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THE TRAMPING METHODIST
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUMB
GREEN APPLE HARVEST
STARBRACE
SPELL LAND
THE CHALLENGE TO SIRIUS
SUSSEX GORSE
TAMARISK TOWN
JOANNA GODDEN
LITTLE ENGLAND
The
Tramping Methodist
BY
SHEILA KAYE-SMITH
" Bed in the bush with stars to see,
Bread I dip in the river
There's the life for a man like me,
There s the life for ever.'
R. L. STEVENSON.
MCCLELLAND AND STEWART, LTD.
PUBLISHERS : : TORONTO
PR
Printed in Great Britain
CONTENTS
CHAl'TKR PAOB
1. OF THE METHODIST AT BREDE PARSONAGE . i
2. OF THE METHODIST AT SHOYSWELL . .11
3. OF THE METHODIST'S CONFESSION OF FAITH 23
4. OF THE METHODIST AND RUTH SHOTOVER . 36
5. OF THE METHODIST AND MARY WINDE . 54
6. OF THE METHODIST AS A WANDERER . 67
7. OF THE METHODIST AS A LOVER . . 83
8. OF THE METHODIST'S JOURNEY INTO THE
DENS OF KENT 94
9. OF THE METHODIST AT THE VILLAGE OF
ROLVENDEN 104
10. OF THE METHODIST AT THE VILLAGE OF
TENTERDEN 117
11. OF THE METHODIST AT THE VILLAGE OF
BlDDENDEN 130
12. OF THE METHODIST AND ONE WHO
SUFFERED MORE BRAVELY THAN HE . 137
13. OF THE METHODIST AND THE MAN HE
HATED 146
vi CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGB
14. OF THE METHODIST AND THE WOMAN HE
LOVED 154
15. OF THE METHODIST IN PLURENDEN QUARRY 170
16. OF THE METHODIST IN A SORE STRAIT . 182
17. OF THE METHODIST IN PRISON . . . 200
18. OF THE METHODIST AND MUCH STORM AND
TROUBLE 218
19. OF THE METHODIST AND THE STRETCHED-OUT
ARM OF THE LORD . . 242
20. OF THE METHODIST AND THE RETURN WITH
JOY . 267
The Tramping Methodist
CHAPTER I
OF THE METHODIST AT BREDE PARSONAGE
MY father was Rector of Brede, and held in
plurality the livings of Udimore, Westfield,
Piddinghoe, and Southease. He himself took
charge of the first three parishes, which lay near each
other, and my elder brother, Clonmel, assisted him as
his curate. Between Piddinghoe and Southease an
underfed, overworked curate-in-charge galloped an
underfed, overworked horse every Sunday.
My father's office was almost a sinecure there were
only two services a week at Brede, and only one at
Udimore and at Westfield. On Sunday evening my
father took off the priest with his surplice, and lived
the life of a fox-hunting squire till he put on his surplice
again the next Sunday morning. Clonmel was not a
priest even in his surplice, but from week-end to week-
end, a combination of the jockey, the sot, and the
brute.
We were a large family my father and mother, my
brothers Clonmel, Archie, and Christopher, and my
sisters Fanny and Matilda. I have it on the authority
of several neighbours that the Lytes of Brede Parsonage
were renowned for their good looks, my father and
2 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
Clonmel being specially fine men. As for me, I think I
can do no better than describe myself in the words of
my mother when a visitor admired my face : ' Yes,
Humphrey would be handsome if his brows were not
so black, and if he were not always frowning."
I can clearly remember that frown, though time and
peace have long since worn away all traces of it, except
two upright lines between my brows. I first noticed
it when, as a child of six, I caught sight of myself in
a mirror and saw the sullen, swarthy little face, with
its beetling brows and angry grey eyes beneath them.
I then realised how I deserved the epithets constantly
hurled at me by my parents and Clonmel of " Little
beast ! Little devil ! "
I was an unfavourable specimen of childhood stiff,
moody, sullen, and untractable, my bosom always
seething with furious passions. I had no affection for
my family, as I knew they did not love me or take any
interest in me. Archie and Kit were coarse and rough,
Fanny and Tilly were vain and would-be-genteel ; my
mother neglected me, and my father and Clonmel
kicked and beat me. So I shunned them all, and would
mope by myself about the house, sitting for hours, my
head sunk on my breast, in the recess of some window-
seat, or on the attic stairs, where, as they were rickety
and unsafe with age, I was sure of comparative peace.
My life was miserable, and my heart was full of
bitter passions ; but one day a kind of happiness
dawned for me. My brothers and sisters and I were
gathering blackberries in a field near Starvecrow, when
the sun suddenly pierced his noontide wrapping of
clouds, and shed his beams on the pastures. Then
I noticed for the first time how lovely was the country
round my home. I saw the Brede River winding
AT BREDE PARSONAGE 8
through emerald marshes, like a string of turquoise
on a woman's green gown. I saw Spell Land Woods
with their foliage gilt right royally, and the glorious
scarlet of the roofs of Dew Farm against a background
of bice and blue. I felt as if I had been blind up to
that hour, and had only just opened my eyes on a
world which God saw was very good.
Thenceforth I was an ardent lover of Nature, a
mistress who never grows old. I rose early each day
that I might see the mists scuttle from the valleys
like ghosts at cock-crow, and the sunrise pierce the
woods with copper darts. I never went to bed till
the fold-star had risen beyond Udimore, and the owls
had begun to hoot in the woods of Brede Eye. I used
to take long rambles in the lanes and fields, and one
night I spent on the lee-side of a haystack by the
Rother Marshes. I saw the Zodiac wheel slowly above
the horizon, the scales hang over the Five-watering,
and the Virgin stand as close as she dare to the flushing
moon. I saw the mists creep along the grass and along
the breast of the river, writhe between the pollards,
and scud like ghosts over the level. I was severely
beaten for my escapade when I returned home, but the
memory of that night shall go down with me to the
grave.
It was well for me that I had this love of field and
hedgerow, for my life was empty of all other loves.
I hated books, and never opened one of my freewill,
though by dint of much whipping I had been taught
my letters. My younger brothers and I did not go to
school, as we were needed for work on the Parsonage
Farm, and our education was confined to three hours'
daily reading with our father. I hated this, and, re-
gardless of blows, played truant at every opportunity.
4 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
It was after one of these revolts that the turning-point
of my life was reached.
I had been wandering in Loneham fields, instead of
plodding through Ovid in my father's study, and on
my return was thrashed by Clonmel, and locked into
an attic with the assurance that I should stay there
on bread and water till the end of the week. At first
I was delirious with rage* and lying on the dirty floor,
I sobbed wildly and tearlessly, till I fell asleep through
exhaustion. When I awoke I felt calmer, and began
to examine my prison. It was bare of all furniture,
save for an old chest, and on opening this I found a
quantity of musty books. These were no consolation
to me, and I shut the lid. But as the hours wore on,
loneliness and fear overpowered me. I had always
been a superstitious child, and even in the room where
I slept with Archie and Kit, I had often lain awake
trembling in the clutches of the terror by night. This
attic soon became a hell to me. I thought to see ghosts
and fetches slithering in the moonbeams up the wall,
and the dark corners seemed full of spooks. I thought
to hear my name called from the garden, but on looking
out, saw nothing but the ghastly moonlight fluttering
in the trees. My face and the palms of my hands were
damp with sweat, and in sheer desperation I opened the
book-chest, and took out a volume to distract my
thoughts.
At first I did not understand half I read by the clear
white light of the moon ; I realised only that the
book was a holy book, and spoke of God and heaven.
But soon a sentence arrested me and made me consider,
simply because it was so unlike anything I had read
before. I had only the vaguest religious ideas I had
been told that there was a God above, Who would
AT BREDE PARSONAGE 5
certainly thrust me into hell if I continued passionate
and unruly. I had also been told that Brede Church
was God's house, which did not increase my reverence
for my Maker, as the church was dirty and hideous,
with walls discoloured by damp and filth, and all view
of the altar-table shut out by a huge, unsightly three-
decker. But in this book I found God as the God of
love. " My son, I am the Lord," I read, " a stronghold
in the day of trouble. Come thou unto Me when it is
not well with thee."
I paused. The words were sweet. How often and
how bitterly had I longed for a comforter ! My heart
was touched, and my tears splashed on the open page.
I read on " I will come and take care of thee." " Let
not therefore thine heart be troubled, neither let it be
afraid. Trust in Me and put confidence in My mercy."
I read the " Imitation of Christ " till the sky suddenly
flushed with a throbbing flame of light, and the birds
sent up a matins through the roar of the wind. Then
I put it aside, and lay down and slept on the floor till
the sun awoke me. The whole of that day I spent in
pouring over my new-found treasure. I forgot that I
was terrified, miserable, and hungry ; I lived only in
the sweet words of the Brother of Common Life. The
effects they produced in me were extraordinary. I
think that Mr. Wesley would have been glad to know
my case it would have strengthened his theory of
instantaneous conversion. I entered that attic pas-
sionate, desperate, my heart full of hate and fury.
I left it calmed and humbled, with a steadfast resolu-
tion to lead a Christian life.
It was very hard it is always so, and it was excep-
tionally difficult in my case. I had no loving parents
or friends to help me and pray for me. On the con-
6 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
trary, my efforts after holiness often brought on me
the ridicule of my family, who could neither under-
stand nor sympathise. Still, I fought on. I fell daily,
hourly, but I rose again and struggled forward, learning
as much from my failures as from my triumphs.
At first my efforts were directed towards what I
called " being good " that is to say, answering meekly
when I was spoken to roughly, obeying even the surliest
commands, and banishing all thoughts of rage or un-
brotherliness from my heart. But after a while my
views widened. I had finished the first three books of
Thomas a Kempis, and had begun the fourth " Con-
cerning the Sacrament." This inflamed me with fresh
desires, and my whole being yearned for the Communion.
I was sufficiently acquainted with the Prayer Book to
know that I could not receive the Lord's Supper with-
out Confirmation, and after some thought I approached
my father on the subject, and asked if I might be
confirmed.
At first he received the idea with derision, but,
remembering that I was fifteen years old and a clergy-
man's son, granted me my wish. So I was handed
over to Clonmel, who kicked and caned my Catechism
into me, and one September afternoon my brother and
I rode off to Hastings, where the Bishop was about to
hold a Confirmation.
It was a still day, and the clouds were dun, but
every now and then a gleam of sunlight swept over the
fields, faint as the smile of a dying child. Clonmel
took no notice of me, as he was sulky at having missed
a day's cub-hunting, but rode on in front, his Rehoboam
very much on the back of his head, and dismounted
for a tankard of beer at every tavern we passed.
We went through Westfield and Ore, and I saw the
AT BREDE PARSONAGE 7
sea and the cliffs and the little red-roofed town, with
the church of All Saints looking down on it from the
slope of the East Hill. There are two churches in
Hastings, S. Clement's and All Saints', and the Con-
firmation was to be held in the latter. So Clonmel and I
rode down All Saints' Street, and engaged quarters for
the night at the New Moon. After a goodly potation
of rum-shrub, my brother marched me off to the church,
where I took my place in a front seat, while he lounged
in a pew at the back.
All Saints', Hastings, was not unlike S. George's,
Brede, in point of ugliness. But it was cleaner ; there
was some beautiful tracery in the windows, and the
faded remains of a fresco representing the Resurrection
were still visible over the chancel arch. The Confirma-
tion candidates sat in the front of the church, the boys
on one side, the girls on the other. The latter were
devout enough, and read their Prayer Books till the
service began ; but the former, who were miserably
few, spent their time in whispering, giggling, and ogling
the less serious of the girls. I found it practically
impossible to pray collectedly, especially as my comrades
were laughing at me for remaining so long on my knees.
I stuffed my fingers into my ears, and uttered a few
disjointed supplications. Then a tear, born of hope-
lessness, fell on my Prayer Book. I flushed, bit my lips
angrily, and rose from my knees to see that the Bishop
and the Vicar had just arrived.
Bishop Ashburnham was a fatherly little man, but
did not seem much impressed with ideas of reverence.
Still, he had some notion of feeding his flock, and before
the actual rite of Confirmation, spoke a few words to
the candidates. He had a pleasant voice, and his
address was practical, if not very spiritual. He told
8 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
us to obey our parents and pastors, to keep the com-
mandments, honour the King, and say our prayers.
He also bade us come frequently to the Communion,
though this was a mockery to most of us, who had
only three celebrations a year in our parish churches.
As the service continued I began to feel less miserable
and hopeless, and when it came to the laying on of
hands, peace and devotion had revisited my heart. I
went up the aisle like one in a trance, and knelt enrap-
tured with the thin white hands upon my head, while
pastoral lips begged the Lord to defend this His child
with His heavenly grace.
I returned to my seat, my heart beating feverishly
with love and hope. I remember nothing of the rest
of the service ; I seemed to have soared in vision above
that ugly church and slovenly congregation, and to
have visited the house not made with hands, and the
general assembly and church of the first-born. I
was cruelly aroused by my companions pushing past
me into the aisle at the end of the service, and rising
from my knees I went to where Clonmel was waiting
for me at the back of the church.
" What the devil is the matter with you ? " ex-
claimed my brother, when we had passed through the
churchyard, and stood in All Saints' Street. " What
are you starin' at the sky for, as if you saw spirits, like
a damnation Methodist ? "
" I am very sorry, Clonmel "
"Don't answer me like that, you little beast 1 I
won't stand your cant. Hurry on to the New Moon
and order me a quart of ale. Make haste, I tell you,
or I'll break every bone in your body."
I obeyed him hurriedly, and a few minutes later we
were seated at our supper in the coffee-room, Clonmel
AT BREDE PARSONAGE 9
slowly drowning his ill-humour in his tankard of bitter
ale. He seemed to have plenty of friends in Hastings,
judging by the number of greetings he exchanged with
the other occupants of the room. Our table was soon
surrounded by horse-breakers and jockeys in different
stages of intoxication, with whom my brother bandied
oaths and jests that set me blushing to the roots of
my hair. The Reverend Clonmel noticed this, and
boxed my ears in his usual brotherly fashion, telling
the company that I had just been confirmed, and was
already half a Ranter, though, by the hell ! he'd flog
it out of me before long.
I gulped down my supper and stole out of the room.
I was tired, and decided to go to bed. The little bed-
chamber under the eaves of the old inn was very peaceful
after that uproarious coffee-room. I knelt by the window
and prayed, while the starlight came down through
the space and years, and kissed my shoulders and
bent head.
I lay awake a long time listening to the wind as it
howled up the street, and thinking over the events
of the day. My misery and my happiness balanced
each other pretty equally. I was miserable because
I was so lonely and unloved : I was happy because I
possessed a treasure which God had given, and the
world could not take away.
The hours went by, and the noise in the coffee-room
increased. Roars of laughter came to me where I lay,
with fragments of song, and every now and then an
unlovely woman's voice. At last a door flew open,
and the shouts and oaths sounded more clearly. The
merry company were reeling upstairs. I heard my
brother approach my door. Clonmel drunk was worse
than Clonmel sober. I lay motionless in a sweat of
10 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
terror with the clothes over my head. But he took no
notice of me, flung himself all dressed on the bed, and
was soon asleep, breathing heavily. A few minutes
later I fell asleep myself, and thus ended my Confirma-
tion day.
I woke early, and the morning twilight was in the
room. I rose noiselessly, dressed, and stole down-
stairs, and drawing back the bolts of the inn door,
went into the street. The little houses were asleep,
and my steps rang hollow on the deserted pavement.
At the bend of the road, I saw the sea. The water was
a soft pearl-grey, the same colour as the sky. Indigo
shadows lay here and there on its breast, and from the
fight into the shadow, from the grey into the indigo,
the brown-sailed fishing-smacks glided. The wind came
rustling and moaning up the street, and suddenly a
blood-red scar appeared in the clouds above the East
Hill. I heard a robin sing, and my heart leapt in my
breast with peace new-born, and hope revived.
When I reached the inn I found Clonmel and my
breakfast waiting for me, for we were to go home early,
my brother being anxious to ride with the hounds.
CHAPTER II
OF THE METHODIST AT SHOYSWELL
A soon as we had reached home, Clonmel set off
for Doleham, where he hoped to fall in with
the hunt. I went into the back parlour, where
I hoped to be alone. I found my mother seated at the
window trifling with some fancy work. She looked
surprised to see me.
" I had no idea you would be back so soon. Your
father thought that you and your brother would spend
the day in Hastings, so he has hired a man from
Doucegrove Farm to help Kit and Archie with the
ricks."
" Clonmel has gone a-hunting. Mother," I added
suddenly, " when will there be a Sacrament at
Brede ? "
" A Sacrament ! " cried my mother, knitting her
brows.
" Yes, ma'am. The Bishop said "
" Oh, you have been confirmed I had forgotten it.
That accounts perhaps for your extraordinary way of
speaking. There will be a Sacrament at Christmas, not
a day before."
" That's a long time 1 "
" Well, how often would your reverence have a
Sacrament, may I ask ? "
" Once a week."
B n
12 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
" You little fool ! You don't know what you're
saying. Why, the Methodists have a Sacrament once
a week 1 "
" But may we not do as the Methodists do ? "
" As the Methodists do I The boy's mad. I've a
good mind to tell your father, and, la ! wouldn't he
beat you ! But I shan't tell him," she added more
kindly, " for you're only a silly child. Go away now,
and learn to keep your opinions to yourself in
future."
I left the room and went into the garden. The
sun was shining, but the world seemed very grey to
the boy who stood with his hands pressed tightly to
his bosom, trying vainly to keep down the sobs that
swelled it. I do not think that I ever felt so miserable
and desolate. But my despair did not last long, for
the thought came to me that though there was not
to be a Sacrament in my father's church till Christmas,
other parsons might do their duty better. Hastings,
Iden, Rye, Sedlescombe, I knew to be in the same
plight as Brede, but there were hamlets beyond
Bodiam, Salehurst, Ticehurst, and many others where
I should perhaps find what I yearned for. My time was
my own that afternoon, as a man had been hired from
Doucegrove to do my work. I could not be happier
than in wandering from village to village searching for
a temple where I might offer my sacrifice of praise and
thanksgiving.
The sunbeams flickered in the leafage of the orchard ;
the wind swept singing over the fields from Lankhurst
and dried the foolish tears upon my face. I went into
the house, pocketed a hunk of bread and cheese, and
thus equipped started on rny voyage of discovery.
I walked quickly up the Cackle Street, and came to
AT SHOYSWELL 13
Broad Oak, where I left the road and crossed the fields
to the hop-gardens of Udiam. It was the hopping
season, and I passed many a band of hop-pickers, and
many an oast with the smoke of the drying furnaces
streaming through the cowl. The scent of the vines
was delicious, and I sat in their moving shade, ate my
bread and cheese, and felt almost happy in the quiet
and sunshine.
After I had eaten I stretched myself on the sweet-
smelling ground, and slept and dreamed of moaning
water and church bells ringing at dawn. When I
woke, the sun was at its highest. I rose refreshed, and
walked on to Salehurst, my heart bounding to see the
world so fair. I forgot that the swallows were flown,
that the purple loosestrife had faded from the banks of
the meadow stream, and that the scarlet on the leaves
I thought so beautiful was like the glow on consump-
tion's cheek, a herald of death and decay.
But my spirits were soon dashed at the sight of the
locked doors of S. Mary's, Salehurst, and of the notice
which told me that though morning and evening prayers
were read there alternately every Sunday, the Lord's
Supper was not administered except at Christmas,
Easter, and Whitsuntide. It was the same at Bodiam,
and before I had come to Hurst Green I was deaf
and blind to the beautiful world, and saw only the
bare stubble-fields drenched in the tears of the dying
summer.
At Hurst Green there was no church, and I set out
wearily for Ticehurst. I had now come some fourteen
miles from my home, but this would be no obstacle to
me were I so fortunate as to find a Sacrament at Tice-
hurst, for in those days celebrations after Morning
Prayer were the accepted rule. Still, the sun was
14 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
westering, and I knew that I should be punished if I
reached home after dark ; and as at Ticehurst I was
again doomed to disappointment, I started Bredewards
with a heavy heart.
The sun was setting fast, and hung low in the sky
above Witherenden a scarlet wafer on the brink of
a cloudy chalice into which it was rapidly sinking. I
quickened my pace, for I realised that I ran the risk
not only of arriving home after dark, but of being locked
out for the night. Seeing a lane lead southward through
the fields, I turned down it, thinking that it might
shorten my road. But this reckless course brought me
punishment. The lane merged into a track, and the
track gradually faded away and left me on the banks
of a stream, with never a bridge to cross by.
I sighed hopelessly, and wandered a little by the
stream side. The waters flowed with a moaning sound,
and the crimson of the sky was mirrored in them, with
the first star hanging on the edge of the glow.
At last I came to a bend where weeping willows kissed
the bubbles at their feet, and where the stream looked
narrow enough for me to jump it. But I had miscal-
culated my distance, and this the icy water round my
thighs and breast soon told me. With great difficulty
I scrambled out at the further side and stood shivering
on the bank. That moment the sun went down and
the night wind rustled the grass.
I was by this time almost sure that I could not reach
Brede much before midnight, when the Parsonage
door would be locked. Moreover, I had lost my way, I
was dripping wet, and faint with hunger and weariness.
I dragged myself across the field, and came into a road.
In front of me a lane led southwards, but I would not
have turned down it remembering my former reck-
AT SHOYSWELL 15
lessness and its results had I not seen a light twinkling
at the end. I knew that I was near a house, and re-
solved to go there and ask my way.
The lane was rough and muddy, and the arching
trees shadowed it from the dusk as with a pall. I
groped my way along the hedge, and suddenly came
out of the darkness to find myself in front of an old
house with oasts and haggards swarming round it.
The farm-house was half-timbered, and roses, passion-
vine, and creeper did their best to hide the cracks and
gaps in the walls, and to cover the wounds in the old
roof, wreathing tenderly about the tottering chimney-
stacks, and hanging in festoons from gable-end and
eaves.
A light beamed from one of the lower windows,
and, passing by, I saw an oak-ribbed kitchen with a
table in the middle, at which three persons were seated.
I knocked at the door, and the next moment it was
opened by a short, thickset man, with kind eyes and
curly grey air. He looked sharply at my wet clothes,
and when I asked him the way to Brede, exclaimed :
" You're not going there to-night, surely 1 "
" I am indeed is it far off ? "
" If you walked hard from this minute, you couldn't
reach it before dawn and you're soaking wet, my lad
Where have you been ? "
I told him that I had fallen into a stream, and he
shook his head.
" You can't walk far in this plight ; you're shiver-
ing with cold. Come in to the fire, and dry your
clothes."
" You are very kind, but indeed I must not' loiter.
I I shall get into trouble if I am not home to-
night."
16 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
" I told you just now that you can't possibly be home
before dawn, so come in, my lad. I won't have you
leave my door shivering in this way ! "
He took me by the arm, and led me into the kitchen.
It was a quaint room, and smelled sweet, for great
bunches of lavender were hung from the middle beam,
and an apple stuck full of cloves stood on the chimney-
piece. A man and a girl sat at the table. The man was
a tall, thin young fellow, raggedly dressed, but with
one of the sweetest faces I have ever seen in my own
sex. The droop of his mouth was sad, but his eyes
were full of happiness and of a light that was almost
divine. He had been talking earnestly to the girl, and
his wan cheeks were flushed, as he quoted from the
Bible before him : " The zeal of Thine house hath
eaten me up," were the words I remember he said.
The girl was of about my own age and dressed in
pigeon grey, her hair hanging in a long, thick plait
between her shoulders. She was not beautiful, but her
eyes were glowing like the sparks which fly from under
the smith's hammer, and her cheeks were flushing like
the heart of a fire.
They both rose as I came in, and showed no surprise
when the grey-haired man told them of my plight, but
bade me sit by the fire and dry myself. I drew close to
the blaze, and the three took their seats once more at
the table, while the ragged saint resumed his reading.
Every now and then he paused and spoke a few words
to his listeners, and he spoke as I had heard no man
speak. His words were rough and ill-chosen, and he
gave me the impression of a man who, though educated
himself, had mixed so long with the rude and uncultured
people as to have assimilated some of the manners and
speech. He spoke with force, even brutality, and there
AT SHOYSWELL IT
was a Biblical ring in his sentences that told of a deep
familiarity with the Book before him. His speech
seemed too great for his frail body ; the thundering
words and rolling phrases matched ill with the thin
hands and haggard face. What struck me most about
his oration was the way he went to Nature for his similes.
He had not been speaking for ten minutes before I knew
that he could tell the name of every star that trembled
on the dun breast of the sky, and of every flower that
coloured the grass ; that he knew the roosting-places
of the birds and the variations of their notes ; that he
regarded as familiar friends the wild tiraid creatures
of the forest, the conies of the fallow, and the butterflies
of the hedge and clover-field.
He stopped speaking suddenly, and closed his book.
At the same moment a woman came in with three
bowls of porridge, but at a word from her master went
away for a fourth, of which I was right glad, as I had
tasted nothing since noon.
" You shall spend the night here," said the grey-
haired man, sitting down beside me on the settle.
" You're much too tired to walk further to-night.
Besides, you would lose your way in the dark."
" I dare not "
" Nonsense, my lad ! I insist. Your parents wouldn't
have you walk through the dark and cold. No,"
and he laid his hand on my mouth " I'll hear no more
excuses. You shan't open your lips except to eat
your porridge."
" The night is very sweet," said the girl, who had
risen and was standing by the fire. " Father, I shall
take my supper to the gable-barn and eat it there.
Will you not come too ? " she added, turning to
me.
18 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
Her tone was so frank, so modest, and so sweet that
I had neither the will nor the power to refuse. My
clothes were by this time dry enough to suit me, for I
had been hardily bred, so we left the kitchen and crossed
the fold to a barn with tarred wooden walls. The inside
was full of hay, which we climbed by a ladder set
against it, and found ourselves in a sweet-smelling loft,
from which we looked down through a huge window
into the fold.
" You have not told me your name," said the girl,
when we were seated.
" My name is Humphrey Lyte ; what is yours ? "
" Mary Winde ! "
" What a lovely name ! "
" Do you think so ? There are so many girls round
here called Mary."
" I think it is the most beautiful name a woman can
have.
She looked meditative, and cast down her eyes to
the hay.
" Does your father own this farm ? " I asked
her.
" Yes. He used tq be a preacher, but his health
broke down, so we came to live here at Shoyswell."
" Who is that gentleman with your father ? He
looks like a preacher, tr j "
" That is Mr. John Palehouse, and he goes from
village to village preaching."
" You are Methodists ! " I cried, suddenly alarmed.
" Yes ! Does that shock you very much ? "
" No er no that is to say "
She laughed merrily.
" I am sure by your voice that you are very much
shocked indeed."
AT SHOYSWELL 19
" My father is a clergyman," I stammered, " and
I know that he will be furious when he hears that I
have spent the night with Methodists. But after all,
he is sure to beat me for not being home by dark, and
he cannot beat me harder then he does usually that
is to say," I added, " without killing me."
" You speak as if you would not mind being
killed."
" I don't suppose being killed hurts much," I said
dreamily ; " at least, not more than being alive."
" How wildly you talk I " she cried, drawing away
from me. " Life is wonderful and beautiful at least
to me."
" It is," I said, " at least to you."
" There are the fields, the woods, the stars, and the
wind," she continued, " and there are books. Don't
you love books ? "
" I hate them ! "
" What a strange boy you are ! How do you spend
the long evenings if you hate books ? "
" I think I "
" And sad thoughts, I'll be bound. Do you know
that there are such fierce, frowning lines between your
eyebrows ? They were the first thing I noticed when I
saw you."
" Have you many books ? " f asked abruptly.
" Not many of my own, but my father allows me to
read what I like of his."
" Tell me about your books," I cried, leaning forward
in the hay, and touching her hand. " I love to hear
you speak. I never had a playfellow."
" I know nothing of foreign languages, so I- can read
only English books. But I love them so much that I
never wish for any others. Shakespeare, Chaucer, Pope,
20 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
Milton, and Spenser I will lend you my Spenser if
you like ? "
" Thank you ! I promise to read it, and it will be
the only book, except my Bible and ' Imitation,' that
I have ever read of my own free will."
She went on speaking, and I lay listening in the hay.
We had finished our porridge, and had set our bowls
aside. The night wind blew in on us, and rustled the
hay. The stillness was broken by the bleating of sheep,
which gradually drew nearer. The fold-gates opened,
and the flock poured in, their whiteness tinged to grey
in the starlight. All was so dim that sheep from sheep
could hardly be distinguished, and an indefinite mass
surged between the oasts.
It was like a beautiful dream, which we cry for when
we wake. The stars shone mistily, like pearls under a
woman's scarf, and farm-lights dotted the country,
as if the fields reflected and magnified the stars. A
little moon hung between the gables of Shoyswell, and
when her light fell full upon the hay, Mary stopped
speaking and laughed.
" I have preached of books enough for to-night.
Hark 1 the fold-bells are ringing us to bed."
We climbed down from our nest and made our way
through the sheep to the house, Mary going in front
of me grey gown 'mid grey sheep in a grey star-
light.
Entering the kitchen, we surprised Mr. Winde and
John Palehouse in a dispute as to which room I should
sleep in, each declaring that I must have his own.
Finding that accommodation at Shoyswell was so scant,
I refused both offers, vowing, as was, indeed, the truth,
that I would rather lie on a truss of hay in one of the
outhouses. By dint of argument and entreaty I at
AT SHOYSWELL 21
length carried my point, and after we had all knelt
for a few minutes in prayer on the warm flags round
the hearth, Peter Winde lighted me to my sleeping-
place.
It was an old barn and immensely high ; but it was
warm and sweet-scented. The moon and stars shone
on me where I lay, too happy to go to sleep. I had
always loved solitude and longed to sleep alone, but
my wish had never been granted me except for the
night spent under the haystack on the Rother Marshes
till now, when I lay in the old black barn, and outside
the wind-crooned hush-a-bye to the oaks and hazels,
and all else was silence save for the groaning cowls of
the oasts.
I did not sleep till the morning dusk, and it seemed
as if I had only just closed my eyes when I woke to
find John Palehouse shaking me by the shoulder.
Breakfast was laid in the kitchen, and when it was
over, Mary took me into the next room, where the walls
were lined with books. She gave me a Spenser from her
own little store, and I was delighted, because I knew
that I should have to walk over to Shoyswell to return
it. On our way out of the room I noticed a number of
black-bound volumes in a case by themselves.
" Are those your father's ? " I asked, impressed by
their size.
" Yes," she said, and added mischievously, " they
are Methodist books."
I drew back a little.
" But, after all, if you and Mr. Winde are Methodists,
they cannot be such dreadful people as I have been
told."
" I wouldn't be too sure of that," cried Mary, laughing.
" I am so sorry you must go, she added gravely.
22 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
" You are not so sorry as I am. I have been happier
these few hours than I have ever been before."
" Poor boy ! " I thought I heard her whisper, and I
know that there were tears in her eyes as she said
good-bye.
CHAPTER III
OF THE METHODIST'S CONFESSION OF FAITH
I WAS not long in reading Mary's Spenser, and when
I had returned it she lent me her Shakespeare,
and after that her Chaucer. This meant many a
walk to Shoyswell, and each visit was sweeter than the
last. I found that if I rose very early, I could easily
be back by nightfall, and as I was often wont to take
long rambles by myself, my family asked no questions.
I was much hindered by my duties on the farm, but I
enjoyed an occasional holiday, and no one cared to
know how I spent it. On my return from my first visit
to the Windes I had told my father that, being over-
taken by night, I had sought shelter at a farm-house ;
and as this afforded enough excuse for beating me, no
more questions were asked, and the Reverend Septimus
Lyte never heard that his son was the guest and friend
of Methodists.
John Palehouse had gone on a preaching expedition
to Devonshire, and Peter and Mary were alone. They
always had a quiet but kindly welcome for me, and my
heart began to warm and expand in its new happiness.
For this was the only friendship I had known. Though
my father and mother occasionally visited or were
visited by the neighbouring " gentry," I had never
had any other companions than my younger brothers,
who were companions only in the sense that we worked,
23
24 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
ate, and slept together, and could by no means be called
my friends.
My intercourse with the Windes was new and beauti-
ful. Mary and I used to take our books into the hay-
loft and read aloud to each other, bringing what we
could not understand to Peter ; and in the evening the
father and daughter walked part of the way home with
me, as far as Lossenham, perhaps, or Methersham, on
the great lonely marsh where the mists were brooding
and hanging like streamers on the branches of the
willows, where the Rother wound like a ribbon of flame
towards the east. Peter would bless me when we said
good-bye, and I would walk on to Brede with a light
heart, and would dream of Shoyswell.
A great happiness had come into my life with these
two friends, but I still had my moments of darkness
and depression. These increased as I grew older and
my eyes opened wider on the sorrows round me. I
soon realised that not only was the Sacrament neglected,
but that the Gospel was not preached. The poor people
of my father's parish were woefully ignorant many of
them could neither read nor write and could hear of
God and heaven only from my father and Clonmel,
who cared for none of these things. These wretched
folk lived hopeless, religionless lives, and spent them in
bestial pleasures, sin, suffering, and despair. My heart
yearned after them they were like shepherdless sheep
on the hills. I resolved to try to better their lot. I
secretly visited the old people in their cottages, and I
formed a class of lads, whom I taught to read in a
kitchen lent me by a cottager of Broad Oak, having
only one rule that each lad I taught should in his turn
teach a friend. But my father heard of my undertaking,
and if there was one thing he hated, it was to see another
25
do the good works he left undone. He scattered my
class, flogged me, and multiplied my duties on the
Parsonage Farm, hoping by hard work and hard blows
" to knock all the nonsense out of me."
This made me desperate, and I did that which I had
been tempted to do some months before, but had not
dared. On one of my visits to Shoyswell they were
very few now that my farm-work had been increased
I asked Peter Winde to lend me one of his Methodist
books. He had made me a laughing offer once, but I
had drawn back horrified, and he looked surprised
when I ventured my request.
" Do you really mean it, lad ? "
" Yes, I really mean it."
He shook his head, but gave me a volume. It was
the smallest of his collection, and during the day I
kept it in my bosom, and at night it lay under my
pillow. I was in dread of discovery, and read it in
secrecy and fear, but when I had finished it I asked
Peter for another.
It was sheer desperation that had driven me to this
course, and sometimes I paused and wondered at myself,
and at the direction matters were taking. It seemed
impossible that Humphrey Lyte, the loyal Churchman
and devout Sacramentalist, should be reading Methodist
books, and becoming each day more favourably dis-
posed towards Methodism. The fact was that my books,
and the beautiful lives led by Peter and Mary Winde,
had taught me that Methodists were not the evil fanatics
and heretics my family believed them. They were
truer to Church discipline and to the Sacraments than
were most Church people and clergy, and they had a
zeal for the Gospel of Christ that made my heart glow
with fervour and admiration. With the Calvinistic
26 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
Methodists, the followers of Whitefield, I had no sym-
pathy, but the disciples of Wesley, with their simple
austere lives, their good works, and their enthusiasm,
stirred up my highest respect, and respect soon deep-
ened into a wish to imitate.
At first I proposed to go no further than imitation.
I fasted and spent much time in prayer and in reading
the Bible. I hoped that the Church might be goaded
to reform by the example of the noble lives outside her
pale. But I soon saw how foundationless was this
hope, and began to entertain doubts as to my right to
remain in a Church which had fallen so far from her
purest ideals.
I angrily silenced my doubts, but they were stronger
then I, and tormented me, especially after my failure
with my school. I saw that it would be impossible for
me to do good in my father's parish. I saw also that no
parish in England would tolerate my good works. The
Church hated enthusiasm ; she preached against it
and fought against it. There was no room for the
zealous preacher of the Gospel in the Church.
I have told in a few lines of a struggle which raged
several months. I shall not enter into the details of
that conflict, or describe how my doubts gradually
formed themselves into unanswerable arguments and
then into convictions. I was about twenty years old
when my eyes opened fully on the truth, and I re-
member my despair when I saw that there was only
one course open to me a secession from the Established
Church to the Methodists.
I lay awake night after night in anguish. I said
nothing of my trouble to Peter Winde, and he gave me
no sign that he suspected it. He had seldom spoken
to me of his beliefs, but his life had preached them more
HIS CONFESSION OF FAITH 27
convincingly than his lips could ever have done. At
last, however, he let me see that he knew of my diffi-
culties. I had managed to find time for a visit to Shoys-
well. Mary was out, but Peter received me kindly. He
was dusting the shelves of his library, and asked me to
amuse myself with a book till he had finished. I re-
member little of the book it was " Purchas his Pil-
grimage" I think for I fell a-dreaming over the open
page, and was roused only by Winde putting something
down in front of me. It was an open Bible, and one
verse was deeply scored
" He that taketh not his cross and followeth after
Me, is not worthy of Me."
"I'll walk as far as Reedbed with you this evening,
lad," said Peter.
Mary came home from the neighbouring farm-house
of Turzes, where she had been visiting some friends, and
we had dinner. When it was over, Peter and I set
out for Brede. I said good-bye to Mary at the gate.
" You are not coming with us ? " I said.
" No, not this afternoon ! "
" Why not ? I should like to talk with you about
' Paradise Regained.' "
" But my father wished to talk with you about
something far more important."
Her voice rang serious, and there was a great glow
in her eyes and on her cheeks.
" God bless you, Humphrey," and she shut the gate.
I hurried after her father, who was half way up Shoys-
well Lane, and we walked on side by side for some time
in silence. It was not till we had reached the Rothe
Levels that he spoke. The March afternoon was drawing
to a close, and the country lay round me draped in
vesper robes of crimson and grey crimson on the great
28 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
sedge-bordered ponds and on the breast of the Rother,
grey on the misty fields that huddled, with woods still
darker grey, towards the south.
" Well, lad," said Peter, " and will you deny your
Lord that He may deny you, or will you confess Him
that He may confess you before the angels of Heaven ? "
" What do you mean ? " I faltered.
" I mean that you must speak you can't keep
silence any longer."
" How do you know what I've got to say ? "
" I've studied your face and read a secret there."
"Oh ... Mr. Winde "
" You're surprised, are you ? But I'm used to
studying folk, and though you're reserved enough, I've
read the proud young heart that would have nursed
its own bitterness."
" I did not care to trouble you," I murmured sheep-
ishly.
" In other words, you were afraid of your secret."
" That is true," I cried. " That is true indeed ; and,
sir, you wish me to tell my family of this ? "
" The Lord wishes it, dear lad ! "
I walked on beside him in moody silence. The evening
was very still, troubled only by the tinkling of a fold-
bell at Moon's Green, and the splash of our feet on the
spongy level.
" It is quite true," I said at last, " that my family do
not love me, and that I shall have no heartache in
parting from my home, but my father and brother are
passionate men, and when they hear "
" So you're afraid of physical pain ! Oh, lad I thought
better of you."
" I do not fear pain, but I fear the storm that will
break. I shall probably be turned out and disowned."
HIS CONFESSION OF FAITH 29
" That's a light affliction," said Peter, " and ' He
that loveth father or mother more than Me is not
worthy of Me.' '
" I repeat that I do not love my family, only
oh, I must tell you the truth, sir. I have lived a quiet
life until now ; I have been unhappy, but I have been
in comparative peace. I have lived with thoughts
and dreams, and it is hard to come to realities. If my
father turns me out I shall starve."
" You can work for your living you know how to
work hard. But I've greater hopes for you, lad. I've
hoped and prayed that you should follow in John Pale-
house's steps and in mine."
" You mean that I should become a preacher ? "
" Certainly, lad. I've noticed before this that the
Almighty has given you ' a mouth and wisdom.' So
go forth and preach the Gospel to every creature."
We had reached Reedbed by this time, and Peter
stood still.
" Yes, go forth ' because of the word of truth, of
meekness and of righteousness, and thy right hand
shall teach thee terrible things.' Tell your father of
your convictions, cast aside your old life of groping,
and come into the new life of grasping. ' How beautiful
upon the mountains are the feet of him that publisheth
peace ! ' Lad, in this county of Sussex there are hundreds
of villages where no one has preached the tidings of
great joy. The Lord has called you, Humphrey. He
has called you from the pastures of your father's farm,
from the herds, and from the sheep-folds and will you
say : ' I pray Thee have me excused ' ? "
His voice rang out over the marsh, and a sudden
gust of wind moaned " Amen " among the reeds. I
held out my hands.
30 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
" I shall do as you wish and as God wishes. My
sacrifice is very small, but I offer it with my whole
heart."
He smiled and wrung my hand.
" God bless you, lad. Mary will be pleased when she
hears this."
" I shall tell my father on my first opportunity."
" And when you have done so come to Shoyswell,
and we'll arrange the future. Oh, lad, if only you knew
how long I've had this at heart ! "
He wrung my hand again and we parted. I looked
back after I had come to Hope Farm, and saw him
still standing among the osiers of Reedbed. I knew
that he was praying for me.
It was always my custom to walk home by the
marsh, instead of by the shorter way across the fields,
and before I had left the levels the first stars were
flickering above the old Kent Ditch, and my lady
moon was blushing over Appledore, kerchiefed in the
mist. I walked quickly as the twilight deepened and
the thoughts chased each other through my brain.
I realised that the sacrifice I was about to make was
but a little one compared to those which had been
offered rejoicingly by the martyrs before me. I had
no dear home-ties to sever ; no bitter partings would
make me weep. My great fear was that my father
would not turn me out of doors, but would shut me up
and try to starve me into subjection. However, I
thought this most unlikely. Upon one thing I was re-
solved. I would make my confession to my father alone,
and not in the presence of Clonmel.
It was dark when I arrived home, and a storm was
blowing up from the west. The raindrops were already
on my face when I reached Brede Parsonage, and every
HIS CONFESSION OF FAITH 31
now and then the wind raised a mournful shriek among
the gables.
On entering the kitchen, where we generally had our
meals, I found that my mother, sisters, and younger
brothers had finished their supper. Only my father and
Clonmel remained at table, and were already in the
quarrelsome stage of their liquor, judging by my father's
question as to " where the devil I had been all day ? "
and Clonmel's request to " shut the door and be
damned ! "
I took my seat without a word, and set a volume of
" Tristram Shandy " before me on the table, to read
while I ate my supper. I had grown to love books
since Mary Winde had introduced me to her favourite
authors, and had gone through a course of ridiculously
miscellaneous reading, snatching my few spare moments,
meal-times, and occasionally an hour in bed. I was
far lost in the company of Tristram, Uncle Toby, Yorick,
and Corporal Trim, when an extra loud oath from my
father made me start.
" Zounds ! but the fellow's no better than a Metho-
dist ! "
" Confounded Ranter," growled Clonmel, his face
hid in a mug of ale.
" A Bible-class ! " and my father pounded the
table till the ale leaped and swashed in the jugs. " We'll
be having daily prayers soon. What are you staring
at, Humphrey, you idiot ? "
" I was wondering what was making you so angry,
sir ? "
" The confounded curate at Piddinghoe has set up
a Bible-class, and I've turned him off like the knave
and Ranter he is. I'll have no Methodist humbugs in
my parishes. Those Methodists are past bearing with,
32 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
and they're not content with their pranks outside the
Church, but must needs play Old Harry with matters
inside it ! Talk of toleration ! I'd hang 'em as high as
Haman if I had the managing of affairs. Let's drink
to their damnation. Fill up your glass, Clon, and here's
to their eternal roasting ! "
Clonmel swung off his ale. " Damnation to the whole
brood ! " he roared. " Why, Humphrey, you're not
drinkin' ! "
" Nor do I intend to," I replied.
" You don't ? Then I'll make you ! "
He sprang up, and before I could resist, had flung
his arm round my neck, and forced his tankard against
my teeth. I struggled, but he held me like a vice, half-
choking me. At last I managed to wriggle an arm free.
I struck him in the face with all my force, threw myself
from him, and stood in the middle of the room, with dry
skin and heaving breast.
Clonmel swore at me, but he offered no further
violence, seeing that I had the fire-irons within reach.
" You young devil ! " he screamed. "I'll serve you
out for this you damned Methodist. I'll have your
blood from you. I'll make you screech and pant for
mercy ! "
" By the Lord ! What's the meaning of this, Hum-
phrey ? " cried my father.
" Clonmel is in a rage because I refuse to drink
damnation to the Methodists," I replied, resolving to
go on as well as I could with my confession.
" And why won't you drink ? "
" Because because I believe that they are honest
and holy men ; because I consider them foully and
spitefully slandered ; because I I am myself a Metho-
dist."
HIS CONFESSION OF FAITH 33
I brought the last words out with a gasp, and stood
silently awaiting their effect.
My father's jaw dropped, and he gazed at me in the
uttermost bewilderment and anger. Clonmel started
up with an inarticulate oath, and sprang towards me.
I darted back, and, seizing a chair, swung it above
my head.
" Stand off, if you value your skull ! " I cried, and
he drew back, still cursing and swearing.
At last my father recovered speech.
" What the devil do you mean, Humphrey Lyte ?
Are you mad ? "
" No, sir, I am sane and a Methodist."
" And the foulest young devil that ever walked this
earth ! " roared Clonmel.
" Since when is this folly knavery, I mean ? " cried
my father.
" I decided some weeks ago to join the Methodists,
but I put off my confession till to-day, and should
not have made it even now had I not been forced. I
meant to speak privately with you, sir, to-morrow."
" By all the blazes ! I never met such impudence.
I've a good mind to horsewhip you."
" Stay, sir, I am too old for such threats. I assure
you that I have not made up my mind without serious
thought. I have found that the Church cannot
satisfy "
" Is this the way you serve the Church that has
done so much for you ? " cried my father, assuming
a clerical air. " You leave the paths of sound doctrine
and embrace vapouring heresies. Pah ! "
" I ask your pardon, but the Church has done nothing
for me, and will, I am persuaded, still do nothing. The
Methodists are not heretics ; on the contrary, they are
34 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
more loyal to Church truth and discipline than are
Church people themselves. They fast twice a week ;
they assemble daily for praise and prayer. Wesley
and his followers at Oxford used to be called the Sacra-
mentarians, so great was their love for the Communion.
My conscience "
" Dearly beloved brethren, my conscience moveth
me in sundry instances to play the game-cock with my
betters," cried Clonmel, who was drunk.
" Hold your tongue, Clon, and let me deal with him.
Look here, you fool, you are talking stuff and nonsense,
but I'll soon see whether you mean what you say, or
whether it's your usual damned effrontery. Either you
abjure your devil's heresies, or you leave my house."
He was very flushed and excited, but I knew that he
meant what he said.
" I was prepared for this alternative, sir, and have
already made my choice. I leave Brede Parsonage."
" Go, then, and the devil take you ! " he cried thickly.
I went towards the door, but Clonmel, who was
still smarting from the blow I had given him, sprang
to his feet.
" You young viper and villain, you ! You shan't
leave this house till I've made you curse the day you
were born."
