142 RED SPIDER

Then I knew it must mean something I didn't see the end
of. And one day I were full o' light, like a lantern. I saw
it all. Do y' see, this new padlock makes only four letter
words, and in that verse there are two words of four letters,
and I found as how the master changed about. One year
he took Ebal and next year Onam. It be the turn o' Ebal
now/

Charles felt the weight of the case and turned the pad
lock towards him.

1 Lord ! ' exclaimed Mrs. Veale, * what if the master
have got his thousand or two there ! It's nothing to what
might be yours if you had Coombe Park/

Suddenly both started. Langf ord's voice was heard out
side. Charles hastily replaced the case where he had found
it, and slipped out of the room with Mrs. Veale, who held
him and drew him after her, her nervous fingers playing on
his arm-bone as on a pipe.

' Come here,' she whispered, * let me wash your hand.
It is black. Here, at the sink.' She chuckled as she soaped
his hand and wrist. c And here the master have washed
his, and thought I did not consider it.1 Then she quivered
through her whole body and her eyes blinked. She put up
her shaking finger and whispered ( Ebal I '

CHAPTER XIX.

A DEAD DOGL

THE second night of watch proved unavailing, for the best
of good reasons, that the watch was not kept. Oliver
Luxmore sat up, but, finding the night chilly outside the
house, attempted to keep watch with a pipe of tobacco and
a jug and glass of cider posset within. The consequence
was that he went to sleep over the fire. During that same
night another of the lambs was worried. Mischief had also
been done at Swaddledown, as the family heard during the

A DEAD DOG 143

day. There a ewe had been killed, overrun, thrown into a
grip (dyke by hedge) whence it could not rise, and where
it had been torn, and had died.

* We must not ask your father to watch again,' said
Hillary, with the corners of his mouth twitching. 'We
believe what he says now when he tells us he is very short
sighted. I will come to-night and the night after, if need
be, till I earn my guinea. The rascal ha$ been here twice
and has escaped. He shall not succeed the third time. I
will take a nap by day and be lively as an owl at night.'

The maids at Chimsworthy joked the lad about his
visits to the cottage : he did not go there after the dog, but
after Kate. A guinea ! What was a guinea to the heir of
Chimsworthy ? A young man cares more for girls' hearts
than for money. He did not contradict them, he turned
aside their banter with banter. But the lively conversation
of Kate had lost its charm for him. He exchanged jests
with her, but took less pleasure than heretofore in doing so.
That night and the next he spent at his post watching for
the lamb-killer. Honor gave him her company. He was
surprised at himself for becoming serious, still more that the
conversation and society of the grave Honor should afford
him so much pleasure. In her company everything assumed
a new aspect, was seen through coloured glass.

Honor herself was changed during these still night
watches. A softness, inbred in her, but to which she was
unable to yield during the day, manifested itself in her
manner, her speech, her appearance, a bloom as that on the
plum. Her inner heart unfolded like a night-flower, and
poured forth fragrance. Thoughts that had long dwelt and
worked in her mind, but to which she had never given
words, found expression at last. Her real mind, her great,
pure, deep soul, had been as a fountain sealed to her father
and sister Kate ; they could not have understood her
thoughts ; she knew this without acknowledging it other
than by instinctive silence. But now she had beside her
a companion, sympathetic, intelligent ; and the night that

144 RED SPIDER

veiled their faces and the working of their emotions
allowed them to speak with frankness. Banter died away
on Hillary's lips, he respected her and her thoughts too
highly to treat either lightly. Though he could not fully
understand her he could not withhold his reverence. He
saw the nobility of her character, her self-devotion made
beautiful by its unconsciousness, her directness of purpose,
her thoroughness, and her clear simplicity running through
her life like a sparkling river. Her nature was the reverse
of his own. He treated life as a holiday, and its duties a3
annoyances ; she looked to the duties as constituting life,
and to pleasures as accidents. He became dissatisfied with
himself without feeling resentment towards Honor for in
spiring the feeling. With all his frivolity and self-conceit
there was good stuff in Hillary. It was evidence of this
that he now appreciated Honor. At night, under the dark
heavens strewn with stars, or with the moon rising as a
globe of gold over Dartmoor, these two young people sat on
the bench, with potato-sacks over their shoulders sheltering
them from the dew, or at the hearth suffused by the glow
of the peat embers, and talked with muffled voices as if in
church.

The second, the third night, during which Hillary
watched, passed uneventfully. Each night, or morning
rather, as Hillary left, the pressure of his hand clasping
that of Honor became warmer. After he was gone, the
girl sat musing for some minutes, listening to his dying
steps as he passed along the lane homewards. Then she
sighed, shook her head, as though to shake off some dream
that stole over her, and went to bed.

Hillary's determined watching was not, however, de
stined to remain fruitless. Early on the fourth night, after
he had been at his post an hour, the bleating and scampering
of the sheep showed that their enemy was at hand.

In another moment both saw a dark animal dash across
the field in pursuit, Hillary fired and the creature fell
over.

A DEAD DOG 14$

1 Bring a lantern, Honor/ he shouted. * Let us see whose
dog it is.'

She ran indoors. Her father and Kate had been roused
by the report.

When she returned with the lantern to the field, f You
were right, Honor/ said Hillary, ' this is Uncle Taverner's
Hover. Poor fellow, we were friends cnce, when I was al
lowed at Langford. Now he and his master have fallen to
bad ways. I have put the seal on my misdoings, and Uncle
Taverner will never forgive me for having shot his dog.'

* Well, perhaps you will recover your wits now/ said
Kate.

'Wits! why?'

' Wits — you have been dull enough lately. Perhaps as
the dog went sheep-killing, your wits went wool-gathering.
They have been dead, or not at home.'

'Go home, Larry/ said Honor; 'and take our best
thanks to warm you/

Hillary, however, seemed ill-disposed to go. He hung
about the kitchen pretending that his fingers wanted
warming, or considering what was to be done with the
carcass of the dog. What he really desired was a further
chat with Honor. But Kate would not allow him to be
alone with her sister, though unsuspicious of the state of his
feelings, and indifferent to them herself. She was like a
mosquito that buzzes about a sleep-drunk man, threatening
him, rousing him, settling, and stabbing, and escaping
before his hand can chastise. The more she plied him with
her jokes, the more dispirited he became, and incapable of
repartee.

1 Well/ said he at length, ' I suppose it is time for all to
go to bed. You have all seen enough of the dead dog.'

' And we of the live lion/ said Kate.

He went hesitatingly to the door, then came back,
tied the dog's hind feet together, and slung the body over
his back on his gun. Then he went back to the door.

L

146 RED SPIDER

Kate said something to Honor, gave Larry a nod, and
went away to bed.

Honor accompanied him to the door, to fasten it after
him.

' I wish Rover had not come for a couple of hours,' he
said, as he held out his hand.

' You have won your guinea, and must be content,' she
answered with a smile.

* Do you suppose I care for the guinea, except that I
may share it with you ? ' he asked. * I'll tell you what we
will do with it, break it in half, and each keep a half.'

' Then it will be of no good to either,' answered Honor.
* You told me yourself that the money was a consideration
to you, as you were empty-pocketed.'

' I forgot all about the guinea after the first night, in the
pleasure of being with you. I would give the guinea to be
allowed to come here again to-morrow night. Confound
old Rover for being in such a hurry for his dose of lead.1

1 What is that about lead ? ' called Kate from the steps
of the stairs. ' I think, Larry, the lead has got into your
brains, and into your feet/

Honor shook her head, and tried to withdraw her hand
from that of the young man ; but he would not release it.
' No, Larry, no, that cannot be.'

* May I not come again ? '

* No, Larry, on no account,' she said gravely.

'But, Honor, if I come down the lane, and you hear
the owls call very loud under the bank, you will open the
door and slip out. You will bring the potato -sacks, and
let us have a talk again on the bench with them over our
shoulders ? '

* No, I will not — indeed I will not. I pray you, if you
have any thought for me, do not try this. Good-night,
Larry — you are a brother to me.'

She wrenched her hand from his, and shut the door.
He heard her bolt it. Then he went down the steps and
walked away, ill pleased. But after he had gone some dis-

A DEAD DOG 147

fcaDce,he turned, and saw the cottage door open, and Honor
standing in it, her dark figure against the fire glow. Had
she relented and changed her mind 1 He came back.
Then the door was shut and barred again. He was
offended, and, to disguise his confusion, whistled a merry
air, and whistled it so loud as that Honor might hear it
and understand that her refusal gave him no concern.

Hillary had not reached the end of the lane before he
stumbled against Charles.

' Hallo ! ' exclaimed the latter. * What are you doing
here at this time o' night ? Got your gun, eh ? And game
too, eh ? Poaching on Langford. A common poacher. I'll
report you. Not hare hunting yet ? Take care how you
do that. I'll break your neck if you come near Langford
after that game.'

* What you have been doing is clear enough,' said
Hillary, stepping aside. ' You have been at the " Ring of
Bells," drinking.'

* What if I have ? No harm in that, if I have money
to pay my score. Nothing against that, have you ? '

' Nothing at all ; but I doubt your having the money.
A week ago you were reduced to a brass token.'

'You think yourself cock of the walk, do you/ said
Charles insolently, * because you are heir to Chims worthy ?
What is Chimsworthy to Coombe Park ? Come ! I bet now
you've naught but coppers in your pocket. Hands in and
see which can make the most show.'

As he spoke, he thrust forth his palm, and Hillary
heard the chink of money, and the sound of coins falling
on the stones.

'If you had money at the fair-time/ said Hillary
coldly, ' all I can say is that you behaved infamously.'

' I had no money then.'

'How you have got it since, I do not know,' said
Hillary.

' That is no concern of yours, Master Larry,' answered
Charles roughly. 'You will live to see me Squire at

LI

148 RED SPIDER

Coombe Park ; and when I'm there, curse me if I don't
offer you the place of game-keeper to keep off rogues. An
old poacher is the best keeper.'

1 You cur ! ' exclaimed Hillary, blazing up. ' This is
my game.' He swung the dead dog about, and struck
Charles on the cheek with the carcass so violently as to
knock him into the hedge. ' This is my game. Your
master's dog, which has been worrying and killing your
father's lambs whilst you have been boozing in a tavern.'

1 By George ! ' swore Charles, with difficulty picking
himself up. ' I'll break your cursed neck, I will.'

But Larry had gone on his way by the time Charles
had regained equilibrium.

'This is the second time he's struck me down,' said
Charles, and next moment a great stone passed Larry, then
another struck the dead dog on his back with sufficient
force to have stunned him had it struck his head.

He turned and shouted angrily, ' You tipsy blackguard,
heave another, and I'll shoot. The gun is loaded.'

1 And, by George ! I'll break your neck ! ' yelled Charlea
after him.

CHAPTER XX.

A FIVE-POUND NOTE.

No sooner had Hillary got the guinea for shooting the
sheep-killer than he went to the cottage and offered half
to Honor Luxmore. She refused it, and would by no per
suasion be induced to accept it.

' No, Larry, no — a thousand times no. You redeemed
my cloak, and will not let me pay you for that. I will not
touch a farthing of this well-earned prize.'

Then Larry went to Tavistock and expended part of the
money in the purchase of a handsome silk kerchief, white
with sprigs of lilac, and slips of moss-rose on it. He re-

A FIVE-POUND NOTE 149

turned in the carrier's van instead of waiting for his father,
who remained to drink with other farmers. This entailed
the walking up of the hills. When he got out for this ob
ject, he left his parcel on the seat. On his return he found
the women within sniggering.

* Don't y' be oflended at us now/ said one. 'But it is
just so. Your parcel came open of herself wi' the jolting
of the Vivid, and us couldn't help seeing what was inside.
Us can't be expected to sit wi' our eyes shut. 'Taint in
reason nor in nature. I must say this — 'tis a pretty ker
chief, and Kate Luxmore will look like a real leddy in it o*
Sunday, to be sure.'

Then the rest of the women laughed.

Hillary coloured, and was annoyed. The parcel had not
come open of itself. The women's inquisitive fingers had
opened it, and their curious eyes had examined the contents.
They had rushed to the conclusion that the kerchief was
intended for Kate — Larry was much about with the maiden,
they were always teasing each other, laughing together, and
Hillary had been several evenings to the carrier's cottage
guarding the lambs and sheep.

The young man did not disabuse them of their error.
He was vexed that they should suppose him caught by the
rattle Kate, instead of by the reliable Honor; it showed him
that they supposed him less sensible than he was. But he
thought with satisfaction of the surprise of the gossips on
Sunday, when they saw the kerchief about the neck of the
elder sister, instead of that of Kate.

In this expectation, however, he was disappointed. Next
day, he went to the cottage at an hour when he was sure to
find Honor there alone, and, with radiant face and sparkling
eyes, unfolded the paper, and offered his present to the girl.

Honor was more startled than pleased — at least, it
seemed so — and at first absolutely declined the kerchief.
• No, Larry, I thank you for your kind thought, but I must
not accept it. I am sorry that you have spent your money
—the kerchief is very pretty; but I cannot wear it.'

i$o RED SPIDER

'How wrong-headed and haughty you are, Honor! Why
will you not take it ? ' The blood made his face dark, he
was offended and angry. He had never made a girl a
present before, and this, his first, was rejected. ' It gave
me a vast deal of pleasure buying it. I turned over a
score, and couldn't well choose which would look best on
your shoulders. You have given me good advice ; and
here is my return, as an assurance that I will observe it.

' I am not wrong-headed and haughty, Larry,' answered
Honor gently. ' But see ! in spite of what I said, in spite
of my better judgment, rather than wound you I will take
the handkerchief. Indeed, indeed, dear Larry, I am not
unthankful and ungracious, though I may seem so. And
now I will only take it as a pledge that you have laid my
words to heart. Let it mean that, and that only. But,
Larry, the women in the van saw it. I cannot wear it just
now, certainly not on Sunday next. You know yourself
what conclusions they would draw, and we must not de
ceive them into taking us to be what we are not, and never
can be, to each other.'

1 Why not, Honor ? '

Instead of answering, she said with a smile, ' My brother,
Larry, this I will undertake. When I see that you have
become a man of deeds and not of words, then I will throw
the kerchief round my neck and wear it at church. It
shall be a token to you of my approval. Will that content
you r

He tried his utmost to obtain a further concession. She
was resolute. She did not wish to be ungracious, but she
was determined to give him no encouragement. She had
thought out her position, and resolved on her course. She
knew that her way was chalked for her. She must be
mother to all her little sisters and brothers, till they were
grown up and had dispersed. There was no saying what
her father might do were she away. He might marry
again, and a stepmother would ill-treat or neglect the little
ones. If she were to marry, it could be on one under-

A FIVE-POUND NOTE 151

standing only, that she brought the family with her to the
husband's house — and to that no man would consent. It
would be unfair to burden a young man thus. Her father,
moreover, was not a man to be left. What Charles had
become, without a firm hand over him, that might Oliver
Luxmore also become, even if he did not marry. His dis
positions were not bad, but his character was infirm. No !
it was impossible for her to contemplate marriage. Kate
might, but not she. The line of duty lay clear before her
as a white road in summer heat, and she had not even
the wish to desert it. It was right for her to nip Larry's
growing liking for herself, at once and in the bud.

After Larry had gone, she folded and put away his
present among her few valuables. She valued it, as the
first warm breath of spring is valued. She said nothing to
Kate or the others about it. Her heart was lighter, and
she sang over her work. The little offering was a token
that through the troubled sky the sun was about to shine.

A day or two after, Charles lounged in, and seated him
self by the fire. She was pleased to see him. He was at
honest work with Mr. Langford, earning an honest wage.
She sa) d as much. Charles laughed contemptuously. * Nine-
pence,' he said, ' ninepence a day. What is ninepence ? '

' It is more than you had as a soldier.'

' But as a soldier I had the uniform and the position.
Now I am a day-labourer — I, a Luxmore, the young squire
with ninepence and lodging and meat.'

* Well, Charles, it is a beginning/

'Beginning at ninepence. As Mrs. Yeale says, "One
can't stand upon coppers and keep out of the dirt." What
is the meat and drink ? The cider cuts one's throat as it
goes down, and the food is insufficient and indigestible.
If I had not a friend to forage for me, I should be
badly off.'

* If you keep this place a twelvemonth, you will get a
better situation next year/

'Keep at Langford a twelvemonth I ' exclaimed Charleg,

152 RED SPIDER

1 Not if I know it. It won't do. Never mind why. I say
it won't do.'

Then he began working his heel in a hole of the floor
where the slate was broken.

1 You know Mrs. Yeale ? ' he asked, without looking at
his sister.

* Yes, Charles. That is, I have seen her, and have even
spoken to her, but — know her — that is more than I profess.
She is not a person I am like to know/

'You had better not/ said Charles. 'She don't love you.
When I mention your name her face turns green. She'd ill-
wish you if she could.'

4 1 have never done her an injury/ said Honor.

* That may be. Hate is like love, it pitches at random,
as Mrs. Yeale says. You may laugh, Honor, but that same
woman is in love with me.'

* Nonsense ! ' Honor did not laugh, she was too shocked
to laugh.

' What is there nonsensical in that ? I tell you she is.
She cooks me better food than for the rest of the men, and
she favours me in many ways.'

* She cannot be such a fool.'

' There is no folly in fancying me,' said Charles sharply.
' I have good looks, have seen the world, and compare with
the louts here as wheat with rye. Many a woman has lost
her heart to a younger man than herself.'

' Charles, you must be plain and rough with her if this
be so — though I can scarce believe it.'

* No one forces you to believe it. But don't you think
I'm going to make Mrs. Yeale your sister in-law. I'm too
wide-awake for that. She is ugly, and — she's a bad un.
Yes,' musingly, * she is a bad un.'

Then he worked his heel mere vigorously in the hole.
* Take care what you are about, Charles, you are breaking
the slate, and making what was bad, worse.'

'I wish I had Mrs. Yeale's heart under that there
stone,' said Charles viciously. ' I'd grind my heel into it

A FIVE-POUND NOTE i$3

till I'd worked through it. You don't know how uncom
fortable she makes me.'

1 Well, keep her at arm's length.'

' I can't do it. She won't let me. She runs after me
as a cat after a milk-maid/

1 Surely, Charles, you can just put a stop to that/

'I suppose I must.'

He continued, in spite of remonstrance, grinding through
the broken slate into the earth. His face was hot and red.
He put his elbow up, and wiped his brow on his sleeve.

1 It is cursed warm here,' he said at last.

'Then keep away from the fire. I'm glad you have
come to see me, Charles ; I always wish you well.'

* Oh, for the matter of that I only came here to be out
of the way of Mrs. Veale.'

Then Honor laughed. ' Really, Charles, this is childish.'
' It is not kind of you to laugh,' said he sulkily ; ' you
do not know what it is to have your head turned, and to
feel yourself pulled about and drawn along against your
will. It is like "oranges and lemons," as we played at
school, when you are on the weakest side.'

* Whither can Mrs. Veale draw you ? Not to the altar-
rails, surely.'

1 Oh no ! not to the altar-rails. Mrs. Veale is a bad
un.1

His manner puzzled Honor. She was convinced he was
not telling her everything.

' What is it, Charles ? ' she said ; * you may give me
your confidence. Tell me all that troubles you. What is
behind ? I know you are keeping back something from
me. If I can advise and help you, I will do so. I am
your nearest sister.' Then she put her arms round his neck
and kissed him.

' Don't do that/ said he roughly. ' I hate scenes,
sisterly affection and motherly counsel, and all that sort of
batter-pudding without egg and sugar. I reckon I am out
grown that long ago. I have been a soldier and know the

154 RED SPIDER

world. If you think to pin me to your apron, as you have
pinned father, you are mightily mistaken. No ; I will tell
you no more, only this — don't be surprised if I leave Lang-
ford. Ninepence a day is not enough to hold me.'

' Oh Charles, I entreat you to stay. You have regular
work there and regular pay. As for Mrs. Veale '

' Curse Mrs. Yeale ! ' interrupted Charles, and with a
stamp of his iron-shod heel he broke the corners of the
slate slab. Then he stood up.

1 Look here, Honor. I mustn't forget a message. Old
Langford wants to see my father mighty particular, and he
is to come up to the house to have a talk with him. He
told me so himself, and indeed sent me here. Father is to
come up this evening, as he is not at home now. You will
remember to send him, Honor ? '

1 Yes,' she answered, bending her face over her work,
* yes, I shall not forget, Charles.'

Her brother had not the faintest suspicion that his
master was a suitor for Honor's hand. Mrs. Veale knew
it, but she did not tell him. She had reasons for not doing
so.

* Ninepence per diem ! ' muttered the young man,
standing in the doorway. ' That makes fourpence for ale,
and fourpence for baccy, and a penny for clothing. T'aint
reasonable. I won't stand it. I reckon I'll be off.'

Then, after a moment of irresolution, he came back into
the middle of the room, and, taking Honor's head between
his hands, said in an altered tone, as he kissed her, ' After
all, you are a good girl. Don't be angry if I spoke sharp.
I'm that ruffled I don't know what I say, or what I do.
You mayn't be a proper Luxmore in spirit — that is, not like
father and me — but you are hard-working, and so I forgive
you in a Christian spirit. As Mrs. Veale says, even the
Chosen People must have Gibeonites to hew wood and draw
water for them. After I am gone, look under tho china
dog on the mantel-shelf.'

Then he went hastily away.

A FIVE-POUND NOTE 155

Honor shuddered. His breath smelt of brandy.

Half an hour later, Oliver Luxmore came in. Then
Honor told him that Charles had been to the house with a
message for him from Mr. Langford. Oliver rubbed his
head and looked forlorn. He knew as well as his daughter
what this meant.

1 1 suppose/ said he, in a timid, questioning tone, ' I
suppose, Honor, you have not thought better of what we
was discussing together ? No doubt Mr. Langford is im
patient for his answer.'

' No doubt/ answered the girl.

1 You haven't reconsidered your difficulty in the matter 1
It seems to me — but then I am nobody, though your
father — it seems to me that if there be no prior attachment,
as folks call it — and you assure me there is none — there
can't be great hardship in taking him. Riches and lands
are not bad things ; and, Honor, it is worth considering
that in this world we never can have everything we desire.
Providence always mixes the portions we are given to sup.'

1 Yes, father, that is true. I am content with that put
to my lips. It is sweet, for I have your love, and the love
of all my brothers and sisters. Charles has been here, and
he kissed me as he never kissed me before. That makes
nine lumps of sugar in my cup. If there be a little bitter
ness, what then ? '

' Well, Honor, you must decide. We cannot drive you,
and you count our wishes as nought.'

He was seated, rubbing his hands, then his hair, and
turning his head from side to side in a feeble, forlorn,
irresolute manner. Honor was sorry for his disappoint
ment, but not inclined to yield.

1 Father dear, consider. If I did take Mr. Langford, he
would not receive you and all the darlings into Langford
house as well — and I will not be parted from you. Who
takes me takes all the hive. I am the queen-bee.1

' I will ask,' said the carrier, breathing freer. « I can
but ask. He can but refuse ; besides, it will look better,

156 RED SPIDER

putting the refusal on his hands. It may be that he will
not object. There be a lot o' rooms, for sure, at Langford
he makes no use of ; and I dare say he might accommodate
us. There be one, I know, full o' apples, and another of
onions, and I dare say he keeps wool in a third.'

Honor, who was standing by the fire, started, and said
hastily, with shaking voice, ( You misunderstand me, father.
On no account will I take him. No — on no conditions
whatever.' Her hand was on the mantelshelf, and as it
shook with her emotion she touched and knocked over a
china dog spotted red, a rude chimney ornament. A piece
of folded paper fell at her feet. She stooped and picked it
up. It was a five-pound note.

She looked at it at first without perceiving what it was,
as her mind was occupied. But presently she saw what it
was that she held, and then she looked at it with perplexity,
and after a moment with uneasiness, and changed colour.

' Father ! ' she said, ' here is a five-pound note of the
Exeter and Plymouth Bank, left by Charles. What does it
mean ? How can he have got it 1 Before he parted from
me, he said something about looking under the china dog,
but I gave no heed to his words ; his breath smelt of spirits,
and I thought he spoke away from his meaning. His manner
was odd. Father ! wherever can Charles have got the
money ? Oh father ! I hope all is right.'

She put her hand to her heart ; a qualm of fear came
over her.

' Right ! Of course it is right,' said the carrier. ' Five
pounds ! Why that will come in handy. It will go towards
the cost of the horse if you persist. As for these lambs, he
ought to pay me for them, but I don't like to press it, as I hear
he won't allow it was his dog killed them, and he swears
Hillary shot Rover oufc of spite, and lays the lamb-killing ou
the dog unjustly. Well, Honor, I suppose you must have
your own way ; but it is hard on Charles and me, who
work as slaves — we who by rights should be squires.'

«57

CHAPTER XXL

KEFUSED !

THE carrier walked slowly and reluctantly to Langford
He was uncomfortable with the answer he had to take to
Taverner Langford. Oliver was a kindly man, ready to
oblige anyone, shrinking from nothing so sensitively as
from a rough word and an angry mood. ' It would have
saved a lot of trouble/ said he to himself, ' if Honor had
given way. I shouldn't have been so out of countenance
now — and it does seem an ungrateful thing after the loan
of the horse.'

He found Langford in his parlour at his desk. The old
man spun round on his seat.

' Ha, ha ! ' said he, ' come at my call, father-in-law.
"Well — when is the wedding to be ? '

The carrier stood stupidly looking at him, rubbing
his hands together and shifting from foot to foot. ' The
wedding ! '

* Yes, man, the wedding ; when is it to be ? ;

1 The wedding ! ' repeated Oliver, looking through the
window for help. c I'm sure I don't know.'

1 You must find that out. I'm impatient to be married.
Ha, ha ! what faces the Nanspians will pull, father and son,
when they see me lead from church a blooming, blushing
bride/

' Well, now,' said the carrier, wiping the perspiration
from his brow, 'I'm sorry to have to say it, but Honor
don't see it in the proper light.'

' What — refuses me ? '

* Not exactly refuses, but begs off.'

1 Begs off,' repeated Taverner incredulously. He could
hardly have been more disconcerted if he had heard that all

I $8 RED SPIDER

his cattle were dying and his stacks blazing. * Engs off !
he again exclaimed ; ' then how about my horse ? '

The carrier scratched his head and sighed.

* Do you suppose that I gave you the horse 1 ' said
Taverner. ' You can hardly have been such a fool as that.
I am not one to give a cow here, and a sheep there, and a
horse to a third, just because there are so many needy
persons wanting them. You must return me the horse and
pay me ten shillings a week for the hire during the time you
have had him, unless Honor becomes my wife.'

' I will pay you for the horse,' said Luxmore faintly.

1 Whence will you get the money 1 Do you think I am
a fool ? ' asked Langford angrily. His pride was hurt.
His eyes flashed and his skin became of a livid complexion.
He, the wealthiest man in Bratton Clovelly ; he, the repre
sentative of the most respectable family there — one as old
as the parish itself ; he, the parson's churchwarden, and the
elder of the Methodist chapel — he had been refused by a
poverty-stricken carrier's daughter. The insult was un
endurable. He stood up to leave the room, but when he
had his hand on the latch he turned and came back. In
the first access of wrath he had resolved to crush the carrier.
He could do it. He had but to take back his horse, and
the Vivid was reduced to a stationary condition. Luxmore
might offer to buy the horse, but he could not do it. He
knew how poor he was. Moreover, he could cut his business
away from him at any moment by setting up the cripple as
carrier.

But he thought better of it. Of what avail to him if
Luxmore were ruined ? He desired to revenge himself on
the Nanspians. The carrier was too small game to be
hunted down, he was set on the humiliation of much bigger
men than he. His envy and hatred of the Nanspians had
by no means abated, and the killing of his dog Rover by
young Hillary had excited it to frenzy. That his dog was
a sheep-killer would not excuse Larry's act. He did not
allow that Rover was the culprit. His nephew had shot the

REFUSED! 159

dog out of malice, and had feigned as an excuse that he had
caught the dog pursuing lambs.

The wealthy yeoman might certainly, without difficulty,
have found another girl less hard to please than Honor.
All girls would not have thought with her. His money
would have weighed with them. He could not under
stand his refusal. ' What is the matter with the girl ? '
he said surlily. *I thought her too wise to be in love.
She has not set her heart on any boyish jackanapes, has
she?'

* Honor 1 Oh no ! Honor has no sweetheart,' said the
father. ' It certainly is not that, Mr. Langford.'

1 Then what is it ? What possible objection can she
make ? I'm not a beardless boy and a rosy-faced beauty,
that is true.7

' No, Mr. Langford, I am sure she has not a word against
your age and personal appearance. Indeed, a young girl
generally prefers as a husband one to whom she can look up,
who is her superior in every way.'

' I am that. What is it, then 1 '

'Well, Mr. Langford,' said the carrier, drawing the
back of his hand across his lips, ' I think it is about this.
She don't like to desert me and the children. She promised
her mother to stand by us, and Honor is so conscientious
that what she has promised she will stick to.'

'Oh,' said Taverner, somewhat mollified to find that
neither his age nor lack of beauty was objected to, ' that is
it, is it ? '

' Yes, sir,' answered the carrier sheepishly ; ' you see
there are six little uns ; then comes Kate, and then Charles,
and then I. That makes nine of us Honor has to care for.
And,' he said more eagerly, heaving a sigh of relief, ' you
see, she didn't think it quite a fair thing to saddle you with
us all, with Pattie and Joe, Willie, Martha, Charity, Tem
perance, Kate, Charles, and myself. It does make a lot when
you come to consider.'

