THE CROCK OF GOLD;

A Rural Novel. 

by

MARTIN FARQUHAR TUPPER, ESQ. , M. A. , Author of "Proverbial Philosophy. "

Hartford:Silas Andrus and Son. 

1851. 

CHAPTER I. 

THE LABOURER; AND HIS DAWNING DISCONTENT. 

ROGER ACTON woke at five. It was a raw March morning, stilldark, and bitterly cold, while at gusty intervals the rain beat inagainst the crazy cottage-window. Nevertheless, from his poor pallet hemust up and rouse himself, for it will be open weather by sunrise, andhis work lies two miles off; Master Jennings is not the man to show himfavour if he be late, and Roger cannot afford to lose an hour: so heshook off the luxury of sleep, and rose again to toil with weary effort. 

"Honest Roger, " as the neighbours called him, was a fair specimen of aclass which has been Britain's boast for ages, and may be still again, in measure, but at present that glory appears to be departing: a classmuch neglected, much enduring; thoroughly English--just, industrious, and patient; true to the altar, and loyal to the throne; though haplyshaken somewhat now from both those noble faiths--warped in theirprinciples, and blunted in their feelings, by lying doctrines and harsheconomies; a class--I hate the cold cant term--a race of honourable men, full of cares, pains, privations--but of pleasures next to none; whoselife at its most prosperous estate is labour, and in death we count himhappy who did not die a pauper. Through them, serfs of the soil, theearth yields indeed her increase, but it is for others; from the fieldsof plenty they glean a scanty pittance, and fill the barns to bursting, while their children cry for bread. Not that Roger for his part oftenwanted work; he was the best hand in the parish, and had earned of hisemployers long ago the name of Steady Acton; but the fair wages for afair day's labour were quite another thing, and the times went very hardfor him and his. A man himself may starve, while his industry makesothers fat: and a liberal landlord all the winter through may keep hislabourers in work, while a crafty, overbearing bailiff mulcts them intheir wages. 

For the outward man, Acton stood about five feet ten, a gaunt, spare, and sinewy figure, slightly bent; his head sprinkled with gray; his facemarked with those rigid lines, which tell, if not of positive famine, atleast of too much toil on far too little food; in his eye, patience andgood temper; in his carriage, a mixture of the sturdy bearing, necessaryto the habitual exercise of great muscular strength, together with thatgait of humility--almost humiliation--which is the seal of oppressionupon poverty. He might be about forty, or from that to fifty, forhunger, toil, and weather had used him the roughest; while, for allbeside, the patched and well-worn smock, the heavily-clouted high-lacedboots, a dingy worsted neck-tie, and an old felt hat, complete thepicture of externals. 

But, for the matter of character within, Roger is quite another man. Ifhis rank in this world is the lowest, many potentates may envy him hisstate elsewhere. His heart is as soft, as his hand is horny; with thewandering gipsy or the tramping beggar, thrust aside, perhapsdeservedly, as impudent impostors from the rich man's gate, has heoften-times shared his noon-day morsel: upright and sincere himself, hethinks as well of others: he scarcely ever heard the Gospels read inchurch, specially about Eastertide, but the tears would trickle down hisweather-beaten face: he loves children--his neighbour's little ones aswell as his own: he will serve any one for goodness' sake without rewardor thanks, and is kind to the poor dumb cattle: he takes quite a pridein his little rod or two of garden, and is early and late at it, bothbefore and after the daily sum of labour: he picks up a bit of knowledgehere and there, and somehow has contrived to amass a fund of informationfor which few would give him credit from his common looks; and he joinsto that stock of facts a natural shrewdness to use his knowledge wisely. Though with little of what is called sentiment, or poetry, or fancy inhis mind (for harsh was the teaching of his childhood, and meagre theoccasions of self-culture ever since), the beauty of creation is by nomeans lost upon him, and he notices at times its wisdom too. With afixed habit of manly piety ever on his lips and ever in his heart, herecognises Providence in all things, just, and wise, and good. More thanso; simply as a little child who endures the school-hour for theprospect of his play-time, Roger Acton bears up with noble meeknessagainst present suffering, knowing that his work and trials andtroubles are only for a little while, but his rest and his reward remaina long hereafter. He never questioned this; he knew right well Who hadearned it for him; and he lived grateful and obedient, filling up theduties of his humble station. This was his faith, and his works followedit. He believed that God had placed him in his lot, to be a labourer, and till God's earth, and, when his work is done, to be sent on betterservice in some happier sphere: the where, or the how, did not puzzlehim, any more than divers other enigmatical whys and wherefores of hispresent state; he only knew this, that it would all come right at last:and, barring sin (which he didn't comprehend), somehow all was right atpresent. What if poverty pinched him? he was a great heir still; what ifoppression bruised him? it would soon be over. He trusted to his Pilot, like the landsman in a storm; to his Father, as an infant in the dark. For guilt, he had a Saviour, and he thought of him in penitence; fortrouble, a Guardian, and he looked to him in peace; and as for toil, back-breaking toil, there was another Master whom he served with spade, and mattock, and a thankful heart, while he only seemed to be workingfor the landlord or his bailiff. 

Such a man then had been Roger Acton from his youth up till now, or, ifsadness must be told, nearly until now; for, to speak truth, his heartat times would fail him, and of late he had been bitter in repinings andcomplaint. For a day or two, in particular, he had murmured loudly. Itwas hard, very hard, that an honest, industrious man, as he was, shouldso scantily pick a living out of this rich earth: after all said, letthe parson preach as he will, it's a fine thing to have money, and thathis reverence knows right well, or he wouldn't look so closely for hisdues. [N. B. Poor Mr. Evans was struggling as well as he could to bringup six children, on a hundred and twenty pounds per annum. ] Roger, too, was getting on in years, with a blacker prospect for the future thanwhen he first stood behind a plough-tail. Then there were many wantsunsatisfied, which a bit of gold might buy; and his wife teased him tobe doing something better. Thus was it come at length to pass, that, although he had endured so many years, he now got discontented at hispenury;--what human heart can blame him?--and with murmurings camedoubt; with doubt of Providence, desire of lucre; so the sunshine ofreligion faded from his path;--what mortal mind can wonder?

CHAPTER II. 

THE FAMILY; THE HOME; AND MORE REPININGS. 

NOW, if Malthus and Martineau be verily the pundits that menthink them, Roger had twice in his life done a very foolish thing: hehad sinned against society, statistics, and common sense, by a two-foldmarriage. The wife of his youth (I am afraid he married early) had oncebeen kitchen-maid at the Hall; but the sudden change from livingluxuriously in a great house, to the griping poverty of a cotter'shovel, had changed, in three short years, the buxom country girl into anemaciated shadow of her former self, and the sorrowing husband buriedher in her second child-bed. The powers of the parish clapped theirhands; political economy was glad; prudence chuckled; and acoarse-featured farmer (he meant no ill), who occasionally had givenRoger work, heartlessly bade him be thankful that his cares were thefewer and his incumbrance was removed; "Ay, and Heaven take the babiesalso to itself, " the Herodian added. But Acton's heart was broken!scarcely could he lift up his head; and his work, though sturdy asbefore, was more mechanical, less high-motived: and many a year ofdreary widowhood he mourned a loss all the greater, though any thing butbitterer, for the infants so left motherless. To these, now grown into astrapping youth and a bright-eyed graceful girl, had he been thetenderest of nurses, and well supplied the place of her whom they hadlost. Neighbours would have helped him gladly--sometimes did; and manywas the hinted offer (disinterested enough, too, for in that matchpenury must have been the settlement, and starvation the dower), ofgiving them a mother's kindly care; but Roger could not quite so soonforget the dead: so he would carry his darlings with him to his work, and feed them with his own hard hands; the farmers winked at it, andnever said a word against the tiny trespassers; their wives anddaughters loved the little dears, bringing them milk and possets; andholy angels from on high may have oft-times hovered about this rudenurse, tending his soft innocents a-field, and have wept over the poorwidower and his orphans, tears of happy sorrow and benevolent affection. Yea, many a good angel has shed blessings on their heads!

Within the last three years, and sixteen from the date of his firstgreat grief, Roger had again got married. His daughter was growing intoearly womanhood, and his son gave him trouble at times, and the cottagewanted a ruling hand over it when he was absent, and rheumatism now andthen bade him look out for a nurse before old age, and Mary Alder was anotable middle-aged careful sort of soul, and so she became Mary Acton. All went on pretty well, until Mrs. Acton began to have certain littleones of her own; and then the step-mother would break out (a contingencypoor Roger hadn't thought of), separate interests crept in, and her ownchildren fared before the others; so it came to pass that, however trulythere was a ruling hand at home, and however well the rheumatism gotnursed (for Mary was a good wife in the main), the grown-up son anddaughter felt themselves a little jostled out. Grace, gentle andsubmissive, found all her comforts shrunk within the space of her fatherand her Bible; Thomas, self-willed and open-hearted, sought his pleasureany where but at home, and was like to be taking to wrong coursesthrough domestic bickering: Grace had the dangerous portion, beauty, added to her lowly lot, and attracted more admiration than her fatherwished, or she could understand; while the frank and bold spirit ofThomas Acton exposed him to the perilous friendship of Ben Burke thepoacher, and divers other questionable characters. 

Of these elements, then, are our labourer and his family composed; andbefore Roger Acton goes abroad at earliest streak of dawn, we will takea casual peep within his dwelling. It consists of four bare rubblewalls, enclosing a grouted floor, worn unevenly, and here and there inholes, and puddly. There were but two rooms in the tenement, one on theground, and one over-head; which latter is with no small difficulty gotat by scaling a ladder-like stair-case that fronts the cottage-door. This upper chamber, the common dormitory, for all but Thomas, who sleepsdown stairs, has a thin partition at one end of it, to screen off thehumble truckle-bed where Grace Acton forgets by night the troubles ofthe day; and the remainder of the little apartment, sordid enough, andoverhung with the rough thatch, black with cobweb, serves for the fatherand mother with their recent nursery. Each room has its shatterycasement, to let in through linchened panes, the doubtful light ofsummer, and the much more indubitable wind, and rain, and frost ofwintry nights. A few articles of crockery and some burnished tinsdecorate the shelves of the lower apartment; which used to be muchtidier before the children came, and trimmer still when Grace was solemanager: in a doorless cupboard are apparent sundry coarse edibles, asthe half of a huge unshapely home-made loaf, some white country cheese, a mass of lumpy pudding, and so forth; beside it, on the window-sill, isbetter bread, a well-thumbed Bible, some tracts, and a few odd volumespicked up cheap at fairs; an old musket (occasionally Ben's companion, sometimes Tom's) is hooked to the rafters near a double rope of onions;divers gaudy little prints, tempting spoil of pedlars, in honour ofGeorge Barnwell, the Prodigal Son, the Sailor's Return, and the Death ofNelson, decorate the walls, and an illuminated Christmas carol is pastedover the mantel-piece: which, among other chattels and possessions, conspicuously bears its own burden of Albert and Victoria--two plasterheads, resplendently coloured, highly varnished, looking with archedeye-brows of astonishment on their uninviting palace, and royallycontrasting with the sombre hue of poverty on all things else. Thepictures had belonged to Mary, no small portion of her virgin wealth;and as for the statuary, those two busts had cost loyal Roger far morein comparison than any corporation has given to P. R. A. , for majesty andconsortship in full. There is, moreover, in the room, by way ofhousehold furniture, a ricketty, triangular, and tri-legged table, abench, two old chairs with rush-bottoms, and a yard or two of mattingthat the sexton gave when the chancel was new laid. I don't know thatthere is any thing else to mention, unless it be a gaunt lurcherbelonging to Ben Burke, and with all a dog's resemblance to his master, who lies stretched before the hearth where the peaty embers never quitedie out, but smoulder away to a heap of white ashes; over these ishanging a black boiler, the cook of the family; and beside them, on asubstratum of dry heather, and wrapped about with an old blanket, nearlycompanioned by his friend, the dog, snores Thomas Acton, still fastasleep, after his usual extemporaneous fashion. 