The next moment he had snatched up his huntin
whip from a chair beside him, and had sprung upon
me, slashing me in the face. I grappled him, but he
was too strong for me, and flogged me over the head
and shoulders till I thought I should swoon. In mad
desperation I seized him by the throat, and he brought
both hands to bear at my fingers, dropping the whip.
For a moment we swayed together ; then he fell heavily
to the floor, and lay there an instant as if stunned,
HIS CONFESSION OF FAITH 35
before he staggered, cursing most horribly, to his feet.
He would have closed with me again, but my father,
who, during our struggle had been meditatively swilling,
suddenly interfered, thrust us apart, and hurled Clonmel
into a chair.
" You young beast ! " he cried to me. " Now that
you have done mauling your brother, leave my house
for ever."
" I am going," I blurted out, half choked with
passion.
Clonmel would have sprung up, but my father held
him down.
" Let him alone, Clon. We've had enough for a
clergyman's household. Be off, you vagabond, and
if ever I catch you inside my gates I'll skin you alive."
My heart was beating so hard with fury that I could
scarcely breathe, but I strode to the door and flung it
open, letting a draught of wind and icy rain into the
kitchen.
The next moment something whirled at my head
and struck my temple. I felt the blood trickle into
my eye, and glared back into the room through a
crimson mist. Clonmel had managed to free a hand
from my father's grasp, and had hurled a pewter
tankard at me as a fitting farewell.
" What are you staggering there for ? " roared my
father. " Go to the devil with you ! "
I gave one last glance at them both. The next
moment I was out in the fold, and the night-wind was
drying the blood upon my face.
CHAPTER IV
OF THE METHODIST AND RUTH SHOTOVER
I WENT through the yard, and, as I passed the
lighted window of the room where my mother
and sisters were sitting, the thought came to me
how strange it was that I should have no loving stolen
farewells to make before I went out penniless into the
world. Kit and Archie were laughing and talking
together in the Dutch barn, but they neither heard
nor saw the outcast who strode past them into the
night.
The wind was barking like a starving dog behind
the meadow-hills of Udimore ; the clouds ran wildly
across the sky, and between them danced the stars,
hither and thither, here and there, while the horned
moon scudded through the wrack. The rain fell hissing
round me, and in a few moments I was drenched to
the skin. I had left the Parsonage without hat or
cloak ; moreover, I had taken off my boots on my return
from Shoyswell, and wore only shoes which were in
every way unsuited to the rough and stony road I trod.
But I thought little enough of these things at that
moment, for at first I was mad with rage, and then I
was mad with grief. I strode up the Cackle Street,
and the light from the cottage-windows burnished the
wet road, and bewitched the raindrops into a shower of
garnets. Then I left the village, and the angry night
36
RUTH SHOTOVER 37
threw her shroud round me, and her voices stormed at
me, and her winds buffeted me as I half-walked, half-
ran over the mud and stones. I felt the blood trickling
down my face, so tore off the kerchief I wore knotted
about my throat, and tied it around my head, which
ached miserably.
I had no exalted feelings to compensate me for my
bodily wretchedness. When dwelling beforehand on
my confession, I had always pictured myself in some
noble attitude, speaking noble words, while my father
listened abashed, with " Almost thou persuadest me
to be a Christian " written on his face. The dream had
been a glorious triumph the reality was very like a
pot-house brawl. Perhaps this was entirely my fault,
nevertheless, I felt bitterly ashamed of the fury that
had knotted my veins, and nearly burst my heart, and,
throwing myself down under the hedge, I sobbed great
tearless sobs that tore my throat and chest.
I lay in the wet grass for over a quarter of an hour,
then rose shivering, and pressed on to Broad Oak. I
realised how useless it would be to try to reach Shoys-
well by the fields on such a night, so turned down what
I believed to be the road to Sedlescombe, and soon the
fitful stormlight of the moon was shut off from me by
overarching trees. I had not gone far before I saw that
I had taken the wrong lane, but my heart was so numb
that the discovery did not distress me, especially as, on
coming to Beckley Furnace, I realised that the track I
followed would eventually bring me to Peasmarsh,
where I knew a cottager who would, I hoped, let me lie
in his kitchen during the night.
But the darkness was so great, and the storm so wild,
that I soon wandered from my track, and became
entangled in a maze of bypaths, which wound up and
38 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
down and in and out of black woods where the wind
whispered, and rustled a twisted undergrowth.
I was hopelessly lost, and faint with cold and pain,
for my clothes were as drenched as if I had fallen into
the Rother, and my feet were so cut with the stones
that I could hardly put them to the ground. My head
ached terribly, and a kind of blindness seized me, so
that hi the glints of moonlight everything looked blurred
and confused, and lights danced ahead of me, which at
first I took for cottage windows, but which I soon saw
were the creatures of my own brain. I cannot tell what
kept me from throwing myself down in a ditch to die,
for I had no spirit in me. But I struggled doggedly on,
stumbling every now and then, and rising and pressing
on again. At last the wood grew thinner, then seemed
to fall away from me, the trees gliding and curtseying
till I became terrified at my delirium for it was not
as if I passed the bushes and trees, but as if they passed
me.
I found myself on a track of waste land, half marsh,
half wilderness, crossed by dykes, and studded with
willows, bent and twisted like the tormented trees of
hell. I knew that I must be on the outskirts of the
Rother Levels, and that all would go well with me if I
could find the river.
But the darkness cloaked the marsh on all sides,
and though I pressed, as I thought, northwards, I soon
discovered that I was going west, for on a sudden the
moon shone in front of me, kissing the horizon and show-
ing me a group of barns and oast-houses about a hundred
yards off. The shape of the buildings seemed familiar,
and in another burst of moonlight I recognised a ruined
farmstead known as Baron's Grange, which I had often
visited in my walks. This told me that many acres of
RUTH SHOTOVER 39
marsh must lie between me and the Rother, and that
I should find it almost impossible to cross the treacherous
swamp of dyke and osier in the dark. I was half dead
with fatigue, for I had walked over thirty miles since
morning, and it occurred to me that I could not do better
than spend the night in a barn at Baron's Grange, and
resume my journey at daybreak.
I crossed the waste of rushes and osiers, and went
into the ruined fold. All around me the farm-buildings
raised tottering gables against the clouds, and their
black windows were like sightless eyes. I crept into
the oast-house barn, the roof of which seemed fairly
watertight, and threw myself down upon a heap of
straw. The place had evidently been used as a stable
for cattle during the winter, for hay and straw were
littered on all sides, with piles of frost-bitten man-
golds.
I lay on my back, staring at a ray of light that crept
through a chink between the roof and the wall. The
wind howled uncannily among the beams, and rumbled
in the caverns of the oasts. I shivered. The kerchief I
wore round my head was by this time saturated with
blood, which poured from under it down my cheeks.
My shoulders were horribly stiff and aching, both from
the cold and from the lash of Clonmel's whip. My feet
were numb, and though I swathed them in the hay, I
could not restore sensation.
But my pain of body was nothing to my pain of
mind ; and I groaned as I lay, and cried to God to
end the life of His miserable servant. In my agony and
weakness I tossed in the straw, and cursed the life God
had given me in His love. At last I found the relief
of tears, and sobbed as if my heart would break, and
fell asleep sobbing like a beaten child.
40 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
My dreams were distressful ; I woke in a sweat, and
so great was my discomfort that for a moment I actually
wished myself back in the low, hot room where I slept
at Brede Parsonage. The barn had been in profound
silence when I fell asleep, but on waking I noticed that
it was full of sounds rustlings, flutterings, trampings,
and groanings. Then a great fear seized me, and I
cowered in the straw. I had been extremely nervous
and superstitious as a child, and though when I grew
older I had fought with my terrors, I had never entirely
mastered them, and now, when I lay enfeebled by weari-
ness, pain, and misery, they utterly overpowered me.
All kinds of weird legends, sprung from the soil of
the fields and fallows round me, came into my mind
Cicely of Cicely's Farm, who hanged herself on her own
barn door, when the sun was red, and the sheep were
bleating at the fold-gates, who wanders over the marshes
with the suicide's stake in her breast, followed by her
wraith-sheep, searching in vain for a fold to pen them
in, and silence their bleating : Grey Clement of Stream
Farm, who calls his cows home at sunset, even as he
was calling them when his shepherd slew by his orders
Clement's beautiful guilty wife in Pattenden's field :
Colin Clamourne of Winterland Farm, who burned his
new-born babe, whose spook wanders screaming through
the woods of Ellenwhorne, a fire burning in his heart
and shining through his breast and through his eyes.
These and many other stories came to me as I lay with
the sweat on my face, listening to the ghostly sounds
that troubled the stillness of the old haggard. I thought
to hear the rustle of women's dresses, the patter of
children's feet, and often it was as if something touched
me. At length I could bear it no longer. I sprang up,
and rushed out into the fold.
RUTH SHOTOVER 41
At the same moment a wrack of clouds rolled off
the face of the sky, and the starlight shone clearly
into the barn I had left, showing me a number of rats,
scampering and gambolling among the straw and man-
golds. These had been the source of my fears, and in
my relief I laughed out loud. Still, I did not care to go
back to the straw, which was shaking and heaving with
its numerous inmates, so, as by a certain freshness in
the air I knew that the dawn was at hand, I started
out once more in search of the Rother.
The rain had ceased, and the wind was only sobbing.
The dawn-star glimmered wan above Baron's Grange,
and soon a steely light rode over the sky, and showed
me the river not far off. I thanked God, for I had
nothing to do but to follow the Rother to Bodiam,
whence a lane would take me to Shoyswell. But walk-
ing was not easy, for my feet sank deep at each step
into the boggy ground, and every now and then I
stumbled, and was almost too weary to rise. Moreover,
the pains of hunger had begun to gnaw me. I had eaten
practically nothing since my dinner at Shoyswell, for
the disturbance with my father and Clonmel had taken
place before I had done more than taste my supper.
I drank greedily of the Rother water, and it refreshed
me a little, but I soon saw that I could never hope to
reach Shoyswell unless I first had food and rest.
I stumbled on by the sighing river, and gradually
the dawn woke, and veiled the stars in her wavy skirts
of flame. The Rother valley was yet dusk, but on the
hills that flanked it I saw the sunrise lying, and suddenly
the mist rolled back from a village on the crest of the
southern ridge.
My heart leapt to see the little houses reflect the sun's
amber matin-light on their windows, and unconsciously
42 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
I turned towards that village on the hill. I felt sure
that I could find there some kind heart who would let
me share his morning meal and rest by his fire.
I toiled painfully up the slope, with a throbbing in
my head and a singing in my ears. I met some children
at play by a group of pollards, and by the startled
shrieks with which they fled, knew what a horrible
sight my sufferings must have made me. My shoes
had been torn off, and my naked feet were bleeding ;
my clothes were dripping with rain, and had become
so disordered by brakes and brambles that my neck
and half my bosom were bare. A bloody bandage was
fastened round my head, and channels of blood were
dry upon my cheeks.
I went a little further, and came to a garden which
sloped from a russet-roofed house on the brow of the
hill. As I staggered to the fence, and stood for a moment
clutching to it, I noticed that I had passed out of
the twilight, and had come into the golden mist of
sunrise.
Hardly aware of what I was doing, I climbed the
low bryony-tangled fence into the garden. The earth
was damp and soft, and smelled sweet, and primroses
and dog-violets starred the turf and borders. I went
through a kind of shrubbery, nearly hanging myself in
ropes of convolvulus, and came out on a lawn which
stretched up to the house.
I stood abashed, for a young man was pacing the
grass, a book in his hand. He was evidently a parson,
for he wore black clothes and shovel-hat, but, instead
of the parson's full-bottomed wig, his own pale hair
fell about his ears. He walked with a stoop, and looked
frail and careworn.
I would have slunk away, for when a Methodist is
RUTH SHOTOVER 43
hungry, it is not to the Parsonage he should come for
bread. But at that moment he turned and caught
sight of me.
" Who are you ? What are you doing here ? " His
voice, though startled, was not unkind, and I replied,
" I had no idea this was a Parsonage when I came into
your garden, for I am a Methodist."
" But that doesn't tell me why you are here."
" I have tramped many miles, and am tired and
hungry but I am a Methodist."
He knit his brows and stared at me. He had a
good face, but the lines round his mouth were very weak.
" You might tell me more about yourself besides that
you are a Methodist. But I do wrong to question
you when you're tired and fasting. Come into the
house."
I was bewildered. I had not expected this reception
from a parson. I staggered as I walked. He noticed
it, and bade me lean on his arm.
" You can explain matters afterwards, but you shall
rest and eat first."
" You are very trustful," I replied rather bitterly ;
" for all you know, I may be the worst kind of tramp
and thief."
" I don't think so, and I'm good at reading faces.
Besides, you are tired, and hungry, and God forbid
that I should deny you food and rest."
" Is that your Gospel ? " I asked, touched by his
simple kindness. " Beware, it may bring you into
trouble."
" I think not," he answered gently. " But here we
are in the kitchen. Don't be frightened, Rosie " to
a maidservant " this gentleman has been out all night,
and is tired and hungry. Heat him some soup at once "
44 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
then to me, " Sit here, my friend, and I shall fetch
you some water to wash your feet."
He was gone, and I leaned back on the settle, and
closed my eyes. I wondered for a moment if I were
dreaming, but the cosy kitchen, the red-cheeked maid,
and the hot soup she brought me with soaked bread,
were real enough. The voracity with which I devoured
my meal astonished my waitress, who refilled the bowl,
and stared at me with the profoundest awe as I gulped
it down. I had just upon finished when the parson
returned, carrying not only a basin of warm water, but
stockings and shoes.
He bathed my feet, then examined and bound up
the gash on my forehead, and helped me to arrange
my dress. While he performed these kind offices I
thought it best to tell him my story, and let him know
on whom he was bestowing his charity, but my recital
nothing altered his goodness.
" I don't agree with you in the least," he said, " but
that makes no difference. You are my guest for to-day,
and you mustn't resume your journey till you are
thoroughly rested."
" You are very good," I said brokenly. For the
second time in my life I had found a kind heart, given
to hospitality.
" I only do you a decent kindness. How tired you
must be ! Come, you shall sleep in my bed for a few
hours while your clothes are dried." He drew my arm
through his, and led me to a small sunlit room in the
gable of his house.
" Is this Bodiam village ? " I asked, while he helped
me to undress, for I was so stiff and cramped that every
movement was painful. " I thought old Mr. Henniker
was rector of Bodiam."
RUTH SHOTOVER 45
" This is not Bodiam. It is Ewehurst, and I'm Guy
Shotover, the curate-in-charge."
" Ewehurst ! What a fool I was not to have re-
cognised it ! But I was sick and dazed, and I thought
to have come further than this."
" Take courage, you are not far from your journey's
end, and you will be another man after you have
slept."
He left me, and I fell into a sleep where I dreamed of
nothing but green fields, sunshine, and kind voices.
The sun was shining full on my face when I woke,
and gazed stupidly round me, wondering where I was.
I remembered in an instant, and jumped out of bed.
My clothes had been cleaned and dried, so I hastened
to dress myself. I had slept off in a great measure my
anxiety and despair, and, though subdued, my heart
was not so heavy as it had been a few hours ago. I was
also physically refreshed, but not to such an extent,
for my head still ached and throbbed, and every now
and then I shivered, and the next moment I burned.
It was nearly two o'clock, and before I had finished
dressing, Guy Shotover came to summon me to dinner.
" But before we eat," he said, " I must introduce
you to my sister. She was in bed when you arrived,
as she sleeps badly, and seldom rises before^seven.
I have told her about you, and she's most anxious to
see you."
" I fear that I am not a very suitable object to present
to a lady."
" Nonsense. You look marvellously better after
your sleep. There's a brilliant colour on your face."
I followed him downstairs, and through the parlour
into the garden.
" Ruth is in the arbour, reading." We went along
46 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
a path bordered with an array of daffodils, and came
to a summer-house at the end of it. Great ropes of
creeper hung hi front of the arch, and between the leaves
I saw the pale blue of a woman's gown. The next
moment Shotover caught aside the blushing curtain
of young shoots, and my eyes met those of the curate's
sister.
She looked little more than a child. Her stature was
low, and her figure slight, and she had the dimpled
cheeks and soft white throat one loves to kiss in children.
But her eyes were essentially unchildlike, though it
was some time before I could tell what made them so
whether it was their resolution, their anxiety, or their
pathos. Her hair was almost hidden under a scarf she
wore wound over her head and shoulders, but a narrow
band of it was visible outside the muslin, and it was a
rich, ruddy auburn, nearly red.
" Ruthie," said Shotover, " here is Mr. Lyte."
She rose, and dropped me a rather prim curtsey.
" I hope you feel refreshed after your sleep," she said
shyly.
" Greatly refreshed, madam, and I am glad to be
out again in the sunshine. What a lovely day to follow
last night's rain ! "
" Lud ! It was indeed a dreadful night. What
hardships you must have endured ! "
" They are over now, and I shall think of them no
more, but be thankful that I met such a kind friend in
your brother."
" Lud ! Guy is good," she said innocently, and I
noticed with some surprise that her words brought a
look of anguish to the curate's face.
She seemed to realise, in spite of my appearance, that
I was not one of the common mumpers and vagabonds
RUTH SHOTOVER 47
to whom her brother loved to give shelter, for the shy-
ness with which she had greeted me passed away, and
she chattered merrily as we strolled over the daisies
towards the Vicarage Her voice was musical, and
though her speech was full of little schoolgirl affectations,
I found her marvellously sweet to listen to, as she told
me about the seminary at Peckham she had just left,
about " young ladies," her companions, about her
" studies " confined to French, singing, and the use
of the globes, it seems and how glad she was to be
back home with Guy. No girl had ever spoken thus to
me before. My sisters could not mention their school
at Hastings without nudgings, gigglings, and allusions
to a certain music-master ; Mary Winde had never been
to school, and would not have chattered of it so artlessly
if she had. We came to a clump of daffodils ; Miss
Shotover picked one and gave it to me.
" La ! how beautiful the garden looks to-day. The
tulips are already out in the herb- walk. I'm vastly
eager to see Sussex in spring-time. Guy and I came
here only in November. We came from Golden Par-
sonage, in the county of Herts."
" Which is not so fair as Sussex, madam."
" No, faith ! " she answered.
Her little hand was in the curate's, and I noticed that
he fixed his eyes on her face with a look half of love,
half of reverence. She could not have been more than
eighteen, and he was evidently over thirty, but his
whole behaviour seemed rather that of a child looking
up to a parent, than that of an elder brother towards
his slip of a sister. He was by no means as handsome
as she, though his face was pleasing. He seemed anxious
and careworn, and once, when he looked into her eyes,
his lips twitched as if he were in pain.
48 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
Dinner was prepared in a little brick-floored room,
sweet-smelling with hyacinths and violets. Miss Shot-
over noticed that her brother was depressed.
" Lud, Guy ! You mustn't look so vastly glum,
or you'll spoil my appetite. What shall I do to make
you smile ? "
She came up behind him as he sat, and putting her
thin arms round his neck, laid her cheek against his.
Thought I to myself he will be a fool if he does not
smile now ; and he did smile, the cloud of misery
passing from his brow, but not from his eyes. Soon
we were all three talking together with laughter and
friendliness, while a little bird sang in a cage by the
window, and nearly drowned our voices in his own.
Suddenly there came the sound of a horse's hoofs
on the gravel, followed by a knock at the hall-door.
" It must be Enchmarsh ! " cried Miss Shotover,
and I saw that every scrap of colour had left her
cheeks.
" Surely not," said the curate. " He was here only
yesterday."
" But I know it's he. That is his step in the hall,
and that is his voice speaking to Rosie."
She sprang up, and I noticed that the sadness of her
eyes had suddenly become the expression of her whole
face, that she was no longer a little chattering schoolgirl,
but a miserable, desperate woman. The impulse of
my heart communicated itself to my limbs, and I took
half a stride towards her. But the next instant she
recovered herself, and tripped gracefully to the door as
it opened and the maidservant announced " Mr.
Enchmarsh."
A fine, tall fellow of about three or four-and-thirty
came in. He wore a rough and simple riding-suit,
RUTH SHOTOVER 49
which could not, however, hide the grand proportions
of his figure. His face was deeply bronzed ; his eyes
and brows were black as night. He wore his hair cut
short against his head, and parted at the side of his
forehead, which gave him an additionally manly look.
But there was an expression in his dark and restless
eyes which repelled, even revolted me, and this instinc-
tive dislike was not softened by the careless way he
greeted Shotover or by the familiarity with which he
took the sister's hand.
He gave me scarcely more than a nod when the
curate presented me, and ignored me almost entirely
during the meal which the Shotovers invited him to
share. He seemed, though evidently dreaded, on
familiar terms with the brother and sister. His manners
could not be described as actually bad, though they were
swaggering and free. He rattled of his horse, his hounds,
his hunt, and his house, called Kitchenhour, on the
borders of Wet Level. He pressed Miss Shotover to
ride out a-hunting with him, and won a reluctant
consent. He snubbed her brother, who wished to go
with her, telling him that he could never bestride any
mount more spirited than a donkey. He asked me if I
ever went hunting, and in the middle of my reply started
speaking of something else to Miss Ruth, whom he called
by her Christian name.
Soon after Miss Shotover had left the room, Ench-
marsh became moderately drunk. The curate seemed
anxious that he should not see his sister before he went
away, but the squire insisted on bidding her farewell.
She was sitting over some embroidery in her parlour,
and when we came into the room, started up alarmed.
Her eyes were red, and her cheeks tear-stained. I
fell back and so did Shotover, but Enchmarsh strode
50 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
quickly towards her, and took her rather roughly by
the arm. " Here, dry your eyes," and she obediently
unfolded a morsel of a handkerchief clenched hi her
hand, and soaked with tears. Then he whispered some-
thing to her, and a strange look crept into her eyes,
mingled fear and audacity. I glanced at Shotover, and
saw that his hands were both clenched, but his face was
more miserable than angry. As for me, I could have
knocked Enchmarsh down, and wondered why the
curate did not do so.
" Your horse is ready, Enchmarsh," said Shotover
at last, in a jerky, nervous voice.
" So'm I,'.' replied the squire. " Don't you play the
fool, you two ; there's my parting advice," and he
flung himself out of the room, Shotover, after some
hesitation, following him.
I felt keen embarrassment on being left alone with
Miss Ruth, who was still fighting with her tears. I
tried to beguile her to talk of her school, but the young
ladies' seminary seemed to have lost its attraction, and
her replies were monosyllabic. I heartily wished myself
elsewhere.
It was nearly three o'clock, and when the curate
came back, I told him that I must leave Ewehurst
Parsonage. He would have persuaded me to stay the
night, saying that he thought me feverish. But though
I thought the same, I persisted in my resolution, and
at last he gave way, declaring, however, that I should
drink a dish of his sister's chocolate before I started.
Either Miss Ruth was a very good actress, or she
had suddenly recovered from her depression. " Lud !
indeed you must stay for chocolate ! " she cried, turning
from the window, and showing me eyes once more
bright and cheeks all dimpled with smiles. " You
RUTH SHOTOVER 51
shall have chocolate, and cheese-cakes too. I made
some this morning. Do you like cheese-cakes ? "
" Very much," I answered lamely, somewhat taken
aback at her sudden change of mood.
" So does Guy, and so do I only I like meringues
better. I learned to make cheese-cakes because Milly
Rogers, one of the young ladies at Miss Wetherbee's
seminary, likes them so. Don't you remember Milly,
brother, and how beautifully she sang to the guitar when
she stayed with us at Golden Parsonage ? "
She ran to the curate and kissed him. He patted
her hands, and her cheek, and turned away, his lips
trembling.
At four o'clock a table was spread under a sycamore
on the lawn, and the chocolate and cheese-cakes were
served. In spite of her partiality for the latter, Miss
Ruth did not eat many ; she devoted her energies to
forcing them down her brother's throat. He seemed
unable to shake off his melancholy, and she seemed
resolved that he should. So she fondled and chattered
and laughed, and sang little snatches of song in a sweet
though untrained voice. But for all her gaiety, I could
see that she was in an agony of nervousness. She started
at any sudden noise, and the colour came and went
on her cheeks.
" Now, Guy, another cheese-cake ? " she coaxed.
" What, you won't ? You horrid fellow ! that's because
you don't like my cooking. Lud 1 I shall give it to the
chicks, since you're so dainty."
A hen with five chicks had sauntered on to the lawn,
and Ruth broke up the cheese-cake, and scattered the
crumbs. Shotover sat watching her, his elbow on the
table, his chin on his hand. I watched her too, as she
crouched on the grass, some crumbs in the palm of
52 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
her outstretched hand to tempt the timid fools. Her
pretty innocence contrasted strangely with the wild eyes,
quivering lips, and locked hands of an hour ago. What
had given her back her girlhood ? and why had Ench-
marsh's dark face made her lose it, or rather cast it
from her like a garment, and show in its nakedness her
suffering womanhood ? How was it that Enchmarsh
had dared address her with such brutality, and her
brother with such contempt ? How was it that they
had both endured his insults, like children under the
lash, who can but weep and writhe in their shame ?
A cry of delight interrupted my thoughts. Ruth
had risen from her knees, and came towards me, holding
a chicken in a cradle made by her two hands she had
the dearest little hands ; the spring sun had just begun
to bronze them.
" Look, Mr. Lyte ! Look ! Isn't he a sweet little
fellow ? Feel how soft he is," and she held the creature
against my face. As she did so, her hand accidentally
touched my cheek, and at once a strange new divine
thrill passed through me and quickened my heart.
The shadows were drawing in ; the curate's set face
looked grey in the waning light, and I rose to take my
leave. Shotover lent me a pair of boots, and he and his
sister walked with me as far as their wistaria-tangled
gate.
" I shall not try to thank you for your kindness,"
I said to my host. " I am not equal to such a task.
But you can guess my gratitude."
" I'm glad I was able to help you," he answered
simply. " I like to feel that I can be of use to my fellow-
men. Fare you well, Methodist ; I hope to see you
again soon. If ever you should pass this way, remember
that there is always a bed for you at Ewehurst Vicarage."
RUTH SHOTOVER 53
I wrung his hand, and kissed Miss Ruth's, and they
stood at the little gate till I had vanished round a
corner of the lane.
I mused as I walked between the blackthorn battle-
ments of the hedges, and the white blossoms against
the blue sky made me think of Ruth Shotover's scarf
against her gown. I mused on the curate and his sister,
and on Enchmarsh, and felt that some mystery bound
them together. I mused on the curate's sad face and
kind heart, on his sister's merry laugh and miserable
eyes, on Enchmarsh's brutality, and on his strange
connection with the Shotovers and the whole perplexed
me.
The spring day, lulled by soft winds and tinkling
fold-bells, fell asleep. The sky darkened, and the
first stars appeared like shining daisies over Furnace-
field just as I was beginning to drag my legs wearily.
I went down the lane of deep shadows, and came into
the light that streamed from the open doorway. I
knocked, and the next moment Peter Winde had sprung
forward and dragged me into the kitchen.
" Lad, lad, dear lad ! You've done it ! The Lord
helped you ! "
" Yes, I have done it, and the Lord have mercy ! "
Then the room swam, and Peter's eyes looked at me
as through a mist. I cast up my arms, staggered, spun
round, and fell in a faint at his feet.
CHAPTER V
OF THE METHODIST AND MARY WINDE
FOR a time all was blackness and silence, then
streaks of flame shot before my eyes, and I
gasped for breath. It was as if a huge weight
lay on my chest ; I thought that I was suffocating, and
writhed and panted. Then a sudden light burst upon
me, and I found myself lying on the floor, while Peter
Winde bathed my forehead with water.
I moaned, but did not raise my head, which was
softly pillowed, and lay for a while silent, with Peter's
hand on my forehead. Then the room, which had seemed
full of fiery mist, became clear again. I turned myself,
and saw that my head rested on Mary Winde's lap.
For a moment I gazed speechless into her face, and
noticed that there were tears on her eyelashes and
cheeks ; then I smiled feebly and sat up, gripping
Peter's arm.
" Come lad, you're better now," he said ; " you
were exhausted after your tramp. When did you
leave Brede Parsonage ? "
" Last night."
" Then why didn't you reach here sooner ? "
" I lost my way oh, it was horrible ! "
I struggled up from the floor, and he drew me down
beside him on the settle, and while Mary busied herself
preparing her supper in the outer kitchen, I poured
54
MARY WINDE 55
forth my tale, and found relief in confession, as who
does not ?
Peter took my hand, and patted it as one would
pat a child's.
" Take heart, lad. God measures our love by our
efforts, not by our achievements, or we should all be
in a sorry way. I've lived fifty years, and have met
but two saints John Palehouse and "
" Whom ? " I asked, as he hesitated.
" She's a woman," he said, " and you can hear her
footsteps in the next room."
We sat for a long time in silence, while the fire-
light leaped on the walls and ceiling, and a great scarlet
moon rose from beyond Iridge, and, filling almost the
whole of the uncurtained window-pane, climbed up
among the stars. Mary's feet sounded ghostly in the
outer room, and now and then she crooned to herself
little snatches of song which made me think of ruined
oasts in a lonely field and spooks in some haunted shell
of a farm-house at dusk. I was glad when she came
and stood in the doorway, the firelight falling on her,
and called us to our supper.
" I cooked it myself, for Jane is gone to visit her
parents at Botany." Then suddenly my thoughts
flew back to the other girl who that same day had set
before me fare of her own cooking, and I realised more
than ever that Mary was not beautiful, that her figure
was immature, her cheeks were pale, and her mouth
was ill-drawn.
But she was so gentle and sweet that I soon forgot
her plainness that is to say if a face which wore such
an expression of love and serenity could ever be called
plain. She and Peter vied with one another in trying
to raise my spirits, and to keep me from dwelling too
56 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
miserably on the woes of yesterday. Peter spoke many
kind words that I did not deserve, and Mary questioned
me about Ewehurst Parsonage, the parson, and his
sister.
" I have never seen Miss Shotover," she said, " but
I have often heard of her from the Cartwrights at
Turzes. She sometimes drinks tea there. They tell
me she is very beautiful."
" She is indeed," I replied, and there must have
been more than an ordinary rapture in my voice and
look, for Peter and Mary both laughed.
" Her brother's a good fellow, I believe," said the
former. " I know very little of him except from hearsay,
but he seems to understand his duties as a parson
better than many in these parts. Not that he has more
than two services a week in his church I suppose we
mustn't expect that of him at present but he reads
them reverently and well, and he visits his poor and
cares for them."
" And for any vagrant that he meets," I said.
" I'm rather puzzled," resumed Peter, " at the
friendship between the Shotovers and the new squire
at Kitchenhour. Enchmarsh is a wild fellow, and his
reputation is none too clean ; it's strange that I should
so often see him riding with Miss Ruth."
" I believe they knew him in Hertfordshire," said
Mary, " and perhaps Mr. Shotover thinks that the
companionship of such a sweet girl as his sister will
make another man of the squire."
" Humph ! " grunted Peter, " you look at things
from a woman's point of view, my dearie. It isn't
likely that Shotover's zeal for souls should make him
put his sister to such risk."
He fell a-meditating, and Mary and I had the
MARY WINDE 57
conversation to ourselves during the rest of the
meal.
When Peter had said grace, I asked him if I might
go to bed, for I ached with weariness, and my head
throbbed painfully. He gave me his arm up the twisting
stairs, where the candle-flame cast our shadows un-
couthly on the wall, and led me to a room looking out
over a field to Shoyswell Wood.
" You slept in the oast-barn the first time you were
here, but you shall lie between sheets to-night."
" I shall never forget my first visit to Shoyswell, sir.
I have felt better and happier ever since."
" You were a strange lad, then. You made me think
of an untamed colt I'd just been breaking in. The
young beast kicked and fought with his harness, and
hated his life, I'll be bound."
He wished me a good night, and I heard him hum-
ming one of Wesley's hymns as he went downstairs.
As for me, what could I do but fall on my knees at my
bedside and thank God ?
I was just about to undress when I noticed that the
daffodil Miss Shotover had given me was still in my
buttonhole. It was faded, and for a moment I thought
of throwing it away, but remembered that I needed
a bookmark for my Bible, so put it between the pages,
furious with myself because I blushed as I did so.
I flung off my clothes and was soon in bed. The
window was uncurtained, and I could see the moon
hanging like a crescent of yellow glass in the space,
and the stars flashing between the tossed branches of a
tree that shadowed my pane. I became conscious of
a vague, delicious smell which made me think of Sep-
tember hop-fields and smoking kilns, and I saw in the
moonlight that a bunch of dried hops hung above
58 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
my bed, and swung gently in the draught of the night
wind.
My sleep was uneasy with dreams of Brede Parsonage,
my father, and Clonmel, of wet fields and woods, and
long twisting roads, down which I trudged wearily
on and on, passing only ruined farms and half-burnt
cottages, my legs staggering under me, my head swim-
ming. I woke, and the horror and fatigue were still
with me. I tried to raise myself in bed, but was helpless,
and could only lie and listen to the birds chirruping
their dawn-song among the apple-trees, while the stars
paled and the sky flushed, and the sunshine crept among
the clouds.
It seemed hours later that I saw Peter Winde in the
room. He spoke, but his voice came to me only in a
confused murmur, and when I myself tried to speak,
I found that the words would not do my bidding, but
crowded on my tongue without connexion or sense.
Then the walls of the room seemed to come together,
and I to fall backwards into the dark.
I remember nothing clearly of the days that followed.
I spent them sometimes sleeping, sometimes lying
awake, every limb racked with pain, sometimes tossing
in delirium. I saw faces around me but they appeared
and disappeared, changed and wavered like the faces
of a dream. I often thought myself at Brede Parsonage
and a child once more, smarting and aching under the
blows of my father or Clonmel for the pain was always
with me and sometimes I would fancy myself at
Ewehurst, drinking chocolate with Miss Shotover on
the lawn. But my most constant vision was that of
the endless twisting roads, along which I trudged,
sometimes in the sunshine, sometimes in the dark, and
sometimes at twilight. Once I thought I felt a woman
MARY WINDE 59
take my hand and kiss it and bathe it with tears, and
to this hour I do not know if it were a dream.
One day I woke out of this whirl of vision, delirium,
and phantasmagoria. It was evening, and the sky was
soft and throbbing with the sunset. The birds were
gurgling and twittering in Shoyswell Wood, the cows
were lowing in the stalls, and a girl's voice was speaking
just under my window.
" I'm so glad he's better."
I sat up in bed, and saw Mary sewing close by
me.
" Who is that outside ? "
She started, but answered calmly :
" That is Miss Shotover."
I fell back on the pillows.
" Miss Shotover ! " I repeated in a low voice.
" Yes. She rode a-hunting past this farm-house the
day after you arrived, and asked how you did ; and
hearing that you were ill, she and her brother have
often been to inquire after you."
" Have I been ill a long time ? "
" About a fortnight."
" Was I near dying ? "
" We thought so at one time, but you are better
now and you must not talk any longer, you must go
to sleep."
"I'll do my best, but first tell me, was it you who
nursed me ? "
" Yes, father and I."
" Thank you, Mary ! "
I stretched out my hand, and she came over to the
bedside and took it. For a moment her fingers lay in
mine, then she drew them abruptly away.
" Go to sleep," she said almost roughly.
60 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
I slept during the greater part of the days that
followed, and sometimes Mary was with me, and
sometimes her father. Once I noticed a basket full of
nectarines by my bedside, and was told that the
Shotovers had sent them. The same answer was given
a short while later to my question as to who had sent
the glorious Lent lilies with which my room was decked.
I had no doubt but that the brother and sister had taken
an interest in me, and the thought solaced my waking
hours and sweetened my dreams.
I grew quickly better, and one day, after the doctor
had left, Peter came up to my room and said :
" Dr. Hewland thinks that you might come down-
stairs to-day ; and I believe that it would be a good
thing, as the Shotovers have promised us a visit this
morning, and are very anxious to see you."
I declared myself more than willing to rise, so dressed
with the help of Peter. My pulses beat fast with quick-
ening health and hope, and I went downstairs with an
agility remarkable in one only just recovering from a
severe attack of fever. I told myself that it was the
joy of convalescence that brought the flush to my
throat and cheek, but in my heart of hearts I realised
that my pleasure and excitement were due to Peter's
words, " The Shotovers promised us a visit this morn-
ing." I heard a girl's voice in the kitchen, and my
eyes shone, but it was only Mary speaking to the
maid.
" When do you expect the curate and his sister ? "
I asked Peter, as I sat in an arm-chair by the fire, with
a rug over my knees.
" Not for an hour or so. You and Mary must enter-
tain each other till then. I'm going to visit the lambs
in the river-field."
MARY WINDE 61
He left the room, and Mary drew her chair to the
opposite side of the hearth, and brought her sewing
snowy folds of linen on her lap, and the sound of stitch-
ing to mingle with the crackle and roar of the fire.
" I am sure you will like Miss Shotover when you
know her," I remarked, somewhat irrelevantly, after
a silence.
" I do know her a little," said Mary, " and I like her
very much."
" I am sorry for her. She has such miserable eyes."
" Poor girl ! I think she must have had trouble."
" And yet she laughs so often " I was speaking
more to myself than to Mary " and she cannot have
had much sorrow ; she is only a little schoolgirl."
Mary sewed in silence, and I watched the hands of
the clock move slowly round. A fat, short-legged
puppy came sprawling in at the door, and I enticed
the little brute on to my knee. The clock struck the
hour, and I started. The Shotovers would soon arrive.
" Mary, pray bring me the mirror that hangs by the
door."
" No, sir, I will not ! "
" That means that I am not fit to be seen after my
illness. Bring me the mirror and let me judge for
myself."
" I shall not bring it for you, for I value it, and
when you have looked into it, you will throw it across
the room and break it."
" You can catch it in your apron but bring it here,
I beseech you."
She fetched the glass and I made a wry face at the
countenance it reflected deadly pale, save for the
black brows, and an ugly purple scar across the left
temple.
62 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
" Mary, how can I meet Miss Shotover ? "
She would have spoken some comforting words, but
at that instant horses' hoofs clattered in the yard and,
giving me a smile that made her beautiful, she hurried
to the door.
The next moment I heard Miss Shotover's voice, and
the sun, streaming suddenly into the room, fell upon
her as she stood on the threshold. She wore a dark
riding-habit, a three-corner velvet hat and buff chamois
gloves with gauntlets reaching half-way up her arm.
Her hair was slightly powdered, and tied at the nape
of her neck, her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted,
and her breath was fast with exercise ; her eyes were
sweet with kindness.
" Please, please don't move ! " she cried, when I
would have risen. " Lud ! you look dreadfully ill.
Oh ? Oh ! what a sweet little puppy ! " and the next
moment the lucky beggar was whisked off my knee into
her arms. " I do so vastly love puppies and kittens and
little chickens. But here's Guy, looking glum because
he wants to speak to you and I won't stop chattering."
Shotover stepped forward and shook me by the hand,
and the next moment Peter joined us, arid we all sat
round the fire. At first our talk was laboured we
spoke of my returning health and of the weather. At
last Mary asked Miss Ruth if she were not sorry that
the hunting-season was over, and we fell to talking of
the hunt. I had sometimes ridden with the hounds
only on rare occasions, for I had hard work to do, and
no horse of my own in the Parsonage stables and my
heart leapt with the memory of those days when the
woods shrilled with the huntsman's horn, and the fox
broke covert through the long grass of Peppering Eye,
and my horse, bounding under me, seemed scarcely to
MARY WINDE 63
touch the earth. The conversation was chiefly between
Miss Ruth and me, for the others knew little of our
topic, but we soon digressed into a discussion on Fielding,
in which everybody joined. The parson held with the
new fashion, and vowed that he would never let his
sister read " Tom Jones." Peter told him that Mary had
read it from cover to cover, and I championed Peter.
It is strange that I should remember the details of
our chat so clearly, how friendly we grew over it, and
how surprised we were when Jane's appearance with a
tray of cake and mead told us that twelve o'clock had
struck, and that our visitors must be going. Miss Ruth
was full of mirth and high spirits, and her brother
smiled at her laughter. Only once her bright eyes
clouded, and that was when Peter Winde pressed her
and the curate to stay for dinner, and she answered,
" My brother and I are promised to dine at Kitchen-
hour."
The cake was eaten and the mead drunk ; Mary, who
had made them, was praised, and blushed at her praises ;
and our friends rose to leave. The next moment I was
gazing at the door through which Miss Ruth had just
vanished.
" Isn't she beautiful ? " I said to Mary.
" Yes, and such a sweet girl ! "
Mary Winde and Ruth Shotover had evidently fallen
in love with each other, for many were the visits that
during the next fortnight Mary paid to Ewehurst and
Ruth to Shoyswell. The latter were the most frequent,
as Mary could be ill spared from home, and the two girls
would sit and talk in the kitchen, where I often joined
them.
Miss Ruth's moods varied exceedingly. Sometimes
she was all laughter and high spirits ; sometimes she
64 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
was downcast, with the tears not very far from her eyes.
She spoke little of her life at the Parsonage, and once
she appeared with her eyes red, and told Mary that she
had had trouble at home, but begged that she would
ask no questions.
The weeks went by, and the swallows came back with
May, and I passed through convalescence to perfect
health. During the long days when I sat inactive in
my chair by the hearth, or walked, leaning on Peter's
arm, in the fields or in the garden, he and I had many
discussions as to my future. He was just as vehement
as ever in his wish that I should be a preacher, and carry
the Gospel through broad Sussex, even as Wesley had
carried it through broad England. I could earn my
bread by working on the farms round the hamlets I
visited, and Peter and I mapped out my journey be-
tween us. He insisted on lending me five pounds, so
that if I could not find work I need not starve.
" This is neither the hay-time nor the harvest, lad,
and many a yeoman to whom you offer your services
will turn you away, saying that he has enough hands
on his farm. And even if he takes you on, what will
be your wages ? Sixpence a day, or perhaps only food
and bed. So take the money, and God speed you with
it. I'm not sending you to a soft life, Humphrey, or
to an easy one, but I'm sending you to a good life and a
great life. Oh, I trust that when you return here in a
month's time you will be able to look back on many
souls who once sat in darkness, but now see great light."
And I, sitting opposite him in the ember-glow,
murmured " Amen."
I shall never forget the last night I spent at Shoys-
well. Mary and I sat side by side on the floor in front
of the fire, and Peter read to us out of his Bible how
MARY WINDE 65
Jesus Christ sent out His disciples two and two before
His face, bidding them be wise as serpents and harmless
as doves. Then we all three knelt on the flags and sang
Bishop Ken's Evening Hymn, while outside the wind
crooned a low cradle-song to the trees, and the stars
yearned through the mist of the spring night.
The next morning we rose early, and ate our breakfast
at six. My bundle had been made up the evening
before, and, as I had no clothes whatever except those
I wore, it contained sets of Peter's stockings and under-
linen, as well as the five pounds he had lent me. He
also gave me a pistol, which would be useful to the
lonely traveller by night. I was heartsick at parting
with my kind friends, but life, the world, and labour
lay before me, and I was full of good resolutions and
zeal.
Peter and Mary walked with me to the end of Shoys-
well Lane. The birds were singing gaily, and as we
passed under the trees, so beautiful in their spring
green, a robin began to trill and twitter. I remembered
how that little red throat had brought me comfort on
the miserable morning after my Confirmation, and I
seemed once more to stand in twilight All Saints' Street,
with the cobalt shadows on the sea.
We came to where the lane joined the high road to
Wadhurst, my first halting-place, and I turned to Mary
to say good-bye.
" Remember me to Miss Shotover," and she pro-
mised.
We had been so like brother and sister during the
last few weeks that I half thought of kissing her, but
something in her face as well as in my own heart for-
bade it, and I merely put my lips to the little brown
hand that shook in mine.
66 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
Then I turned to Peter. " Bless me before I go,"
and I knelt down before him, and he laid his hand on
my head and prayed God to bless and keep me, and lift
up the light of His countenance upon me, and give me
peace " henceforth and for ever more."
CHAPTER VI
OF THE METHODIST AS A WANDERER
THE wind that brings the scent of flowers to
city gates in May was blowing over the fields
as I tramped westward with the tears in my
eyes. Awe and zeal and sorrow mingled in my heart.
Awe at the life-work laid upon me, zeal for its success,
sorrow at the parting which had just taken place.
How good they had been to me, that Methodist farmer
and his daughter ! They had been father and sister
to one who was to all intents fatherless and sisterless.
They had loved me and helped me, and had pointed
through the clouds to the sun.
I trudged on, my bundle slung on a stick over my
shoulder, for all the world like a tramp or gipsy, and an
evil-looking fellow I was, no doubt, with my thick bent
brows and white, scarred face. The day grew every
minute warmer and sweeter ; the country was waking,
throwing off her night-robe of mist and gloom, clothing
herself in sweet scents, sweet sounds, sweet sights,
sweet sunshine, and laughing a joyous Godspeed to
the Methodist.
I went by the farm-houses of Miskyns and Cotten-
den, with old Churchsettle down in the valley, and came
at last to a cross-road known as Shover's Green. This
was about two miles from Wadhurst, and as far as I had
ever walked from Brede Parsonage, the country beyond
67
68 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
it being an unknown land. 1 stood by the signpost,
and gazed down the long white road before me, and
began to tremble and shake like a girl. I was to preach
at Wadhurst, but what should I say ? I had never
preached before , might not my tongue falter and fail
in its new task ? The sweat was on my face ; I was like
a nervous actor shuddering in the wings, while on the
stage his cue is being spoken. But suddenly some words
came to me, Bible words : " Take no thought before-
hand what ye shall speak, for it is not ye that speak,
but the Holy Ghost." I lifted my hat, and prayed as I
stood by the signpost at Shover's Green, with the long
grass waving round my knees.
Reassured and strengthened, I went on, and came to
Wadhurst, a mass of cottages and windmills swarming
round a slender spire. It was nearly eight o'clock, and
the village was awake and flooded with sunshine. The
house doors were open, and the housewives stood in
them ; children played in the street ; girls in brightly-
coloured gowns grouped together and gossiped ; men
and lads loafed against the doorposts, the inn porch,
and the lych-gate.
There was a party of yokels chatting and joking
in the market-place, where stood a cart from which
the horse had been unharnessed. I sat down on the
shaft and watched the people. I saw that many of
them stared suspiciously at me, especially the group
of farm-lads at my elbow. I read a few verses of my
Bible, breathed a prayer, and climbed into the cart.
" I have something to say to you, " I cried, standing up
in the cart.
Every one started and looked amazed ; then some
laughed, and a man in a smock cried :
" Go on, muster ! "
A WANDERER 69
My courage had deserted me, my tongue stuck and
stammered, and my knees shook so that I nearly fell
down in the cart. I felt utterly unfitted for the task
before me. I was not used to speaking to others of
spiritual things, for my confidences would have been
laughed at by the family at Brede Parsonage, and how
was I suddenly to bring my heart to my lips, and pour
into indifferent, perhaps hostile ears, the most sacred
feelings of my soul ?