It did certainly, as Taverner admitted. He had no

i6o RED SPIDER

intention whatever of incumbering himself with Honor's
relations, if he did marry her. He took a turn up and
down the room, with his heavy dark brows knit and his
thin lips screwed together. Oliver watched his face, and
thought that it was a very ugly and ill-tempered face.

* It does Honor some credit having such delicacy of feel
ing/ suggested he. *I very much doubt how you could
accommodate us all in this house/

' I do not see how I could possibly do it,' said Taverner
sharply.

1 And Honor couldn't think to tear herself away from
us. I suppose you wouldn't consider the possibility of
coming to us 1 '

' No, I would not.'

Taverner Langf ord was perplexed. He entirely accepted
Oliver's explanation. It was quite reasonable that Honor
should refuse him out of a high sense of duty ; it was not
conceivable that she should decline alliance with him on
any other grounds. Now, although Taverner had not
hitherto found time or courage to marry, he was by no
means insensible to female beauty. He had long observed
the stately, upright daughter of the carrier, with her beau
tiful abundant auburn hair and clear brown eyes. He had
observed her more than she supposed, and he had seen how
hard-working, self-devoted she was, how economical, how
clean in her own person and in her house. Such a woman
as that would be more agreeable in the house than Mrs.
Veale. He would have to pay her no wage for one thing,
her pleasant face and voice would be a relief after the sour
visage and grating tones of the housekeeper. He knew
perfectly that Mrs. Veale had had designs on him from the
moment she had entered his house. She had flattered,
slaved ; she had assumed an amount of authority in the
house hardly consistent with her position. Langford had
not resisted her encroachments ; he allowed her to cherish
hopes of securing him in the end, as a means of insuring
her fidelity to his interests. He chuckled to himself at the

REFUSED! *6i

thought of the rage and disappointment that would con
sume her when he announced that he was about to be
married.

He was a suspicious man, and he mistrusted every
woman, but he mistrusted Honor less than any woman or
man he knew. He had observed no other with half the
attention he had devoted to her, and he had never seen in
her the smallest tokens of frivolity and indifference to duty.
If she was so scrupulous in the discharge of her obligations
to father and sisters, how dependable she would be in her
own house, when working and saving for husband and chil
dren of her own.

She was no idler, she was no talker, and Taverner hated
idleness and gossip. Of what other girl in Bratton Clovelly
could as much be said ? No, he would trust his house and
happiness to no other than Honor Luxmore.

Taverner dearly loved money, but he loved mastery
better. A wife with a fortune of her own would have felt
some independence, but a wife who brought him nothing
would not be disposed to assert herself. She would look
up to him as the exclusive author of her happiness, and
never venture to contradict him, never have a will of her
own.

1 If that be her only objection, it may be circumvented,1
said Langford, ' if not got over. I thought, perhaps, she
declined my hand from some other cause.'

' What other cause could there be ? ' asked Oliver.

' To be sure there is no other that should govern a
rational creature; but few women are rational. I have
done something for you already, for you have my horse. I
have done a good deal for Charles also ; I pay him nine-
pence a day and give him his food. It is quite possible
that I may do a vast deal for the rest of you. But of course
that depends. I'm not likely to take you up and make
much of you unless you are connected with me by marriage.
You can judge for yourself. Should I be likely to leave
you all unprovided for if Honor were Mrs. Langford ? Of

162 RED SPIDER

course I would not allow it to be said that my wife's rela
tions were in need.'

These words of Taverner Langford made Oliver's pulse
beat fast.

* And then,' continued the yeoman, { who can say but
that I might give you a hand to help you into Coombe
Park.'

Luxmore's eye kindled, and his cheeks became dappled
with fiery spots. Here was a prospect ! but it was like
the prospect of the Promised Land to Moses on Pisgah if
Honor proved unyielding.

* You are the girl's father,' said Langford. * Hoity-toity !
I have no patience with a man who allows his daughter to
give herself airs. He knows what is best for her, and must
decide. Make her give way.'

Oliver would have laughed aloud at the idea of his
forcing his daughter's will into compliance with his own,
had not the case been so serious.

* Look here, Mr. Langford,' he said. c I'll do what I
can. Ill tell Honor the liberal offer you have made ; and
I trust she'll see it aright and be thankful.' He stood up.
* Before I go,' he said, producing the five-pound note, * I'd
just like to reduce my debt to you for the horse, if you

' How much ? ' asked Taverner.

' Five pounds/ answered the carrier. * If I kept it by
me I should spend it, so I thought best to bring it straight
to you. You'll give me a slip o' paper as a receipt.'

Langford took out his pocket-book, folded the note, and
put it in the pocket of the book ; then made a pencil entry.
'I always,' said he, 'enter every note I receive with its
number. Comes useful at times for reference. To be sure,
you shall have a receipt '

CHAPTER XXIL

THE HAYSEL.

HILLARY became impatient. He made no way with Honor ;
if any change in his position had taken place, he had gone
back. In spite of her entreaty, he went to the cottage
down the lane hooting like an owl, but she did not answer
the call. Then he plucked up courage and went in on the
chance of getting a word with her alone, but he went in
vain. Oliver Luxmore was glad to see him, chatted with
him, and offered him a place at their supper board, or a drink
of cider. He defended himself against the sallies of Kate.
He spoke now and then to Honor, and was answered in
friendly tone ; but that was all. If by chance he met her
during the day in the lane or on the down, and she could
not escape him, she would not stay to talk, she pleaded
work. Hillary was disappointed, and, what was more,
offended. His vanity was hurt, and vanity in a young
man is his most sensitive fibre. No other girl in the parish
would treat his advances as did Honor. The other girls
laid themselves out to catch him, Honor shrank from him.
He knew that she liked him, he was angry because she did
not love him.

Hillary's nature, though sound, was marred by his bring
ing- up. He had been spoiled by flattery and indulgence,
His father's boasting, the great expectations held out to
him, the consciousness of vigour, health, and good looks,
combined to make Larry consider himself the very finest
young fellow, not in Bratton only, but in all England.
Self-conceit is like mercury, when it touches gold it renders
it dull, and a strong fire is needed to expel the alloy and
restore the gold to its proper brilliancy.

Mortified in his self -consequence, stung by Honor's

M 2

164 RED SPIDER

indifference, after a few attempts and failures Hillary
changed his tactics. He resolved to show Honor, if she
did not meet him, he could turn elsewhere. Unfortunately,
Kate was at hand to serve his purpose. Kate did not par
ticularly care for Larry. She had a fancy for Samuel
Voaden, the farmer's son at Swaddledown ; but of this
Honor neither knew nor suspected anything. Kate was
pleased to see Hillary whenever he came, as she was glad
to have a butt for her jokes, and with feminine ingenuity
used him to throw dust in the eyes of her father, sister,
and companions to obscure their perception of her attach
ment for Sam Voaden.

At first Hillary was in a bad temper, disinclined for
conversation, and unable to retaliate upon Kate ; but by
degrees his old cheerfulness returned, and he received and
replied to her banter with what readiness he possessed.

One day he came into the cottage with a hay-fork over
his shoulder. * You maidens,' he said, ' come along to the
hayfield. We want help badly. Bring the little ones and
let them romp and eat cake. Whilst the sun shines we
must make hay/

Honor, without a word, rose and folded her work.

* If you can toss hay as you can toss chaff,' said the
young man addressing Kate, ' you will be useful indeed.'

' Larry, it is reported that your uncle Langford will not
save hay till it has been rained on well. "If it be too
good," he argues, " the cows will eat too much of it." Your
wit is ricked like Langford's hay ; it is weak and washed
out. A little goes a long way with those who taste it.'

A happy and merry party in the hayfield, women and
girls tossing the hay into cocks, and the men with the
waggon collecting it and carrying it home. The air was
fragrant with the scent. In a corner under a hedge were
a barrel of cider, and blue and white mugs, and a basketful
of saffron-cake. Whoever was thirsty went to the cider
cask, whoever was hungry helped himself to the plum loaf.
The field rang with laughter, and occasional screams, as a

THE HAYSEL i65

man twisted a cord of hay, cast the loop round a girl's
neck, drew her head towards him and kissed her face.
That is called « the making of sweet hay.'

Honor worked steadily. No one ventured to make
' sweet hay ' with her, and Kate was too much on the alert,
though one or two young men slyly crept towards her
with twisted bands. The little ones were building them
selves nests of hay, and burying one another, and jumping
over haycocks, and chasing each other with bands, to catch
and kiss, in imitation of their elders. Hillary turned in
his work and looked at Honor and Kate, hoping that the
former would commend his diligence, and that the latter
would give him occasion for a joke. But Honor was too
much engrossed in her raking, and had too little idea of
necessary work being lauded as a virtue ; and the latter
was looking at Samuel Voaden, who had come over from
Swaddledown to help his neighbour — the haysel at home
being over.

When the half-laden waggon drew up near where
Honor was raking, Hillary said to her in a low tone, ' I
have been working ever since the dew was off the grass.'

1 1 suppose so, Larry.'

' I have been working very hard.'

' Of course you have, Larry.'

* And I am very hot.'
' I do not doubt it.'

1 How cool you are, Honor ! '

4 1 — cool ! ' she looked at him with surprise. • On the
contrary, I am very warm.' She had no perception that
he pleaded for praise.

' Larry,' said Kate, ' you were right to press us into
service. It will rain to-morrow.'

* How do you know that \ '

1 Because you are working to-day.'
Quick as thought, he threw some hay strands round her
head, and kissed both her rosy cheeks.

Kate drew herself away, angry at his impudence,

166 RED SPIDER

especially angry at his kissing her before Samuel Voaden.
She threw down her pitchfork (' heable ' in the local
dialect), and folding her arms, said with a frown and a
pout, ' Do the rest yourself. I will work for you no more.'
'Oh Kate, do not take offence. I went naturally
where was the sweetest hay/

In her anger she looked prettier than when in good
humour. She glanced round out of the corners of her eyes,
and saw to her satisfaction that Samuel was on the further
side of the waggon, unconscious of what had taken place,
Hillary was humble, he made ample apology, and offered
lavish flattery. Kate maintained, or affected to maintain,
her anger for some time, and forced Larry to redouble his
efforts to regain her favour. Her fair hair, fine as silk just
wound from a cocoon, was ruffled over her brow, and her
brow was pearled with heat-drops. She was a slender girl,
with a long neck and the prettiest shoulders in the world.
She wore a light gown, frilled about the throat and bosom
and sleeves, tucked up at the side, showing a blue petticoat
and white stockings. She picked up the ' heable ' with a
sigh, and then stood leaning on it, with the sleeves fallen
back, exposing her delicate arms as far as the rosy elbows.

It was not possible for Kate to remain long angry with
Larry, he was so good-natured, so full of fuss, so coaxing ;
he paid such pretty compliments, his eyes were so roguish,
his face so handsome — besides, Samuel was on the other
side of the waggon, seeing, hearing nothing.

The dimples formed in her cheeks, the contraction of
lips and brows gave way, the angry sparkle disappeared
from her blue eyes, and then her clear laugh announced
that she was pacified. Hillary, knowing he had conquered,
audacious in his pride of conquest, put his arm round her
waist, stooped, and kissed the bare arm nearest him that
rested on the pitchfork, then he sprang aside as she at
tempted to box his ears.

Honor was hard by and had seen both kisses, and had
heard every word that had passed. She continued her

THE HAYSEL 167

work as though unconscious. For a moment, a pang of
jealousy contracted her bosom, but she hastily mastered it.
She knew that she could not, must not regard Hillary in
any other light than as a brother, and yet she was unable
to see her sister supplanting her in his affections without
some natural qualms. But Honor was unselfish, and she
hid her suffering. Kate as little suspected the state of her
sister's heart as Honor suspected Kate's liking for Sam
Voaden. And now, all at once, an idea shot thro- igh
Honor's mind which crimsoned her face. How she had
misread Hillary's manner when they were together watching
for the lamb-killer ! She had fancied then that his heart
was drawing towards her, and the thought had filled her
with unutterable happiness. Now she saw his demeanour
in another aspect. He really loved Kate, and his affection
for her was only a reflection of his love for the younger
sister. He had sought to gain her esteem, to forward his
suit with Kate. When this thought occurred to Honor,
she hid her face, humbled and distressed at having been
deluded by self-conceit. She made it clear to herself now
that Hillary had thought only of Kate. Her sister had
said nothing to her about Hillary — but was that wonderful,
as he had not declared himself 1 A transient gleam had
lightened her soul. It was over. Work was Honor's lot
in life, perhaps sorrow, not love.

* The last load is carried, and in good order. Where is
the dance to be ? ' asked Samuel Voaden, coming into sight
as the waggon moved on.

' In the barn,' answered Hillary.

' Kate,' said Hillary, ' give me the first dance.'

* And me the second,' pleaded Samuel.

When Combe wrote and Rowlandson illustrated the
{ Tour of Doctor Syntax,' a dance was the necessary com
plement of a harvest whether of corn or hay — especially
of the latter, as then the barn was empty. The Reverend
Doctor Syntax thought it not derogatory to his office to
play the fiddle on such occasions. Moreover, half a century

168 RED SPIDER

ago, the village fiddler was invited into any cottage, when,
at the sound of his instrument, lads and maidens would
assemble, dance for a couple of hours and disperse before
darkness settled in. The denunciation of dancing as a
deadly sin by the Methodists has caused it to fall into de
suetude. Morality has not been bettered thereby. The
young people who formerly met by daylight on the cottage
floor, now meet, after chapel, in the dark, in hedge
corners.

Hillary and Samuel had engaged Kate. Neither had
thought of Honor, though she stood by, raking the fragrant
hay.

* Up, up ! ' shouted both young men. ' Kate, you must
ride on the last load/

The waggon moved away, with Kate mounted on the
sweet contents, and with the young men running at the
side. Honor remained alone, looking after them, resting
on her rake, and, in spite of her efforts, the tears filled her
eyes.

But she did not give way to her emotion,

Honor called the children, when the last load left the
field, and led them home. She was hot and tired, and her
heart ached, but she was content with herself. She had
conquered the rising movement of jealousy, and was ready
to accept Hillary as her sister's acknowledged lover.

Kate followed her. An hour later the dance in the
barn would begin. The lads and maidens went home to
smarten up, and wash off the dust and stain of labour, and
the barn had to be decorated with green branches, and the
candles lit.

Kate went upstairs at once to dress. Honor remained
below to hear the children's prayers, and get the youngest
ready for bed. Then she went up to the room she shared
with Kate, carrying little Temperance in her arms.

* Oh Honor, bundle them all in. What a time you
have been ! We shall be late ; and I have promised to open
the dance with Larry.'

THE HAYSEL 169

'I am not going, Kate.'

' Not going ! Of course you are going.'

' No, I am not. Father is not home, and will want his
Btipper. Besides, I cannot leave the house with all the little
ones in it unprotected.'

' There are no ogres hereabouts that eat children,' said
Kate hastily. * We can manage. This is nonsense ; you
must come.'

* I do not care to, Kate. Sit down in that chair, and
I will dress your hair. It is tossed like a haycock.'

Kate seated herself, and Honor combed and brushed her
sister's hair, then put a blue ribbon through it ; and took
the kerchief from her box, and drew it over Kate's shoulders,
and pinned it in place.

' Oh Honor ! What a lovely silk kerchief ! Where
did you get this ? How long have you had it ? Why have
you not shown it me before ? '

* It is for you, dearest Kate ; I am glad you like it.'
Kate stood up, looked at herself in the glass, and then

threw her arms round her sister and kissed her.

' You are a darling,' exclaimed Kate. * Always think
ing of others, never giving yourself anything. Let me
remain at home — do you go instead of me.'

Honor shook her head. She was pleased to see Kate's
delight, but there was an under-current of sadness in her
soul. She was adorning her sister for Hillary.

Kate did not press Honor to go instead of her, though
she was sufficiently good-hearted to have taken her sister's
place without becoming ill-tempered, had Honor accepted
the offer.

' Do I look very nice ? ' asked Kate, with the irresistible
dimples coming into her cheeks. ' I wonder what Larry
will say when he sees me with this blue ribbon, and this
pretty kerchief.'

« And I,' said Honor slowly, not without effort, « I also
wonder.'

CHAPTER XXIII.

A BRAWL.

WHEN Kate came to the barn, she found it decorated with
green boughs. There were no windows, only the great barn
door, consequently the sides were dark ; but here four
lanterns had been hung, diffusing a dull yellow light. The
threshing-floor was in the middle, planked ; on either side
the barn was slated, so that the dancing was to be in the
middle. Forms were placed on the slate flooring for those
who rested or looked on. On a table sat the fiddler with a
jug of cider near him.

The season of the year was that of Barnaby bright, when,
as the old saw says, there is all day and no night. The
sun did not set till past eight, and then left the north-west
full of silver light. The hedgerows, as Kate passed between
them, streamed forth the fragrance from the honeysuckle
which was wreathed about them in masses of flower, apricot-
yellow, and pink. Where the incense of the eglantine ceased
to fill the air it was burdened with the sweetness of white
clover that flowered thickly over the broad green patches of
grass by the road-side.

Hillary was awaiting Kate to open the dance with her.
He had gone to the gate to meet her ; he recognised his
kerchief at once ; he was surprised and hurt. Why was
Honor not there ? Kate came with her little brother Joe
holding her hand. Joe had begged permission to attend the
dance. Why had Honor made over Larry's present to her
sister ? It was a slight, an intentional slight. Larry bit
his lips and frowned ; his heart beat fast with angry emotion.
He approached Kate with an ungracious air, and led her to
the dance without a pleasant word.

Kate was unquestionably the prettiest girl present. She

A BRAWL 171

held her fair head erect, in consciousness of superiority. Her
hair was abundant, full of natural wave and curl, and the
sky-blue ribbon in it seemed to hold it together, and to be
the only restraining power that prevented it breaking loose
and enveloping her from head to foot in the most beautiful
gloss silk. Her complexion was that of the wild rose,
heightened by her rapid walk and by excitement ; her eyes
were blue as the forget-me-not.

The evening sun shone in at the barn door, as yellow,
but purer and brighter than the lantern light. Had there
been a painter present he would have seized the occasion to
paint the pretty scene — the old barn with oaken timbers,
its great double doors open, from under a penthouse roof
leaning forward to cover the laden wains as they were being
unpacked of their corn-sheaves ; the depths of the barn
dark as night, illumined feebly by the pendent lanterns :
and the midst, the threshing floor, crowded with dancers,
who flickered in the saffron glow of the setting sun.

Kate noticed that Hillary, whilst he danced with her,
observed the kerchief intently.

* Is it not pretty ? ' she asked innocently. ' Honor gave
it me. She had kept it for me in her box ever since the
Revel, and not told me that she had it ; nor did I see her
buy it then. Honor is so good, so kind/

Hillary said nothing in reply, but his humour was not
improved. His mind wandered from his partner.
' When is Honor coming ? ' he asked abruptly.

* She is not coming at all.'

* Why not V

* Father is not home, and will want his supper when he
does return.'

' Honor must do all the drudging whilst others dance,'
he said peevishly.

' I offered to stay and let her come, but she would not
hear of it.'

Hillary danced badly ; he lost step. He excused him*
self ; but Kate was dissatisfied with her partner, he was

172 RED SPIDER

lull, and she was displeased to see that Sam Voaden was
dancing and laughing and enjoying himself with someone
else.

1 You are a clumsy partner,' she said, ' and dance like
old Diamond when backing against a load going down hill/

'Honor gave you that kerchief? What did she say
when she gave it you ? '

'Nothing.1

He said no more, and led her to a bench in the side of
the barn.

1 What ! tired already, Larry ? I am not/

' I am/ he answered sulkily.

Directly, Sam Yoaden came to her, and was received
with smiles.

' Larry Nanspian came left leg foremost out of bed this
morning,' she said. 'He is as out of tune as Piper's
fiddle.'

Kate was in great request that evening. The lads
pressed about her, proud to circle round the floor with the
graceful pretty girl ; but she gave the preference to Samuel
Voaden. Hillary ask^d her to dance with him in 'The
Triumph,' but she told him sharply she would reserve her
hand for him in the Dumps, and he did not ask her again.

The girls present looked at Kate with envy. They
were unable to dispute her beauty ; but her charm of
manner and lively wit made her even more acceptable to
the lads than her good looks. She was perfectly conscious
of the envy and admiration she excited, and as much grati
fied with one as with the other.

Samuel Voaden was infatuated. He pressed his atten
tions, and Kate received them with pleasure. As she
danced past Larry she cast him glances of contemptuous
pity.

Hillary was angry with Honor, angry with Kate, angry
with himself. The spoiled prince was cast aside by two
girls — a common carrier's daughters. He was as irritated
against Kate now as he was previously against Honor.

A BRAWL 173

When he heard Kate laugh, he winced, suspecting that she
was joking about him. His eyes followed the kerchief, and
his heart grew bitter within him. He made no attempt to
be amusing. He had nothing to say to any one. He let
the dances go on without seeking partners. He stood
lounging against the barn door, with a sprig of honeysuckle
in his mouth, and his hands behind his back.

The sun was set, a cool grey light suffused the meadow,
the stackyard, the barn, the groups who stood about, and
the dancers within.

A dog ventured in at the door, and he kicked it out.

The dog snarled and barked, and he nearly quarrelled
with young Voaden because the latter objected to his dog
being kicked.

Then, all at once, his mood changed. It occurred to
him that very probably Honor stayed away just for the
purpose of showing him she did not care for him. If that
were so, he would let her know that he was not to be put
out of heart by her slights. He would not afford her the
gratification of hearing through her sister that he was dis
pirited and unhappy. Then he dashed into the midst of
the girls, snatched a partner, and thenceforth danced and
laughed and was uproariously merry.

At ten o'clock the dancing was over. Country folk
kept early hours then ; the cider barrel was run out, the
basket of cakes emptied, and the tallow lights in the lanterns
burnt down to a nicker in a flood of melted grease.

The young men prepared to escort their partners home.

Hillary saw that Samuel was going with Kate. He
was exasperated to the last degree. He did not care par
ticularly for Kate, but he did care that it should not be
talked of in the village that Sam Voaden had plucked her
away from under his very nose. Gossip gave her to him
as a sweetheart, and gossip would make merry over his
discomfiture. Besides, he wanted an excuse for going to
the cottage and having an explanation with Honor about
the kerchief.

174 RED SPIDER

As Voaden's dog passed in front of him at a call from
his master, Larry kicked it.

' Leave my dog alone, will you ! ' shouted Samuel.
* That is the second time you have kicked Punch. The dog
don't hurt you, why should you hurt him ? '

* I shall kick the brute if I choose/ said Hillary. ' It
has no right here in the barn/

* What harm has Punch done ? And now, what is
against his leaving 1 '

1 You had no right to bring the dog here. It has been
in the plantation after young game.'

* Punch is wrong whether in the barn or out of it. The
guinea you got for shooting Rover has given you a set
against dogs seemingly,' said young Voaden.

'The dog took your lambs at Swaddledown, and you
were too much a lie-a-bed to stop it,' sneered Hillary.

c Some folk,' answered Samuel, ' have everything in such
first-rate order at home they can spare time to help their
neighbours.'

* No more ! ' exclaimed Kate ; * you shall not quarrel.'
Hillary looked round. Near him were two women who

had been in the van when he returned from Tavistock with
the kerchief. They, no doubt, recognised it over Kate's
shoulders. They made sure it was his love- token to her,
and, wearing it, she was about to affront him in their eyes.
His wounded vanity made him blind to what he said or did.

' Here, Kate,' he said, thrusting himself forward, * I am
going to take you home. You cannot go with Samuel. His
cursed Punch is an ill-conditioned brute, and will kill your
chickens.'

' Nonsense,' laughed Kate, \ our chickens are all under
cover.'

* I'll fight you,' said Hillary, turning to Samuel. * Kate
was engaged to me for the Tank,1 and you carried her off
without asking leave. I will not be insulted by you on my
father's land, and under my own roof. If you are a man
you will fight me.'

1 An old country dance.

A BRAWL 175

1 Nonsense, Larry/ answered Samuel good-humouredly,
'111 not quarrel with you. It takes two to make a quarrel,
as it takes two to kiss/

' You are afraid, that is why.'

*I am not afraid of you, Larry,' said Samuel. 'You
are as touchy this evening as if whipped with nettles.'

1 Come with me, Kate,' exclaimed Hillary. ' You have
known me longer than Voaden. If he chooses to take you,
he must fight me first.'

* I will not fight you, Larry,' answered the young
Swaddledown farmer ; * but I don't object to a fling with
you, if you will wrestle.'

* Very well ; throw off your coat.'

The young men removed their jackets, waistcoats,
and the handkerchiefs from their throats. They were
both fine fellows — well-built and strong. Those who
had been dancing surrounded them in a ring, men and
maids.

' Cornish fashion, not Devon,' said Samuel.

1 Ay, ay ! ' shouted the bystanders, * Cornish wrestle
now.'

' Right — Cornish,' answered Hillary.

The difference between Devon and Cornish wrestling
consists in this, that in a Devon wrestle kicking is admis
sible ; but then, as a protection to their shins, the antago
nists have their legs wreathed with haybands (vulgo skilli-
begs). As the legs were on this occasion unprotected,
Devon wrestling was inadmissible. Both fashions were in
vogue near the Tamar, and every young man would wrestle
one way or the other as decided beforehand.

The opponents fixed each other with their eyes, and
stood breathless, and every voice was hushed. Instan
taneously, as moved by one impulse, they sprang at each
other, and were writhing, tossing, coiling in each other's
embrace. Neither could make the other budge from his
ground, or throw him, exerting his utmost strength and
skill. The haymakers stood silent, looking on apprecia
tively—the girls a little frightened, the men relishingly,

i;6 RED SPIDER

relishing it more than the dance. Not one of the lads at
that moment had a thought to cast at his partner. Their
hands twitched, their feet moved, they bent, threw them
selves back, swung aside, responsive to the movements of
the wrestlers,

The antagonists gasped, snorted, as with set teeth and
closed lips they drew long inspirations through their nos
trils. Their sweat poured in streams from their brows.

Simultaneously, moved by one impulse, they let go their
hold, and stood quivering and wiping their brows, with
labouring breasts ; then, with a shout, closed again.

* Ho ! ' a general exclamation. In the first grapple
Hillary had slipped, and gone down on one knee. Imme
diately Samuel let go.

* There ! ' said he, holding out his hand. * We have had
enough. Strike palms, old boy.'

* No,' gasped Hillary, blazing with anger and shame.
* I was not flung. I slipped on the dockleaf there. I will
not allow myself beaten. Come on again.'

* I will not do so,' answered Samuel. f If you have not
had enough, I have.'

* You shall go on. You are a coward to sneak out now
when an accident gave you advantage.'

' Yery well, then,' said Samuel; 'but you have lost your
temper, and 111 have no more than this round with you.'

The young men were very equally matched. They
grappled once more, twisted, doubled, gasped ; the ground
was torn up under their feet. As the feet twirled and flew,
it was hard to say how many were on the ground at once,
and whose they were.

Samuel suddenly caught his antagonist over the arms,
and pushed them to his side.

1 Hell have Larry down ! he will, by George ! ' shouted
several. ' Well done, Samuel ! Go it, Samuel Yoaden ! '

' Ha ! ' shouted Sam, starting back. * Who goes against
rules ? You kicked.'

'You lie! I did not'

A BRAWL 177

* You did ! you did, Larry/ shouted three or four of the
spectators. It was true ; in his excitement Larry had for
gotten that he and his opponent were without skillibega
and wrestling in Cornish fashion, and he had kicked ; but
in good faith he had denied doing it, for he was unconscious
of his actions, so blinded and bemuzzed was he with anger,
disappointment, and shame.

1 111 not wrestle any more/ said Samuel, ' if you don't
wrestle fair. No — I won't at all. You are in a white fury.
So — if it's unfair in you to kick, it is unfair in me to take
advantage of your temper/

* It is not done. One or other must go down.'

Then Kate pushed forward. ' Neither of you shall
attend me home/ she said ; * I am going with little Joe
only/

Whether this would have ended the affray is doubtful.
Another interruption was more successful. Suddenly a
loud blast of a horn, then a yelping as of dogs, then another
blast — and through the yard before the barn, breaking the
ring, sweeping between the combatants, passed a strange
figure — a man wearing a black bull's hide, with long brown
paper ears on his head ; the hide was fastened about his
waist, and the tail trailed behind. He was followed by a
dozen boys barking, baying, yelping, and after them hobbled
Tom Grout blowing a horn.

'It's no good/ said the lame fellow, halting in the broken
ling ; * I can't follow the hare, Mr. Larry Nanspian ; the
hunt is waiting for you. On wi' a green coat, and mount
your piebald, and take my horn. I wish I could follow ;
but it's un-possible. Whew ! you hare ! Heigh ! Piper,
stay, will you, and start fair/

'I'll have nothing to do with it/ said Hillary, still
panting.

' That is right, Larry/ said Kate in his ear, * you
oughtn't. Honor said as much, and that she hoped you
would keep out of it.'

c Did she ! ' said Hillary angrily; ' then I'll go in for it.1

N

SPIDER

' Larry, old chap,' exclaimed Voaden, patting him on thd
shoulder, 'I wasn't the better man, nor was you. You
slipped on the dock-leaf, and that don't reckon as a fall.
We'll have another bout some other day, if you wish it.
Now let us have the lark of the hare hunt.'

Hillary considered a moment, and wiped his face. He
had fallen in the general estimation. He had been sulky,
he had provoked Sam, and the wrestle had not turned to
his credit. Here was a chance offered of taking the lead
once more. If he did not act the huntsman, Sam would.