As to the up-stairs apartment, it contained little or nothing but itsliving inmates, their bedsteads and tattered coverlids, and had an airof even more penury and discomfort than the room below; so that, whatwith squalling children, a scolding wife, and empty stomach, and thatcold and wet March morning, it is little wonder maybe (though no smallblame), that Roger Acton had not enough of religion or philosophy torise and thank his Maker for the blessings of existence. 

He had just been dreaming of great good luck. Poor people often do so;just as Ugolino dreamt of imperial feasts, and Bruce, in his deliriousthirst on the Sahara, could not banish from his mind the cool fountainsof Shiraz, and the luxurious waters of old Nile. Roger had unfortunatelydreamt of having found a crock of gold--I dare say he will tell us hisdream anon--and just as he was counting out his treasure, that blessedbeautiful heap of shining money--cruel habit roused him up before thedawn, and his wealth faded from his fancy. So he awoke at five, anythingbut cheerfully. 

It was Grace's habit, good girl, to read to her father in the morning afew verses from the volume she best loved: she always woke betimes whenshe heard him getting up, and he could hear her easily from her littleflock-bed behind the lath partition; and many a time had her dearreligious tongue, uttering the words of peace, soothed her father'smind, and strengthened him to meet the day's affliction; many times itraised his thoughts from the heavy cares of life to the buoyant hopes ofimmortality. Hitherto, Roger had owed half his meek contentedness tothose sweet lessons from a daughter's lips, and knew that he wasreaping, as he heard, the harvest of his own paternal care, andheaven-blest instructions. However, upon this dark morning, he was fullof other thoughts, murmurings, and doubts, and poverty, and riches. So, when Grace, after her usual affectionate salutations, gently began toread, "The sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared withthe glory--"

Her father strangely stopped her on a sudden with--

"Enough, enough, my girl! God wot, the sufferings are grievous, and theglory long a-coming. "

Then he heavily went down stairs, and left Grace crying. 

CHAPTER III. 

THE CONTRAST. 

THUS, full of carking care, while he pushed aside the profferedconsolation, Roger Acton walked abroad. There was yet but a glimmer offaint light, and the twittering of birds told more assuringly of morningthan any cheerful symptom on the sky: however, it had pretty well ceasedraining, that was one comfort, and, as Roger, shouldering his spade, andwith the day's provision in a handkerchief, trudged out upon his dailyduty, those good old thoughts of thankfulness came upon his mind, and heforgot awhile the dream that had unstrung him. Turning for a moment tolook upon his hovel, and bless its inmates with a prayer, he halfresolved to run back, and hear a few more words, if only not to vex hisdarling child: but there was now no time to spare; and then, as he gazedupon her desolate abode--so foul a casket for so fair a jewel--hisbitter thoughts returned to him again, and he strode away, repining. 

Acton's cottage was one of those doubtful domiciles, whose onlyrecommendation it is, that they are picturesque in summer. At present webehold a reeking rotting mass of black thatch in a cheerless swamp; but, as the year wears on, those time-stained walls, though still both dampand mouldy, will be luxuriantly overspread with creepingplants--honeysuckle, woodbine, jessamine, and the everblowing monthlyrose. Many was the touring artist it had charmed, and Suffolk-street hadseen it often: spectators looked upon the scene as on an old familiarfriend, whose face they knew full well, but whose name they hadforgotten for the minute. Many were the fair hands that had immortalizedits beauties in their albums, and frequent the notes of admirationuttered by attending swains: particularly if there chanced to be takeninto the view a feathery elm that now creaked overhead, and dripped onthe thatch like the dropping-well at Knaresborough, and (in the neardistance) a large pond, or rather lake, upon whose sedgy banks, gay--notnow, but soon about to be--with flowering reeds and bright greenwillows, the pretty cottage stood. In truth, if man were but anhibernating animal, invisible as dormice in the winter, and only to beseen with summer swallows, Acton's cottage at Hurstley might have been acantle cut from the Elysian-fields. But there are certain other seasonsin the year, and human nature cannot long exist on the merely"picturesque in summer. "

Some fifty yards, or so, from the hither shore, we discern a roughlywooded ait, Pike Island to wit, a famous place for fish, and the grandrendezvous for woodcocks; which, among other useful and ornamentalpurposes, serves to screen out the labourer's hovel, at this thenarrowest part of the lake, from a view of that fine old mansion on theopposite shore, the seat of Sir John Vincent, a baronet just of age, andthe great landlord of the neighbourhood. Toward this mansion, scarcelyyet revealed in the clear gray eye of morning, our humble hero, havingmade the long round of the lake, is now fast trudging; and it may merita word or two of plain description, to fill up time and scene, till hegets nearer. 

A smooth grassy eminence, richly studded with park-like clumps of trees, slopes up from the water's very edge to--Hurstley Hall; yonder goodly, if not grand, Elizabethan structure, full of mullioned windows, carvedoak panels, stone-cut coats of arms, pinnacles, and traceries, andlozenges, and drops; and all this glory crowned by a many-gabled, high-peaked roof. A grove of evergreens and American shrubs hides thelower windows from vulgarian gaze--for, in the neighbourly feeling ofour ancestors, a public way leads close along the front; while, behindthe house, and inaccessible to eyes profane, are drawn terraced gardens, beautifully kept, and blooming with a perpetual succession of thechoicest flowers. The woods and shrubberies around, attempted some halfa century back to be spoilt by the meddlesome bad taste of CapabilityBrown, have been somewhat too resolutely robbed of the formal avenues, clipped hedges, and other topiarian adjuncts which comport so well withthe starch prudery of things Elizabethan; but they are still repletewith grotto, fountain, labyrinth, and alcove--a very paradise for themore court-bred rank of sylphs, and the gentler elves of Queen Titania. 

However, we have less to do with the gardens than, probably, the elveshave; and as Roger now, just at breaking day, is approaching the windowssomewhat too curiously for a poor man's manners, it may not be amiss ifwe bear him company. He had pretty well recovered of his fit ofdiscontent, for morning air and exercise can soon chase gloom away; sohe cheerily tramped along, thinking as he went, how that, after all, itis a middling happy world, and how that the raindrops, now that it hadcleared up, hung like diamonds on the laurels, when of a sudden, as heturned a corner near the house, there broke upon his ear, at that quiethour, such a storm of boisterous sounds--voices so loud with oaths andaltercation--such a calling, clattering, and quarrelling, as he hadnever heard the like before. So no wonder that he stepped aside to seeit. 

The noise proceeded from a ground-floor window, or rather from threewindows, lighted up, and hung with draperies of crimson and gold: one ofthe casements, flaring meretriciously in the modest eye of morn, stoodwide open down to the floor, probably to cool a heated atmosphere; andwhen Roger Acton, with a natural curiosity, went on tiptoe, looked in, and just put aside the curtain for a peep, to know what on earth couldbe the matter, he saw a vision of waste and wealth, at which he stoodlike one amazed, for a poor man's mind could never have conceived itsequal. 

Evidently, he had intruded on the latter end of a long and luxuriousrevel. Wax-lights, guttering down in gilded chandeliers, poured theirmellow radiance round in multiplied profusion--for mirrors made theminfinite; crimson and gold were the rich prevailing tints in that wideand warm banqueting-room; gayly-coloured pictures, set in frames thatRoger fancied massive gold, hung upon the walls at intervals; awagon-load of silver was piled upon the sideboard; there blazed in theburnished grate such a fire as poverty might imagine on a frozenwinter's night, but never can have thawed its blood beside: fruits, andwines, and costly glass were scattered in prodigal disorder on theboard--just now deserted of its noisy guests, who had crowded round acertain green table, where cards and heaps of sovereigns appeared to bemingled in a mass. Roger had never so much as conceived it possible thatthere could be wealth like this: it was a fairy-land of Mammon in hiseyes: he stood gasping like a man enchanted; and in the contemplation ofthese little hills of gold--in their covetous longing contemplation, heforgot the noisy quarrel he had turned aside to see, and thirsted forthat rich store earnestly. 

In an instant, as he looked (after the comparative lull that mustobviously have succeeded to the clamours he had first heard), the roarand riot broke out worse than ever. There were the stormy revellers, asthe rabble rout of Comus and his crew, filling that luxurious room withthe sounds of noisy execration and half-drunken strife. Young Sir John, a free and generous fellow, by far the best among them all, hascollected about him those whom he thought friends, to celebrate hiswished majority; they had now kept it up, night after night, hard upon aweek; and, as well became such friends--the gambler, the duellist, theman of pleasure, and the fool of Fashion--they never yet had separatedfor their day-light beds, without a climax to their orgie, somethinglike the present scene. 

Henry Mynton, high in oath, and dashing down his cards, has charged SirRichard Hunt with cheating (it was _sauter la coupe_ or _couper lasaut_, or some such mystery of iniquity, I really cannot tell which):Sir Richard, a stout dark man, the patriarch of the party, glossilywigged upon his head, and imperially tufted on his chin, retorts with apungent sarcasm, calmly and coolly uttered; that hot-headed foolSilliphant, clearly quite intoxicated, backs his cousin Mynton's view ofthe case by the cogent argument of a dice-box at Sir Richard's head--andat once all is struggle, strife, and uproar. The other guests, youngfellows of high fashion, now too much warmed with wine to remember theiraccustomed Mohican cold-bloodedness--those happy debtors to the prowessof a Stultz, and walking advertisers of Nugee--take eager part with theopposed belligerents: more than one decanter is sent hissing throughthe air; more than one bloody coxcomb witnesses to the weight of acandle-stick and its hurler's clever aim: uplifted chairs are made theweapons of the chivalric combatants; and along with divers other lessdistinguished victims in the melée, poor Sir John Vincent, rushing intothe midst, as a well-intentioned host, to quell the drunken brawl, getsknocked down among them all; the tables are upset, the bright gold runsabout the room in all directions--ha! no one heeds it--no one ownsit--one little piece rolled right up to the window-sill where Rogerstill looked on with all his eyes; it is but to put his hand in--thewindow is open to the floor--nay a finger is enough: greedily, oneundecided moment, did he gaze upon the gold; he saw the hideous contrastof his own dim hovel and that radiant chamber--he remembered the piningfaces of his babes, and gentle Grace with all her hardships--he thoughtupon his poverty and well deserts--he looked upon wastefulness of wealthand wantonness of living--these reflections struck him in a moment; noone saw him, no one cared about the gold; that little blessed morsel, that could do him so much good; all was confusion, all was opportunity, and who can wonder that his fingers closed upon the sovereign, and thathe picked it up?

CHAPTER IV. 

THE LOST THEFT. 