I stood irresolute, my head held down, my cheeks
scarlet. Then a girl tittered, and I was ashamed. I
lifted my head, and threw it back, and the next moment
a torrent of words rose to my lips.
I have only a faint recollection of what I said. I
stammered, I remember, to begin with, but soon my
speech flowed more smoothly, and a mad yearning love
of those shepherdless sheep before me filled my heart
and set my words on fire. I told them of Christ's love
for them, of the help He offered, and of the reward He
promised. There was no order or method in my sermon ;
the thoughts ground and clashed against one another
like stones in a stream. I spoke for nearly half an hour,
then stopped suddenly, for the strange power that had
upheld me was gone, and throwing myself down in the
cart, I hid my face and groaned.
There was a confused murmur all round me. " A
Methodee ! " " Off his head ! " " Take un to the lock-
up ! " " Quite a boy, and as crazed as Nebuchad-
nezzar ! " " What rubbidge the poor chap spoke 1 "
This was not encouraging, and I realised that to lie
groaning on the floor of a cart would by no means dispel
the idea that I was mad. So I sprang up, and climbed
down into the street, pushed my way through the crowd,
and hurried out of the market-place.
70 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
Some of the people followed me, a few of them
interested, but most of them jeering. Well-nigh in
despair I turned and said :
" I am not mad, but am feeling very wild and miser-
able, so please do not follow me. I shall see you again
perhaps in a month or so. Think over my words, or
rather God's words, which He forced me to speak."
There must have been an unusual look on my face
as I said this, for the people slunk away without further
badgering me.
I strode forward between the hedges, reflecting on
my late adventure. I felt that I had not made a good
beginning to my ministry. Perhaps I had left Wadhurst
in too great a hurry, perhaps I should have stayed,
and reasoned with the people, perhaps I should even
now go back to them. But I realised that this would be
worse than useless, so sped on, resolving to act more
wisely in future.
The next matter was to consider where to find work
and wages for I had resolved not to touch Peter's five
pounds till sheer want drove me to it. Fortune favoured
me ; my first application met with success, and I was
given half a day's work among the sheep at a farm-house
called Little Pell. I toiled contentedly till sunset, when
the farmer's wife called me into the kitchen and gave
me and the other farm-hands a supper of bread-and-
broth, after which I was taken to a loft full of sweet hay
and left there to sleep.
The sunshine on my face awoke me, and I rose singing
for light-heartedness. At the farm-house I was given
a cup of milk and some rye-bread, and half an hour
later set out for Rotherfield, my next halting-place.
The day was sweet and warm, and I reached Rother-
field about noon. There I bought some gingerbread,
A WANDERER 71
and ate it by the side of one of the three rivers which are
born in the flats near the little town. Then I went to
the market-place, and waited for an opportunity to
begin my sermon. I did not wait long. In the church-
yard close at hand the Burial Service was being read
over a child's grave. A curate, with muddy top-boots
showing under a surplice well-frayed with his spurs,
was hurrying through the Church's sweet words of
consolation. The mother sobbed bitterly, and the
father, little more than a lad, with a look of dogged
misery on his face, groaned aloud during the unseemly
gabble. The service came to an end ; the curate strode
off without a word, though the mother's tears had
moistened the grass at his feet. Then I went up to
them and to the little group of mourners. The group
widened into a crowd, and I ceased to speak of the dead
child, but turned to death itself, and told them of the
hope beyond the squalid tether of their lives.
Whether it was the solemnity of the occasion, or
that I spoke more powerfully and simply than before,
I do not know. But my words produced a better effect
than at Wadhurst, and when I had finished I heard
murmurs of " Thank you," and " God bless you."
Happier than I had felt for many a day, I bade the
people farewell, and had little difficulty in finding work
at a farm-house in the neighbourhood.
I shall not give in detail the rest of my journey across
Sussex to the borders of Hampshire. From Rother-
field I crossed the valley of Jarvis Brook to Crowborough,
then went on to Cuckfield and Cowfold, and through
many a village to Fernhurst, where you can see the
Hampshire downs. I preached in every market-place,
meeting sometimes with success, sometimes with what
seemed utter failure. Since the death of Wesley, eight
72 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
years before, and the schism of the Methodists from
the Established Church, Methodism had fallen into bad
repute, and I was often greeted with jeers, even stones
and mud. Moreover, my youth was in my disfavour,
and at many a market-cross a rude voice from the
crowd would exclaim, " Where's yer mammy, my boy ? "
or, " Yer unaccountable young to be out wudout yer
nurse," or, " Yer had better go back to school, or yer'll
be whipped for playing truant." In several villages
where I preached, the people used to tell me of another
preacher who had gone before me " a man of power-
fuller words than you, my lad." I wondered who this
man might be, and longed to make up with him, for my
heart went out to him, hearing that he was a " Metho-
dee." But when I reached Fernhurst, I was told that
he had gone on into Hampshire.
In spite of the disappointments and failures that
dogged my path, that month of wandering was very
happy, almost the happiest of my life. There were,
it is true, moments when I would throw myself down
and nearly weep in my hopelessness, but there were
also moments which will be sweet to muse on when I
lie dying. I often had difficulty in finding work, yet
this did not disconcert me much, for wherever I was
so fortunate as to be given a day's labour the farmer
paid me well. So during the whole journey I had no
cause to touch Peter Winde's generous loan. It was then
that I thanked God that my father had forced me to
toil on the farm at Brede Parsonage instead of sending
me to school and college like other gentlemen's sons.
For I was useful in barn, field, or fold as the oldest
farm-hand, and my fame as a labourer far exceeded
my fame as a preacher. " De foaks may ferget yer
sarmons, lad," said an old farmer at East Mascalls with
A WANDERER 73
whom I took service, "but dey'll never ferget wot a
fust-rate hand yer wur wi' de ewes, surelye ! "
During this month there were moments wl en I
thanked God for the mere joy of living. It was so sweet
to feel the wind on my face and to press on over wet
roads, my cheeks sprinkled with the soft splashing rain.
I loved the twilight and the rosy sleepy dawn. I loved
the noontide, when the cows stood knee-deep in the
streams, and I loved the solemn nights, when I walked
through a great speaking silence. At the beginning
of my journey I used to sleep in barns or lofts, but soon
I grew to prefer the leeside of a haystack or hedgerow,
and often I lay among last year's leaves in the great
beech-woods, listening to the scuttle and flutter of the
night creatures, and watching the stars that shimmered
through the moving tester of the trees.
When I had come to the borders of Hampshire, at
Fernhurst, I went southward and preached at the
villages of Chidham, Bosham, and Appledram, on the
marshy seaboard below Chichester. Then, turning
inland, I carried the Gospel to the Down hamlets, and
northwards to Fletching. From Fletching I decided
to go back to Shoyswell through Maresfield and May-
field, revisiting Wadhurst.
It was Sunday morning when I entered Maresfield,
and the church bells were pealing a loud Sursum Corda
over the fields. It had been my custom in villages
where there was no Methodist meeting-room to worship
at the parish church, and I was soon kneeling in a back
pew of old S. Bartholomy's, at rest and at peace in the
cool gloom.
There was a gentle footfall on the aisle, and I thought
that some woman had just come into the church, but
on looking up I saw the flutter of a surplice, and knew
74
that it was the parson who trod so reverently. This
surprised me, accustomed as I was to the stride and
swagger of my father and Clonmel, and the jingle of
their spurs against the pulpit steps. I craned my head
to see the clergyman's face. He was Guy Shotover.
I caught my breath. What could he be doing at
Maresfield ? Had he been appointed to the li ving ?
Surely not, in the short time since I had last seen him
Perhaps he was only doing duty there for the day. I
really did not trouble to explain his presence, I was too
much occupied in looking for Miss Ruth. At first I
could not see her, and came with a pang to the conclusion
that she was not in the church. But at last I caught
sight of her in a side pew, and could hardly take my
eyes off her during the rest of the service. She looked
pale and worn, I thought, and her head dropped pathetic-
ally under her wide hat. She did not notice me, for
she kept her eyes fast fixed on her Prayer Book, in
which I might have followed her example.
Guy read the service reverently, and preached an
earnest, though not very brilliant, sermon, after which
we sang the Old Hundredth, and went out into the
sunshine. I waited in the porch for Miss Ruth, and in
a few moments she appeared, looking very downcast.
She would not have seen me, had I not touched her arm.
She started, coloured, and held out her hand.
" Lud, Mr. Lyte ! This is an unexpected pleasure
for me."
" And for me," I murmured, as I pressed her hand
against my lips.
" Are you and your brother staying at Maresfield ? "
I asked.
" For to-day. Here comes Guy. You didn't expect
to meet Mr. Lyte at Maresfield, did you, dear ? "
A WANDERER 75
" I'm surprised, but I'm also delighted. You must
come and dine with us at Fiveash Farm. We're lodging
there, for Maresfield is one of my Rector's livings, and
the curate is sick, so I'm in charge of both parishes."
" But they are twenty miles apart."
" Yes, and that means services on alternate Sundays
only. But it's the sole thing to be done, as my Rector
doesn't wish to pay for another curate."
I readily accepted Shotover's invitation to dinner,
and we set off down a bridle-path to a farm-house
cuddling in the hollow.
" Have you seen Mary Winde lately ? " I asked Ruth.
" Faith, yes ! Guy and I spent an hour at Shoyswell
yesterday on our way to Maresfield. Mr. Winde and
Mary are vastly well, and longing to see you home."
" I shall be at Shoyswell on Wednesday, I hope."
" And at Ewehurst on Thursday," put in Guy.
" But here we are at Fiveash. Go, Guthrie, and hasten
Mrs. Ferrars with the dinner. The Methodist is starving,
I'm sure."
Dinner was served in the outer kitchen, and both
brother and sister were in high spirits, and laughed
and talked incessantly during the meal. I sat opposite
Guy, and whether it was that I had not seen him for
so long I do not know, but I was more struck than ever
by the weak lines round his mouth ; and his laughter,
which was nervous, and his conversation, which was
excited, confirmed me in the idea that he was even more
emotional and high-strung than his sister.
After dinner the curate retired to his room to pore
over the afternoon's sermon he always learned his
sermons by heart, and had a final rehearsal a short
time before delivering them and Ruth and I went
out into the garden. The farm-house had once been
76 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
a Manor, and the garden had been a pleasaunce. Tiger-
lilies, sweet-william, flox, and peonies still grew among
the long grass, and wicker arches smothered in roses
yet stood.
From the bottom of the garden the fields sloped
upward, dotted with sheep, and on the crest of the
ridge was a little wood.
" Let's gather bluebells," cried Ruth ; " there's a
vast deal in the coppice yonder."
" I should like nothing better, but do you think it
wise to go so far ? Look at the sky " and I pointed
to some fierce rag-edged clouds that were rolling up
from Plawhatch in the west.
" Lud ! It won't rain for an hour yet, and I do so
vastly want to gather some bluebells for Guy. He
loves flowers."
She laid her hand coaxingly on my arm, and looked
up at me wistfully with childlike face and unchildlike
eyes.
" Come on, then ! " I cried, clasping her brown
fingers in mine, as if she were a little girl I was taking
for a holiday. I suddenly realised what I was doing
and dropped her hand, while the colour mounted on
my cheeks.
I spoke scarcely a word the whole of our way to
Piekreed Wood, though my companion chattered gaily
enough. * I fear she must have found me woefully poor
company, but, after all, I was silent only because I
was thinking of her. The woods were full of shadow
and peace. Ruth flung herself down among the blue-
bells and regaled me with an account of how she had
once spoiled a new white gown by lying on damp grass,
and how Miss Witherbee of the seminary had sent her
to bed early as a punishment.
A WANDERER 77
There is a golden chain running through my life,
binding me to God, and its links are the happy moments
He has given me. The first link was forged on the night
I slept by the Rother, the next on the afternoon I
gathered bluebells with Ruth in Piekreed Wood. We
filled our hands full of flowers, while one of us talked and
one of us listened. We never noticed the sunshine fade
and the sky become first dappled, then overcast with
grey, or heard the first drip of rain upon the leaves. A
vivid flash of lightning made us both start, and spring
to our feet. Ruth dropped her bluebells, and clapped
her hands to her ears as a terrific burst of thunder
rocked the trees.
" Oh, Lud ! Mr. Lyte ! Mr. Lyte ! What shall we
do ? " And she ran to me and clutched my arm.
" We mustn't stay here. We must hurry out into
the open."
Her lips trembled. " I'm afraid of thunder," she
said plaintively.
"I'll take care of you," I replied, and the words
made my heart warm. For the first time in my life
I realised the sweetness of having some one weaker
than myself to protect.
I drew her hand threw my arm, and we forced our
way through the hazel undergrowth, and scrambled
over the fence into the meadow. The rain fell steadily
in heavy warm drops. Ruth's flimsy dress began to
cling about her shoulders. I flung off my coat and wrap-
ped it round her.
" I insist ! You shall wear it ! " I cried, when she
would have objected. " Come, we must run to that
little shed in the next field. We shall be sheltered
there."
We ran over the grass, the frightened sheep galloping
78 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
before us, their bleating mingling with the crash of the
storm. We were soaked to the skin by the time we
reached the shed.
Ruth was shivering as I drew her into shelter. She
stood clinging to my arm, and her wet hair dripped
upon my sleeve. There was a ewe with two lambs at
the back of the shed. The creatures seemed tame, and
did not try to leave on our entrance ; and one or two
sheep, evidently more terrified of the storm than of
us, came in and huddled their soaked fleeces together
in a distant corner.
" Do you think me very silly to be frightened ? "
asked Ruth.
She gripped my arm with both her nervous little
hands, and I tried to answer her, to reassure her ; but
words failed me, for the clasp of her fingers and the
appeal of her eyes had bound my lips with silence, and
filled my heart with a strange humility. " Why was I
ever born ? " I had often blasphemously flung that
cry to God. Now I realised that I had been born for
this hour, for this swarming of the blood, this quickening
of the heart, for this blessed birth of love and love's
twin, humbleness.
" The storm is passing over," said Ruth, and the
silly sheep ran out into a sudden burst of sunshine.
" Lud 1 how silent you are," she added, lifting her
eyes to mine.
" I am wondering," I said slowly, scarcely realising
what I uttered, " whether it would be safe to venture
out."
" The rain has stopped," said Ruth, " and I expect
Guy will be anxious about us. Please take your coat
back ; I don't need it now, and you're shivering with
cold."
A WANDERER 79
" I am not cold," I answered, and I spoke truly,
though my limbs were numb.
We went out into the field. The thunder-clouds were
rolling away ; the thunder-breeze swept the grass and
sang. I sang, too, as I strode along.
" I never heard you sing before," said Ruth. " What
are you singing ? Is it one of Mr. Wesley's hymns ? "
she added, lowering her voice. My Methodism always
seemed to inspire her with feelings of awe.
" I don't know what it is. It's nothing of Wesley's."
" I like to hear you sing. You've such a deep voice.
But lud ! pray don't stride so fast ; I can't keep up
with you."
I slackened my pace, and ceased my song to listen
to her voice, which was sweeter. We soon met Guy,
who had come out to look for us, and with him we
strolled back to the house, Ruth still wearing my coat
about her shoulders.
On arriving at Fiveash I changed my wet clothes in
the curate's room. He begged me to stay the night,
and I consented, for it would be sweet to sleep under
the same roof as Ruth.
All the afternoon and evening I was in a state of
exalted happiness, which, I think, must have often
shown itself in my eyes and on my lips. Ruth was
never absent from my thoughts. I loved her. I did
not know if she loved me but I loved her, and that
was all that mattered at present. How blessed it is
to love I
We went to Evening Prayer at four o'clock, and
afterwards to a children's Bible-class at the village
school. Ruth took care of the little ones, and most of
my time was spent in watching her as she sat at the
back of the room, her arm round one babe, another
80 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
on her lap, a third at her feet, playing with the ribbons
of her shoes. Guy had a rare tact with children, and I
was surprised to see how well he taught them. After
we had returned to Fiveash and had seated ourselves
before the kitchen fire, the curate said :
" What do you think the chief virtue to cultivate
in a child ? "
I considered.
" Well, after all," I said at length, " I think it is
the virtue of love with sacrifice."
" Cannot love exist without sacrifice ? "
" Never ! Love without sacrifice is like faith without
works : it is dead."
" I don't agree with you. I believe I I'm sure
that love can exist without self-sacrifice."
" Indeed it cannot. For sacrifice is the soul of love,
and when the soul has left the body, then the body is
lifeless, worthless carrion ! "
I was flushed and excited with my argument and
would have pushed it further, but I suddenly noticed
that Shotover looked ill at ease, and his sister unhappy,
so started on another topic.
I went to bed early that night, and lay awake a
long while thinking of Ruth. I was far too happy to
sleep. I built a dozen castles in the air. True, I was
only a poor tramping Methodist, without home, and
estranged from my kin ; but the brother and sister
had already shown me by their friendship what little
account they took of our religious differences, and the
day would come, I felt sure, when I should be no longer
poor and homeless ; then I should have Ruth Shotover
for my wife. How blessed it is to love !
I fell asleep shortly after midnight, and woke in a
sweat, conscious that some one was in the room. The
A WANDERER 81
morning dusk poured in upon a figure standing motion-
less at the foot of the bed. I held my breath, and felt
for my pistol, but suddenly stayed my hand, for no
ghost or robber confronted me, but Guy Shotover.
He was evidently sleep-walking, for he was scantily
clothed, and his eyes were turned up, showing me only
the whites. I had heard that it was dangerous to wake
somnambulists, so lay still, wondering what he would
do and what I ought to do.
He stood for a while motionless, then bent over the
bed-foot towards me, looking so ghastly with his rolled-
up eyes that I drew back and shuddered.
" I must speak," he said, in a low, monotonous voice,
only less horrible than the soulless cry of one who is
terrified with dreams ; "I must speak. I can keep
silence no longer. There is no love without sacrifice.
j
He ceased speaking, covered his face, and groaned.
At the same moment I saw Ruth Shotover standing in
the doorway.
" Guy ! " she called softly. " Guy ! "
He walked slowly towards her and took her out-
stretched hand.
" He's walking in his sleep," she said. " I heard
his door open and then yours, so I guessed that he had
come in here. What did he say to you ? "
" Only a few words about being unable to keep
silence, or something of the kind."
" Was that all ? You mustn't heed what he said.
He has the strangest fancies when he's like this. I'm
sorry he disturbed you. I shall lock his door on the
outside, so it shan't happen again. Come, Guy,
come ! "
She led him out and shut the door, and I lay for a
82 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
while thinking of her and her brother, then of her alone,
and then I fell asleep and dreamed of her.
The next day I found Guy very penitent at having
disturbed me.
" I often walk in my sleep. I should have told you
to lock your door."
" You can't be well."
" Oh, indeed, I am quite well," and he laughed rather
nervously. " I'm sorry I gave you trouble."
Immediately after breakfast I said good-bye to the
brother and sister, promising to visit them at Ewehurst,
and started on my journey, reaching Wadhurst that
night. Tuesday I spent in preaching in the village and
working at Little Pell. On Wednesday I set out again,
and at twilight saw the Shoyswell oast-houses against
Shoyswell Wood.
CHAPTER VII
OF THE METHODIST AS A LOVER
IT would be useless and impossible for me to de-
scribe the warmth of the welcome that awaited
me at Shoyswell. I was made to tell the story of
my wanderings over and over again, as we sat round the
fire after supper, and each recital drew out fresh tokens
of sympathy and goodwill from Peter and Mary Winde.
My eyes moistened and shone every time I men-
tioned Ruth Shotover, and I think the Windes must
have guessed my love for her ; that is to say, if they
had not guessed it before for I now knew that I had
loved her ever since I had first kissed her hand.
" Poor Ruth had been very poor-spirited of late,"
said Mary ; "I'm sure that she has something on her
mind, but I can't induce her to confide in me. Did she
seem dejected at Maresfield ? "
" Not at the farm-house : she laughed and was in
high spirits then ; but in church, where I first saw her,
she looked utterly miserable."
" Poor girl ! I wonder what is ailing her and her
brother, for he often looks as unhappy and anxious
as she."
" I believe it's something to do with that fellow Ench-
marsh," said Peter ; "I can't make out how it is he's
always at the Parsonage, or riding with Miss Ruth.
He's a man whom every right-minded girl should shun.
83
84 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
Even Mary, who sees good in everybody, says that the
only virtue she can find in Enchmarsh is that he's a
first-rate pistol shot."
I slept that night in the little room where the dried
hops still rustled in the wind, and directly after break-
fast the next morning I set out for Ewehurst. Ruth
was more than usually cordial, and I reached home I
had come by this time to call Shoyswell " home "
in an ecstasy of happiness.
It had been settled that I should stay with the Windes
for a week or two before setting out on a second mis-
sionary journey, and nearly every day I went to Ewe-
hurst. I came to be regarded as quite an old friend by
the Shotovers, and my bliss was complete or rather,
would have been complete but for Squire Enchmarsh,
whom I met constantly at the Parsonage. More than
once I was tempted to ask Ruth how she could tolerate
the continual presence of this man, who treated her
brother with undisguised contempt, and herself with a
familiarity no less odious. But so closely did she draw
the veil over this mystery that it would have been both
cruel and presumptuous to try to pluck it away.
About this time my love entered on a new phase. At
first I had been satisfied with the mere joy of loving,
and would have been content to love without hope of
reward. But now all was changed. My love became
hungry, and I sighed romantically and foolishly for a
word or a look to tell me that I did not worship in vain.
This was no doubt owing to the fact that Ruth had
suddenly grown very reserved and shy. She had ceased
to chatter and laugh, but spoke primly, and seemed
to avoid solitary talks and walks with me. I wondered
whether she had discovered my love and was displeased
at it, or whether she had come to love me, but was not
A LOVER 85
sure if I returned her passion. I pondered and brooded
over these surmises ; I even thought of speaking my
love, but as yet reason held my heart in leash, and I
was silent.
Thus the days went by till an evening in early June.
The wind was soft, and brought the sound of fold-bells
from Marsh Quarter ; the red clouds were tossed like
burning feathers in the west, and the moon hung above
Totease with a star below her nether tip. I had gone
for a ramble in the fields, and intended to sup at Ewe-
hurst Parsonage, and walk home under the stars ; the
lanes at night bewitched me ; they were favourable to
the dreams of young love.
The Parsonage windows shone in the twilight, and
the trees in the garden rustled an accompaniment to
the songs of sleepy birds. Fat miller-moths fluttered
heavily among the evening primroses, and the violet
torches of the glow-worms shone like amethysts in the
shade of the leaves. I saw Ruth's shadow against the
study blind, and stood for a time watching her while
she sewed, and rocked herself as she sewed. A man's
shadow leaned over her ; she lifted her head, and I
knew that she had set her lips invitingly for her brother
to kiss. Then another man's shadow came between
them ; I groaned impatiently, for I recognised Ench-
marsh.
I knocked at the door, and Ruth herself opened it.
She wore a white dress, babyish, soft, and bunchy, and
cuddled a black kitten in her arms. She looked the
veriest child and I realised that she must be even
younger than I had hitherto thought her not more than
seventeen.
" Good evening, Mr. Lyte ; I'm so vastly glad you've
come." I could not tell whether her words were truth
86 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
or courtesy, for there were tears as well as a smile in her
eyes.
Enchmarsh greeted me very superciliously when, a
moment later, I entered the study. He never took the
slightest pains to conceal his dislike for me, and I know
that I might have tried harder to conceal mine. Ruth
smiled anxiously at us both, and endeavoured to turn
and soften Enchmarsh's sneering and often insolent
remarks. Guy hardly ever spoke in the presence of
the Squire of Kitchenhour, so supper was rather an
ordeal, and I felt glad when it was over. Enchmarsh
chose to stay drinking and smoking by himself in the
dining-room ; Guy went off to his study, and I per-
suaded Ruth she seemed strangely unwilling to stroll
out with me into the garden.
The moon was high among the stars, and a nightingale
was drowning with his rich wild voice the drowsy
twitter of some bird yet awake. We crossed the lawn
to the shrubbery, and the roses that tangled the path
brushed dew on to our cheeks. The spell of the
night was upon us, and neither of us spoke for some
time.
" I love the moonlight," I said at last.
" I hate it," said Ruth.
" Why ? "
" It seems so cold and cruel ; it mocks me. Why do
you love it ? "
" Because it is like like "
" Like what ? "
" Like you."
She laughed shrilly.
" How can it be like me ? "
" It is so beautiful."
She laughed again.
A LOVER 87
" Lud ! How vastly romantic you are to-night ! Is
it the moon that makes you so ? "
I was silent.
" We'd better go indoors," said Ruth abruptly ; " my
slippers are quite wet."
I do not know what madness prompted me to ask her
to stay.
" Wait a moment, I have something to tell you."
" I I don't want to hear it." To my horror, I saw
that she was in tears.
" Ruth, Ruth, you must hear I love you ! "
We were standing in an open space among some
bushes ; their shadow covered us except for our faces,
and I saw Ruth's suddenly become set and white even
to the lips. She led her hand over her breast, and
swayed back from me.
" Ruth, sweetheart, do not cry. I love you. I "
My voice died away, for she pushed me from her with
a strength I could not have expected in one so frail.
" Go go ; never speak to me like that again. Go
right away "
She stood for an instant motionless, then turned and
dashed through the bushes towards the house. The
next moment I heard a rush and a scream. I forced
my way after her through the thick euonumus, and
suddenly found myself face to face with Enchmarsh.
He stood in the moonlight, and I saw clearly the
rage burning in his eyes. In his arms he held an un-
conscious white mass, gathered up against him as one
would hold a baby. The white face was thrown back
on his shoulder, so that I could see the look of grief
and terror it had not lost in unconsciousness.
A torrent of wrath rose to my lips, but Enchmarsh
spoke before I could let it loose.
88 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
" What the hell are you about ? "
" What the what are you about ? "
" My business."
" You were eavesdropping."
" I was not. But I heard what you said, because,
in your cursed effrontery, you spoke loud enough for
anyone within ten yards to hear."
There was a rustle in the long grass beside me, and I
noticed that Guy Shotover stood close at hand, his
cheeks flushed and his head held low.
" And what if you did hear ? " I cried. " Is not my
tongue my own ? "
" You deserve to have it torn out of your head for
pestering with your worthless love a lady who is as
high above you as heaven is above hell."
" You may be thankful that you have her in your
arms at this moment ; for if you hadn't I should cer-
tainly knock you down."
He did not answer, but suddenly bent his head and
kissed the pale face upon his shoulder, and not the face
only, but the hair and the extended throat.
I sprang towards him, livid with rage.
" You are drunk, you beast ! How dare you insult
a helpless girl who, if she weren't unconscious and in
your power, would rather blow her brains out than let
you shame her so ! Guy Shotover, haven't you a spark
of manliness left, that you can stand by and see your
sister treated so infernally ? "
The curate made no reply. The moonlight fell upon
him, and I saw that he was shaking from head to foot.
" Coward ! Fool ! " I cried, and turned from him
furiously.
" Stop fuming and ranting ! " roared Enchmarsh.
" Not while you hold Ruth Shotover in your arms."
A LOVER 89
" I shall hold her as long as I please, and kiss her as
often as I have a mind to. Stand off, you damned
psalm-singing gipsy ! "
" As her brother will not protect her, I must."
" Her brother knows that I have a right to do as I
please."
" What right ? "
He curled back his lips in a contemptuous smile.
" Merely the right of a betrothed husband."
" Betrothed husband ! "
I echoed his words blankly, wildly, and staggered
back from him, my hands over my face. When I drew
them away the stars were swinging, the bushes reeling,
and Enchmarsh's face leered at me like a devil's through
the darkness.
" Yes, Miss Shotover is my promised wife."
" You lie," I cried hoarsely.
" Shotover, do I lie ? "
The curate shook his head.
I looked from one to the other in horror. My rage
was dead, my flesh crept and my limbs shook as if with
the palsy.
" I I didn't know. No one told me I "
Enchmarsh broke in with a torrent of oaths.
" And why should anyone have told you, you skulk-
ing vagabond ? Was it any business of yours ? Damn
you ! Do you expect to be told all the concerns of
your betters, you insolent fool ? "
My fury revived and blazed out.
"If it were not for my vocation, I'd call you out
for this ! " I cried, grinding my teeth.
" I don't fight with tramps, I kick 'em ; and I'll
kick you if you come nearer. Be off ! This girl belongs
to me. She's mine, I tell you be off ! " and again he
90 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
stooped and- kissed her cheeks and her mouth, her
closed eyelids, and her red hair that streamed over his
arm.
I strode up to Shotover and seized him by the wrist.
" You cowardly fool ! What devil gives you the
power to stand by and see your sister shamed by this
villain ? "
He turned pale and groaned a little, for in my rage
I had nearly wrenched his arm out of its socket.
" Leave Shotover alone 1 " shouted Enchmarsh.
" Why should you maul him ? Ought he to have kept
his sister for you ? Ought he to have rejected all other
suitors and kept her for a hypocritical Methodist
mumper, that she might share his rags and starvation
by day and his ditch by night ? But let me tell you
that I loved her months ago, before you had begun to
poison her sight with your scowling face, when you were
washing out the cow-stalls and being horsewhipped on
your father's farm."
How he knew of the miseries and degradations of my
boyhood I cannot imagine.
" Be off now," continued Enchmarsh, " and don't
let me ever see you at Ewehurst Parsonage again."
" The Parsonage is not yours, and I'll not leave it
for you."
" Order him off, Shotover."
The curate came forward.
"I'm not going until I've spoken to Ruth," I cried
frantically. " I believe that what you have told me is
a lie, and that Shotover is only swearing to it because
he's afraid of you."
" You may speak to her if you like," sneered Ench-
marsh. " Look, she is recovering consciousness."
The limp arm stirred, the head writhed on its support.
A LOVER 91
Her eyes opened, and a quick glance of fear shot into
them ; her lips parted in horror. She evidently re-
membered all that had passed.
" Ruth," said Enchmarsh, " are you my promised
wife ? "
Her dilated eyes looked wildly into mine.
" My darling ! My darling ! " I cried, unmanned
and nearly weeping, " tell me that it is a lie."
" It is true," she said. That was all.
Enchmarsh caught her to him with a loud laugh.
" She's mine arn't you, Ruth ? She loves me don't
you, Ruth ? Be off, you tramp ; your game is up.
Order him off, Shotover."
He caught Ruth to his breast once more, and kissed
her ; then carried her triumphantly away.
Guy came timidly up to where I stood, speechless
and paralysed, and touched my arm. I shook him off
with such violence that he went reeling backwards
among the bushes. Then I turned and rushed away.
I ran wildly through the shrubbery, tearing my
clothes and my flesh among the brakes, often in my
blind fury dashing up against a tree, then speeding on
afresh, reckless of bruises and pain. At last I came to
a fence, and vaulted it without pausing to see what was
on the other side. I did not spring high enough, my
foot struck against a stake, and I fell headlong.
I rolled over among a mass of dead leaves, which
the violence of my fall sent whirling and fluttering
round me. Then down I shot for about fifty feet, among
stones, leaves, and clods of earth, now my head, now
my feet fosemost, clutehing in vain at every twig and
stone, my breath all but dashed out of my body. At
last I reached the bottom, and lay battered, shaken,
gasping, and bleeding, among the stones of a stream
92 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
which wound along the foot of the hollow, and which
owing to recent drought, was nearly dry.
The trickle of cold water under my head revived me,
and I staggered to my feet, feeling very sick, and almost
unable to stand. I wondered how I should ever reach
home. I was at the foot of one of those glens or
" hatches " that every now and then break the peace of
the Sussex fields. It was thickly grown with brushwood,
but on one side this had been cut away hence the
fruitlessness of my efforts to break my fall. On the
further side hazel, ash, and sallow rose almost pre-
cipitously, and I despaired of being able, bruised and
shaken as I was, to climb out of the stuffy darkness
of the hatch into the wind and moonlight above.
However, there was nothing else to be done, so I
made the attempt, and toiled upwards on my hands and
knees for nearly half an hour. Every moment was
agony, and I was covered with sweat by the time I
reached the top and found myself in a field where the
breeze was rippling the grass into silver moon-shot waves.
I threw myself down, and lay there for fully an hour,
with the buttercups stretching their Eldorado to where
the fold-star hung and trembled. Now and then I
writhed, and tore the young grass with my hands and
teeth, but it was not bodily pain which caused my
throes.
" Betrothed to Enchmarsh ! " I cried the words
aloud to the mocking wind and sky. How he would
make her suffer ! He would beat her, perhaps had I
not seen him flog his horse, and kick his dog lame ? Oh,
how I loved her ! Every minute seemed to double the
intensity of my love, and to make it doubly passionate,
doubly tender, doubly wild, and doubly torturing. If
a good man had won her from me I could have borne it,
A LOVER 93
" but not Enchmarsh ! " I cried, as I rolled in the
rustling grass, " not Enchmarsh ! Oh, my God ! " I did
not for a moment think that Ruth loved this fellow.
The idea was foolish and impossible. Again and again
I had seen her eyes glow with contempt, dislike, and
even horror, when he was near. No, no, no ! She did
not love him ; there was some devilish mystery which
I could not fathom. Perhaps the curate was in Ench-
marsh's debt. I had heard of women being sold to pay
debts.
The night wore on ; the moon had set, and a chill
mist had risen. I shivered and struggled to my feet,
to toil homewards through the rank wet fields, where
the grass reached almost to my knees. At last I stood
in Shoyswell fold.
The windows were dark ; not a soul was stirring ;
but I found the kitchen window unfastened, and climbed
in. The last red gleeds still smouldered on the hearth,
and I crouched down before them, for I was trembling
with cold. My rage had died suddenly and completely,
and in its place reigned a dumb and stony grief. I did
not care to go to bed, for I knew that sleep would be
impossible. So I crouched there, while the dawn crept
grey and quivering into the room, and the wind tossed
the trees with a hissing, moaning sound.
CHAPTER VIII
OF THE METHODIST'S JOURNEY INTO THE DENS
OF KENT
THE sun had just risen between the oasts, and
the morning wind was beginning to play with
the heavy damp hair on my forehead when
Peter came into the room.
" What, lad ! you here ? I thought you must be
spending the night at Ewehurst. When did you come
back ? "
" About midnight."
" Then why aren't you in bed ? Those who don't
lie down till midnight should'nt rise at four."
" I I haven't been to bed."
I was crouched in the shadow of the settle, and he
could see me only dimly, but a movement of mine
brought the light on to my face, and he started back
with an exclamation of horror.
" Humphrey where have you been ? "
" Only to Ewehurst," I muttered, not realising the
plight I was in. He took me by the arm, and pulled
me from my knees.
" What good God ! "
" I I had a fall. But I'm right enough."
" Look in the glass before you try to deceive me
further."
He dragged me to the mirror, and I saw that my face
94
THE JOURNEY INTO KENT 95
and neck were scratched and cut and blood-stained, and
that my hair was matted with blood. But it was the
expression of my face that made it look so changed and
dreadful. My eyes were wild and bloodshot, my brows
drawn and furrowed, and my whole countenance was
lined as if I had grown suddenly to old age. I drew back
and covered my eyes.
" Lad, " said Peter searchingly, " what's the
matter ? "
" Nothing."
" That's not true. But there ! I mustn't scold you.
You're not used to confiding your troubles."
I went to the window and looked out. Peter came
behind me and touched my shoulder.
" Won't you tell me, lad ? "
" I I don't know."
" I think you would feel better if you did."
I was silent for a few moments ; then I said slowly :
" Ruth Shotover is engaged to Enchmarsh of Kitchen-
hour."
Peter started back.
" That can't be true ! "
" It is true as God's wrath."
" This is dreadful news."
"It's damnable ! " I cried, swinging round upon
him, my hajids clenched above my head. " It's damn-
able ! It's hellish ! Oh, damn him ! He's "
" Lad ! lad ! " cried Peter.
" Forgive me. I'm half crazy. The Methodist is
lost in "
" The lover," said Peter quietly.
" How did you know ? "
" It was an open secret, Humphrey."
" You will keep it ? "
96 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
" On my honour, I will. But some one else knows
it, lad."
" Who ? "
" Mary."
I had thought as much.
Peter went over to the settle, and beckoned me to
him ; and before I had been very long kneeling at his
feet, I found the story of my foolish declaration of love,
Ruth's terror, Enchmarsh's rage, and my own madness,
slipping from my tongue. Peter waited patiently till
I had finished the miserable tale, and had thrown my-
self upon the floor. Then he said :
" Humphrey, is this the way you bear the chastening
of the Lord ? "
" I can't bear it any other way. I'm mad."
" You're mad with rage. I never met a fellow with
a temper like yours, my lad. It ill becomes a. Methodist."
I hung my head.
" I can understand and sympathise with your heart-
break, but you're more furious than heart-broken."
" Because I'm sure there is foul play somewhere.
Ruth doesn't love that scoundrel. I know she doesn't."
" I must confess that matters don't look quite straight.
But we can do nothing, dear lad nothing but pray, and
rage won't help our prayers."
He talked on, and gradually I became calm and
humble and bitterly ashamed. I saw how foolish and
self-degrading my rage had been, and how that patience
under bitterest suffering is " a most commendable and
manly thing."
At last the clock struck six, and I heard Mary Winde's
step on the stairs.
" I had better go to my room, sir. I'm not fit to
meet Mary just now."
THE JOURNEY INTO KENT 97
He nodded, so I went up, and washed, and changed
my clothes. After which I looked a little more pre-
sentable, but still very ghastly, with my scratched and
bruised face, and my eyes blurred with sleeplessness.
Peter had prepared Mary for my plight, so when I
came down an hour later she did not start or draw back
from me, but came to meet me with the winning smile
and outstretched hand of other days. There was no
mention made during breakfast of what had happened
at Ewehurst Parsonage. The father and daughter
spoke of farming matters, the country, books, and
preaching, changing their topic every other minute in a
vain hope to interest me. I felt too sick to eat, and rose
after having done little more than taste my food. I
forgot how the rest of the day passed. All I know is
that I prayed for the evening, and when the sun set I
cried, " Oh, that it was morning ! "
Peter urged me to go to bed early, so I lighted my
bedroom candle at about nine. I was half crazy with
sleeplessness and I thought sleep would be peace and
forgetting. But I could not sleep. I lay desperate and
wakeful the livelong night. I saw Capricornus rise above
the fog, and Cancer set beyond Starvenden. I saw the
first sun-ray kiss the sinking moon, and make her blush.
I saw the spume of mist rise slowly from the fields, and
hang in mid-air, like a pile of opalescent cloud till the
wind tore it, and sent the white shreds fluttering like
ghosts against the trees.
I had never suffered from sleeplessness before. It
is true that I had passed many a wretched night during
my boyhood, but never without one or two hours' sleep.
I had heard that insomnia often produced madness, and
the horror of madness was added to the other horrors of
that night. I cried for sleep ; I prayed for it, but it
98 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
never came. I tossed and tumbled till half the bed-
clothes were on the floor and my shirt was damp with
perspiration. My brain was even more restless than my
body, and throbbed with a hundred torturing thoughts.
At last I could endure no more, so rose and went to
look for Peter. He was not in his room or in the kitchen,
so I sought him in the fields, and found him in a meadow
close to the Limden Stream. He knelt by a rift in the
hedge, through which the sunlight wavered, red and
angry, but bathing his features in a wonderful light.
He prayed aloud in the solitude and as I drew near
I heard him pray for me.
Then I would have turned and left him, and, I hope,
gone myself to pray. But he heard the rustle of the
grass as I came through it, and rose from his knees.
" Good morning, lad. Are you surprised to find I
make the fields my oratory ? One prays better under
an open sky."
A shower of rain came slanting with the sun, and
gently struck our faces.
" I have come to you, Mr. Winde, because I want to
tell you of the resolution I made as I lay awake last
night. I must leave Sussex."
" Yes, lad."
" You don't seem surprised."
" I'm not."
" I think we had arranged that I shouldn't set out
on my second missionary journey till next week. But
I cannot stay till then. I must leave Sussex. Where
do you advise me to go ? "
" Far away, lad. A long journey, with a far-off
return."
I groaned, and looked through the mist of crimson
rain at the fields around me, at the sun in the east above
THE JOURNEY INTO KENT 99
Scales Crouch, and at the glow of blood on the Limden
Stream.
" Oh, Mr. Winde, though I travel all England over,
I shall never love a place as I love Sussex ! "
" But you must go, lad. You yourself say so."
" Yes, I must but God help me ! "
He took my arm, and we walked down to the bank
of the Limden Stream. There Peter talked with me
for fully an hour, and we mapped out my immediate
future.
I was to go into Kent, and travel through those
towns and villages, the names of which all end in " den "
Rolvenden, Benenden, Biddenden, Horsemonden,
Bethersden and northwards to the flat chalk-lands
by Rochester and Chatham. Then I was to cross the
mouth of the Thames into Essex, and on into Suffolk
and Norfolk. I was not to come back till I had learned
to suffer in silence, to think of Ruth without wincing,
and to bear my loneliness. I felt that these things
would never be, and that in setting out to wander till
I attained them, I set out to wander till I died.
" And when shall you start ? " asked Peter.
" This evening. I shall walk all night, then fall
down and sleep from exhaustion that is the only way
I can hope to sleep."
" You shall do as you please. But don't be faint-
hearted. Many a man before you has borne your
burden, and borne it singing."
" Perhaps I shall sing one day when I know that
she is dead and out of that villain's power. Oh, believe
me that it is the thought of her suffering that makes
my own so awful."
" Perhaps, poor lad, she's not suffering so cruelly as
you think. She must know the fellow's character,
100 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
seeing that he's her familiar friend ; but she may be
captivated by his good looks, or by that careless dashing
manner of his."
" I know she is miserable. She does not love him ;
and he will ill-use her flog her when he is angry, as
he flogs his horse and his dogs."
" It may be so. But she's acting with her eyes open.
She knows Enchmarsh even better than we do. We
can't interfere with her, lad,"
" I know that, so I had better go away to where every
lane and field does not bring me a memory of her."
The rain had ceased, and the sun had risen higher ;
the fires in the east flamed no longer, only smouldered,
and Peter and I, still talking, sauntered home. Mary
and breakfast were awaiting us in the kitchen, and
while we ate the latter, we told the former of my plans.
She showed little more surprise than her father when
she heard of my resolution to leave Sussex. Only, I
thought, she seemed more grieved at it than he.
" We shall miss you, Humphrey," she said simply.
" And I shall miss Shoyswell, and the happy home-
life there. You have both been so good to me. I
believe I should have killed myself when I was a little
lad, if it hadn't been for your kindness."
" Killed yourself ! What nonsense ! " cried Peter.
" You loved God, and a man who loves God will never
throw His best gift back in His face. Lad, go through
life with a song on your lips and a prayer in your heart,
and doubt not but that the song will gladden your
brethren and the prayer go straight to your Father."
That evening I made up my few possessions into a
bundle, Peter insisting on renewing his loan of five
pounds, and I found that Mary had spent the last
month in making me some shirts and handkerchiefs.
THE JOURNEY INTO KENT 101
My dear friends did not accompany me, as before, to
the end of Shoyswell Lane, but said good-bye to me in
the kitchen. Mary cried a little, and for the second time
I thought of kissing her, and for the second time her
look and my own heart forbade it. The kitchen was
red with firelight when I passed the window, and I
thought of the evening when I had first come to Shoys-
well, and had looked in and seen the two Windes and
John Palehouse at the table.
At the end of the lane I paused and glanced back.
A ribbon of smoke was rising against the dim sky, and
the trees were tossing their branches against a square
of red light. I groaned, and bowed my head over my
clasped hands as I prayed for Peter and Mary.
Then I went on through the listening night, past
Iridge and Bodiam, to where I could see the glint of
the moon mingling with the sullen red of the sunset
on the Rother. I had left the Sussex fields, and stood
on the Sussex marshes. The wind swept moaning
through the osiers, and the river moaned. The sunset
died as I came to Merstham, and a thousand stars
shone among the clouds in the mirror of the overflow.
One can ford the Rother at low tide near Ethnam, and
from the ford one can see the lights of Ewehurst. I
saw them through a mist of tears, and as I stood on
the great lonely marsh, a passionate longing gripped me
to see Ruth's face. But I fought it down, and stepped
into the Rother.
The water at mid-stream came nearly to my waist,
and when I saw that another step would bring me into
Kent for the Rother at this point is one with the Kent
ditch, and a boundary line between the counties I
stood still, and gazed back at the huddling mass of
marsh, field, wood, and waste towards the south.
102 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
Farewell, Sussex ! my mother, my nurse, my mistress,
my home, my goodly heritage ! I stood mid-stream,
with clasped hands, while the water, sprinkled with
mirrored stars, eddied moaning round me. Then I
waved my hand to the southward country, and scrambled
on to the Kentish bank.
The wind blew fiercely in my face, and tossed the
great clouds like feathers about the sky. Turning my
back resolutely on the county I loved, I walked to
some little houses known as Ethnam, the lights of
which I had often seen from the Sussex marsh on my
rambles to and from Ewehurst. Here I left the levels
and came on to the Kentish weald.
My heart ached madly as I strode on between the
hedges, seen dimly through a waving mist of hemlock,
chervil, and burnet. I had never longed so desperately
for Ruth. I was like a man struck blind and crying for
light. My past happiness lay behind me, like the shores
of some blessed isle, at which my craft had touched for
a moment, but from which it had been rudely driven
for ever.
The night deepened ; the water-bearer had risen and
quivered over Udiam. Charles's Wain hung just above
my head, and cast a light on my way. The mist came
trailing over the fallows, and it seemed as if the vapour
took strange shapes. Now two white girls danced across
the grass ; then I saw a great lamb standing against
the woods of Mockbeggar, which melted into a horse
without a head, which in its turn changed into a snow-
white bird, that flew with outspread wings into the face
of the moon.
I was weak and weary from want of sleep, and I
longed to throw myself down and forget my sorrows,
if only for an hour. There was a gap in the hedge on
THE JOURNEY INTO KENT 103
my right, and through it I saw the great umbelliferae
waving. I crept into the field, and lay down where a
tangle of bramble and bryony shut out the keen little
wind that blew up from the Rother. The blessed sleep
came almost immediately, born of exhaustion and
sorrow. I slept for sorrow. No dreams disturbed my
rest, but I woke at intervals during the night, stirred,
then slept again. At last a rustle in the grass made me
start up fully awake. The dawn lay, a rosy infant, on
the breast of the east, and a flock of sheep, their fleeces
tinged with rose towards the sunrise, stood a few yards
off, staring at me with silly, frightened faces. They
scampered away as I raised myself on my elbow, and
buried their noses in the rich grass higher up the pasture.
