Читать книгу Bessie's Fortune - Mary Jane Holmes - Страница 31

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Forty years or more before the night of which we write, there had come to Allington a peddler, whose home was across the sea, in Carnarvon, Wales. He was a little, cross eyed, red-haired, wiry man, with a blunt, sharp way of speaking, but was very popular with the citizens of Allington, to whom he sold such small articles as he could conveniently carry in a bundle upon his back; needles, pins, thread, pencils, matches, thimbles, cough lozengers, Brandreth's pills, handkerchiefs, ribbons, combs, and sometimes Irish laces and Balbriggans formed a part of his heterogeneous stock, which was varied from time to time to suit the season, or the wants of his customers.

Very close at a bargain, and very saving of his money, he seldom stopped at the hotel, but passed the night at the houses of his acquaintances, who frequently made no charge for his meals or his lodgings. Especially was this the case at the farm-house where the peddler, whose name was Joel Rogers, was always welcome, and where he usually staid when in Allington. Between Peter Jerrold and the peddler there was a strong friendship, and the two often sat into the small hours of the night, while the latter told marvelous tales of his wild Welsh country, which he held above all other lands, and to which, the last time he was seen in Allington, he said he was about to return.

For three days he remained in the town, selling off the most of his stock, and then bidding his friends good-by, started late on the afternoon of Thanksgiving Day for the adjoining town, where a few debts were owing him, and where he hoped to dispose of the rest of his merchandise.

As he left the village the snow began to fall heavily and this, perhaps, was why he decided to stop at the farm-house, which was not upon the highway, but nearly half a mile from it, upon a cross-road which led through Peter Jerrold's farm to the town line, and which was seldom traveled by any one except by Peter Jerrold himself and those who came to visit him. Thus the house stood in a most lonely, secluded spot, with only the chimney and the top of the roof visible to the people of the neighborhood.

Here Peter Jerrold lived with his daughter Hannah, who was now nearly fifteen, and who had kept his house since her mother's death, which occurred when she was twelve years old.

Bright, unselfish, and very pretty, Hannah was a general favorite with the people of Allington and many were the merry-makings and frolics held at the old farm-house by her young friends. But these were suddenly brought to an end by a fearful sickness which came upon Hannah, and, which transformed her from the light-hearted, joyous girl of fifteen, into a quiet, reserved, white-faced woman, who might have passed for twenty-five, and whose hair at eighteen was beginning to turn gray. It was the fever, the people said, and Hannah permitted them to think so, though she knew that the cause lay behind the fever, and dated from the awful night when Joel Rogers came into their kitchen, and asked for shelter from the storm, which was readily granted him.

It was probably his last visit, he said, as it was doubtful if he ever returned to America, for he meant to settle down and die in Carnarvon, his old home, where his only sister, Elizabeth, was living. Then he talked of his money, which, he said, was considerable, and was mostly invested in some slate quarries in the vicinity of Carnarvon.

For a long time the two men sat before the wood fire, talking of England and Wales, eating the apples which Hannah brought them from the cellar, and drinking freely of some wine which Peter had made himself, and which he brought out in honor of his friend's last visit.

This at last began to take effect, making them loud and noisy, and inclined to contradict each other, and quarrel generally, and then, as the peddler was counting out his gold, of which he had several hundred dollars he turned suddenly to Mr. Jerrold, and said:

"By the way, you have never paid me the five dollars I loaned you when I was here last winter."

The latter affirmed that he had paid it in the spring, and that Hannah saw him do it, which was the fact. But the peddler persisted in his demand, and grew louder and more vociferous in his language, calling both Peter Jerrold and Hannah liars, and saying he would have his money if he went to law to get it.