STEALTHILY and quickly "honest Roger" crept away, for hisconscience smote him on the instant: he felt he had done wrong; at anyrate, the sovereign was not his--and once the thought arose in him torun back, and put it where he found it: but it was now become tooprecious in his sight, that little bit of gold--and they, the riotersthere, could not want it, might not even miss it; and then its righteoususes--it should be well spent, even if ill-got: and thus, so manymitigations crowded in to excuse, if not to applaud the action, thatwithin a little while his warped mind had come to call the theft agod-send. 

O Roger, Roger! alas for this false thought of that wrong deed! thepoisonous gold has touched thy heart, and left on it a spot of cancer:the asp has bitten thee already, simple soul. This little seed will growinto a huge black pine, that shall darken for a while thy heaven, anddig its evil roots around thy happiness. Put it away, Roger, put itaway: covet not unhallowed gold. 

But Roger felt far otherwise; and this sudden qualm of conscience oncequelled (I will say there seemed much of palliation in the matter), akind of inebriate feeling of delight filled his mind, and Steady Actonplodded on to the meadow yonder, half a mile a-head, in a species ofdelirious complacency. Here was luck indeed, filling up the promise ofhis dreams. His head was full of thoughts, pleasant holiday thoughts, ofthe many little useful things, the many small indulgences, that bit ofgold should buy him. He would change it on the sly, and gradually bringthe shillings home as extra pay for extra work; for, however much hiswife might glory in the chance, and keep his secret, well he knew thatGrace would have a world of things to say about it, and he feared totell his daughter of the deed. However, she should have a ribbon, so sheshould, good girl, and the pedlar shouldn't pass the door unbidden;Mary, too, might have a cotton kerchief, and the babes a doll and arattle, and poor Thomas a shilling to spend as he liked; and so, inhappy revery, the kind father distributed his ill-got sovereign. 

For a while he held it in his hand, as loth to part from the tangiblepossession of his treasure; but manual contact could not last all day, and, as he neared his scene of labour--he came late after all, by theby, and lost the quarter-day, but it mattered little now--he began tocogitate a place of safety; and carefully put it in his fob. Poorfellow--he had never had enough to stow so well away before: his pocketshad been thought quite trust-worthy enough for any treasures hitherto:never had he used that fob for watch, or note, or gold--and hispredecessor in the cast-off garment had probably been quite aware howlittle that false fob was worthy of the name of savings' bank; it was inthe situation of the Irishman's illimitable rope, with the end cut off. So while Roger was brewing up vast schemes of nascent wealth, andprosperous days at last, the filched sovereign, attracted by centripetalgravity, had found a passage downwards, and had straightway rolled intoa crevice of mother-earth, long before its "brief lord" had commencedhis day's labour. Yes, it had been lost a good hour ere he found it out, for he had fancied that he had felt it there, and often did he feel, buthis fancy was a button; and when he made the dread discovery, what asting of momentary anguish, what a sickening fear, what an eager search!and, as the grim truth became more evident, that, indeed, beyond allremedy, his new-got, ill-got, egg of coming wealth was all cleangone--oh! this was worm-wood, this was bitter as gall, and the strongman well-nigh fainted. It was something sad to have done the ill--butmisery to have done it all for nothing: the sin was not altogetherpleasant to his taste, but it was aloe itself to lose the reward. Andwhen, pale and sick, leaning on his spade, he came to his old strengthagain, what was the reaction? Compunction at incipient crime, andgratitude to find its punishment so mercifully speedy, so lenient, sodiscriminative? I fear that if ever he had these thoughts at all, hechased them wilfully away: his disappointment, far from being softenedinto patience, was sharpened to a feeling of revenge at fate; and allhis hope now was--such another chance, gold, more gold, never mind how;more gold, he burnt for gold, he lusted after gold!

We must leave him for a time to his toil and his reflections, and touchanother topic of our theme. 

CHAPTER V. 

THE INQUEST. 

JUST a week before the baronet came of age, and a fortnightfrom the present time, an awful and mysterious event had happened at theHall: the old house-keeper, Mrs. Quarles, had been found dead in herbed, under circumstances, to say the very least, of a black andsuspicious appearance. The county coroner had got a jury of theneighbours impanelled together; who, after sitting patiently on theinquest, and hearing, as well as seeing, the following evidence, couldarrive at no verdict more specific than the obvious fact, that the poorold creature had been "found dead. " The great question lay betweenapoplexy and murder; and the evidence tended to a well-matched conflictof opinions. 

First, there lay the body, quietly in bed, tucked in tidily andundisturbed, with no marks of struggling, none whatever--the clothes laysmooth, and the chamber orderly: yet the corpse's face was of a purplehue, the tongue swollen, the eyes starting from their sockets: it might, indeed, possibly have been an apoplectic seizure, which took her in hersleep, and killed her as she lay; _but_ that the gripe of clutchingfingers had left their livid seals upon the throat, and countenancedthe dreadful thought of strangulation!

Secondly, a surgeon (one Mr. Eager, the Union doctor, a very youngpersonage, wrong withal and radical) maintained that this actualstrangulation might have been effected by the hands of the deceasedherself, in the paroxysm of a rush of blood to the brain; and hefortified his wise position by the instance of a late statesman, who, heaverred, cut his throat with a pen-knife, to relieve himself of pressureon the temples: while another surgeon--Stephen Cramp, he was farrier aswell, and had been, until lately, time out of mind, the villageĘsculapius, who looked with scorn on his pert rival, and opposed himtooth and nail on all occasions--insisted that it was not onlyphysically impossible for poor Mrs. Quarles so to have strangledherself, but more particularly that, if she had done so, she certainlycould not have laid herself out so decently afterwards; therefore, thatas some one else had kindly done the latter office for her, why not theformer too?

Thirdly, Sarah Stack, the still-room maid, deposed, that Mrs. Quarlesalways locked her door before she went to bed, but that when she(deponent) went to call her as usual on the fatal morning, the door wasjust ajar; and so she found her dead: while parallel with this, tendingto implicate some domestic criminal, was to be placed the equallyuncommon fact, that the other door of Mrs. Quarles's room, leading tothe lawn, was open too:--be it known that Mrs. Quarles was a stoutwoman, who could'nt abide to sleep up-stairs, for fear of fire;moreover, that she was a nervous woman, who took extraordinaryprecautions for her safety, in case of thieves. Thus, unaccountablyenough, the murderer, if there was any, was as likely to have come fromthe outside, as from the in. 

Fourthly, the murderer in this way is commonly a thief, and does thedeed for mammon-sake; but the new house-keeper, lately installed, madeher deposition, that, by inventories duly kept and entered--for herhonoured predecessor, rest her soul! had been a pattern ofregularity--all Mrs. Quarles's goods and personal chattels were found tobe safe and right in her room--some silver spoons among them too--ay, and a silver tea-pot; while, as to other property in the house, withevery room full of valuables, nothing whatever was missing from thelists, except, indeed, what was scarce worth mention (unless one must bevery exact), sundry crocks and gallipots of honey, not forthcoming;these, however, it appeared probable that Mrs. Quarles had herselfconsumed in a certain mixture she nightly was accustomed too, of rum, horehound, and other matters sweetened up with honey, for herhoarseness. It seemed therefore clear she was not murdered for herproperty, nor by any one intending to have robbed the house. 

Against this it was contended, and really with some show of reason, thatas Mrs. Quarles was thought to have a hoard, always set her face againstbanks, railway shares, speculations, and investments, and seemed to haveleft nothing behind her but her clothes and so forth, it was stillpossible that the murderer who took the life, might have also been thethief to take the money. 

Fifthly, Simon Jennings--butler in doors, bailiff out of doors, andgeneral factotum every where to the Vincent interest--for he had managedto monopolize every place worth having, from the agent's book to thecellar-man's key--the said Simon deposed, that on the night in question, he heard the house-dog barking furiously, and went out to quiet him; butfound no thieves, nor knew any reason why the dog should have barked somuch. 

Now, the awkward matter in this deposition (if Mr. Jennings had not beenentirely above suspicion--the idea was quite absurd--not to mention thathe was nephew to the deceased, a great favourite with her, and a manaltogether of the very strictest character), the awkward matters werethese: the nearest way out to the dog, indeed the only way but casementwindows on that side of the house, was through Mrs. Quarles's room: shehad had the dog placed there for her special safety, as she slept on theground floor; and it was not to be thought that Mr. Jennings could do soincorrect a thing as to pass through her room after bed-time, locked orunlocked--indeed, when the question was delicately hinted to him, he wasquite shocked at it--quite shocked. But if he did not go that way, whichway did he go? He deposed, indeed, and his testimony was no ways to bedoubted, that he went through the front door, and so round; which, underthe circumstances, was at once a very brave and a very foolish thing todo; for it is, first, little wisdom to go round two sides of a square toquiet a dog, when one might have easily called to him from themen-servants' window; and secondly, albeit Mr. Jennings was a strictman, an upright man, shrewd withal, and calculating, no one had everthought him capable of that Roman virtue, courage. Still, he hadreluctantly confessed to this one heroic act, and it was a bold one, solet him take the credit of it--mainly because--

Sixthly, Jonathan Floyd, footman, after having heard the dog bark atintervals, surely for more than a couple of hours, thought he might aswell turn out of his snug berth for a minute, just to see what ailedthe dog, or how many thieves were really breaking in. Well, as helooked, he fancied he saw a boat moving on the lake, but as there was nomoon, he might have been mistaken. 

_By a Juryman. _ It might be a punt. 

_By another. _ He did'nt know how many boats there were on thelake-side: they had a boat-house at the Hall, by the water's edge, andtherefore he concluded something in it; really did'nt know; might be aboat, might be a punt, might be both--or neither. 

_By the Coroner. _ Could not swear which way it was moving; and, really, if put upon his Bible oath, wouldn't be positive about a boat at all, itwas so dark, and he was so sleepy. 

Not long afterwards, as the dog got still more violent, he turned hiseyes from straining after shadows on the lake, to look at home, and thenall at once noticed Mr. Jennings trying to quiet the noisy animal withthe usual blandishments of "Good dog, good dog--quiet, Don, quiet--down, good dog--down, Don, down!"

_By a Juryman. _ He would swear to the words. 

But Don would not hear of being quiet. After that, knowing all must beright if Mr. Jennings was about, he (deponent) turned in again, went tosleep, and thought no more of it till he heard of Mrs. Quarles's deathin the morning. If he may be so bold as to speak his mind, he thinks thehouse-keeper, being fat, died o' the 'plexy in a nateral way, and thatthe dog barking so, just as she was a-going off, is proof positive ofit. He'd often heard of dogs doing so; they saw the sperit gliding away, and barked at it; his (deponent's) own grandmother--

At this juncture--for the court was getting fidgetty--the coroner cutshort the opinions of Jonathan Floyd: and when Mr. Crown, summing up, presented in one focus all this evidence to the misty minds of theassembled jurymen, it puzzled them entirely; they could not see theirway, fairly addled, did not know at all what to make of it. On thethreshold, there was no proof it was a murder--the Union doctor was loudand staunch on this; and next, there seemed to be no motive for thedeed, and no one to suspect of it: so they left the matter open, foundher simply "Dead, " and troubled their heads no more about the business. 

Good Mr. Evans, the vicar, preached her funeral sermon, only as lastSunday, amplifying the idea that she "was cut off in the midst of herdays:" and thereby encouraging many of the simpler folks, who knew thatMrs. Quarles had long passed seventy, in the luminous notion thathouse-keepers in great establishments are privileged, among otherundoubted perquisites, to live to a hundred and forty, unless cut off byapoplexy or murder. 