* All right, Grout,' said he, ' give me the horn; I'll have
my horse round directly, and the green coat on.'

* Do not, do not, Larry,' entreated Kate.

'Tell Honor I'm not pinned to her apron,' answered the
young man, and ran into the house.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE HAND OP GLORY.

THE reader may have been puzzled by the hints made
by Larry to Honor, and by Charles to Mrs. Veale, of a
threatened hare hunt, and he may have wondered why
such a threat should have disturbed Honor and angered
the housekeeper. There are plenty of hares on Broadbury
Moor ; there have been hare hunts there as long as men
could remember ; frequently, all through the winter. An
ordinary hare hunt would not have stirred much feeling in
women's bosoms. The menaced hare hunt was something
very different. A stag and a hare hunt are the rude
means employed by a village community for maintaining
either its standard of morals or expressing its disapproba
tion of petticoat rule. The stag hunt is by no means an
institution of the past, it flourishes to the present day ; and
where the magistrates have interfered, this interference hai

THE HAND OF GLORY 179

stimulated it to larger proportions. The hare hunt, now
extinct, was intended to ridicule the man who submitted to
a rough woman's tongue.

The stag hunt takes place either on the wedding-night
of a man who has married a girl of light character, or when
a wife is suspected of having played her husband false.
The hare hunt more properly satirised the relations between
Taverner Langford and Mrs. Yeale. In not a few cases,
especially with a stag hunt, there is gross injustice done.
It cannot be otherwise: the Vehm-Gericht is self-constituted,
sits in the tavern, and passes its sentence without summons
and hearing of the accused. There is no defence and no
appeal from the court. The infliction of the sentence confers
an indelible stain, and generally drives those who have been
thus branded out of the neighbourhood. Petty spite and
private grudges are sometimes so revenged; and a marriage
in a well-conducted family, which has held itself above the
rest \v a parish, is made an occasion for one of these outrages,
whereby the envy of the unsuccessful and disreputable findi
a vent.

There probably would have been no hare hunt near
Langford had not the quarrel between Langford and
Nanspian agitated the whole parish, and given occasion
for a frolic which would not have been adventured had the
brothers-in-law been combined.

'Well, Mr. Charles/ said Mrs. Yeale, 'what have you done
with the five-pound note I let you have ? Is it all spent ? '

1 1 gave it to my father and sister,' answered Charles.
' I've occasioned them some expense, and I thought I'd
make it up to them whilst I could.'

1 That was mighty liberal of you,' sneered Mrs. Yeale.

* I am liberal, pretty free-handed with my money. It
comes of my blood.1

' Ah ! ' said the housekeeper, ' and I reckon now you'll
be wanting more.'

' I could do with more,' replied young Luxmore, * but I
will not trouble you/

i8o RED SPIDER

'Oh! it's no trouble/ said Mrs. Veale, 'I know very
well that lending to you is safe as putting into the Bank of
England. You must have your own some day, and when
you're squire you won't see me want/

' Rely on me, I will deal most generously with you. I
shall not forget your kindness, Mrs. Veale.'

* But,' said the woman slyly, eyeing him, ' I can't find
you as much as you require. You can't spin more out of
me than my own weight, as the silkworm said. I've put
aside my little savings. But as you see, the master don't

pay freely. He gives you only ninepence, and me ' she

shrugged her shoulders.

' If I were in your place,' she went on, after a pause, ' I
should be tempted to borrow a hundred or so, and go to
Physick the lawyer with it, and say, help me to Coombe
Park, and when I've that, I'll give you a hundred more.'

* Who'd lend me the money ? You have not so much.'
1 No, I have not so much.'

1 "What other person would trust me ? '
'The money might be had.'
'Others don't see my prospects as you do.'
' I'd be inclined to borrow wi'out asking,' said the house
keeper cautiously. She was as one feeling her way ; she
kept her eyes on Charles as she talked. Charles started.
He knew her meaning.

1 How dare you suggest such a thing ! ' he said in a low
tone, looking at her uneasily. ' Curse you ! Don't wink
at me with your white lashes that way, you make me un-

' I only suggested it,' said Mrs. Yeale, turning her head
aside. 'I reckon no harm would be done. The master
don't know how much he has in his box. We had it out
t'other day between us, and counted. There be over a
thousand pounds there. Do y' think he counts it every
week ? Not he. Who'd know ! The money would be put
back, and wi' interest, six, seven, ten per cent., if you liked,
when you'd got Coombe Park.'

THE HAND OF GLORY 181

' Have done,' said Luxmore with nervous irritation ;
' I'm no thief, and never could become one.'

1 Who asked you to be one ? Not I. I said as how
you might become his banker for a hundred pounds. The
bank gives but three per cent., and you would give nine.
Who'd be the loser ? Not master. He'd gain nine powida
without knowing it — and wouldn't he crow ! '

Charles Luxmore caught his hat and stood up.

1 Where be you going to ? ' asked Mrs. Veale.

'I cannot stand this,' he said in an agitated voice.
' You torment me. You put notions into me that won't
let me sleep, that make me miserable. I shall go.'

1 Whither ? To the " Ring o' Bells." There be no one
there to-night, all be away to Chimsworthy at the Haysel.
You sit down again, and I will give you some cherry
cordial.'

He obeyed sulkily.

* You can't go to dance at Chimsworthy, because you be
here at Langf ord, and there's no dancing and merry-making
here. But wait till you're at Coombe Park, and then you'll
have junketings and harvest-homes and dances when you
will. That'll be a rare life.'

He said nothing, but thrust his hands into his pockets,
and looked moodily before him.

' Shall I tell you now who'll find you the money ? '

He did not speak.

'Wellonwill.'

' What 1 ' he looked up in surprise.

' Ay ! old Wellon as was gibbeted, he will.'

Charles laughed contemptuously. 'You are talking
folly. I always thought you mad.'

' Did you ever hear of the Hand of Glory 1 9

'No, never.'

'I wonder what became of Wellon's hand — the hand
that throttled Mary Rundle, and stuck the knife into the
heart of Jane, and brought down their aunt wi' a blow of
the list. That hand was a mighty hand.'

1 82 RED SPIDER

' Wellon was hung in chains, and fell to dust.'

'But not the hand. Such a hand as that was too

precious. Did you never hear it was cut off, and the body

swung for years without it ? '

* No, I did not/

* It was so.1

' What good was it to anyone 1 9
t It was worth pounds and pounds.1
' As a curiosity ? '

* No, as a Hand of Glory. It were washed in mother's
milk to a child base-born, and smoked in the reek of
gallows-wood, and then laid with tamarisk from the sea,
and vervain, and rue, and bog-bean.'

'Well, what then?'

' Why, then, sure it's a Hand of Glory.' She paused,
then struck her hand across her forehead, ' And grass off
the graves of them as it killed — I forgot, to say that was
added.'

* What can such a hand do ? '

'Everything. If I had it here and set it up on the
mantelshelf, and set a light to the fingers, all would flame
blue, and then every soul in the house would sleep except
us two, and we might ransack the whole place and none
would stir or hinder or see. And if we let the hand flame
on, they would lie asleep till we were far away beyond their
reach.'

' If you had this Hand of Glory, I wouldn't help you to
use it,' said Charles, writhing on his seat.

' That is not all,' Mrs. Veale went on, standing by a
little tea-table with her hand on it, the other against her side.
' That hand has wonderful powers of itself. It is as a thing
alive, though dead and dry as leather. If you say certain
words it begins to run about on its fingers like a rat.
Maybe you're sitting over the fire of nights, and hear some
thing stirring, and see a brown thing scuttling over the
floor and you think it is a rat. It is not. It is the dead
man's hand. Perhaps you hear a scratching on the wall,

THE HAND OF GLORY 183

*nd look round, and see a great black spider — a monstrous
spider going about, running over and over the wainscot, and
touching and twitching at the bell wires. It is not a spider,
it is the murderer's hand. It hasn't eyes, it goes by the
feel, till it comes to gold, and then, at the touch the dark
skin becomes light and shines as the tail of a glowworm,
and it picks and gathers by its own light. I reckon, if that
hand o' Wellon's were in the oven behind the parlour-grate
it would make such a light that you'd see what was on every
guinea, whether the man and horse or the spade, and you
could read every note as well as if you had the daylight.
Then the ring-finger and the little finger close over what
money the hand has been bidden fetch, and it runs away on
the thumb and other two — and then, if you will, it's spider-
like with a bag behind/

* I don't believe a word of it,1 said Charles, but his words
were more confident than his tone.

* You see,' Mrs. Yeale went on, * there is this about it,
you tell the hand to go and fetch the money, but you don't
say whither it is to go, and you don't know. You get the
money and can swear you have robbed no one. I reckon,
mostly the money is found by the hand in old cairns and
ruins. I've been told there's a table of gold in Broadbury
Castle that only comes to the top on Midsummer night for
an hour, and then sinks again. Folks far away see a great
light on Broadbury, and say we be swaling (burning gorse)
up here ; but it is no such thing ; it is the gold table coming
up, and shining like fire, and the clouds above reflecting its
light/

' Pity the hand don't break off bits of the gold table/
said Charles sarcastically ; but his face was mottled with
fear ; Mrs. Veale's stories frightened him.

* Yes, 'tis a pity,' she said. ' Maybe it will some
day.'

* Pray what do you say to the hand to make it run your
errands ? '

' Ah ! ' she continued, without answering his question-

184 RED SPIDER

There be other things the Hand of Glory can do. It will
go if you send it to some person — bolts and locks will not
keep it out, and it will catch the end of the bedclothes, and
scramble up, and pass itself over the eyes of the sleeper, and
make him sleep like a dead man, and it will dive under the
clothes and lay its fingers on the heart ; then there will
come aches and spasms there, or it will creep down the
thighs and pinch and pat, and that brings rheumatic pains.
I've heard of one hand thus sent as went down under the
bedclothes to the bottom of the sleeper's foot, and there it
closed up all the fingers but one, and with that it bored
and bored, working itself about like a gimlet, and then
gangrene set in, and the man touched thus was dead in
three days.'

' It is a mighty fortunate thing you've not the hand of
old Wellon/ growled Charles.

* I have got it/ answered Mrs. Veale.
Charles looked at her with staring eyes.

* You shall see it/ she said.

1 1 do not want to. I will not ! ' he exclaimed
shuddering.

1 Wellon's hand will fetch you a hundred pounds, and we
will not ask whence it comes/ said Mrs. Yeale.

( I will not have it, I will not touch it ! ' He spoke in a
hoarse, horrified whisper.

I You shall come with me, and I will show you where I
keep it, and perhaps you will find the hand closed ; and
when I say, Hand of Glory ! open ! Hand of Glory ! give
up ! then you will see the fingers unclose, and the glittering
gold coins will be in the brown palm.'

I 1 will not touch them.'

* No harm in your looking at them. Come with me.'
She stood before him with her firm mouth set, and her

blinking eyes on him. He tried to resist. He settled
himself more comfortably into his scat. But his efforts to"
oppose her will were in vain. He uttered a curse, drew his
hands out of his pocket, put bis hat on his head.

THE HAND OF GLORY 185

'Go on,' he said surlily ; ' but I tell y' I won't go without
the lantern. Where is it V

'In Wellon's Cairn/

« I will not go,' said Charles, drawing back, and all colour
leaving his cheek.

1 Then I'll send the hand after you. Come.'

1 I'll take the lantern.'

1 As you like, but hide the light till we get to the hill.
There it don't matter if folks see a flame dancing about
the mound. They will keep their distance — Come on,
after me.'

CHAPTER XXV.

THE HARE HUNT.

DIRECTLY Mrs. Veale, followed by Charles, came outside
the house the former turned and said, with a chuckle, ' You
want a lantern, do y', a summer night such as this ? '

The sky was full of twilight, every thorn tree and holly
bush was visible on the hedges, every pebble in the yard.

' I'm not going to Wellon's Cairn without/ said Lux-
more sulkily. ' I don't want to go at all; and I won't go
there without light/

' Very well. I will wait at the gate for you/

He went into the stable, where was a horn- sided tin
lantern, and took it down from its crook, then went back
into the kitchen and lighted the candle at the fire.

' I've a mind not to go/ he muttered. ' What does the
woman want with me, pulling me, driving me, this way
and that ? If I'd been told I was to be subjected to this
sort of persecution, I wouldn't have come here. It's not
to be endured for ninepence. Ninepence ! It would be
bad at eighteen pence. I wish I was in Afghanistan.
Cawbul, Ghuznee, Candahar don't astonish her. She ain't

186 RED SPIDER

open-mouthed at them, but sets my hair on end with her
Hand of Glory, and talks of how money is to be got. I
know what she is after ; she wants me to run away with
her and the cash box. I won't do it — not with her, for
certain ; not with the cash box if I can help it. I don't
believe a word about a Hand of Glory. I'm curious to
know how she'll get out of it, now she's promised to show
it me.'

He started, and swore.

' Gorr! ' he said; ' it's only a rat behind the wainscot ; 1
thought it was the hand creeping after me. I suppose I
must go. For certain, Mrs. Yeale is a bad un. But, what
is that ? The shadow of my own hand on the wall, naught
else.'

He threw over him a cloak he wore in wet weather, and
hid the lantern under it.

* For sure/ he said, ' folks would think it queer if they
saw me going out such a summer night as this with a lan
tern ; but I won't go to Wellon's Cairn without, that is
certain.'

* Well,' said Mrs. Veale ; * so you have come at last ! '
'Yes, I have come. Where is the master? I've not

seen him about.'

' He never said nothing to no one, and went off to
Holsworthy to-day.'

c When will he be back 1 '

'Not to-morrow; there's a fair there; the day after,
perhaps.'

A heavy black cloud hung in the sky, stretching ap
parently above Broadbury. Below it the silvery light
flowed from behind the horizon. To the east, although it
was night, the range of Dartmoor was visible, bathed in the
soft reflection from the north-western sky. The tumulus
upon which Wellon had been executed was not far out on
the heath. Mrs. Veale led the way with firm tread; Charles
followed with growing reluctance. A great white owl whisked
by. The glowworms were shining mysteriously under tufts

THE HARE HUNT 187

of grass. As they pushed through the heather they dis
turbed large moths. A rabbit dashed past.

'Hush!' whispered Charles. 'I'm sure I heard a
horn.'

'Ah! ' answered Mrs. Veale, 'Squire Arscott rides the
downs at night, they say, and has this hundred years.'

' I don't care to go any further,' said the young man.

' You shall come on. I am going to show you the Hand
of Glory.'

He was powerless to resist. As his father had fallen
under the authority of Honor, so the strong over-mastering
will of this woman domineered Charles, and made him do
what she would. He felt his subjection, his powerlessness.
He saw the precipice to which she was leading him, and
knew that he could not escape.

' I wish I had never come to Langford,' he muttered to
himself. ' It's Honor's doing. If I go wrong she is to
blame. She sent me here, and all for ninepence.' Then,
stepping forward beside the housekeeper, ' I say, Mrs.
Veale, how do you manage to stow anything away in a
mound ? '

' Easy, if the mound be not solid,' she replied. ' There
is a sort of stone coffin in the middle, made of pieces of
granite set on end, and others laid on top. When the
treasure-seekers dug into the hill, they came as far as one
of the stones, and they stove it in, but found nothing, or,
if they found aught, they carried it away. Then, I reckon,
they put the stone back, or the earth fell down and covered
all up, and the heather bushes grew over it all. But I
looked one day about there for a place where I could hide
things. I thought as the master had his secret place I'd
have mine too ; and I knew no place could be safer than
where old Wellon hung, as folk don't like to come too near
it — leastways in the dark. Well, then, I found a little
hole, as might have been made by a rabbit, and I cleared
it out ; and there I found the gap and the stone coffin. I
crept in, it were not over big, but wi' a light I could see

188 RED SPIDER

about. I thought at first I'd come on Wellon's bones, but
no bones were there, nothing at all but a rabbit nest, and
some white snail shells. After that I made up the entrance
again, just as it was, and no one would know it was there.
But I can find it ; there is a bunch of heath by it, and
some rushes, and how rushes came to grow there beats me.'

1 So you keep Wellon's hand in there, do you 1 9

'Yes, I do/

' How did you manage to get it ? '

' I will not tell you/

* I do not believe you have it ; I don't believe but what
you told me a parcel of lies about the Hand of Glory. I've
been to Afghanistan, and Cawbul, and the Bombay Presi
dency, and never heard of such a thing. It is not in reason.
If a dead hand can move, why has not my finger that was
cut off in battle come back to me 1 '

« Shall I send the Hand after it ? '

The suggestion made Charles uneasy. He looked about
him, as afraid to see the black hand running on the grass,
leaping the tufts of furze, carrying his dead finger, to drop
it at his feet.

' What are you muttering ? ' asked he sharply.

1 I'm only repeating, Hand of Glory ! Hand of Light !
Fetch, fetch ! Run and bring '

* 111 strike you down if you go on with your devilry,
you hag,' said Charles angrily.

* We are at the place.'

They entered the cutting made by the treasure -seekers,
the gap in which Honor had often sat in the sun, uncon
scious of the stone kistvaen hidden behind her, indifferent
to the terrors of the haunted hill, whilst the sun blazed
on it.

' The night is much darker than it was,' said Charles
uneasily, as he looked about him.

It was as he said. The black mass of cloud had spread
and covered the sky, cutting off the light except from the
horizon.

THE HARE HUNT 189

'I don't like the looks of the cloud/ said Charles.

1 There will be rain before long, and there's thunder aloft

for certain.'

4 What is that to you ? Are you afraid of a shower ?

You have your cloak. Bring out the lantern. It matters

not who sees the light now. If anyone does see it, he'll

say it's a corpse-candle on its travels.'

* What is a corpse- candle ? '

* Don't you know ? ' She gave a short, dry laugh. ' It's
a light that travels by night along a road, and comes to
the door of the house out of which a corpse will bo brought
in a day or two.'

' Does no one carry the candle ? '

'It travels by itself.' Then she said, 'Give me the
light.'

' I will not let it out of my hand,' answered Charles,
looking about him timorously. ' I don't think anyone will
see the light, down in this hole.'

' Hold the lantern where I show you — there.'

He did as required. It gave a poor, sickly light, but
sufficient to show where the woman wanted to work. She
began to scratch away the earth with her hands, and
Charles, watching her, thought she worked as a rabbit or
hare might with its front paws. Presently she said :

* There is the hole, look in.'

He saw a dark opening, but had no desire to peer into
it. Indeed, he drew back.

* How can I see if you take away the lantern *( ' asked
Mrs. Yeale. c Put your arm in* and you will find the hand.'

He drew still further away. * I will not. I have seen
enough. I know of this hiding-place. That suffices. I
will go home.'

The horror came over him lest she should force him to
put his hand into the stone coffin, and that there, in the
blackness and mystery of the interior, the dead hand of the
murderer would make a leap and clasp his.

' 1 have had enough of this,' he said, and a shiver ran

igo RED SPIDER

through him, * I will go home. Curse me ! I'm not going
to be mixed up with all this devilry and witchery if I can
help it.

' Perhaps the hand is gone,' said Mrs. Veale.

* Oh ! I hope so.'

' I sent it after your finger.'

* Indeed ; may it be long on its travels.' He was re
assured. It was not pleasant to think of so close proximity
to the murderer's embalmed, still active hand. He suspected
that Mrs. Yeale was attempting to wriggle out of her under
taking. ' Indeed — I thought I was to see the hand, and
now the hand is not here.'

' I cannot say. Anyhow, the money is here.'

* What money 1 '

' That for which you asked.'

' I asked for none.'

'You desired a hundred pounds for the purpose of
getting back Coombe Park. Put in your hand and take
it.'

* I will not.'

His courage was returning, as he thought he saw evasion
of her promise in the woman.

* For the matter of that, if this Hand of Glory can fetch
money, it might as well fetch more than that.'

' How much ? '

' A hundred is not over much. Two hundred — a thou
sand.'

* Say a thousand.'
'Soldo.'

' Put in your hand. It is there.

•Hark!'

' Put in your hand.'

'I will not/

' Then you fool ! you coward ! I must take it for you ! '
she hissed in her husky voice. She stooped, and thrust
both her hands and arms deep into the kistvaen.

' Hush ! ' whispered Charles, as he laid his hand on her

THE HAKE ffUiVT *9*

fchoulder, and covered the light with a flap of his mantle.
She remained still for a minute with her arms buried in the
grave. There was certainly a sound, a tramp of many feet,
and the fall of horses' hoofs, heard, then not heard, as they
went over road or turf.

1 There,' whispered Mrs. Veale, and drew a box from
the hole and placed it on Charles's lap. As she did so, the
mantleflap fell from the lantern, and the light shone over tho
box. Charles at once recognised Taverner Langford's cash
box, with the letter padlock.

'Ebal,' whispered Mrs. Veale. CA thousand pounds
are yours.'

At that instant, loud and startling, close to the cairn
sounded the blast of a horn, instantly responded to by the
baying and yelping of dogs, by shouts, and screams, and
cheers, and a tramp of rushing feet, and a crack of whips.

The suddenness of the uproar, its unexpectedness, its
weirdness, coming on Charles's overwrought nerves, at the
eame moment that he saw himself unwillingly involved in
a robbery, completely overcame him ; he uttered a cry of
horror, sprang to his feet, upset the money box, and leaped
out of the cutting, swinging the lantern, with his wide
mantle flapping about him. His foot tripped and he fell ;
he picked himself up and bounded into the road against a
horse with rider, who was in the act of blowing a horn.

Charles was too frightened and bewildered to remember
anything about the hare hunt. He did not know where
he was, what he was doing, against whom he had flung
himself. The horse plunged, bounded aside, and cast his
rider from his back. Charles stood with one hand to his
head looking vacantly at the road and the prostrate figure
in it. In another moment Mrs- Yeale was at his elbow.
1 What have you done ? ' she gasped. ' You fool ! what have
you done ? '

Charles had sufficiently recovered himself to understand
what had taken place.

1 It is the hare hunt,' he said. ' Do you hear them 1

,

192 RED SPIDER

The dogs ! This is— my God ! it is Larry Nanspian. Ho
is dead. I said I would break his neck, and I have done it.
But I did not mean it. I did not intend to frighten the
horse. I — I ' and he burst into tears.

* You are a fool/ said Mrs. Veale angrily. c What do
you mean staying here ? ' She took the horn from the
prostrate Larry and blew it. ' Don't let them turn and
find you here by his dead body. If you will not go, I must,
though I had no hand in killing him/ She snatched the
lantern from his hand and extinguished it. ' That ever I
had to do with such an one as you ! Be off, as you value
your neck ; do not stay. Be off ! If you threatened Larry
and have fulfilled your threat, who will believe that this
was accident 1 '

Charles, who had been overcome by weakness for a
moment, was nerved again by fear.

'Take his head,' said Mrs. Veale, 'lay him on the turf,
among the dark gorse, where he mayn't be seen all at once,
and that will give you more time to get off.'

* I cannot take his head,' said Charles trembling.

' Then take his heels. Do as I bid,' ordered the house
keeper. She bent and raised Larry.

' Sure enough,' she said, { his neck is broken. Hell
never speak another word.'

Charles let go his hold of the feet. c I will not touch
him,' he said. ' I will not stay. I wish I'd never come to
Langford. It was all Honor's fault forcing me. I must

go-'

* Yes, go/ said Mrs. Veale, ' and go along Broadbury,
where you will meet no man, and no footmarks will be left
by which you may be traced.' Mrs. Veale, unassisted,
dragged the senseless body out of the rough road over the
turf.

' Is he dead ? is he really dead ? ' asked Charles.

' Go ! ' said Mrs. Veale, * or I shall have the chance of
/our hand to make into a better Hand of Glory than that
of Wellon,'

193

CHAPTER XXVI.

BITTER MEDICINE.

THE hare and hounds ran some distance before they per
ceived that they were not pursued by the huntsman and
that the horn had ceased to cheer them on. Then little
Piper, the cattle-jobber, clothed in the black ox-hide,
stopped panting, turned, and said, ' Where be the hunter
to ? I don't hear his horse nor his horn/ The dogs halted.
They were boys and young men with blackened faces.
Piper's face was also covered with soot. His appearance
was diabolical, with the long ears on his head, his white
eyes peering about from under them, a bladder under his
chin, and the black hide enveloping him. According to the
traditional usage on such occasions, the hunt ends with the
stag or hare, one or the other, being fagged out, and thrown
at the door of the house whose inmates' conduct has oc
casioned the stag or hare hunt. Then the hunter stands
astride over the animal, if a stag, and with a knife slits the
bladder that is distended with bullock's blood, and which is
thus poured out before the offender's door. If, however,
the hunt be that of a hare the pretence is — or was — made
of knocking it on the head. It may seem incredible to our
readers that such savage proceedings should still survive in
our midst, yet it is so, and they will not be readily abolished.1

1 The author once tore down with his own hands the following
bill affixed to a wall at four cross roads :

•NOTICE I— ON THUESDAY NIGHT THE BED HUNTER'S PACK

OP STAG-HOUNDS WILL MEET AT ... INN, AND WILL BUN TO
GROUND A FAMOUS STAG. GENTLEMEN ARE REQUESTED TO
ATTEND.'

The police were communicated with, but were unable to interfere
as nc breach of the peace was committed.

0

194 RED SPIDER

Not suspecting anything, the hare and the pack turned
and ran back along the road they had traversed, yelping,
shouting, hooting, blowing through their half-closed hands,
leaping, some lads riding on the backs of others, one in a
white female ragged gown running about and before the
hare, flapping the arms and hooting like an owl.

Would Taverner Langford come forth, worked to fury
by the insult 1 Several were armed with sticks in the
event of an affray with him and his men. Would he hide
behind a hedge and fire at them out of his trumpet-
mouthed blunderbuss that hung over the kitchen mantel
piece in Langford ? If he did that, they had legs and
could run beyond range. They did not know that he was
away at Holsworthy. The road to that town lay over the
back of Broadbury and passed not another house in the
parish.

The wild chase swept over the moor, past Wellon's Cairn,
past Langford, then turned and went back again.

' I'll tell you what it be,' said Piper, halting and
confronting his pursuers. * Larry Nanspian have thought
better of it, and gone home. T'es his uncle, you know,
we'm making game of, and p'raps he's 'shamed to go on in
it.'

' He should have thought of that before,' said one of the
dogs. * Us ain't a going to have our hunt spoiled for the
lack of a hunter.'

* Why didn't he say so in proper time ? ' argued a
second.

* Heigh ! there's his horse ! ' shouted a third, and ran
over a moor towards the piebald, which, having recovered
from its alarm, was quietly browsing on the sweet, fine
moor grass.

' Sure eneaf it be,' said Piper ; * then Larry can't be far
off.'

Another shout.

'He's been thrown. He is lying here by the road
side/

BITTER MEDICINE 195

Then theie was a rush of the pack to the spot indicated,
and in a moment the insensible lad was in the arms of Piper,
surrounded by an eager throng.

* Get along, you fellows/ shouted the hare, ' you'll give
him no breathing room.'

' Ah ! and where'll he think himself, I wonder, when he
opens his eyes and sees he is in the hands of one with black
face and long ears, and tail and hairy body ? I reckon he
won't suppose he's in Abraham's bosom/

1 What'll he take you for either, in your black faces ? '
retorted Piper. ' Not angels of light, sure-ly.' Then old
Crout hobbled up. He had followed far in the rear, as best
he could with his lame leg and stick.

* What be the matter, now ? ' he asked. ' What, Larry
Nanspiaii throwed ? Some o' you lads run for a gate. Us
mun' carry ;n home on that. There may be bones abroke,
mussy knows.'

'I reckon we can't take 'n into Langford,' suggested
Sam Voaden.

' Likely, eh ? ' sneered Piper. ' You, Sam, get a gate for
the lad. He must be carried home at once, and send for a
doctor.'

He was obeyed ; and in a few minutes a procession was
formed, conveying Larry from the moor.

* He groaned as we lifted 'n,' said Sam Yoaden.
' So he's got life in him yet.'

4 His hand ain't cold, what I may call dead cold,' said
another.

'You go for'ard, Piper,' said Tom Crout, 'that he
mayn't see you and be frightened if he do open his eyes.'

Then the cattle-jobber walked first, holding the long
cow's tail over his arm, lest those who followed should tread
on it and be tripped up. Sam Yoaden and three other
young men raised the gate on their shoulders, and walked
easily under it. Behind came the hounds, careful not to
present their blackened faces to the opening eyes of their
unconscious friend, and, lastly, Tom Crout mounted on the

I9<5 RED SPIDER

piebald. One of the boys had found the horn, and unable
to resist the temptation to try his breath on it, blew a faint
blast.

* Shut up, will you 1 ' shouted Piper turning. ( Who ia
that braying ? You'll be making Larry fancy he hears the
last trump, and he'll jump off the gate and hurt himself
again.'

Larry Nanspian-had not broken his neck nor fractured
his skull. He was much bruised, strained, and his right
arm and collar-bone were broken. His insensibility pro
ceeded from concussion of the brain ; but even this was not
serious, for he gradually recovered his consciousness as he
was being carried homewards. Too dazed at first to know
where he was, what had happened, and how he came to be
out and lying on a gate, he did not speak or stir. Indeed,
he felt unwilling to make an effort, a sense of exhaustion
overmastered him, and every movement caused him pain.
He lay with his face to the night sky, watching the dark
cloud, listening to the voices of his bearers, and picking with
the fingers of his left hand at a mossy gate bar under him.
At first he did not hear what words were passing about him,
he was aware only of voices speaking : the first connected
sentence he was able to follow was this :

* 'Twould be a bad job if Larry were killed/

* Bad job for him, yes,' was the reply.