There was a freshness in the air that quickened my
blood, and as the sun rose grandly behind the eastern
meadows, and the glory of the young day grew more
and more dazzling, submission came to my heart, and,
kneeling among the spurge, I prayed God to give me
strength to endure. Then a robin sang my little bird
of hope.
CHAPTER IX
I PREACHED that morning at Sandhurst, and,
buying two rolls and a cake of gingerbread of
which I am very fond ate them in a wood by the
Hexden Channel, then walked to the neighbouring
village of Hawkhurst. I preached there, and at High-
gate, and towards evening found work on a farm-house
known as Mopesden.
I was at this time painfully learning the lesson of
resignation, and I felt that my will would be more
easily brought in tune with God's if I mortified it by
healthy labour. There is nothing like hard work for
crushing rebellion. When our bodies are tired, our
minds, as it were, grow tired too, and cease to struggle
against Heaven ; and when we are doing with all our
might whatsoever our hand findeth to do, our mind has
little time for dwelling on its miseries. I therefore
decided to stay a week at Mopesden Farm, and, finding
the people kindly and the work congenial, did not
repent my decision.
One night, after supper, when I was sitting with the
other farm hands by the kitchen fire, the former's wife
came in after a ride to Sandhurst market.
" A strange day we've had, the maaster and I ! "
she exclaimed. " There's bin a feller preaching in the
104
AT THE VILLAGE OF ROLVENDEN 105
market-plaace till it seemed as if the very stoans and
tiles must be listening to un."
" What ? " I cried with interest.
" Oh, he wur a just about grand speaker, and a
Methodee, like yourself. He spoake better than you,
lad. But db'an't 'ee be downhearted ; I reckon as he
can't mow or stack half as well."
" What was he like ? "
" Oh, a tall, slim chap, youngish, but with grey hair."
" Where did he come from ? "
" How many more questions, young feller ? He
came from Sussex and from Hampshire, I heerd tell."
" Why, that must be the man who went before me
when I preached in Sussex ! Where has he gone ? "
" On to Rolvenden and Benenden, I b'lieve. I'm
unaccountable glad he's a-gone, for he spoake of hell
and death and judgment in a way that maade one
tremble. But let's have no more of un and to bed
with you, lad, for you must be up rath the morrer for
the stacking of Yattenden's field, surelye ! "
My week of service came to an end a day or two later,
and refusing the good farmer's offer for a permanent
place at Mopesden Farm, I again set out on my wander-
ings. I had several reasons for starting thus. I felt
that Highgate was too near Sussex for my peace of
mind one can see Ewehurst from Four Throws, close
to the village and continued sleeplessness had so sapped
my health that I was physically unfitted for the hard
work at Mopesden. I felt also that I had no right to
remain in one place when it was my mission to carry the
Saving Word through the length and breadth of Eng-
land. My fourth reason was perhaps the weakest I
wished to make up with the Greater Preacher who went
before. I thirsted for company of my own age, condition
106 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
and faith, and I believed that I should find it in this
mysterious Chrysostom, the track of whose conquests
I was following for the second time.
I decided to go to Rolvenden by the shortest way
up and down and in and out of a multitude of twisting
lanes, where the rose-crowned battlements of the
hedges shut out everything but the sky ; through fields,
where the hay lay mown in great swathes, or where
the green com preached the Resurrection ; through
woods where every step caused a flutter among the wild
creatures that played in the mush of dead leaves ; by
hangar and bostal, hurst and hatch, cottages and
farm-houses, hop-fields, glorious in their summer dress,
orchards from which the blossom had withered, and where
the shrivelled fruits hung like ruddy fungi among the
leaves ; through the young fresh morning, till drowsy
noon, when, as the sheep gathered on the shady side
of the hedges, and the cattle panted knee-deep in the
meadow streams, I came to Rolvenden.
The village was half asleep. The bow-pranked team
dozed outside the tavern, where the waggoners were
nodding over their ale. The old -men slumbered on the
benches by the inn porch, the women sat idly in their
doorways, the children slept in the scanty patches of
shade. It was not an encouraging audience, but I
resolved to speak, and soon gathered a little crowd round
me by the churchyard gate. I think that since the great
sorrow of my life had fallen upon me, I had preached
with far more eloquence and power. I had noticed that
at Sandhurst, Hawkhurst, and Highgate, my sermons
had gone deeper into the people's hearts than at Wad-
hurst, Cuckfield, or Cowfold when I was happy and the
world smiled. This day at Rolvenden the sleepy, sordid
men and women listened to me almost eagerly. There
AT THE VILLAGE OF ROLVENDEN 107
was no laughing or interrupting, so I gained cor^dence,
and spoke and pleaded with them as I had new spoken
or pleaded before. A chapter from Thomas a Kempis
came into my mind " Of the want of all comfort "
and I chose it for my text. For more than an hour I
preached of the broken heart, and of the bleeding Hand
which alone can bind it. At last I ceased, and at the
same moment a voice at my elbow cried out : " Well
done ! "
I started, and looked for the speaker among the crowd
of smocks and stolid faces. The next moment I started
again, for by my side stood John Palehouse !
He had altered very little since I had last seen him
five years ago, for though he had occasionally visited
Shoyswell since then, I had never met him. His hair
was streaked with grey, it is true, and he looked thinner
and frailer than of old ; but the face was the same,
with the eyes that shone as if they had once seen the
Beatific Vision, and had not forgotten it, and the smile
so sad and so wonderfully sweet. He was literally in
rags. His shoes were ripped in a dozen places, his
shoulder showed through his sleeve, and his neck was
bare.
" Well done, lad ! " he exclaimed, holding out his
hand. " I thank God to meet you thus."
" And I am glad as well as surprised to meet you,
Mr. Palehouse. I had no idea that you were in these
parts."
" I have only just come into Kent. I have been
through Sussex to Hampshire, then back through Sussex
to Shoyswell, where I spent a day or two on my way
to Kent. Peter Winde told me that the Lord had called
you to preach His Gospel, and that you had gone into
the sister county before me."
108 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
" Why ! " I exclaimed, as the truth dawned on me,
" you must be the Greater Preacher ! "
" The what ? "
" The preacher who went before me through Sussex,
and went again before me through Kent. You passed
me while I worked on Mopesden Farm. When did you
reach this village ? "
" The day before yesterday. I have been nursing a
sick boy down at a place called Lambs\and on the
marshes. A vile hole ! The child will die."
" I am so glad that you are the preacher whose
praises have been dinned into my ears on every village
green. You don't know how I have longed to make up
with you and talk to one of my own condition and
persuasion."
" Stay with me for a while at Rolvenden, and we
can talk of Shoyswell and of the labours we have under-
taken for the Lord."
" Gladly ! " I answered, and we made our way through
the crowd to the village inn, where I called for a jug of
beer, for I was thirsty after my walk in the dust and
heat. Palehouse refused to drink beer, but asked the
landlady to bring him a cup of spring water. I ordered
some bread and cheese, and when the woman had left
the room to fetch it, my companion said :
" I don't think that I should stay here. I have no
money, and though I know that Mrs. Edwardes would
be quite willing not to charge me for the bread and
cheese, I don't think I should let her be so good-natured.
I shall wait for you outside."
" Pray do not go ! " I cried. " I ordered the bread
and cheese for both of us, and should be sorry to eat
it alone."
" Why should I presume on your kindness more than
t
AT THE VILLAGE OF ROLVENDEN 109
on the landlady's ? You must not spend your money
on me."
" I spend it for selfish reasons. I hate a solitary meal."
He glanced at the table, then at the door.
" Come, Mr. Palehouse," I insisted. " Come, or I
shall go too."
Another glance at the table and another at the door,
then he smiled and took his place beside me.
" You are very kind, and why should I be too proud
to confess that I am starving ? "
" Mr. Palehouse ! "
" Well, I had my last meal at Sandhurst."
" That was the day before yesterday."
" True. But I have sometimes been without food for
longer than that. I can so seldom earn any money.
The folks like my prophesying, but not the work of
my hands. The last farmer I was with nearly flogged
me for my blockheadedness."
"It is just the opposite with me. Folk often laugh
at my sermons, but never at my stacking, binding, or
mowing."
" You are young, Mr. Palehouse, and your gift is
fully developed."
" Young, am I ? Do you know that I sometimes
forget my own age ! I am thirty no, thirty-one
but I don't feel young. Besides, I am several years
older than you, and you are a novice at prophesying."
It was a characteristic of John Palehouse that he
always preferred Bible phraseology to that of modern
times. " Preaching " with him was " prophesying " ;
his manner of life was his " conversation " ; he had
not gone before but had " prevented " me on my
journey. He spoke thus without the slightest affecta-
tion ; it was part of his nature. His mind was saturated
110 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
in the Holy Scriptures. He seldom read his Bible, for
he knew it by heart.
By this time the landlady had brought the bread
and cheese, and Palehouse folded his hands and bowed
his head in thanksgiving over the coarse fare. Then he
smiled gaily, sat down, and ate like well, like a man who
has not tasted food for two days.
As soon as the meal was over, my companion rose,
and declared that he must hurry back to Lambsfcand.
" I left the boy asleep and in charge of a neighbour
his family are at work in the hayfields but she will
soon be obliged to go home and cook her husband's
supper, so I must return to my post. Come with me,
and we can talk by the way."
I readily agreed. It was blessed to have a companion.
" I shall beg some gooseberries at Sparkeswood Farm
for the little fellow," said John Palehouse ; " he's in a
high fever, and always crying for drink, but the water
at Lambstand is warm and foul this weather."
" You will beg for fruit to cool a sick child's fever,
but you would not have the landlady of this inn give
you food when you were starving."
" The two things are utterly different. I may do for
others that which I cannot in all honesty do for myself.
Besides, if I once allowed Mrs. Edwardes to give me a
meal, she would never take money from me again.
These poor folk are often too generous. Again and again
a man and his wife would have turned out of their bed
that I might lie in there, and the very children on their
way to school have offered me their breakfasts when they
knew I was hungry."
" You are known in these parts ? "
" Oh, yes ! I constantly go over my ground con-
firming weak souls. I have many friends in the southern
AT THE VILLAGE OF ROLVENDEN 111
counties. But come, we mustn't loiter here. Off we
go to Lambsiand ! "
I paid the landlady, and we left the alehouse. The
sun had lost his noonday heat, and the cool of late
afternoon was in the air. John Palehouse sniffed at
the little wind that blew from the west.
" Do you smell the hay ? They have cut it in
Freezingham meadow."
Lover of Nature that I was, I had not noticed the
faint delicious smell till he called my attention to it,
and during the whole of our walk it was the same. He
saw sights and heard sounds to which I was blind and
deaf, and every now and then he would ask me if I
did not smell the young hops, or the fennel by the way-
side, and I would be obliged to answer that I had never
noticed their fragrance. As we went along he talked of
the birds, the stars, the rain, and the rustling leaves of
the woods. He paused to admire stretches of fallow
or cornfield, the windings of a stream, the cobalt of a
pillar of smoke against the ultramarine of the sky, the
red roofs of the farmsteads against the green of their
orchards. John Palehouse had two loves God and
Nature, and two books, the Bible and the green earth.
We went into the garden of Sparkeswood Farm, where
the farmer's wife picked us some gooseberries. Half a
dozen children trod on our heels, and prattled to John
Palehouse. The old shepherd wrinkled up his face with
smiles when John's rags fluttered into the fold. The
dairy-maids curtseyed and grinned, and the plough-boy
was with difficulty sent back to his team. I felt that
this was indeed a Greater Preacher.
We set out again on our way, and leaving the road,
struck across the fields to where the Rother wound
through grey-green marshes. My heart leapt at the
112 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
sight of old Sussex on the opposite shore. But we were
several miles east of Ewehurst, and I looked in vain for
the red roofs with the lichen-yellowed spire rising in
their midst. I saw Methersham and Reedbed in a
golden haze, and beyond them a mass of fields undulating
to the south.
Lambstand was a desolate cottage on the edge of the
marsh. There was a field behind it, with all attempts
at cultivation choked by the rank marsh-weeds that
sprang up from the soil. The walls of the cottage were
blotched with damp, and huge fungi projected their
fat lips from between the clods of which it was built.
There were two rooms inside. The first was filled
with smoke ; from the second came a sick child's cry.
We went in and found a boy of about eight years old
tossing on a wretched bed. There were two other
beds in the room, and these had not been made that
day. The heat was terrible, and the boy's thirst was
aggravated by the distant gurgle and suck of the
Rother on Maytham weir.
" Water," he moaned, for the cup at his side was
empty, and had evidently long been so.
" I have something better than water for you, Dickie,"
said Palehouse tenderly, and crushed the fruit against
the dry lips.
I watched him in admiration. It was wonderful how
he brought peace and refreshment into that stifling
room. He smoothed the tumbled pillow and bedclothes
while he spoke low and tenderly to the child. He
brushed back the hair from his forehead and bathed his
little hot hands.
" Where's Mrs. Ades ? " he asked, when he had
finished his ministrations.
" She's a-gone to cook her man's supper. He came
AT THE VILLAGE OF ROLVENDEN 113
home early and flew into a mad rage when he found her
here. He beat her, he did oh, Mus' Pal'us, my head,
my head ! "
He tossed and writhed in his hot bedclothes, and John
took him in his arms, and walked with him up and down
the room.
" I should not have left you, poor babe. But I was
obliged to visit old Mrs. Harting up at the village, and
I wanted to get you some fruit, my poor dear."
He rocked the boy in his arms, and sang to him gently
till the flushed eyelids closed. I heard footsteps in the
mud outside the house, and a babel of voices. The next
moment four lads and a girl rushed in, but stopped and
drew back at the sight of John Palehouse and his burden.
" Is Dickie any better, Mus' Pal'us ? " asked the girl.
" I'm afraid that he's in a bad way. Where are his
father and mother ? "
" Father's a-gone to the Fightin' Cocks to drink good
luck to the hay-harvest. Mummy's jest a-loiterin'.
Surelye ! "
" One of you lads go and give her your arm," cried
Palehouse ; " you know that she is tired and ill. For
shame to have left her ! "
Again I marvelled, for at these few words from this
frail man, the great uncouth lads darted off all four
out of the cottage. The girl went into the kitchen to
coax the smoky fire, and John laid Dickie back on his
bed or rather, the bed he shared with two of his brothers.
The twilight fell, the stars shone, vapours laden with
fever and ague steamed up from the marsh, and the
gurgle of the Rother swelled to a moan as the tide rose.
The boy lay very still, and the girl moved very softly
in the next room. Again there were footsteps in the
mud, and one of the lads entered, with a pale woman, her
114 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
eyes bright with approaching maternity, leaning on his
arm. She broke from him and ran to the bedside.
" Dickie ! Dickie ! Speak to me, my babe ! "
and she fell on her knees and laid her cheek against
his wasted hand.
" Mummy."
" I've brought yer some flowers, darlin'. I picked
'em in the lane hemlock, vetch, willow-herb, and
campions." She laid the bunch, the stalks hot with the
clasp of her hot hands, on the pillow, beside his head.
" Doan't yer remember how yer and me used to pick
'em in Ox Lane, darlin'."
" I remember. Ain't they juastabout fine ? We'll
pick some more, mummy, when I'm waal."
His head rolled sideways on the pillow, so that his
cheek fell on the flowers and crushed them. He was
dead.
She threw herself across him, sobbing and praying
God to give back her son. Her sorrow did not tear
her long, for that night her child was born, and she
joined little Dickie at cockcrow.
The episode of the sick boy at Lambstand gave me
further insight into the character of John Palehouse,
and made me understand more clearly why the poor
folk loved him so. He and I lay that night in a barn
near Wassail, and talked till the Water-bearer set behind
Great Job's Cross. John told me about his visit to
Shoyswell and Peter and Mary Winde.
" When do you go back to Sussex ? "
" I don't know."
" Where are you going ? "
" Oh, on to Essex, Suffolk, anywhere."
" I have been thinking," said John Palehouse, " what
if we went together ! "
AT THE VILLAGE OF ROLVENDEN 115
" I should dearly love to go with you. I am very
lonely sometimes."
" Then let us go. It is not good for man to be
alone."
He leaned towards me in the hay which was our bed,
and held out his hand.
" There is my hand in covenant." <$-
" And there is mine. I shall be a better man for
your friendship, John Palehouse."
We did not talk any more that night, but lay back in
the hay and fell asleep. I dreamed once more that I
was wandering along endless lanes, and suddenly I
became aware that Ruth was in front of me. I did not
see her, but I knew that she went on before me. I
followed her, calling, but not her name, for I could not
utter it. I found myself calling, " Dorothy ! Dorothy !
Dorothy ! " till at last I woke with that same cry of
" Dorothy ! " in my ears. John Palehouse lay beside
me, his arms tossed above his head, his face white and
damp, as if in deadly sorrow, while he cried, in the
choked voice of one dreaming a horrible dream,
" Dorothy ! Dorothy ! Dorothy ! "
I thought it an act of mercy to wake him, and did so.
He sat up, still calling " Dorothy ! " then gazed be-
wildered round him, and at the bar of yellow that
crossed the eastern sky through the barn-door.
" I've been dreaming. What is it ? Did I call out ? "
" Yes ! "
" A woman's name ? "
" Yes."
He took up a handful of hay and bit and tore it with
his teeth. Then he threw himself down on his face.
" John," I cried, patting his shoulder, " what sorrow
is this, my poor fellow ? "
116 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
" I'll tell you another time, perhaps but not now,
for the wound is raw. Go to sleep as for me, I will
get me to my God."
He went to the barn-door and knelt to pray with the
morning dusk upon his face.
CHAPTER X
OF THE METHODIST AT THE VILLAGE OF
TENTERDEN
THAT same day John Palehouse and I found
work on Elphee's Farm, for my funds were
reduced to sixpence. I was then confirmed in
my opinion that, though my friend was a wonderful
preacher, he was a vile labourer. Not that he was un-
willing or shirking in fact, at the end of the day he was
twice as exhausted as I, who had done twice as much
but he was intensely unpractical and absent-minded,
extraordinarily ignorant there was a rumour, implicity
believed at Ephee's Farm, that " Mus' Pal'us had once
axed Maaster Doolish by which end he shud 'oald he's
scythe " and had an unlucky habit of deserting his
own work to help the women and children with theirs.
The result of this incapability was that even the farmers
who loved and respected him most thought twice before
giving him work on their farms ; and in consequence
his clothes were always in rags, and his pocket and
stomach generally empty.
But though at Ephee's Farm I deplored John's help-
lessness in the field and fold, at Benenden, a village
we reached the next morning, I was struck dumb with
wonder and admiration at his preaching. The words
of the fanner's wife at Mopesden were true : it seemed
as if the very stones and tiles must be listening to him.
117
118 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
I had heard him speak before, in the kitchen at Shoys-
well ; but, in the open air, the breeze buffeting his face,
and the clouds sailing above his head, his words were
steeped in a new eloquence. It was as if they had
borrowed strength from the wind that blew his hair
across his cheek, swiftness from the birds that cleft
the blue air over the tree-tops, fierceness from the
thunder that rumbled sulkily behind the barrows of
Swattenden. He was not a soft preacher. Though he
himself was mild and tender as a woman, his sermons
were stern, rugged, and ruthless as a storm. He spoke
of death, hell, and judgment, where I had spoken of
Christ and endless life ; he warned where I had pleaded ;
he drove with fear of hell where I had enticed with
hope of heaven. He was not a Calvinist, but his
creed contained an article " There are few that can be
saved."
In many other ways, besides in power and fierceness,
his preaching differed from mine. Though in ordinary
speech his language was that of an educated man, his
sermons were full of rough, ill-chosen words and ex-
pressions, borrowed from the uncultured peasantry he
addressed. Moreover, he loved to dwell on Old Testa-
ment scenes and characters, whereas I had chiefly spoken
of the New : I had preached God as the Father, loving
and beloved, showing mercy unto thousands of them
that love Him and keep His commandments ; John
Palehouse spoke of Him as Jehovah, mighty and to be
feared, visiting the sins of the fathers upon the children
unto the third and fourth generation.
I was struck, also, by another characteristic of John's
preaching namely, the effect it produced on his hearers.
Men had listened to me with stolid, unmoved faces ;
sometimes they had openly jeered. When John preached
AT THE VILLAGE OF TENTERDEN 119
no one jeered, and every one was moved, even excited.
The tears fell down the women's cheeks, the men's faces
worked and twitched with their emotion. The silence
was a silence of bated breath, broken only by the rush
and sough of the wind up the street, and the mutter of
distant thunder. John spoke for two hours of wrath
and judgment, then suddenly ceased, came down from
the cart where he stood, and was no longer the fierce
and ruthless prophet, with his message of fear, but the
mild and tender brother who had nursed a sick child
at Lambstand, and bore a message of love.
" John," I cried, as he came to me through the silent
and motionless crowd, " your life and your gospel ill
agree."
" My conversation is not all that I could wish, friend,
and as for my Gospel, it is given me of the Lord ; yea,
woe is me if I preach not the Gospel."
" Gospel means good news why do you speak of
death and hell ? "
" Because I would have folk flee from the wrath to
come, when He shall shake earth and also heaven."
He bowed his head and seemed greatly exercised in
his mind. I thought it best to say no more for a time,
so took his arm and led him to the outskirts of the crowd.
Here he shook off some of his depression, and insisted
on returning and greeting his friends among the throng
of smocks and print aprons. His friends seemed number-
less, and he greeted them all. He inquired after sick
husbands and children, after black sheep that disturbed
the home fold, and after lost sheep that had deserted it.
The people had trembled at his preaching, but they
evidently realised that the preacher and the man in
him were two different personalities. Women brought
him their children, and he kissed them and patted their
120 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
heads ; the young men told him of their work in field
and barn ; the young women spoke of their sweethearts,
and some of an approaching marriage-day. He chatted
with the yokels and with the old men, who held out
shaking hands to clasp his. He joked with the young
labourer and his pretty wife ; he comforted the mother
whose son had run away to sea ; he cheered the despond-
ing lover ; he had kindness, smiles, and sympathy for
all.
Towards evening John and I left Benenden for
Tenterden. We did not take the shortest road, but
walked as far as a cross-roads known as the Brogues, in
a field near which we passed the night. The next day
at sunrise John visited the tenant of an old farm called
Rat's Castle, and also some cottages at the hamlet of
Castiswell. Wherever he went he was welcome, and
we breakfasted at Rat's Castle off bread and cheese,
cherries and curds.
It was still fairly early when we reached Tenterden, a
little market-town in the midst of the hop-gardens of
Kent. The sun lay hot on the cobbles of the High Street,
and on the steep roofs of the houses, above which rose
the church-tower, buttressed and crocketed.
" I am hot and tired," said Palehouse, when we
entered the village, " and so are you, lad. Let us put
off our prophesying till the afternoon, and rest till then
in the cool wind."
"I'm sure I should like that, for my eyes and throat
are full of dust. Where shall we go ? "
John pointed to the tower of old St. Mildred's, round
which the swallows were wheeling. " Right up to
where not even a tree can screen us from God's wind."
I readily agreed, and we went to the church. It
was locked, but John knew where to find the key, and
AT THE VILLAGE OF TENTERDEN 121
we were soon in the cold aisles, with the smell that
haunts damp old churches in our nostrils.
Tenterden Church was ill-kept, dirty, and dark, with
cattle-pen pews, a hideous three-decker pulpit, and a
neglected sanctuary. John Palehouse sighed, but knelt
down to pray in a pew near the door, and I knelt beside
him. A few minutes later we rose, unlocked the tower-
door, and went up a dark, twisting flight of steps to
another door, which opened out on to the leads at the
top of the steeple.
The wind blew on us, rich with the scent of hay-fields.
John and I sat down on the parapet, and gazed over the
giddy brink at the red roofs swarming below. All
round us lay the wonderfully contrasted yet wonder-
fully blended colours of the weald red and yellow
farm-houses, with their white-capped oasts and black
barns, emerald pastures, olive-green hop-fields, green-
bice woods nearly black, glorious variegated patches
of garden, brown and purple commons, where the gorse-
fires flared, and above all the blue sky across which the
clouds were scudding. Due south stretched a strip
of apple -green, with a blue ribbon winding along the
centre. It was the Rother Marsh, with the Rother. And
on the further side huddled the fields and woods of
Sussex. It seemed as if I could never escape from the
county of my birth and love and sorrow. I saw her
meadows and marshes from every hill-top, and each
sight brought the intensest longing.
John and I sat silently, and feasted our eyes on the
green beauty below and the blue beauty above us,
while the wind cooled our hot necks and faces, and the
throbbing in our tired limbs died gradually. At last
John spoke.
" This is a glorious spot. We look down on the
122 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
world, and yet are not of the world ; we see its loveliness
and are spared its dust and heat. This is an ideal
place for "
" For what ? " I asked, as he hesitated.
" For confidences, lad."
He touched my hand and smiled.
" I am fond of you," he said simply.
" How can I help you, John ? "
" By listening to me I should like to tell you about
about Dorothy. ' '
I flushed with pleasure. Short as the time of our
comradeship had been, I had become much attached to
John Palehouse, and was deeply touched by this token
of his love and confidence.
" Yes, lad. I decided last night that I would tell
you when I had opportunity. A sorrow loses half its
bitterness when told to a friend, and you are my friend,
Humphrey. I have not known you long, but I have
grown to care for you more than I ever cared for
any man, so I shall tell you what I never told any
man."
" Not Peter Winde ? "
" Not even Peter, though I love him dearly and trust
him implicity. I don't know why I feel so drawn to you.
Perhaps it is because we are fairly of an age, because
we are working together in God's vineyard, because
we have shared bed and board the stream-side stone
our board, the field our bed or because we are both
wanderers and have lost or estranged our kith and kin.
But, be the reason what it may, I am fond of you, and
would feel much relief in telling you what I have never
told any man."
'' Tell me, then, John. I wish that I could help
you."
AT THE VILLAGE OF TENTERDEN 123
" You cannot help me except by your sympathy.
You cannot bring the dead to life. But your sympathy
will be help indeed."
He was silent a moment, and sat swinging his legs
against the parapet, gazing at the roofs beneath. At
last he lifted his head and spoke.
" You may be surpr sed to hear that my father
was a gentleman of wealth and position, and my
mother a high-born lady."
"I'm not surprised. I always thought you were of
gpod birth."
" In spite of my rags and vagabond ways ? Come,
now, you will surely be surprised to hear that I have been
well educated ? "
" I I don't think I am but "
" You may well stammer and falter ; there are few
traces of my education left. I have not opened a book,
except this " and he touched the Bible in the ragged
bosom of his shirt " for years, and I have forgotten
nearly all I once knew.
" My father was a squire of good family and fortune,
and we lived in an old house called Mackery End, in
one of the Midland counties. My mother died when I
was fifteen, and the same year my father and I heard
a sermon by Charles Wesley, and joined the Methodists.
Fired with the zeal of the Lord, my father sold his house
and lands, gave the money to the poor, and one morning
led me by the hand into the lanes, that we might preach
the Gospel to those who sat in darkness and had no
light.
" We tramped through the whole of England with
the good tidings of great joy. We slept in fields and
sheds ; we hungered and thirsted and fainted. The
years went by, and one day my father laid himself down
124 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
on a truss of hay in a haggard, and died with the name
of JESUS on his lips.
" This was a terrible blow to me, for I loved him
dearly, but my heart did not break, because lately it
had begun to throb with a new happiness. In the course
of my wanderings my father and I had often visited
our native village of Harpendeane, and had always
found a welcome at the house of the Methodist minister,
Charles Grimsdale. He had two daughters, Dorothy and
Katharine and I fell in love with Dolly."
He paused a moment and bowed his head. I waited
silently till he continued.
" She was as beautiful as the flowers and the young
grass. Her eyes had the glow of a forge in them
you know Scullsgate forge, when the glare streams over
the fields of Great Nineveh on a summer night ? She
was a mischievous witch, and a dozen hearts lay at her
feet. She laughed at them, played with them, and some-
times broke them. Half the county sighed after her.
Her eyes were like the burning fiery furnace of Shadrach,
Meshach, and Abed-nego, slaying all who approached
them.
" I had reason to think myself the most favoured of
all her lovers, and though she often flouted me and
drove me desperate, I had good hope of success.
" Kitty Grimsdale was not so beautiful as her sister,
neither was she such a little minx and flirt. She was
a sweet, rather quiet girl, engaged to a good young
clergyman of a neighbouring parish. I often went to
visit the sisters at the cottage by the meeting-house,
and as time went by I noticed that my wild, beauti-
ful Dolly was growing tamer, and I often thought
that her proud spirit was passing under the yoke of
love.
AT THE VILLAGE OF TENTERDEN 125
" On one of my visits to Harpendeane I was surprised
to meet my cousins Harold and Robert Macaulay. I
had seen very little of them during my boyhood, and
had heard no good. Still, I was glad to renew our
acquaintance, for they declared that they had sown their
wild oats, and had resolved to spend the rest of their
lives in quiet and innocence. With this object in view,
they bought a house in Harpendeane, a few doors
below Grimsdale's Manse.
" They were fine-looking men, and the younger had
the most pleasing manners. The elder I found a surly
fellow, with little good-breeding, though he would
occasionally put on a rough dashing air that captivated
the hearts of silly women.
" I introduced my cousins to their neighbours, the
Grimsdales, and the next day, when I met Doll in
Harpendeane market-place, she scolded me so prettily
that I could have kissed her then and there, for pre-
senting her to such a bearish fellow as my cousin Harold ;
and a few minutes later I met Kitty, who reproached
me for having brought under her notice an affected
coxcomb like my cousin Robert.
" However, the sisters did not long remain so dis-
satisfied with the Macaulays ; I often met my cousins
at the Manse, and soon found out that they were welcome
there. I fear that there was for me more wooing than
prophesying in the summer months that followed. I
shall never forget how Dolly and I used to sit in the Manse
garden, where the rose-petals lay like blood-drops in
the grass ; how we used to walk in the lanes and gather
wild flowers, and speak in the language of smiles and
glances ; how I used to say good-bye to her at her
father's gate, and watch her go singing up the path
under the rose arches, the colours of the roses painted
126 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
on her white gown by the sunset. Well, it is all over
now, as a dream when one awaketh.
" At the end of the summer the Spirit drove me to
carry the word into Kent, and when I returned the leaves
were brown and dying and the swallows flown. But
this death and decay could not cloud my happiness
as I trudged through the lanes under the misty stars.
I lay that night in a field near Harpendeane, and my
joy kept me awake. Poor preacher as I was, I felt sure
that Dorothy loved me, and next day I would come
with the sun to her window, and offer her my heart
in the dewy silent dawn. She would blush and hang her
head, and stammer and falter and plight her troth
with kisses.
" I rose at cockcrow. The day was sweet, and the
clouds flocked like doves into the east, where they
blushed as red as Dolly's cheek. I had nearly reached
the Manse, when I saw a man coming to meet me, wild
in look, disordered in dress. He was Charles Grimsdale.
' Minister ! ' I cried, my heart sickening with fear,
' what is wrong ? '
" His lips twitched, but he could not speak.
' Speak, for God's sake ! ' and I shook him by the
arm.
" ' My girls are dead ! '
" ' Dead ! What do you mean ? Both dead ? '
' Dead in trespasses and sins ! '
" My jaw fell, and I groped for his meaning.
' They have run away with your cousins, the
Macaulays ! '
" ' Impossible ! You are raving.'
' Listen, before you decide that I am raving. My
daughters' room was found empty this morning, and
their bed had not been slept in. We searched for them
AT THE VILLAGE OF TENTERDEN 127
and called them ; then I came across this letter on my
writing-table. Read it.'
" He took a letter out of his pocket, and I read it,
though a mist swam before my eyes.
' Forgive us, we beseech you. But we cannot
help ourselves. We love Harold and Robert Macaulay
with all our heart and soul and strength, and would
go to hell for them.'
" I reeled, and clasped my hands to my head. I
could scarcely believe my eyes and ears. But it was
all true my cousins' house was found shut up and
empty, and I never saw them or my poor sweet Doll
again."
John Pa^house was silent, and I gazed at him with
all the love and pity of my soul in my eyes. For fully
five minutes we remained thus ; then I broke the still-
ness with :
"Is that the end?"
" The end of my happiness, boy."
" Did you ever hear anything of Dorothy ? "
" Yes ; she died a year ago, after seven years of a
life worse than death My cousin deserted her at the
end of a few months. She was afraid and ashamed to
come home, and sank deeper and deeper into the slough.
We lost all trace of her, and it was through a mere
chance that I heard of her death last June. Katharine
caught a fever, and died only three weeks after her
elopement. Her lover, the young clergyman, is happier
than I."
" And your cousins ? "
" I know nothing of Harold. He may be alive or
he may be dead. Robert died only six or seven months
ago. He returned to Harpendeane with his brother
for a few days' secret visit, and the vengeance of the
128 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
Lord overtook him. He fell from the topmost window
of his house, and perished even as Jezebel. I heard this
from Mr. Grimsdale, for I was away at the time. I
have never visited Harpendeane since my heart was
broken."
" You tramped and preached ? "
" Yes. I had neglected my prophesying for love-
making, so the Lord thrust sore at me. I struggled to
atone. For the last eight years I have tramped, starved,
sweated, and prophesied. I have cried the name of
the Lord through the length and breadth of England.
I have nursed the sick, rebuked the wicked, comforted
the comfortless. In ministering to others I have done
much to heal my own wound. My heart has often
been vexed within me. But although the fig-tree shall
not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines, the
labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no
meat, the flocks shall be cut off from the fold, and there
shall be no herd in the stalls ; yet I will rejoice in the
Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation."
We both sat motionless, gazing at the peaceful cloud-
flecked sky. Some cattle were lowing on Forstal Farm,
and children's voices rose and fell in a meadow near
the church. I held out my hand to John Palehouse.
" Thank you for your confidence. I will try to be
worthy of it."
" I felt sure that I could tell you, for for "
" For what ? "
" I am not the only one of us to dream of a woman
and cry her name."
I bit my lip.
" It was when we were lying in a field near the
Brogues," he continued, " you moaned in your sleep,
and cried "
AT THE VILLAGE OF TENTERDEN 129
" Ruth ? "
" Yes, lad three or four times."
I bowed my head over my clenched hands.
" After that I felt sure that I could count on your
sympathy, and and Humphrey, if there is a load on
your breast that might be eased by by confidence "
" Not yet ! " I cried, starting up ; " not yet, John.
My heart is still bleeding, and and I'm trying to forget
her. John, if you love me, do not mention her name."
CHAPTER XI
THE friendship between John Palehouse and me,
begun at Rolvenden, and confirmed at Tenter-
den, grew stronger and deeper as we tramped
through Boar's Isle and High Halden to Biddenden. We
were admirably suited to each other by the law of
contraries. Besides, there is nothing that draws men
closer together than the sharing of afflictions.
John often spoke to me of his Dorothy when we
worked together on the Kentish farms, walked together
in the Kentish lanes, or slept together in the Kentish
fields. He seemed to find relief in talking of his sorrow.
I steadfastly nursed mine. I was far more reserved by
nature than he ; my wound was fresher than his,
and I felt a strange pleasure, often experienced by young
men, in suffering alone. I did not realise that a wound
untended by sympathy will often fester. I would tell
my friend some day, I resolved, but not just yet, for
every thought of Ruth was torture.
John sympathised with my silence, and did not seek
to break it. He tried to distract my thoughts, and it
is wonderful how entrancing he made that ramble from
Tenterden to Biddenden. I had long known his devo-
tion to the green earth and her children, but it was
during that week, when we tramped the convolvulus-
130
AT THE VILLAGE OF BIDDENDEN 131
netted lanes, or worked with rake and scythe in the
scorched hay-fields, that I gauged the full depth of this
love. I was never tired of hearing him speak of Nature's
beautiful things. of the wind among the larches, of
stars, of the dawn, of the sweet rain he loved, of the
rabbits that play in the beech-woods, of the squirrels
that dart across the lane, and of the birds that praise
God from daybreak to darkness.
Moreover, he knew all the wild legends of the country
through which we roamed. He told me about Norah
Powlare of Omenden, whose spook tempts women to
starve their babes ; about the Field of the Unbaptised
near Hareplain Wood, where the souls of the unbaptised
wander and wail ; about Feverden House, where lived
one who had committed the sin against the Holy Ghost ;
and about the woman-spirit that carries a light, and is
always searching and never finds. The weirdness of
these tales was increased as he told them by his implicit
belief in them. He believed in ghosts and fetches, elves
and evil spirits, and only smiled and sighed when I
chid him for his superstition.
We did not travel fast we took a week to cover the
few miles between Tenterden and Biddenden. We
worked on two farms Pigeon Hoo and Duesden and
preached at two villages Boar's Isle and High Halden.
It was John who first brought me into contact with
organised Methodism. I had worshipped in the chapels
when I had found them, but had never spoken to the
ministers, or acquainted myself with their methods.
Organised and settled Christianity is apt to look down
on that which is unorganised and itinerant ; and this
I found to be the case at High Halden, where John
introduced me to the minister, and where we spent the
night at the minister's little house which he called
132 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
Wesley Manse. He was very superior in his manner,
criticised our sermons, and found fault with our methods,
which he termed " too free and easy." He told us to
our faces that John was a dreamer and fanatic, differing
but little from the Puritan Nonconformists, and that I,
in my like for the Sacrament, was very like a Papist.
" I may also remark," he added, " that you will find
the respect of the populace rather difficult to win in
er your er ragged costume ! "
It was at High Halden that I first noticed signs of
decay and disunion in Methodism, and my glimpse of
Minister Browne's parochial organisation opened my
eyes to many defects in the Methodist system. I have
never cared for chapel life, for the petty interests,
ambitions, and quarrels of Salem and Little Bethel. I
am a born wanderer vagabond, if you like and always
preach badly within four walls. And though at the
present time I am in charge of a chapel in the suburbs
of London, that is because my health will not suffer
me to lead my old roaming, roofless life and I long
madly to have the market-cross for my pulpit, the
tree-stump for my table, and the green earth for my
bed.
On a grey day towards the end of June John Pale-
house and I left Wesley Manse for Biddenden. We
were prepared for some danger and difficulty at this
village, for Mr. Browne had warned us that the curate
of Biddenden was a vigorous opponent of the Word.
Hitherto, we had often found the clergy scornful and
indifferent, but never hostile.
There was a rumble of distant thunder as we went
up the village street on our way to the inn, for we were
thirsty after our walk through the dust. John asked
for a cup of cold water, and I a mug of beer, and we were
AT THE VILLAGE OF BIDDENDEN 133
seated drinking in the inn porch when a young clergy-
man came up and spoke to us.
He was fair, tall, and walked with a slight stoop.
The epithet " vigorous opponent " seemed inappropriate
to one who looked so indolent. He stared at us fixedly,
and I saw that he had a cast in his eye.
" Are you the two preacher fellahs come up from
Halden ? " he drawled.
" Yes, friend ; what would you have with us ? "
replied John Palehouse.
" I merely came to tell you to pack off. I won't have
your demned ranting in my parish. Will you leave
it?"
" No, friend."
The curate's fixed stare became a trifle more insolent.
" You won't ? You may regret that decision, my
good fellah."
" You can't interfere with us," I said, "if we don't
make any disturbance in the village."
" Ain't preaching a disturbance ? Demmit ! I've
heard of ranters being put in the stocks."
" I trust, friend," said John, " that you will not
resist the Spirit. I I mean to preach here."
The curate answered nothing, but, taking off his hat
and bowing low in mock courtesy, turned on his heel
and left us. The landlord was standing close by.
" Ye're in for an unaccountable vrother wud Curate
Kitson," he remarked. " Maay the Old Un fly away
wud me if that feller sticks at anythink whatsumdever,
fur all he looks so sheep-like. I advise you to maake
off, young men."
" We are not afraid of their terror," said John,
rising ; " we have regard unto the recompense of the
reward. Come, Humphrey, fear not nor be dismayed,
134 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
for behold He is with us alway, even to the end of the
world."
His face shone with an intense exultation, such as a
martyr's features might have worn. He took my arm,
and we went down the street to an open space of common-
land, orange with gorse. The clouds had parted above
our heads, and the sunshine struggled through the rift
and kissed John's hair as he took off his hat and knelt
down to pray among the thyme and the restharrow. I
prayed too, chiefly for him. I felt sure that we were in
danger, and that we might count ourselves lucky if we
escaped unharmed from the village of Biddenden.
A large crowd of people soon assembled. They looked
far more brutal and depraved than any congregation
we had hitherto addressed. In the villages where the
parson was lazy and negligent we had found the people
squalid, hopeless, and miserable, but here was some-
thing more terrible than hopelessness stamped on the
dark faces before us. John had hardly begun to speak
when a chorus of hoots and hisses rose from the crowd.
I could easily tell who prompted the disturbance, for
Curate Kitson was lounging on the outskirts of the
throng. He was speaking to some rough, ferocious-
looking fellows, and my heart beat wildly and fast.
Suddenly my worst fears were realised. A stone was
thrown at us. John, who had been appealing pas-
sionately to his surly hearers, and had forced attention
from more than one of them, stopped speaking, and
stared in amazement. The next moment another
stone whirled at his head ; he ducked, and avoided it.
Another and another came hurtling at him ; they
struck him, and the blood poured down his face. I
dashed to his side and tried to ward off the missiles,
but they came thick and fast, and though some fell
AT THE VILLAGE OF BIDDENDEN 135
wide, the majority struck us. John seemed to be the
chief butt, no doubt because he had been the chief
withstander of Curate Kitson. He made me think of
Stephen, as he knelt, bruised and blood-stained, the
stones crashing round him. Only, unlike Stephen, he
never spoke.
It could not last long. Already I saw the sun through
a mist of blood, and a horrible feeling of nausea almost
overpowered me. I still tried to shield John Palehouse,
though he made feeble attempts to push me away.
Then, suddenly, he stretched out his arms and fell
forward without a complaint or a cry.
He lay with his face buried in the thyme, the blood
trickling from his head, shoulders, arms, and sides.
The crowd rushed on us, and I thought that the end had
come.
Suddenly there was a loud shout, and the mob swayed
and parted, as a gentleman and three stout grooms, all
armed with hunting-whips, flogged their way through.
" What is this ? " cried the gentleman, who looked
like a country squire. " Kitson, do you know anything
of this ? "
"I'm sure I can't tell what made 'em so furious,"
drawled the curate. " I warned these two fellahs not
to preach here, but they were too demned pig-headed
to take my advice."
" Gad ! this is a matter for a magistrate. I'll look
to it later. Meantime, these poor wretches must be
taken to Ihornden Hall. Can you walk as far as my
coach ? " addressing me " my grooms will carry your
friend."
Two of the lads picked up the unconscious John
Palehouse, and I followed, leaning heavily on the arm
of the third. The squire strode on ahead, for he had
136 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
ladies in his coach, he said, and must prepare them for
our arrival. He declared that they could easily walk
home across the fields, and insisted that John and I
should drive.
It was all swift and sudden as a dream. The crowd
fell back sulkily, and we came to where a coach and
four was standing. A stout, comely woman, whom I
took to be the squire's wife, had already alighted, and a
younger lady stood upon the carriage-steps. My heart
gave a sudden, fierce bound, then every pulse in my
body seemed to stand still. My eyes met the eyes of
Ruth Shotover.
She stood in the carriage doorway, clad in a simple
white gown, her curls straying from under a little black
velvet hood. Her lips were parted in mingled wonder
and pity, her eyes were full of tears. The sight of her
sickened me more than the blows of a minute past I
fainted.
CHAPTER XII
OF THE METHODIST AND ONE WHO SUFFEEED
MORE BRAVELY THAN HE
I OPENED my eyes in an old oak-panelled room,
through the windows of which I saw trees and
sky, pale and vague, like the landscape of a dream.
I had no idea where I was or what had happened, but
I was full of a nameless misery, the cause of which I could
not determine as when one wakes and is conscious of
sorrow before remembering the exact source and nature
of it.
At my side stood the squire. He was a short red-
faced gentleman, with kind blue eyes, and rather a loose
mouth. His boots, hair, and finger-nails showed that
he cared little for the niceties of the toilet. For a
moment I lay staring at him in bewilderment ; then
suddenly remembrance came, and I stared up with but
one thought in my heart.
" Where is " I was going to say " Ruth," but
recollected myself, and bit my Up.
" Your friend ? He's in the guest-room. The
doctor is putting him to bed."
" Is he badly hurt ? "
" He has been finely drubbed by those rascals, but
there's little danger, I reckon, though a good deal of
pain. Begad ! You must be feeling pretty sick and
sore yourself, Mr. Lyte. You see, I know your name.
137
138 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
Miss Shotover told me. She said you were very friendly
with her and her brother in Sussex."
I smiled grimly, and glanced at my tattered clothes
and bloodstained hands.
" I do not look like a friend of Miss Shotover's."
" You've been tramping the roads, and can't be
expected to look as if you'd just taken leave of your
valet. Gad ! I wish we had more of your kind in Merry
England. The parsons are a very sorry herd, and we
need an honest man or two to show 'em their duty. I
must apologise for the way those knaves treated you
at the village. They shall suffer for it, you may be sure.
But, come, you ought to be in bed like your friend."
" Indeed, I would rather not " I thought with
horror of the wakeful hours I should be sure to spend,
and of the thoughts that would torture me as I tumbled
and tossed.
" Take my advice, and go to bed at once. You've
been infernally knocked about."
" Pray do not press me. Let me wait till my friend
is able to see me, then allow me to watch the night
by him."
The squire shook his head, but seeing that I was
obdurate, at last gave in.
" You can sit quiet here till the doctor is ready to
overhaul you. Then, if he allows it, you can go to your
friend's room."
" May I ask," I said, as he was leaving me, " to
whom I am indebted for all this kindness ? "
" My name's Wychellow, and this house is Ihornden
Hall. Begad, sir ! don't speak to me of kindness ; my
wife and I are only too pleased to do all we can for
you."
He left the room, and I drew my chair up to the fire,
ONE WHO SUFFERED BRAVELY 139
for though the month was June, old Ihornden was
damp and cold enough ; besides, I was shivering with
fever. I was miserable and spiritless, my limbs ached
wearily, and I felt horribly sick. It seemed as if fate
had pursued me, and overtaken me at Ihornden Hall.
To escape Ruth Shotover I had torn myself from my
friends and the county of my birth and here she was
under the same roof as I. How had she come to Ihorn-
den, and why ? Surely heaven was unmerciful to cast
such a snare on my path. Oh, but I would flee from it !
I would insist on removing John to some farm-house
in the neighbourhood ; I would not stay another hour in
this house of temptation. But who would nurse John
at a farm ? He would have to lie hard and be roughly
tended. I had no right to sacrifice him in such a way.
After all, my strained relations with both Ruth Shotover
and her brother would induce her to avoid me as much
as lay in her power. I could have my meals with John
Palehouse, and so escape even a glimpse of that torturing
sweet face.