Mr. Simon Jennings, as nephew and next of kin, followed the body to itslast home in the capacity of chief mourner; to do him justice, he was areal mourner, bewailed her loudly, and had never been the same mansince. Moreover, although aforetime not much given to indiscriminatecharity, he had now gained no small credit by distributing his aunt'swardrobe among the poorer families at Hurstley. It was really very kindof him, and the more so, as being altogether unexpected: he got greatpraise for this, did Mr. Jennings; specially, too, because he had gainednothing whatever from his aunt's death, though her heir and probablelegatee, and clearly was a disappointed man. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE BAILIFF; AND A BITTER TRIAL. 

JENNINGS--Mr. Simon Jennings--for he prided himself much bothon the Mr. And the Simon, was an upright man, a very upright man indeed, literally so as well as metaphorically. He was not tall certainly, butwhat there was of him stood bolt upright. Many fancied that his neck waspossessed of some natural infirmity, or rather firmity, ofunbendableness, some little-to-be-envied property of being a perpetualstiff-neck; and they were the more countenanced in this theory, from thefact that, within a few days past, Mr. Jennings had contracted an uglyknack of carrying his erect head in the comfortless position of peepingover his left shoulder; not always so, indeed, but often enough to beremarkable; and then he would occasionally start it straight again, eyesright, with a nervous twitch, any thing but pleasant to the marvellingspectator. It was as if he was momentarily expecting to look upon somevague object that affrighted him, and sometimes really did see it. Mr. Jennings had consulted high medical authority (as Hurstley judged), towit, the Union doctor of last scene, an enterprising practitioner, glibin theory, and bold in practice--and it had been mutually agreed betweenthem that "stomach" was the cause of these unhandsome symptoms; acridityof the gastric juice, consequent indigestion and spasm, and generally ahypochondriacal habit of body. Mr. Jennings must take certain draughtsthrice a day, be very careful of his diet, and keep his mind at ease. Asto Simon himself, he was, poor man, much to be pitied in this idealvisitation; for, though his looks confessed that he saw, or fancied hesaw, a something, he declared himself wholly at a loss to explain whatthat something was: moreover, contrary to former habits of anostentatious boldness, he seemed meekly to shrink from observation: and, as he piously acquiesced in the annoyance, would observe that hisunpleasant jerking was "a little matter after all, and that, no doubt, the will of Providence. "

Independently of these new grimaces, Simon's appearance was little inhis favour: not that his small dimensions signified--Cęsar, andBuonaparte, and Wellington, and Nelson, all were little men--not thathis dress was other than respectable--black coat and waistcoat, whitestiff cravat, gray trowsers somewhat shrunk in longitude, goodserviceable shoe-leather (of the shape, if not also of the size, ofriver barges), and plenty of unbleached cotton stocking about thegnarled region of his ankles. All this was well enough; nature wasbeholden to that charity of art which hides a multitude of failings; butthe face, where native man looks forth in all his unadornment, that itwas which so seldom pre-possessed the many who had never heard ofJenning's strict character and stern integrity. The face was a sallowface, peaked towards the nose, with head and chin receding; lit withalby small protrusive eyes, so constructed, that the whites all round weregenerally visible, giving them a strange and staring look; elevatedeye-brows; not an inch of whisker, but all shaved sore right up to thelarge and prominent ear; and lank black, hair, not much of it, scantilythatching all smooth. Then his arms, oscillating as he walked (as if thependulum by which that rigid man was made to go his regular routine), were much too long for symmetry: and altogether, to casual view, Mr. Jennings must acknowledge to a supercilious, yet sneaking air--whichcharity has ere now been kind enough to think a conscious rectitudetowards man, and a soft-going humility with God. 

When the bailiff takes his round about the property, as we see him now, he is mounted--to say he rides would convey far too equestrian anotion--he is mounted on a rough-coated, quiet, old, whiteshooting-pony; the saddle strangely girded on with many bands about thebelly, the stirrups astonishingly short, and straps never called upon todiminish that long whity-brown interval between shoe and trowser: Mr. Jennings sits his steed with nose aloft, and a high perch in thegeneral, somewhat loosely, and, had the pony been a Bucephalus ratherthan a Rozinante, not a little perilously. Simon is jogging hitherwardstoward Roger Acton, as he digs the land-drain across this marshy meadow:let us see how it fares now with our poor hero. 

Occupation--yes, duteous occupation--has exerted its wholsesomeinfluences, and, thank God! Roger is himself again. He has been verysorry half the day, both for the wicked feelings of the morning, andthat still more wicked theft--a bad business altogether, he cannot bearto think of it; the gold was none of his, whosesoever it might be--heought not to have touched it--vexed he did, but cannot help it now; itis well he lost it too, for ill-got money never came to any good:though, to be sure, if he could only get it honestly, money would make aman of him. 

I am not sure of that, Roger, it may be so sometimes; but, in myjudgment, money has unmade more men than made them. 

"How now, Acton, is not this drain dug yet! You have been about it muchtoo long, sir; I shall fine you for this. "

"Please you, Muster Jennings, I've stuck to it pretty tightly too, barring that I make to-day three-quarters, being late: but it's heavyclay, you see, Mr. Simon--wet above and iron-hard below: it shall all beready by to-morrow, Mr. Simon. "

Whether the "Mr. Simon" had its softening influence, or any otherconsiderations lent their soothing aid, we shall see presently; for thebailiff added, in a tone unusually indulgent, "Well, Roger, see it is done, and well done; and now I have just anotherword to say to you: his honour is coming round this way, and if he asksyou any questions, remember to be sure and tell him this--you have got acomfortable cottage, very comfortable, just repaired, you want fornothing, and are earning twelve shillings a week. "

"God help me, Muster Jennings: why my wages are but eight, and my hovelscarcely better than a pig-pound. "

"Look you, Acton; tell Sir John what you have told me, and you are aruined man. Make it twelve to his honour, as others shall do: whoknows, " he added, half-coaxing, half-soliloquizing, "perhaps his honourmay really make it twelve, instead of eight. "

"Oh, Muster Jennings! and who gets the odd four?"

"What, man! do you dare to ask me that? Remember, sir, at your peril, that you, and all the rest, _have had_ twelve shillings a-week wageswhenever you have worked on this estate--not a word!--and that, if youdare speak or even think to the contrary, you never earn a penny hereagain. But here comes John Vincent, my master, as I, Simon Jennings, amyours: be careful what you say to him. "

Sir John Devereux Vincent, after a long minority, had at length shakenoff his guardians, and become master of his own doings, and of HurstleyHall. The property was in pretty decent order, and funds had accumulatedvastly: all this notwithstanding a thousand peculations, and thesuspicious incident that one of the guardians was a "highly respectable"solicitor. Sir John, like most new brooms, had with the best intentionsresolved upon sweeping measures of great good; especially also upondoing a great deal with his own eyes and ears; but, like as aforesaid, he was permitted neither to hear nor see any truths at all. Just now, the usual night's work took him a little off the hooks, and we must makeallowances; really, too, he was by far the soberest of all those choicespirits, and drank and played as little as he could; and even, underexisting disadvantages, he managed by four o'clock post meridiem toinspect a certain portion of the estate duly every day, under theprudential guidance of his bailiff Jennings. There, that good-looking, tall young fellow on the blood mare just cantering up to us is Sir John;the other two are a couple of the gallant youths now feasting at theHall: ay, two of the fiercest foes in last night's broil. Those heatedlittle matters are easily got over. 

"Hollo, Jennings! what the devil made you give that start? you couldn'tlook more horrified if ghosts were at your elbow: why, your face is thepicture of death; look another way, man, do, or my mare will bolt. "

"I beg your pardon, Sir John, but the spasm took me: it is my infirmity;forgive it. This meadow, you perceive, Sir John, requires drainage, andafterwards I propose to dress it with free chalk to sweeten the grass. Next field, you will take notice, the guano--"

"Well, well--Jennings--and that poor fellow there up to his knees inmud, is he pretty tolerably off now?"

"Oh, your honour, " said the bailiff, with a knowing look, "I only wishthat half the little farmers hereabouts were as well to do as he is: apretty cottage, Sir John, half an acre of garden, and twelve shillings aweek, is pretty middling for a single man. "

"Aha--is it?--well; but the poor devil looks wretched enough too--I willjust ask him if he wants any thing now. "

"Don't, Sir John, pray don't; pray permit me to advise your honour:these men are always wanting. 'Acton's cottage' is a proverb; and Rogerthere can want for nothing honestly; nevertheless, as I know yourhonour's good heart, and wish to make all happy, if you will suffer meto see to it myself--"

"Certainly, Jennings, do, do by all means, and thank you: here, just tomake a beginning, as we're all so jolly at the Hall, and that poorfellow's up to his neck in mud, give him this from me to drink my healthwith. "

Acton, who had dutifully held aloof, and kept on digging steadily, wasstill quite near enough to hear all this; at the magical word "give, " helooked up hurriedly, and saw Sir John Vincent toss a piece of gold--yes, on his dying oath, a bright new sovereign--to Simon Jennings. O blessedvision, and gold was to be his at last!

"Come along, Mynton; Hunt, now mind you try and lame that big beast of araw-boned charger among these gutters, will you? I'm off, Jennings; meetme, do you hear, at the Croft to-mor--"

So the three friends galloped away; and John Vincent really felt morelight-hearted and happy than at any time the week past, for having soproperly got rid of a welcome bit of gold. 

"Roger Acton! come up here, sir, out of that ditch: his honour has beenliberal enough to give you a shilling to drink his health with. "

"A shilling, Muster Jennings?" said the poor astonished man; "why I'llmake oath it was a pound; I saw it myself. Come, Muster Jennings, don'tbreak jokes upon a poor man's back. "

"Jokes, Acton? sticks, sir, if you say another word: take John Vincent'sshilling. "

"Oh, sir!" cried Roger, quite unmanned at this most crueldisappointment; "be merciful--be generous--give me my gold, my own bitof gold! I'll swear his honour gave it for me: blessings on his head!You know he did, Mr. Simon; don't play upon me!"

"Play upon you?--generous--your gold--what is it you mean, man? We'llhave no madmen about us, I can tell you; take the shilling, or else--"

"'Rob not the poor, because he is poor, for the Lord shall plead hiscause, '" was the solemn answer. 

"Roger Acton!"--the bailiff gave a scared start, as usual, and, recovering himself, looked both white and stern: "you have dared toquote the Bible against me: deeply shall you rue it. Begone, man! yourwork on this estate is at an end. "

CHAPTER VII. 

WRONGS AND RUIN. 

A VERY miserable man was Roger Acton now, for this last trialwas the worst of all. The vapours of his discontent had almost passedaway--that bright pernicious dream was being rapidly forgotten--themorning's ill-got coin, "thank the Lord, it was lost as soon as found, "and penitence had washed away that blot upon his soul; but here, anhonest pound, liberally bestowed by his hereditary landlord--his ownbright bit of gold--the only bit but one he ever had (and how differentin innocence from that one!)--a seeming sugar-drop of kindness, shed bythe rich heavens on his cup of poverty--to have this meanly filched awayby a grasping, grinding task-master--oh, was it not a bitter trial? Whataffliction as to this world's wealth can a man meet worse than this?