'What do y' mean by that ?' asked Sam Yoaden. He
recognised Sam's voice at once, and he felt the movement
of Sam's shoulder tilting the fore end of the gate as he turned
his head to ask the question.

*0, I mean naught but what everyone says. A bad
job for any chap to die ; but I don't reckon the loss would
be great to Chimsworthy. Some chance, then, of the farm
going to proper hands. Larry ain't much, and never will
be, but for larks and big talk. I say that Chimsworthy is
a disgrace to the parish ; and what is more there is sure to
be a smash there unless there comes an alteration. Altera
tion there would never be under Larry.'

BITTER MEDICINE 19?

1 I've heard tell that the old man has borrowed a sight
of money from Taverner Langford, and now he's bound to
pay it off, and can't do it.'

' Not like to, the way he's gone on ; sowing brag brings
brambles/

'You see/ said Yoaden, 'they always reckoned on
getting Langford, some day, when the old fellow died.'

' And what a mighty big fool Larry is to aggravate his
uncle. Instead of keeping good terms with the old gentle
man he goes out o' his road to offend him.'

' I say it's regular un-decent his being out to-night
hunting the hare before his own uncle's door.'

' I say so, too. It weren't my place to say naught, but
I thought it, and so did every proper chap."

* It is an ill bird that fouls its own nest.'

' Does his father know what he's been after ? '

' No, of course not ; old Nanspian would ha' taken a
stick to his back, if he'd heard he was in for such things.'

' I know that however bad an uncle might use me, I'd
never have nothing to do with a hare hunt that concerned
him — no, nor an aunt neither.'

1 Larry was always a sort of a giddy chap/

'He's a bit o' a fool, or he wouldn't have come into
this.'

' Maybe this will shake what little sense he has out of
his head.'

' I'll tell y' what. If Larry had been in the army —
he'd have turned out as great a blackguard as Charles
Luxmore.'

' The girls have spoiled Larry, they make so much of
him.'

' Make much of him ! They like to make sport of him, but
there's not one of them cares a farthing for him, not if they've
any sense. They know fast enough what Chimsworthy and
idleness are coming to. Why, there was Kate Luxmore.
Everyone thought she and Larry were keeping company
and would make a pair ; but this evening, you saw, directly

198 RED SPIDER

she had a chance of Sam, she shook him off, and quite right
fcoo.'

* Never mind me and Kate/ said Sam, turning his head
again.

' But us do mind, and us think as Kate be a sensible
maiden, and us thought her a fool before to take up wi'
Larry Nanspian.'

This conversation was not pleasant for the young man
laid on the gate to hear, and it took from him the desire to
speak and allow his bearers to know he was awake, and
had 'heard their criticism on his character and conduct.
The judgment passed on him was not altogether just, but
there was sufficient justice in it to humble him. Yes, he
had acted most improperly in allowing himself to be drawn
into taking part in the hare hunt. No — he was not, he could
never have become such a blackguard as Charles Luxmore.

' Halt ! ' commanded Piper, and the convoy stood still.

* We can't go like this to Chimsworthy,' said the little
cattle-jobber ; ' it'll give the old man another stroke. Let
us stop at the Luxmores' cottage, and wash our faces, and
put off these things, and send on word that we're coming ;
the old fellow mustn't be dropt down on wi' bad news too
sudden/

1 Right ! Honor shall be sent on to break the news/
Honor ! Larry felt the blood mount to his brow. She
had herself dissuaded him from having anything to do with
this wretched affair, which had ended so disastrously to him
self, and when Kate advised him to keep away from it because
Honor disapproved, he had sent her an insolent defiance.
Now he was to be laid before her door, bruised and broken,
because he had disobeyed her warning. He tried to lift
himself to protest — but sank back. No — he thought — it
serves me right.

The party descended the rough lane from Broadbury,
and had to move more slowly and with greater precaution.
The bearers had to look to their steps and talk less. Larry's
thoughts turned to Honor. Now he had found out how

BITTER MEDICINE 199

true were her words. What she had said to him gently
was said now roughly, woundingly. She had but spoken to
him the wholesome truth which was patent to everyone but
himself, but she had spoken it so as to inflict no pain. She
had tried to humble him, but with so pitiful a hand that
he could have kissed the hand, and asked it to continue
its work. But he had not taken her advice, he had not
learned her lesson, and he was now called to suffer the
consequences. Those nights spent beside Honor under the
clear night sky — how happy they had been ! How her
influence had fallen over him like dew, and he had felt
that it was well with him to his heart's core. How utterly
different she was from the other girls of Bratton. They
flattered him. She rebuked him. They pressed their at
tentions on him. She shrank from his notice. He could
recall all she had said. Her words stood out in his re
collection like the stars in the night heavens — but he had
not directed his course by them.

Now, as the young men carried him down the lane, he
knew every tree he passed, and that he was nearing Honor,
step by step. He desired to see her, yet feared her reproach
ful eye.

CHAPTER XXYII.

AFTER SWEETNESS.

OLIVER LUXMORE had returned home before Kate came
from the dance, and had eaten his supper and gone to bed.
Her father had been a cause of distress to Honor of late.
He said, indeed, no more about Taverner's suit, but he
could not forget it, and he was continually grumbling over
the difficulties of his position, his poverty, the hardships of
his having to be a carrier when he ought to be a gentleman,
and might be a squire if certain persons would put out a
little finger to help him to his rights.

200 RED SPIDER

His careless good humour had given place to peevish
discontent. By nature he was kind and considerate, but
his disappointment had, at least temporarily, embittered his
mood. He threw out oblique reproaches which hurt Honor,
for she felt that they were aimed at her. He complained
that times were altered, children were without filial affection,
they begrudged their parents the repose that was their due
in the evening of their days. He was getting on in years,
and was forced to slave for the support of a family, when
his family — at least the elder of them — ought to be main
taining him. He wished that the Thrustle were as deep as
the Tamar, and he would throw himself in and so end his
sorrows. His children — his ungrateful children — must not
be surprised if some day he did not return. There was no
saying ; on occasions, when a waterspout broke, the Thrustle
was so full of water that a man might drown himself
in it.

In vain did Honor attempt to turn his thoughts into
pleasanter channels. He found a morbid pleasure in being
absorbed in the contemplation of his sores. He became
churlish towards Honor and refused to be cheered. She
had fine speeches on her tongue, but he was a man 'who
preferred deeds to words. A girl of words and not of deeds
was like a garden full of weeds. When the weeds began
to grow, like the heavens thick with snow, when the snow
began to fall — and so on — and so on — he had forgotten the
rest of the jingle.

ETow for the first time, dimly, was Honor conscious of a
moral resemblance between her father and Charles. What
Charles had become, her father might become. The elements
of character were in germ in him that had developed in
the son, As likenesses in a family come out at unexpected
moments, that had never before been noticed, so was it
with the psychical features of these two. Honor saw Charles
in her father, and the sight distressed her.

Oliver Luxmore did not venture to say out openly what
he desired, but his hints, his insinuations, his grumblings,

AFTER SWEETNESS ioi

were significant j they pierced as barbed steel, they bruised
as blows. Till recently, Oliver had recognised his daughter's
moral superiority, and had submitted. Now his eye was
jaundiced. He thought her steadfastness of purpose to be
doggedness, her resistance to his wishes to be the result of
self-will, and his respect for her faded.

Although Honor made no complaint, no defence, she
Buffered acutely. She had surrendered Larry because her
duty tied her to the home that needed her. Was it necessary
for her to make a further sacrifice — a supreme sacrifice for
the sake of her father ? She had no faith in the verbal
promises of Taverner Langford to stand by and assist her
brothers and sisters, but it was in her power to exact from
him a written undertaking which he would be unable to
shake off. Suppose she were to marry Langford — what
then ? Then — the dark cloud would lift and roll away.
There would be no more struggle to make both ends meet,
no more patching and darning of old clothes, no more
limiting of the amount of bread dealt out to each child.
Her father's temper would mend. He would recover his
kindly humour, and play with the little ones, and joke with
the neighbours and be affectionate towards her. There
would be no more need for him to travel with a waggon in
all weathers to market, but he would spend his last years
in comfort, cared for by his children, instead of exhausting
himself for them.

However bright such a prospect might appear, Honor
could not reconcile herself to it. Her feminine instincts
revolted against the price she must pay to obtain it.

That evening Oliver Luxmore ate his supper in sulky
silence, and went to bed without wishing Honor a good
night. When Kate arrived, she found her sister in tears.

1 Honor ! ' exclaimed the eager, lively girl, ' what is the
matter ? You have been crying — because you could not go
to the dance.'

1 No, dear Kate, not at all.'

' Honor ! what is the meaning of this ? Marianne

202 RED SPIDER

Spry tells me she saw the silk kerchief you gave me before
to-day.'

' Well, why not ? '

1 But, Honor, I do not understand. Mrs. Spry says
that Larry bought it — bought it at Tavistock after he had
killed the dog that worried our lambs — after he had got the
guinea, and she believes he bought it with that money.'

' Well, Kate ! ' Honor stooped over her needlework.

4 Well, Honor ! ' — Kate paused and looked hard at her.
' How is it that Larry bought it, and you had it in your
chest ? That is what I want to know.'

'Larry gave it me.'

* Oh — oh ! He gave it you ! '

'Yes, I sat up with him when he was watching for
the lamb-killer ; he is grateful for that trifling trouble I
took.'

* But, Honor ! Marianne Spry said that she and others
chaffed Larry in the van about the kerchief he had bought
for me — and it was not for me.'

Honor said nothing; she worked very diligently with
her fingers by the poor light of the tallow candle on the
table. Kate stooped to get sight of her face, and saw that
her cheek was red.

* Honor, dear ! The kerchief was not for me. Why did
you make me wear it ? '

'Because, Kate — because you are the right person to
wear his present.'

' I — why I ? ' asked Kate impetuously.

Honor looked up, looked steadfastly into her sister's
eyes.

' Because Larry loves you, and you love him.'

'I can answer for myself that I do not,' said Kate
vehemently. ' And I don't fancy he is much in love with
me. No, Honor, he was in a queer mood this evening, and
what made him queer was that you were not in the barn,
and had decked me out in the kerchief he gave you to wear.
I could not make it out at the time, but now I see it all,1

AFTER SWEETNESS 203

Then Kate laughed gaily. ' I don't suppose you care very
much for him; he's a Merry Andrew and a scatterbrain, but
I do believe he has a liking for you, Honor, and I believe
there is no one in the world could make a fine good man of
Larry but you.' Then the impulsive girl threw her arms
round her sister. ' There ! ' she exclaimed, ' I'm glad you
don't care for Larry, because he is not worthy of you — no,
there's not a lad that is — except, maybe, Samuel Voaden,
and him I won't spare even to you.'

'Oh Kate!'

So the sisters sat on, and the generous, warm-hearted
Kate told all her secret to her sister.

When girls talk of the affairs of the heart, time flies
with them. Their father and brothers and sisters were
asleep, and they sat on late. Kate was happy to confide
in her sister.

All at once Kate started, and held her finger to her ear.

' I hear something. Oh Honor, what is it ? I hope these
hare hunters be not coming this way.'

She had not told Honor Larry's message.

' I hear feet,' answered the elder. ' Do not go to the
door, Kate. It is very late/

The tramp of feet ceased, the two girls with beating
hearts heard steps ascend to their door, then a rap at it.
Honor went at once to open. Kate hung back. She sus
pected the hare hunters, but was afraid of the black faces,
and she could not understand the halt and summons.

' Don't y' be frightened, Honor,' said a voice through the
door, ' us want y' out here a bit, if you don't mind.' Honor
unbolted, and the blackfaced, white-eyed, long-eared, skin-
clothed Piper stood before her, holding the black cow tail
in his hand.

' Don't y' be scared. I'm only the hare. I won't touch
a hair of your head.'

* What do you want, Mr. Piper ? ' asked Honor without
trepidation.

* Well, it is this. There's been an accident, and Master

204 RED SPIDER

Larry Nanspian hev fallen on his head off his horse and
hurted himself bad.'

Honor began to tremble, and caught the door with one
hand and the door-post with the other.

* Now do y' take it easy. He ain't dead, only hurt. Us
don't want to go right on end carrying him into Chims-
worthy, all of us dressed as we are. First place, it might
frighten Master Nanspian; second place, he mightn't like
the larks Larry has been on. So us thought if you would
let us clean our faces, and take off our skins and other
things, and cut the green coat off the back of Larry, here ;
and then, you'd be so good as run on to Chimsworthy and
prepare the old gentleman, you'd be — well, you'd be your
self — I couldn't put it better/

Honor had recovered her composure.

* I will do what you wish,' she said, and her voice was
firm, though low.

* You see,' Piper went on, ' it's a bit ockered like ; I
reckon the old man wouldn't be satisfied that Larry were
mixed up in a hare hunt that made game of Taverner Lang-
ford, his own wife's brother ; and I don't say that Larry
acted right in being in it. Howsomever, he has been, and
is now the worse for it. Will you please to bring the candle
and let us see how bad he be.'

Honor took the tin candlestick with the tallow dip, and
descended the steps, holding it.

The four bearers set the gate upon the ground, and
Honor held the candle aloft, that the light might fall on
Larry. But a soft wind was blowing, and it drove the
flame on one side, making the long wick glow and then
carrying it away in sparks.

' Mr. Piper, go into the cottage and ask my sister Kate
to give you my scissors. I will remove the coat. Go all
of you, either to the well a few steps down the lane, or into
our kitchen, and wait. Kate will give you towel and soap.
Leave me with Larry. I must deal very gently with him,
and I had rather you were none of you by.'

AFTER SWEETNESS 205

{ You're right,' said Piper. ' Us had better have white
faces and get clear of horses and other gear before he sees us.'

1 We must be quick/ said Sam Voaden. ' Larry must
be got home as fast as may be.'

Then they ran, some to the well in the bank, some —
Sam, of course — into the cottage, and left Honor for a
moment or two beside the prostrate man, kneeling, holding
the guttering candle with one hand, and screening the flame
from the wind with the other.

Then Larry opened his eyes, and looked long and
earnestly into her face. He said nothing. He did not
stir a finger ; but his eyes spoke.

' Larry ! ' she breathed. Her heart spoke in her voice,
1 Larry, are you much hurt ? '

He slightly moved his head.

1 Much, Larry ? where *( '

' In my pride, Honor/ he answered.

She looked at him with surprise: at first hardly compre
hending his meaning.

Then Kate came down the steps with the scissors.

' Oh Honor ! How dreadful ! I told him not to go ! I
told him you disapproved ! And now he is punished. Oh
Honor ! is he badly injured ? He is not killed ? '

* No, Kate, he is not killed. How far hurt I cannot tell.
Larry ! you must let me move you. I may hurt you a little.1

' You cannot hurt me/ he said. c I have hurt myself.'

c Oh Honor ! ' exclaimed Kate. * If he can speak he is
not so bad. Shall I help ? '

' No, Kate/ answered Honor, ' go back to the cottage
and give the young men what they want to clean their faces ;
those at the well also. I can manage Larry by myself.'

She stooped over him.

1 Larry ! you must let me raise you a little bit. Tell
me truly, are any bones broken ? '

* I do not know, Honor. I feel as if I could not move.
I am full of pain, full in all my limbs, but most full in my
heart.'

2o6 RED SPIDER

She began to cut up the seams of the sleeves.

* I cannot move my right arm,' he said. * I suppose
there is some breakage there.'

* Yes,' she said gravely, ' I can feel a bone is broken.'

* If that be all it does not matter/ he said more cheer
fully, ' but I want to say to you, Honor, something whilst
no one is by.'

< What is it ?'

* I have done very wrong in many ways. I have been
a fool, and I shall never be anything else unless you '

* Never mind that now,' she hastily interrupted him.
{ We must think only at present of your aching joints and
broken bones.'

Then Oliver Luxmore's voice was heard calling, and
asking what was the matter. Who were in the house 1
He had been roused from his sleep and was alarmed. Kate
ran up the stairs to pacify him, and when he knew the
circumstances he hastily dressed.

An altercation broke out at the well. There was not
room for all to get at the water. One came running up
with streaming face to Honor. * Am I clean ? ' he asked.
' How is Larry ? Not so bad hurt after all, is he T Then
he went up the steps into the cottage to consult his fellows
as to the condition of his face, and jo wipe it.

Honor removed the coat in pieces.

* Thank you,' said Larry. ' The candle is out.'

1 Yes, the wind has made it out ' (extinguished it).

* My left hand is sound. Come on that side.'
She did as he asked.

I And this,' he said, * is the side where my heart is.
Honor, I'm very sorry I did not follow your advice. I
am sorry now for many things. I want you to forgive me.'

I 1 have nothing to forgive.'

* Lean over me. I want to whisper. I don't want the
fellows to hear.'

She stooped with her face near his. Then he raised
bis uninjured arm, put it round her neck, and kissed her.

AFTER SWEETNESS 207

• Honor ! dear Honor ! I love no one ! no one in the world
but you ! And I love you more than words can say.'

Did she kiss him ? She did not know herself. A
light, then a darkness, were before her eyes. What time
passed then ? A second or a century ? She did not know.
A sudden widening of the world to infinity, a loss of all
limitations — time, space — an unconsciousness of distinction,
joy, pain, day, night, a loss of identity — was it she herself,
or another ?

Then a wakening as from a trance, with tingling veins,
and dazed eyes, and whirling brain, and fluttering heart,
and voice uncontrolled, as from the cottage door, down the
steps, and from the well, up the lane came simultaneously
the rabble of boys and men.

'Well, how is he?' 'Have you got the coat off?1
' Can he speak ? ' * Any bones broke ? ;

Honor could not answer the questions; she heard them,
but had no voice wherewith to speak. .

1 Raise the gate again,' said Piper. .' Sam, are you
ready ? Why are you behind ? We must get on.'

1 Honor,' said Larry in a low voice, * walk by the side
of me. Hold my hand.'

'He is better,' said one of the young men; 'he can speak.
He knows Honor.'

' Yes, he is better,' she said, * but he has his right arm
broken, and he is much shaken and bruised. Let me walk
beside him, I can stay the gate and ease him as you carry
him over the ruts and stones.' So she walked at his side
with her hand in his. In a few minutes the party had
arrived at the granite gates of Chimsworthy.

'Stay here,' ordered Piper. 'Now, Honor Luxmore,
will you go on up the avenue and tell the old gentleman.
Us'll come after with Master Larry in ten minutes.1

' I will go,' said Honor, disengaging her hand.

' How are you now ? ' asked Piper, coming up to the
young man.

1 Better,' he said, ' better than ever before/

ao8 RED SPIDER

CHAPTER XXVIII.

A FIRST STEP.

FOB the next two days and nights Larry was in great
pain. His arm and collar-bone had been set, but strains
are more painful than breakages, and the young fellow in
his fall had managed to bruise and sprain his muscles as
well as fracture his bones. He could not sleep ; he could
not move in bed ; every turn, even the slightest, caused him
agony. The doctor enjoined perfect rest. Through the
two long sleepless nights his mind was active, and the train
of thought that had begun as he was being carried from
Broadbury continued to move in his brain. What different
nights were these to those spent by him on the bench with
Honor ! He considered what she had said to him, and he
knew that what she had said was right. How careless of
his best interests he had been ! How regardless of his
duties ! How neglectful of his proper self-respect ! Of
course she was right. His father never had properly
managed the farm, and since his stroke he had paid it less
attention than before. He, the son and heir, ought to have
devoted himself to the work of the farm, and made that
his main object, not to amuse himself.

His fatner came up to his room several times a day to
inquire how he was.

' There's Physick coming here/ said the old man, f and
I want you to use your hand when he comes.'

' I have only my left.'

' Well, the left must do. If you can't sign your name,
you can make a cross and that will suffice.'

' What do you want me to sign, father ? '

* The mortgage. Physick will find the money, and then
we shall pay off Taverner Langford, and have done.'

A FIRST STEP 209

Larry sighed. He remembered what Honor had said.
He was helping to burden, not to relieve, the property.

' Can't it be helped, father ? I'd rather not, if the
money could be raised any other way.'

1 But that is impossible without a sale.'

1 Why did Uncle Taverner lend the money 1 '

« We were behind in a score of things/

« Is it all gone, father 1 '

1 Gone ! of course it is. Now I'm wanting more, and I
must raise double what Taverner lends me, half to pay him
off, and half to meet present demands.'

1 How is this ? '

1 Bad times. Things will come round some day.'

' How long have they been bad ? '

'Ever since your mother died. That was a bad day
for us.' The old man sat rubbing his chin. ' The next bad
day was when I quarrelled with Taverner, or rather, when
Taverner quarrelled with me. 'Tis a pity. I made up
his orchard with my new grafts ; and a more beautiful lot
of apple-trees are not to be seen — and he for to cut them.
Shameful.'

' What was the quarrel about, father ? '

' I've told you afore. A red spider. Taverner tried to
sloke (dra\v) her away, when she was running straight as a
line into my pocket. But I reckon he can't keep you for
ever out of Langf ord. He may live for ten or twelve years
out of wicked spite, but he is not immortal, and Langford
will come to you in the end. Then you can clear off the
mortgages — I reckon I shall be gone then.'

I Don't say that, father.'

I 1 know I shall. When Taverner sloked that spider
away he carried off my health, and I were took with the
stroke immediately. I've not been myself since.' He con
tinued rubbing his chin. * And now comes this mortgage,
and you laid up in bed as you never was before. It all
comes o' sloking away the spider.'

P

210 RED SPIDER

1 Father,' said Larry earnestly but timorously, * I wish
you would let me bring another here/

' Another what ? '

' Red spider/

1 What do you mean ? '

' Honor Luxmore/

The old man looked puzzled, then gradually an idea of
his son's meaning crept into his head.

* I thought,' said he slowly, * I thought it was t'other
maid.'

'No, dear father, I love Honor. Let me bring her
here, let her be my wife, and I'm sure she will bring luck
to this house.'

Hillary senior continued rubbing his chin. ' Her mayn't
have money,' he mused, 'but her's good up and down the
backbone ; as a money-spinner is all redness and naught
else, so is Honor all goodness and not a speck of black in
her.'

I It is so indeed, father.'

' I'm better pleased than if it were Kate.'

I 1 never really thought of Kate/

c Well, you was sly about it then. All folks said that
Kate had stolen your fancy. Well now, Honor mayn't be
a money-bringer, I reckon she's got nothing — Oliver be
poor as rushy land — but she may spin it. There's no
saying/

' Say yes, father/

* Her's a red spider that Taverner won't try to sloke
away,' chuckled old Nanspian. Then he continued musing.
He was an altered man of late, not ready with his thoughts,
quick of motion, lively of tongue as before. He took time
to come to a decision, and drifted in his ideas from one
matter to another. ' Things haven't gone quite right since
Blandina died, they haven't — though I don't allow that to
others. I've had five years of wool heamed (laid) up. I
said I'd not sell with wool so low, and it has been sorry
down ever since, and now it's risen a penny and I tried to

A FIRST STEP 211

sell — the worm is in it and the staple is spoiled, and it
won't fetch any price. Then there be the maidens. They've
let the thunder get into the milk and turn it sour, and
wasted the Lord knows how much butter, because they
were lazy and wouldn't leave their beds in time at five
o'clock, and make before the sun is hot. If you'd a good
wife, her'd mend all that. And Honor ! well, no one has
other than a good word for her. I'm main pleased wi' your
choice, Larry. Yes, I be.'

1 Oh, father ! Thank you ! thank you ! '

' It's not for me to go into the maidens' room and rake
them out of bed at half-past three in the mornings. I put
it to you, Larry. Folks would say it was ondecent. And
if I don't, the butter ain't made, the thunder gets in the
pans, and I lose many pounds. I reckon Honor Luxmore
would do that. I've been racking my brains as you rack
cider, how to get over the difficulty, and it was all dark
before me, but now I see daylight at last. Honor will
rake the maids out o' their beds, and I needn't interfere,
You'll be quick about it, won't you, Larry, before the
blazing hot summer weather sets in, with thunder in the
air, and spoils the milk.'

He passed his hand through his grey hair. ' I had a
bell put up in their bedroom, and a wire brought along to
mine, and a handle nigh my bed, that I might ring them
up in the mornings early. It cost me nigh on thirty shil
lings did that bell. The hanger had to come all the way
from Tavistock, and it took him two days to put up, and
there were a lot of cranks to it. Well, it was just so much
money thrown away. What do y' think the maidens con
trived 1 Why, they stuffed an old worsted stocking into
the bell and tied it round the clapper ; I might pull the
rope as if I were pealing a triple bob major, and not a
sound came out of the bell, because of the stocking. Well,
I wouldn't go into the maidens' room and see what was the
matter, and so I sent to Tavistock for the bell -hanger out
again, and he charged me three shillings for himself, and

PJ

212 RED SPIDER

half a crown for his man, and ten shillings for the hire of
a trap, and all he did was to remove the stocking. Next
night the maidens tied up the clapper with the fellow
stocking. If Honor were here she'd put all that to rights,
wouldn't she ? '

* I'm sure of it, father.1

* You be sharp and get well/ continued the old man,
'then we'll have it all over, and save pounds of butter.'
He stood up. ' I mustn't shake hands wi' you, Larry, but
I'm main pleased. Honor's good through and through as a
money-spinner is scarlet.'

Larry was fain to smile, in spite of his pain. This was
like his father. The old man went on vehemently, hotly
for some new fancy, and in a few weeks tired of it, and did
nothing more about it.

Next day Physick the lawyer came, and brought the
mortgage and the money. The signatures were appended,
a cross for Larry, and the money received.

* Now,' said the old man, ' I'd like you, Mr. Physick, to
go over to Langford and pay the sum I owe to my brother-
in-law. I can't go myself. He's spoken that insolent to
me, and that too before the whole of Coryndon's Charity,
that I can never set foot over his drexil (threshold) again.
So I'd wish you to go for me, and bring me my note of
hand back all square.'

* I will go as well,' said Larry, who was up, able to walk
about, but without his jacket, because of his bandaged
bones and arm strapped back.

* You ! ' exclaimed his father. ' Why should you go ? '

1 1 wish it,' answered the lad. ' I'll tell you the reason
after.'

* You'd better not go out yet.'

{ Why not 1 Mr. Physick will drive me there and back
in his gig. I shall not be shaken. The gig has springs.'

1 1 reckon there's a certain cottage the rogue will want
to get out at on the way. Don't let him, Mr Physick, or
he won't be home for hours.'

A FIRST STEP 213

Although the gig had springs Larry suffered in it, and
was glad to descend with Mr. Physick at Langford.

Taverner Langford had returned home but an hour
before ; he had been to the fair at Holsworthy, and thence
had gone into Bideford about a contract for young bullocks.
He had just finished his dinner of bread and cheese, washed
down with water, when Mrs. Veale opened the parlour-
door, and without a word showed in Mr. Physick and
Larry.

Langford greeted the lawyer with a nod. ' Please to
take a chair.' He stared at Hillary with surprise, and
said nothing to him.

' We've come to pay you the loan you called in,' said
Physick.

'Bight,' answered Taverner, 'I was expecting the
money, though why 1 — grapes of thorns and figs of thistles
is against nature as well as Scripture.' Then he eyed his
nephew furtively. He saw that he was looking pale and
worn, that his arm was bandaged, and he was without a
jacket. He saw that the lad moved stiffly when he walked.
' You may sit down,' he said gruffly. Larry took the back
of an armchair with his left hand and drew it to him, then
slowly let himself down into it. All his movements, and
the twitching of the muscles in his face, showed he was in
pain. His uncle watched him and saw this, but he asked
no questions.

When the money had been counted, and the release
handed over, and Physick had indulged in some desultory
talk, and disparagement of water, which he saw that
Taverner was drinking, he rose to leave. Langford was
not in a conversationable mood, his dark brows were knit.

Then Larry stood up, and came towards the table,
against which he stayed himself with his hand.

' I beg your pardon, Uncle Taverner,' he said in a voice
somewhat tremulous, whilst colour came into and spotted
his brow. ' I came here, though I thought you would not
care to see me.'

a 14 RED SPIDER

'I don't mind when I see your back/ interrupted
Langford surlily, * your father insulted me grossly/

1 1 have come, Uncle Taverner '

' Ah ! I suppose your father has sent you. He wants
to patch up the quarrel ; you may go back and tell him it is
too late. I won't make it up. It is of no use. I have
nothing to lose by estrangement. You and he are the
losers, and that to a heavy amount, as you shall learn some
day.'

1 1 have not come with any message from my father.'

' You've come for yourself, have you ? You think that
Langford would be a fine farm for the growth of wild oats I
You shan't try it.'

' I came here of my own accord,' said the young man.
* My father knows nothing of my purpose. I have come
to tell you that I am very sorry for what I did — what I
did, I dare say you have not heard, as you have been away.
You shall hear from me.'

1 "What have you done ? Some foolery, I warrant.'

' Yes, uncle, something worse than foolery. The night
you were away, and when we did not know but you
were at Langford, there was a hare hunt before your
doors.'

* What ! ' almost screamed the old man.

Physick was unable to restrain a laugh.

' There was a hare hunt, and I was in it. I took a
principal part. I was thrown from my horse, and picked
up unconscious, and the thing came to an end, it went no
further. I have been badly hurt. I might have been
killed.'

' And pray how came that about ? ' asked the old man
quivering with anger. ' A light from heaven — struck you
to the ground, like Saul when breathing out threatenings
and slaughters against the Elect ? And now you're a con
verted character, eh 1 and so think I'll take you back into
favour, and let you have Langford ? '

1 No, uncle. I do not know quite what it was threw me

A FIRST STEP 21$

down. Don't think me mad if I say it — but it seemed to me
to be old Wellon rising from the cairn and rushing down on
me, to strike me to the earth/

Langford looked at him with amazement.