I sat miserably while the glow of the afternoon paled,
and evening came with pink and golden lights on the
oak floor. The fire was an inert crimson mass, except
where in one corner a solitary flame writhed its singing
horn. Sometimes I dozed, and dreamed again of the
forsaken roads along which I was bound to tramp, in
spite of dizzy weariness. I never slept for more than
five minutes at a time, and would wake with a groan.
The birds were chirping and gurgling in the trees out-
side, and every now and then a swift flew screaming
through the air, and such were my depression and
weakness made me start.
At last the doctor came. His examination was short,
and, though he advised me to go to bed, he finally gave
J
140 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
in to my entreaties, and, after an application of ointment
and bandages, allowed me to go to my friend's room.
I went down a long passage, smelling of old wood,
and was just about to lift the latch of the door pointed
out to me, when it opened from the inside, and I stood
face to face with Ruth Shotover.
The blood dyed her neck and cheeks, and my own
tingled and throbbed in every vein.
" You've come to see Mr. Palehouse ? "
The words roused me out of the trance into which
I had fallen.
" How do you know my friend's name ? " I asked,
rather abruptly, and the colour left her face at once.
" We met in Hertfordshire," she answered shortly,
and I saw that my question and the manner of it had
been rude.
" You must forgive me my rough speaking. It is
evident that my manners as well as my senses were
knocked out of me this morning."
She smiled in her old sweet way.
" Lud ! how terribly you must have suffered under
that cruel stoning ! "
" Not half as terribly as my friend. Tell me, is he
better ? "
" Faith, I can't say. He's conscious, but in great
pain. You're in a fearful plight yourself."
" It is nothing. Is your brother at Ihornden ? "
" Yes. He was in Mr. Palehouse's room a minute
ago. Sir Miles Wychellow was a friend of our father's,
and when he heard that poor Guy was sick, he asked
him to Ihornden Hall."
" Then has your brother been ill ? "
" He's ill now, and it's vastly necessary that he should
have rest and change. We've been here nearly a week,
ONE WHO SUFFERED BRAVELY 141
and I've no idea when we shall be able to go back to
Ewehurst."
Her voice trembled with tears. She curtseyed
hurriedly, and left me gazing after her as she sped down
the corridor. For an instant I stood motionless, while
the bitterness of death nestled in my heart, and made it
almost stop its beating. I recovered myself with diffi-
culty, and went into John Palehouse's room.
Lady Wychellow was at the bedside, but she slipped
out when I came in, and left me alone with my friend.
The room was dim, for the curtains were drawn, though
a red shaft of sunset streamed through the narrow slit
between them. The walls were ribbed with oak, and
two handsome, gilt-edged mirrors reflected the furniture,
which was heavy and luxurious. It was then I realised
that, had it not been for Ruth's recognition, John
would doubtless be lying in the servant's quarters
instead of in the chief guest-room of Ihornden Hall.
I went softly over to the bed a huge four-poster,
with green hangings. John's eyes were shut, but he
opened them at my approach, and said feebly :
" Well, my lad, you see me in a pretty plight. I hope
you escaped with less bruises than I."
" Indeed, I have only some trifling hurts. It makes
me wretched to see you thus, John."
" They did it in ignorance," he said earnestly ;
" they are sorry enough for it now, I'll be bound. Oh,
poor shepherdless sheep ! "
" You think more of them than of yourself."
" They are in a worse plight than I. Oh, lad, my heart
aches for the poor things."
He spoke with difficulty, and as I knew that every
word must mean torture, I implored him to be silent,
and for some time he lay with no other sign of life than
142 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
the wandering of his large, restless eyes. I watched
beside him till the patch of ruby light on the floor had
faded to yellow and to pearl. Then I was called away
to a futile attempt to eat, while Lady Wychellow and
Ruth Shotover watched by the bed.
I resumed my post at about nine, and though Sir
Miles Wychellow came several times and begged me
to take some rest, I remained till morning in an arm-
chair by my friend's bedside. I longed to ask John about
his acquaintanceship with Ruth, but shrank from dis-
turbing him ; besides, he was delirious, and raved for
the greater part of the night.
I did not sleep, and was sure that, even if I had been
in bed, I could not have slept. I felt glad that, instead
of tossing alone, I was sitting by my friend ; for, though
unconscious, he was, nevertheless, a companion, and
his ravings were not wild and horrible, but gentle as
the voice of a little child who talks in his sleep.
He spoke of the old days at Harpendeane, and of
his evenings with Dorothy Grimsdale in the Manse
garden. That name was on his lips the livelong night
" Dorothy ! Dorothy ! " and I wondered if it would
be the same with me if I fell ill, and whether I should
lie -from roosting-time to cock-crow crying, " Ruth
Ruth ! " The thought horrified me, and I resolved to
fight desperately against the sickness I believed was
at hand.
My poor friend's sufferings were awful, and between
his cries of " Dorothy ! " and gentle wanderings in a
happy time long past, he comforted himself from the
Book of Job and from the Psalms : " ' Why dost thou
strive against Him ? For He giveth not account to
any of His matters.' ' He will deliver my soul from
going into the pit, and my life shall see the light.' ' Why
ONE WHO SUFFERED BRAVELY 143
art thou so cast down, O my soul, and why art thou
disquieted within me ? Hope in God : for I shall yet
praise Him, Who is the health of my countenance and
my God.' "
These words, uttered in a semi-conscious state, stole
like drops of healing oil into my heart. A sudden
realisation of my ingratitude and rebellion came to me.
I had railed against Fate for bringing Ruth Shotover
and me together at Ihornden Hall, forgetting that Fate
is only another name for Providence. ' How should a
man be just with God ? If he contend with Him, he
cannot answer ; he cannot answer Him one of a thou-
sand. He is wise in heart and mighty in strength.
Who hath hardened himself against Him and hath
prospered ? ' " said John Palehouse from the bed. I
had been murmuring against God, questioning His will,
kicking against His commandments. " ' Be ye not like
to horse and mule,' " said John Palehouse, " ' which
have no understanding, whose mouths must be held
with bit and bridle lest they fall upon thee.' ' If God's
will was being fulfilled in my greatest misfortune, I had
no right to do otherwise than rejoice. ' 'God is faith-
ful,' " said John Palehouse, " ' Who will not suffer you
to be tempted above that which you are able, but will
with the temptation also make a way of escape, that ye
may be able to bear it.' ' I knew that He would help
me to bear the tormenting presence of Ruth Shotover
day after day, even week after week. I went over to
the window and fell on my knees, and the tears in my
eyes were not of misery, but of contrition.
The dawn was in the room, and I drew aside the
curtain and looked out. A beautiful park sloped from
the house, and beyond it lay twilight fields, and a range
of blue barrows on the horizon. The sky was pale,
144 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
and the morning star was wan. A sudden flush of
light throbbed in the east, the wind swept up and shook
the trees, and the birds began a drowsy whimper. I
heard myself called from the bed.
" Is it morning ? "
" Yes. The sun is just going to rise."
" Is the dawn grey ? "
" No, red as blood."
" Then we shall have mist and rain. How sweetly
the birds are singing ! I love their voices ; they teach
me, ' Fear not ; ye are of more value than many
sparrows.' "
I crossed over to the bed.
" Are you better, dear John ? "
" Better in mind, if not in body. I feel sure that
God has heard my prayers, and has forgiven those poor
misguided souls."
" Can I do anything for you ? "
" No, thank you, boy. Humphrey, I have seen a
ghost."
I knit my brows.
" I meant to have told you before this, but the Lord
thrust sore at me, and I could not speak. You remember
the young clergyman I told you of, who was engaged
to Katharine Grimsdale ? "
" Well ? "
" He is in this house."
" You don't mean Guy Shotover ? "
" Yes. Do you know him ? "
" We we knew each other in Sussex. But I had
no idea that he and the unfortunate young man of
your story were the same."
" I didn't know that he was in these parts, and was
surprised to see him yesterday. I called him a ghost
ONE WHO SUFFERED BRAVELY 145
because he is the shadow of his former self. In the old
days he was a stalwart, healthy young man, full of life
and gaiety. Now he is a wreck in body and mind."
" No wonder, poor fellow ! after all he has suffered."
I lapsed into silence. For an instant I thought that
I had grasped the secret that cankered the lives of Ruth
and Guy Shotover, but the next moment I saw that such
a cause could not have produced the effect I had wit-
nessed. The curate's love-affair could only be a matter
of sorrow and regret, not a present and pregnant anxiety,
mysteriously bound up with Enchmarsh of Kitchenhour.
" Did you know Shotover's sister at Harpendeane ? "
I asked Palehouse.
" Very well. I dined more than once at Golden
Parsonage. Her name is Ruth."
His eyes met mine suddenly, and I quailed. For a
moment I thought of telling him everything, but my
reserve and sentiment were too strong for me.
" It is a common name," I said abruptly ; and with
his accustomed tact he never again alluded to the subject.
I sat by my friend's side while the daylight grew,
and when the sun rose I sang to him Bishop Ken's
Morning Hymn.
CHAPTER XIII
OF THE METHODIST AND THE MAN HE HATED
A soon as breakfast was over, I went to bed, and
rose much refreshed after a few hours' sleep.
I spent the rest of the day in my friend's
room I dared not mix with the household and meet
Ruth.
Time wore on uneventfully. I quickly recovered
from my bruises, and John Palehouse began slowly to
mend. It was a beautiful summer ; the days were
long and golden, the sun rose early and dawdled over
his setting. I seldom went out of doors, though the
sunshine and the scent of the flowers invited me, for
from my window I often saw a white-gowned figure
moving in the garden, or standing like a solitary patch
of snow in one of the great fields near Ihornden. We
rarely met, and then it was only a bow and a curtsey, a
" good day, madam," and a " good day, sir." Guy
Shotover I saw oftener. He seemed disposed to forget
what had passed between us at Ewehurst Parsonage,
and now that Enchmarsh was no longer present to rule
him was friendly enough with the man he had but a short
time ago ordered from his house. I fear that I met his
advances surlily at first. I could not help thinking that
he had a great deal to do with Ruth's unhappiness.
But, after all, he had once been kind to me, and had
befriended me when I stood in sore need of a friend.
146
THE MAN HE HATED 147
Besides, the poor fellow looked so ill that it was impos-
sible to nurse enmity. I felt sure that he must be in a
decline, and his scarlet cheeks, shaking hands, harsh
cough and hysterical laughter confirmed my opinion.
He occasionally came to see John, and would sit by the
bedside, jerking his head as if he had St. Vitus' dance,
twisting his pocket handkerchief round his fingers, and
starting if anyone spoke loud, if a chair creaked, or if
a bird flew crying past the window.
Towards the middle of July, John was well enough
to leave his room, and often walked in the garden,
leaning on my arm. Sometimes we roamed along the
twisting lanes to Kalsham or Stede Quarter or sat
together in the fields of Plurenden, or lay together in
the scent and shade of Dashnanden Wood. We each
bought a new coat in the village, for those in which we
had arrived at Ihornden were rags, unfit for a gentle-
man's house. I do not know whether it was the new
coat or the sickness from which he was recovering, but
I began to notice a change in John Palehouse. He lost
his look of tramp and vagrant, and I saw in him the
high-born squire of Mackery End. His hands were no
longer brown and coarse, but white and transparent, so
that one saw the blue veins through the skin ; the sun-
burn had faded from his cheek, and left it as softly
tinted as when his mother used to kiss it. Sir Miles
Wychellow took a great fancy to him, often sat in his
room, and surrendered to his entreaties that no notice
should be taken of the rough usage he had received at
Biddenden. However, in spite of the kindness and
consideration with which he was treated, I noticed
in him an ever-increasing desire to resume his wanderings.
" While I am idling here," he said, " hundreds may
be dying without the Lord. Oh, pray, my lad, that
148 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
you and I may soon be preaching on Frittenden Green.''
One afternoon, after a shower of rain, I went out into
the garden. The flowers smelled so sweet, and the wet
grass and trees were so beautiful, that my heart bounded
with joy in spite of its load of sorrow, and I realised that
God would still leave some happiness in my life if He
left me the earth and sky. From my childhood I had
found comfort in Nature. The trill of a nightingale
would soothe the misery of the little beaten child who
lay and sobbed in the long grass of Spell Land. The
overworked boy, full of disappointment and vain longing,
would look up with a smile when he saw the sun burst
from behind the meadows of Ellenwhorne and turn the
Brede River to blood. And this day the sorrow of the
despairing man was blown to heaven with the incense
of the flowers.
The lane looked even more inviting than the garden,
and I strolled down the avenue towards the channel
of moving shadows. At the gate I heard a horse's hoofs
beating a gay presto on the road, and the next moment
a horseman trotted up and entered the grounds. My
cheeks flushed and my blood warmed angrily at the
sight of him. He was Enchmarsh of Kitchenhour.
He looked wonderfully handsome. His eyes were
bright, his cheeks ruddy with exercise, and his parted
lips showed his fine, white teeth. He recognised me at
once, and his brow darkened.
" Hello ! Where the devil do you come from ? "
" From Ihornden Hall."
" What are you doing there ? "
" That's no concern of yours."
" Isn't it, though ? What about a certain lady I
have forbidden you to have anything more to do with ? "
" I don't care a jot for your commands."
THE MAN HE HATED 149
" You don't ! I'll make you."
He raised his crop, but I sprang forward, twisted it
out of his hand, and hurled it far away among the bushes.
For a moment we faced each other, our eyes blazing,
our bosoms swelled with fury. At last Enchmarsh
broke the silence.
" What hell's reason brings you here ? "
" That's my business." My voice shook with rage,
but suddenly my heart smote me for such an unchristian
spirit, and I added :
" I am with a fellow-preacher who had some rough
usage in these parts, and is staying at Ihornden till he
recovers."
" Confound you ! And look here, you Lyte, keep
clear of Miss Shotover, and keep clear of me. The sight
of you makes me want to eat grass like a sick cat."
He cantered past me, then turned in his saddle and
cried :
" By the by, my engagement to Miss Shotover is no
longer a secret. We are to be married next month."
He burst into a fit of triumphant laughter, and left me
confounded.
I stood gazing after him, gnawing my lips with anger.
Surely God did not expect me to bear this fellow's
insults. In that moment of fury I half thought of
challenging him. At last, however, I grew ashamed of
myself, and as the afternoon was so soft and sweet,
decided to ask John Palehouse to come out and share it
with me.
I reached John's room without encountering Ench-
marsh. He had evidently not heard of the visitor's
arrival, and as I still felt angry and sore I did not
mention it. He took my arm, and we went out into the
lanes together, and strolled as far as Brakefields Farm.
150 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
The summer swale was dusking into night ; the sun
had set, the violet clouds were veiling the red scar he
had left behind him. A little cold breeze blew up from
Bettenham, and I advised John to go home.
We took a path through the fields, for it was the
shortest way, and John loved the fields. We paused
at a hedge, and watched the moon rise out of the purple
mist, while the fold-star shone timidly over haunted
Omenden. Suddenly I heard voices on the other side
of the hedge, and my heart thrilled while Ruth Shotover
spoke.
" Miss Shotover has also come out to admire the even-
ing," said Palehouse. Then his voice trailed off, and
his face whitened, as Enchmarsh answered Ruth.
" Who is that ? " he asked sharply. " I know the
voice."
" That is her betrothed, Squire Enchmarsh of Kitchen-
hour in Sussex."
" Enchmarsh ! "
" Yes. Do you know the name ? "
" No, but I know the voice. Let me look."
He pulled aside a rope of bryony, and peered through
the hedge, then drew back with white lips.
" You may know the man as Enchmarsh of Kitchen-
hour, but I know him as my cousin, Harold Macaulay ! "
I stared at him stupefied, and the blood was like ice
in my veins with horror.
" The scoundrel who ruined Dorothy Grimsdale ? "
He nodded.
" Are you sure that the fellow is your cousin ? As
far as I know he has never borne any name but Ench-
marsh."
" As far as you know. But I am certain he is
Macaulay " he looked again. " Yes, I am too familiar
THE MAN HE HATED 151
with that dark face to mistake it. For some reason or
other he has changed his name. Woe betide him !
What has brought him here ? "
His cheeks were hectic with excitement. He bit his lip,
and one thin hand wrung the other till the joints cracked.
" He arrived here an hour or two ago," I said, forcing
myself to speak calmly. " He has evidently come to
visit Miss Shotover " and I writhed.
" How long will he stay ? If he stays I must go.
I hate him ! I hate him ! No, no, no ! I must not
hate him. The dear Lord prayed for His enemies. But
I can't pray. My tongue is dried up like pots-herd."
His teeth gritted together, and his limbs trembled.
I had never seen him so passionate.
" Come, dear John, do not fret yourself. You are
far too weak and ill to leave Ihornden and why
should you go away ? You need never meet him, and
he probably will not stay long. Take my arm, and let
me help you back to the house."
He grew suddenly calmer.
" I am forgetful of my calling. The Lord's preacher
should not hate or rail. God must forgive me. I am
very weak and unprofitable, though there are many
years since my conversion."
He took my arm, and I led him back by the way
we had come. He was silent for a long time, then he
said suddenly : " But how is it that he is betrothed to
Miss Shotover ? I can't understand such a state of
affairs."
I struggled with a tempest of bitter thoughts.
" Perhaps she does not know," I said faintly.
" That is impossible. Her brother was engaged
to Kitty Grimsdale."
" What can we do to save her," I cried hopelessly.
152 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
" Perhaps my cousin has repented and been turned
to the Lord. Surely she could not have accepted him
as he was."
" He's no more converted than the devil ! "
" Then what can have induced her to accept him ? "
" I can't say. Sometimes I think that she has sold
herself to pay her brother's debts."
" That is possible, but hardly probable. What is
her attitude towards Macaulay Enchmarsh, I mean ? "
" As far as I can see she hates him."
Palehouse shuddered.
" Poor girl, we must pray for her."
" We must do more than pray."
" What more can we do ? "
" Speak, entreat, conjure "
I stopped suddenly in my wild talk. Our eyes met,
and there was in his a strange look of interest and of
pity.
I lay awake all that night in misery. My bed was
soon hot and tumbled with my tossing, and once or
twice I rose and went to cool my forehead at the window.
The night was very black. I could feel no wind on my
face, but I heard it moaning and roaring in the trees.
One word was borne me on the wind's wild cry one
word formed the burden of the owls' wail in Ihornden
Park" Ruth ! "
How could I save her ? She seemed beyond my reach
beyond the reach of all save God. She had made her
choice in the light of knowledge ; she was under no
delusion, and believed no lie.
Towards morning I ceased to writhe and groan, but
began to consider. I lay still and pondered while the
sky reddened and the birds woke, and suddenly, as the
first sun-ray kissed me healingly, came to a decision.
THE MAN HE HATED 153
It was a bold resolve, but I was desperate for Ruth,
and courage is strong when born of desperation. I
decided to go to her, tell her all I knew, and entreat her
to give up Enchmarsh.
She might rebuke me and a rebuke from her would
be terrible ; nevertheless, I would face it. I commended
my resolution to God, rose, and went to John Palehouse,
that I might fortify myself by conversation with him ;
for he was one of those whose mere presence consoles
the afflicted and strengthens the weak.
CHAPTER XIV
OF THE METHODIST AND THE WOMAN HE LOVED
I DID not have an opportunity for speaking to
Ruth till evening. Then I found her alone in one
of the quaint old sitting-rooms in the west wing
of Ihornden Hall. The oaken walls were hung with
prints and strips of tapestry ; the ceiling was ribbed
with heavy beams, on which the firelight danced ruddily ;
the polished floor reflected the legs of the tables and
chairs old-fashioned, twisted, and carved. There were
a couple of candlesticks on the table, and a hundred
candle-flames flickered and throbbed in the mirror-like
panels of the wall. The window was only half curtained,
and through the open space could be seen the branches
of the trees, wildly tossing against the moon, the stars
scudding in and out of the storm-clouds, and a silver
shower of rain.
Ruth sat before the fire, some needlework on her lap,
her hands folded idly over it, while her eyes gazed into
the embers. She started at my footfall, and rose. She
was all in white, but the firelight made ruddy smears
on her dress and a red carnation was fastened in her
bosom. She curtseyed stiffly, while her eyes questioned
me. My tongue stuck, and I moistened my lips again
and again before I could speak. I dare say that I ought
to have approached my subject circumspectly, but I
THE WOMAN HE LOVED 155
am a fool at the little artifices of speech, and blundered
out :
" Miss Shotover, forgive me if I seem rude, for I must
speak, even if I offend you."
" Lud ! I shall never think you rude, Mr. Lyte. I
know you too well for that."
" Thank you. You give me courage."
I sat down opposite to her.
" You knew John Palehouse in Hertfordshire, I
believe. He has just told me the truth about Ench-
marsh "
" And Dorothy Grimsdale ? "
" Yes. I felt sure that you knew it too."
" My brother was engaged to Katharine Grimsdale."
I leaned forward in my seat, and our eyes met. Mine
were burning, hers were full of tears.
" Miss Shotover, you will think me the most insolent
dog on earth, but I have come to you this evening to
implore you to break off your engagement "
"Mr. Lyte! I "
" I speak abruptly it's my failing. I have no
aptitude for mincing and biting my words when my
heart is full. Miss Shotover, Enchmarsh is a villain
you know it and you do not love him. No doubt you
have a reason for accepting him, but beh'eve me, nothing
can justify your marriage with that beast. I I have a
sincere regard for you, and it would break my heart
to see you united to a man who would make your life
hell with his brutalities and intrigues. I speak to you
as I would speak to a sister I saw in danger and wished
to save, so forgive me as you would forgive a brother."
She sat absolutely rigid, her hands locked together,
her cheeks and eyes glowing as if a fever had stricken
her.
156 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
" I had to speak," I cried desperately.
" I know I know ; but it's all useless."
" Useless, madam ! "
" Useless. I I can't unwrite the past."
" You can blot it out, and, oh, I entreat you, blot
out that man's name. from your life."
" You don't know what you ask," she cried, covering
her face.
I groaned.
" You've done your best," she continued more
calmly ; " but your best is useless. I must marry
Enchmarsh. I can't tell you why but I must."
" Oh, don't drive me desperate. My life will be all
hell if you commit this act of madness. It's indeed
madness, I assure you, to cast away in your youth all
hope and happiness, to break your own heart, to to
O God of Mercy ! Who knows ? It may drive you to
self-murder ! damn your own soul."
She did not speak, but two tears glittered on her
face. I lost all self-control, and, sinking on my knees
before her, cried :
" Ruth ! Ruth ! For the sake of the God Who made
us "
She sprang up, but I caught her dress it was hot
and scorched by the fire.
" I shall not let you go till you have promised to
give up that brute "
" Humphrey for God's sake."
" Hush, sweetheart, hush don't cry. You are mine,
Ruth. I love you ! I love you ! Neither God nor
Satan shall part us. Do not cry. The world has treated
us infernally, but we'll defy it together. We'll laugh
at it, Ruth we'll laugh at the whole miserable farce
that tried to keep us apart, but failed, darling failed !
THE WOMAN HE LOVED 157
For I love you, Ruthie. You are all mine, and I shall
never let you go."
Then I started to my feet, caught her to my breast
and devoured her thin face with kisses, the mad,
hungry kisses I had so often given her in dreams.
That embrace lasted for an instant, which seemed
eternity. She did not struggle or scream, but lay
against me as if lifeless, while the tears poured down her
face. All the love with which my heart was throbbing
was on my lips as I pressed them to hers, and in my
eyes as my tears mingled with hers. We forgot the past ;
we ceased to dread the future. Love veiled all except
the present which was Paradise. We threw back our
heads and laughed aloud ; then our lips pressed again
and more rapturously.
The spell broke. She sprang from me with a scream,
and I threw myself on the floor. The past flashed back
to us with its misery ; the future loomed before us
with its dread. The present was once more anguish.
We crouched opposite each other for several silent
minutes. The clock ticked on, the fire crackled and
spluttered, and an owl was crying far away in Ihornden
Park. A dog howled, and I started, and, raising myself
on my elbow, gazed across at Ruth. She half sat, half
huddled, on the settle, her hands over her face, her hair,
dishevelled with our embrace, pouring over her shoulders.
Now and then a great sob convulsed her.
" After all," I said at last, misery making me cruel,
" I suppose you have an excellent reason for all this."
She started, looked at me, and shuddered.
" I say you doubtless have a good reason for the
blasting of two lives."
" Don't, Humphrey, don't ! "
" Why shouldn't I speak ? This is so so extremely
158 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
unpleasant that I should hope there was some reason
for it all."
" Humphrey, don't look at me in that way."
" But I oh, sweetheart, tell me why we should
suffer so."
I had risen and taken her cold hand.
" You're so vastly cruel. I can't tell you."
" You must tell me. I have a right to know. A
poor fellow going to hell has a right to know why he's
sent there."
" I I can't tell you. We shall be undone."
" Why should you be undone ? "
" Because, because Oh, Humphrey, have
pity "
Her eyes were so beseeching that I cursed my selfish-
ness.
" Don't tell me, then, Ruthie."
" That's kind of you."
She sat silently for a time, her eyes big with thought.
Then she said suddenly :
" But I don't see, after all, why I shouldn't tell you
You won't betray me."
" My darling, I'd rather die in torture."
" Don't call me ' darling.' It's cruel and it's
wicked, too, Humphrey."
" I know it is, but, before God "
" Hush hush ! I'm going to tell you a story my
story. I can't bear to have you misunderstand me,
and when you've heard, you will see how it is that I
can't give up Enchmarsh, though it is true, as you have
guessed, that I I don't love him."
" Oh, if you would only tell me, Ruth ! "
" But you must promise no, you must swear
not to breathe a word of what I- am going to say. Oh,
THE WOMAN HE LOVED 159
pray don't think me distrustful, but this is a matter
of life and death. A day or two ago torture wouldn't
have dragged this confession from me, but to-night
your soul and mine have met, and I know that you
would rather die than injure me. So I shall tell you
my life's secret ; you will understand and you will
go-"
" Go, Ruth ? "
" Yes go for ever."
" Oh, my God ! "
" You must go ah ! but I forgot your poor sick
friend ; it might rouse suspicion if you left Ihornden
without him but you must go, Humphrey, or I must."
" You can't leave, and it is I who have brought this
misery on our heads by my uncontrolled passions. I
can tell part of the truth to John Palehouse that I am
in hopeless love and easily find some excuse to offer
Sir Miles."
" It will be kind and generous of you to do so. You
and I are best apart after this."
" I shall go to-morrow."
" Thank you. And now for my story and your
oath."
She took a small Bible from her pocket and held it
out to me.
" Swear on this."
She looked like a child in her simple white frock, with
her soft, sweet face and loose hair. The gravity of her
eyes only enhanced the babyishness of her dimples and
the full curves of her lips. I felt for her the devotion
touched with awe, which one so often feels for a child.
I took the Bible in* my hand, and said over the sacred
words, " so help me, God ! " and she bowed her head
with the simple reverence of a babe.
160 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
We drew our seats close together, so that she could
put her lips to my ear. Then came that conversation
in whispers, which still haunts my dreams.
" John Palehouse told you the story of Kitty Grims-
dale and Robert Macaulay ? "
" Yes."
" He he told you how Macaulay met his death ? "
" Yes."
" How did he say it was ? "
" He fell out of an upper window and was killed."
" That is all John Palehouse knows. I know that
Macaulay did not fall out of the window he was
pushed out."
" You mean that he was murdered ? "
" Yes, by my brother."
It was as if my heart had stopped beating, and a
dimness clouded my eyes. I saw Ruth's face through
a mist, and her voice seemed to come from far off.
" My brother," she repeated, her eyes wide with
dread.
" Poor, poor sweet Ruthie ! Is this the secret you
have been nursing all this while ? "
She began to cry hysterically.
" Yes my secret, my awful companion and bed-
fellow. Humphrey, I've told you no one but you. You
you won't betray me ? "
" Ruth ! " and I pointed to the Bible on her lap.
" Forgive me. I'm crazy with grief. I know that
you will keep your oath. You're honourable, and you
love me. But I haven't yet told you how Robert
Macaulay 's m-murder led to my betrothal."
" Tell me, dear."
" It was like this. I was only a little boarding-school
girl when my brother lost Kitty Grimsdale. I had a
THE WOMAN HE LOVED 161
vague idea of what had befallen him, but, of course, he
wouldn't allow a child to know much about his mis-
fortune. It was not till many years later that I heard
the story and I may here tell you that I had never
met either of the Macaulays:
" When I was sixteen I went to stay with a school
friend, Milly Rogers, in London. Two young men were
constant visitors at the house. Their name was Ench-
marsh, and they had some fine property in Sussex. It
was not long before the elder began to pay me attentions,
and one night, when we were brushing our hair, Milly
made me flush scarlet by whispering, ' I vow Mr.
Harold Enchmarsh will ask you to marry him, Ruthie.'
" A week or two after our first meeting he did just
as Milly said, and told me that he loved me madly. I
know you'll think me vastly wicked and foolish, but
the idea of being engaged at sixteen of showing my
ring to the young ladies of the school together with
his handsome face and dashing manner, turned my
head. I promised to be his wife. He begged me to
keep our affair secret for a few days. I loved secrets,
and consented. About a week later he came to me and
suggested a run-away match. This made me suspicious,
and I asked him why he wanted an elopement, consider-
ing that my brother would doubtless be only too pleased
at our marriage. He gave me an evasive answer, but
my fears were not to be so easily soothed, and at last
he told me that his name wasn't Enchmarsh. He and
his brother had inherited some property from a relation,
and had been forced by the requirements of the will
to adopt his name. Their real name was Macaulay, and
his brother was the wrecker of Guy's happiness.
" I tell you that I'd never really loved him, and can
you wonder that at this revelation I came to my senses,
162 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
and ordered him away ? ' Do not let me see your face
again,' I cried ; ' your brother ruined my brother's life,
and you sinned with him. You're a scoundrel and a
deceiver. Do not let me see your face again ! '
" The next day I went back to Guy at Golden Parson-
age, and told him all that had happened. He said
that I'd done right, and that his heart would have broken
if I'd married Enchmarsh. So I took comfort, and soon
afterwards I left school and came home to live with my
dear Guy.
" We heard nothing of the Enchmarshes for about
three months. Then a sudden rumour flew through
Harpendeane that they were in the village. They were
in their old house, which they hadn't yet managed to
sell, and when Guy heard how near his enemy was to
him I saw a terrible look creep into his eyes, and though
I kissed him, and sat on his knee all the evening, I
couldn't drive it away. His manner became vastly
strange ; he spoke wildly of the past and of all he had
suffered, and he used some dreadful words with regard
to Robert Macaulay. I'm sure that he was half mad
with grief, and that he wasn't really responsible for
what followed.
" I cried myself to sleep that night, and the next
morning I rose early and plucked him a salad for his
breakfast. I wanted to show him, just by a little thing
like that, how much I loved him and wanted to make
him happy. Breakfast-time came, but he never ap-
peared. I went up to his room, but couldn't find him.
I looked for him in the church he's such a devout
man, and I thought he might have gone to ask God's
pardon for his anger of yesterday but he was nowhere
to be seen. I began to feel vastly anxious, and ques-
tioned the villagers, and at last heard that a little boy
THE WOMAN HE LOVED 163
had noticed him leave Golden Parsonage early in the
morning, and take the road for Harpendeane.
" A terrible foreboding seized me. I ordered my
horse, and rode after him. I made inquiries from time
to time on my way, and traced him to the Macaulay's
house. Then I felt sick with fear, and my legs shook
under me as I dismounted. There was an atmosphere
of dread all round that house. I trembled in every limb,
and I shall always swear it so did my horse.
" I didn't knock, but went straight upstairs to a
room which I knew the brothers used as a study. For
a moment I thought that there was blood on the door-
handle, but it was only the sun streaming through a
pane of red-glass in the staircase window. I opened the
door, then fell on my knees because of what I saw
between me and the light.
" Two men were standing, and one lay on the floor
with a dark stream oozing from his hair. The men who
stood were Harold Enchmarsh and my brother, while
it was Robert Enchmarsh who lay bleeding between
them.
" The thud of my fall made them start and turn
round, and my brother threw his arms above his head,
and staggered against the wall. Enchmarsh came to me
and lifted me to my feet. But I could neither speak
nor walk ; I could only stand staring at that dreadful
Thing on the floor.
" Then Guy spoke, but I couldn't answer, so he ran
up to me, and fell at my feet, and, clinging to my gown,
cried : ' Little sister ! little sister ! ' and sobbed with
his face against my knee. He told me how he had gone
hotfoot to the village with murder in his heart, how he
had gone into that awful house, into that very room ;
how he had found Robert Enchmarsh leaning out of the
164 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
window, and how Satan had entered into him. He had
stolen across the floor like a panther ; he had seized
his enemy, they had struggled together ; Enchmarsh
had bitten him he showed me the bleeding place on
his hand he had thrown Enchmarsh out of the window.
' Then as I turned round,' said my poor Guy,
' expecting to find the devil standing behind me, I
saw this man, Harold Enchmarsh, in the doorway.
I shall not tell you what passed between us. It's
enough to say that his servant is at this very moment
saddling a horse to ride off to S. Albans and fetch the
constable. Ruthie, Ruthie, your brother will be
hanged ! '
" Oh, Humphrey, I can't help crying when I think
of the awful minutes that followed how I shuddered
and cried and clung to Guy, praying God to have mercy
on us and strike us both dead. Enchmarsh stood by
in silence, and suddenly I threw myself on my knees
before him and caught his arm.
' Pity me, pity me, and spare my brother ! Oh,
be merciful and spare us both ! '
" He didn't speak, but gazed down on me, then tried
to move away, but I clung to him, praying him to pity
me for Christ's sake. He swore, and struggled to shake
me off, but I only gripped more fiercely, and he dragged
me half across the room before I fell at his feet.
" Then he spoke for as I lay before him, I begged
him to pity me for his love's sake.
" ' It's true that I love you.'
' Then spare my brother for your love's sake ! '
" He caught me up from the floor, and I could see
the pulses beating in his throat, so close was his face
to mine, as he whispered :
" ' Ruth, if you marry me, I'll spare your brother ! '
THE WOMAN HE LOVED 165
' ' No, no, no ! ' and I sprang from him, sick with
horror.
' I would rather die ! ' cried my brother, who had
overheard the whisper.
" ' As you please,' said Enchmarsh, biting his lips
with vexation, for he wanted me more than he wanted
his revenge.
" At that moment there was a trample of hoofs in
the yard. The servant was starting for S. Albans. I
saw Guy turn pale, and shiver from head to foot, and
my love for him overcame my hatred of Enchmarsh.
" ' Stop him ! stop him ! ' I shrieked. ' I will marry
you ! '
" ' You shall not/ cried my brother. ' I'd rather die
at the torture stake ! '
" ' Stop him ! stop him ! ' I could cry nothing else
till Enchmarsh had called to the servant to wait a few
minutes. Then he turned to me.
' Listen, both of you. Though this is the corpse
of my only brother, I'm willing to forgive his murderer
if the murderer's sister will become my wife. Ruth,
during these past months I have loved you, and you
only '
" ' He's a lying scoundrel ! ' interrupted Guy. ' Don't
listen to him, Ruth.'
" ' Hold your tongue, and let me settle this matter
with your sister.'
" He took me by the hand, and led me aside.
" ' I love you,' he said, ' and if you will marry me,
your brother shall be safe. I give you my solemn oath.'
" I gazed from one man to the other in hopeless
misery. In spite of all he said, I knew that Guy was
really in mortal fear. He's always been afraid of death,
and his lips were white and his limbs were shaking. I
166
loved him more than my happiness more than I hated
Enchmarsh. You may call me weak and wicked, but
I couldn't help myself. I promised to marry Ench-
marsh if he would spare my brother. If at any time I
went back from my word he might go back from his.
Guy protested vehemently at first, and vowed that life
would be hell if bought at such a price. But my argu-
ments overcame him.
" The servant waiting in the yard was told to unsaddle
the horse. He was privy to the murder, as he had seen
Robert Enchmarsh fall, and had helped carry his body
upstairs. He's still alive, and has sworn to give evidence
against Guy if Enchmarsh should require it. He has
sworn, also, to keep silence until commanded to speak,
and never shall weakness of mine cause that command
to be uttered.
" Our engagement was kept a secret. It would have
filled the village with dangerous gossip if it had been
known in Harpendeane. A few months ago we came
to Ewehurst. The curate was dead, and Enchmarsh
induced the Rector to appoint Guy in his place. So my
future husband has us what he calls ' under his eye.'
We didn't publish the betrothal even in Sussex. Secrecy
was still advisable, and Guy would never have agreed
to our compact if Enchmarsh hadn't promised that the
marriage should not take place for a year. The year
is not over yet, but my lover thought it right to declare
our engagement a few weeks ago."
" Why ? "
I interrupted her almost rudely, for I knew what she
was about to say.
" Because because you loved me, Humphrey."
She began to cry, and I bit my lip. There was a long
pause. Then I said :
THE WOMAN HE LOVED 167
" Do you think Heaven approves this devil's bar-
gain ? "
" I can't say, and it doesn't matter to me. I shall
carry it through I shall pay the uttermost farthing."
" But he is a scoundrel, a rake, a brute ! You would
be happier in hell than at Kitchenhour."
" He's better than he used to be. He has had no
no intrigues since he left Harpendeane."
" But he's a beast, a gambler, a swaggerer, a drunkard.
What worse could you have ? "
" Oh, don't tempt me ; it's all for my brother's sake."
" Your brother ! " I cried, grinding my teeth. " Your
brother is a coward, and unworthy of your sacrifice."
" I love him," she sobbed piteously. " You can't
understand. You never loved a brother."
" No. But I am sure that Guy Shotover is unworthy
of your love. Even Enchmarsh despises him, though
he gains by his cowardice. I know I'm speaking brutally,
but no brother with the slightest spark of manly feeling
would allow his sister to marry a drunken rake in order
that he might save his own skin."
" Guy withstood me obstinately at first. I had the
greatest difficulty in persuading him. Besides, suppose
that he had refused my sacrifice and had gone to his
death, should I have been in a happier case ? I should
have found myself alone in the world at sixteen, help-
less, homeless, and friendless. Enchmarsh would have
taken advantage of my helplessness, and I should have
met a fate so horrible that I hardly dare think of it.
Guy knew all this, or he would never have given in
to me."
Was an abject craven ever half so well defended ?
I looked at once admiringly and despairingly into her
brave eyes, while my bosom ached with unshed tears.
168 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
" I told you my story," she continued, " that you
might understand and go."
" You told me your story," I cried harshly, " that
I might love you a thousand times more than ever.
Before this I loved you because you were so beautiful
and sweet, because you were O God ! so child-like.
Now I love you because you are a thousand times
better and braver than I. You are no child to be pitied
and protected. You are the noblest woman that a man
ever looked into the eyes of and called blessed."
I sank on one knee before her and kissed the hem of
her little gown.
" Humphrey ! Humphrey ! don't kneel " and she
tugged frantically at my hand to pull me to my feet.
" Why won't you stand up ? Why won't you leave me ?
Don't you see that it's because I love you so much
that I want you to go ? I love you too well to let you
be an occasion for sin to me. You can't help me except
by your prayers. Go and pray for me."
I rose wearily to my feet. " I am going," I said,
but I did not move.
" That br Enchmarsh told me you and he are
to be married soon," I muttered, after a pause.
" In a month. He's here at Ihornden till next week,
when he goes back to Kitchenhour."
" Do you see much of him ? "
" Very little, as he practises pistol shooting nearly
all day. Go, now, Humphrey, please go."
" I am going. To-morrow I leave Ihornden. Oh,
that I could help you, dear ! What a useless coward I
feel ! Why must I flee when I long to fight ? "
" Go and pray for me."
I went towards her and held out my hands. Her
own hung heavy at her side.
THE WOMAN HE LOVED 169
" Let me kiss you."
"No ... for God's sake ! ..."
A terrible, haunting stillness pervaded the room.
Both the candles flickered out, and in the dusk of
mingled firelight and moonlight our hands met. Then
I turned from her and went to the door mechanically.
On the threshold I paused and looked back.
She was standing by the window, her little hands
clenched in anguish, her hair falling over her face and
sparing me the sight of her tears.
CHAPTER XV
OF THE METHODIST IN PLURENDEN QUARRY
I COULD not speak to John Palehouse that night, for
when I left Ruth he had already gone to bed. But
I was resolved to have an interview with him the
next morning, and on the whole I was glad of a few hours'
meditation before I attempted to leave Ihornden.
My heart was torn with conflicting passions. I had pro-
mised to leave Ruth but could I fulfil my promise ?
It seemed dastardly to desert her in her hour of need,
yet my presence was a torture to her rather than a
relief.
I went to my little room and lay down on the bed.
I could not sleep, but I did not wish to. I had grown
accustomed to my malady of sleeplessness, and though
I realised that my health was surely failing under it,
bore it with resignation. Besides, it gave me more time
for thought, and I felt that this night at any rate would
be better spent in thinking than in sleeping.
What was I to do ? I pondered a dozen mad schemes,
but dismissed them one and all as hopeless. I thought
of appealing to Shotover, but entertained the idea only
for a moment. The curate would listen to me, certainly ;
he would shed tears, perhaps, but fear of death would
prevent the great sacrifice that alone could save us. I
thought of appealing to Enchmarsh the next moment
I laughed out loud. Were my sufferings crazing me
170
IN PLURENDEN QUARRY 171
that I should for an instant cherish such a scheme ?
Should I appeal again to Ruth ? Why, fool ! She is
the most obstinate of the three.
There they stood between me and all hope the
girl, the man, and the coward. The coward was chained
by his fear, the man by his hatred, the girl by her love,
and it would be difficult to say which was the fastest
bound.
There was no help for it, I must leave Ihornden. I
must abandon Ruth to her fate. No ! That should
never be. Ruth's fate was my fate, and I would never
leave her to it. There was still a month to elapse
before her marriage, and during that month I should not
cease to labour for her deliverance. But how could I
labour, how could I deliver, shackled as I was by my
oath of secrecy ? I gnashed my teeth in hopeless frenzy.
Then into my own mind came Ruth's own words :
" Go and pray for me." I believed in prayer and in
the God Who hears it. Surely He would help me and
Ruth. I had realised by this time that nothing could
save us but a re-arrangement of circumstances, the
happening of the unexpected. I would trust God for
that. I rose from my bed and knelt down beside it.
" O Thou that hearest prayer, to Thee shall all flesh
come."
A sleepless night is not the best preparation for a
troublous day. I could eat no breakfast ; my head
ached, and my limbs throbbed with fatigue. The
morning was grey and cold, and a fierce wind blew
from Frittenden. Nevertheless, John Palehouse was
eager for a walk in the fields.
It was wonderful how his sweet temper and serenity
smoothed the furrows between my eye-brows, and
softened the lines of rage and pain about my mouth.
172 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
He seemed in an unusually peaceful mood. He was
even joyful, and took my arm with a smile, and a quick
upward look of happiness.
" Where shall we go this sweet morning ? "
" Do you call this a sweet morning ? I call it dull
and unlike summer."
" The sky is grey, but it is beautiful as a wood-
pigeon's wing, and see how an occasional flash of sun-
light rests on the fields. What a delicious wind is
rustling up from the west, and the birds, it is long since
I heard them sing so merrily. Oh, it is a wonderful,
wonderful day."
His delight was infectious, and I felt a vague comfort
in the thought that though I lost Ruth for ever I should
still have the green trees and fields, and that even on
my death-bed I should see the sky.
We went through Ihornden Park to Brakefields
Farm, and struck out across the meadows towards
Heartsap. It was then I told Palehouse that I must
leave Ihornden because I loved Ruth Shotover.
He listened attentively, and said :
" I knew all this, lad."
" You knew it ? "
" Yes. It was plainly written."
" There is one thing, then, that I have learned a
man can't hide his love. I am in love, and Peter Winde,
Mary Winde, and John Palehouse, all find out my
secret."
" It was not much of a secret. You are a strange lad.
Where many a man would tell his thoughts you lock
them up in your heart, yet you can't keep them out
of your eyes they're written on your face, and he may
run who readeth them."
" I wish I was not in love. But no, I can't say that.
IN PLURENDEN QUARRY 173
Better to have loved hopelessly than have never loved
at all."
" My poor boy ! I know what it is to love in vain.
So you want to leave Ihornden ? You are right."
" But I must find some excuse to give Sir Miles."
" I have a good one for you. I have long been anxiaus
about the poor folk at Frittenden. There is a family
at Whitsunden Farm the thought of which kills sleep.
Tell Sir Miles that I have asked you to continue your
journey, to preach at Frittenden, Horsemonden,
Bethersden, and to wait for me at Headcorn. I shall
soon be able to follow you."
" I shall wait for you at Bethersden," I said. I was
resolved not to go further than that from Ruth.
" As you will, lad ; but why not at Headcorn ? "
" I hope that you will join me before I have time to
reach Headcorn."
" When do you start ? "
" This afternoon."
" Won't Sir Miles think that rather sudden ? "
" I don't care if he does. I must go."
" Perhaps it would be best. I wish that I could go
with you ; " and he sighed.
" Does your cousin know you are here ? "
" He must. But we never see each other, which is
fortunate, for if we did I could not stay at Ihornden.
You see, Humphrey, that I am very weak and unworthy.
Do you still insist on leaving me this afternoon ? "
" I'm afraid I must."
" And I do wrong in trying to keep you back. Go,
and God bless you. Oh, lad, you will often be downcast
and weary of your groaning, but believe the words of
one who has suffered there is joy in the world, even for
a broken heart."
174 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
We had entered a chalk quarry in the corner of a high
meadow known as Plurenden. The wind swept it,
rumpled our hair over our brows, and danced the poppies
on the chalkstone cliffs. The sun burst suddenly through
a cloud rift, and John stood in the full glare of it, his
hafrids clasped over mine.
" Yes, lad, joy for the broken heart. God is good,
and the earth is green ; life is wonderful, and death
is sweet. The girl you love is in stronger, tenderer
hands than yours, and though you be parted like two
meadow streams, remember that all waters mingle in
the sea and all lives touch in eternity. ' Although the
fig-tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the
vines, the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields
shall yield no meat ; the flocks shall be cut off from the
fold and there shall be no herd in the stalls, yet will I
rejoice in the Lord ; I will joy in the God of my salva-
tion.' "
His hands closed more tensely over mine, and his
eyes looked into mine, full of love and hope and joyous-
ness. Then a cloud veiled the sun, and a wave of dark-
ness rushed over the fields. I heard a footstep behind
me, and a voice I knew and hated well.
" Good morning, my handsome cousin ! This meeting
is as opportune as it is unexpected."
John turned very pale. Enchmarsh stood with his
arms folded, his face flushed, his eyes dangerously
bright. In his hand he carried a pistol, well grimed
with recent use.
"I've been shooting down in Ihornden Park, but
it's as hot as hell in the valley, so I took some wine and
came up here to cool myself."