Acton's first impulse was to run to the Hall, and ask to see SirJohn:--"Out; won't be back till seven, and then can see nobody; thebaronet will be dressing for dinner, and musn't be disturbed. " Then hemade a vain effort to speak with Mr. Jennings, and plead with him: yes, even on his knees, if must be. Mr. Simon could not be so bad; perhaps itwas a long joke after all--the bailiff always had a queer way with him. Or, if indeed the man meant robbery, loudly to threaten him, that allmight hear, to bring the house about his ears, and force justice, if hecould not fawn it. But both these conflicting expedients were vetoed. Jonathan Floyd, who took in Acton's meek message of "humbly craved leaveto speak with Master Jennings, " came back with the inexplicable mandate, "Warn Roger Acton from the premises. " So, he must needs bide tillto-morrow morning, when, come what might, he resolved to see his honour, and set some truths before him. 

Acton was not the only man on the estate who knew that he had alandlord, generous, not to say prodigal--a warm-hearted, well-intentioned master, whose mere youth a career of sensuality had notyet hardened, nor a course of dissipation been prolonged enough todistort his feelings from the right. And Acton, moreover, was not theonly man who wondered how, with such a landlord (ay, and the guardiansbefore him were always well-spoken gentle-folks, kindly in theirmanners, and liberal in their looks), wages could be kept so low, andrents so high, and indulgences so few, and penalties so many. Therewere fines for every thing, and no allowances of hedgebote, orhousebote, or any other time-honoured right; the very peat on the commonmust be paid for, and if a child picked a bit of fagot the father wasmulcted in a shilling. Mr. Jennings did all this, and always pleaded hisemployers' orders; nay, if any grumbled, as men would now and then, hewould affect to think it strange that the gentlemen guardians, with thelandlord at their head, could be so hard upon the poor: he would not beso, credit him, if he had been born a gentleman; but the bailiff, men, must obey orders, like the rest of you; these are hard times forHurstley, he would say, and we must all rub over them as best we can. According to Simon, it was as much as his own place was worth to remitone single penny of a fine, or make the least indulgence for calamity;while, as to lowering a cotter's rent, or raising a ditcher's wages, hedared not do it for his life; folks must not blame him, but look to thelandlord. 

Now, all this, in the long absence of any definite resident master atthe Hall, sounded reasonable, if true; and Mr. Jennings punctually paid, however bad the terms; so the poor men bode their time, and looked forbetter days. And the days long-looked-for now were come; but were theyany better? The baronet, indeed, seemed bent upon inquiry, reform, redress; but, as he never went without the right-hand man, hisendeavours were always unsuccessful. At first it would appear that thebailiff had gone upon his old plan, shrugging up his shoulders to themen at the master's meanness, while he praised to the landlord thecondition of his tenants; but this could not long deceive, so he turnedinstanter on another tack; he assumed the despot, issuing authoritativeedicts, which no one dared to disobey; he made the labourer hide hisneeds, and intercepted at its source the lord's benevolence; he began tobe found out, so the bolder spirits said, in filching with both handsfrom man and master; and, to the mind of more than one shrewd observer, was playing the unjust steward to admiration. 

But stop: let us hear the other side; it is possible we may have beenmistaken. Bailiffs are never popular, particularly if they are toohonest, and this one is a stern man with a repulsive manner. Who knowswhether his advice to Acton may not have been wise and kind, and wouldnot have conduced to a general rise of wages? Who can prove, nay, venture to insinuate, any such systematic roguery against a man hithertoso strict, so punctual, so sanctimonious? Even in the case of Sir John'sgolden gift, Jennings may be right after all; it is quite possible thatRoger was mistaken, and had gilt a piece of silver with his longings;and the upright man might well take umbrage at so vile an imputation asthat hot and silly speech; it was foolish, very foolish, to have quotedtext against him, and no wonder that the labourer got dismissed for it. Then again to return to wages--who knows? it might be, all thingsconsidered, the only way of managing a rise; the bailiff must know hismaster's mind best, and Acton had been wise to have done as he bade him;perhaps it really was well-meant, and might have got him twelveshillings a-week, instead of eight as hitherto; perhaps Simon was ashrewd man, and arranged it cleverly; perhaps Roger was an honest man, and couldn't but think others so. 

Any how, though, all was lost now, and he blamed his own rash tongue, poor fellow, for what he could not help fearing was the ruin of himselfand all he loved. With a melancholy heart, he shouldered his spade, andslowly plodded homewards. How long should he have a home? How was he toget bread, to get work, if the bailiff was his enemy? How could he facehis wife, and tell her all the foolish past and dreadful future? Howcould he bear to look on Grace, too beautiful Grace, and torture hisheart by fancying her fate? Thomas, too, his own brave boy, whom utterpoverty might drive to desperation? And the poor babes, his littleplayful pets, what on earth would become of them? There was the Unionworkhouse to be sure, but Acton shuddered at the thought; to beseparated from every thing he loved, to give up his little all, and bemade both a prisoner and a slave, all for the sake of what?--dailywater-gruel, and a pauper's branded livery. Or they might perchance gobeyond the seas, if some Prince Edward's Company would help him and histo emigrate; ay, thought he, and run new risks, encounter fresh dangers, lose every thing, get nothing, and all the trouble taken merely tostarve three thousand miles from home. No, no; at his time of life, hecould not be leaving for ever old friends, old habits, old fields, oldhome, old neighbourhood--where he had seen the saplings grow up trees, and the quick toppings change into a ten-foot hedge; where the verycattle knew his step, and the clods broke kindly to his ploughshare; andmore than all, the dear old church, where his forefathers had worshippedfrom the Conquest, and the old mounds where they slept, and--and--and--that one precious grave of his dear lost Annie--could heleave it? Oh God, no! he had done no ill, he had committed no crime--whyshould he prefer the convict's doom, and seek to be transported forlife?

A miserable walk home was that, and full of wretched thoughts. PoorRoger Acton, tossed by much trouble, vexed with sore oppression, I wishthat you had prayed in your distress; stop, he did pray, and thatvehemently; but it was not for help, or guidance, or patience, orconsolation--he only prayed for gold. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE COVETOUS DREAM. 

ONCE at home, the sad truth soon was told. Roger's look alonespoke of some calamity, and he had but little heart or hope to keep thematter secret. True, he said not a word about the early morning's sin;why should he? he had been punished for it, and he had repented; let himbe humbled before God, but not confess to man. However, all about thebailiff, and the landlord, and the thieved gift, and the suddendismissal, the sure ruin, the dismal wayside plans, and fears, and darkalternatives, without one hope in any--these did poor Acton fluentlypour forth with broken-hearted eloquence; to these Grace listenedsorrowfully, with a face full of gentle trust in God's blessing on themorrow's interview; these Mary, the wife, heard to an end, with--nostorm of execration on ill-fortune, no ebullition of unjust rage againsta fool of a husband, no vexing sneers, no selfish apprehensions. Farfrom it; there really was one unlooked-for blessing come already toconsole poor Roger; and no little compensation for his trouble was theway his wife received the news. He, unlucky man, had expected somethinglittle short of a virago's talons, and a beldame's curse; he hadexperienced on less occasions something of the sort before; but now thatreal affliction stood upon the hearth, Mary Acton's character rose withthe emergency, and she greeted her ruined husband with a kindnesstowards him, a solemn indignation against those who grind the poor, anda sober courage to confront evil, which he little had imagined. 

"Bear up, Roger; here, goodman, take the child, and don't look quite sodowncast; come what may, I'll share your cares, and you shall halve mypleasures; we will fight it out together. "

Moreover, cross, and fidgetty, and scolding, as Mary had been everheretofore, to her meek step-daughter Grace, all at once, as if just todisappoint any preconcerted theory, now that actual calamity was come, she turned to be a kind good mother to her. Roger and his daughter couldscarcely believe their ears. 

"Grace, dear, I know you're a sensible good girl, try and cheer yourfather. " And then the step-dame added, "There now, just run up, fetch your prayer-book down, and read a littleto us all to do us good. "--The fair, affectionate girl, unused to theaccents of kindness, could not forbear flinging her arms round MaryActon's neck, and loving her, as Ruth loved Naomi. 

Then with a heavenly smile upon her face, and a happy heart within herto keep the smile alight, her gentle voice read these words--it will dous good to read them too:

 "Out of the deep have I called unto thee, O Lord: Lord, hear my voice. O let thine ears consider well the voice of my complaint. If thou, Lord, wilt be extreme to mark what is done amiss, O Lord, who may abide it? Because there is mercy with thee; therefore shall thou be feared. I look for the Lord, my soul doth wait for him: in his word is my trust. My soul fleeth unto the Lord, before the morning watch, before the morning watch. O Israel, trust in the Lord: for with the Lord there is mercy: and with him is plenteous redemption. And he shall redeem Israel from all his sins. "

"Isn't the last word 'troubles, ' child? look again; I think it's'troubles' either there, or leastways in the Bible-psalm. "

"No, father, sins, 'from all his sins;' and 'iniquities' in theBible-version--look, father. "

"Well, girl, well; I wish it had been 'troubles;' 'from all histroubles' is a better thought to my mind: God wot, I have plenty on 'em, and a little lot of gold would save us from them all. "

"Gold, father? no, my father--God. "

"I tell you, child, " said Roger, ever vacillating in his strongtemptation between habitual religion and the new-caught lust of money, "if only on a sudden I could get gold by hook or by crook, all my caresand all your troubles would be over on the instant. "

"Oh, dear father, do not hope so; and do not think of troubles more thansins; there is no deliverance in Mammon; riches profit not in the day ofevil, and ill-got wealth tends to worse than poverty. "

"Well, any how, I only wish that dream of mine came true. "

"Dream, goodman--what dream?" said his wife. 

"Why, Poll, I dreamt I was a-working in my garden, hard by the celerytrenches in the sedge; and I was moaning at my lot, as well I may: and asort of angel came to me, only he looked dark and sorrowful, and kindlysaid, 'What would you have, Roger?' I, nothing fearful in my dream, forall the strangeness of his winged presence, answered boldly, 'Money;' hepointed with his finger, laughed aloud, and vanished away: and, as forme, I thought a minute wonderingly, turned to look where he had pointed, and, O the blessing! found a crock of gold!"

"Hush, father! that dark angel was the devil; he has dropt ill thoughtsupon your heart: I would I could see you as you used to be, dear father, till within these two days. "

"Whoever he were, if he brought me gold, he would bring me blessing. There's meat and drink, and warmth and shelter, in the yellow gold--ay, and rest from labour, child, and a power of rare good gifts. "

"If God had made them good, and the gold were honest gains, still, father, even so, you forget righteousness, and happiness, and wisdom. Money gives us none of these, but it might take them all away: dearfather, let your loving Grace ask you, have you been better, happier, wiser, even from the wishing it so much?"

"Daughter, daughter, I tell you plainly, he that gives me gold, gives meall things: I wish I found the crock the de--the angel, I mean, broughtme. "

"O father, " murmured Grace, "do not breathe the wicked wish; even if youfound it without any evil angel's help, would the gold be rightfullyyour own?"

"Tush, girl!" said her mother; "get the gold, feed the children, andthen to think about the right. "

"Ay, Grace, first drive away the toils and troubles of this life, " addedRoger, "and then one may try with a free mind to discover the comfortsof religion. "

Poor Grace only looked up mournfully, and answered nothing. 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE POACHER. 

A SUDDEN knock at the door here startled the whole party, andMary Acton, bustling up, drew the bolt to let in--first, a lurcher, oneRover to wit, our gaunt ember-loving friend of Chapter II. ; secondly, Thomas Acton, full flush, who carried the old musket on his shoulder, and seemed to have something else under his smock; and thirdly, BenBurke, a personage of no small consequence to us, and who thereforedeserves some specific introduction. 