* I tell you just what happened. I was riding in the
hunt — more shame to me — and I had the horn to my
lips, and was just by the Gibbet Hill, when my piebald
stood bolt still, and shivered with fear, and all at once
there came a yellow light out of the barrow, and a great
black figure with flapping clothes about it, and I remember
no more.'

Langford was like the rest of his class, full of belief in
the supernatural. Larry spoke with such earnestness of
tone, his face so fully expressed his conviction, that the old
man was awed.

1 1 have broken my right arm and collar-bone. I have
suffered a great deal, I have not slept for three nights, and
this is the first day I have been out of my bedroom. Uncle
Taverner, I made up my mind the very first night that I
would come to you directly I was able, and tell you that I am
ashamed of myself. When the fellows were carrying me
away on a gate, and I woke up — then I knew I had done
wrong. I was warned beforehand twice to have nothing to
do with the hunt. I heard those who were carrying me say
how bad I behaved in taking part in the game against my
own uncle. There — uncle ! I'm very sorry, and I hope I'll
never be such a fool and so wicked again.'

Taverner's lips quivered, whether from suppressed rage,
or from a rising better emotion, neither Physick nor Larry
knew, for they left the room, whilst the old man stared
after them with his dark brows contracted over his keen,
twinkling eyes, and he sat motionless, and without
speaking,

Larry was some little while getting into the gig. Mrs.
Veale stood on the doorsteps watching him. Ail at once
they heard a cry from the inside of the house — a cry, whether
of terror, or rage, or pain, could not be told,

216 RED SPIDER

' What is it ? ' asked Physick. c What's the matter 1 '
1 It's master,' said Mrs. Veale ; ' something has disagreed
with him, I reckon.1

CHAPTER XXIX.

A BLOW.

HONOR felt like one who has looked into the lightning. A
glimpse of surpassing light, a vision into a heaven of fire,
was succeeded by darkness and numbness of mind.

She was unable for some while to recover her mental
and moral balance. The joy that had wrapped her soul as
in flame had left a pain of fire. What had she done 1
What would come of this ? Must she go on or could she
step back 1 The moment when Larry's lips had met her
cheek, and his words of love had rushed in at her ear and
boiled through her veins, had been one in which her self-
control had deserted her.

She thought over and over what had taken place. She felt
his grasp of her hand, his arm about her neck, the pressure
of his lips. What must follow on this 1 She had not with
drawn herself from him at his touch. She could not have
done so. The power of resistance had left her. But now,
as her clear mind arranged duties and weighed them against
passion, she was doubtful what to do. It was strange for
her to feel need of advice, to be forced to ask another what to
do, yet now she felt that she could not judge for herself ; but
she also knew of no one who could advise her. There was
nothing for her but to wait. Her simple faith raised her soul
to God, and she prayed for a right judgment. She would leave
the future in His hands : events must decide her course for her.
Of one thing she was clear in her view ; her duty to her father
and brothers and sisters — she must not desert them. Whether
she must wholly surrender her happiness for them, or whether

A BLOW 217

ehe could combine her duty with her inclination, she could not
tell ; that Larry and the future must decide.

She waited in patience. She knew that he would come
to her as soon as he could. She heard daily from Chims-
worthy how he was. Little Joe ran up and inquired.

She saw him drive by with Mr. Physick. Whither was
he going ? To Okehampton 1 It was not the shortest road.
As he passed the cottage his face was turned towards it,
and she saw his eyes looking for her, but the gig was not
arrested. She was in the house, and had but a glimpse of
him through the open door. Whether he had seen her or
not she could not tell.

Presently he returned. He must have been to Langford.
She stood in the doorway, and their eyes met. He did not
stay the horse ; he could not. He sat beside the lawyer,
who was driving, and the broken right arm was near the
reins. Physick was between him and Honor ; but Larry
turned his head and looked at her as the trap went by.
How pale and thin he seemed ! What marks of suffering
were on his face ! The tears of pity came into Honor's
eyes.

' He will come and see me soon,' she said to herself.
1 May I have my strength to do what is right.' Then she
seated herself at her work.

Kate was in the house, lively as a finch. Honor was
always reserved ; she was now more silent than usual.
Kate's humour was unusually lively. Her tongue moved
as nimbly as her feet and fingers, her conversation sparkled,
and her tones danced like her eyes. When she was not
talking she was singing. She made her jokes and laughed
over them herself, as Honor was in no laughing mood.

Oddly enough, Sam Voaden was daily in the lane. He
came round by the cottage from Swaddledown to ask at
Chimsworthy after Larry ; he made two miles out of a
journey that need not have been three-quarters across the
fields. When Sam went by he whistled very loud, and then
Kate found that the pitcher was empty and needed re-

2i8 RED SPIDER

plenishing at the well ; on such occasions, moreover, the
pitcher took a long time filling. Kate made no secret o!
her heart's affairs to her sister. It was in her nature to
talk, and a girl in love likes nothing better, when not with
her lover, than to talk about him.

Honor put away her needlework and got the supper-
table ready, and whilst she was putting the cold pasty on
the table her father walked in. He was going next day to
Tavistock, and had been round for commissions.

He was out of spirits, did not say much, wiped his face
with his sleeve, and complained of the weather — it was
sultry, he was tired. Some of his customers had been ex
acting and had worried him. ' The pasty is heavy ; it goes
against me,' he grumbled. ' All well for young appetites.'

* Shall I do you a bit of bacon, father ? ' asked Honor.

' Rich that,' he said discontentedly. ' I'm fanciful in my
eating. I can't help it ; I'm too poor to have what would
suit me. It is in my constitution. Those who have the
constitutions of gentlefolk want the food of gentlefolk/
He took a little piece of pasty, but pushed it away. l It
makes my throat rise ; look at that great hunch of suet in
it, like a horse-tooth (quartz spar) in granite. I can't eat
anything ; you may clear away.'

Actually Oliver Luxmore had eaten supper at one of
the farms ; that was why he had now no appetite ; but he
made occasion of his having no relish for his food to
grumble and make Honor uncomfortable.

* The fog was a hunting this morning, so we've had a
fine day for going nowhere ; and it's gone a fishing this
evening, to let me understand it will rain to-morrow when
I go into Tavistock. It is always so. Rain on market
days to spoil my custom and run away with profits.'

In explanation of his words, it is necessary to say that,
when the white fog mounts the hills it is said to go
hunting, when it lies along the rivers it is said to be fishing,
and these conditions of fog are weather indications.

* I don't know what you call that,' said Oliver, pointing

A BLOW 219

with his fork to a piece of meat in the pasty. ' It looks to
me as if it were a goat caterpillar got in. I suppose you
found it crawling across the lane from one of the willow
trees, and, because we're poor and can't afford meat, stuck
it in.'

1 Father, it is wholesome ; it is nothing but a bit of pig-
crackling. You know we were given a piece of young pork
by Mrs. Yoaden, the other day.'

Then Oliver sprang to his feet, and Honor started back
in surprise.

Without a word of salutation, with white face, and
glaring eyes, with hand extended and shaking, Taverner
Langford came in at the door.

' There ! there ! ' he said, in a voice raised almost to a
scream. { This is what comes of doing a favour. Now I
am punished.'

' What is the matter, Mr. Langford ? ' asked the carrier
deferentially.

' What is the matter ? Everything is the matter,' he
cried. He turned to Honor : ' It is your doing, yours, yours.'

' What have I done ? ' she asked, with composure.

' You asked me to take him in ; the scoundrel, the
rogue.'

'You cannot mean my brother Charles,' said Honor
with dignity ; ' or you would not speak thus under our roof
to his father and sisters.'

* Oh no, of course not, you don't like to hear it ; but
that is what he is.'

1 What has Charles done ? ' asked Oliver in alarm.

' Robbed me ! ' shrieked Taverner, with his whole body
quivering, and with vehement action of his hands. ' Robbed
me, and run away with my money.'

He gasped for breath, his eyes glared, the sweat ran off
his brow. He was without his hat, he had run bareheaded
from Langford, and his grizzled hair was disordered.

1 He has robbed me of nigh on a thousand pounds, and
he has gone away with the money. He took occasion of my

220 RED SPIDER

being from home ; he has taken all — all — all I had laid by.
I thought no one knew where was my bank. He must
have watched me ; he found out ; he has taken the box and
all its contents.'

' Charles could not, would not, do such a thing,' said
Honor, with heaving bosom ; she was more angry at tho
charge than alarmed.

* Could not ! would not ! Where is he now ? '

1 1 do not know. We have not seen him for several
days.'

1 He has not been seen at Langford either. As soon as
I was off to Holsworthy he bolted. He knew he would
have three days clear, perhaps more, for getting away with
the money.'

* It is impossible,' said Honor. ' Charles may be idle,
but he is not wicked.'

I He has robbed me,' repeated Taverner vehemently.
' Do you want proof ? The five-pound note.'

Honor shuddered ; she had forgotten that.

'Do you remember, Luxmore, you paid me a note of the
Exeter and Plymouth Bank ? Do you remember that I
took the number ? '

Oliver looked helplessly about the room, from Langford
to Honor and Kate.

I 1 ask you whence you got that note ? Come, answer
me that ? You, Luxmore, who gave you that note ? '

' Charles,' moaned the carrier, and covered his face with
his hands, as he threw himself into a chair.

c I thought as much. Let me tell you that that note
had been abstracted from my box. I had the list of all
the notes in it, but I did not go over them till I found that
I had been robbed. Here is the note. I did not restore it
to the box. I kept it in my pocket-book. I can swear — I
have my entries to prove it — that it had been stolen from
me. When I found Charles was gone, I thought it must
have been he who had robbed me. When I saw the number
of the note agreed with one I had put into the box a month

A SLOW 221

ago, then I knew it must be he. You brought me the note,
and he is your son/

Kate burst into tears and wrung her hands.

Honor saw the faces of the children frightened, inclined
for tears ; she sent them all upstairs to their bedrooms.

Oliver sat at the table with his forehead in his hands
and his fingers in his hair.

None spoke. Langford looked at the carrier, then at
Honor. Kate threw herself into the chair by the window
and wept aloud. Honor stood in the middle of the room,
with her head bent ; she was deadly pale, she dared not
raise her eyes.

* What will you do ? ' she asked in a low tone.

' Do ! ' exclaimed Taverner j l oh, that is soon answered.
I send at once to Tavistock, Launceston, and Okehampton,
and communicate with the proper authorities and have him
arrested. There are magistrates, and constables, and laws,
and prisons in England, for the detention and chastisement
of thieves and burglars.'

Oliver moaned. ' I cannot bear the disgrace. I shall
drown myself.'

'What will that avail?' sneered Langford. 'Will it
save my thousand pounds ? Will it save Charles from
transportation ? It is a pity that there is no more hang
ing for robbery, or Wellon's mound would be handy, and
the old gibbet beam in my barn would serve once more.'

The words were cruel. Honor's teeth clenched and her
hands closed convulsively.

Then Oliver Luxmore withdrew his hands from his face,
dragged himself towards Langford, and threw himself on the
ground at his feet.

1 Have pity on him, on me, on us all. The shame will
kill us, brand us. It will kill me, it will stain my name,
my children, for ever.'

1 Get up,' said Langford roughly. ' I'm not to be moved
by men's tears.'

But Oliver was deaf ; his great absorbing agony momen-

222 RED SPIDER

tarily gave dignity to his feeble pitiful character, to him
even crouching on the slate floor.

1 Spare us the dishonour,' he pleaded. * I cannot bear
it ; this one thing I cannot. Luxmore — thief — convict 1 '
He passed his hand over his brow and raised his eyes ; they
were blank. * Luxmore, of CoombePark — Luxmore ! Take
care ! ' his voice became shrill. * Dishonour I cannot bear.
Take care lest you drive me desperate. Rather let us all
die, I, Honor, Kate, and the little ones, and end the name,
than that it should live on stained.' He tried to rise, but his
knees shook and gave way under him.

' You may sell all I have. Take the van, everything.
We cannot find you a thousand pounds. We will all work
as slaves — only — spare us the dishonour ! spare us this ! '

Kate came up and cast herself at her father's side and
raised her streaming eyes.

' Well,' said Taverner, turning to Honor, ( do you alone
not join ? Are you too proud ? '

' Mr. Langford,' she answered, with emotion, ' you are
too hard. I pray to God, who is merciful/

* You are proud ! You are proud ! ' he said scowling.
1 You, Oliver Luxmore ! you, Kate ! do not kneel to me.
Go, turn to her. The fate of Charles, the honour of your
name, your happiness, that of your children, rest with her
— -with her ! '

He looked at her.

She did not speak; she understood his meaning. A pang
as of a sword went through her soul. She raised her clenched
hands and put them to her mouth, and pressed the knuckles
against her teeth. In the agony of that moment she was
near screaming.

* There ! ' said Langford, pointing to her. ' Look how
haughty she is. But she must bend. Entreat her, or com
mand her, as you will. With her the issue lies. I will wait
till to-morrow at ten, and take no steps for the capture of
Charles. If before that hour I have yes, it is well. I pay
a thousand pounds for that yes. I shall be content. If not,

A BLOW 223

then ' he did not finish the sentence ; he went out *t

the door.

Then only did Honor give way. She saw as it were a
cloud of blue smoke rising round her. She held out her
hands, grasping, but catching nothing, and fell on the floor
insensible.

CHAPTER XXX.

YES !

HONOR could not rest in her bed that night. Oliver Lux
more in the adjoining room groaned and sighed, he was
sleepless. Kate, who shared her bed, was awake and tossed
from side to side. Poor Kate knew that the disgrace
would separate her from Sam. She was too generous to
urge her sister to make the costly sacrifice. Oliver felt
that words would be unavailing, the matter must be left to
Honor ; his best advocate was in her own conscience. The
resolution one way or the other must be come to by Honor
unresisted, unswayed. She lay still in her bed, but Kate
knew she did not sleep. She lay with her hands clasped
as in prayer on her heaving bosom. Her eyes were on the
little latticed window, and on a moth dancing dreamily up
and down the panes, a large black moth that made the
little diamonds of glass click at the stroke of its wings.
Her hair over her brow was curled with the heat of her
brain, the light short hair that would not be brushed back
and lie with the copper-gold strands. Great drops rolled off
her forehead upon the pillow. Afterwards, Kate felt that
the cover was wet, and thought it was with Honor's tears,
but she was not crying. Her eyes were dry and burning,
but the moisture poured off her brow. Her feet were like
ice. She might have been dead, she lay so still. Kate
hardly heard her breathe. She held her breath and listened
once, as she feared Honor was in a swoon. She did not

224 RED SPIDER

epeak to her sister. An indefinable consciousness that
Honor must not be disturbed, must be left alone, restrained
her. Once she stole her hand under the bedclothes round
her sister, and laid it on her heart. Then she knew for
certain what a raging storm was awake in that still, hardly
breathing form.

That touch, unattended by word, was more than Honor
could bear. She said nothing, but stole from bed, and put
on some of her clothes. Kate watched her through her
half -closed lids, and dared not speak or otherwise interfere.
Honor went softly, barefooted down the stairs, that creaked
beneath her tread. Her father heard the step. He knew
whose it was. He also would not interfere. It was best
for all — for Kate, for Charles, for himself, for Joe, and
Pattie, and Willie, and Martha, and Charity, and little
Temperance — that Honor should be wholly undisturbed.

The girl unfastened the back door, took up the little
bench, cast a potato-sack over her head, and went forth,
shutting the door gently behind her.

She carried the seat under the hedge in the paddock,
where she had watched with Larry, and placed herself on
it, then rested her elbow on her knee, and her head in her
hand. Her feet were bare, dipped in the dewy grass ; a
seeded dandelion, stirred by them, shed its ripe down over
them. She thrust the sack from her head. She could not
endure the weight and the heat, and laid it across her
shoulders ; from them it slipped unheeded. Her arms
were bare from the elbow. The cold night wind stroked
the arm that stayed up her scorched brain. She had
prayed that God would guide her, and the guidance had led
into a way of sorrows. * It is expedient that one man
should die for the people,' those words of the High Priest
recurred to Honor, and she thought how that He to whom
they referred had accepted the decision. She would have
died — died ! O how willingly, how eagerly ! — for the dear
ones under the thatched roof ; she would have leaped into
fire, not for all, but for any one of them, for little Temper-

YESf 225

ance, for dear Charity, for Martha, for Willie, for darling
Pattie, for good, true Joe, for Kate, for her father of course
— yes, even for Charles — but this that was demanded of
her was worse than a brief spasm of pain in fire ; it was a
lifelong martyrdom, a sacrifice infinitely more dreadful than
of life. The thrushes were singing. There was no night
in the midst of June, and the birds did without sleep, or
slept in the glare of midday. The only night was within
the girl's soul. There was no singing or piping there, but
the groaning of a crushed spirit.

She started. She was touched. She put out her hand
and sighed. The horse that Langford had let them have
was in the paddock ; it had become much attached to
Honor, and the beast had come over to her, unperceived,
and was resting his head on her shoulder and rubbing it
against her ear and cheek. She stroked the nose of the
beast with her left hand without altering her position,
mechanically, and without much diversion of her thoughts.
When poor Diamond was dying in the gravel pit, Honor
had sat by him and caressed him ; now Diamond's successor
had come to comfort Honor, as best he could, when her
girlhood was dying in anguish, passing into a womanhood
of sorrow.

Chink ! chink ! chink ! a finch was perched on the top
most twig of an alder that swayed under its light weight
in the wind, repeating its monotonous cry, chink ! chink !
chink !

The cold about Honor's feet became stronger, the dew
looked whiter, as if it were passing into frost, the breath
of the horse was as steam. High, far aloft, in the dusky
sky some large bird was winging its way from sea to sea,
from the Atlantic boisterous barren coast about Bude, to
the summer, luxuriant bays of the Channel. What bird
it was Honor could not tell. She would not have seen it
but that the winking of its wings as they caught the light
from the north attracted her attention. Strange as it may
aeem, though engrossed in her own sorrows, she watched

Q

226 RED SPIDER

the flap of the wings till they passed beyond range of
vision.

Not a cloud was in the sky. The stars were but dimly
seen in the silvery haze of summer twilight. One glowworm
in the edge opposite her shone brighter than any star, for it
shone out of darkness deeper than the depths of heaven.

One long leaf near Honor was as if it had been varnished,
wet with dew, and as the dew gathered on it, it stooped
and the moisture ran to the lanceate end, bowing it further,
and forming a clear drop ; then the drop fell, and the leaf
with a dancing rebound recovered its first position. Honor's
eye rested on the leaf ; as the dew formed on it, and bent
it down, so were tears forming on her soul and bowing it.
The leaf shook off the drop ; would her spirit ever recover 1

What wondrous sounds are heard at night ! How
mysterious, how undiscoverable in origin ! It seemed to
Honor less still in the meadow, under the thorn hedge,
than in the cottage. Insect life was stirring all about;
the spiders were spinning, moths flitting, leaves rustling,
birds piping, the wind playing among the thorns ; the field
mice were running, and the night birds watching for them
on wing.

All was cool, all but Honor's head. Whatever sounds
were heard were pleasant, whatever movement was soothing.
Through all the intricate life that stirred there ran a breath
of peace — only not over the heaving soul of Honor.

Poor Larry! Honor's thoughts were less of herself
than of others. She was sure to the ground of her heart
that he loved her. She knew, without riddling out the why
and how, that she could have made him happy and good at
once. There was sterling gold in him ; the fire would
purge away the dross. As in the cocoon there is an outer
shell of worthless web which must be torn away before the
golden thread is discovered, so was it with him ; the outer
husk of vanity and idleness and inconsiderateness was coming
away, and now all that was needed was a tender hand to
find and take hold of the end of the thread and spin off the

YES/ 227

precious fibre. Another hand, rough and heedless, might
break and confuse and ruin it.

But, though she knew she could have made Larry's
life right and orderly, yet she would not undertake to do so
unless she saw the other lives committed to her trust cared
for and safe.

Above all, high as the highest star, in her pure soul
shone the duty imposed on her by her mother. If she could
not combine her duty to the dear ones under the brown
thatch with the charge of Larry's destiny, she would not
undertake the latter.

And now, most horrible gall to her womanly mind,
came the knowledge that she — she whom Larry loved and
looked up to — she, she who loved the careless lad, even she
must step in between him and his uncle's property, that
she was chosen by old Langf ord as the weapon of his revenge
on the Nanspians.

The Langf ord estate must descend to Larry should his
uncle die childless, and she

Her breath came in a gasp. She tore up the cold dock-
leaves and pressed them to her brow to cool the burning
there, to take the sting out of her nettled brain.

There was no rest for Honor anywhere, in the meadow
or in her bed — no rest for her evermore.

She rose and went back to the house, but when she
reached the door, true to her regular habits, remembered
that she had left the sack and the bench in the field, and
went back, fetched them, and put each in its proper place.
Nothing was ever left littering about by Honor. If she
had been dying and had seen a chip on the floor, she would
have striven to rise and remove it.

In the morning the carrier and his two eldest daughters
looked haggard and pale. The children seemed aware of
trouble. Joe was attentive and helped to quiet and amuse
the youngest, and watched his father, but especially Honor,
to read what was menaced in their faces. He had not been
at home when Langf ord came, and his sister Pattie could

Q2

228 RED SPIDER

give him but the vaguest idea of what had occurred. All
she knew was that it was a trouble connected with Charles,
who had run away. The carrier had to be ready early to
start for Tavistock market. Honor and Kate prepared
breakfast for him and the children, without a word passing
between them on what was uppermost in their minds. Aa
they were eating, the Ashbury postboy passed down the
lane and called at the steps.

The carrier went out.

'A letter for you/

Oliver took and paid for it, then brought it in and
opened it slowly with shaking fingers. He, Honor, Kate,
knew that it must have reference to their trouble. It wa3
in the handwriting of Charles ; it bore the Plymouth post
mark. The carrier spread it on his plate ; he did not read
it aloud because Joe and the other children were present j
but Honor and Kate stood behind him and read over his
shoulder without uttering a word.

This was the letter :

{ Dear Father, — I take my pen in hand, hopping this
finds you as it leafs me, with a bad running at the noaz,
and a shockin corf, gripes orful in my innerds, and hakes
all over me. I dersay you've card what I gone and done ;
don't judge me harshly, I couldn't do otherwise, and I'm
not so bad to blame as you may suppoge. I didn't intend
delibberat to do 't, but I did it off-hand so to speke. Wot'a
dun can't be undun. It's no use crying over spilt milk.
Wot can't be kured must be undured. That's wot Mrs.
Veale would say, and her's a bad un. I ketched a cold with
getting wet running away, but I shall be all rite soon,
please God when I'm away on the i seez. I'm goin to
Ameri'kay, which is the place to which the flour of the
British aristokracy go when its ockerd or embarassing at
ome. As it is ockerd and embarassing to me, I'm orf, and
I hope with the Almighty's aid to do well in the new whirld,
wheer I intend to found a new Coom Park, to which I shall
invite you all to come, when I can drive you about in a

YES/ 229

carridge and pare. I want to know how it is with Larry,
whether he be alive or dead. I came away in such aste I
couldn't stay to know, but I'm very desiring to know. Don't
rite to me by my proper name, there may be disagreeables
in my wereabout being knone, so direct to Mr. Charles,
poast resteny, Plymouth. — From your loving sun,

'CHARLES LUXMORE,
' of Coom Park, Esquire.

' P.S. — Doan't say nothink to nobody of were I be, wot-
ever you do, and kiss the kids for me. Poast anser at
Tavistock or Lanson.'

Oliver Luxmore refolded the letter, and put it away in
his pocket without a word. Neither Honor nor Kate spoke
or looked at each other. It was too clear to all that Charles
was guilty. The last doubt of his guilt disappeared.

Oliver went about the horse and van. Honor did not
fail to observe the change effected in him by one night. He
seemed older by ten years — to have tumbled down the de
cline of life, and been shaken by the fall. His clothes did not
appear to fit him, his walk was unsteady, his hand shook,
his eye wandered, his hair had a greyer tinge, and was lank
and moist. Joe ran to help in the harnessing of the horse.
His father was trying to force on the collar without turning
it. He put on the saddle wrong, and fastened the wrong
buckles. The boy corrected his father's errors. Then the
man brought the van into the lane, and stood with his hand
to his forehead.

4 I've forgotten 'em all,' he said. ' Whatever were the
commissions I don't know.' The whip was shaking in his
hand as a withy by a waterbrook. ' I shouldn't wonder if
I never came back/ he said, then looked up the steps at
Honor. It was the first time he had met her eye since
Taverner Langford had left the house. ' I shan't know
what is to be till I come home/ he muttered. ' The cuckoo-
clock has just called seven, and it is three hours to ten. I
think my heart will die within me at TavLtock. I shan't

430 RED SPIDER

be home till night. However I shall bear it and remember
my commissions I do not know. Joe shall come with in*.
I can't think. I can't drive. I can do nothing.'

Then Honor came down the steps with her scarlet cloak
about her shoulders, and her red stockings on her feet, slowly,
looking deadly pale, and with dark rings about her eyes.

* Where are you going ? ' asked the carrier, ( not coming
with me to Tavistock ? '

She shook her head.

c Are you — are you going to — to Langford 9 ' he asked.
1 To say what ? '—he held his breath.

•Yesl'

CHAPTER XXXL

THE NEW MISTRESS.

* HALLO ! where be you off to, Red Spider ? ' asked Farmer
Nanspian, who was on Broadbury, when he saw Honor
Luxmore in her scarlet coming over the down. ' Stay, stay!'
he said, and put his hand to her chin to raise her face.

* You never come Chimsworthy road — leastways, you haven't
yet. — Where be you going to now ? '

* To Langford, sir.'

* To Langford, eh ? ' his face clouded. ' I didn't think
you was on good terms with Mr. Langford. Take care —
take care ! I won't have he sloke away this Red Spider
from Chimsworthy.' Then he nodded, smiled, and went on.
He little knew, he had no suspicion, that what he hinted at
was really menaced.

Honor went on to the old, lonely house, and asked to
speak to Mr. Langford. She was shown into his parlour.
Taverner was about the farm. She had some minutes to
wait, and nerve herself for the interview, before he arrived.

1 Well,' said he when he came in, * you are in good time,
Vou have brought me the answer.'

THE NEW MISTRESS 231

' Yes,' she replied, looking down.

* Do I take that Yes as a reply to this question or to
that I made yesterday ? '

' To both.'

' There's not another woman in all England to whom I'd
have behaved as I have to you.'

* I hope not, sir ! '

' I mean,' said Langf ord, knitting his brows and red
dening, 'I mean, I would not have foregone a thousand
pounds for any other. I would not have spared the man
who had robbed me for any other woman's sake.'

* I have come here,' she said, ' myself, instead of sending
a message, because I wished to speak with you, in private.'

* There is no one here to overhear you. I have stopped
up the keyhole ; Mrs. Veale listened, she can catch nothing
now.'

' Mr. Langford, I was told by my father that you had
promised to do something for my brother and sisters.'

'Oh, do not be afraid — I will do something for
them.'

* I want you to grant me one request, the only one I
will ever make of you. Promise me some small yearly sum
assured to my father, I do not ask for much. When I am
in the house, I can manage, but it is hard work for me to
do so. When I am gone, Kate will find it hard, and she
may not remain long there ; she is a pretty girl, and has her
admirers, she is sure to marry soon — then what will be
come of my father and the little ones ? I do not ask you
to take them in here. That would not be reasonable —
except so far as they can work for you, and be of use to
you. Joe will be a valuable servant, and Pattie is growing
up to be neat and active and thoughtful.'

* How many more ? ' asked Langford.

* That is all,' replied Honor quietly. * If I ask you to
do anything for these two it is only because they will be
worth more than you will pay them. But I ask for my
father. It will be a loss to him, my leaving the house. He

232 RED SPIDER

will not be happy. Kate is very good, but she does not
understand thrift, and she is light-hearted. Promise me a
small sum every year for my father and the little ones to
relieve them from the pinch of poverty, and to give them
ease and happiness/

' How many have you ? '

I There are Joe, and Pattie, Willie, Martha, Charity, and
Temperance. If I might bring Temperance with me I
should be very thankful; she is but three, and will miss
me.'

c In the Proverbs of Solomon we are told that the horse
leech hath three daughters, which cry Give, give, give !
Here are more, some seven, all wanting to suck blood. If
I marry you, I don't marry the family.'

Honor was silent, for a moment, recovering herself ; his
rudeness hurt her, angered her.

' I make a request. I will ask nothing more.'

She looked up at him, and rested her eyes on his face.
He had been observing her ; how pale she was — how worn ;
and it annoyed him : it seemed to him that it had cost her
much to resolve to take him, and this was not flattering to
his pride.

' I cannot grant it,' he said. ' It is not reasonable. I
am not going to be eaten out of house and home by a par
cel of ravenous schoolchildren. I want you, I do not want
all your tail of brothers and sisters, and, worst of all, your
helpless father. I know very well what will happen. I
shall be thrown to them like an old horse to Squire Im-
pey's pack — to have my flesh torn off, and my bones even
crunched up. I cut this away in the beginning ; I will not
have it.'

I 1 ask only for a small sum of money for my father.
The van barely sustains him. The family is so large. I
will not bring any of the children here, except little Tem
perance, who is very, very dear to my heart.'

* No, I will have none of them.'
' I may not have Temperance 1 '

THE NEW MISTRESS 233

' No, I said, none of them. Give an inch, and an ell is
taken. Put in the little finger and the fist follows.'