He had evidently been drinking heavily, so I pulled
John's sleeve, and we moved off.
IN PLURENDEN QUARRY 175
" Don't leave so hurriedly. Stay and speak to me,
coz. To think that you and I should have spent forty-
eight hours under the same roof, and never have met,
though we love each other so dearly. But you have been
in the wars, my swashbuckling Methodist, and have
tasted a little of the stoning of Stephen."
" Let me pass," said John. " It is not right or safe "
the outraged man in him triumphed over the preacher
" that you and I should speak together."
" Not right ? Not safe ? Shall you kill me, then,
my valiant singer of psalms ? Oh, a happy life you
would have led my Dolly ! She was no Methodist."
Palehouse was silent, and this maddened Enchmarsh,
enflamed with wine.
" You won't speak ? Then I'll tell you a piece of
news. Dolly vowed that she was happier as my mistress
than she ever could have been as your wife. There,
does that warm your fish's blood ? "
" The Lord rebuke you ! " said John Palehouse ;
and I wondered at his calmness, till I saw the mark of
his teeth on his nether lip.
" No ; Dolly was never made for virtue, nor virtue
for Dolly," resumed Enchmarsh ; "so they were best
apart."
I could restrain my fury no longer, and would have
struck the brute down, but John Palehouse seized my
arm.
" Do not strike him he is made in God's image."
Enchmarsh sneered, but the next moment drew back
uneasily, for John strode up to him and grasped his
wrist.
" Silence, wretch ! You have slandered the woman I
loved, that I still love, though she died a sinner. You
seduced her and betrayed her, and now you smear her
176 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
name with the filth that should be daubed on yours
before the whole world. It was through you that she
took the first step in sin, which led her to the bottomless
pit. Before you decoyed her she was pure as snow.
The Lord rebuke you."
His mouth quivered with righteous fury ; he still
held Enchmarsh by the wrist. Then he dropped his
hand and his proud head. The squire stood motionless,
panting with rage ; suddenly his eyes flashed. He
seized John Palehouse by the shoulders, and shook him
as a dog shakes a coney ; then he struck him furiously
with the butt of his pistol.
John fell to the ground without groan or cry. His
face was white, his lips were a little parted; and as
I gazed at him, petrified, I saw the blood rush under
the skin of his temple, and form a little grey bruise
there.
" My God ! " I cried, and fell on my knees beside
him. I thought him only stunned, but an impulse
bade me put my hand on his heart. There was no throb.
I felt no grief it was all so sudden and like a dream
but something seemed to snap in my breast and freeze
my eyes. I lifted John's head on to my knee, and gazed
down at his peaceful face. Then I raised my eyes to
Enchmarsh.
" You are a murderer ! "
He did not answer. His nerveless hand had dropped
the pistol, his lips trembled, and his eyes were fixed on
the dead man's face. For a moment or two we remained
silent, gazing at the marble features and limp, lifeless
form. His eyes were wide open, and stared up at us, so
I closed them gently.
My movement startled Enchmarsh out of the trance
into which he had fallen. I saw a look of terror leap
IN PLURENDEN QUARRY 177
into his eyes, and the next instant he would have rushed
from the place, had I not caught him round the legs
and held him like a vice. He writhed and struggled,
and fell on the ground beside me. Over and over we
rolled together, silent except for our panting. Ench-
marsh fought like a wild beast, but, though by no means
so powerful as he, I was more agile, and contrived to
keep uppermost in the struggle. At last I managed to
pin him beneath me, and he lay helpless, with my knee
on his chest and my hands on his throat.
" This shall be your last crime, you blackguard !
You have betrayed the innocent and oppressed the
helpless, and no man gave you your reward. But your
career is ended with the murder of John Palehouse."
" Take your hands off my throat ! " he panted.
" You're choking me."
" I shall keep my hands where they are till I see you
in custody. There are some labourers working in Coarse-
barn field. I shall shout for them, and if you move an
inch I'll throttle you."
" Shout, then, you beast ! But, remember if you
have me arrested, I'll have Guy Shotover hanged. I
have power to hang him "
" I know that."
" How do you know ? "
" Never mind how I know and you may hang
Shotover as high as Haman for all I care. He's nothing
to me."
I paused a moment after I had said this, for I re-
membered that, though Shotover was nothing to me,
he was the brother of the girl who was all things to me,
and into my mind came her words : " I loved Guy more
than my happiness more than I hated Enchmarsh."
I should show myself unworthy of Ruth if I sacrificed
178 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
her brother to my revenge. My dearest friend had been
brutally murdered, but I had no right to demand ven-
geance at such a price. Into Guy's grave would go his
sister's youth, hope, and happiness. She had given up
all that makes life sweet in order to spare him the doom
to which I, who swore I loved her, was about to send
him to gratify my ungodlike passions.
I meditated with my hands on Enchmarsh's throat,
while the wind sang in the grass, and suddenly I re-
membered the bargain my enemy had made with Ruth
over Robert Enchmarsh's body at Harpendeane, and I
realised that if I followed his example, it was in my
power to free her from this scoundrel she hated, and
yet spare her another drop in the cup which was already
overbrimming with tears.
" Listen, you blackguard. I said that Shotover was
nothing to me, but for his sister's sake he must not
be allowed to perish. If you set Ruth Shotover free
from her engagement and at the same time hold your
tongue as to the curate's affair, I'll keep silence as to
what you did for John Palehouse."
" Ugh-gh you're choking me "
" Nonsense. Do you accept my offer ? "
" I'm damned if I give up Ruth for you to marry her."
" You'll have to give her up, anyhow. It's only a
question of whether you and Shotover go scot-free, or
whether you both hang."
" It's a devil's bargain ! " He writhed, and the grip
of my hands tightened on his windpipe. He was soon
lying quiet as a lamb.
" You'd better not struggle," I said grimly. " Come,
give me a straight answer. Will you lose Ruth Shotover
and your life together, while enjoying your revenge,
or will you lose her and live without revenge ? "
IN PLURENDEN QUARRY 179
" I suppose life's better worth having than vengeance,"
he said sulkily.
" That's for you to decide and be quick about it."
" Then I'll live and hold my tongue ; and now, for
God's sake, take your hands off my throat."
" We must settle matters more definitely first."
" Oh, anything you like I'll swear Ugh-gh "
" I want something more trustworthy than your oath.
You shall write out a full confession of your crime."
" Yes at Ihornden."
" No here."
" Why not at Ihornden ? " The fellow knew that
he could easily give me the slip once we were out of
the quarry.
" Because I intend to have it here."
" But I've not even a piece of paper."
" That's a lie. You have a notebook in your pocket ; "
and I pulled it out. " I can lend you a pencil."
" I can't write it lying on my back, while you're
half strangling me, you beast ! "
" Sit up, then."
I relaxed the grip of my hands and the pressure of
my knee sufficiently to allow him to raise himself.
" There, you can write now, and, remember, I'll
throttle the life out of you if you move an inch."
He began to write in the notebook at my dictation :
" I, Harold Enchmarsh "
I had seen his handwriting on several occasions, and
knew that the round, bold letters he was forming were
merely an attempt to make the document valueless.
I pressed my fingers on his windpipe, and the next
moment he had dropped the pencil and paper, and was
writhing between my knees.
" You scoundrel ! I'm not the fool you think me.
180 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
Write in your usual hand I know it well or I'll shout
for help, and deliver you over to justice, come what
may."
He sat up, looking very white and ill, and wrote, his
hands trembling because of the grip of mine :
" I, Harold Enchmarsh, hereby declare that T
murdered my cousin, John Palehouse, by striking him
on the temple with a pistol in Plurenden Quarry, on
the fourteenth of July, 1799."
I bade him tear out the leaf ; then I took my hands
from his throat, leaving blue finger-marks on the skin,
and thrust the paper into my pocket.
" You can go now."
" What shall you do with that ? " he said hoarsely,
pointing to John Palehouse.
I considered.
" I can account for his death in a fall from the top
of the quarry, and for the bruise on his forehead in one
of the stones scattered round about "
I ceased speaking suddenly, for the grief which had
been waiting outside my heart till rage had left it now
stole in, and choked my voice. Enchmarsh stood by
me in silence, his hands clasped round his throat. As
I looked at him, I was seized with an unholy joy that I
had punished the villain so well.
" What are you going to do ?" he asked faintly.
" I shall run to Coarsebarn Farm and tell the folk
that my friend had had a fall into Plurenden Quarry,
and is dead. As for you, you had better be off at once "
it was my great ambition to get the brute away. " On
your first opportunity release Ruth Shotover from her
engagement, and remember that if you move a finger
against her or her brother, I produce my evidence and
many a man has been hanged on less."
IN PLURENDEN QUARRY 181
" Ruth Shotover " he stood repeating the name and
biting his nails " Ruth Shotover Ruth Enchmarsh
Ruth Lyte. Oh, damn you ! "
"Be off ! " I cried. " Remember that I carry your
death."
He threw me a fierce glance of hatred ; then he
looked towards the dead man, turned very white, and
hurried away in a sweat.
I went to John Palehouse, and stooped over him.
He lay as he had often slept one arm across his breast,
the other stretched out among the grass. Surely he
rested well.
CHAPTER XVI
OF THE METHODIST IN A SORE STRAIT
I SAT for about a quarter of an hour in Plurenden
Quarry, while the wind waved the poppies on the
cliffs. At last I rose and went softly from the
place, as if I feared to wake John Palehouse.
I shudder to think how terrible my grief would have
been had not joy come to me hand in hand with my
sorrow. In John's death I suffered my first bereave-
ment, and to those who remember the anguish of their
first bereavement I need say no more. But his death
opened the gate of happiness to two lives against which
it had long been barred.
Once in the lane outside the meadow, I began to run.
The oast-houses of Coarsebarn Farm rose in front of
me above the hanger of Heartsap Hill. I hoped indeed,
I prayed that I might be able to utter my lie with
firm lips ; for on that lie Ruth's happiness depended.
If the murder were discovered, and Enchmarsh proved
to be the murderer, then Guy Shotover would perish,
and his sister's heart be broken. But if all were kept
secret and John Palehouse believed to have met his
death through a fall into Plurenden Quarry, then oh,
blessed thought ! it sent the blood to my cheeks and
the tears to my eyes.
Suddenly, as I ran, I became aware of footsteps follow-
ing me, and of voices calling me to stop. I turned my
182
IN A SORE STRAIT 183
head. The little lane was steep and rough. I stumbled
in a rut, and fell prone. The next minute a pair of
hands were on my shoulders, pinning me to the ground,
while my legs were seized and held forcibly, and a
voice I seemed to have heard before exclaimed :
" Now we have you, my fine fellow ! "
What with the violence of my fall and the unexpected-
ness of all that had happened, I lay for a second or
two utterly bewildered, without power of speech. At
last, however, I managed to turn my head, and looked,
dumbfounded, into the face of Curate Kitson.
" What what the devil is this ? " I stammered.
" Yes, indeed. What what the devil is it ? " mocked
Kitson.
" Will you let me get up ? "
" All in good time. Leave go his legs, Pitcher ; he
had better stand. He can't very well speak with his
mouth full of dust."
The grip on my ankles was relaxed, and I rose pain-
fully to my feet. Kitson stood before me, with two
farm labourers. One of these, as soon as I was upright,
pinned my arms to my sides. I was evidently regarded
as a dangerous subject.
" Will you do me the favour of explaining all this ? "
I cried hotly.
" Oh, certainly," drawled Kitson. " We have just
discovered the corpse of your fellow-Ranter Palehouse,
in Plurenden Quarry."
" He fell over the edge ... he is dead. . . . I'm on
my way to Coarsebarn Farm for help."
" Yes, you seemed in a demned hurry."
" I suppose you think I murdered him ? " I cried
angrily, for by this time I had guessed the reason of
their violence.
184 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
" Well, such an idea did cross our minds, I must
confess."
" It's a lie ! My friend fell into the quarry, as I've
told you, and dashed his head against a stone."
My lips were accustomed to speak the truth, and
stammered horribly over the he. Kitson grinned.
" I should be quite ready to believe you if it were
not for this," and he took a pistol out of his pocket.
I turned pale. I had forgotten the pistol, and must
have left it on the ground beside John Palehouse, fool
that I was oh, thrice a fool ! Thanks to my idiocy,
everything would be discovered. The pistol would be
recognised as Enchmarsh's ; he would be arrested,
Shotover hanged, and Ruth's heart broken oh, fool,
fool ! A hundred times a fool.
Suddenly I started, and looked closer ; then my
jaw dropped, and the sweat beaded out on my forehead.
The pistol was MINE.
How had it come into Enchmarsh's hands ? Was
it indeed my pistol that had killed John Palehouse ? I
stood absolutely dumbfounded, but saw that I must
rise to the occasion. My first impulse was to betray
Enchmarsh, but I thought of the consequences, and
refrained. There was surely some other way of clearing
myself of this hateful charge. If I did not think of it
now I should think of it later. I had no right to wreck
Ruth's happiness simply because I was in danger.
" Well," drawled Kitson, " how much paler, and how
much redder, and how much more sweat ? "
I saw that my emotion was damning me, so fought
it down.
" Well," continued the curate, " how do you account
for the pistol ? "
" I must have dropped it."
IN A SORE STRAIT 185
" Yes and fractured the butt."
He held out the pistol and showed me a deep crack
across the butt. With such force must Enchmarsh
have struck John Palehouse.
" Do you still deny that you are a murderer ? "
" I do."
" Perhaps you deny that this is your pistol ? "
" No, I don't deny that." Such a course would have
been useless, as my initials were engraved on the butt,
and every one at Ihornden knew the weapon to be
mine.
" It is just as well not to tell more lies than you can
help. We won't keep you here any longer. Your
reverence shall see the inside of a jail for once in your
saintly life. But we must have a warrant of commit-
ment first. ' Let all things be done decently and in
order,' as the Apostle says. So off with you to Sir Miles
Wychellow."
I was quite ready, for I felt sure that I should easily
be able to clear myself before the kind magistrate, who
knew of my love for John Palehouse and the good
character I had hitherto borne.
The two farm men instantly gripped me by the
shoulders and marched me up Heartsap Hill. They were
great rough fellows, and seemed to relish their work.
They had doubtless been among the rioters on Biddenden
Common, and rejoiced to wreak their spite on the hated
Methodist. The curate walked beside us, his lip curling
slightly. He, too, delighted in the hour of revenge.
I held my head high, for I felt confident. In fact, the
only thing that perplexed me was how had Enchmarsh
come by my pistol ? Had he been using it in mistake
for his own ? Had his own been damaged, and had he
taken mine, rather than ask a favour of me ? Or
186
desperate thought ! had he intended to murder John
Palehouse, and deliberately made use of my pistol, so
that he might avert suspicion from himself and fix it
on me, and thus kill two birds with one stone his
cousin and his rival ?
We had reached Ihornden before I could answer any
of those questions. The servant who opened the door
fell back in surprise at the sight of my escort, but
neither I nor Kitson vouchsafed any explanation. The
curate asked for Sir Miles, and on being told that he
was out, requested to be shown a room where he and his
prisoner a slight accent on the word " prisoner,"
which made the servant stare yet more blankly could
await his return. We were ushered into a small room
looking out on the terrace. Kitson and the two labour-
ing men sat at the table, while I flung myself on a bench
near the window.
My spirits were somewhat dashed by an hour's waiting
in fact, they soon fell very low indeed for after some
thought, I came to the conclusion that I should not find it
so easy to clear myself as I had imagined. I was resolved
not to speak a word that might lead to Guy Shotover's
arrest, and it seemed as if only by such word I could be
saved. I spent the hour that followed in imaginary
conversations with Squire Wychellow, every one of
which ended in my betraying Enchmarsh and with
him Shotover. My only safe course seemed to be to
hold my tongue.
The sky grew greyer, and gusts of rain beat against
the windows. A dog howled to the accompaniment of
the wind, and every now and then a door slammed in a
distant part of the house. Kitson and my guards talked
in low voices, as if cowed by the uncanniness of the day.
A cart had been sent to fetch the body of John Pale-
IN A SORE STRAIT 187
house, and the men who drove it had gone forth pale
and wide-eyed, starting at every sound. Horror was
in the wind and in the house. A gust blew the leaves
off the trees as if autumn had come, and they danced
on the terrace a dance of death.
At last the horrible wind brought us the sound of
coach-wheels, and Sir Miles's coach rolled up to the
door. From the window I could see Lady Wychellow
dismount, followed by her husband, Guy Shotover,
and Ruth.
Kitson rose, and went to meet the magistrate in the
hall. I still gazed out of the window, for Ruth was still
standing where I could see her.
Sir Miles entered in great perturbation, rubbing his
hands, as was his habit when excited.
"What the devil is all this?" he cried. "Surely
there's some mistake ! "
I was at a loss what to say, so fixed my eyes on the
floor, and answered him not a word.
Sir Miles looked mystified.
" Give your evidence," he said abruptly, turning to
Kitson.
The curate gave his evidence, which was confirmed
by the working men Pitcher and Green.
" Do you wish to contradict anything these gentlemen
have said ? "
" No."
" You confess that you killed Palehouse ? "
" No ! " I cried sharply, lifting my head.
Sir Miles knit his brows.
" Begad, Mr. Kitson ! your evidence is clear enough,
but I'm loth to disbelieve this young man."
" Why, he's as big a liar as Ananias ! " cried the
curate, roused by hatred out of his usual state of in-
188 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
solent calm. " He has already told us several lies.
You don't deny that, do you ? " turning to me.
" No."
Sir Miles glanced at me impatiently.
" Begad, sir ! I'm sick of your ' no.' What has come
over you ? "
My heart was too full for speech, so I only stared at
the ground. The squire shrugged his shoulders.
" He looks hang-dog enough. But when I first met
him he was risking his life and limb to save the man
you say he has just murdered. He and Palehouse loved
each other like brothers "
" No doubt it was a sudden quarrel. These Ranters
are always as hot-tempered as Old Harry and who
killed Palehouse if not this fellah ? "
" Perhaps he fell from the top of the quarry ? "
Kitson grinned. " Mr. Lyte did not make that
statement with er sufficient calmness for me to
believe it. Besides, what of the pistol ? "
" Is this pistol yours, young man ? "
" Yes, Sir Miles."
The squire shook his head.
" I've sent for a doctor from Cranbrook to examine
the body ; and, of course, there will be an inquest, when
we shall be told whether the bruise on Palehouse 's
forehead has anything to do with Mr. Lyte's pistol. In
the meantime "
" He must go to jail," drawled the curate, who
evidently enjoyed heap ng every insult on me.
Sir Miles flushed.
" I fear so. The charge is serious. Young man, I
am 'oth to commit you, but you leave me no choice."
He stood for a moment in thought. " Come, Sir
Miles, the warrant," said Kitson sweetly.
IN A SORE STRAIT 189
Swearing under his breath, the squire moved s'owly
towards his writing-table. The warrant was made out,
and I was locked into an attic till the constable should
arrive from Biddenden to take me in charge.
Here I had ample time for reflection the constable
was a leisurely man and I cannot say that the hours
passed pleasantly. Hitherto I had been racking my
brains for some way of clearing myself without involving
Enchmarsh. I had realised that this would be difficult,
but now I saw that it would be impossible. I could not
establish my innocence without send.ng Enchmarsh
and with him, Guy Shotover to the gallows.
I saw that even now it would be comparatively easy
to put matters straight. Enchmarsh must be somewhere
in the house, the marks of my fingers must still be on his
throat no one would question the authenticity of the
confession in my pocket, and the presence of my pistol
in Plurenden Quarry could no doubt be satisfactorily
explained. I could certainly save myself if I pleased
but ought I to do so ?
The question rose stern and baffling, and I trembled
before it. Shotover 's arrest would certainly follow
my betrayal of Enchmarsh. I thought of Ruth's face
as I had last seen it, her eyes full of pleading, her lips
quivering with unselfish love. She had given^up all that
makes life worth living to save her brother. Had I the
cruelty to make her sacrifice of none effect ?
" Ah, but it is because I love her ! " I cried in answer
to my own thoughts. " Surely she had rather lose
her brother than lose me surely she loves me more than
that abject coward."
" True," replied the inward voice ; " doubtless she
oves you more, but she has loved you all these past
weeks and yet she has sacrificed you to her brother.
190 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
She could any day have banished Enchmarsh and have
given herself to you, but she would not, because to do
so would have meant the death of her brother, who
loved life."
" She naturally shrank from uttering his death-
sentence with her own lips, but if he perished through
words of mine "
" She would despise you for ever."
" But I should be dooming him only indirectly. He
would owe his death to Enchmarsh "
" And to you. If you speak you speak with the full
knowledge that your words will hang him."
I groaned. A year ago I should have been glad to
die. But this day happiness, love, and heart's desire had
been put within my reach, and it was cruel to have them
snatched from me. Oh, I must speak, I must live, come
what may !
Then I pictured my meeting with Ruth after I had
spoken. She would look at me with sad, reproachful
eyes.
" Dear," I should cry, " I did it all for your happi-
ness."
And she would answer kindly, perhaps, but
sadly :
" No doubt you did it for the best, but that makes
it no less hard for me to lose my brother and my con-
fidence in my lover."
I sat in silence, my head sunk on my breast, my hands
clasped between my knees. Whatever course I adopted,
Ruth was bound to suffer. The question I had to
consider was which would cause her least misery ?
Surely she would rather lose her brother. But not
through me, for that way she lost me too. If I betrayed
Shotover I could never be to Ruth what I had been
IN A SORE STRAIT 191
before. All her faith in me, her trust, her reverence,
would be gone.
Then there were other considerations. I had told
Enchmarsh that Guy Shotover was nothing to me, but
now I realised that at the bottom of my heart lurked
a sort of sneaking affection for the fellow. It was true
that his weakness and cowardice stood between me
and all hope, but I could not forget that he had be-
friended me when I was friendless, and taken me into
his house, fed me, washed my feet with his own hands,
and had made me sleep in his own bed. Besides, I could
not deny that the man was lovable, that he was gentle,
simple-hearted, and devoted to holy things. But the
chief point in his favour was that he was my benefactor.
One had scruples about sending one's benefactor to
jail.
So love and honour bade me be silent, to suffer death
rather than speak. After all, the evidence against me
being purely circumstantial, it was possible that the
county magistrates might not think it safe to give a
petty jury the chance of convicting me.
But if I betrayed Shotover I sent him to certain
death and what would become of Ruth when he was
hanged ? I should be too poor to marrry her for years
to come, and she had no relations living. Doubtless the
Wychellows would care for her ; nevertheless, her lot
would be a hard one. I had no right to condemn her
to it.
No. I must be silent. I saw my way plainly the
way of silence. Love and honour tied my tongue, bade
me suffer, and, if need be, die. So I fell on my knees
and commended my resolution to God, asking Him to
help me, who, without Him, was helpless.
After that I felt calmer, and sat listening to the sweet
192 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
songs of the birds, till a step outside my prison made me
start. The next moment the door was unlocked, and
Sir Miles Wychellow came in.
" The doctor has arrived from Cranbrook," he said
abruptly. " He has examined Palehouse and he has
examined your pistol, and swears that the death of one
is due to a blow from t'other."
There was dead silence. I had risen, and stood
shuffling my feet uneasily. Sir Miles laid his hand on
my shoulder.
" Come, my lad," he said, very kindly, "I'm sure you
can explain all this if you choose. Make a clean breast
of it. Did you kill Palehouse ? "
" No."
" But, young man, there's little use in saying ' no.'
You must give us facts."
He waited for a moment, then, as I remained silent,
continued : " Did you and Palehouse meet anyone
near Plurenden ? "
" No."
" You and he were alone together the whole of your
walk ? "
" Yes."
" That's bad ! If Palehouse and you were alone the
whole morning, why " he hesitated.
" Yes," I replied, " the conclusion is natural
enough."
" I can't understand you," said Sir Miles ; " you are
either a fool or a liar."
I was both, but I would not tell him so.
" Come, lad, why so proud and silent ? If you're
guilty, confess. Perhaps there are extenuating cir-
cumstances."
His voice was so gentle, and he patted my shoulder
IN A SORE STRAIT 193
so kindly that I was cut to the heart, and could not
answer him.
" You won't answer me ? Well, so be it," and he
went off, shaking his head.
I paced miserably up and down the room, now and
then singing a verse of " Jesu, Lover of my Soul " to
comfort my fainting heart. Rain began to fall, and the
clouds rolled back from the face of the sun, so that an
angry copper glare streamed upon the rain. The west
was bloody and ragged as if the sun were setting in wrath.
In about half an hour my prison door opened, and Sir
Miles came back to tell me that the constable had arrived
from Biddenden, and would take me off to the village
lock-up.
I followed the magistrate to the hall, where the
constable was waiting with gyves. I winced at the
sight of these, but schooled myself to submission and
held out my hands. I noticed that Guy Shotover was
skulking at the further end of the hall. When we were
about to leave the house, he came forward and whis-
pered a few words to Sir Miles.
" Egad ! I had forgotten," said the baronet. " Wait
a moment, my man, the prisoner has had no food since
morning."
I had been so highly wrought that I had not noticed
how hungry I was. My needs had occurred to no one
but Guy, and his solicitude was characteristic of him.
The constable made no objection to waiting while I
had some supper. I ate in silence, and had soon finished.
Guy shook hands with me, and asked if I had any money.
I told him that I had enough, and he begged me to
borrow of him if ever I should be in need.
The sun was sinking fast when we left the house, and
went down the avenue. We were nearly at the gate
194 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
when a white figure suddenly flashed into the copper
glare of the sunset. It was Ruth. I do not know whether
she was out on purpose to see me, or whether I had come
upon her unawares. She did not speak, but drew aside
to let us pass, while she stared in horror at my gyves.
Her eyes were red with crying, and the sight of her was
as hot iron on a raw wound. I looked into her face and
tried to speak, but the words froze on my tongue. Did
she believe me guilty or innocent ? I longed to ask her,
but had not the courage.
In a quarter of an hour we reached Biddenden, and
I spent the tramp in racking my brains for a safe way
of disposing of Enchmarsh's confession, for I knew that
as soon as I reached the lock-up I should be searched.
The paper was in the breast-pocket of my coat, and I
wondered if I could slip it into a safer place without the
constable noticing me. He did not seem a very observant
fellow. He walked beside me half asleep, his eyes
nearly shut.
" Wot yer doing, young man ? " he cried sud-
denly.
" Tying my shoe-lace," I replied, as I slipped Ench-
marsh's confession from my pocket into my stocking.
" I can't have no loitering, come on ! "
I obeyed, well satisfied ; and a few minutes later we
entered Biddenden. The men had not yet come back
from the fields, and the street was deserted, save for a
few women and children who stared curiously at me
and whispered among themselves. I was marched
past the church and the inn to the village lock-up a
tiny dark cell, the floor rough and dirty, the walls
trickling with damp.
I had not expected a very thorough search, and the
constable did little more than bid me turn out my
IN A SORE STRAIT 195
pockets. Having satisfied himself as to their contents,
he went off, locking the door. I groped my way to a
bench set against the wall, which was the only furniture
the place contained, and gave myself up to thought. I
decided to let Enchmarsh's confession stay where
it was for the present, as I might be searched
again.
The stars came out, and the hush of night fell on all
things, but I was too sorrowful to sleep. My heart was
full of bitter longing for John Palehouse. I had hitherto
been too much engrossed in my difficulties to pine for
him ; but now that the questions which had tormented
me were answered, now that I had taken the roughest
of the two roads before which I had stood hesitating,
my heart was open to grief and craving, and I brooded
miserably. It was terrible to think that all men be-
lieved I had killed him, my dearest friend, for whom I
would have willingly laid down my life. To be charged
with such a crime was only a degree less awful than to
have committed it.
Day dawned after what seemed an eternity, and about
nine o'clock the constable appeared with a bowl of
gruel for my breakfast, and told me that the inquest
had already taken place, and that a verdict of " wilful
murder " had been brought against me. At noon I
appeared before the local magistrates, who, after hearing
the detailed and conclusive evidence of Kitson, Pitcher,
and Green, committed me for trial at the Maidstone
Assizes. I was taken back to my dirty little cell, and
there I sat, hot and depressed, till at twilight the bolt
was shot back and the constable, muffled in many wraps,
bade me tumble up, for I was to go to Maidstone by
the night coach.
The fresh air was sweet after the stuffiness of my prison.
196 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
It fanned my hot cheeks gratefully ; it soothed me into
a happier frame of mind.
We reached the cross-roads near Three Chimneys
after a few minutes' walk. Here we were to wait till
the Maidstone coach went by. The sun had set, and the
sky was blue-grey, except for dark masses of cloud, and
for a faint glow of red and orange in the west. It had
been raining, and the hedges, fields, and trees were wet,
and great pools shone on the road in the twilight. The
fold star hung above Chittenden, and the wind crept
with a moaning whisper over the fields, and rustled the
grasses by the wayside. Every now and then a burst
of summer lightning showed me the meadows and
spinneys lying in their night stillness, showed me High
Tilt and Hareplain, and the roofs of Castwisell, and all
the dear places where John Palehouse and I had roamed
together. I thought of my friend lying silent and peace-
ful at Ihornden Hall, his white hands folded on his
breast ; and the thought no longer tortured, but soothed
me. " They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any
more." His sufferings were over, the chastening hand
was lifted from his back and sides, the cup of deadly
wine was withdrawn from his lips. No longer would he
sorrow for the beautiful unworthy woman he had
loved, no longer would he travail in prayers and tears
for the thankless souls of men, no longer would he
starve, and tramp, and toil. " Yea, saith the Spirit,
for they rest from their labours."
A rumble of wheels drew near, and at last the coach
rolled into view, and pulled up at a signal from the
constable. The outside was crowded, so we were forced
to go inside, which I hated, for the summer night was
glorious, hot and still, and the interior of the coach was
stuffy, and full of noise and smell. Moreover, my fellow-
IN A SORE STRAIT 197
passengers had little relish for travelling with a man
who wore gyves on his wrists ; and though the constable
assured her that I was " perfectly tractable, madam,"
one old lady removed herself and her belongings to the
further end of the coach, and declared that she would
not be able to sleep a wink all night, for she was sure
that I should murder her if ever she closed an eye.
I sat in a kind of stupor, while the coach lurched and
jolted over ruts. A lamp hanging from the roof swung
with every roll and cast weird shadows on the faces
of my companions. Near Headcorn I fell asleep, and
dreamed a strange, jumbled dream about Ihornden and
Shoyswell, Ruth Shotover, Mary Winde, and John
Palehouse. Then I dreamed that I was dead, and stood
as a disembodied spirit in Shoyswell fold. I woke with
a shudder. The wheels were jolting over cobbles, and
houses reared their gables against a sky yellow with
moonlight. We had reached Maidstone.
The coach drew up at the Star Inn, and the constable,
swearing that he had never been so thirsty in his life,
led me into the bar. He was a kindly fellow, and offered
to stand me a glass of ale, for which I was grateful, as
both my soul and body were faint enough.
In spite of the late hour the bar was crowded to over-
flowing. I sat in an obscure corner, the constable's
burly figure shutting out the rest of the company, whose
talk, songs, and laughter came to me as in a dream. I
had soon finished my ale, and leaned back with closed
eyes. I had nearly fallen into a doze when I heard
close by me a feeble twitter, the ghost of a lark's rising
song. I lifted my eyes and saw above my head a tiny
cage in which a lark was imprisoned. There was barely
room for him to turn, and every now and then he dashed
his little body against the bars with the force of despera-
198 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
tion. Occasionally he tried to sing the old glad song
with which he had flown up into the face of God but
the notes were piteous, and died off in a haunting cry.
Poor little heart ! How I pitied it with its ruffled breast
and round, frightened eyes. I had seen larks rise from
the Sussex fields ; I had been awakened by the stirring
of their wings.
Then the thought came to me that in an hour's time
I should be even as this lark a prisoner, beating in
vain against iron bars. Poor little heart ! You and I
are brethren.
The constable interrupted my reverie.
" Come, young feller, no more starin' at that tedious
bird, but off with yer to jail !"
With that he marched me through a crowd of curious
mocking faces into the fresh air and moonlight. A
few minutes' walk brought us to a huge grey building
with shackles hung over the door. Before the constable
had told me I knew this was the jail, and my heart sank.
The formalities that preceded my admission were
short, and, owing to the time of night, sleepy. Shackles
were no longer worn by the prisoners, so mine were
struck off, much to my relief, and I was led down a
series of dark, stuffy passages to an iron door.
I held my breath, but the next moment gasped it
forth in horror. The opening of the door revealed a
terrible sight a room in which sleeping men lay to-
gether like beasts. The window was unglazed, never-
theless the atmosphere was noisome. Accustomed as I
was to living and sleeping in the open air, the idea of
such quarters chilled my blood. For a long time after
the jailer had locked the door, I stood motionless, with
covered face, shivering like a girl.
At last I managed to control my disgust, and started
IN A SORE STRAIT 199
to pick my way across the room, warily and shrinkingly,
like one who crossed a battlefield the day after the
fight. I touched a man's head with my foot, and he
swore, but did not wake. At last I reached a spot
where there was room for me to lie down. Fortunately,
I was exhausted after two nights' sleeplessness, for it
would have crazed me to lie wakeful in that hell.
CHAPTER XVII
OF THE METHODIST IN PRISON
THE sound of laughter mingled with my dreams,
and I awoke. A number of men were standing
round me, and they laughed again at my
mystified face ; for at first I had no idea where I was.
Remembrance came all too soon, and with a groan I
struggled to my feet.
" When did you come here ? Answer civilly," said
a tall, thin fellow, who seemed to be the leader of the
rest.
" About midnight."
" What's your name ? "
" Lyte."
" What are you here for ? "
" On a charge of murder."
" Just as I told the lads while you were sleeping.
You've a reg'lar murderer's phiz. Think you're likely
to get off ? "
" I can't say."
" Are you one of us ? " and he addressed me in a
strange jargon I could not understand, evidently
thieves' cant.
I shook my head.
" Then what are you ? Anything in the smashing
line ? "
" No ; I'm a Methodist preacher."
IN PRISON 201
A roar of laughter burst from my audience.
" A Methodee ! A Methodee ! The devil ! but we'll
be having daily prayers now. Are you saved ? "
" ' Sing hey for the Methodist parson ;
Sing ho for the Ranter bold !
He kissed my wife ' "
" Hold your damn noise, will you ? " cried my ques-
tioner. " I want to find out something more about the
cove. Where's your little Bethel ? "
" I have no chapel. I'm a travelling preacher."
" How old are you ? "
" Twenty-one."
" You're young for holiness." Then he put his face
close to mine, and winked. " Any pretty girl to love
you ? "
I flushed angrily, and was silent.
" Come now ; won't you tell us whether she's dark
or fair."
" I refuse to answer any more of your questions.
What right have you to pester me in this way ? "
" I advise you to be civil, young feller. We lads
aren't over gentle with the young and insolent. But
never mind ; you've said your catechism like a good
boy, and I'll leave you alone till I've had some beer."
With that he went off to the other end of the room,
or " ward," where a bottle was going round.
A church clock close by struck nine, and I realised
that I was very hungry. But I had rather starve than
mix with the rough, profane crowd, devouring and
swilling meat and beer a few yards off. I lay down in
the cleanest spot I could find, and gave myself up to
thought.
I took advantage of my comparative solitude to slip
Enchmarsh's confession out of my stocking by no
202 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
means a convenient hiding-place back into my pocket.
I had been searched, in a very perfunctory manner, on
my arrival at the jail, and did not expect the ordeal
to be repeated till I was brought up for trial.
The sun rose higher, and fell with such fierceness on
the stones where I lay that I was forced to creep into
the shade. Here three men were stretched, talking so
foully that I hurriedly left them for the crowd, who,
I felt sure, had not viler tongues than they.
I found every one drowning their cares, and was
invited to join them. But I suffered no less from hunger
than from thirst, and asked for some food.
" Have you any coin ? " was the immediate question.
"Yes; but why?"
" Why ? Because you can't have any prog till you
tip us the blunt."
" I thought rations were provided by the prison
authorities."
" Do prime tripe and ham pie look like rations pro-
vided by the prison authorities, as you're kind enough
to call a pack of blessed old fools and knaves ? No, my
man this 'ere tripe and this 'ere pie have come from the
Lock and Fetters over the way, and must be paid for
in cash down."
" What does the prison provide in the way of food ? "
" Not enough for you to live on. No one lives on
prison rations unless they wants to escape hanging.
So which will you have, young feller, tripe or pie ? "
" I'll have some tripe. But I shall be ruined at this
rate."
" Haven't you any pals to keep you ? "
" I don't wish to be kept by my friends."
" Oh, we're a bit of a game-cock, are we ? Never
mind ; starvation will soon lower our crest."
IN PRISON 203
I did not answer, but fell to my helping of tripe,
supplemented by a mug of very bad ale. For this meal
I was obliged to pay just double the price I should have
paid under ordinary circumstances, which made my
heart sink, as I had only a few shillings left, and hated
the thought of borrowing.
The sun rose higher and the room grew hotter. By
noon the^atmosphere was suffocating, and men lay
stretched on the floor, panting like beasts. My lips
were cracked with thirst, for the ale was finished.
Outside in the street a girl was selling fruit, and every
now and then her voice floated into the stifling room and
mocked us
" Ripe cherries ! I cry,
Who'll buy, who'll buy?"
I opened my Bible, and tried to find comfort, but my
head ached, and I felt deadly sick.
At last the evening came and the horrible sun left
us for a bloody setting. Darkness fell and the stars
glittered. Far away in the fields the dew was shining
and the wind was rustling the grass. I thought of the
beech-woods where I had so often spent the night, of
the rabbits that used to waken me by scampering over
my body, of the toadstools, orange, yellow, and speckled,
that used to spring up round me while I slept. Perhaps
I should never see the fields and woods again, perhaps
I had enjoyed my last of singing birds, rustling grass,
falling dew, and scampering conies.
I was seized with a desperate longing for the open air.
I could have rushed at that stern iron door, shaken it,
kicked it, beaten out my brains against it. Why,
because a fellow-man is a murderer and a coward must
I lose all that makes life sweet ? I can endure this horrible
captivity no longer ; I must go back to the fields and
N
204 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
the wind. Next time the jailer comes round I shall ask
to see the governor ; I shall show him Enchmarsh's
confession ; I shall demand Enchmarsh's arrest ; I
get thee behind me, Satan ! I am here for love's sake,
and God is love, and God has said : " Whosoever shall
lose his life for My sake shall keep it unto life eternal."
There were no beds in the ward, only a few rugs, and
these were dirty and verminous. I shuddered at the
thought of spending a night under one of them, but
an icy wind sprang up, and seemed to pierce my very
bones.
I was standing watching my miserable companions
lie down and huddle together like cattle in winter, when
some one touched my elbow. I looked round, and saw
a young fellow of ragged yet genteel appearance, whom
I had noticed very drunk that morning.
" Excuse me, but you seem to have no friends in this
place. May I offer you a share of my rug ? "
" Thank you kindly, but I must not put you to such
discomfort."
" There will be no discomfort ; on the contrary, I
shall be all the warmer for an extra bedfellow."
" An extra bedfellow ? "
" I have one mate already, but he's so dirty that I
daren't lie closer to him than I can help. Do accept
my offer. Rugs are scarce, and you can't sleep without
one, for the nights are as old as the days are stifling."
I was grateful for his kindness, and availed myself of
it. We lay down under an exceedingly filthy rug,
and soon were joined by a dirty foul-tongued wretch,
who plagued us for an hour or more with stories of
the various bedfellows he had had in Lewes Jail, which
were neither amusing nor edifying. About eleven
o'clock there was silence, and we all tried to sleep.
IN PRISON 205
I hardly closed my eyes. All round me men snored
and shivered, moaned and cursed. Every now and then
a fellow would scream, and some of the younger ones
sobbed in their sleep. In spite of the cold the atmosphere
was stifling, and we lay so close that I could not stir
without touching the flesh of other men. One of my
bedfellows was, as I have already said, filthy in the ex-
treme, and even the other was far from clean I was not
clean myself ; it was impossible to be clean in such a
place.
Oh, the indescribable wretchedness of that night !
I panted and shivered at one and the same time ; I
longed and prayed for morning, though I knew it would
bring only a change of evils. The lad at my side moaned,
tossed, tumbled, and raved. Every now and then he
would, to my surprise, murmur a sentence from the
English Prayer Book : " That it may please Thee to
have mercy on all prisoners and captives, and on all who
are desolate and oppressed " " We do earnestly repent,
and are heartily sorry for those our misdoings. . . .
Have mercy upon us, most merciful Father." " Thou
hast laid me in the lowest pit, in a place of darkness and
in the deep. . . . Free among the dead, like unto those
that are wounded and lie in the grave, who are out of
remembrance." He talked louder and more frequently
than anyone else, and occasionally a restless prisoner
would wake him with a kick or a blow, and bid him
hold his tongue and be damned.
Surely sleeplessness and suffering would eventually
drive me mad ! But God is very merciful, and just
as my brain was reeling and my heart breaking under my
burden of loneliness, pain, and longing, He sent sweet
thoughts of my dead friend to cheer me. I realised
how near he was to me, though death divided us, how
206 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
he was now one of the cloud of witnesses who gazed
on my struggle and helped me by their prayers. And
when the white, trembling dawn showed up the prison
bars, a strange, half-fearful peace crept into my soul
and whispered, as the light grew stronger and stronger,
and showed me plainer and plainer the dirt, degradation,
and misery in the midst of which I lay : " Though ye
have lien among the pots, yet shall ye be as the wings
of a dove, which is covered with silver wings, and her
feathers like gold."
So in spite of the horrors of that night, I rose in a
fairly peaceful frame of mind. Most of my companions
lay till a late hour, for to many the sleep which had been
denied them in the darkness came with the dawn, and
by the reddening light I saw them lying in the stillness
of exhaustion, their sorrow-stamped faces showing how
bitter were their dreams.
About eight o'clock the ward was too noisy for any
more sleeping. The sleepers awoke, stretched, cursed,
groaned, and staggered, half-blind with drowsiness, to
where an early jug of ale was going from mouth to mouth.
I would have none of it. My stock of shillings was very
low, and as I was not hungry, I resolved to live that day
on prison fare. This, which consisted of a small loaf
and half a pint of water, was brought to me half an
hour later, and I sat down to breakfast in a distant
corner.
Here I was joined by my friend of the night. He
brought a bowl of porridge, which he insisted on
sharing with me. He evidently wished to make friends,
and though at first I was inclined to be reserved I
soon began to take an interest in him. He seemed to
have had some education, and his language was
clean.
IN PRISON 207
" I hope I did not disturb you much last night," he
said. " I fear that I rave terribly in my sleep."
" You talked a good deal especially about the
Prayer Book."
He flushed scarlet, then said hi a low voice :
" I was once a clergyman."
I was too much taken aback to reply.
" Yes," he continued, " for eighteen months I was
Vicar of Rowfant."
" Why, that is in Sussex ! I come from Sussex
too!"
" I knew it I knew it by your speech. You have
the Sussex drawl."
" Which is not pretty."
" No. But it is like home. It was that which made
me take kindly to you at once. You reminded me of
the old days."
I did not care to ply indiscreet questions, so was
silent, hoping that he would of his free will tell me more.
I was not disappointed, for after a few minutes' silence
he said :
" Yes, I was ordained very young, and appointed
to a living in the gift of a friend of my father's, Harold
Macaulay "
" What ! You know Macaulay ? "
"Yes. Do you?"
" Too well."
" So do I too well."
" You do not speak as if you loved him."
" I hate him I had a little sister, and "
" I understand. Have you heard that he has changed
his name ? He is now Squire Enchmarsh of Kitchen-
hour, in Sussex."
" I know it, and I shall give Sussex a wide birth, or
208 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
I may one day find myself in jail for murder. But to
go on with the story there's not much more of it.
Soon after my appointment to Rowfant Vicarage, some
terrible sorrows came upon me. I lost my sister not
through death and my mother, whom I loved above
all things, died of sickness brought on by grief. I was
half crazed with misery, and I did not seek comfort in
God I sought it in wine. My parishioners found me
drunk again and again, and at last I grew so ashamed
that I sent in my resignation to the Bishop, and went
to live where I could no longer offend Christ's flock by
my evil example. I soon fell into want, and one day I
faced starvation. I fought with the anguish for twenty-
four hours, but my better nature was weakened by
indulgence, and in the evening I stole a piece of bread."
" And you were caught ? "
" Caught in the act, and I remember that when they
arrested me I wept, not because I was a prisoner, and
likely to suffer cruelly, but because they had taken the
bread away."
" How long have you been in this place ? "
" Nigh two years a more lenient sentence than I
expected. I have only five more weeks to go through.
Oh, it has been worse than hell ! "
" Poor fellow ! "
" You must not pity me," he said simply ; " I do
not deserve it. You are here on a charge of murder,
are you not ? "
" Yes. What do you think of me ? "
" I am very sorry for you. Nowadays the guilty
often fare better than the innocent."
" Then you believe me innocent ! "
" Certainly I do."
The words were quietly uttered, and were called
IN PRISON 209
forth by nothing more reliable than a few disjointed
assertions I had made the preceding night, when we
lay together. But it is wonderful how they cheered
me. I wrung his hand, too deeply moved to speak, and
could hardly have felt more triumphant had I been
acquitted in full court.
The young parson and I sat together the whole
morning and talked of Sussex, of fields, woods, streams,
stars, and rain. He also gave me some information
about jail life and my fellow-prisoners.
There were nearly fifty men in the ward. Most of
them were thieves, pick-pockets, " shorters," and
" smashers," the off scouring of the county. Their
language was always foul, and they were always fuddled
with drink. There was almost as large a percentage
of brawlers, scraggers, and stabbers. These brought
their crimes with them to jail, and when in liquor made
the ward a very Bedlam with their violence. There
was a third class, not nearly so numerous, consisting of
men who had once been honest and respectable, but
who, owing to poverty, drink, or some sudden tempta-
tion, had committed a felony.
The wardsman, or chief prisoner, was the fellow who
had so minutely catechised me the day of my arrival.
No words of my comrade's could describe this wretch's
villainy ; it was to be brought home to me during the
terrible days which followed. Joe Timberlake had been
in jail for some years, and it seemed as if his object
were to sear away what faint marks of innocency yet
remained on the hearts of his comrades. He exercised
a horrible tyranny over the ward. The scoundrel had
in his possession one of the jailer's whips, and with this
I have seen him thrash a fellow till his clothes were in
ribbons.
210 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
He could do practically what he chose. The jailer
never interfered in fact, he abetted him. Sometimes
in the cold evenings Joe would light a fire for the cooking
of tripe, herrings, and sausages, and last, but not least,
for the heating of a poker, with which, when liquor
moved him, he inflicted gruesome tortures on the more
helpless of his comrades. If an ordinary prisoner had
ventured to do this the jailer would have had him flogged
almost to death, but because the tyrant was Timberlake,
he never showed himself in the ward, in spite of the
shrieks which proceeded from it on such occasions.