A violent quarrel then ensued, and such epithets as liar, cheat, and swindler were freely interchanged, and then there was a simultaneous spring at each other, the chairs were overturned and they were rolling upon the floor, dealing each other fierce blows and tearing each other's hair like wild beasts. It was the peddler who struck first, but Peter, being the stronger of the two, got his antagonist under him, and with a stick of wood which was lying upon the hearth struck him upon the head, inflicting a fearful wound from which the blood flowed in torrents, staining Peter's hands and face as he pushed back his hair, and sobered him at once. But it was too late, for when Hannah, who, during the fight, had cowered in the corner with her hands over her eyes, withdrew them as the struggle ceased, and looked at the white, blood-stained face over which her father was bending, she knew the man was dead, and with a cry of horror, ran from the room out into the darkness, where shriek after shriek of "Murder! Murder!" rang out upon the air and was drowned by the louder scream of the terrible storm which was sweeping over the hills that Thanksgiving night.

Beside her in the snow crouched the house-dog, Rover, trembling with fear, and mingling his howling cry of terror with her more awful one of murder. The dog had been a witness of the fray, keeping close by his mistress' side, and occasionally uttering a low growl of disapproval as the blows fell thick and fast, and when at last it was over, and the dead man lay white and still, with his blood upon the floor, Rover sprang toward his master with a loud, angry bark and then fled with Hannah into the storm, where he mingled his cry with hers and added to the horror of the scene.

"Half-crazed with what he had done, and terrified lest be should be detected, Peter Jerrold's first idea was of self-preservation from the law, and the cries he had heard outside filled him with rage and fear. Staggering to his daughter's side he struck the dog a savage blow, then taking Hannah roughly by the arm and leading her into the house, he said to her, fiercely:

"Are you crazy, girl, that you yell out your father's guilt to the world? You and that brute of a dog, whom I will kill and so have him out of the way! Here, you Rover, come here!" he said to the dog, who was standing before Hannah, bristling with anger and growling at intervals, "Come here while I finish you," and he opened the door of the wood-shed where he always kept the gun he had carried in the war of 1812.

Divining his intention Hannah stepped between him and Rover, on whose head she laid her hand protectingly, while she said:

"Father, you will not touch the dog, if you value your own safety, for if you do, every man in Allington shall know what you have done, before to-morrow dawns. Isn't it enough that you have killed him!" and she pointed shudderingly to the inanimate form upon the floor.

For a moment Peter Jerrold regarded her with the face of a maniac; then his expression changed, and with a burst of tears and sobs he fell upon his knees at her feet, and clasping the hem of her dress abjectly in his hands, besought her to pity him, to have mercy, and save him from the gallows, for in the first frenzy of fear he felt it would be his life they would require if once his guilt were known.

"I cannot die a felon's death. You do not want your poor father hung! Think of yourself; think of Burton; both so young, to carry such a disgrace all your lives. I did not mean to kill him; God knows I didn't. He provoked me so, he hit me first, and I struck harder than I thought, and he is dead. Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do? I cannot be hung; you will not betray me. Promise me you will not!"

She had no thought of betraying him, except as she had threatened it in defense of Rover, who now stood up erect, looking first at her, and then at her father, as if curious to see how it would end.

"Father, I have no wish to see you hung," Hannah said, while her knees shook under her at the thought. "I shall not witness against you, if I can help it. But what will you do? How can you keep it a secret? People will know, when they see him, that he did not die by fair means."

To her the thought of hiding the crime had not occurred, and a shudder of horror ran through her frame when her father said:

"People need not know. He was going to Europe. Let them think he has gone, and we will bury him, you and I, where he will never be found."

"Bury him here? Where? and Hannah's teeth chattered with fright, as she thought of living all her life in a house which held a buried secret in the shape of a murdered man.

"Bury him under the floor of my room, over in the corner where the bed always stands," the father replied so calmly that Hannah looked at him wonderingly to see if he were utterly void of feeling, that he could speak so quietly of what filled her with unspeakable dread.

But he was neither callous nor unconcerned. He was merely stunned with the magnitude and suddenness of his crime, and the natural fear of its detection. The repentance, the remorse were to come afterward, and be meted out to him in such measure of bitterness as has seldom fallen to the lot of man. Regarding his daughter fixedly for a moment, he said in a hard, reckless kind of way:

"Hannah, there is no use in whimpering now. The deed is done, and cannot be undone; though, God is my witness, I would give my life in a moment for the one I have taken, if I could, and I swear to you solemnly that I wish I had been the one killed rather than the one to kill. But it was not to be so. I have slain my friend. The world would call it murder, as you did, and hang me. I cannot be hung. I must hide it, bury it, and you must help and swear on the Bible not to tell so long as I live. Will you do it? Answer, quick, and let us get to work, for I am a very coward, and hear voices in the storm as of people coming to take me. Will you help me, and will you swear?"