' Then you will grant me an allowance for my father ? '

He laughed. * A thousand pounds is what you have
cost me. When that thousand pounds is made up, or re
paid, then we will talk about an allowance. Not till then
— no, no ! I may pay too dear for my bargain. A thousand
pounds is ample/

1 That is your last word ^ '

« My last.'

Then Honor, looking steadily at him, said : ' Mr. Lang-
ford, it is true that you lose money by me ; but I lose what
is infinitely more precious by you. I lose my whole life's
happiness. When my mother was dying, I promised her
to be a mother to her darlings. Now I am put in this
terrible position, that, to save them from a great disgrace
ahd an indelible stain, I must leave them. I have spent
the whole night thinking out what was right for me to do.
If I remain with them, it is with a shame over our whole
family. If I go, I save them from that, but they lose my
care. One way or other there is something gone. It cannot
be other. I have made my choice. I will come to you;
but I have strings from my heart to little Temperance, and
Charity, and Martha, and Willie, and Pattie, and Joe, and
Kate, and father. If they are unhappy, uncomfortable, I
shall suffer in my soul. If ill comes to them, I shall be in
pain. If the little ones grow up neglected, untidy, un
truthful, my heart and my head will ache night and day.
If my father is uncared for, the distress of knowing it will
be on me ever. I shall be drawn by a hundred nerves to
my own dear ones, and not be able to do anything for them.
You cannot understand me. You must believe me when I
say that the loss to me is ten thousand times greater than
the loss of a thousand pounds to you. My happiness is in
the well-being and well-bringing up of my brothers and
sisters. You take all that away from me. Did you ever
hear the tale of the widower who married again, and his

234 RED SPIDER

new wife neglected the children by the dead wife ? — One
night the father came to the nursery door, and saw the dead
woman rocking and soothing the babes. She had come from
her grave. The crying had drawn her. She could not
sleep because they called her. I do not know that I can
bear it, to be separated from my brothers and sisters — I
cannot say. If they suffered or were neglected I fancy
nothing could withhold me from going to them.'

Taverner remained silent : her eyes seemed to burn their
way into him. She shifted her position from one foot to
the other, and went on, in an earnest tone, with a vibration
in it from the strength of her emotion : * I am bound to tell
you all. If you are to be my husband, you must know
everything. I cannot love you. What love I have that is
not taken up by Temperance, and Charity, and Martha, and

Willie, and Pattie, and Joe, and Kate, and father, and '

still looking frankly, earnestly at him, * yes, and by Charles,
I have given elsewhere. I cannot help it. It has been
taken from me in a whirlwind of fire, as Elijah was caught
up into heaven ; it is gone from me ; I cannot call it down
again. If you insist on knowing to whom I gave it, I will
tell you, but not now, not yet — afterwards. To show you,
Mr. Langford, how I love my home, I had made up my mind
to give him up, to throw away all that beautiful happiness,
to forget it as one forgets a dream, because I would not be
parted from my dear ones. I was resolved to give him up
whom I love for them, and now I am required to give them
up for you whom I love not.' She breathed heavily, her
labouring heart beat. She drew the red cloak about her,
lest the heaving bosom and bounding heart should be noticed.
Langford saw the long drops run down her brow, but there
were no tears in her eyes.

' You will never love me ? ' he asked.

' I cannot say ; it depends how you treat my dear
ones.'

She took a long breath.

' There is one reason why my consent costs me more when

THE NEW MISTRESS 235

given to you than to another : but I cannot tell you that
now. I will tell you later.'

She meant that by marrying him she was widening the
breach between the uncle and nephew — that she was marry
ing the former for the express purpose of depriving the latter
of his inheritance. She could not tell Langford this now.

' I will do my duty by you to the best of my lights. But
I shall have one duty tying me here, and seven drawing me
to the little cottage in the lane, and I feel — 1 feel that I
shall be torn to pieces.'

Taverner Langford stood up and paced the room with his
arms folded behind his back. His head was bowed and his
cheeks pale. The girl said no more. She again shifted her
feet, and rested both hands, under her cloak, on the table.
Langford looked round at her ; her head was bent, her
yellow-brown hair was tied in a knot behind. As her head
was stooping, the back of her neck showed above the red
cloak. It was as though she bent before the executioner's
axe. He turned away.

( Sit down,' he said. * Why have you been standing t
You look ill. What has ailed you ? '

* In body nothing,' she answered.

' Who is it ? ' he asked surlily, looking out of the window$
and passing his own fingers over his face.

She slightly raised her head and eyes questioningly.

1 1 mean,' he said, without turning to see her, but under
standing by her silence that she asked an explanation — ' I
allude to what you were saying just now. Who is it whom
you fancy ? '

1 If you insist, I will tell. If you have any pity you
will spare me. In time — before the day, you shall know.'

He passed his hand over his face again.

' This is a pleasant prospect,' he said, but did not explain
whether he alluded to the landscape or to his marriage.
He said no more to force further confidence from her.

' Come,' said he roughly, and he turned suddenly round,
' you shall see the house. You shall be shown what I have

136 RED SPIDER

in it, all the rooms and the furniture, also the cowsheds, and
the dairy — everything. You shall see what will be yours.
You would get no other man with so much as I have.'

' Not to-day, Mr. Langford. Let me go home. I should
see nothing to-day. My eyes are full, and my heart fuller.'

* Then go,' he said, and reseated himself at the table.
She moved towards the door. He had his chin on his

hand, and was looking at the grate. She hesitated, holding
the handle.

* Ha ! ' exclaimed Langford, starting up. ' Did you
hear that ? a-fluttering down the passage ? That was Mrs.
Veale, trying to listen, but could hear nothing ; trying to
peep, but could see nothing, because I have covered every
chink. Come here ! come here, Mrs. Yeale ! '

As she did not respond, he rang the bell violently, and
the pale woman came.

' Come here, Mrs. Yeale ! show the future mistress out
of the house ! Not by the kitchen, woman ! Unbar the
great door. Show her out, and curtsey to her, and at the
same time take your own discharge.'

* " When one comes in the other goes out," as the man
said of the woman in the weather-house,' remarked Mrs,
Yeale with a sneer. She curtsied profoundly, * There's
been calm heretofore. Now comes storm.'

CHAPTER XXXIL

THE CHINA DOG.

No sooner was the scarlet cloak gone than Mrs. Yeale
leaned back against the wall in the passage and laughed.
Langford had never heard her laugh before, and the noise
she made now was unpleasant. Her face was grey, her pale
eyes glimmered in the dark passage.

' Will you be quiet ? ' said Taverner angrily. ' Get along

THE CHINA DOG 237

with you into the kitchen and don't stand gulping here like
water out of a narrow-necked bottle.'

< go j — that be the wife you've chosen, master ! It is
ill screwing a big foot into a small shoe ; best suit your
shoe to the size of your foot.'

' You have received notice to leave. A month from to
day/

'This is breaking the looking-glass because you don't
like your face,' said the housekeeper. ' " Come help me on
with the plough," said the ox to the gadfly. "With
the greatest of pleasure," answered the fly, and stung the
ox.'

'Gadfly!' shouted Taverner. 'Sheathe your sting,
please, or don't practise on me.'

'You marry!' scoffed Mrs. Yeale. '"I'm partial to
honey," said the fox, and upset the hive. " You must learn
how to take it," answered the swarm, and surrounded him.'

' I'll turn you out at once,' said Langford angrily.

' No, you will not,' answered the housekeeper ; ' or you
will have to pay my wage and get nothing for it. I've
served you faithfully all these years, and this is my reward.
I am turned away. What has been my pay whilst here ?
What ! compared with my services ? And now I am to
make room for the sister of a thief. What will become of
your earnings when she comes ? If her brother picked a
stranger, he will skin a relative. And the rest of them !
" I am tilling for you," said the farmer to the rabbits ;
" come into my field and nibble the turnips." Love in an
old man is like a spark in a stackyard. It burns up every
thing, even common sense.'

He thrust her down the passage. She kept her white
faoe towards him, and went along sliding her hands against
the wall, against which she leaned her back.

' I did suppose you had more sense than this. I knew
you were bit, but not that you were poisoned. I thought
that you would be too wise to go on with your courting
when you found that you had been robbed by Charles.

238 RED SPIDER

Who that is not a fool will give the run of his house to the
man who has plundered him 1 Can you keep him out whej»
you have married his sister ? What of the young ones t
They will grow up like their brother. Roguery is like
measles, it runs through a house. Have not I been faith
ful ? Have I taken a thread out of your clothes, or a nail
from your shoe ? Have I relations to pester you for help 1
Mine might have begged, but would not have stolen ; yours
will have their hands in all your pockets. Now you are
everything in the house, and we are all your slaves. All is
yours, your voice rules, your will governs, Will it be so
when you bring a mistress home — and that Honor Lux-
more ? Everyone knows her ; she governs the house.'
Mrs. Yeale laughed again. ' That will be a fine sight to see
Master Taverner Langford under the slipper. " I'm seen in
the half but lost in the full," said the man in the moon.'

Langford thrust her through the kitchen door and shut
it, then returned to his parlour, where he bolted himself in,
and paced the room with his arms folded behind his back.

There was enough of truth in what Mrs. Yeale had said
to make him feel uncomfortable. It was true that now he
was absolute in his house ; but would he reign as inde
pendently when married ? Was not the ox inviting the
gadfly to help to draw the plough ? In going after the
honey, like the fox, was he not inviting stings ?

Langford had suffered great loss from rabbits. They
came out of Chimsworthy plantation and fell on his turnips,
nibbled pieces out of hundreds, spoiling whole rows, which
when touched rotted with the first frost. Therefore Mrs.
Veale's allusion to them went home. Yes ! — there were a
swarm of human rabbits threatening, the children from the
cottage. They would all prey on him. He was inviting
them to do so. ' I till for you,' said the farmer. Confound
Mrs. Yeale ! Why was she so full of saws and likenesses
that cut like knives ? And Charles ! —of course he would
return when he knew that he would not be prosecuted.
How could he be prosecuted when the brother-in-law of the

THE CHINA DOG 239

man he had robbed ? When he returned, how could he
be kept away, how prevented from further rascality ? A
thousand pounds gone ! and he was not to punish the man
who had taken the money. This was inviting him to come
and rob him again. He did not think much of what Honor
had said of an attachment to some unknown person. Taver-
ner had never loved, and knew nothing of love as a passion.
He regarded it as an ephemeral fancy. Every girl thought
herself in love, got over it, and bore no scars. It would be
so with Honor. Presently he rang for his breakfast. Mrs.
Veale came in. She saw he was disconcerted, but she said
nothing, till the tray was on the table, and she was leaving ;
then, holding the handle of the door, she said, c It is a pity/

'What is a pity?'

1 The hare hunt.'

1 What of that ? ' he asked angrily.

' That it was not put off a month, then changed to a
stag hunt/ she replied, and went through the door quickly,
lest he should knock her down.

Mrs. Veale went to her kitchen, and seated herself by
the fire. She was paler than usual, and her eyelids blinked
nervously. There was work to be done that morning, but
she neglected it.

Her scheme had failed. She had endeavoured to force
Charles Luxmore on to steal of his master, thinking that
this must inevitably break the connection with the
Luxmores. Taverner, she thought, could not possibly
pursue his intentions when he knew he had been robbed
by Charles. She was disappointed. What next to attempt
she knew not. She was determined to prevent the mar
riage if she could. She had not originally intended to
steal the cash-box, nor, indeed, to rob it of any of its con
tents, but she had been forced to take it, as Charles would
not. Now she was given her dismissal, and if she left, she
would take the money with her. But she had no desire to
leave without further punishment of her ungrateful master.
She had spent fifteen years in his service. She had plotted

240 RED SPIDER

and worked and had not gained any of her ends. She had
at first resolved on making him marry her. When she
found it impossible to achieve this, she determined to make
herself so useful to him, so indispensable, that he would in
his old age fall under her power, and then, he would leave
her by his will well off. She was now to be driven out
into the cold, after all her labour, disappointments, to
make room for a young girl. This should not be. If she
must go, she would mar the sport behind her back. If
Taverner Langford would not take her, he should take
none other. If she was not to be mistress in the house, no
young chit of a girl should be.

She stood up and took down from the chimney-piece a
china dog blotched red, and turning it over, removed from
the inside a packet of yellow paper.

She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she did not
see that someone had entered the kitchen by the open
backdoor.

' I declare ! They'd make a pair ! '
Mrs. Veale started, a shiver ran through her from
head to foot. She turned, still quivering, and looked at
the speaker. Kate Luxmore had entered, and stood near
the table.

1 Well, now/ said Kate, ' this is curious. We've got a
dog just like that, with long curly ears, and turns his dear
old head to the left, and you've one with the same ears,
and same colour, turns his head to the right. We'd a pair
once, but Joe broke the fellow. I reckon you'd a pair
once, but your fellow is broke. 'Tis a pity they two dogs
should be widowers and lonely/

Mrs. Yeale stared at her ; Kate had never been there
before. What had brought her there now ? Were all the
Luxmores coming to make that their home, even before
the marriage ?

* And what have you got there ? ' pursued Kate, full of
liveliness. c Why, that is one of the yellow paper rat-poison
packets the man sold at the fair. I know it. ;Tis a queer

THE CHINA DOG 241

thing you keeping the poison in the body of the dog. But
I suppose you are right ; no one would think to go there
for it.'

1 What do you want here ? ' asked Mrs. Veale, hastily
replacing the packet and the dog on the mantel-shelf.
' Why have you come ? We've had enough of you Luxmorea
already. Your brother Charles has played us a pretty
tune, and now your sister's like to lead a dance.'

' I have come for Honor. Is she here ? '

I She — no ! She's been gone some time. Ain't she
home ? Perhaps she's walking over the land, and counting
the acres that may be hers, and prizing the fleeces of the
sheep.'

' She is wanted. As for Charles, there's naught proved
against him, and till there is, I won't believe it. I've just
had a talk with someone, and he tells me another tale alto
gether. So there — not another word against poor Charles.
He wasn't ever sweet on you, I can tell you. 'Tis a pity,
too, about those dogs. They're both water-spaniels — what
intelligent eyes they have, and what lovely long curly ears !
They ought to be a pair some day.'

I 1 tell you,' said Mrs. Veale, ' your sister is not here/

* Our dog,' went on Kate unabashed, ' don't belong to
father. He is Honor's own. She had the pair, till Joe
knocked one of them over. Her mother gave it her. 'Tis
curious now that her dog should turn his blessed nose one
way, and this dog should turn his nose the other way. It
looks as if they were made for each other, which is more
than is the case with some that want to be pairing. A
mantel-shelf don't look as well with a spaniel in the middle
as it do with one at each end. That is, I suppose, why
your master is looking out for a wife. Well ! I think
he'd have matched better with you than with someone else
whom I won't name. A house with one in it is like a
mantel-shelf with one odd dog on it. Does this chimney
ornament belong to you or to the house ? '

1 Never mind, go your ways. Don't you think ever to

242 RED SPIDER

pair them two dogs, nor your sister and the master. There
is a third to be considered. If one be broken, there is no
pairing. Do y1 know what the ash said to the axe ?

Whether coupled or counter is wisht (unlucky) for me,
My wood makes the haft for to fell my tree.'

CHAPTER XXXIII.

AMONG THE GORSB.

4 WHERE be you going to, Larry ? ' asked his father. ' I've
just seen the Red Spider running Langford way. Take
care Uncle Taverner don't sloke that one away as he tried
to sloke t'other.'

Hearing that Honor was gone over the moor to Lang-
ford, Hillary took that direction, and, as he had expected,
encountered her as she was returning to her cottage, before
she had left the down.

' You are going to give me a quarter of an hour,' said
Larry. { I dare say you may be busy, but I can't spare you
till we've had it out with each other. I've but one arm
now that I can use, but I'll bar the way with that, if you
attempt to escape me.'

Honor looked at him hesitatingly. She was hardly pre
pared for the inevitable trial, then. She would have liked
to defer it. But, on second thoughts, she considered that
it was best to have it over. Sooner or later, an explanation
must be made, so perhaps it would be as well for her that
day to pass through all the fires. There on Broadbury,
when the gorse is swaled (burnt), the cattle are driven
through the flames. They plunge and resist, but a ring of
men and dogs encloses them, armed with sharp stakes, and
goad them forward, and at last, with desperation, lowing,
kicking, leaping, angry and terrified, they plunge through
the flames. Honor thought of this familiar scene, and that

AMONG THE GORSE 243

ehe was herself being driven on. Sooner or later she must
enter the fire, be scorched, and pass through ; she would
traverse it without further resistance at once.

1 1 am ready, Larry/ she said in a low voice.

« My dear, dear Honor, what ails you ? You are looking
ill, and deadly white ! What is it, Honor ? '

I We all have our troubles, Larry. You have a broken
arm, and I have a breakage somewhere, but never mind
where.'

I 1 do mind/ he said vehemently. * What is amiss ? '

I You told me, Larry, the night your arm was hurt, that
— your pride had sustained a fall and was broken/

' So it was.'

* So also is mine/

' But what has hurt you ? How is it ? Explain to me
all, Honor.'

She shook her head. * It is not my affair only. I have
others to consider beside myself, and you must forgive me
if my lips are locked.'

He put his left arm round her, to draw her to him, and
kiss her. ' I will keep the key of those lips/ he said, but
she twisted herself from his grasp.

* You must not do that, Larry.'

'Why not? We understand each other. Though we
did not speak, that night, our hearts told each other every
thing.'

' Larry, do you remember what I said to you when we
were together in the paddock ? '

I 1 remember every word.'

' I told you that I regarded you — as a brother/

CI remember every word but that.'

c You have been a friend, a dear friend, ever since w©
were children. You were always thoughtful towards us,
my sister and me, when you thought of nothing else. You
were always kind, and as Charles was away, of late, I came
to think of you as a brother.'

* But I, Honor, I never havn and never will consent ta

B2

244 ZED SPIDER

regard you as a sister. I love you more dearly than brother
ever loved sister. I never had one of my own, but I am
quite sure I could not think of one in the way I think of
you. I love you, Honor, with all my heart, and I respect
you and look up to you as the only person who can make
me lead a better life than I have led heretofore.'

Honor shook her head and sighed. It was her way to
answer by nod or shake rather than by word.

' I have good news to tell you/ he went on ; ' my father
is delighted at the prospect, and he is nearly as impatient
as I am to have your dear self in Chimsworthy.'

* I cannot go there,' said Honor in a tone that expressed
the desolation of her heart.

* Why not f
She hesitated.

* Why not, Honor ? When I wish it, when my father
is eager to receive you ? '

* Dear Larry,' she said sadly, ' it can never, never be.'

' Come here,' he exclaimed impatiently, and drew her
along with him. * What is the meaning of this ? I will
understand.' Before them for nearly a mile lay a sheet of
gold, a dense mass of unbroken gorse, in full blaze of flower,
exhaling a nectareous fragrance in the sun, that filled
the air. So dense were the flowers that no green spines
could be seen, only various shades of orange and gold and
pale yellow. Through it a path had been reaped, for
rabbit-shooters, and along this Hillary drew her. The
gorse reached to their waists. The fragrance was intoxi
cating.

* Look here, Honor,' said he, * look at this furze. It is
like my nature. It is said that there is not a month in the
year in which it does not blossom. Sometimes there is only
a golden speck here and there — when the snow is on the
ground, not more than a few flowers, and then one stalk
sets fire to another, as spring comes on, and the whole bush
burns and is not consumed, like that in the desert, when
God spoke to Moses from it. It has been so with m^

AMONG THE CORSE 245

Honor. I have always loved you. Sometimes the prickles
have been too thick, and then there have been but few
tokens of love ; but never, never has the bloom died away
altogether. In my heart, Honor, love has always lived,
and now it is all blazing, and shining, and full of sweet
ness.'

I Larry,' answered Honor slowly, ' look here ; ' she put
her hand to a gorse bush and plucked a mass of golden
bloom.

' Honor ! ' he exclaimed, c what have you done *{ ' She
opened her hand, it was full of blood.

' I have grasped the glorious flower,' she said, ' and am
covered with wounds, and pierced with thorns.'

'No — no, dear Honor,' he said, taking her hand, re
moving from it the prickles, and wiping the blood away
with the kerchief that bound his broken arm. ' There shall
be no thorns in our life together. The thorns will all go
from me when I have you to prune me. I have been wild
and rough, and I dare say I may have given you pain. I
know that I have. I was angry with you and behaved
badly ; but I was angry only because I loved you.' Then
his pleasant sweet smile broke over his pale face, and he
said in an altered tone, ' You do not harbour anger, Honor ;
you forgive, when the offender is repentant.'

She raised her eyes to him, and looked long and steadily
into his,

I 1 forgive you for any little wrong you may have done
me, heartily and wholly. But, oh Larry ! I must wrong
you in a way in which I can expect to get no forgiveness
from you.'

' That is quite impossible,' he said smiling.

' Larry, you cannot even dream what my meaning is.
When you know — there will not be a flower on the furze-
bush, the last gold bud of love will fall off.'

1 Never, never, Honor ! '

1 You do not know.'

He was perplexed. What could stand in the way of

SPIDER

her ready acceptance of him, except his own former bad
conduct ?

* Honor,' he said, c I have had some sleepless nights —
these have not been altogether caused by my arm — and
during the dark hours I have thought over all my past
manner of life, and I have quite resolved to break with it.
I will no longer be idle. I will no more boast. I will no
more let the girls make a fool of me. I will work hard on
the farm as any labourer — indeed, Honor, I will work
harder and longer than they. If you mistrust me, prove
me. I deserve this trial. My father would like you to be
his daughter-in-law at once ; but I know that I do not
deserve you. In. the old story, Jacob served fourteen years
for Rachel, and I am not a Jacob — I will wait, though
fourteen years is more than my patience will bear, still —
dear Honor, dear heart ! — I will wait. I will wait your
own time, I will not say another word to you till you see
that I am keeping my promise, and am becoming in some
little way worthy of you. I know,' he said in a humble
tone, ' that really I can never deserve you — but I shall be
happy to try and gain your approval, and, if you do not
wish me to say more of my love till I show you I am on
the mend, so shall it be. I am content. Put on the ker
chief when I am to speak again.'

He stopped, and looked at her. She was trembling,
and her eyes cast down. Now, at last, the tears had come,
and were flowing from her eyes. One, like a crystal, hung
on her red cloak. Knowing that he awaited an answer,
she raised her head with an effort, and looked despairingly
right and left, but saw no help anywhere, only the flare of
yellow blossom flickering through a veil of tears.

Oh, infinitely sweet, infinitely glorious was this sight
and this outpouring of Larry's heart to her — but infinitely
painful as well — piercing, wounding, drawing forth blood —
like the gorse.

'Larry!' she said earnestly, 'no — no — not for one
moment do I doubt your word. I believe everything you

AMONG THE GORSE 24?

Bay. I could trust you perfectly. I know that with your
promise would come fulfilment, but — it is not that/

'What is it then?'

She could not tell him. The truth was too repugnant
to her to think, much less to tell— and tell to him.

( I cannot tell you ; my father, my brothers and sisters.1

1 1 have thought of that, you dear true soul/ he inter
rupted. *I know that you will not wish to hurt them.
But, Honor, there will be no desertion. I have only to
cut a gap through the hedge of your paddock, and in three
minutes, straight as an arrow, you can go from one house
to the other. Round by the road is longer, but when you
are at Chimsworthy we'll have a path between ; then you
can go to and fro as you like, and the little ones will be
always on the run. You can have them all in with you
when and as long as you like ; and my father will be over-
pleased if your father will come and keep him company on
the Look-out stone. Since Uncle Taverner and he have
quarrelled father has been dull, and felt the want of some
one to talk to. So you see all will be just right. Every
thing comes as though it were fitted to be as we are going
to make it.'

Again he paused, waiting for her answer. Whilst he
had been speaking she had worked herself up to the neces
sary pitch of resolution to tell him something — not all, no !
all she could not tell.

' Larry ! it cannot be. I am going to marry another.'

He stood still, motionless, not even breathing, gazing
at her with stupid wonder. What she said was impossible.
Then a puff of north-west wind came from the far ocean,
rolling over the down, gathering the fragrance of the yellow
sea, and condensing it ; then poured it as a breaking wave
over the heads of those two standing in the lane cut through
the golden trees. And with the odour came a humming,
a low thrilling music, as the wind passed through the
myriad spines beneath the foam of flower, and set them
vibrating as the tongues of ^Eolian harps. The sweetness

248 RED SPIDER

and the harmony were in the air, all around, only not in
the hearts of those two young people, standing breast deep
in the gorse- brake. The wind passed, and all was still once
more. They stood opposite each other, speechless. Her
hand, which he had let go, had fallen, and the blood
dropped from it. How long they thus stood neither knew.
He was looking at her ; she had bent her head, and the
sun on her hair was more glorious than on the gorse-
flowers. He would have pierced to the depth of her soul
and read it if he could, but he was baffled. There was an
impenetrable veil over it, through which he could not
see.

1 You do not — you have not loved me,' he said with an
effort. This was the meaning of her coldness, her reserve.
Then he put out his left hand and touched her, touched her
lightly on the bosom. That light touch was powerful as
the rod of Moses on. the rock in Horeb. Her self-control
deserted her. She clasped her hands on her breast, and
bowed, and burst into convulsive weeping, which was made
worse by her efforts to arrest it and to speak.

Hillary said nothing. He was too dazed to ask for
any explanation, too stupefied by the unexpected declara
tion that cut away for ever the ground of his happiness.

She waved her hand. 'Leave me alone. Go, Larry,
go ! I can tell you nothing more ! Let me alone ! Oh,
leave me alone, Larry ! '

He could not refuse to obey, her distress was so great,
her entreaty so urgent. Silent, filled with despair, with
his eyes on the ground, he went along the straight-cut path
towards the road, and nearly ran against Kate.

' Oh ! you here ! ; exclaimed the lively girl, ' then
Honor is not far distant. Where is she ? What, yonder !
and I have been to Langford to look for her. What is the
matter ? Oh, fiddlesticks ! you have been making yourselves
and each other miserable. Thero is no occasion for that
till all is desperate, and it is not so yet. Come along,
Larry, back to Honor. I must see her ; I want to tell her

AMONG THE GORSE 249

something, and you may as well be by. You are almost
one of the family.'

She made him follow her. Honor had recovered her
composure when left to herself, unwatched, and she was
able to disguise her emotions from her sister.

' Oh Honor ! ' exclaimed Kate, ' I have something to
tell you. I think you've been a fool, and too precipitate —
I do indeed, and so does Sam Voaden. A little while ago
I chanced to go down the lane after some water, when,
curiously enough, Sam was coming along it, and we had a
neighbourly word or two between us. I told Sam all about
Charles, and what Mr. Langford charged him with/

' Kate — you never ! ' gasped Honor in dismay.

1 1 did. Why not ? Where's the hurt t Sam swore to
me he'd tell no one.'

1 What is this ? ' asked Hillary.

1 Don't you know 1 ' retorted Kate. ' What, has Honor
not told you 1 Faith ! there never was another girl like
her for padlocking her tongue. I'm sure I could not keep
from telling. Sam saw I was in trouble and asked the
reason, and my breast was as full as my pitcher, so it over
flowed. Well, Honor, Sam is not such a fool as some
suppose. He has more sense than all we Luxmores put
together — leastways, than we had last night. He says he
don't believe a word of it, and that you was to blame for
acting on it till you knew it was true.'

' It is true. I know it is true/ said Honor discon
solately. ' It is no use denying it.'

' But, as Sam said, why act on it till it is proved 1
Where is Charles? All you know is from Taverner
Langford, and he is an interested party ; he may be mis
taken, or he may put things wrong way on wilfully.'

' No, Kate, no ! You should not have spoken.'

' But I have spoken. If a pitcher is full, will it not run
over the brim ? I have been over- full, and have over
flowed. That is nature, my nature, and I can't help it.
No hurt is done. Sam will not talk about it to anyone j

250 RED SPIDER

and what he says shows more sense than is to be found in
all the nine heads that go under our cottage roof, wise as
you consider yourself, Honor. Sam says nothing ought to
be promised or done till Charles has been seen and you
have heard what account he can give of himself/

* His letter, Kate ? '

'Well, what of his letter? He says nothing about
stealing in it — stealing a thousand pounds. What he says
may mean no more than his running away and leaving
ninepence a day for nothing.'

* I am sorry you spoke,' said Honor.

*I am glad I spoke,' said Kate sharply. *I tell you
Sam's brain is bigger than all our nine. He saw the rights
of the matter at once, and — look here ! — he promised me
that he would go and find Charles if he's gone no further
than Plymouth.'

' You told him where he was ! ' exclaimed Honor aghast.

' Of course I did. I wasn't going to send him off
searching to Lundy Isle or Patagonia. Well, Sam says
that he'll go and find him on certain conditions ? '

' On what conditions ? '

' Never mind, they don't concern you, they are private.
And he wants to have a talk with Larry first ; but Sam
says he don't believe Charles took the money. He's too
much of a Luxmore to act dishonourable, he said.' Honor
was still unconvinced. ' Larry,' continued Kate, ' will you
go at once to Swaddledown and see Sam ? '

1 Yes ; but I understand nothing of what this is about.
You must explain it to me.'

* No, Larry, go to Sam — he knows all.'

In after years, when the gorse was flowering full, Honor
said to Larry, ' The honey scent always brings back to my
memory one day.'

' Yes,' he replied ; ' the furze is like love, thorns and
flowers ; but the flowers grow, and swell, and burst, and
blaze, and swallow up the thorns, that none are seen,'

251

CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE VISITATION.