Once Joe, more drunk than usual, burnt out a victim's
eye. The poor wretch made such an outcry that the
governor heard it, and sent the jailer up to investigate.
He looked in and saw the fellow rolling over and over
on the ground, his hands covering his face ; he shook
his head at Timberlake, said that he would report him
if he did it again, and went away.
Every other day we were turned out into the prison
yard, that we might breathe a combination of smoke
and smell called " fresh air," and indulge in a few
occasional strides called " exercise." In the yard
prisoners were allowed to interview their friends, who
stood on the further side of an iron grating. Most of
my fellow-captives had friends, chiefly of the softer sex,
but my heart never beat with the hope of seeing a loved
face, and I skulked by myself on the opposite side of
the yard, watching enviously the interchange of
greeting.
One day as I lounged thus, and had taken my Bible
from my pocket for comfort, the young Sussex clergy-
man came up to me.
" There are some people wishing to see you."
IN PRISON 211
" To see me ! " My cheeks flushed and my eyes
glowed, but I assured him that he must be mistaken.
" Indeed, I'm not. They were asking for you by
name for Mr. Humphrey Lyte."
" Who are they ? Do you know ? "
" A man and a girl."
I dashed off across the yard. I expected to see Ruth
Shotover. But it was not the beloved face that smiled
on me, though the smile was just as sweet. Behind the
grating stood Mary Winde and her father. I held out
both my hands, while my heart was too full for speech.
" God bless you, lad," said Peter huskily.
" God bless you, sir. This is too great a kindness."
" It was the promptings of our hearts. Directly we
had Ruth Shotover's letter telling' us of your trouble,
Mary and I packed up our traps and came to Maid-
stone."
" How is it that you are so good to me ? So you
heard the news from Ruth Shotover. Do do you
know where she is now ? "
" She is in Maidstone."
My heart leaped and thumped, and my cheeks
flushed scarlet with joy.
" How long has she been here ? "
" She arrived yesterday with her brother and the
Wychellows."
Then Mary leaned forward, and put her hand in mine.
" Humphrey, have you heard that Ruth is no longer
engaged to Mr. Enchmarsh ? "
" I I no one told me."
" Well, it is true, and I'm not surprised in fact, it
is a mystery to me how they ever came to be engaged
at all. What should you say, Humphrey, if one day
she paid you a visit ? "
212 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
" Oh, Mary, tell me, did she ever hint that she might ? "
" Hint ! why, she has been on her knees to Sir Miles
Wychellow, begging him to take her ; she would have
come here to-day if the doctor had allowed it."
" Has she been ill, then ? "
" Yes, Humphrey, so ill that she could not leave
Ihornden till yesterday, and even then she would not
have left if Sir Miles had had his way. He wanted
her to remain quietly in the country, but she said :
" I shall go to Maidstone, and I shall stay there till
Humphrey Lyte is acquitted ! "
" Then she believes me innocent ! " My voice shook
with rapture.
" Yes, and so do I," said Mary.
" And so do I," said Peter.
" You are very kind."
" And credulous, some people would say. And let
me tell you, lad, that it's only because I know you to
be incapable of such a revolting crime that I believe
in your innocence. The evidence is dead against you.
Sir Miles swears to your guilt, though he thinks it's
very likely only a case of manslaughter. By the bye,
my lad, as you're a felon in the eye of the law, you won't
be allowed the benefit of counsel. Have you considered
what defence you shall make ? "
I shook my head.
" That's a piece of sinful neglect. Your life is too
precious to be thrown away. Hearken, lad Mary
and I had a long talk about you last night, and what
do you think was the result of it ? "
" Indeed, I cannot say."
" Why, we both vowed that you're keeping some-
thing back."
I set my teeth hard, then replied :
IN PRISON 213
" Why should you think that ? "
" Because you've behaved so strangely. You deny
the murder, but you won't give us a plain tale of what
happened, and when questioned you say silly things
which you afterwards confess to be untrue. You were
with John Palehouse the whole morning of the crime,
and you must know who committed it even if you weren't
an actual witness."
I was silent, and Peter continued :
" You're acting foolishly and wickedly. Your friends
can't help you unless you give them the facts."
" I leave that to Curate Kitson."
" Then you're a fool ! " exclaimed Peter.
" There is little doubt of that," I cried bitterly ;
" but, come, let us speak of happier things. Tell me
about Shoyswell and all the dear places round it.
Mary, are there many moon-daisies at Witherhurst, and
many wild fowl on the marshes of Lossenham ? Do you
remember how we used to gather cowslips at Socknersh ?
Are they all faded now ? "
She answered none of these questions, but once more
took my grimy hand in hers, and said :
" Humphrey, Ruth is free, and you too must be
free for her sake."
" The jury, not I, will decide that."
She was about to reply but was cut short by the
voice of the jailer ordering us away. So I wrung Peter's
hand, and kissed Mary's, and left them, thanking God
for two such friends.
I spent the next day in a state of feverish excitement,
and when, the morning after, the hour of our " fresh
air and exercise " drew near, I could scarcely contain
myself. My bright eyes and flushed cheeks made my
fellow-prisoners wonder and jeer.
214 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
Would Ruth come ? Should I see her ? I perplexed
my heart with useless questions. I could scarcely eat
for excitement. Oh, my darling, my darling ! When I
see you I shall forget all this misery and iron. I shall
forget that I am in prison, and think I am in
Paradise.
The ward door flew open with a clang, and out we
filed. Down the passage we tramped, a regiment of
rags and sorrow. A gust of wind blew in upon us as
the yard gate was flung back, and we poured into the
open space, stumbling and blinking in the unaccustomed
light. I pushed my way through the crowd to the
grating. I saw a little blue gown.
She stood in a throng of street-walking girls with
bold eyes and loud laughter. Vagabonds, loafers,
cadgers rubbed their tatters against her dress the
little blue dress in which I had first seen her. She
gripped the bars and leaned against them while her
eyes roamed from face to face. The next moment
she caught sight of me, and her lips parted with a
cry :
" Humphrey ! "
" Ruth ! "
It was all we said. I staggered against the bars, and
covered her hands with mine. I did not kiss her the
grating was too close, and round us stood a crowd of
leering, ogling, jibing scoundrels and courtesans.
" Dear," I said, after a long silence, " let us pretend
that this is the garden-gate."
" The garden-gate "
" Yes ; I want to forget the prison and you are to
forget it too. We are to talk of happy things, brightly,
merrily, as if only the garden-gate divided us."
" I'll try, Humphrey, but I don't feel merry."
IN PRISON 215
" Nor do I, Ruthie. Still, let's pretend."
" Have you heard ? about my freedom ? "
"Yes; Mary told me."
" I can't understand it, I "
She was interrupted by an exclamation from a figure
standing at her side, who might have been made of
wood for all the attention I had hitherto paid him, but
whom I now saw to be Sir Miles Wychellow.
" Egad, young people ! What the devil does all this
mean ? "
We both flushed crimson, and I realised that my
thoughtlessness had placed us hi an awkward and
shameful position. Sir Miles knew that we had not
met since the breaking off of Ruth's engagement, and
would naturally infer that we had been carrying on a
clandestine love affair while she was still betrothed to
Enchmarsh. I made haste to put matters straight.
" You are certainly entitled to an explanation, Sir
Miles. I I have loved Miss Shotover for many months."
" While she was betrothed to another man."
" True, and I confess that I allowed my passion to
overmaster me, and spoke words I had no right to utter.
But this dear lady put me to shame with her steadfast-
ness and purity, and even if John Palehouse had not
been killed and I been arrested, I shouldn't have stayed
another hour at Ihornden."
Sir Miles answered nothing, and I realised with a
pang that his silence was due to a natural reluctance
to tell a poor fellow who would soon be hanged that he
was an insolent dog to have aspired to the affections
of a lady like Ruth. True, I was of as good blood as
she, but I was a tramp, a beggar, a felon, and it was
as well that a noose should end my unlucky passion.
Ruth must have guessed what was passing through my
216 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
mind, for her eyes flashed, and she held my hand close
in hers.
I broke the embarrassing silence.
" Where is Enchmarsh ? "
" At Kitchenhour. Poor fellow ! He's in a bad
way. He was to have started for the Continent last
Tuesday to see some friends in Holland, I believe
but on his way from Ihornden to Sussex his horse
fell on him and broke his leg, so he's now lying at his
Manor in a devilish sorry state."
" And how is your brother, Ruthie ? "
" He's much better, dear " then she leaned forward
and whispered : " He has been much better ever since
my engagement was broken off."
" The Windes told me he was in Maidstone."
" Yes." Then I saw, rather than heard, her murmur :
" Poor Guy ! " There was on her face that look of
motherly tenderness she always wore when speaking of
her brother and my heart burned with strengthened
resolution.
" You look very poorly, dear boy," she added softly,
stroking my dirty hand.
" I don't feel so," I replied, lying.
" You look a regular ragamuffin ! " said Sir Miles
bluntly. " Have you no opportunities for washing
in jail ? "
" Not unless I use my drinking water, which is too
precious."
" Do you get enough to eat ? "
I did not answer, for I could see the jailer unlocking
the yard gates. Our moments of bliss were numbered.
" Oh, Humphrey ! " cried Ruth, "it's hard to leave
you in this dreadful place."
" Don't fret about me, child. You remember Love-
IN PRISON 217
lace's words : ' If I have freedom in my love, and in
my soul am free '
' Angels alone that soar above have not such
liberty/ " she finished gravely.
" Come in with you, and no loitering ! " shouted
the jailer.
CHAPTER XVIII
OF THE METHODIST AND MUCH STORM AND TROUBLE
WHAT astonished and touched me most during
the days which followed was the kindness
of my friends ; not only of those who, in
spite of appearances, believed me innocent, but of
those who thought the worst of me. Sir Miles Wychellow
lent me money I was forced to subdue my pride and
borrow, for I was starving Lady Wychellow knitted
me a jersey to wear during the terrible nights when I
could not sleep for the cold, and Mary Winde brought
me sweet oranges to slake my thirst during the terrible
days when I could not rest for the heat. I no
longer skulked alone while my fellow-prisoners greeted
their friends ; there was always a loved face at the
grating.
I did not see Ruth as often as I wished, and I realised
that it was only because I should almost certainly be
hanged I was allowed to see her at all. Sir Miles would
have done his best to part us, had he not believed
that the hangman would soon perform that office for
him.
Once Guy Shotover came to see me. I could not
tell by his manner whether he thought me innocent
or guilty, and with a tact wanting in many of my
visitors, he forebore any direct reference to my plight.
Ruth had told me that he had looked better since her
218
MUCH STORM AND TROUBLE 219
engagement was broken off, but in my opinion he looked
infinitely worse. His cheeks were redder and his eyes
brighter, it is true, but it was the bloom and brilliancy
of a decline. As I gazed at him, a voice within me cried :
" What is the avail of laying down your life ? This man
will not live another year." But I silenced the coward
in my heart. I did not know for a certainty that Shot-
over was dying ; he might have years and years of
life before him for aught I could tell. Besides, let
disease slay him, not my tongue !
Poor fellow ! I had forgiven him long ago, and my
heart was warm with love's brother, compassion, as I
looked into his miserable eyes and read their secret
the secret of a sin clamouring to be confessed for its own
sake. Soon afterwards he went back to Ewehurst. He
hated the town, and felt well enough to resume his
clerical duties.
A few days later Peter Winde received a subpoena
bidding him give evidence for the prosecution, who had
heard that it was he who had given me my pistol, and
wished him to identify it in court. There were and
could be no witnesses for the defence, and though I
occasionally considered what I might safely say on my
own behalf, I knew that I should be practically in the
position of an unarmed man attacked on all sides and
it was cruel to have Peter's hand among those uplifted
to strike me down. Mary would not be in Maidstone
for my trial. Her servant girl had fallen sick, and she
was obliged to go back to Shoyswell. The day before she
left she came to bid me good-bye.
" I shall be back as soon as possible, and I pray
that when I next see you it will not be through iron
bars."
" I pray the same, dear Mary."
220 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
" By the by, my lad," said Peter, " I've a piece of
news for you your family are in Maidstone ! "
" My family ! "
" Yes your father and mother and Mr. Clonmel
Lyte. They must have read of your arrest in the papers.
Do you want to send them any message ? '*
" There would be no use in that."
" Don't you think that their coming to Maidstone
is a sign that they've relented towards you ? "
I shook my head. My arrest and trial would furnish
my father with a good excuse for taking a holiday.
" If they wished to have anything to do with me, they
would have come to see me, or have sent me word.
Where are they staying ? "
" At the George. Mayn't I take them a message ?
They've served you badly, but they're your flesh and
blood."
" Perhaps you are right, Mr. Winde. Pray give my
father and mother my humble duty."
Peter promised, but no response was made.
My trial was to take place in a week, and many and
varied were the speculations in the jail as to what the
result would be. The general opinion was that I should
be " scragged," and as it was delightful to see a young
fellow turn pale and gnaw his lips, in spite of all his
efforts to play the game-cock, my comrades regaled me
with sickening stories of the gallows, which, owing
either to the clumsiness of the machinery or to the hang-
man's want of skill, was often the scene of frightful
agonies.
Sir Miles Wychellow paid me occasional visits,
apparently for no other purpose than to wring facts
from my unwilling lips. In this he believed he was
acting for my good. " If you would only explain
MUCH STORM AND TROUBLE 221
matters, instead of scowling and shaking your head,"
he cried one day when I had been more sullen than usual,
" begad ! the jury might bring in a verdict of man-
slaughter."
" Where would be my advantage ? The penalty for
manslaughter is the same as for murder."
" If you were found guilty of manslaughter, your
friends could easily get you a reprieve ; but if you're
sentenced for murder gad ! it's all up with you !
Several murders have been committed round here of
late, and the courts are putting down the evil with a
strong hand. So, young man, if once you're found
guilty of murder, you're hanged ! "
I brooded over these words for the rest of the day,
and parted with my last hope.
That night I dreamed a horrible dream. I dreamed
that I was dead, and that Enchmarsh had renewed
his persecution of Ruth. I woke trembling, and gripping
my companion's arm. I could not, dared not, sleep
again. I sat up and thought, my chin resting on my
hand.
It is strange, but till that night I had never con-
sidered the possibility of Enchmarsh returning to his
blackguardism after my death. I now realised that it
was not only a possibility it was a practical certainty.
What could I do ? Enchmarsh held his tongue only
for fear of mine, and when that tongue was silenced for
ever I shuddered. True, there was his confession
safe in my pocket ; but if that were found and read
at my death, I had died in vain. The secret of Ench-
marsh's crime must be kept ; I must destroy the fatal
paper on the morning of my execution. Then my
enemy would no longer have anything to fear, and
would once more make Ruth's life a burden and
222 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
a curse. Whichever way I acted I seemed bound
to thwart my own ends, to make my sacrifice of none
effect.
I groaned aloud in my perplexity, so that half the
ward woke up and swore at me. What was I to do ?
How was I to tie Enchmarsh's tongue after my own
was dust ? I prayed for guidance, and the thought
came to me, " Confide your secret to a friend ; pass it
on to one you can trust, who, strengthened with it,
will mount guard over Enchmarsh after you have laid
down your arms."
But whom should I tell ? Peter Winde ? Sir Miles
Wychellow ? I should have no opportunity for telling
them. Our meetings were in a crowd, and my secret
would run the risk of being heard by half the prison.
Besides, even if it were not so, I doubted if either of these
men would consider themselves justified in keeping
silence after my confession. They would probably
insist on the arrest of the real culprit, would drag me
from jail and publish abroad my sacrifice making it
useless.
Whom, then, could I confide in ? The dawn came
shuddering into the room, and showed me the faces
of my companions stern, degraded, peaceless. Then
the lad at my side stirred and moaned, for the cruel
light fell on his eyes, and roused him out of the sleep
into which he had only just fallen after a long night of
tossing.
What of him ? He seemed attached to me ; I had
reason to think him faithful ; he knew Enchmarsh,
and hated him. Nevertheless, I shrank from telling
him. But some one must be told, and whom could I
tell if not this fellow ? Peter Winde and Sir Miles were
out of the question ; so were all my friends except this
MUCH STORM AND TROUBLE 223
poor criminal. Would my secret be safe with him ?
I thought so. He was in prison for theft, but his crime
had been committed under the pressure of starvation ;
it was not the result of systematic dishonesty and
untrustworthiness. Yet he was a drunkard, and though
he fought with all the feeble strength of a weak will
and a weak constitution against his curse, I had seen
him drunk several times during the fortnight I had been
in prison. Could I confide the most precious secret
of my life to a drunkard, who might any day blab it
forth in his cups ? Yes, I could rely on him, for he
was not as the common toper, who talks and grins and
laughs, and opens his heart. Liquor made him sullen
and fierce, drove him into some lonely corner, where
he would lie with hidden face till at last he fell asleep,
to wake ashamed and in his right mind. But would he
be in a position to keep watch over Enchmarsh ? There
was no doubt of that. He had once told me that after
his release he was to go to his brother, who lived at
Woodchurch in South Kent, and had offered him a fresh
start in life at his farm. Woodchurch was only a matter
of fourteen miles from Kitchenhour.
I thought, and prayed over my thoughts, till
heat and sunshine would no longer suffer my com-
panions to sleep, and they struggled up, groan-
ing, and cursing the light that woke them to fresh
misery.
I awaited an opportunity for speaking alone with
my friend. It was not long in coming. While the rest
of the ward were trying to drown their newly-awakened
cares in washy ale, he came to me where I sat in the
furthest corner of the room, and offered me a share
of some meat he had managed to buy. I declined it,
but begged him to stay with me instead of going back
224 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
to the swilling crowd, some of whom were already
drunken.
" Only three weeks more," he said, " then I but
it's cruel of me to rejoice in this way when in three
weeks you "
" Will very likely be hanged. That's exactly what
I want to speak to you about. Come close ; I do not
wish the rest of the ward to hear."
He drew closer, and I whispered :
" I have something to tell you, but first of all you
must swear secrecy."
" I swear it," he said simply.
" Thank you. Perhaps you remember that when I
first came here you told me you thought me inno-
cent ? "
" I did and I do still."
" Well, I'm going to tell you who the real murderer
was."
He started back from me.
" You you don't mean to say you know ? "
" I know."
" Then why in God's name are you here ? "
" For reasons I shall soon tell you. Listen. I did
not commit the murder, but I witnessed it. The
real murderer is a man you know as well as I
do."
"Who? Tell me "
" Harold Enchmarsh."
The fellow's jaw dropped. He seized my arm, and
stared at me.
" Yes. Enchmarsh was my friend's cousin, and had
cruelly wronged him. High words passed between them,
and Enchmarsh in a fit of fury dashed out his kinsman's
brains."
MUCH STORM AND TROUBLE 225
" Then you are keeping silence to shield Ench-
marsh ? "
I laughed aloud.
" The devil, no ! I would have dragged him before a
magistrate that very hour, had he not threatened a
deadly injury to some one I loved."
" What injury ? "
" I cannot tell you. I am sworn to keep silence.
Let it suffice that it would have ruined a life dearer to
me than my own. I promised Enchmarsh his liberty
if he would swear to refrain his malice, and to break
off an engagement he had contracted with a girl who
hated him, but who was going to marry him for reasons
I again cannot give you."
" And he swore ? "
" Yes, he swore, and I went off happy, in spite of
my dear friend's death, for I knew that some one I
loved even more passionately would be saved from much
sorrow. An hour later I was a prisoner, accused of the
crime Enchmarsh had committed."
" Could you not clear yourself ? "
" Not without betraying Enchmarsh, which would
have meant the anguish of this poor girl I loved. I
tried to think of some other way ; I soon found out there
was no other way."
" So you suffered in silence ? "
" I have been silent up to now, and have suffered,
if you can call that suffering which is endured for love's
sake. But last night the thought came to me or rather
I chose to believe that God showed me in a dream
' When I am dead, Enchmarsh will no longer fear
betrayal, and he will renew his persecution of this girl I
love.' He will either force her once more into an engage-
ment with him, or he will bring on her the sorrow to
226 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
which I have already referred. Now, it is in this I want
you to help me."
" I will do anything in my power."
" It is in your power, I am sure. I merely want you,
when I am dead and you are free, to keep watch over
Enchmarsh, and if he in any way molests this girl, or
her brother, to drag him before a magistrate on a charge
of murder."
" My dear fellow, I would willingly oblige you, but
I fear that it would be useless for me to bring an accusa-
tion of murder against a man, having no proofs, no
evidence "
" But I have both. I have the fellow's full confession
in my pocket."
" You have ! "
" Yes. I made him write it out five minutes after the
crime. So I have a hold on him, and when I am dead
I do not wish that hold to be relinquished. I shall
give you the paper, and trust that, if need be, you will
use it."
" I shall, I swear ! But who is this girl, and
where does she live, that I may know if he molests
her ? "
" Her name is Ruth Shotover, and she and her
brother live at Ewehurst in Sussex."
" Not far from where I shall be."
" No. But I expect they will leave it soon. It is
too near Kitchenhour for their happiness. You must
find out where they go, and take care that Enchmarsh
does not visit them. If he should renew his engagement
with the girl, or molest her or her brother in any way
well, you know what to do."
" And I'll do it."
" I think you have seen Miss Shotover. She has
MUCH STORM AND TROUBLE 227
been here to visit me once or twice. She has red hair,
and "
" Ah, I remember her. She came with the magistrate
fellow who is always persecuting you for ' facts.' She
has a lovely face. I dreamed of her for two nights
afterwards. Her brother once came to see you, too,
didn't he ? "
" Yes ; and I'm glad you have seen both the Shot-
overs, as you will be better able to watch over them.
Now I shall show you the confession. But I shall not
give it to you till till we part."
He pressed my hand silently, and I drew the paper
out of my pocket.
" Here, read it. You see what power I have."
He read it, knitting his brows.
" How dearly you must love your Ruth to keep silence
with this in your possession. If I had loved a girl so
dearly I might have been a better man."
" You will leave the old life behind you in this jail,"
I said, deeply touched ; " you will go forward to nobler
things."
" I trust so I pray so. Dick has promised to give
me a fresh start. He was always a faithful brother to
me. By the by, we must let Enchmarsh know you have
told me this. I had better go to him directly I am re-
leased."
" Yes but, quick ! Give me the paper ! The
fellows are staring at us."
They did more than stare ; they rushed in a body
towards us before I had well thrust back the confession
into my pocket.
" Hello, Ranter ! What've you got there ? " cried
Timberlake.
" Nothing," I answered, trying to look unconcerned.
228 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
" That's a damn lie ! I saw you hide a paper some-
where about you. Let's have a look at it."
" I tell you I've nothing ! " I cried desperately.
" We'll soon see that. I bet you a hundred to one
he's hiding a love-letter. We've left you alone too long,
my fine feller. We're going to hear something about
that mort o' yours, and see her letters."
" I haven't got a letter."
" Let's see hold him, lads."
Two fellows seized my arms. The young clergy-
man interposed. " Here, hands off ! Fair play !
What if he has got a letter, you've no right to
see it."
" Might is right ! " shouted Timberlake. " Hold
fast, lads 1 "
He would have thrust his hand into my pocket, while
I raged and ground my teeth like an impotent beast ;
but my friend rushed at him and tore him away. There
was a frantic scuffle, and the next minute the poor lad
was lying unconscious, his arm broken.
Timberlake sneered.
" Now for our perfect lover," and his hand was in my
pocket.
A mist swam before me, and through it I dimly saw
the villain draw out the paper and unfold it. I gathered
myself together, and the next moment the fellows
who held me were rolling on the floor, and I was at
Timberlake's throat.
He staggered, but recovered himself, and we swayed
together. I tried to snatch the paper out of his hand,
but he was taller than I, and held it aloft, just out of
my reach. We struggled frantically, desperation giving
me a strength I had never hitherto possessed. I managed
to grip his great bare arm, and would have dragged it
MUCH STORM AND TROUBLE 229
down, but at that moment we reeled against the window.
Timberlake flung himself free.
" If I can't have it, you shan't," and the next moment
the precious fragment that I held dearer than my life
was whirling in the summer wind, fluttering, dancing,
and sulking slowly into the yard.
Then I verily believe that I lost my reason. With a
cry of fury and despair I flung myself on Timberlake,
and struggled like a beast to kill him. I wanted his
life. I was mad.
The rest of the ward, who, though the supporters
of the wardsman against his victims, did not love him
too dearly to enjoy seeing him paid in his own coin,
offered no interference, but stood watching us as we
tottered up and down the room. I clutched at his
throat, but he tore my fingers away, breaking one of
them. I tried to break his back, but he dragged my
head down against his shoulder, and pulled out handfuls
of my hair. Our clothes were soon in tatters, and our
breasts and shoulders uncovered. He was getting the
worst of it. I should soon kill him. He shouted, cursed,
and screamed. I was silent ; I only panted.
I tried to drag him against the wall and dash out
his brains, but he bit and tore my encircling arms, and
we staggered across the room, mauling one another like
two furious dogs. Near the middle of the ward lay my
poor friend ; we stumbled over his body, and down we
crashed. Who would rise first ?
For an instant we both lay stunned. Then I sprang
to my feet, and the next moment would have murdered
him, had not the door burst open and the jailer appeared.
I stood petrified, then suddenly came to my senses.
Timberlake rolled on the floor in agony. His thigh was
broken.
230 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
" How now, you beasts ! " shrieked the jailer. " What
hellish pranks are you up to ? "
My fellow-prisoners evidently thought it more to
their advantage to take Timberlake's part than mine.
" The Methodist's been mauling Joe ! " they shouted
with one accord.
" Oh, it's you, is it, you fighting devil ? " and he gave
me a blow in the face that nearly broke my jaw. "I'll
teach you to go murdering your wardsman " another
blow, and I measured my length on the ground.
" Here, you fellers, keep him down while I run for
help. You young beast ! I'll have the skin flayed off
your shoulders for this. Keep him down, I say sit
on him, stifle him, throttle him anything you please,
only keep him down."
My companions obeyed, nothing loth, and I was half
dead by the time the jailer returned with two sub-
warders and a surgeon for Timberlake, who had not
ceased to roll and scream.
All my fury was gone, and when I was at last
pulled to my feet, I stood shamed and mute, while
fetters were fastened on my wrists and ankles. Then
I was half-dragged, half-carried to the governor's
office.
The governor listened to the jailer's indictment, and
asked me if I had anything to say for myself.
As I could only shake my head, he ordered me a
flogging and three days' imprisonment in a dark cell.
No doubt I deserved both.
" Thank God that Ruth cannot see me now ! " I
thought, as they hurried me down the passage. " Would
she recognise this dishevelled, blood-stained, half-naked
wretch as her lover ? " The thought of Ruth was
poignant as death, for once more in front of her stretched
MUCH STORM AND TROUBLE 231
the old misery, and I was powerless to save her from it.
That scrap of paper which had meant her peace and mine
was gone lost for ever, whirled by the summer wind
out of sight or ken. My anguish of mind was too much
for my pain-enfeebled body, and I groaned.
The men thought it was horror at my punishment
which caused my misery, and one of them, who was a
humane fellow, tried to cheer me by saying that the
lashing would soon be over, and perhaps not so terrible
as I imagined ; and as for the dark cell, prisoners that
had the cat were only too glad of a little peace and quiet
afterwards.
" It's as well 'is mother can't see 'im."
The words seemed to come to me from a great way
off, as I was carried back along the passage. I was
conscious of little only that I was being carried, that
one man bore my head and another my legs, and that
one of my arms was hanging so that my hand dragged
along the floor.
We came to a door, and a jailer opened it. Surely
that was a black curtain which I saw stretched across
the entrance. No, for they pushed me into it. The door
shut with a hideous rattle of iron, and the blackness
wrapped round me. I tried to push it away, for it
pressed upon my eyeballs. Then I sank to the ground,
covering my face.
Consciousness slipped away, and I entered a hell of
dreams. I was at Brede Parsonage, working in the
oast-barn. Clonmel had just been flogging me, and I
was thinking how I could kill him. I saw him standing
at the corner of the great pasture-field, and stole after
him, leaving blood-marks on the grass where my feet
had pressed. But when he turned round to grapple me,
232 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
I saw the face of Harold Enchmarsh, and he shivered
like a ghost from my sight.
Then I was in a high, cloudy place, where a great
wind was shrieking, and in front of my eyes, dancing,
fluttering, whirling in the wind, was a tiny scrap of
paper. I struggled to catch it, but it eluded my grasp,
and suddenly I fell from the windy place, and conscious-
ness came back with a gasp of agony.
I knew where I was ; I remembered what had hap-
pened, and in vain I prayed God to kill both knowledge
and remembrance. I had been tied up and lashed like
a dog because I had behaved like a dog. My shirt was
saturated with something that was warm as well as wet.
I shuddered. Then suddenly I threw up my arms with
a cry of anguish, for I remembered that I was suffering
in vain. When I was dead Ruth would be in even a
worse plight than if at the beginning I had refused to
sacrifice myself, and had sent her brother to the
gibbet. I had no hope of living ; I could not clear
myself without the paper, which had no doubt by this
time been trodden an inch deep into the mud. I must
die, and Ruth must live on in misery deeper than that
from which I had struggled in prayers and anguish to
save her.
Oh, that I had allowed Timberlake to read the fatal
confession ! then at least I should have been free and
able to help her at least, I should not have been in
this foul hole, suffocating as a coffin, damp as a grave,
and black as hell. How long had I been there ? I
considered. It seemed an eternity, but I thought that
very likely my imprisonment had not lasted more than
twelve hours. How should I endure three days of it ?
I had heard of men leaving the dark cell as shrieking
lunatics. The horror of madness made me tremble. I
MUCH STORM AND TROUBLE 233
must do something to distract my thoughts to make
me forget the darkness, the airlessness, the damp, the
smell, the living things that crawled over my limbs, the
pains of my torn body. I tried to repeat a psalm, but
my mind was incapable of any sustained effort, and
agonising thoughts broke in upon the grand old words
of comfort : " The Lord is my shepherd. . . . The Lord
is my shepherd. . . " I murmured wildly, staring with
strained eyeballs into the dark " therefore can I lack
nothing . . . lack nothing. ..." I gave up the
attempt, for the rest of the psalm had fled from my mind,
leaving it a wilderness of terror. I was filled with a
vague, horrible fear, which I had often felt at Brede
Parsonage, which had often driven me to leave my bed
and entreat one of my brothers to take me into his, that
the contact of a warm human body might soothe away
the nameless horror that gripped me. I was now alone,
ill, broken in mind and body. I cowered down in a
corner of my prison, my hands clasped against my
breast, my eyes staring wildly into the dark. Oh, that
dreadful dark ! It seemed to enwrap my very soul ;
it seemed a loathsome material thing ; it seemed to
crush me. I felt blood trickling down my chin. What
had happened ? And I remembered. I had bitten my
lips to keep down my cries while I was being flogged, and
they still bled. I longed to lose consciousness once more,
for no phantasmagoria could be worse than the awful
reality, and at last I fell into a kind of waking dream.
I thought that I was walking with John Palehouse along
the Biddenden road. The wind was moaning, the clouds
were low. Then suddenly I lifted my eyes to his face,
and saw on his temple a little grey bruise. I shrieked
and awoke. " John, John ! " I cried, till the blackness
echoed. " I want you I want you come to me how
284 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
shall I bear this torture without you ? Come to me.
" Then God sent a merciful blank.
I was roused by a sudden stream of light. I thought
it was flames, and covered my face.
" 'Ere, take this." The warder kicked me, and
thrust a bowl of nauseous-looking gruel into my hands.
I tried to speak to him, but my parched lips refused
to utter, and it was not till he had all but shut the door
that I managed to gasp :
" How long have I been in this place ? "
" Maybe three hours," he said, and banged the
door.
I fell back with a moan. Three hours ! I had thought
it twelve, hoped it might be eighteen. I sobbed aloud
in anguish. I could not eat my supper. The smell
of it alone made me feel sick. I was terribly thirsty.
Oh, that they would give me a drink of water ! I
beat on the door and cried to the jailer, but no one
heard.
I resolved to try to sleep, but my shoulders were so
lacerated that I could not lie on my back or side, so I
stretched myself on my face and prayed God to let
me sleep or better still die.
I did neither.
At last morning came, and when the jailer brought
me a fresh relay of gruel, I caught the skirt of his coat
for I could not lift myself from the ground and
prayed him to bring me some water for Christ's sake.
He muttered something about " being aginst orders,"
but the light falling on my face showed him my black,
cracked lips, and he had compassion on me. He fetched
me a jug of fairly clean water, and left it with me in
my cell.
The rest of the day I s-^ent chiefly in dozing, dreaming,
MUCH STORM AND TROUBLE 235
or raving. I slept all that night, but an attempt to
eat my gruel resulted in a dreadful attack of sickness,
which left me so weak that I could hardly move or
breathe.
Nevertheless, my mind was more calm and unclouded,
and I began to rack my brains for some way of main-
taining my hold on Enchmarsh, even though his con-
fession was lost. It did not take me long to realise
that this would be impossible. The confession was the
only weapon which I could rely on, and without it I
was powerless. There seemed no way out of my misery.
Ruth's heart and mine must be broken on the same
wheel. I ground my teeth and moaned. True, Ench-
marsh had no idea that I had lost the paper ; he would
make no attempt to molest the poor child during my
lifetime, but after my death Oh, it was too horrible
to contemplate. I had suffered in vain, sacrificed my
good name, offered up my life in vain. Oh, that I
could only live ! Let Guy Shotover perish a thousand
times rather than that my poor dear should be perse-
cuted, tortured, and shamed by the man from whom
I had thought to have saved her for ever. Should
I tell my story to the governor, and denounce Ench-
marsh, trusting that I should be able without the paper
to prove my assertions ? Vain thought ! I could never
do that. Such an action would merely blacken me as
a coward, who tried to save himself at the last moment
by shifting the burden of his guilt on to another man.
If I was to die, at least I should die courageously.
Men should say : "He was a blackguard, but he died
well."
At last the third day came, and the blessed light
streamed in upon me, no more to be shut away till
236 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
my eyes filmed and closed for ever. I could scarcely
stagger up from the floor, and I could not see the jailer's
face, so dazzling was the unaccustomed brightness.
He dragged me back to the ward, unlocked the door,
and pushed me in. I still wore my chains, for I was
considered a dangerous prisoner, and no longer allowed
to go unfettered.
I expected my former comrades to insult, perhaps
to ill-treat me, but they took no notice beyond to nudge
one another and leer, as with a jingle of chains I sank
down against the wall, too weak to do more than breathe.
I was still unaccustomed to the light in fact, it was
a few days ere I could see as before and lay with my
eyes shut. I did not hear a soft footfall approach me,
and started when a hand touched my shoulder.
I looked up, and saw my friend, the young clergyman,
his arm in a sling. He sat down beside me, and without
a word slipped something into my hand. My fingers
closed round it mechanically, and I wondered half-
stupidly what it could be.
" It's your paper," said my friend gently, seeing
how dazed I was.
" Enchmarsh's confession ! " I cried incredulously.
" Yes. I found it in the yard when we were turned
out there the other day. It had drifted on to a pile of
rubbish."
My joy was so great and my body so weak that I
nearly swooned. For a few moments I could not speak,
but could only lie clasping the precious paper to my
heart.
" You'd better stow it away," said my friend ; and
as I was too weak and dazed to do anything for myself,
he unclasped my hot hand, took the paper, and thrust
it into my pocket.
MUCH STORM AND TROUBLE 237
" I am loth to trouble you when you are so ill," he
continued, " but I think it right that you should know
that the paper is practically illegible."
" What has happened ? " I asked faintly, only half
understanding him.
" It has been rained upon, and has been sadly torn.
It is decipherable now, but a month hence it will be
of no use to us whatever."
" What can I do ? "
" Ask Enchmarsh to send you another, written fairly
in ink. He will not dare refuse you."
" But how can I communicate with him ? I
thought "
" It is generally impossible to send secret letters from
jail, I confess. But we are unusually fortunate. One
of the fellows here is to be released to-morrow, and
will smuggle to Kitchenhour whatever you choose to
write."
" Can he be trusted ? "
" Implicitly. I've employed him before this, and he
has never failed me."
" But I have no paper."
" Josh Parkins has some, and will sell you a sheet for
half a crown."
" I've no money."
" Yes, you have. I saw the magistrate fellow in
the yard yesterday. I told him what trouble you
were in, and he gave me a quid for you when you
should come out. It was very good of him to trust
me."
" Did did you see Ruth ? "
" The girl you love, for whose sake you have suffered
so terribly ? "
" Yes I love her did you see her ? "
238 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
He nodded, and pressed my hand.
" Did you tell her ? "
" Yes."
" That I tried to kill Timberlake ? "
" I never knew you tried to kill Timberlake."
" I did. I wanted to break his back. Where is he ?
Is he here ? "
" No. He's been removed to the infirmary."
" Thank God ! Then then didn't Ruth know I tried
to kill Timberlake ? "
" No ; I told her what I knew myself, and, of course,
not all of that."
" She ought to know she ought to know the worst
of me."
" Don't bother your poor head about that. You'll
see her yourself soon."
" Did she cry ? Was she unhappy when you told
her I'd been flogged ? "
" I did not mention the flogging."
" Thank you."
" I told her you had been put in solitary confinement
for three days. I thought it best to say nothing about
the dark cell. But, come now, poor lad, try and rest
a bit. Lean against me."
" Did Ruth send me a message ? "
" She sent you her love."
" Did she wear a blue gown ? " I continued, hardly
knowing what I said.
" Yes and she was so lovely ! But you mustn't
speak any more ; your poor brain's all confused."
He lifted me, and let my flayed shoulders rest against
him instead of the wall. I closed my eyes.
" What about Enchmarsh's letter ? " I asked sud-
denly.
MUCH STORM AND TROUBLE 239
" We needn't trouble about that till the evening.
Go to sleep now."
God bless the good fellow ! For the rest of that
day he held me up against him, soothed me when I was
delirious, covered me with his own coat when I was
cold, and gave me to drink when I was consumed with
fever and thirst. During the afternoon I slept a little,
and woke refreshed, both in mind and body. I was still
very weak, but felt myself able to grapple with my letter
to Enchmarsh, the writing of which must not be delayed
any longer.
My friend bought a sheet of Josh Parkins's paper.
Parkins had been doing a roaring trade that day, for
his fellow-prisoners, discovering that paper was to be
had, were consumed with a desire to write love-
letters. Seeing his goods in such demand, he be-
came autocratic, and raised his prices. My sheet a
very dirty crumpled specimen cost me exactly three
shillings, and I believe that the last piece went for
a crown.
My friend had picked up a piece of stick, which would
serve as a pen, but we had no ink. So we used the only
available substitute, of which, thanks to the tortures
I had lately undergone, there was no lack, and when the
ghastly crimson scrawl was finished my friend went in
search of our confederate.
He was a tall, wiry, sly-looking man, and did not
prepossess me in the least. But my friend insisted on
his trustworthiness, and I asked him how much he would
charge for taking a letter with all possible speed to
Kitchenhour in Sussex.
He scratched his head, leered, and named an exorbi-
tant price, quite impossible for me to pay. I told him
that he must ask less, and after a great deal of wrangling
240 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
he consented to serve me for half the money I possessed,
the other half to be made over to him on his return with
an answer to my letter. This would mean living on
prison diet for a week or more, but my appetite was
gone, so I did not fear the ordeal, under which many
men had died.
" And 'ow shall oi get to Kitchenhour, mister ?
Oi've been in Ew'ust village, and can find my way to't
well enough from 'ere. But where's Kitchen'am
Kitchenhour or wotever yer calls it ? "
" You leave the high-road just after you come to
Mockbeggar," I cried excitedly ; " there's a clump of
larches on the left-hand side of the way, and a mavis
sings there. You go on till you come to a stretch of
down all golden with furze, and you can see the Rother
in the valley, and the marshes, and the dykes, and
and "
My voice trailed off in a sob of anguished longing, and
I fell back, hiding my face.
My friend tried to comfort me. " There, there !
Perhaps you'll see it all for yourself soon. But,
come, tell Pearson where he's to go when he leaves
the down."
" You can see Kitchenhour from the down," I said
brokenly ; " it's the stone house on the edge of Wet
Level. You can't mistake it and listen," I added, as he
was about to take himself off, " you're to give that letter
into the Squire's own hand. No doubt he'll be in bed ;
he's broken his leg. But never mind, insist on seeing
him. And make all the haste you can, and bring the
answer to the yard grating, and and remember, it's
a matter of deathly secrecy."
The fellow nodded and slouched away.
The next morning the prison gates opened to him,
MUCH STORM AND TROUBLE 241
and he went out into the sun and wind. My heart
went with him, and all day long, while my body lay
agonised in the stifling heat, my heart was in the fields,
among the flowers, and the sobbing notes of stock-
doves.
CHAPTER XIX
OF THE METHODIST AND THE STRETCHED-OUT
ARM OF THE LORD
THE day of my trial was wet and windy. I drove
through the streets in a closed hackney, with
the blinds down. Fortunately I had a sound con-
stitution, and was almost recovered from my weakness
and fever, though I was still far from well. I had
never been in a Court of Justice before, and the strange-
ness of the situation, together with the stare of a thou-
sand eyes, threw me completely out of countenance.
I entered the dock pale and trembling, catching my
breath, and clutching my throat as if I already felt a
rope there.
My trial had evidently created much interest, for the
court was thronged. Here and there among the press
I saw the severe black garb and stern ascetic face of
some minister of Bethel or Salem come to watch the
fate of a fellow-Methodist. Women were there, at-
tracted, no doubt, by my romantic story, of which, it
appears, several new and enlarged editions were being
circulated in Maidstone. I saw many parsons of the
Established Church, among them Curate Kitson and
the Rector of All Saints', Hastings. Some faces were
hostile, some were friendly, some mocking, some curious,
all interested.
242
THE ARM OF THE LORD 243
Not far off were my father, my mother, and Clonmel.
It seemed impossible that barely five months had
elapsed since I left Brede Parsonage, but I could see how
that short time of stress and trouble had altered me
by the looks of my family as they stared at my white
scarred face.
I saw Peter Winde among the crowd, with Sir Miles
and Lady Wychellow. But my eyes did not rest on
them ; they wandered anxiously, till at last they fell
on Ruth. She was pale, but her lips were very red,
and her eyes bright as December stars. She did not
smile or wave her hand, but her eyes, with her love
sitting in them, looked into mine, and our hearts
met.
She was so sweet and childlike in her wide hat and
muslin gown. I noticed that many girls and women
cast envious glances at her as she sat, a dainty bunch of
green, beside Lady Wychellow. Surely they would have
laughed loud in mockery and disbelief had they been told
that she loved and was loved by the felon in the dock,
whose coarse blue shirt was so ragged that one saw his
skin through the rents, whose hair was all matted over
his eyes, and whose fierce black brows were bent in a
perpetual frown.
The judge was a massively-built, unctuous-looking
fellow, with large white hands, and a multitude of
rings. Though slow of speech and movement, he was
evidently sound of thought, for his remarks showed
penetration and a firm grasp of the case. The prose-
cuting counsel was a man of refined presence and
graceful manner. He had a wonderfully mellow
voice, and I liked the straightforward glance of his
eyes.
From the first I saw that everything was hopeless.
244 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
As I listened to counsel's opening speech I realised that
had I been an unprejudiced spectator I should have at
once set down the prisoner at the bar as guilty ; the
case was so clearly made out against me. Not one
damning circumstance was forgotten -the corpse, the
pistol, my flight, my lies, my confession that John
Palehouse and I had been alone the whole morning ;
all these facts were laid calmly, concisely before the
court. Counsel dwelt on my guilty looks, on my alternate
refuges in lies and silence ; he pointed out how I had
started, coloured, and nearly swooned at the sight of
the pistol, and though continuing to deny my guilt, had
been unable to account for my weapon or prove my
innocence. In all this he was strictly fair ; there was
no exaggeration, no misrepresentation. But the calm
words were deadly, and when at length he sat down, I
saw by the faces round me that my life was not considered
worth a farthing's purchase.
The evidence of Curate Kitson and of Pitcher and
Green was then heard, and though I had a right to
cross-examine the witnesses I did not avail myself of
it. Where would be the use ? I could prove nothing.
After Mr. Green had finished stammering and stirring
up the devil in counsel, Peter Winde was called to iden-
tify my pistol as his gift. Poor fellow, how his voice
trembled ! Then the Cranbrook doctor entered the
witness-box, and a long discussion followed as to the
cause of the bruise on the deceased's forehead. Counsel
asked if the prisoner's story of the fall into Plurenden
Quarry was possible, considering the nature of the
injuries, and the surgeon replied that there were on the
body no traces whatever of a fall the neck was not
broken, there were no fractures elsewhere, and no
bruises except that on the temple. Again I was asked
THE ARM OF THE LORD 245
if I wished to cross-examine the witness, and again I
shook my head. Then, as it was nearly five o'clock, the
court adjourned, and I was led from the dock. The next
day Sir Miles Wychellow was to give evidence ; I
should make a pitiful effort at my own defence, should
see the judge put on the black cap, hear the sentence
read. Then I put up my hands to my throat and
shuddered.
The wind was still high, but the rain-clouds had rolled
away, and the sky was blue, and bright with the golden
glow of afternoon. The people thronged me as I stood
waiting for the hackney which was to take me back to
jail, and suddenly Clonmel came elbowing his way
through the crowd, followed by my father, with my
mother on his arm.
" Parson Lyte's coach for the George ! " yelled my
brother. Then his eyes met mine, and he grinned.
My father stood close by me, but with averted face.
My mother's sleeve brushed my arm. She also was look-
ing the other way, but every now and then I saw her
neck twitch with the longing she had to turn it. Some-
thing snapped in my breast.
" Mother ! " I said jerkily and hoarsely.
She turned.
" H Humphrey how your face is scarred ! "
That was all. Her coach rolled up, and my father
helped her into it. Then he and Clonmel jumped in
beside her and shut the door. They rattled off over
the cobbles, and I was soon on my way back to jail.
During the coal-dark August night, while men slept
and shivered round me, I lay awake preparing myself
for death. I knew that the time of grace allowed me
after the sentence was passed would be all too short,
and I should not even have the consolation of being put
246 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
in a separate cell. The condemned cells were full of the
overflowings of the infirmary, of men whom disease,
not Mr. Justice, had sentenced. I should have to make
what preparation I could among the drunkenness,
the lewdness and the violence of the felon's ward.
So I prayed God to help me to forgive the men who
had shamed my body and trodden down my soul,
and to forgive me, who needed forgiveness more than
they all. Then my mind wandered ever since my
punishment in the dark cell I had had delirium at nights
and I thought that I was lying in a great field, bathed
in misty starlight, that my suffering and degradation
had been a dream. But I woke from this blessed state
of semiconsciousness, and realised that I lay with other
wretches in a foul hole where most men would not
suffer their cattle to sleep.