Big Ben, otherwise Black Burke, according to the friendship or theenmity of those who named him, was a huge, rough, loud, good-humoured, dare-devil sort of an individual, who lived upon what he consideredcommon rights. His dress was of the mongrel character, a well-imaginedcross between a ploughman's and a sailor's; the bottle-green frock ofthe former, pattern-stitched about the neck as ingeniously as if a tribeof Wisconsin squaws had tailored it--and mighty fishing boots, vast asany French postillion's, acting as a triton's tail to symbolize thelatter: a red cotton handkerchief (dirty-red of course, as all thingselse were dirty, for cleanliness had little part in Ben), occupied justnow the more native region of a halter; and a rusty fur cap crowned thepoacher; I repeat it--crowned the poacher; for in his own estimation, and that of many others too, Ben was, if not quite an emperor, at leastan Agamemnon, a king of men, a natural human monarch; in truth, he feltas much pride in the title Burke the Poacher (and with as great justicetoo, for aught I know), as Ali-Hamet-Ghee-the-Thug eastwards, orWilliam-of-Normandy-the-Conqueror westwards, may be thought respectivelyto have cherished, on the score of their murderous and thievishsurnames. 

There was no small good, after all, in poor Ben; and a mountain ofallowance must be flung into the scales to counterbalance hisdeficiencies. However coarse, and even profane, in his talk (I hope thegentle reader will excuse me alike for eliding a few elegant extractsfrom his common conversation, and also for reminding himcharacteristically, now and then, that Ben's language is not entirelyAddisonian), however rough of tongue and dissonant in voice, Ben's heartwill be found much about in the right place; nay, I verily believe ithas more of natural justice, human kindness, and right sympathies init, than are to be found in many of those hard and hollow cones thatbeat beneath the twenty-guinea waistcoats of a Burghardt or aBuckmaster. Ay, give me the fluttering inhabitant of Ben Burke's cowskinvest; it is worth a thousand of those stuffed and artificial denizens, whose usual nest is figured satin and cut velvet. 

Ben stole--true--he did not deny it; but he stole naught but what hefancied was wrongfully withheld him: and, if he took from the rich, whoscarcely knew he robbed them, he shared his savoury booty with the poor, and fed them by his daring. Like Robin Hood of old, he avenged himselfon wanton wealth, and frequently redressed by it the wrongs of penury. Not that I intend to break a lance for either of them, nor to go anylengths in excusing; slight extenuation is the limit for prudentadvocacy in these cases. Robin Hood and Benjamin Burke were both of themthieves; bold men--bad men, if any will insist upon the bad; they sinnedagainst law, and order, and Providence; they dug rudely at the roots ofsocial institutions; they spoke and acted in a dangerous fashion aboutrights of men and community of things. But set aside the statutes ofForesting and Venery, disfranchise pheasants, let it be a cogent thingthat poverty and riches approach the golden mean somewhat lessunequally, and we shall not find much of criminality, either in Ben orRobin. 

For a general idea, then, of our poaching friend:--he is a gigantic, black-whiskered, humorous, ruddy mortal, full of strange oaths, which wereally must not print, and bearded like the pard, and he tumbles inamongst our humble family party, with--

"Bless your honest heart, Roger! what makes you look so sodden? I'm alord, if your eyes a'n't as red as a hedge-hog's; and all the rest o'you, too; why, you seem to be pretty well merry as mutes. Ha! I see whatit is, " added Ben, pouring forth a benediction on their frugal supper;"it's that precious belly-ache porridge that's a-giving you all the'flensy. Tip it down the sink, dame, will you now? and trust to me forbetter. Your Tom here, Roger, 's a lad o' mettle, that he is; ay, andthat old iron o' yours as true as a compass; and the pheasants wouldcome to it, all the same as if they'd been loadstoned. Here, dame, pluckthe fowl, will you: drop 'em, Tom. "--And Thomas Acton flung upon thetable a couple of fine cock-pheasants. 

Roger, Mary, and Grace, who were well accustomed to Ben Burke's eloquenttirades, heard the end of this one with anxiety and silence; for Tomhad never done the like before. Grace was first to expostulate, but wasat once cut short by an oath from her brother, whose evident state ofhigh excitement could not brook the semblance of reproof. Mary Acton'smarketing glance was abstractedly fixed upon the actual _corpusdelicti_; each fine plump bird, full-plumaged, young-spurred; yes, theywere still warm, and would eat tender, so she mechanically began topluck them; while, as for poor downcast Roger, he remembered, with aconscience-sting that almost made him start, his stolen bit of money inthe morning--so, how could he condemn? He only looked pityingly onThomas, and sighed from the bottom of his heart. 

"Why, what's the matter now?" roared Ben; "one 'ud think we was bailiffscome to raise the rent, 'stead of son Tom and friendly Ben; hang it, mun, we aint here to cheat you out o' summut--no, not out o' peace o'mind neither; so, if you don't like luck, burn the fowls, or bury 'em, and let brave Tom risk limbo for nothing. "

"Oh, Ben!" murmured Grace, "why will you lead him astray? Oh, brother!brother! what have you done?" she said, sorrowfully. 

"Miss Grace, "--her beauty always awed the poacher, and his ruggedCaliban spirit bowed in reverence before her Ariel soul--"I wish I wasas good as you, but can't be: don't condemn us, Grace; leastways, firsthear me, and then say where's the harm or sin on it. Twelve hundred heado' game--I heard John Gorse, the keeper, tell it at the Jerry--twelvehundred head were shot at t'other day's battew: Sir John--no blame tohim for it--killed a couple o' hundred to his own gun: and though theysent away a coachful, and gave to all who asked, and feasted themselveschuckfull, and fed the cats, and all, still a mound, like a haycock, o'them fine fat fowl, rotted in a mass, and were flung upon the dungpit. Now, Miss Grace, that ere salt pea-porridge a'n't nice, a'n't wholesome;and, bless your pretty mouth, it ought to feed more sweetly. Look atActon, isn't he half-starved. Is Tom, brave boy, full o' the fat o' theland? Who made fowl, I should like to know, and us to eat 'em? Andwhere's the harm or sin in bringing down a bird? No, Miss, them erebeaks, dammem (beg humble pardon, Miss, indeed I won't again) them erejustices, as they call themselves, makes hard laws to hedge about theirown pleasures; and if the poor man starves, he starves; but if he stayshis hunger with the free, wild birds of heaven, they prison him andpunish him, and call him poacher. "

"Ben, those who make the laws, do so under God's permission; and theywho break man's law, break His law. "

"Nonsense, child, "--suddenly said Roger; "hold your silly tongue. Doyou mean to tell us, God's law and man's law are the same thing! No, Grace, I can't stomach that; God makes right, and man makesmight--riches go one way, and poor men's wrong's another. Money, money'sthe great law-maker, and a full purse frees him that has it, while itturns the jailor's key on the wretch that has it not: one of thosewretches is the hopeless Roger Acton. Well, well, " he added, after adespondent sigh, "say no more about it all; that's right, good-wife--why, they do look plump. And if I can't stomach Grace'stext-talk there, I'm sure I can the birds; for I know what keeps cryingcupboard lustily. "

It was a faint effort to be gay, and it only showed his gloom thedenser. Truly, he has quite enough to make him sad; but this is anunhealthy sadness: the mists of mammon-worship, rising up, meet in themid ęther of his mind, these lowering clouds of discontent: and theseeming calamity, that should be but a trial to his faith, looks toolikely to wreck it. 

So, then, the embers were raked up, the trivet stuck a-top, the savourybroil made ready; and (all but Grace, who would not taste a morsel, butwent up straight to bed) never had the Actons yet sate down before sorich a supper. 

CHAPTER X. 

BEN BURKE'S STRANGE ADVENTURE. 

"TAKE a pull, Roger, and pass the flask, " was the cordialprescription of Ben Burke, intended to cure a dead silence, generatedequally of eager appetites and self-accusing consciences; so saying, heproduced a quart wicker-bottle, which enshrined, according to histestimony, "summut short, the right stuff, stinging strong, that hadnever seen the face of a wishy-washy 'ciseman. " But Roger touched itsparingly, for the vaunted nectar positively burnt his swallow: tillBen, pulling at it heartily himself, by way of giving moral precept thefull benefit of a good example, taught Roger not to be afraid of it, andso the flask was drained. 

Under such communicative influence, Acton's tale of sorrows andoppressions, we may readily believe, was soon made known; and asreadily, that it moved Ben's indignant and gigantic sympathies to anextent of imprecation on the eyes, timbers, and psychological existenceof Mr. Jennings, very little edifying. One thing, however, made amendsfor the license of his tongue; the evident sincerity and warmth withwhich his coarse but kindly nature proffered instant aid, both offensiveand defensive. 

"It's a black and burning shame, Honest Roger, and right shall have hisown, somehow, while Big Ben has a heart in the old place, and a hand tohelp his friend. " And the poacher having dealt his own broad breast ablow that would have knocked a tailor down, stretched out to Acton thehuge hand that had inflicted it. 

"More than that, Roger--hark to this, man!" and, as he slapped hisbreeches pocket, there was the chink as of a mine of money shaken to itsfoundations: "hark to this, man! and more than hark, have! Here, goodwife, hold your apron!" And he flung into her lap a handful of silver. 

Roger gave a sudden shout of wonder, joy, and avarice: and then asinstantaneously turning very pale, he slowly muttered, "Hush, Ben! is itbloody money?" and almost shrieked as he added, "and my poor boy Tom, too, with you! God-a-mercy, mun! how came ye by it?"

"Honestly, neighbour, leastways, middling honest: don't damp a goodfellow's heart, when he means to serve you. "

"Tell me only that my boy is innocent!--and the money--yes, yes, I'llkeep the money;" for his wife seemed to be pushing it from her at thethought. 

"I innocent, father! I never know'd till this minute that Ben had anyblunt at all--did I, Ben?--and I only brought him and Rover here to sup, because I thought it neighbourly and kind-like. "

Poor Tom had till now been very silent: some how the pheasants lay heavyon his stomach. 

"Is it true, Ben, is it true? the lad isn't a thief, the lad isn't amurderer? Oh, God! Burke, tell me the truth!

"Blockhead!" was the courteous reply, "what, not believe your own son?Why, neighbour Acton, look at the boy: would that frank-faced, open-hearted fellow do worse, think you, than Black Burke? And would I, bad as I be, turn the bloody villain to take a man's life? No, neighbour; Ben kills game, not keepers: he sets his wire for a hare, butwouldn't go to pick a dead man's pocket. All that's wrong in me, mun, the game-laws put there; but I'm neither burglar, murderer, highwayman--no, nor a mean, sneaking thief; however the quality maythink so, and even wish to drive me to it. Neither, being as I be norogue, could I bear to live a fool; but I should be one, neighbour, anddub myself one too, if I didn't stoop to pick up money that a madmanflings away. "

"Madman? pick up money? tell us how it was, Ben, " interposed femalecuriosity. 