"Oh, father, father," Hannah cried, in an agony of entreaty; "do not ask me to help! Do not ask me to swear, though I promise not to tell, if I can avoid it. But if he is missed, if inquiry is made for him, if he is traced here, and I am questioned, am put upon my oath, I cannot tell a lie, and maybe they would not hang you when they knew the circumstances. He was very unreasonable and aggravating, and called us both liars. I can testify to that. Oh, father, consider a moment! Would it not be better to go at once, and confess the truth to some one who has influence. Captain Grey is our friend. Tell him, and ask his advice. Go, father; now, and leave him where he lies. I shall not be afraid to stay alone, knowing you are doing right. Go, father."

She was on her knees before him now, clasping his feet, and pleading piteously. But she might as well have talked to a stone.

"Give himself up to the hangman? Never!" he answered. And she was no daughter of his to desire his death, as she evidently did. She could stay there in the corner with her dog, as great a sneak as herself! He did not wish her services; he could manage alone, he said, angrily, as he turned from her and entered his room, where she heard him moving out his bed, and knew that he was taking up a portion of the floor.

Then there came over her a great blackness, and a buzzing in her head like the sound of many bees in the summer time, and she fell upon her face, unconscious of everything. How long she lay thus she did not know, but when she came to herself again there was no light in the room except that made by the dying fire upon the hearth and Rover was licking her cold face and hands, and now and then uttering a low whine as if in token of sympathy. The body was still upon the floor near her, but from her father's room there came a sound, the import of which she understood perfectly. Shivering as with a chill, she moaned:

"Oh! how can I bear it? My life will be one long, living death, and I shall always want to shriek out the dreadful thing which father says I must keep! Can I? Ought I? And could they hang my father? I do not think so. They would call it manslaughter, and pardon him, for my sake—for Burton's."

And here the poor girl groaned bitterly, as she thought of Burton, her young brother, whom she loved so much, and of whom she was so proud, and for whom she was so glad that he could live in Boston, amid all the fine sights of a city, which suited him better than the homely life at the farm-house. When, after her mother's funeral, her aunt, Mrs. Wetherby, had offered to take him home with her and bring him up as her own, Hannah had felt for a time as if she could not let him go and leave her there alone; but when she thought of all the benefit it would be to him, and saw how much he wished it, she stifled every selfish feeling, for his sake, and saw him leave her without a sign of the pain at her heart, or the unutterable longing she had for his companionship. And now, as she thought of him, her bitterest pang came from the fact that if this deed were known, he would suffer all his life from the shame of it, and, to herself, she said:

"For Burton's sake, I must bear it always, and alone. He must never know what I know. No one must ever know, and may God forgive me if I am doing wrong!" And falling upon her knees, with her head upon Rover's neck, the wretched girl prayed earnestly for grace to know what was right, and strength to do it.

And He who hears every sincere cry for help, even though His ear may seem deaf, and the heavens brass, sending back the cry like an unmeaning sound, gave her the strength needful for the hour, and a feeling of calmness stole over her, making her quiet, and even fearless of the stiffened form lying so near her upon the floor.

But when, a few minutes later, her father appeared in the door, with a candle in his hand, and said to her, "I have done all I can do alone; you must help me now," the old terror came back, and staggering to her feet, she asked:

"What do you wish me to do?"

"Help carry him into the next room," her father replied, and then forgetting Burton, forgetting everything, she burst out again:

"Oh, father, will it not be better to tell the truth, at once? The fact that you do so will go a long way toward clearing you. The people all respect you so much, and they know he was quarrelsome and insulting at times. Think, father, think!"