THE amazement of Larry was equalled by his indignation
when he heard from Sam Voaden the whole story of the
charge against Charles, and of Honor consenting to save
him at the cost of herself. He did not share Sam's confi
dence in the groundlessness of the charge ; he thought
Charles quite rascal enough to have robbed his master and
bolted with the money. Nevertheless he thought that the
best thing that could be done was for Sam to go after
Charles, as he himself could not do so, on account of his
arm and collar-bone : and he urged on Voaden to use his
best endeavours, if he found Charles, which was doubtful,
to persuade him to return the money, through him, to
Langford.

' When he finds that he is suspected he may do that,
especially if you threaten to hand him over to the constables
should he refuse.'

1 1 don't believe he ever took it,' said Sam. ' I know
Charles better than you/

Hillary was coming away from Swaddledown, along the
road or lane to Broadbury, when he met his uncle Taverner
in his Sunday suit, a hat on his head, walking along lustily,
with a stick in his hand.

Larry stood in the way.

* Uncle Taverner,' he said.

{ Stand aside,' said Langford roughly.

* One word.'

* Not one ! I have nothing to do with you or yours.
Stand aside that I may pass on.'

M cannot ; I will not ! You are in my path, not I io
yours — that is, in the path of my life's happiness-'

t52 RED SPIDER

Langford looked at him interrogatively.

* Uncle Langford, I must speak to you.'

* I am busy, I have to go to the church. It is the rural
dean's visitation. I am churchwarden.'

' I will not detain you long.'
1 1 will not be detained at all.'

* I must speak to you, uncle. You are too — too cruel !
you have come between me and happiness.'

' Get along. Don't think anything you say will make
me leave Langford to you.'

1 It is not that. I have not given that a thought.
But, Honor '

' What of Honor ? ' asked Taverner sharply, stopping.

* I love her, uncle — I love her with my whole heart. I
always have loved her, more or less, but now I love her as
I can love no one else.'

' Oh, that is it ! ' exclaimed the old man, bending his
brows, and disguising his agitation and annoyance by
striking the stones out of the road with the end of his
stick. ' A boy's fancy, light as thistle-seed • and a boy's
head is as full of fancies as a thistle is of seed.'

' Nothing of the sort,' said the young man vehemently.
1 There is no one but Honor can make me what I know I
ought to become. I have never had a mother or a sister to
guide me. I have grown up unchecked, unadvised, and now
I want my dear, dear Honor to help me to be what I should
be, and am not. Uncle ! you sneer at Chimsworthy because
it is full of docks, and thistles, and rushes, but I am like that
— worthy land, and none but Honor can weed me. Why do
you come cruelly in between us, and kill her happiness as
well as mine '{ Her you cannot make other than noble and
true, but me ! — me, without her you will ruin. I must
have Honor ! I cannot live without her. Oh uncle, uncle !
what are you doing ? It is unworthy of you to use poor
Honor's necessity to wring from her her consent. You
know she only gives it to save her brother. Why, because
ihe is generous, would you take advantage of her generosity V

THE VISITATION 253

The lad pleaded with earnestness, vehemence, and with
tears in his voice. Tavemer looked at him, and thought,
* How like he is to his mother ! This is Blandina's face and
Blandina's voice. He is not a Nanspian, he is a Langford.*
But he said roughly, * Pshaw ! let me go by. The rural
dean is waiting. Do not you mistake me for a weathercock
to be turned by e\ery breath. You must get over your
fancy — it is a fancy— or change it to regard for Honor as
your aunt. Do not attempt to move me. What is settled
is settled.'

As Hillary still interposed himself between Langford and
his course the old man raised his stick.

1 Come ! must I strike you ? ' he said angrily. ' I've
spoken to you more freely than you deserve. Stand aside.
I am not to be turned from my way by you or any other.'

He went forward headlong, striking about him with his
stick, and was not to be further stayed. He went, as he said,
to the church to meet the rural dean, but not only because
summoned — he went also to see him as surrogate, and obtain
a marriage licence.

1 A Langford cannot be married by banns,' he said. * And
I'm not going to have everyone in church sniggering when
our names are called.'

As he went along the road, head down, muttering, the
face of Hillary haunted him — pale with sickness, refined,
spiritualised by suffering, not the suffering of the body but
of the mind. He was strangely like Blandina in her last
sickness, and there were tones in his voice of entreaty that
brought back to Langford memories of his sister and of hia
mother.

He arrived at the church before the rector and the rural
dean. The latter was taking refreshment at the parsonage
a mile away. Would Nanspian be there 1 He did not wish
to meet him, but he would not be away lest it should be said
he had feared to meet him. Nanspian was not there. He
had forgotten all about the visitation.

1 He wants a deal of reminding,' said the clerk, who had

254 RED SPIDER

unlocked the church. ' He forgets most things worse than
ever since his stroke.'

Langf ord disengaged himself from the clerk and entered
the church — a noble building of unusual beauty. In the
nave at his feet was a long slate stone, and the name
TAVERNER LANGFORD. He knew very well that the stone
was there, with its inscription and the date 1635 ; but as
he stood looking at it an uncomfortable feeling came over
him, as if he were standing at the edge of his own grave. He
was alone in the church. The air was chill and damp, and
smelt of decay. The dry-rot was in the pews. The slatea
were speckled, showing that the church roof was the haunt
of bats, who flew about in flights when darkness set in. If
it were cold and damp in the church, what must it be in the
vault below ? He knew what was there — the dust of many
Langfords, one or two old lead coffins crushed down by their
own weight. And he knew that some day he would lie
there, and the 'Taverner Langf ord' on the stone would
apply to him as well as to his ancestor. How horrible to
be there at night, with the cold eating into him, and the
smell of mildew about him, and the bats fit eting above him !
The thought made him uneasy, and he went out of the church
into the sunlight, thinking that he would pay a woman to
scour the stone of the bat-stains which befouled it. He had
never dreamed of doing this before, but when he considered
that he must himself lie there, he took a loathing to the bats,
and an indignation at the vault- covering stone being dis
figured by them.

He walked through the coarse grass to where his sister
was laid. She was not buried in the family vault. Nans-
pian had not wished it.

The clerk came to him.

'Mr. Nanspian had a double- walled grave made,' said
the clerk, who was also sexton. * Folks laughed, I mind,
when he ordered it, and said he was sure to marry again —
a fine lusty man like he. But they were wrong. He never
did. He has bided true to her memory.'

THE VISITATION 255

1 1 would never have forgiven him had he done other,1
fcaid Langford.

1 1 reckon you never forgive him, though he has not/ said
the solemn clerk.

Langford frowned and moved his shoulders uneasily.

* The grave is cared for/ said he in a churlish tone.

'Young Larry Nanspian sees to that/ answered the
vlerk. ' If there be no other good in him there is that —
he don't forget what is due to his mother, though she be
dead.'

Langford put his stick to the letters on the headstone.
1 In loving memory of Blandina Nanspian, only daughter
of Moses Langford, of Langford, gent.' ' Oh ! ' muttered
Taverner, ' my father could call himself a gentleman when
he had Chimsworthy as well as Langford, but I suppose I
can't call myself anything but yeoman on my poor farm.
Blandina should never have married, and then Chimsworthy
would not have gone out of the family.'

1 But to whom would both have gone after your death,
Mr. Langford ? ' asked the clerk. { 'Twould be a pity if an
old ancient family like yours came to an end, and, I reckon,
some day both will be joined again, by Mr. Larry.'

' No, no ! — no, no ! ' growled Taverner, and walked
away. He saw the rural dean and the rector coming
through the churchyard gate.

An hour later, Taverner was on his way home. He
had paid the fee, made the necessary application, and would
receive the licence on the morrow. It was too late for him
to draw back, even had he been inclined. Taverner was
a proud man, and he was obstinate. He flattered himself
that when he had once resolved on a thing he always went
through with it; no dissuasion, no impediments turned
him aside. But he was not easy in mind as he walked
home. Never before had he seen the family likeness so
strong in Larry ; he had caught an occasional look of his
mother in the boy's face before, but now that he was ill in
rniud and body the likeness was striking. Taverner still

SPIDER

laid no great weight on Larry's expressed attachment for
Honor ; he did not know that love was not a fiction, and
was unable to conceive of it as anything more than a pass
ing fancy. What really troubled the old man was the
prospect of disarrangement of his accustomed mode of life.
When he was married his wife would claim entrance into his
parlour, and would meddle with what he had there, would
use his desk, would come in and out when he was busy,
would talk when he wanted quiet. A housekeeper could
be kept in order by threat of dismissal, but a wife was tied
for life. Then — how about Larry ? He might forbid him
the house, but would he keep away ? Would not he insist
on seeing his old friend and companion |and love, Honor 1
That would be dangerous to his own peace of mind, might
threaten his happiness. He remembered some words of
Mrs. Yeale, and his blood rushed through hia head like a
scalding wave.

When he came to his door Mrs. Veale was there. She
seemed to know by instinct his purpose in going to
Bratton.

* Have you got it, master ? ' she asked with husky voice
and fluttering eyelids.

'Got what?'

' What you went to get — the licence/

* It is coming by post to-morrow. Are you satisfied ? '
he asked sneering, and with a glance of dislike.

' A corpse-light came up the lane and danced on the
doorstep last night,' said Mrs. Yeale. ' And you are think
ing of marrying ! "I'd better have left things as they
were," said the man who scalded his dog to clear it of fleas.
The spider spread for a midget and caught a hornet.
" Marry come up," said the mote (tree-stump), " I will wed
the flame ; " so she took him, embraced him, and —
Mrs. Yeale stooped to the hearth, took up a handful of light
wood-ash, and blew it in her master's face from her palm,
then said, ( Ashes, remain.'

The ensuing night the house was disturbed. Taverner

THE VISITATION 257

Langford was ill, complaining of violent sickness, cramps,
and burning in the throat. He must have a doctor sent
for from Okehampton.

'Get a doctor's foot on your floor and he leaves his
shoes,' said Mrs. Veale. ' No, wait till morning. If you're
no better then we will send.'

'Go out of my room,' shouted Taverner to the farm
men and maids who had crowded in. His calls and
hammerings with the stick had roused everyone in the
house. 'Do you think I am going to die because I'm
took with spasms ? Mrs. Yeale is enough. Let her
remain.'

' I reckon I caught a chill standing in the damp church
with the smell of the vaults in my nose,' said Taverner,
sitting in his chair and groaning. ' I felt the cold rise.'

' It is waiting,' remarked Mrs. Veale.

' What is waiting ? ' he asked irritably.

' The corpse-candle ; I see it on the doorstep. And
you that should be considering to have the bell tolled
ordering a wedding peal ! Those who slide on ice must
expect falls, and elephants mustn't dance on tight-ropes.
Babbits that burrow in bogs won't have dry quarters. The
fox said, " Instead of eating I shall be eaten," when, seek
ing a hen-roost, he walked into a kennel.'

CHAPTER XXXV.

A WARNING.

THE day was wet ; a warm south-westerly wind was
breathing, not blowing, and its breath was steam, a steam
that condensed into minute water-drops. The thatch was
dripping. The window panes were blind with shiny films
of moisture. There had been dry weather for the haysel,
glorious weather, and now, just when wanted, the earth

258 RED SPIDER

was bathed in a cloud. It would be inaccurate to say that
it rained. It rained only under the eaves and beneath the
trees ; the earth was taking a vapour bath.

Honor and Kate were in the cottage, basket- weaving.
The children were at school. No wet dismays the Devonian,
but east wind throws him on his back, and he shrivels witk
frost. Kate had recovered her spirits marvellously since
her interview with Sam Voaden. She had a buoyant
heart ; it was like a cork in water, that might be pressed
under, but came up with a leap again. She felt keenly
for the time, but wounds speedily healed with her. It was
other with Honor ; she remained depressed, pale, thin-
looking, and silent. She said nothing to her sister about
Hillary. Kate had some glimmering idea that Honor
liked the young man, but did not suppose that there was
more in her heart than a liking. But Kate, though she
dearly loved her sister, was somewhat in awe of her. She
never ventured to peer into her soul, and she understood
nothing of what went on there. Honor was scrupulous,
precise, close ; and Kate, though a good-hearted, true girl,
was not close, but open, not precise, but careless, and ready
to stretch a point of conscience to suit her pleasure. Kate,
in the presence of Honor, was much like an unmathematical
boy set -over a problem in Euclid. She was sure that all
was very true in Honor's mind, but also that the process
by which it arrived at its conclusions was beyond her un
derstanding. Honor possessed, what is the prerogative of
few women, a just mind. Forced by her position into
dividing between the children who looked up to her, obliged
to consider their complaints against each other in petty
quarrels from opposite sides, and of deciding equably, she
had acquired breadth and fairness and self-restraint, against
action upon impulse. Kate was eager to take sides, and
was partial ; Honor never. She was always disposed to
consider that there was something to be said on the side
opposed to that first presented to her, and was cautious
not to pronounce an opinion till she had heard both sides.

A WARNING 259

This Kate could not understand, and she regarded her
sister as wanting in warmth and enthusiasm.

* No news yet from Sam,' said Kate. * That is odd. I
thought we should have known at once about Charles.'

4 How could that be ? Plymouth is a large place, and
Sam Yoaden will not know where to look. It is even
possible that Charles may have sailed.'

' If he has sailed you need not be tied to old Langford
— that is, not unless you like.'

* I have passed my word. I cannot withdraw.'

' Fiddlesticks-ends ! You only promised on condition
that Mr. Langford would not proceed against Charles.'

* He has not proceeded.'

1 He can't — if Charles is out of England.'

1 But he might have done so the day he discovered his
loss, before Charles got away. I gave my word to prevent
his taking immediate action, and so Charles had time to
make his escape from the country.'

' Taverner Langford had no right to ask it of you.'

1 He did ask it, and I gave my word. I cannot with
draw now. That would not be fair and right.'

Kate shrugged her shoulders. ' I should pay him out
in his own coin.'

1 Like Charles at the circus ? '

Kate coloured. * That was another matter altogether.
Mr. Langford had no right to put such a price on his for
bearance. Besides, I don't believe in Charles's guilt. Sam
does not, and, thick as some folks think Sam, he has as
much brains as are wanted to fill a large skull, and these
of first quality. Sam can see into a millstone.'

* Yes, Kate, but what is in a millstone ? — the same aa
outside.'

' Sam says that he knows Charles is innocent/
' What reasons does he give ? '

' Oh, none at all. I did not ask for any. He thinks it,
that is enough for me.'

' He thinks it, now ; he knows it, a minute ago/

• I

260 RED SPIDER

1 1 am quite sure that Charles never took the money.'

1 Why ! '

* There you are again with your " whys." Because Sam
says it.'

'Yes, dear Kate, Sam is a good-hearted fellow, who will
not think badly of anyone, and he supposes others are as
straightforward as himself,'

'You have a dozen splendid reasons for thinking Charles
a thief, and not one of them convinces me. I don't know
why, except that Sam is so positive ; but I will scratch all
the silver off my looking-glass if I am wrong. Charles did
not take the money/

Honor said no more. It was useless arguing with Kate,
and nothing was gained if she did convince her. The girls
worked on for a few minutes in silence ; then Kate burst
out with, ' After all, I do not see anything so dreadful in
becoming Mrs. Langford. One cannot have everything,
Taverner has not the youth and looks of — say Sam Voaden,
but Sam Voaden has no money of his own, and Mr, Lang-
ford can roll in money when his back itches. Langford is
a very fine property still, and the house is first-rate. If I
take Sam at any time — I don't say I shall — I shall have to
put up with poverty. If you take Taverner Langford you
must put up with ugliness. You can't catch herring and
hake at one fishing/ Then she burst into a ringing laugh.

' It will be worth while marrying him only for the fun
of making Larry Nanspian call you aunt.' Honor winced,
but Kate was too tickled by the idea to observe her sister's
face.

' When is it to be, Honor 1 It is mean of you to be
so secret about the day. I am your sister, and I ought to
know.'

'I only do not tell you because you cannot keep a secret,
and I wish no one to know till all is over. Some morning

when nothing is expected, it ' She shivered and turned

her face to the wall.

' I will not blab. I will not, indeed, dear/

A WARNING 261

1 Some day this week. Well, if you must know, Thursday.
Pray be secret ; you will only add to my pain, my shame,
if it be known, and a crowd of the curious be assembled to
see. He also wished it to be kept from getting wind. Indeed,
he insisted.'

' I don't like a marriage without smart dresses and brides
maids. Who is to be best man ? I don't believe old Taverner
has a friend anywhere. Why — Honor, he'll be my brother-
in-law. This is a strange prospect. We'll come up to Lang-
ford and see you every day, that you may not be dull.
What are you going to do with Mrs. Yeale ? You are
surely not going to keep her ! Do you know, Honor, in
the kitchen is a darling china spaniel, just like ours yonder
on the mantel-piece, and he turns his head the opposite
way to ours. I'm really glad you are going to marry Mr.
Langford, because then the dogs will make a pair. They
look so desolate, one here and the other there ; they are
ordained to keep company.' Honor said nothing ; she let
her sister rattle on without paying heed to her tattle.

' Honor,' said Kate, ' do you know whence Charles got
the notion of putting the five-pound note under the dog ?
Guess.'

* I cannot guess. It does not matter.'

* Yes, it does matter. Charles got the notion from sweet
Mrs. Veale. When I was at Langford looking for you, I
saw that she used the dog as a place for putting things
away that must not lie about. If you turn one of these
china dogs on end, you will see that they are hollow. Well,
Mrs. Veale had stuffed a packet of rat poison into the dog.
You remember the man at the Revel who sold hones and
packets of poison for mice and rats ? Do you not recollect
the board above his table with the picture on it of the
vermin tumbling about as if drunk, and some lying on
their backs dead ? All his packets were in yellow paper
with a picture on them in small like that on the board. It
does not seem right to let poison lie about. I should lock it
up if I had it : but Mrs. Veale is unlike everyone else io

262 RED SPIDER

her appearance and in her talk, and, I suppose, in her
actions. She keeps the yellow paper of rat poison in the
body of the china spaniel. I saw her take it thence, and
stow it in there again. The place is not amiss. No one
would dream of looking there for it. Who knows ? Perhaps
Mrs. Veale keeps her money in the same place. Charles
may have seen that, and when he came here, and wanted
to give us five pounds and escape thanks, he put it under
the dog. That is reasonable, is it not, Honor ? ' Honor
did not answer.

* I declare J ' exclaimed Kate impatiently. ' You have
not been attending to what I said.'

'Yes, I have, Kate.'

1 What was I saying 1 Tell me if you can.1

' You said that Mrs. Veale kept her money in a china
dog on the chimneypiece.'

' No, I did not. I said she kept rat poison there in a
yellow paper/

' Yes, Kate, so you did. She hides the poison there
lest careless hands should get hold of it.'

* I am glad you have had the civility to listen. You
/seemed to me to be in a dream. I don't think, after all,
Honor, but for Sam, that I should mind being in your place.
It must be an experience as charming as new to have money
at command. After all, an old man in love is led by the
nose, and you, Honor, he must love, so you can take him
about, and make him do exactly what you want. I almost
envy you. Where is father ? '

' Gone to see Frize, the shoemaker. I had a pair of
shoes ordered from him two months ago, and father has gone
to see if they are done. I shall want them on Thursday.'

' Father is quite pleased at the idea of your marriage.
I know he is. He makes sure of getting Coombe Park.
He says that Mr. Langford will lend the money ; and he
expects grand days when we get our own again. Father
don't believe any more in Charles being guilty, after I told
him Sam's reasons/

A WARNING 263

1 What reasons t '

1 Well, I mean assertions. Does father know the day
on which you are to be married ? '

' No, Kate. Mr Langford wished him not to be told.
Father is so obliging, so good-natured, that if anyone were
to press him to tell, he could not keep the secret, so we
thought it best not to let him know till just at the last.'

' Won't father be proud when you are at Langford !
Why, the van will not contain all his self-importance. To
have his eldest daughter married into one of the best and
oldest families of the neighbourhood, to be planted in the
best house — after Squire Impey's — in the parish! My dear
Honor ! an idea strikes me. Shall I throw myself at
Squire Impey's head ? Father would go stark mad with
pride if that were so — that is, if I succeeded. And if he
got Coombe back, we three would rule the parish. We
might all three become feoffees of Coryndon's Charity, and
pass the land round among us. That would be grand !
Honor ! what is to be done with Mrs. Veale ? I cannot
abide the woman. It was a queer idea, was it not, putting
the rat poison in the china dog ? '

All at once Kate looked up. ' My dear Honor, talk of
somebody that shall be nameless, and he is sure to appear.'
She spoke in a whisper, as Mrs. Veale came from the steps
in at the door. She had a dark cloak thrown over her
pale cotton dress. She stood in the doorway blinking
nervously.

Honor stood up, put her light work aside, and, with
her usual courtesy to all, went towards her. 'Do you want
me, Mrs. Veale ? Will you take a chair ? '

* No, I will not sit down. So ' — she looked about — { you
will go from a hovel to a mansion! At least, so you expect.
Take care ! Take care, lest, in trying to jump into the
saddle, you jump over the horse.'

Honor moved a chair towards the woman. Kate looked
curiously at her. The pale, faded creature stood looking
about her in an inquisitive manner. 'I've come with a

264 RED SPIDER

message/ she said. 'You are very set on getting into
Langford, eh 1 Oh, Langford is a palace to this cottage.'

Honor did not answer. She drew up her head, and
made no further offer of a seat. ' What is your message 1 '
she asked coldly. But Kate fired up in her sister's defence,
and, tossing her head, said, * Don't you suppose, Mrs. Veale
that Honor, or my father, or I, or Joe, or any of us think
that a prize has been drawn in your master. Quite the
other way — he is in luck. He don't deserve what he has
got, for Honor is a treasure/

* What message have you brought 1 ' asked Honor again.

The vindictiveness against the girl seemed to have dis
appeared from the woman — at least, she did not look at
Honor with the same malevolent glance as formerly; and,
indeed, she was not now so full of hate against her as anger
against Langford — the deadlier passion had obscured the
weaker.

' What is the message ? ' she repeated.

f Oh, this. You and your father are to come up to
Langford as soon as you can. Lawyer Physick be there
and waiting.' Then, with quivering voice and eyelids, and
trembling hands thrust though her black cloak, * I — I be
sent wi' this message. He had the face to send me ! Him
that I've served true, and followed as a hound these fifteen
years, turns against me now, and drives me from his door !
Look here, Miss Honor Luxmore ! ' She held up her long
white finger before her face. l I've knowed a man as had
a dog, and that dog wi' ill-treatment went mad, and when
the dog were mad she bit her master, and he died.' She
blinked and quivered, and as she quivered the water-drops
flew off her cloak over the slate floor, almost as if a poodle
had shaken himself. c Take care ! ' she said again, * take
care ! The man that kicks at me won't spare you. Take
care, I say again. Be warned against him. I've given you
his message, but don't take it. Don't go to Langford. Let
Lawyer Physick go away. The licence has come. Let it
go to light a fire. Make no use of it. Stay where you are,

A WARNING 265

and let the master find he's been made a fool of. Best so 1
In the hitting of nails you may hammer your knuckles.
I've served him fifteen years as if I were his slave, and
now he bids me pack. " I should have thought of my
thatch before I fired my chimney," said the man who was
burnt out of house and home.'

' Go back to Langford, and say that my father and I
will be there shortly.'

' Then take the consequences.' Mrs. Veale's eyes for a
moment glittered like steel, then disappeared under her
winking white lashes. She turned and left the cottage,
muttering, { When the owl hoots look out for sorrow. When
the dog bays he smells death, and I am his dog— and, they
say, his blinking owl.'

CHAPTER XXXYI.

A SETTLEMENT.

OLIVER LUXMORE entered shortly after Mrs. Veale had left.
' Frize promises the shoes by Monday,' he said.

Then Honor told him that he and she were awaited at
Langford, and she went upstairs to get herself ready. In
the corner of her room was an old oak box, in which she
kept her clothes and few treasures. She opened it, and
took out the red cloak, her best and brightest pair of red
stockings. Then she touched the paper that contained the
kerchief Larry had given her. Should she wear it ? No ;
that she could not wear, and yet she felt as if to have it
crossed over her bosom would give it warmth and strength.
She opened the paper and looked at the white silk, with its
pretty moss-rose buds and sprigs of forget-me-not. A tear
fell from her eye on it. She folded it up again, and put it
away.

Presently she came downstairs, dressed to go v Ji her

266 RED SPIDER

father. On Sundays she wore a straw bonnet with cherry-
coloured ribbons in it, but now that the air was full of
moisture she could not risk her pretty bows in the wet.
She would draw the hood of her scarlet cloak over her
head.

Neither she nor her father spoke much on the way to
Langford. He was, as Kate had said, not ill-pleased at the
alliance — indeed, but for the trouble about Charles, he would
have been exultant.

Honor had been brought to accept what was best for
her and for all the family at last. Oliver had easily ac
cepted Kate's assertion that Charles was innocent, but he
would not maintain the innocence of Charles before Honor,
lest it should cause her to draw back from her engagement.

Even on a fine day, with the sun streaming in at the
two windows, Langford's parlour was not cheerful. It was
panelled with deal, painted slate-grey ; the mouldings were
coarse and heavy. There were no curtains to the windows,
only blinds, no carpet on the floor, and the furniture was
stiff, the chairs and sofa covered with black horsehair.
What was in the room was in sound condition and sub
stantial, but tasteless. Even the table was bare of cover.
Till Honor entered in her scarlet cloak there was not a
speck of pure colour in the room. She removed her cloak,
and stood in a dark gown, somewhat short, showing below
it a strip of red petticoat and her red stockings. Round
her neck was a white handkerchief, of cotton, not of silk.

Mr. Physick and Langford were at the table ; they were
waiting, and had been expecting them. Both rose to receive
her and her father, the first with effusion, the latter with
some embarrassment.

1 What is the matter with you, sir ? ' asked the carrier of
Taverner Langford. ' You don't look yourself to-day/

* I've been unwell,' answered the yeoman. ' I had to be
down at the church t'other day to meet the rural dean, as
I'm churchwarden, and Nanspian is too lazy to act ; I
heated myself with walking, and I had an encounter with

A SETTLEMENT 267

the young Merry Andrew on the way.' He glanced at
Honor, but she neither stirred nor raised her eyes from the
table. ' Some words passed. He was impudent, and I
nigh on thrashed him. I would have chastised him, but
that he had a broken arm. My blood was up, and I had to
stand in the damp church, and I reckon I got a chill there.
I was taken bad in the night, and thought I must die—
burning pains and cramps, but it passed off. I'm better
now. It was an inflammation, but I'm getting right again.
I have to be careful what I eat, that is all. Slops — slops.
I wouldn't dare touch that,' said he, pointing to a brandy
bottle beside the lawyer. ' It would feed the fire and kill
me/

' My opinion is that the affection is of the heart, not of
the stomach,' laughed Physick, c and when I look at Miss
Honor I'm not surprised at the burning. Enough to set us
all in flames, eh, Langf ord ? Heartburn, man, heartburn !
— nothing worse than that, and now you're going to take
the best medicine to cure that disorder/

' Not that at all,' said Taverner surlily. * I caught a
chill across me standing waiting in the church at the visit
ation ; I felt the cold and damp come up out of the vault
to me. I was taken ill the same night.'

* You've a nice house here,' said the lively Physick, * a
little cold such a day as this, with the drizzle against the
windows, but — love will keep it warm. What do you think,
Miss Honor, of the nest, eh ? Lined with wool, eh ? well,
money is better than wool.'

Honor measured him with a haughty glance, and Physick,
somewhat disconcerted, turned to the carrier and Mr.
Langford to discuss business.

Honor remained standing, cold, composed, and resolute,
but with a heart weaker than her outward appearance
betokened. « Come,' said Physick, ' next to the parson I'm
the most necessary workman to hammer the chain. The
parson can do something for the present, I for the future.
If you will listen to the settlement, you won't grumble at my

J68 RED SPIDER

part. Little as you may think of me, I've had your inte
rests in eye. I've taken care of you/

* You have done nothing but what I have bid you/ said
Taverner roughly. * Oliver Luxmore and I talked it over
before you, and you have written what we decided.'

' Oh, of course, of course ! ' exclaimed Physick, * but
there are two ways of doing a thing. A slip of the pen, a
turn of expression, and all is spoiled. I've been careful,
and I do consider it hard that the parson who blesses the
knot should be allowed to claim a kiss, and the lawyer who
plaits it should not be allowed even to ask for one/ He
glanced at Taverner and Oliver and winked.

' Certainly, certainly,' said the carrier.

' Come,' said Langford, ' to business. I want her ' — he
pointed with his elbow at Honor — 'to see what I have
done. I'm a fair man, and I want her to see that I have
dealt generously by her, and to know if she be content.'

'I have asked you for one thing, Mr. Langford, and
that you have refused. I must needs be content with
whatever you have decided for me, but I care for nothing
else.'

* Listen, listen, Honor, before you speak,' said Oliver
Luxmore. 'I have considered your interests as your father,
and I think you will say that / also have dealt handsomely
by you.'

'You, dear father !' She wondered what he could have
done, he who had nothing, who was in debt.

' Read/ said Luxmore, and coughed a self-complacent,
important cough.