I thought of the prisoner who had a few days ago
gone out into the fresh air and sun and rain. I wondered
where he was. He had no doubt delivered my letter,
and was hastening back with the reply. Perhaps he
was at this very moment walking through the dark
mysterious lanes, his nostrils sweet with the smell of
the country at night, of sleeping earth and dew-wet
grass, his ears thrilling with mysterious night sounds
the flutter of birds suddenly awakened, the howl of a
little breeze imprisoned in a cave of bramble and crack-
willow, the splash of hidden water falling, the rustle of
bracken under a rabbit's feet. Or perhaps he lay asleep
in a sheltered field, where the mushrooms spread their
tents, and where the thrushes would wake him at the
fading of the stars.
Towards morning I slept, and dreamed a dream which
I am sure was not born of memory. For I dreamed
that I was a little child again, and that I sat on my
THE ARM OF THE LORD 247
mother's knee, while she combed my hair in the fire-
light. I woke as a neighbouring clock struck four, and
knew, as I saw the ghastly yellow splash the pale sky
outside the grating, that the day of fate had broken.
I could eat no breakfast. I felt sick and faint, and
my hands shook. It was strange that I should recoil
at the touch of death, I who had so often prayed for
it. How I should have rejoiced as a boy at Brede
Parsonage if God had said, " This night thy soul shall
be required of thee ! " All was changed now ; life
was no longer a drink of deadly wine. Besides, there is
a difference between dying quietly in one's bed, when
the body is so sick and tired that it would fain be
dissolved, and having one's life choked out of one by
hemp and a fellow-creature's hands, when the body
is sound and warm and full of vigour.
But I forced myself to be calm. I would not meet
death like a coward, when the wretched dregs of human
kind faced him with a song and a snap of their fingers,
joked with the hangman, and laughed in their throes.
I walked quietly out of the jail between two warders,
and took my seat in the hackney without blanching.
The fellows well knew what was passing in my mind ;
they were familiar with pitiful efforts at self-control,
which too often broke down ignominiously.
" There's an infernal jamb in the streets," said one
to the other.
" What's up ? "
" Can't say. Looks as if it had something to do
with " and he leered at me.
The streets were certainly very crowded ; all round
me rose and fell the hum of people's voices. Had they
come to hear me sentenced ? To see whether I blanched
or trembled, threw up my arms, or called on God ?
248 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
The nearer we drew to the assize courts the louder
swelled the noise, and as we entered the High Street
there was a sudden burst of cheering. I stared in amaze-
ment from one to the other of my guards. The cheering
redoubled, and I made a dash at the blind to pull it
aside but was promptly seized and flung back into my
seat.
When we came to the court we found a dense crowd
assembled, who thronged us as we alighted.
" Three cheers for the Methodee ! Good luck to yer,
me lad. May the judge rot if you're scragged ! "
I was about to question the warders, who hustled me
into the building, but before I could speak the door
of an ante-room opened, and Sir Miles dashed out.
" Humphrey, was it you who arranged all this ? "
" I ? Arranged what ? "
" Egad ! This coup de theatre. Haven't you heard
anything about it ? "
" No. One doesn't hear news in prison."
" It's all over the town. Wait a moment, warders ;
I must have a word with the prisoner. Miss Mary
Winde has come up from Sussex with the Ewehurst
constable, and Parson Taylor of Northiam, and gad !
Humphrey, you don't mean to say you know nothing
of this ? "
" Nothing absolutely nothing, I swear it ! For
God's sake, tell me more ! "
" Well, Miss Mary has brought Shotover with her."
" Shotover ! "
" Yes. Little Ruthie's brother with gyves too !
The very devil's in it. And hark ye here, young man,
a letter has been found, and Enchmarsh of Kitchen-
hour has been arrested, and he has killed himself.
Here, jailer, quick ! Some water !"
THE ARM OF THE LORD 249
I had staggered back against him, and would have
fallen had he not caught me in his arms. They made
me swallow some water, and I recovered sufficiently
to be able to stand and speak.
" Tell me about Enchmarsh and Shotover where
is he ? "
" In the doctor's hands, spitting blood and dying
fast."
"Dying! Good God !"
" It's the best thing he can do for himself, poor
wretch. He has been arrested for murder on his own
confession. Young man " laying his hand on my
arm " is it true that you have been shielding him ? "
I stared at him blankly, hardly realising what he
said.
" Is it true ? " he repeated almost fiercely.
" Take me into court," I cried, turning to the warders ;
and much to my relief they led me away.
" Sir Miles wants me to give him facts ; it's always
' facts/ " I informed them, not knowing what I said.
On my appearance in dock there was a slight burst
of cheering, which was subdued by angry cries of
" Silence ! " I scarcely noticed it. In fact, I noticed
nothing but two faces Mary Winde's and Ruth's.
Mary's cheeks were flushed with tears ; Ruth sat
with her head against Lady Wychellow's shoulder ; her
face was tear-stained, but her eyes were dry.
It was all like a dream. I listened with closed eyes
and throbbing temples while counsel rose and addressed
the court.
" My lord," he said, " I have to address your lordship
to-day under most unusual circumstances. Since I
opened the case on behalf of the Crown yesterday,
I have become acquainted with certain facts which I
250 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
consider myself bound to examine closely. The reason
for my bringing them to your lordship's notice at this
stage of the trial is that if your lordship is satisfied, as
I must say I am, that they point to the prisoner's
innocence, it will be desirable to sift them thoroughly,
and possibly to ask the jury to say that Lyte is not
guilty."
There was a murmur in the court, but the ushers
silenced it, and when quiet was once more established
counsel continued rapidly :
" I will hand your lordship a letter which was found
in the possession of a man who appears to have been
entrusted with it by the prisoner, and I can prove by
the evidence of the person who found it that it is in
the prisoner's handwriting."
The judge, who had listened attentively, interrupted
for the first time.
" What, then ? " he said abruptly. " How can the
prisoner's letter be evidence in his favour ? "
"It is the prosecution which produces it, my lord,"
said counsel blandly, " and if your lordship will allow
me to read it, it will be found to contain references to
another document which your lordship will perhaps
assist us to obtain in the interest of justice."
Then a filthy scrap of paper, grimy, damp, and
scrawled over with blood, was passed up to the judge,
who held it between his finger-tips, glanced at it and laid
it on the desk before him. There was no need for me
to look at it more closely, I knew it only too well. I
trembled from head to foot ; a mad, desperate, animal
joy contended in my heart with a sorrow and a compas-
sion which I thank God were real enough. I was cleared ;
my name was clean ; my body would soon be free.
Yet, on the other hand, Shotover was arrested, and Ruth
THE ARM OF THE LORD 251
was swallowing the dregs of humiliation and grief. But
not through me. There lay the whole point of the matter.
It was not I who had spoken ; it was God That I
should save my life by sending Ruth's brother to the
gallows was horrible, loathsome, too dreadful to think
of, but that God should deliver me without any act
or word of mine, with His mighty hand and His
stretched-out arm, was a matter for awe, bowed head,
and thankful heart.
The judge had evidently read some of my note, for
he was eyeing me inquisitively and, as I thought,
interrogatively. At any rate, I ventured to speak, and
said in a low voice :
" I wrote that letter."
" Perhaps, my lord," said counsel quickly, " that
admission will suffice for the present, if I may read a
copy of the letter which I have here. I can bring
forward more formal proof at a later stage."
The judge acquiesced, and counsel read :
To Harold Enchmarsh, Esq., Kitchenhour, Sussex.
" THE confession you wrote for me in Plurenden
Quarry is by this time very torn and faded. It is still
legible, and I can still hang you with it, but I wish
you to write me out another, fairly, in ink, for I have
revealed our secret to a third party, with a view to
protecting the Shotovers from your blackguardism
after I am dead. The fellow is to be trusted. You
know him. His name is Gerald Frome, and he was
once Vicar of Rowfant. If you refuse to do as I wish
I shall immediately throw up the whole concern, so
send me the confession at once by the bearer of this.
I shall give it to Frome, and if you ever renew your
engagement with Miss Shotover, or bring about her
Q
252 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
brother's arrest or death, he will see you hanged for the
murder of John Palehouse.
" HUMPHREY LYTE."
There was nothing for me to say. Counsel, judge, and
jury seemed to be pursuing their own course without
reference to me. The first-named had evidently made
careful plans as to the procedure he should follow.
He continued his speech, and I soon became aware
that if not speaking to me, he was speaking at me,
and expected my intervention.
" I am not going to say just yet how the letter came
into our hands ; I shall leave that to my witness, Mary
Winde. There is, however, one link in the chain ap-
parently missing, and I think, my lord, that the prisoner
alone can supply it. The letter refers to a document
alleged to incriminate Enchmarsh directly. If that
exists the prisoner can produce it or can give us some
clue as to where it is. If necessary we can have him
searched again, an operation which has perhaps not
been performed as carefully as it might."
I went from red to pale. I had grown so accustomed
to the zealous guarding of my secret that I could not
even now pluck forth my deliverance.
" Unless the prisoner can show the court this confes-
sion," pursued counsel, in the tone of one giving dis-
interested advice on a comparatively unimportant
matter, " the authenticity of the letter may be
doubted."
I saw Ruth lift her head, and a quick glance of
anxiety flashed into her eyes. I realised that now Shot-
over was arrested and Enchmarsh dead, an attempt at
concealment on my part would do more harm than any
revelation I might choose to make. So I thrust my hand
THE ARM OF THE LORD 253
into my pocket, and drew out that paper of many
vicissitudes.
It was barely legible. It was torn almost in half,
smudged, and soiled. Counsel gave a shrug as he took
it into his hands.
" I don't wonder the prisoner asked for a new one,"
he remarked. Then he read it :
" I, Harold Enchmarsh, hereby declare that I murdered
my cousin, John Palehouse, by striking him on the
temple with a pistol, in Plurenden Quarry, on the
fourteenth of July, 1799."
There was sensation in court, and some promptly
suppressed cheering. I saw the colour mount and glow
on Ruth's cheeks. Then suddenly everything was
swallowed up in mist, and I reeled.
" You may sit down, Lyte," said the judge, his voice
seeming to come from a long way off ; and I sank on
the bench behind me, dazed and weak.
Counsel made an observation to the effect that he
had persons present who knew Enchmarsh 's hand-
writing, but no one seemed to think that the confession
was likely to prove a forgery, so he continued his
narrative.
Shortly after the adjournment of the court on the
preceding day he had received a message from his
attorney telling him that four witnesses for the defence
had arrived from Sussex with evidence that might
alter the whole course of the trial. Impressed by the
short summary of the evidence given in the attorney's
note, and considering himself bound by all the tradi-
tions of the Bar to see that justice was done in an un-
defended case, counsel had taken the unusual step of
having three of the witnesses Mary Winde, a farmer's
254 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
daughter from near Ticehurst ; James Apps, constable
of Ewehurst ; and the Reverend Barnabas Taylor,
Rector of Northiam brought before him at his lodg-
ings. The fourth witness the Reverend Guy Shotover,
curate of Ewehurst was too ill to be interviewed.
The accounts given by the three witnesses satisfied
counsel that the murderer of John Palehouse was not
Lyte, but one Harold Enchmarsh, Squire of Kitchenhour,
who took poison shortly after his arrest.
Mary Winde then entered the witness-box, and the
court listened, gaping, to her evidence. As for me, I
could only sit with closed eyes, and trace the hand of
the Lord in all that had taken place.
The prisoner Pearson must have left jail with the
seeds of typhus on him, for, smitten with disease, he
had wandered from his track, and Mary had found him
unconscious in Shoyswell Lane. None of the restora-
tives that she and her maid applied could unseal his
lips, which long before the doctor arrived had stiffened
into death. Mary searched his pockets for some clue
as to his identity and found the letter ! She read it,
and at once realised the following facts : I was innocent ;
I was keeping silence to shield one or both of the Shot-
overs ; Enchmarsh was the real murderer. At first
she thought of hastening to the nearest constable and
demanding Enchmarsh's arrest, but on reflection de-
cided to go first to Guy Shotover. " Arrest or death ! "
She realised that Shotover must have committed some
crime for which Enchmarsh could hang him, but as to
which, in order to save his own skin, he had promised
to hold his tongue. So she saddled her horse, rode off
to Ewehurst, and found the curate in his study. She
told him what had happened, that Humphrey Lyte was
going to his death in order to shield him and his
THE ARM OF THE LORD 255
sister, showed him the letter, and begged him to
explain it.
She described in a few words the interview which
followed, but my imagination filled in the blanks. I
saw the little lamp-lit room, where Ruth and I had so
often sat and played with her black kitten ; I saw
Guy's face, haggard, terrified ; I saw Mary's, resolute,
passionate. I heard him lie, vacillate, prevaricate ;
I heard her insist, command, implore. The coward was
brought to bay by a girl. His mind, once set on the
right track, leapt to the right conclusion Enchmarsh
had murdered John Palehouse, but had bargained for
his life with the only witness of his crime. What that
bargain was the curate also knew. He knew that it
was his own worthless life made a burden even to
himself by remorse and fear that stood between an
innocent man and his liberty. How that man had come
to know his secret, the ghost which he thought walked
only in his own dreams and Ruth's, he could but
guess.
Mary had no mercy on him ; she wrung his confession
from him. Then she did what only a woman would
have the tact, the enterprise, the fearlessness to do ;
she appealed to his courage. She bade that miserable
coward be brave, be a hero, counteract by speedy
sacrifice the evil he had done, make atonement for his
unworthy, craven life by a glorious act of oblation. She
pleaded, and his countenance changed ; the dead spirit
quickened in him ; the dumb devil fled ; he spoke ;
he said, " Let me go to the constable and give
myself up."
I can only guess the workings of his soul. No doubt
it was already weary of the struggle. His remorse had
barely been appeased by the breaking off of his sister's
256 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
engagement. The sin was clamouring to be confessed
for its own vileness' sake. And that night, when he
realised how a fellow-man was facing that from which
he had fled, and was going to death for his sake and
Ruth's when a woman knelt at his feet, and pleaded
with shaking voice and tear-blind eyes, the last re-
doubt of cowardice and selfishness gave way, and the
true, noble, selfless man of him ruled in his heart.
Be causes what they may, the effects were these :
He and Mary went hand-in-hand to the Ewehurst
constable, and he gave himself up.
The constable was then called into the witness-box.
He said that he had been routed out of his bed at one
o'clock in the morning by Miss Winde and the curate-
in-charge of the parish. The latter stepped towards
him and cried :
" I have come to give myself up ; I have committed
a murder." Mr. Shotover looked extremely disturbed
and ill, but gave a clear account of his crime and of the
motives which had induced him to confess.
Mary then showed the constable her letter, and asked
him to arrest Enchmarsh. Apps told her that the
evidence was very slight, as the letter might be a forgery,
for all they knew. At all events, there must be consider-
able delay before a warrant could be procured, as the
nearest magistrate lived more than six miles off. How-
ever, after some thought, he decided to arrest the Squire
on the evidence in his possession, and, moreover, ad-
mitted that in a case of felony where he had good reason
to believe the person accused was guilty, he could pro-
ceed without a warrant. So he and Mary set off for
Kitchenhour, leaving Guy in custody.
Counsel took the opportunity to say that Apps was to
be commended for assuming this responsibility, but I
THE ARM OF THE LORD 257
gathered that this was chiefly because the event had
justified a piece of independent action somewhat rash
in one in his position.
" Miss Winde didn't come inside the house," said
Constable Apps, " and it wur an unaccountable long
time afore I cud knock anyone up. I wur toald that
the master wur too tedious sick to see anybody what-
sumever, but I said as how I'd come in the naum o' the
law, and the sarvent-lad let me pass. Mus' Enchmarsh
wur abed and asleep, but he wakes up when I comes
into his room, and when he sees me and hears what I've
got to say, he starts cussing and damning at such a
raate as I wonders the Old Un didn't fly away wud un
then and there. When foalkses asservates their inner-
cence wud too many swears, I'se allus a bit slow at
believing um, and I toald the Squire as how he must
consider himself under arrest, and tried to put on the
darbies. He struggled like a loonatic, but a sick man
aun't much of a bruiser, me lord, and I got un fast.
Then I showed un Miss Winde's letter, and, sakes ! I
thought he wur going to have a fit, surelye ! ' Where
did yer git this, yer son of a harlot ? ' And when I tells
un, he rolls in the bed, and screams and cusses like all
Bethlem Hospital. Then, right on a sudden, he lies
still, gasping like a fish, and I runs to the door and calls
the sarvent-lad to go and fetch another constable from
Norjum and a doctor from wheresumever he cud get
one. When I turns round I sees Mus' Enchmarsh riz
up on his elber, a-putting of a bottle back on the table
by his bedside. ' I had to take some doctor's stuff,' sez
he ; 'I'm feeling that larmentable.' Then I looks to
see what it is he's bin swallering, and I sees on the bottle,
' Pison ! Only to be taken externally ! ' and he'd
swallered the whole damn concern !
258 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
" Then I got in a tedious taking, and ran down and
called the lad and Miss Winde, and we got some mustid
and water, and tried to get the Squire's mouth open to
maake un swaller it ; but though we near broake his
jaw, we cudn't get un t'unlock his teeth and soon he
goes all stiff-like and retches, and Miss Winde, she cries,
' Apps, go and fetch Parson Taylor from Norjum ! ' So
I sends off the lad, and good old Parson comes running
up in less than no time, and finds Mus' Enchmarsh in
the sweat o' death."
Parson Taylor knew the main facts of my arrest and
trial, and being convinced as to the authenticity of the
letter, at once realised the importance of inducing
Enchmarsh to confess his guilt in terms. The Squire
was dying fast, writhing on the tumbled bed, tearing
the bed-clothes with his teeth ; in his anguish he forgot
that his admissions would save the hated Lyte, and
allowed Taylor to drag from him a half-terrified, half-
defiant avowal that he had killed Palehouse " and I'm
sorry I gave him such an easy death." A few minutes
later he was seized with violent convulsions, and went
to his account.
" Doctor Hewland comes up from Tice'ust," con-
tinued the constable, " but he wur a sight too late, and
cud only tell us as how the Squire wur dead, which we
knewed well enough. Then I and Miss Winde we goes
back to Ewe'ust, and, Lord bless us ! we finds Mus'
Shotover a-lying on the lock-up floor, wud the blood
a-streaming from his mouth. So off my lad has to go
for Doctor Hewland, and catches the pore gent just
getting into his bed at five o'clock in the morning.
Doctor Hewland brings the curate round, but sez he'll
never live to be tried. Still, Mus' Shotover wur mad
and frantic to be up at Maidstone to give evidence,
THE ARM OF THE LORD 259
and sez I, ' No doubt as he'll be useful.' So we ships
un off in yester morning's coach, and kept un all cockered
up at the inn last night. But this morning as soon as
he gets to court he begins to spit blood and falls flat.
So there he is, lying in one o' the side rooms, and
the doctor here doan't think as how he'll ever be in
the witness-box or in the dock or at the gallers,
neither ! "
The constable's evidence was finished. He had had
to be checked once or twice in his garrulity, but had
persevered nevertheless in telling what was probably
the most sensational story it would ever fall to his lot
to repeat. When he had done, there were murmurings,
and cries of " Silence ! "
The Rector of Northiam a good old man and a lover
of the Word then entered the witness-box and con-
firmed all Apps had said. He told the court that he
had been roused at about three o'clock in the morning,
and summoned to Enchmarsh's death-bed. The con-
stable gave him the facts of the case, and showed him
Mary Winde's letter. The effect this scrap of torn paper
had produced on Enchmarsh, and the crime to which
it had driven him, left in the witness little doubt as to
its authenticity. But he at once saw the need for more
trustworthy evidence, and conjured the Squire not to
enter his Maker's presence with a lie on his lips, but if
he were guilty of the murder to confess it and save his
soul. Enchmarsh was not the man to care much about
his soul, but he was prostrated by horror and agony, and
Mr. Taylor managed to wring from him two separate
statements, which he wrote down then and there in
his pocket-book, and which he now read to the court :
" I killed John Palehouse, and I'm sorry I gave him
such an easy death," and " I brained that fool of a
260 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
Ranter, but I shan't live to be hanged for it." He also
once cried out in his throes : " This is hellish, but it's
not so hellish as hanging ! "
The good parson came down from the witness-box, and
I have only a dim recollection of what followed. A mist
swam before my eyes. Every now and then it parted
and showed me a face the judge's, counsel's, Mary
Winde's, or Ruth's. My trial was by no means ended.
The judge spoke in low tones to the Sheriff, and counsel
had a discussion with his attorney. I was asked by
some one who spoke to me over the edge of the dock
I think it was the prosecuting attorney if I could
explain the presence of my pistol in Plurenden Quarry,
but I only shook my head. Then after a vague while I
realised that Gerald Frome had been brought into court,
and called into the witness-box. I heard very little of
his evidence, though every now and then a word, a
disconnected phrase, drifted on to the ocean where my
mind wandered derelict. I was full of strange delusions.
I thought it was I who had betrayed Ruth's secret, who
had brought about the arrest of her brother. I moaned,
twisted, struggled, and would have cried out had not
one of the warders put his hand over my mouth.
After Frome had left the court, I recovered my
faculties to some extent, and saw that counsel had once
more risen.
" My lord," he said, " the evidence we have just
heard is of such a nature that I feel compelled to take
the responsibility of asking the jury with your lord-
ship's sanction to acquit the prisoner. It is true that
one important matter has not been cleared up I refer
to the finding of Lyte's pistol in Plurenden Quarry.
But apparently there would be opportunities, of which
Enchmarsh no doubt availed himself, for abstracting
THE ARM OF THE LORD 261
it with a view to casting suspicion on the wrong person.
Be that as it may, Lyte's innocence seems beyond
question or, at all events, no jury would convict him
now and I cannot but express my belief that by a
timely discovery of the true facts of the case, the
prisoner has been saved from death on the gallows, and
myself from being a participant in a miscarriage of
justice."
He sat down amidst murmurs of applause, and though
I was too faint and dazed to fully realise my good fortune,
I felt grateful to the man who throughout the trial had
acted so generously by me.
There was a brief silence , then the judge said with
unction :
" Mr. Lyte, it is with the greatest satisfaction that
I have watched the progress of the trial during the last
few hours. The law is merciful as well as just, and
rejoices to see innocence effectually vindicated. Still,
Mr. Lyte, you have yourself to thank for all you have
suffered, and I expect you are aware and if not," he
added sharply, " you must be made aware that in
shielding both Shotover and Enchmarsh, you did not act
the part of a good citizen, whose duty it is to denounce
the criminal and to aid in furthering the ends of justice.
You incurred a heavy responsibility, and if not actually
accessory after the fact to two murders in such a sense
as to render yourself amenable to the law, you were
most certainly privy to them, and did nothing to bring
the offenders to justice, which they have now apparently
escaped. However, I shall say no more on that head.
You, gentlemen " he turned to the jury " have heard
all that has passed, and I feel sure you have done so
with satisfaction. It is for you to say that Mr. Lyte is
' Not Guilty.' "
262 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
There was subdued applause, then another silence,
during which I sat too weary even to thank God. The
jury had not, of course, retired, and suddenly I heard
the clerk of the court put the question :
" Gentlemen, have you considered your verdict ? "
" We find the prisoner not guilty."
" You say that he is not guilty, and that is the verdict
of you all."
Then it was as if a black mist rushed on me, wrapped
me round and stifled me. I thought I was in the dark
cell, and cried, " Water, for the love of God ! " then I
knew no more.
" There, Lady Wychellow, lift his head a little higher.
Now some more brandy that's it ! "
I opened my eyes and gazed round me. My head was
on Lady Wychellow's lap.
" Ruth," I murmured faintly.
" She is with her brother. There, do not knit your
brows so. Close your eyes, and don't fret."
I shut my eyes obediently, but I fretted hard. Where
was I ? What had happened ? Ah, I remembered I
had betrayed Ruth. I had saved myself by revealing
her secret after having been faithful almost unto death.
I writhed my head on Lady Wychellow's knee and
moaned.
" What's troubling you, dear lad ? " asked a voice
I knew to be Peter Winde's.
"Ruth," I murmured, "I have betrayed Ruth
she told me a secret I revealed it to save my
life ! "
" No, no, lad. You're raving. You kept it to the
end. Your poor mind's been brooding so fiercely over
this confidence that you've come to think you've
betrayed it. Nothing of the sort ! Don't you remember
THE ARM OF THE LORD 263
how Mary found your letter, how Shotover confessed,
how Enchmarsh "
I passed my hand over my forehead. Then I started
up.
" Yes, I remember. Oh, Mr. Winde, am I free ?
Shan't I have to go back to jail ? "
I gripped his hands, and a shudder passed over me.
" No, poor fellow, your prison days are over, thank
the Lord ! "
" Where am I now ? "
A voice from behind me answered :
" In one of the ante-rooms of the court, egad ! You
were carried here after you fainted in the dock."
I turned round and saw Sir Miles Wychellow. I held
out my hand to him ; he had been a good friend
to me.
" Well, Don Quixote," he said huskily, " your cam-
paign is over."
" Why do you call me Don Quixote ? "
" Begad ! Because Cervantes said, ' Don Quixote
is a madman ! '
" You think I was mad to shield Shotover ? "
" I don't think it was a particularly sensible thing
to do."
" But I did it for Ruth's sake."
Peter Winde pressed my hand.
" I understand you, dear lad," he said kindly ;
" and God will accept your sacrifice."
" Where's Mary ? "
" She she fell faint and ill, and went to rest at our
inn. You shall go there soon, but first you must speak
a word of comfort to a poor soul that's passing into
God's presence sorely sin-stained."
" Shotover ? "
264 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
"Yes. He's in the next room."
" Dying ? "
" I'm afraid so. The doctor gives him no hope. He
has been in a decline since winter, and all the horror
and excitement of the last two days have brought on a
terrible bleeding from the lungs. He's so weak that the
doctor won't allow him even to be moved to an inn.
He'll die before the stars come out."
" I will go to him if you really think I can give him
any comfort."
" I am sure you can. He has been asking for you.
Poor fellow ! He wants your forgiveness."
I rose with difficulty to my feet.
" Gad ! hadn't you better rest a while before seeing
him ? " said Sir Miles.
" I would rather go to him now."
Peter Winde made me lean on his arm, and led me
into the next room.
Shotover lay on the floor, for the place was bare of
furniture, but his head was softly pillowed on his sister's
lap, and her red hair fell and touched his face, while
in his own hair I saw her fingers twisted. She lifted her
eyes as I came in, and said :
" He's here."
" Come to my side and take my hand. ... I'm
dying, and I can't see. . . . Are we alone ? "
" Yes," for Peter Winde had stolen away.
" That's well. . . . I'm not going to thank you
I could never do it. ... It would take a lifetime,
and I shall be dead in an hour. All I want to do
is this ! "
He took Ruth's hand, and laid it in mine.
My fingers closed round hers hungrily. Neither of us
spoke. We were united after long parting, and after
THE ARM OF THE LORD 265
much tossing had reached the haven where we would be.
Silently she laid her face against mine, and I kissed her
cheek and the tears upon it.
Guy turned his head on Ruth's knee, and sobbed.
" God forgive me for keeping you two apart ! What
a wreck I have made of my life ! What a wreck I have
all but made of your love ! . . . What shall I answer
God when He reckoneth with me ? . . . ' Love without
sacrifice is dead.' . . . Then I have never loved . . .
and how shall I, having never loved, enter the presence
of God Who is Love ? "
He groaned aloud, and I sought for words to comfort
him. But I could think of nothing save a sentence
from the Communion service he used to read so
reverently. I laid my hand on his forehead, and
whispered :
" ' Not weighing our merits, but pardoning our
offences, through Jesus Christ our Lord.' "
After that he lay quieter, while a little breeze,
sweet enough to have been born in Sussex, blew in
upon us.
" Ruth," said the dying man at last, and his voice
was only a whisper, " I want to hear you say that you
forgive me."
" Why will you speak this way ? What have I to
forgive ? Have I not thanked God for you, and loved
you most when you sinned most ? "
" ' Loved most when sinning most.' Such is the love
of women. ' Not weighing our merits, but pardoning
our offences.' Such is the love of God."
And with that he died.
We could not mourn for him who had escaped the
gallows by dying in the arms of those he loved. We
closed his eyes and smoothed the hair upon 'his
266 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
forehead, and Ruth kissed his lips. The sunshine
crept up to the wall, and the little wind began to
blow chilly. Still we sat hand in hand, our tears falling
like a benediction on the face of the dead man upon
our knees.
CHAPTER XX
OF THE METHODIST AND THE RETURN WITH JOY
BEFORE the evening was very far advanced I
again became light-headed, and as there was no
room for me at the Black Ship, where the
Wychellows were staying, I was put to bed in a little
chamber in the New Inn, where Peter and Mary lodged.
Peter sat with me through the whole night, during
which I tossed in almost ceaseless delirium. I was
possessed once more with the idea that I had betrayed
Ruth's secret, and Peter afterwards told me that he
had often to hold me down in bed, so frantically did
I struggle to rise and fling myself at Ruth's feet,
beseeching her forgiveness. It is strange, but to this
day this phantom haunts me, and I constantly awake
trembling, with the belief that I have been faithless
to the most solemn trust ever confided to me.
During my few clear intervals I lay quiet and con-
tented, fingering the sheets which were so clean and
soft, or turning myself lazily on the feather mattress.
I felt that all this cleanliness, comfort, and peace must
be a dream, and that I should soon wake to find myself
in jail, amidst stench, dirt, airlessness, and crowded
unwashed humanity.
About eleven o'clock I was conscious. Peter had
just made me swallow some milk, and had laid me back
R 267
268 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
on the pillow as tenderly as my mother might have
done if she had cared for me. There was a knock at
the door, and I heard Mary's voice.
" Father, go downstairs and have some supper.
I'll watch by Humphrey while you are away."
Peter glanced at me as I lay with my cheek on my
hand, breathing softly.
" He's quiet enough now, poor lad. Thank you,
dearie, I'll go down if you will stay here, and remember
to call me if he gets excited."
She promised, and soon the door closed after him.
Mary pulled a chair up to the lamp, and drew a little
book out of her pocket. I lay watching her with drowsy
half-closed eyes.
" Mary," I said suddenly.
" What is it, Humphrey ? I thought you were
asleep."
"I've never said ' Thank you ' for all you've done
for me."
" I did nothing except what anyone else would
have done in such a case. It was God Who showed
strength with His arm.
" I have thanked Him, but I have not thanked you.
Come to the bedside, and let me thank you as I ought."
Mary rose, and came mechanically to the foot of
the bed.
" I tell you that you've nothing to thank me for,"
she exclaimed with some abruptness. " Please do not
say any more about it."
She drew aside the window curtain and looked out.
The moon and stars were shining. I sighed rapturously.
" Oh, Mary, how sweet it is to see the moon without
any bars between. I saw her last night in jail, and there
was a great black bar across her face."
THE RETURN WITH JOY 269
" I'll leave the curtain drawn back if you like it."
" Thank you. What a glorious sky 1 Mary, don't
you remember the moon was lying on her back just
like that when you and I met for the first time, when we
ate our supper in the hayloft ? "
" I am not likely to forget," she answered sharply.
I had never seen Mary in this strange abrupt mood
before.
She evidently realised that she had spoken hastily,
for she turned round from the window with a smile.
" Let me arrange your pillows for you," she said
in a voice that trembled ; " they are almost on the
floor."
She shook and smoothed them. Her hand happened
to touch my hair, and she drew it hurriedly away.
" Now try to go to sleep. Are you comfortable ? "
" Yes, thank you, Mary."
She went and sat once more in the lamplight, and
opened her book. Suddenly I saw a tear fall on the
page. I shut my eyes, and drew the bedclothes high
over my head.
A few minutes later I fell asleep, and dreamed that
I was at Shoyswell, and that Mary and I sat in the
gable barn among the hay, as on the night of our first
meeting. We watched the moonlight in the fold and on
the fleeces of the sheep, while the little moon lay on her
back between the oasts, and Mary sang, " Glory to
Thee, my God, this night."
The song died away in a sudden scream of wind" out-
side the casement, and I awoke. Mary had left the
room ; Peter sat in her place. The window was still
uncurtained, but the moon was gone, and there were
raindrops on the pane.
The next morning Peter urged me to stay in bed.
270 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
But I was far too restless, and I thirsted to see Ruth.
So, after a little persuasion, he gave in, and lent me
some clothes to wear instead of my own rags an<3.
tatters.
My heart was full of fears as I walked, leaning on a
stick, up the High Street to the sign of the Black Ship.
It was true that Shotover had put Ruth's hand in mine ;
he was free from all pride, and demanded of Ruth's
husband but one qualification that he should love her
even as she loved him. Yet Sir Miles was different, and
now Shotover was dead, he had the direction of Ruth's
affairs. I remembered how coldly he had looked on our
love when I was in prison, and my heart failed me.
I soon reached the inn, and asking for Miss Shotover,
was shown into a private sitting-room. A few minutes
later the door opened, and I sprang forward eagerly
to meet not Ruth but Sir Miles ! To my surprise,
he grasped my hand, and clapped me heartily on the
shoulder.
" Begad, young man, you look better after a decent
night's rest. Ruth slept ill, and is only just risen, but
she will be with us in a moment."
I gazed at him bewildered.
" Sir Miles, do you know what Guy Shotover said ?
what he did ? "
The baronet looked graver.
" I know it, my lad. I was with the poor fellow a
few minutes yesterday morning, and, though every
time he spoke he nigh suffocated, he begged me not to
keep you and Ruthie apart."
He was silent a moment, then continued :
" I don't deny, young man, that I had looked higher
for the child. You're gently born, I know, but I wanted
her to lead an easy life, and have a house of her own,
THE RETURN WITH JOY 271
and servants, and silk gowns, and such things as a maid
loves. But after what happened yesterday I have
come to think differently. A man who could suffer so
much for her sake, even though he be poor and friend-
less, is worthy of her yes, lad, you've proved yourself
worthy ; " and he clasped my hand once more.
I was too much moved to reply.
" And now," he continued, "I've some questions to
ask you. When is the marriage to be ? "
I gnawed my lip angrily.
" It's all very well to speak of marriage when I
haven't a penny in the world."
" But, my dear fellow, now poor Shotover's dead,
Ruthie has enough "
" Sir Miles, if you think "
" There, there don't devour me quite. I didn't
mean that you should live on her money. What I
wanted to say was this that what she has and what
you can earn ought to be enough for you both."
" But I don't earn anything at least, except as a
farm-hand. Do you refer to that ? "
"I do. Gad ! if you take Ruth on the roads with
you, you will have to sleep under a roof. You must
lie at inns instead of in the fields, and have rafters, not
clouds, over your heads in time of rain."
" But I never thought of taking her on the roads.
I can't imagine her tramping the highways, and being
hungry and tired. She has not been bred for such a
life."
" You mean to wait till you have a chapel some-
where which may never be at all. Egad ! as you
young people insist on being married, and as I'm weak
enough to allow it, there had better be no waiting ; that
would be dreary enough for the girl as well as for you.
272 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
Besides, she is less unfit for the roads than you for
Little Bethel. My lad, you're a vagrant born, and I'd
rather see Ruthie wearing out her soles on the highway
than you eating out your heart among streets, chimneys,
and conventionality. And she need not be hungry or
tired, you can take care of that."
" Then you mean," I cried, trembling, " that we can
be married at once ? "
" As soon as the banns are up certainly."
I bowed my head. The room swayed and seemed
full of fire.
" And Ruth ? " I asked faintly. " What does she
think of this ? "
" What I think, lad, and what you think and
here she is to tell you the same."
The door opened, and Ruth came in. Sir Miles slipped
out, but before he was well away I had caught her to
my breast. She was all in white except for a black ribbon
twisted in her hair, in token of her love and sorrow for
the dear, unworthy Guy. She felt a thin, frail thing as
I clasped her to me, but the shadow was quite flown from
her eyes.
It was some time before I recovered my health and
strength, and I spent the days of convalescence happily
enough. Every one was good to me ; it was sweet to
lie alone in the little room in the gable, and the hours
when I sat with Ruth's hand in mine and her cheek
against mine were unutterably blessed.
About a week after my release I was visited by my
friend in adversity, Gerald Frome. I had not forgotten
him when God opened to me the prison gates, but had
written to him, and had sent him what little comforts
I could afford. As soon as he was set free he came to
THE RETURN WITH JOY 273
thank me, and to ask me for my prayers. It was he,
not I, who deserved thanks, for without his care and
tenderness, and the support of his arm in a terrible
time, I verily believe I should have died. I earnestly
prayed our Lord to have mercy on him, to save him
from the old curse, and lead him to better things.
Three months later he died. Perhaps that was the only
possible answer to my prayer.
Peter and Mary Winde were unable to stay in Kent
for my marriage. Peter was obliged to be back at Shoys-
well for the hop-picking, and he and his daughter left
Maidstone about a week after my release. It struck me
that Mary was eager to go.
On the evening of their departure I was sitting alone
in the inn parlour, when they came to see me.
" We start for Sussex in an hour," said Peter, " and
before we go, we both want to give a wedding present
to the lad who has been a son and brother to us."
" You have indeed been a father and a sister to me."
" We had some difficulty in choosing our gifts, for
how can we give you house-linen, china, damask or
such things as are usually given at a marriage, when
the sky is to be your roof, the soil your floor, the tree-
stump your table, and when the landlady of the White
Hart or the Blue Boar will provide the sheets for your
bed ? So you must forgive me if I make this my
present."
He handed me a small tin box, which I found to
contain a cheque for five pounds, and while I was seeking
in vain for words to thank him, Mary gave me a Bible
bound in black leather, and told me she had given one
like it to Ruth.
" So you can think of me when you read God's
word." *
274 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
" I shall always think of you, Mary," I cried,~my
tongue loosed at last ; " I. shall always think of you,
Mr. Winde. You are my truest, dearest friends, of
whom I am not worthy."
Tears choked my voice, and Peter shook my hand
and laid the other hand on my breast, and if I had
not known him for a staunch Methodist, I should have
thought he had made the sign of the cross there.
Then I turned to Mary, and was seized with the old
impulse. I did not resist it this time, but caught her
in my arms and gave her my first and only kiss. I
felt how hot her cheek was under my lips, and her
hand in mine was trembling and burning. When I
drew back and looked into her eyes, I could have
sacrificed all I possessed not to have given that kiss.
" The coach leaves the Star Inn at half -past eight,"
said Peter, breaking the awkward silence. " Mary,
you and I must be starting. You will come with us,
lad ? "
" Certainly. Have you said good-bye to Ruth ? "
" We've just been to the Black Ship. Come, Mary,
run upstairs and put on your hat and cloak, my
dearie."
A few minutes later Peter, Mary, and I were on our
way to the Star. The sun had set, and the sky was iron
grey, flushed in the west. We had not long to wait till
the coach was ready to start. Then a hasty pressure
of hands, and good wishes called on the night air,
while the Maidstone Rocket rattled over the courtyard
stones.
I walked back to my inn with a slow, grave step, and
sat for some time brooding alone ; but at ten o'clock
I went to see Ruth, and forgot all my depression.
After that the days flew quickly, till our wedding
THE RETURN WITH JOY 275
morning, the twentieth of September, broke at last.
We were to be married very early, for we wished to
leave Maidstone by the nine o'clock coach. This would
reach the cross-roads of Three Chimneys at noon. Then
my wife and I would walk to Ewehurst to superintend
the selling of the Parsonage furniture and livestock,
and that tramp through the Kentish and Sussex lanes
should be our honeymoon.
I rose at five and dressed all trembling. My heart
was full of a joy as pure and an awe as sweet as that
with which it had throbbed on the morning of my
confirmation or of my first sacrament. The streets
were dim with morning fog, which did not reach as far
as the housetops, so that from my window in the gable
I looked down on a creamy, opaque sea. Once out of
doors, the thick yellowness was all round me, and I
groped my way with difficulty to All Saints' Church.
Inside the church everything was very dark, and I
had to call up a sleepy old verger to draw up the blinds
and light a few lamps that parson might see to read the
service.
I was early, and knelt for some time alone in one of the
worm-eaten pews. A robin was twittering outside, and
I thanked God for that little song of hope. Ruth
arrived at last with Sir Miles and Lady Wychellow. My
bride wore no jewels or brocades, lace or veiling, only a
simple muslin gown, with roses at her breast, and a chip
hat tied with broad ribbons under her chin. She was,
and looked, a child, but sorrow had crowned her with
an early tender womanhood. I kissed her silently, and
we knelt in the old pew side by side.
On the stroke of seven, parson bustled in, his surplice
crackling with starch. He was a brisk, excitable little
man, and evidently enjoyed the romance of a wedding
276 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
at such an early hour. The service was soon over, and
Ruth and I came hand-in-hand from the communion
rails, wedded husband and wife, " for better for worse,
for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death
us do part."
The fog still lay thick upon the streets, but the rays
of the risen sun made crimson smears on its yellowness.
We went to the Black Ship Inn, where a simple wedding-
breakfast was prepared, and I do not think that Ruth
and I spoke a word the whole of our way. After break-
fast we said good-bye to the Wychellows, for we were
to walk to the coach alone. The good baronet and
his wife knew that we needed no company in our
happiness.
On reaching the Star we found we had nearly half
an hour to wait before the coach started, but it is strange
how quickly the time passed, though we did little
more than stand hand-in-hand and watch the clouds
in their lazy drift. Then " Take your seats, ladies and
gentlemen ! " cried the guard, and all was bustle and
confusion. The next moment the horses had plunged
forward as the ostlers let go their heads, and we were
lurching and rolling out of the yard and down the
street.
Maidstone was soon behind us ; the jail, with all its
hideousness of sin and sorrow, was like a dream from
which we wake shuddering and thanking God that it
is day. My past life seemed to me then as a baptism
of tears, from which I had come strengthened, healed,
and purified.
Through hopfields and orchards, heavy with their
September riches, through cornfields where reapers bent
whistling over their toil, where scythes swished and
hones sang. Through Shepway, Wormlake, Stallance,
THE RETURN WITH JOY 277
and Motynden, and thus to Headcorn, where we stopped
to water the horses. Then on past Great Love, Hunger-
den, and merry little Shepherdswell, till suddenly the
coach drew up at the cross-roads of Three Chimneys,
and the next moment Ruth and I were left standing
beside the bundle that held our chattels, watching a
cloud of dust spin away towards Cranbrook.
We were at the same cross-roads where the constable
and I had stopped the Maidstone coach barely two
months ago. Then I wore gyves on my wrists, now my
only shackles were Ruth's soft hands, clasped over mine
as she put her lips to my face.
" Humphrey husband 1 "
I could not answer for gladness, but kissed her
mouth and took her hand, and led her down the lane.
We had a long tramp hi front of us, but heat and
weariness seemed to have taken fright at our love, and
to flee before our face. We walked gaily hand-in-hand,
singing like children. At Dockenden we halted, and
went into a field through which ran a little stream.
By the side of this stream we ate our mid-day meal of
bread and cheese, and drank of the delicious water,
Ruth drinking from my hands. Then suddenly my
heart reproached me.
" Little girl, you have been gently bred, and here am
I taking you to tramp the roads with me ! "
" Faith ! That's just what I love, Humphrey."
" But you are too sweet and delicate to be a common
mumper's wife."
" What nonsense you talk ! As if you were a common
mumper ! "
" You will often be tired."
" I shall not mind with you beside me."
" You will have a frugal board and a hard bed."
278 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
" I shall not mind with you to share them."
" Ruth, how can you sacrifice so much for a fellow
like me ? "
" Lud ! I'd sacrifice the world for a fellow like you.
But come, Humphrey, why should you and I reason
together in this way ? When I promised to share your
life, I didn't mean only the sweetness and the sunshine
of it, but also the bitterness and the rain. Now, let's
hurry on, or we shall never reach Ewehurst to-night."
As it happened, we did not reach Ewehurst that
night, for in spite of Ruth's words we loitered on our
way, and night fell as we reached Crit Hall. We did
not care. Love prefers starlight to sunlight. Our
tongues were loosed, and we talked of many things
of our first meeting, of Shoyswell, the Windes, and of
John Palehouse. Then we talked of Guy, and our
voices fell to whispers.
On and on, past Beretilt and Four Wents, across
the Furnace Stream, through the uncanny shades of
Mopesden Wood. We had left the road, for the grass was
softer than the marl to our feet.
" Ruth," I said, " we must be nearing Sussex."
The night was very wonderful. The great fiat fields
lay round us in a stillness broken by the sough of the
wind through the grass and spurge. Evening moths,
fat and white, fluttered heavily in and out of the fennel
and chervil, waving like fragile spooks in the light of
the first stars. It was a perfect ghost time. We found
it hard to believe that those tall, pale forms which ap-
peared and disappeared in the dark were only the giant
hemlock as the wind waved them in and out of the
moonlight. An owl raised his note of sadness, the whirr
of bats' wings troubled the brooding air. Far away
at Soul's Green a bell was tinkling, now clear, now soft,
THE RETURN WITH JOY 279
as the wind swept it, and every now and then an un-
usually strong puff brought the bleating of some out-
cast from the fold.
" Ruth," I cried, " how sweet the country is to a
man who has been in prison 1 "
We tramped on, and passed a group of cottages
known as Delmonden. Their little windows shed
oblongs of light upon our path, and by that light I
saw the tears hanging in Ruth's eyes like stars.
" Wife," I said, " directly we are in Sussex I shall
kiss you."
" But how will you know when we are in Sussex ?
We are nowhere near the Rother."
" But the Kent Ditch, dear. We shall cross the Kent
Ditch and then I shall kiss you."
Only a few yards further on we came to a reedy
channel, where the wind swept the osiers with a moaning
sound.
" There is no bridge," said Ruth.
" I'm glad there is no bridge," said I. And I caught
her up in my arms, and waded with her across the Kent
Ditch, and clambered on to the shore of my goodly
heritage.
We were in a hop-garden, and the wind gently bowed
the overweighted vines, while their steamy scent crept
into my nostrils, soothing and sweet. The night was very
clear, or rather let me say the morning, for it was past
one, and the autumn lay an hour old on the breast of
the sky, swaddled in stars.
" Wife ! " I cried, and clasped her to me, and kissed
her again and again. It seemed as if I should never have
my fill of kisses.
When at last I drew back my head, she stole her
arms round me, and looked up into my face. Two
280 THE TRAMPING METHODIST
tears crept down her cheeks ; one fell on her lip, and I
kissed it away. The wind lifted a sob, and swept upon
us from the huddling fields of Kent, and blew a strand
of Ruth's hair across my mouth. I held it there while
the blast sobbed again blustered and was still. Far, far
away, a shooting star crossed the sky above Shoyswell,
and I saw it sink among the woods like a burning eye.
THE END
Printed in Great Britain at
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Kaye-Smith, Sheila
The tramping Methodist
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