"Well, neighbours, listen: I was a-setting my night-lines round PikeIsland yonder, more nor a fortnight back; it was a dark night and amizzling, or morning rather, 'twixt three and four; by the same token, I'd caught a power of eels. All at once, while I was fixing a trimmer, apunt came quietly up: as for me, Roger, you know I always wades itthrough the muddy shallow: well, I listens, and a chap creeps ashore--amad chap, with never a tile to his head, nor a sole to his feet--andwhen I sings out to ax him his business, the lunatic sprung at me like atiger: I didn't wish to hurt a little weak wretch like him, speciallybeing past all sense, poor nat'ral! so I shook him off at once, and heldhim straight out in this here wice. " [Ben's grasp could have cracked anycocoa-nut. ] "He trembled like a wicked thing; and when I peered closeinto his face, blow me but I thought I'd hooked a white devil--no oneever see such a face: it was horrible too look at. 'What are you arter, mun?' says I; 'burying a dead babby?' says I. 'Give us hold here--I'mbless'd if I don't see though what you've got buckled up there. ' Withthat, the little white fool--it's sartin he was mad--all on a suddenflings at my head a precious hard bundle, gives a horrid howl, jumpsinto the punt, and off again, afore I could wink twice. My head a'n't asoft un, I suppose; but when a lunatic chap hurls at it with all hismight a barrow-load of crockery at once, it's little wonder that myright eye flinched a minute, and that my right hand rubbed my right eye;and so he freed himself, and got clear off. Rum start this, thinks I:but any how he's flung away a summut, and means to give it me: what canit be? thinks I. Well, neighbours, if I didn't know the chap was madafore, I was sartain of it now; what do you think of a grown man--littleenough, truly, but out of long coats too--sneaking by night to PikeIsland, to count out a little lot of silver, and to guzzle twelvegallipots o' honey? There it was, all hashed up in an old shawl, a slimymesh like birdlime: no wonder my eye was a leetle blackish, whenhalf-a-dozen earthern crocks were broken against it. I was angeredenough, I tell you, to think any man could be such a fool as to bringhoney there to eat or to hide--when at once I spied summut red amongthe mess; and what should it be but a pretty little China house, red-brick-like, with a split in the roof for droppings, and ticketed'Savings-bank:' the chink o' that bank you hears now: and the bankitself is in the pond, now I've cleaned the till out. "

"Wonderful sure! But what did you do with the honey, Ben?--some of thepots wasn't broke, " urged notable Mrs. Acton. 

"Oh, burn the slimy stuff, I warn't going to put my mouth out o' tasteo' bacca, for a whole jawful of tooth-aches: I'll tell you, dame, what Idid with them ere crocks, wholes, and parts. There's never a stone onPike Island, it's too swampy, and I'd forgot to bring my pocketful, asusual. The heaviest fish, look you, always lie among the sedge, hereabouts and thereabouts, and needs stirring, as your Tom knows well;so I chucked the gallipots fur from me, right and left, into theshallows, and thereby druv the pike upon my hooks. A good night's work Imade of it too, say nothing of the Savings-bank; forty pound o' pike andtwelve of eel warn't bad pickings. "

"Dear, it was a pity though to fling away the honey; but what became ofthe shawl, Ben?" Perhaps Mrs. Acton thought of looking for it. 

"Oh, as for that, I was minded to have sunk it, with its mess ofsweet-meats and potsherds; but a thought took me, dame, to be'conomical for once: and I was half sorry too that I'd flung away thejars, for I began to fancy your little uns might ha' liked the stuff; soI dipped the clout like any washerwoman, rinshed, and squeezed, andwashed the mess away, and have worn it round my waist ever since; here, dame, I haven't been this way for a while afore to-night; but I meant toask you if you'd like to have it; may be 'tan't the fashion though. "

"Good gracious, Ben! why that's Mrs. Quarles's shawl, I'd swear to itamong a hundred; Sarah Stack, at the Hall, once took and wore it, whenMrs. Quarles was ill a-bed, and she and our Thomas walked to churchtogether. Yes--green, edged with red, and--I thought so--a yellow circlein the middle; here's B. Q. , for Bridget Quarles, in black cotton at thecorner. Lackapity! if they'd heard of all this at the Inquest! I tellyou what, Big Ben, it's kindly meant of you, and so thank you heartily, but that shawl would bring us into trouble; so please take it yourselfto the Hall, and tell 'em fairly how you came by it. "

"I don't know about that Poll Acton; perhaps they might ask me for theSaving-bank, too--eh, Roger!"

"No, no, wife; no, it'll never do to lose the money! let a bygone be abygone, and don't disturb the old woman in her grave. As to the shawl, if it's like to be a tell-tale, in my mind, this hearth's the safestplace for it. "

So he flung it on the fire; there was a shrivelling, smouldering, guiltysort of blaze, and the shawl was burnt. 

Roger Acton, you are falling quickly as a shooting star; already is yourconscience warped to connive, for lucre's sake, at some one's secretcrimes. You had better, for the moral of the matter, have burnt yourright hand, as Scęvola did, than that shawl. Beware! your sin will bringits punishment. 

CHAPTER XI. 

SLEEP. 

GRACE, in her humble truckle-bed, lay praying for her father;not about his trouble, though that was much, but for the spots of sinshe could discern upon his soul. 

Alas! an altered man was Roger Acton; almost since morning light, theleprosy had changed his very nature. The simple-minded Christian, toiling in contentment for his daily bread, cheerful for the passingday, and trustful for the coming morrow, this fair state was well-nighfaded away; while a bitterness of feeling against (in one word)GOD--against unequal partialities in providence, against things as theyexist; and this world's inexplicable government--was gnawing at his veryheart-strings, and cankering their roots by unbelief. It is a speedyprocess--throw away faith with its trust for the past, love for thepresent, hope for the future--and you throw away all that makes sorrowbearable, or joy lovely; the best of us, if God withheld his help, wouldapostatize like Peter, ere the cock crew thrice; and, at times, thathelp has wisely been withheld, to check presumptuous thoughts, and teachhow true it is that the creature depends on the Creator. Just so wesuffer a wilful little child, who is tottering about in leading-strings, to go alone for a minute, and have a gentle fall. And just so Rogerhere, deserted for a time of those angelic ministrations whoseefficiency is proved by godliness and meekness, by patience and content, is harassed in his spirit as by harpies, by selfishness and pride, andfretful doublings; by a grudging hate of labour, and a fiery lust ofgold. Temptation comes to teach a weak man that he was fitted for hisstation, and his station made for him; that fulfilment of his ignorantdesires will only make his case the worse, and that

 Providence alike is wise In what he gives and what denies. 

Meanwhile, gentle Grace, on her humble truckle-bed, is full of prayersand tears, uneasily listening to the indistinct and noisy talk, andhearing, now and then, some louder oath of Ben's that made her shudder. Yes, she heard, too, the smashing sound, when the poacher flung themoney down, and she feared it was a mug or a plate--no slight domesticloss; and she heard her father's strange cry, when he gave thatwondering shout of joyous avarice, and she did not know what to fear. Was he ill? or crazed! or worse--fallen into bad excesses? How sheprayed for him!

Poor Ben, too, honest-hearted Ben; she thought of him in charity, andpleaded for his good before the Throne of Mercy. Who knows but Heavenheard that saintly virgin prayer? There is love in Heaven yet for poorBen Burke. 

And if she prayed for Ben, with what an agony of deep-felt intercessiondid she plead for Thomas Acton, that own only brother of hers, just ayear the younger to endear him all the more, her playmate, care, andcharge, her friend and boisterous protector. The many sorrowing hoursshe had spent for his sake, and the thousand generous actions he haddone for hers! Could she forget how the stripling fought for her thatday, when rude Joseph Green would help her over the style? Could she butremember how slily he had put aside, for more than half a year, a littleheap of copper earnings--weeding-money, and errand-money, andharvest-money--and then bounteously spent it all at once in giving her aBible on her birth-day? And when, coming across the fields with himafter leasing, years ago now, that fierce black bull of Squire Ryle'swas rushing down upon us both, how bravely did the noble boy attack himwith a stake, as he came up bellowing, and make the dreadful monsterturn away! Ah! I looked death in the face then, but for thee, mybrother! Remember him, my God, for good!

"Poor father! poor father! Well, I am resolved upon one thing: I'll go, with Heaven's blessing, to the Hall myself, and see Sir John, to-morrow;he shall hear the truth, for"--And so Grace fell asleep. 

Roger, when he went to bed, came to similar conclusions. He would speakup boldly, that he would, without fear or favour. Ben's most seasonablebounty, however to be questioned on the point of right, made him feelentirely independent, both of bailiffs and squires, and he had now noanxieties, but rather hopes, about to-morrow. He was as good as they, with money in his pocket; so he'd down to the Hall, and face the baronethimself, and blow his bailiff out o' water: that should be his businessby noon. Another odd idea, too, possessed him, and he could not sleep atnight for thinking of it: it was a foolish fancy, but the dream mighthave put it in his head: what if one or other of those honey-jars, soflung here and there among the rushes, were in fact another sort of"Savings-bank"--a crock of gold? It was a thrilling thought--his verydream, too; and the lot of shillings, and the shawl--ay, and theinquest, and the rumours how that Mrs. Quarles had come to her endunfairly, and no hoards found--and--and the honey-pots missing. Ha! atany rate he'd have a search to-morrow. No bugbear now should hinder him;money's money; he'd ask no questions how it got there. His own bit ofgarden lay the nearest to Pike Island, and who knows but Ben might haveslung a crock this way? It wouldn't do to ask him, though--for Burkemight look himself, and get the crock--was Roger's last and selfishthought, before he fell asleep. 

As to Mrs. Acton, she, poor woman, had her own thoughts, fearful ones, about that shawl, and Ben's mysterious adventure. No cloudy love ofmammon had overspread her mind, to hide from it the hideousness ofmurder; in her eyes, blood was terrible, and not the less so that itcovered gold. She remembered at the inquest--be sure she was there amongthe gossips--the facts, so little taken notice of till now, the keys inthe cupboard, where the honey-pots were not, and how Jonathan Floyd hadseen something on the lake, and the marks of a man's hand on the throat;and, God forgive her for saying so, but Mr. Jennings was a little, white-faced man. How wrong was it of Roger to have burnt that shawl! howdull of Ben not to have suspected something! but then the good fellowsuspects nobody, and, I dare say, now doesn't know my thoughts. ButRoger does, more shame for him; or why burn the shawl? Ah! thought she, with all the gossip rampart in her breast, if I could only have taken itto the Hall myself, what a stir I should have caused! Yes, she wouldhave reaped a mighty field of glory by originating such a whirlwind ofinquiries and surmises. Even now, so attractive was the mare's nest, shewould go to the Hall by morning, and tell Sir John himself all aboutthe burnt shawl, and Pike Island, and the galli--And so she fell fastasleep. 

With respect to Ben, Tom, and Rover, a well-matched triad, as any Isis, Horus, and Nepthys, they all flung themselves promiscuously on the hardfloor beside the hearth, "basked at the fire their hairy strength, " andsoon were snoring away beautifully in concert, base, tenor, and treble, like a leash of glee-singers. No thoughts troubled them, either ofmammon or murder: so long before the meditative trio up-stairs, they hadset a good example, and fallen asleep. 

CHAPTER XII. 

LOVE. 

WITH the earliest peep of day arose sweet Grace, full ofcheerful hope, and prayer, and happy resignation. She had a great dealto do that morning; for, innocent girl, she had no notion that it wasquite possible to be too early at the Hall; her only fear was being toolate. Then there were all the household cares to see to, and the dearbabes to dress, and the place to tidy up, and breakfast to get ready, and, any how, she could not be abroad till half-past eight: so, to herdismay, it must be past nine before ever she can see Sir John. Let usfollow her a little: for on this important day we shall have to take theadventures of our labourer's family one at a time. 