The settlement was simple. It provided that in the
event of Honor becoming a widow, in accordance with
a settlement made in the marriage of Moses Langford and
Blandina Hill, the father and mother of Taverner Langford,
the property should be charged to the amount of seventy-
five pounds to be levied annually, and that, in the event of
issue arising from the contemplated marriage, in accordance
with the afore-mentioned settlement the property was to go

A SETTLEMENT 269

to the eldest son, charged with the seventy-five pounds for
his mother, and that every other child was, on its coming of
age, to receive one hundred pounds, to be levied out of the
estate. And it was further agreed between Taverner
Langford and Oliver Luxmore that, in the event of the
latter receiving the estates of the Luxmore family, named
Coombe Park, in the parish of Bratton Clovelly and other,
he, the said Oliver Luxmore, should pay to Taverner Lang-
ford, the husband of his daughter, the sum of five hundred
pounds to be invested in the Three per cents, for the benefit
of the said Honor Langford, alias Luxmore, during her
lifetime, and to her sole use, and with power of disposal by
will. This was the stipulation Oliver had made ; he insisted
on this generous offer being accepted and inserted in the
marriage contract. Honor listened attentively to every
word. She was indifferent what provision was made for
herself, but she hoped against conviction that Langford
would bind himself to do something for her father. Instead
of that her father had bound himself to pay five hundred
pounds in the improbable event of his getting Coombe
Park. Poor father ! poor father !

' You have done nothing of what I asked,' said Honor.

1 1 have no wish to act ungenerously,' answered Ta
verner. c Your request was unreasonable ; however, I have
acted fairly. I have promised to advance your father a
hundred pounds to assist him in the prosecuting of his
claims.'

'There,' said Oliver Luxmore, 'you see, Honor, that your
marriage is about to help the whole family. We shall
come by our rights at last. We shall recover Coombe
Park.'

Then Taverner went to the door and called down the
passage, {Mrs. Veale ! Come here ! You are wanted to
witness some signatures.'

The housekeeper came, paler, more trembling than usual,
with her eyes fluttering, but with sharp malignant gleams
flashing out of them from under the white throbbing lashes.

270 RED SPIDER

1 1 be that nervous/ she said, * and my hand shakes so I
can hardly write.'

She stooped, and indeed her hand did tremble. c I'm
cooking the supper,' she said, ' you must excuse the apron.'
As she wrote she turned her head and looked at her master.
He was not observing her, and the lawyer was indicating
the place where she was to write and was holding down the
sheet, but Honor saw the look full of deadly hate, a look
that made her heart stand still, and the thought to spring
into her brain, 'That woman ought not to remain in the
house another hour, she is dangerous.'

When Mrs. Yeale had done, she rose, put her hands
under her apron, curtsied, and said, ' May I make so bold
as to ask if that be the master's will?'

* No, it is not,' said Langford.

* Thank you, sir,' said Mrs. Veale, curtseying again.
* You'll excuse the liberty, but if it had been, I'd have said,
remember I've served your honour these fifteen years faith
ful as a dog, and now in my old age I'm kicked out, though
not past work.'

She curtsied again, and went backward out of the room
into the passage.

Langford shut, slammed the door in her face.

' Is the woman a little touched here ? ' asked the lawyer,
pointing to his forehead.

' Oh no, not a bit, only disappointed. She has spent
fifteen years in laying traps for me, and I have been wise
enough to avoid them all.' Then he opened the door sud
denly and saw her there, in the dark passage, her face
distorted with passion and her fist raised.

* Mrs. Veale,' said the yeoman, ' lay the supper and have
done with this nonsense.'

'I beg your pardon/ she said, changing her look and
making another curtsey, 'was it the marriage settlement
now 1 I suppose it was. I wish you every happiness, and
health to enjoy your new condition. Health and happiness !
I'm to leave, and that young chick to take my place. May

A SETTLEMENT 271

she enjoy herself. And, Mr. Langford, may you please, as
long as you live, to remember me/

* Go along ! Lay the table, and bring in supper.'

'What will you please to take, master?' asked the
woman in an altered tone.

'Bring me some broth. I'll take no solids. I'm not
right yet. For the rest, the best you have in the house/

Mrs. Veale laid the table. The lawyer, Langford, the
carrier, and Honor were seated round the room, very stiffly,
silent, watching the preparations for the meal.

Presently Honor started up. She was unaccustomed to
be waited upon, incapable of remaining idle.

*I will go help to prepare the supper,' she said, and
went into the passage.

This passage led directly from the front door through
the house to the kitchen, It was dark ; all the light it got
was from the front door, or through the kitchen when one
or other door was left open. Originally the front door had
opened into a hall or reception room with window and fire
place ; but Taverner had battened off the passage, and
converted the old hall into a room where he kept saddles
and bridles and other things connected with the stables.
By shutting off the window by the partition he had dark
ened the passage, and consequently the kitchen door had
invariably to be left open to light it. In this dark passage
stood Honor, looking down it to the kitchen which was full
of light, whilst she pinned up the skirt of her best gown, so
as not to soil it whilst engaged in serving up the supper.
As she stood thus she saw Mrs. Veale at the fire stirring
the broth for her master in an iron saucepan. She put her
hand to the mantel-shelf, took down the china dog, and
Honor saw her remove from its inside a packet of yellow
paper, empty the contents into the pan, then burn the
paper and pour the broth into a bowl. In a moment Kate's
story of the rat poison in the body of the dog recurred to
Honor, and she stood paralysed, unable to resolve what to
do. Then she recalled the look cast at Taverner by Mrs.

271 RED SPIDER

Veale as she was signing the settlement as witness. Honor
reopened the parlour door, went into the room again she
had just left, and seated herself, that she might collect her
thoughts and determine what to do. Kate was not a reliable
authority, and it was not judicious to act on information
given by her sister without having proved it. Honor had
seen Mrs. Yeale thrust the yellow paper into the flames
under the pot. She could not therefore be sure by exami
nation that it was the rat poison packet. She remained half
in a dream whilst the supper was laid, and woke with a
start when Taverner said, * Come to table, all, and we will
ask a blessing.7

Honor slowly drew towards the table ; she looked round.
Mrs. Veale was not there ; before Taverner stood the steam
ing bowl of soup.

Langford murmured grace, then said, Tall to. Oliver
Luxmore, you do the honours. I can't eat, I'm forced to
take slops. But I'm better, only I must be careful.' He
put his spoon into the basin, and would have helped himself,
had not Honor snatched the bowl away and removed it to
the mantel- shelf.

'You must not touch it,' she said. 'I am not sure — I
am afraid — I would not accuse wrongfully — it is poisoned ! '

CHAPTER XXXVII.

A BOWL OP BROTH.

THE words were hardly out of Honor's mouth before the
party were surprised by a noise of voices and feet in the
kitchen, and a cry as of dismay or fear. A moment after
the tramp was in the passage, the parlour door was flung
open, and Sam Voaden, Hillary Nanspian and his father,
Piper, Charles Luxmore, and Mrs. Veale came in, the latter
gripped firmly by Piper and Charles.

A BOWL OF BROTH 273

*Here I am,' said young Luxmore, with his usual swag
ger, and with some elation in his tone, ' here I am, come to
know what the deuce you mean, Mr. Langford, charging
me — a gentleman — not to the face but behind the back,
with stealing your money ? Look here, Sam, produce the
box. There is your cash, whether right or not I cannot
say. I have taken none of it. I did not remove the case.
Tell 'em where you found it, Sam.'

'I found it in Wellon's Mound,' said the young man
appealed to. 'I've been to Plymouth after Charles. I
didn't believe he was a thief, but I'd hard matter to find
him. Howsomedever, I did in the end, and here he be.
He came along ready enough. He was out of money —
wanted to go to America, but had not the means of paying
Iris passage, and not inclined to work it.'

*I've lost a finger,' exclaimed Charles. 'How could I
work, maimed as I am ?— a wounded soldier without a
pension ! That is shameful of an ungrateful country.'

'He took on badly,' continued Sam, 'when I told him
that Mr. Langford said he had stolen his cashbox with a
thousand pounds.'

'I'm a Luxmore of Coombe Park,' said Charles, drawing
himself up. 'I'm not one of your vulgar thieves, not I.
Mrs. Veale did her best to tempt me to take it, but I re
sisted it manfully. At last I ran away, afraid lest she
should over-persuade me and get me into trouble, when I
saw she had actually got the box. I ran away from Mrs.
Yeale, and because ninepence a day wasn't sufficient to
detain me. I wasn't over-sure neither that I hadn't, against
my intention, broke the neck of Larry Nanspian. Now
you know my reasons, and they're good in their way. Mrs.
Yeale, there, is a reg'lar bad un/

'As soon as Sam returned with Charles/ said Larry,
'they came on direct to Chimsworthy, and then Charles told
us the whole tale, how Mrs. Yeale had shown him where
Mr. Langford kept his money, then how she'd enticed him
out on the moor to "Wellon's Cairn, and had let him oea

274 RED SPIDER

that she had carried off the box and had concealed it there.
Charles told us that it was then that he ran away, and
frightened my horse so that I was thrown and injured/

* There was nothing ungentlemanly or unsoldierlike in
my cutting away,' exclaimed Charles. 'Adam was beguiled
by Eve, and I didn't set myself up to be a better man than
my great forefather. I'd like to know which of the com
pany would like to be fondled by Mrs. Veale, and made
much of, and coaxed to run away with her ? She's a bad
un. It wasn't like I should reciprocate.'

* When we had heard the story,' continued Larry, * I per
suaded my father and Mr. Piper, who was at our house, to
come along with us and see the whole matter cleared up.
We went immediately to Wellon's Cairn, and found, as
Charles Luxmore said we should, a stone box or coffin,
hidden in the hill, with bushes of heather and peat over the
hole. That we cleared away, and were able to put our
hands in, and extracted from the inside this iron case. It
is yours, is it not, Mr. Langf ord 1 '

He put the cashbox on the table, taking it into his left
hand from his father.

Taverner went to it and examined it. ' Yes/ he said
slowly, ' this is the stolen box/

' The lock is uninjured, it is fast/ said Charles ; ' but I
can tell you how to open it. " Ebal " is the word this year,
and " Onam " was last year's word. Try the letters of the lock
and the box will fly open. I know ; Mrs. Veale told me.
A reg'lar bad un she be, and how she has worreted me the
time I've been here ! — at ninepence, and Mrs. Veale not
even good-looking/

'How about the five-pound note?' asked Langford,
looking hard at Charles from under his contracted heavy
brows. * You can't deny you had thaf,/

* What five-pound note ? — what five-pound note have I
had from you ? '

* The note you gave us, Charles/ explained his father.
'Oh, that. Did it come from your box ? I did not

A BOWL OF BROTH 275

know it ; Mrs. Veale gave it me. Now, don't you glow'r
at me that way ! ' This was to the housekeeper, who had
turned her white, quivering face towards him. ' Now don't
you try to wriggle or shiver yourself out of my hold, for go
you don't ; as you couldn't catch me, I've caught you, and
to justice I'll bring you ; a designing, harassing, sweetheart-
ing old female, you be ! ' He gripped her so hard that she
exclaimed with pain. ' And to lay it on me when I was
gone ! To make out I — that am innocent as the angels in
heaven — was a thief ! And I, a Luxmore of Coombe Park,
and a hero of the Afghan war — I, that carried off the
sandal-wood gates of Somnath ! I, a thief ! I, indeed !
Mrs. Yeale gave me, off and on, money when I was short
— I wasn't very flush on ninepence a day. A man of my
position and bringing up and military tastes can't put up
well with ninepence. I only accepted her money as a loan ;
and when she let me have a five-pound note, I gave her a
promise to pay for it when I came into my property. How
was I to know that five-pound note was not hers ? I sup.
pose, by the way you ask, it was not ? '

1 No/ said Langford, ' it was not ; it was taken from my
box/

'That is like her — a bad un down to the soles of her
feet. Wanted to mix me up with it and have evidence
against me. I reckon I've turned the tables on the old
woman — considerably.'

'What do you say to this ? ' asked Taverner, directing his
keen eyes on her face. She was nickering so that it was
impossible to catch her eyes. Her face was as though seen
through the hot air over a kiln.

' I've been in your service fifteen years,' she said, in a
voice as vibrating as the muscles of her countenance. ' I've
been treated by you no better than a dog, and I've followed
you, and been true to you as a dog. Whenever did I take
anything from you before ? I've watched for you against
the mice that eat the corn, watched like an owl 1 '

1 You acknowledgei this ? *

T2

276 RED SPIDER

1 What is the good of denying it ? Let me go, for my
fifteen years' faithful duty.'

1 No, no/ said Taverner with a hard voice. * Not yet ;
I've something more to ask. Honor Luxmore, what did
you say when you took my bowl of broth from me 1 ' Honor
drew back.

*I spoke too hastily,' she said. *I spoke without
knowing.'

' You said that the bowl contained poison. Why did
you say that ? '

c It was fancy. Let me throw the broth away. I am
sure of nothing.' Unlike her usual decision, Honor was
now doubtful what to say and do.

* I insist on knowing. I made a charge against your
brother, and it has proved false, because it has been gone
into. You have made a charge '

* I have charged no one.'

* You have said that this bowl ' — he took it from the shelf
— * is poisoned. Why did you say that ? No one touched
it, no one mixed it, but Mrs. Yeale. Therefore, when you
said it was poisoned, you charged her with a dreadful
crime ; you charged her, that is, with an attempted crime.'

* I heard my sister say that she saw a yellow packet of
rat poison in the china dog on the shelf in the kitchen,'
said Honor nervously, ' which — I do not mean the dog — I
mean the poison, which Mrs. Yeale had bought at the Revel,
and when I was in the passage just now I saw Mrs. Yeale
put the contents of this packet into the broth she was stir
ring on the fire, before pouring it out into the basin, in
which it now is. But,' continued Honor, drawing a long
breath, * but Kate is not very accurate ; she sometimes
thinks she sees a thing when she has only imagined it, and
she talks at random at times, just because she likes to talk.1

* It was mace,' said Mrs. Yeale.

* Follow me,' ordered Taverner Langford, taking the
basin between his hands, and going to the door. f Let her
go. She will follow me.'

A BOWL OF BROTH 277

1 I've followed at your heel as a dog these fifteen years,'
muttered Mrs. Veale, 'and now you know I must follow
till you kick me away.'

Charles, however, would not relinquish his hold.

' Don't let her escape,' entreated Charles ; ' she's a bad un,
and ought to be brought to justice for falsely charging me/

' Open the door, will you 1 ' said Tavern er roughly.
'Mrs. Veale, follow me into the harness-room ' — this was the
room on the other side of the passage, the room made out of
the entrance hall.

Charles drew the woman through the door, and did not
relax his hold till he had thrust her into the apartment
where Langford wished to speak to her alone.

Taverner and she were now face to face without wit
nesses. The soft warm mist had changed to rain, that now
pattered against the window. The room was wholly un
furnished. There was not a chair in it nor a table. Ta
verner had originally intended it as an office, but as he
received few visitors he had come to use the parlour as
reception room and office, and had made this apartment, cut
from the hall, into a receptacle for lumber. A range of
pegs on the wall supported old saddles and the gear of cart
horses, and branches of bean-stalks, that had been hung
there to dry for the preservation of seed. An unpleasant,
stale odour hung about the room. The grate had not been
used for many years, and was rusty ; rain had brought the
soot down the chimney, and, as there was no fender, had
spluttered it over the floor. The window panes were dirty,
and cobwebs hung in the corners of the room from the
ceiling — old cobwebs thick with dust. Moths had eaten
into the stuffing of the saddles, and, disturbed by the cur
rent of air from the door, fluttered about. In the corner
was a heap of sacks, with nothing in them, smelling of
earth and tar.

'I've served you faithful as a dog/ said Mrs. Veale.
'Faithful as a dog,' she repeated ; 'watched for you, wakeful
as an owl.'

278 RED SPIDER

'And like a dog snarl and snap at me with poisoned
fangs,' retorted Mr. Langford. ' Stand there ! ' He pointed
to a place opposite him, so that the light from the window
fell on her, and his own face was in darkness. ' Tell me the
truth ; what have you done to this broth ? '

' If you think there's harm in it, throw it away/ said
Mrs. Yeale.

'No, I will not. I will send it to Okehampton and have
it analysed. Do you know what that means ? Examined
whether there be anything in it but good juice of meat and
water and toast/

4 There's mace/ said the woman ; ' I put in mace to
spice it, and pepper and salt/

' Anything else ? What do you keep in yellow paper,
and in the china dog ? '

'Mace — every cook puts mace in soup. If you don't
like it throw it away, and I will make you some without.'

' Mrs. Yeale, so there's nothing further in the soup ? '

'Nothing.'

' You warned me that a corpse-candle was coming to the
door — nay, you said you had seen it travel up the road and
dance on the step, and that same night I was taken ill.'

' Well, did I bring the corpse-light ? It came of itself.'

' Mrs. Yeale, I am not generally accounted a generous
man, but I pride myself on being a just man. You have
told me over and over again that you have served me faith
fully for fifteen years. Well, you have had your way. You
served me in your own fashion, with your head full of your
own plans. You wanted to catch me, but the wary bird
don't hop on the limed twig, to use your own expressions.
I don't see that I'm much in your debt ; if you are disap
pointed in the failure of your plans, that's your look-out ;
you should have seen earlier that nothing was to be made
out of me. Now I am ready to stretch a point with you.
You have robbed me. Fortunately for me, I've got my
money and box back before you have been able to make off
with it. What vere you waiting for ? For my death 1

A BOWL OF BROTH 279

For my marriage 1 Were you going to finish me because I
had not been snared by your blandishments 1 I believe you
intended to poison me.'

1 It's a lie ! ' said Mrs. Yeale hoarsely, trembling in every
limb, and with flickering lips and eyes and nostrils and
fluttering hair.

' Yery well. I am content to believe so. I can, if I
choose, proceed against you at once — have you locked up
this very night for your theft. But I am willing to deal
even generously with you. It may be I have overlooked
your many services ; I may have repaid them scantily.
You may be bitterly disappointed because I have not made
you mistress of this house, and I will allow that I didn't
keep you at arm's length as I should, finding you useful.
Very well. The door is open. You shall go away and none
shall follow, on one condition.'

He looked fixedly at her, and her quivering became
more violent. She did not ask what his condition was.
She knew.

' Finish this bowl, and convince me you were not bent
on my murder.'

She put out her hands to cover her face, but they trem
bled so that she could not hold them over her eyes.

' If you refuse, I shall know the whole depth of your
wickedness, and you shall only leave this room under arrest.
If you accept, the moor is before you ; go over it where you
will.'

He held the bowl to her. Then her trembling ceased
—ceased as by a sudden spasm. She was still, set in face
as if frozen ; and her eyes, that glared on her master, were
like pieces of ice. She said nothing, but took the bowl and
put it to her lips, and, with her eyes on him, she drained it
to the dregs.

Then the shivering, like a palsy, came over her again.
'Let me go,' she said huskily. 'Let none follow. Leave
me in peace.' Langford opened the door and went back
into the parlour. Mrs. Veale stole out after him, and those

280 RED SPIDER

in the sitting-room heard her going down the passage like a
bird, napping against the walls on each side.

* Where is she going ? ' asked Charles. * She is not to
escape us. She's such a bad un, trying to involve me/

* I've forgiven her,' answered Langford in a surly tone.
' I mayn't be over generous, but I'm just.'

' And now, Taverner, one word wi' you,' said old Nan-
spian. ' I reckon you thought to sloke away this Red Spider,
as you did the first ; but there you are mistaken. As I've
heard, you have tried to force her to accept you — who are
old enough to be her father — shame be to you ! But this is
your own house, and I'll say no more on what I think.
Now, Taverner, I venture to declare you have no more hold
on the girl. Her brother never took your money; you
were robbed by your own housekeeper. You say you've
forgiven her because you are just. What the justice is, in
that, I don't see, but I do see one thing clear as daylight,
and that is, you've no right any more to insist on Honor
coming here as your wife, not unless by her free will and
consent, and that, I reckon, you won't have, as Larry, my
boy, has secured her heart/

Langford looked at Nanspian, then at Honor and Larry ;
at the latter he looked long.

'I suppose it is so,' he said. 'Give me the settlement.1
He tore it to pieces. ' I'll have nothing more to do with
women, old or young. They're all vexatious.'

' Hark ! ' They heard a wailing cry.

* Go and see what is the matter,' said Langford to Piper ;
then, turning to Oliver, he said, ' I tear up the settlement,
but I'll not lend the hundred pounds/

1 Larry ! ' said old Nanspian, ' she shan't be sloked away
any more. Take the maid's hand, and may the Lord bless
and unite you/ Then to Langford, 'Now look y' here,
Taverner. Us have been quarrelling long enough, I reckon.
You've tried your worst against us, and you've failed.
I've made the first advance on my side, and uninvited come
over your doorstep, a thing I swore I never would do. Give

A BOWL OF BROTH 281

me your hand, brother-in-law, and let us forget the past, or
rather let us go back to a past before we squabbled over a
little Red Spider. You can't help it now ; Langford and
Chimsworthy will be united, but not whilst we old folk are
alive, and Honor will be a queen o' managers. She'll rake
the maidens out of their beds at five o'clock in the morning
to make the butter, and '

Piper burst into the room. ' Mrs. Veale ! ; he exclaimed.

* Well, what of Mrs. Yeale ? ; asked Langford sharply.

1 She has run out, crying like an owl and flapping her
arms, over the moor, till she came to Wellon's Hill.'

1 Let her go,' said Langford.

' She went right into the mound,' continued Piper
breathlessly, ' and when I came up she had crawled into the
stone coffin inside, and had only her arm out, and she was
tearing and scraping at the earth and drawing it down over
the hole by which she'd gone in — burying herself alive, and
wailing like an owl/

' Is there any money still hid there ? ' asked Langford.

c She screamed at me when I came up, " Will you not
leave me alone ? I be poisoned ! I be dying 1 Let me die
in peg.ce ! w Whatever shall us do 1*

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE LOOK-OUT STONE.

ONE Sunday evening, a year after the events just related,
Taverner Langford and Hillary Nanspian, senior, were
seated in the sun on the Look-out stone, in friendly con
versation. Nanspian was looking happier, more hale, and
prosperous than he had appeared since his stroke. He wore
the badger- skin waistcoat, and his shirt- sleeves. The waist
coat had been relined with brilliant crimson stuff ; bright
was the hue of the lining displayed by the lappets. Tavernef

282 RED SPIDER

Langford had not a cheerful expression ; his hair was mor«
grizzled than it was twelve months ago, and his face more
livid. There was, however, a gentler light in his eyes.

* It is a great change in Larry,' said Nanspian. ' Though
I say it, there never was a steadier and better son. He is
at work from morning to night, and is getting the farm into
first-rate order — you'll allow that ? '

* Yes/ answered Langford, ' I'll allow he begins well ; I
hope it will last. As for first-rate order, that I will not
admit. " One year's seeds, three years' weeds," as Mrs.
Veale ' He checked himself.

* That were a queer creature,' observed Nanspian, taking
the pipe from his mouth, and blowing a long puff. * That
was the queerest thing of all, her burying herself, when she
felt she was dying, in old Wellon's grave.'

* It was not his grave. It was a grave of the old ancient
Britons/

'Well, it don't matter exactly whose the grave was.
Mrs. Veale seemed mighty set on making it her own/ He
continued puffing, looking before him, ' I'm not sure you
acted right about her/ he said after a while. 'I sup
pose you didn't really suppose there was any poison in the
broth/

* I'm a just man/ said Langford. * To do as you were to
be done by is my maxim. And — it's Gospel/

* But you didn't think it would kill her ? '

1 1 don't know what I thought. I wasn't sure/
Another pause.

'Swaddledown ain't coming to the hammer after all,'
said Nanspian.

1 No, I'm glad the Voadens remain on.'

* Ah ! and Sam is a good lad. I reckon before Mi
chaelmas he and Kate will make a pair. They'd have done
that afore if it had been settled whether Swaddledown
would be sold, and they have to leave/

' Kate is too giddy to be any use in a farm/

'Oh, wait till she has responsibilities; See how well

THE LOOK-CUT STONE 283

she has managed since Honor has been here — how she has
kept the children, and made her father comfortable.'
' The children are half their time at Chimsworthy.'
' Well, well, I like to hear their voices.'
1 And you see more than you like of Luxmore.'
1 Oh no, I like to see a neighbour. I allow I'm a bit
weary of Coombe Park ; but bless you, now you and I let
him have a trifle, he spends most of his time when not in
the van rambling about from one parish to another looking
at the registers, and trying to find whether his grandfather
were James, or John, or Joseph, or Jonah. It amuses him,
and it don't cost much.'

* He'll never establish his claim.7

*I reckon he won't. But it's an occupation, and the
carrying don't bring him much money — just enough to keep
the children alive on.'

1 Have you heard of Charles lately V

' Oh, he is on the road. That was a fine idea, making a
carrier of him between Exeter and Launceston. There are
so many stations on the way — there's Tap House, and
Crockernwell, and Sticklepath, and Okehampton, and Sour-
ton Down Inn, and Bridestowe, and Lew Down, and Lifton ;
and he can talk to his heart's content at each about what
he did in Afghanistan, and what he might be if his father
could prove his claim to Coombe Park. Then he's so occu
pied with his horses on Sundays at Launceston that he can't
possibly get over here to see his relations, which is a mercy.'

' I've been thinking,' said Langford, * as we've got Larry
in for third feoffee in Coryndon's Charity, couldn't we get
the baby in for the fourth now there's a vacancy ? '

* But the baby ain't come yet, and I don't know whether
it'll be a boy or a maid.

' It would be a satisfaction, and a further bond of union,
argued Langford. ' The Coryndon trust land comes in very
fitting with Langford and Chimsworthy, and I thought that
when you and I are gone, Larry might absorb our feoffee-
ships into himself, as a snail draws in his horns, and then

284 RED SPIDER

there'd be only he and his son, and when he himself goes,
his son would be sole feoffee and responsible to no one.
Coryndon's land comes in very fitly.'

1 1 don't think it can be done,' said Nanspian, shaking
his head. ' There's such a lot of ramping and roaring radi
calism about. I thought we'd better put in Sam Yoaden.
Thus it will be in the family.'

1 In the Luxmore, not in ours.'

'We can't have everything,' argued Nanspian. Then
both were silent again. Langford sighed. Presently he
said, ' I'm a just man, and do like to see the property rounded
shapely on all sides. That is why I proposed it.'

Then another pause.

Presently Hillary Nanspian drew a long pull at his pipe,
and sent two little shoots of smoke through his nostrils.
'Taverner,' said he, when all the smoke was expended,
* going back to that woman, Mrs. Yeale, I don't think you
ought to have taken me up so mighty sharp about her.
After all this is sifted and said, you must allow you
stood afraid of her, and I allow that you had a right to be
so. A woman as would steal your cashbox, and make
attempts on your heart, and poison your gruel, no man
need blush and hang his head to admit that he was a bit
afraid of.'

* And, Nanspian,' said Langford with solemnity, c you
will excuse my remarking that I think you took me up far
too testily when I said you was a long-tailed ourang-outang,
for it so happens that the ourang-outang is a- tailless ape.
Consequently, no offence could have been meant, and should
not ha' been taken.'

( You don't mean to say so ? '

1 It is true. I have it in print in a Nature History, and,
what is more, I've got a picture of an ourang-outang, hold
ing a torn-off bough in his hand, and showing just enough
of his back to let folks understand he's very like a man.
Well, I've a mind, as the expression I used about you was
repeated in the long room of the " Ring of Bells," to have

THE LOOK-OUT STONE 285

that picture framed and hung up there. Besides, under it
stands in print, " The ourang-outang, or tailless ape." ;

'You will 1 Well, I always said you were a just man ;
now I will add you're generous.' The brothers-in-law shook
hands. After a moment's consideration Nanspian said, * I
don't like to be outdone in generosity by you, much as I
respect you. If it would be any satisfaction to the parish
of Bratton Clovelly, the weather being warm, and for the
quieting of minds and setting at rest all disputes, I don't
object to bathing once in the river Thrustle before the
feoffees of Coryndon's Charity, excepting Larry, whom from
motives of delicacy I exclude/

1 Well,' said Langford, * I won't deny you're a liberal-
minded man.'

Taverner sprang to his feet, and Nanspian also rose.
Over the stile from the lane came Honor, in her red stock
ings and scarlet cloak, the latter drawn closely round her.

' Why didn't you call us ? ' said Nanspian. * We'd have
come and helped you over.'

1 You shouldn't be climbing about now/ said Taverner.

' Come and sit between us on the Look-out stone,' said
Nanspian.

So the two old men reseated themselves on the granite
slab, with Honor between them.

' You tried hard to sloke her away,' remarked Nanspian,
shaking his head.

1 Let bygones be bygones,' said Langford. ' She may
be here at Chimsworthy now, but she'll be at Langford
some day, I'm proud and happy to think.'

* Ah ! ' said Nanspian, ' she's made a mighty change in
Larry, and, faith, in me also. I'm a happier man than I
was.' He put his arm round behind Honor.

'I may say that of myself,' said Langford. *I can
know that Langford will be made the most of after I'm
gone.' He put his arm round her, and clasped that of
Nanspian.

1 Ah ! ' said Nanspian, in his old soft, furry, pleasant

2S6 RED SPIDER

voice, 'if I'd a many score of faces in front of me, and 1
were addressing a political meeting, I'd say the same as I
says now. Never you argue that what we was taught as
children is gammon and superstition, it's no such thing. It
has always been said that he who lays hold of a red spider
secures good luck, and we've proved it, Taverner and I,
we've proved it. Us have got hold of the very best and
biggest and reddest of money-spinners between us — us don't
try to sloke her away to this side or to that. Her belongs
ekally to Chimsworthy and to Langford, to myself and to
Taverner, and blessed if there be a chance for any man all
over England of getting such another treasure as this Ked
Spider which Taverner and I be holding atween us — ekally
belonging to each.1

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