"I have thought," he answered, "and I tell you I cannot be hanged!" then going swiftly to his bed-room he came back with a Bible in his hand, and standing before the white-faced girl, said to her: "I see I cannot trust you, unless you swear upon this book, never, while I live, to breathe to any living person what has been done here to-night. When I am dead do what you like, but swear now, as you hope for heaven, never to tell!"

And Hannah took the oath which he dictated to her, and kissed the sacred book which seemed to burn her lips as she did so. She had sworn. She would keep the vow to the end, and her father knew it, and with this fear lifted from his mind he became almost cheerful in his manner, as he explained to her what she was to do.

And Hannah obeyed him, and with limbs which trembled in every joint went with him to the attic and helped him bring down some boards which had lain there for years and on which she and Burton had played many an hour in days gone by. She knew what he was going to do with them, and without a word held the light while he fashioned the rude coffin in which he laid the dead man, but not until she had with her own hands reverently and tenderly washed the blood from the ghastly face and bound about the wound upon the temple a handkerchief which she found in his pack. Then, after the body was placed in the box, she took a pillow from her father's bed, and putting on it a clean covering and placing it under the peddler's head, folded his hands upon his breast, and kneeling beside the box bowed her head upon the boards and began the Lord's Prayer.

It was her burial service for the dead, all she could think of, and for a moment her father stood staring at her as if stupefied with what he saw; then his features relaxed, and falling on his knees beside her he cried out piteously:

"Oh, Father in heaven, forgive, forgive! Thou knowest I did not mean to do it. Have mercy, have mercy! Blot out my great sin, and if a prayer for the dead is not wrong, grant that this man, my friend, whom I sent into eternity with no time for repentance, may be among the saved; forbid that I should destroy him body and soul. Oh, help me! for the brand of Cain is upon me, and already my punishment seems greater than I can bear. If I could give my life for his I would do so gladly, but I cannot, and I must live on in torment forever and ever, with this blood-stain on my hands burning like coals of fire. Oh, my heavenly Father, have mercy! I did not mean to do it."

His head was on the rough coffin and he was sobbing in wild abandonment of despair, while Hannah, too, knelt beside him, with a face as white as the dead man's and eyes into which there had come a look of fright and horror, which would never entirely leave them until her dying day.

In a corner of the room Rover had been lying for the last fifteen or twenty minutes, eyeing the proceedings warily, and occasionally giving a growl of disapproval when his master came near him, and when the body was lifted into the coffin, he uttered a long, deep howl which echoed through the house like the wail of some troubled spirit, drifting on the wings of the wind still moaning around the windows and the doors.

"Oh, Rover, Rover, don't!" Hannah cried, going to him, and winding her arms around his neck, "Be quiet, Rover, or I shall die."

As if he comprehended her meaning the noble brute lay down again, and resting his head upon his paws, looked on until his master gave way to his paroxysm of grief. Then he arose, and going up to the prostrate man, licked his hair and face just as, earlier in the night, he had licked Hannah's when she lay beside him on the floor. He was only a dog, but his sympathy was reassuring to the wretched man, who looked up, and with a faint smile, said to his daughter:

"Rover forgives and pities me. I will take it as a token that God will do so, too; and now we must finish our work."

As if endued with superhuman strength, Hannah helped her father carry the body to the grave he had dug, and there they buried it, while her tears fell like rain, and her father's lips moved with the words:

"Forgive, forgive; I did not mean to kill him."

Everything belonging to the peddler was buried with him, except a leathern bag in which was the gold he had counted in the evening, and a small tin box fastened by a padlock, the key of which was found in his pocket, and his silver watch, which Hannah laid aside with a thought of the sister Elizabeth, whom he had mentioned with so much affection, and who, he said, was to be his heir. The money and the watch belonged to her and must be kept sacredly until the day when Hannah could safely give them to her, as she fully meant to do. For the rest there was nothing of any value, and they buried it with him, and filled the grave, or rather the father filled it, while Hannah held the light, and Rover looked on curiously.

Then, when all was done, when the floor was nailed down securely, the bed moved back to its place, the blood-stains washed from the kitchen floor, and there was nothing left to indicate the awful tragedy which had been enacted there, the father and daughter sat down with Rover lying between them, and talked as to how they would face it.