Читать книгу Judith of the Red Hand - J. Monk Foster - Страница 15

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On a sunny morning in spring Gabriel Blackwood left Saxehurst, and sauntered towards the village. Again he was pondering a problem which had engaged his thought much of late. That problem had to do with the world and two women. In brief, he was hanging in doubt between his love and his ambition. His heart, his soul, all that was best in him, was urging him in one direction, while lust of the world, its pomps, vanities, ambitions, and gilded glories, were pulling him elsewhere.

At present the problem had so far resolved itself as to lie in the choice between two women; one young, sweet, fair, unspotted from the world, but poor; the other sweetly fair also, if some ten years older, worldly, wise as well, accomplished in a way, and even richer than himself by some thousands of pounds.

Which woman was it to be? Judith Trafford, whom he had loved ever since he understood what love meant, or this splendidly dark beauty of a woman, Mrs. Warren Lathom—first met at the Mayor's ball, yet seen often since, and whom he might win if he wished?

Little more than two years before it had been the summit of Blackwood's ambition, the dream of his life to call himself master of a few thousands, and the husband of Judith Trafford. That had been his dream then—it was half of his dream still.

He loved the girl still, and hungered to possess her; it was a black nightmare to him to think of any common workman—any man—winning this rare, fresh, simple young damsel he had so long prized; and yet he hesitated to take that one decisive step which would settle everything, and which for years he had so happily and complacently regarded as one of the aims of his life.

But that first deep draught of success had not only sobered Gabriel's fancy, but had enlarged his vision and his ambition also. Already the social heights he had mounted over-topped the desire of his early manhood, yet, like an eager mountaineer, he hungered to climb the higher places daily expanding before him.

He had attained much, but how much more remained for him to achieve! He was well on the summer side of thirty; was tall, strong, comely, shrewd and free. He had a balance at his bankers of some thousands; was owner of the old Hill End Mine, and the two new pits. In a few years, with only such success as he might reasonably expect, he was likely to become one of the wealthiest men in the district. And with fortune what other dignities might—nay, were certain to come!

And was Judith Trafford, a mere collier woman, no matter how lovable, the one to mate with such a man—a veritable favourite of Fortune? For the quieter and humbler walk of life one could not have desired a truer, sweeter, and more fitting mate; but for the high places he meant to storm, the honours and dignities he meant to win, Judith's simplicity and lack of learning would unfit her in every way.

How different was the case with the stately Mrs. Warren Lathom! Her fortune would aid him materially in the task he had set himself to master; her beauty would grace any position to which he might be called; her sprightliness, her wit, her knowledge of the world, would adorn the mistress of any house; and her unfailing charm and amiability would win the good will of all whom it might ever be necessary to influence or conciliate.

Yet it was with a sigh that Gabriel half-decided, as he walked through the village, that his future wife must be the widow of the old cotton-spinner, and it was a wrench to resign, even in imagination, all hope of ever possessing Judith. In a way he stormed mentally at Fate for so ordering events. That night in the old quarry near the river, when he had spoken of his approaching marriage with Miss Haliburton, he had protested his unchanged love, had commanded her to wait, and she had waited. That other night, later, when he had encountered her by chance in the high-road, and spoken of his wife's death, he had clasped her in his arms, had kissed her reluctant lips, and spoken again of his love and freedom.

And now poor Judith! He crushed back that thought with a black frown, and swung into the upland path leading to the old adit's month. And halfway along it he came suddenly face to face with the woman of his thoughts.

"Judith! You here. Where are you going?"

"To the village, sir," she said, quietly, with bent head. "Ned Bennison is off work, and as we are short-handed the banksman is sending me for him."

"Why do you use 'sir' to me, lass? You are Judith to me still, and I want to be Gabriel to you always. Have you forgotten what I told you that night in the lane?'"

"Not forgotten; but I wish I hadn't heard, sir," she answered slowly, her eyes still on the ground.

"It would perhaps have been better if I hadn't spoken," he said, quietly; "but my heart was full, and I spoke. I told you to wait, and you have done so. Judith is it necessary to tell you again that I love you and am free?"

"God knows that I didn't wait for that poor dead woman's shoes!" she cried, her face flaming, then paling as quickly as her eyes met his.

"They are empty, and must be filled soon," he cried.

"I am going, sir. Good morning."

"Wait! I have much to say to you—but not here and now. Be at the entrance to Saxehurst this evening at nine, Judith."

"I do not wish to come," she murmured.

"You must!" he cried. "If you don't come, I shall visit where you live. Good morning. Nine, remember."

* * * * * *

It was 9 o'clock. The evening air was chilly, and the highway was quiet. In the shadow of the trees near the Saxehurst gates Gabriel Blackwood waited, smoking. Presently the whisk of a woman's skirts and the quick patter of light feet rose on the air, and next moment Judith Trafford was standing before her old lover.

"Judith! I knew you would come!" he whispered, offering a hand, which she refused.

"And I prayed to God for strength to keep away," she retorted, almost bitterly.

"And you couldn't. Well, I am glad you've come," was his triumphant response.

"What is it you want? Quick! Tell me and let me go."

"What nonsense! But come along the drive where we will not be seen. On my honour, Judith, I will not keep you more than a couple of minutes."

Thus urged, she followed him through the open entrance, and they paced in silence for some moments under the dark trees. Suddenly he spoke, in the sharp, eager manner customary with him when strongly moved.

"Judith," he began, "I feel that the turning point—the deciding point of my life has come. How I act depends very much on you. What I wish you to do is this. At Whitsuntide, the mines will be idle for a week nearly. I mean to take a holiday then, and you must go with me. You have friends in Manchester I believe; and you must let it be thought that you are going there. Do you understand?"

"I understand, and I will not go!" she cried.

"You must! I say you must! Now when I want to do the honest thing will you balk me? But you shall not give me your answer now. You have more than a week to think over what I suggest—nay, command you to do! We will go to London—Wales—Scotland—anywhere you wish. But we must go! Here is money to prepare for the journey. Now, good night."

In a moment he had slipped away, disappeared, leaving the girl in the thick shadow of the trees, with some rustling notes in her trembling fingers. She called his name once, but there was no answer. Then she stole homeward as quietly as she had come.

Ten days after that Gabriel Blackwood and Judith Trafford were spending a fateful holiday in Scotland.