By twenty minutes to nine, Grace had contrived to bustle on her things, give the rest the slip, and be tripping to the Hall. It is nearly twomiles off, as we already know; and Grace is such a pretty creature thatwe can clearly do no better than employ our time thitherward by taking apeep at her. 

Sweet Grace Acton, we will not vex thy blushing maiden modesty byelaborate details of form, and face, and feature. Perfect womanhood atfair eighteen: let that fill all the picture up with soft and swellingcharms; no wadding, or padding, or jigot, or jupe--but all thosegraceful undulations are herself: no pearl-powder, no carmine, noborrowed locks, no musk, or ambergris--but all those feeble helps ofmeretricious art excelled and superseded by their just originals innature. It will not do to talk, as a romancer may, of velvet cheeks andsilken tresses; or invoke, to the aid of our inadequate description, roses, and swans, and peaches, and lilies. Take the simple villagebeauty as she is. Did you ever look on prettier lips or sweetereyes--more glossy natural curls upon a whiter neck? And how that littlered-riding-hood cloak, and the simple cottage hat tied down upon hercheeks, and the homely russet gown, all too short for modern fashions, and the white, well-turned ankle, and the tidy little leather shoe, andthe bunch of snow drops in her tucker, and the neat mittens contrastingdarkly with her fair, bare arms--pretty Grace, how well all these becomethee! There, trip along, with health upon thy cheek, and hope within thyheart; who can resist so eloquent a pleader? Haste on, haste on: savethy father in his trouble, as thou hast blest him in his sin--thisrustic lane is to thee the path of duty--Heaven speed thee on it!

More slowly now, and with more anxious thoughts, more heart-weakness, more misgiving--Grace approacheth the stately mansion: and when shetimidly touched the "Servants'" bell, for she felt too lowly for the"Visiters', "--and when she heard how terribly loud it was, howlong it rung, and what might be the issue of her--wasn't itill-considered?--errand--the poor girl almost fainted at the sound. 

As she leaned unconsciously for strength against the door, it opened ona sudden, and Jonathan Floyd, in mute amazement, caught her in his arms. 

"Why, Grace Acton! what's the matter with you?" Jonathan knew Gracewell; they had been at dame's-school together, and in after yearsattended the same Sunday class at church. There had been some talk amongthe gossips about Jonathan and Grace, and ere now folks had been kindenough to say they would make a pretty couple. And folks were right, too, as well as kind: for a fine young fellow was Jonathan Floyd, as anyduchess's footman; tall, well built, and twenty-five; Antinous in alivery. Well to do, withal, though his wages don't come straight to him;for, independently of his place--and the baronet likes him for his goodlooks and proper manners--he is Farmer Floyd's only son, on the hillyonder, as thriving a small tenant as any round abouts; and he is proudof his master, of his blue and silver uniform, of old Hurstley, and ofall things in general, except himself. 

"But what on earth's the matter, Grace?" he was obliged to repeat, forthe dear girl's agitation was extreme. 

"Jonathan, can I see the baronet?"

"What, at nine in the morning, Grace Acton! Call again at two, and youmay find him getting up. He hasn't been three hours a-bed yet, andthere's nobody about but Sarah Stack and me. I wish those Lunnun sparkswould but leave the place: they do his honour no good, I'm thinking. "

"Not till two!" was the slow and mournful ejaculation. What a damper toher buoyant hopes: and Providence had seen fit to give her ill-success. Is it so? Prosperity may come in other shapes. 

"Why, Grace, " suddenly said Floyd, in a very nervous way, "what makesyou call upon my master in this tidy trim?"

"To save my father, " answered Innocence. 

"How? why? Oh don't, Grace, don't! I'll save him--I will indeed--what isit? Oh, don't, don't!"

For the poor affectionate fellow conjured on the spot the black visionof a father saved by a daughter's degradation. 

"Don't, Jonathan?--it's my duty, and God will bless me in it. That cruelMr. Jennings has resolved upon our ruin, and I wished to tell Sir Johnthe truth of it. "

At this hearing, Jonathan brightened up, and glibly said, "Ah, indeed, Jennings is a trouble to us all: a sad life I've led of it this yearpast; and I've paid him pretty handsomely too, to let me keep the place:while, as for John Page and the grooms, and Mr. Coachman and thehelpers, they don't touch much o' their wages on quarter-day, I know. "

"Oh, but we--we are ruined! ruined! Father is forbidden now to labourfor our bread. " And then with many tears she told her tale. 

"Stop, Miss Grace, " suddenly said Jonathan, for her beauty and eloquencetransformed the cottager into a lady in his eyes, and no wonder; "pray, stop a minute, Miss--please to take a seat; I sha'n't be gone aninstant. "

And the good-hearted fellow, whose eyes had long been very red, brokeaway at a gallop; but he was back again almost as soon as gone, pantinglike a post-horse. "Oh, Grace! don't be angry! do forgive me what I amgoing to do. "

"Do, Jonathan?" and the beauty involuntarily started--"I hope it'snothing wrong, " she added, solemnly. 

"Whether right or wrong, Grace, take it kindly; you have often bade meread my Bible, and I do so many times both for the sake of it and you;ay, and meet with many pretty sayings in it: forgive me if I act onone--'It is more blessed to give than to receive. '" With that, hethrust into her hand a brass-topped, red-leather purse, stuffed withmoney. Generous fellow! all the little savings, that had heretoforeescaped the prying eye and filching grasp of Simon Jennings. There wassome little gold in it, more silver, and a lot of bulky copper. 

"Dear Jonathan!" exclaimed Grace, quite thrown off her guard of maidenlyreserve, "this is too kind, too good, too much; indeed, indeed it is: Icannot take the purse. " And her bright eyes overflowed again. 

"Well, girl, " said Jonathan, gulping down an apple in his throat, "I--Iwon't have the money, that's all. Oh, Grace, Grace!" he burst outearnestly, "let me be the blessed means of helping you in trouble--Iwould die to do it, Grace; indeed I would!"

The dear girl fell upon his neck, and they wept together like two lovinglittle sisters. 

"Jonathan"--her duteous spirit was the first to speak--"forgive thisweakness of a foolish woman's heart: I will not put away the help whichGod provides us at your friendly hands: only this, kind brother--let mecall you brother--keep the purse; if my father pines for want of work, and the babes at home lack food, pardon my boldness if I take the helpyou offer. Meanwhile, God in heaven bless you, Jonathan, as He will!"

And she turned to go away. 

"Won't you take a keepsake, Grace--one little token? I wish I had anything here but money to give you for my sake. "

"It would even be ungenerous in me to refuse you, brother; one littlepiece will do. "

Jonathan fumbled up something in a crumpled piece of paper, and saidsobbingly--"Let it be this new half-crown, Grace: I won't say, keep italways; only when you want to use that and more, I humbly ask you'llplease come to me. "

Now a more delicate, a more unselfish act, was never done by man: alongwith the half-crown he had packed up two sovereigns! and thereby notonly escaped thanks, concealed his own beneficence, and robbed his purseof half its little store; but actually he was, by doing so, deprivinghimself for a month, or maybe more, of a visit from Grace Acton. Had itbeen only half-a-crown, and want had pinched the family (neither Gracenor Jonathan could guess of Ben Burke's bounty, and for all they knewRoger had not enough for the morrow's meals)--had poverty come in likean armed man, and stood upon their threshold a grim sentinel--doubtlessshe must have run to him within a day or two. How sweet would it havebeen to have kept her coming day by day, and to a commoner affection howexcusable! but still how selfish, how unlike the liberal and honourablefeeling that filled the manly heart of Jonathan Floyd! It was a nobleact, and worthy of a long parenthesis. 

If Grace Acton had looked back as she hurried down the avenue, she wouldhave seen poor Jonathan still watching her with all his eyes till shewas out of sight. Perhaps, though, she might have guessed it--there is asympathy in these things, the true animal magnetism--and I dare say thatwas the very reason why she did not once turn her head. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE DISCOVERY. 

ROGER ACTON had not slept well; had not slept at all tillnearly break of day, except in the feverish fashion of half dream halfrevery. There were thick-coming fancies all night long about what Benhad said and done: and more than once Roger had thought of theexpediency of getting up, to seek without delay the realization of thatone idea which now possessed him--a crock of gold. When he put togetherone thing and another, he considered it almost certain that Ben hadflung away among the lot no mere honey-pot, but perhaps indeed amoney-pot: Burke hadn't half the cunning of a child; more fool he, andmaybe so much the better for me, thought money-bitten, selfish Roger. Thus, in the night's hot imaginations, he resolved to find the spoil; towill, was then to do: to do, was then to conquer. However, Nature'ssweet restorer came at last, and, when he woke, the idea had sobereddown--last night's fancies were preposterous. So, it was with a heavyheart he got up later than his wont--no work before him, nothing to dotill the afternoon, when he might see Sir John, except it be to dig abit in his little marshy garden. When Grace ran to the Hall, Roger wasgoing forth to dig. 

Now, I know quite well that the reader is as fully aware as I am, whatis about to happen; but it is impossible to help the matter. If theheading of this chapter tells the truth, a "discovery" of some sort isinevitable. Let us preliminarize a thought or two, if thereby we canhang some shadowy veil of excuse over a too naked mystery. First andforemost, truth is strange, stranger, _et-cetera_; and this_et-cetera_, pregnant as one of Lyttleton's, intends to add thesuperlative strangest, to the comparative stranger of that seldom-quotedsentiment. To every one of us, in the course of our lives, somethingquite as extraordinary has befallen more than once. What shall we say ofomens, warnings, forebodings? What of the most curious runs of luck; themost whimsical freaks of fortune; the unaccountable things that happenround us daily, and no one marvels at them, till he reads of them inprint? Even as Macpherson, ingenious, if not ingenuous, gathered Ossianfrom the lips of Highland hussifs, and made the world with modern Attilato back it, wonder at the stores that are hived on old wives' tongues;even so might any other literary, black-smith hammer from the ore ofcommon gossip a regular Vulcan's net of superstitious "facts. " Never yetwas uttered ghost story, that did not breed four others; every one attable is eager to record his, or his aunt's, experience in that line;and the mass of queer coincidences, inexplicable incidents, indubitableseeings, hearings, doings, and sufferings; which you and I have heard ofin this popular vein of talk, would amply excuse the wildest fictionistfor the most extravagant adventure--the more improbable, the nearertruth. Talk of the devil, said our ancestors--let "&c. " save us from theconsequence. Think of any thing vehemently, and it is an even chance ithappens: be confident, you conquer; be obstinate in willing, and eventsshall bend humbly to their lord: nay, dream a dream, and if yourecollect it in the morning, and it bother you next day, and you cannotget it out of your head for a week, and the matter positively haunt you, ten to one but it finds itself or makes itself fulfilled, some odd dayor other. Just so, doubtless, will it prove to be with Roger's dream: Ireally cannot help the matter. 

Again, it is more than likely that the reader is clever, very clever, and that any attempts at concealment would be merely futile. From thefirst page he has discovered who is the villain, and who the victim: thetitle alone tells him of the golden hinge on which the story turns: hecan look through stone walls, if need be, or mesmerically see, withoutmaking use of eyes: no peep-holes for him, as for Pyramus and Thisbe: noinitiation requisite for any hidden mysteries; all arcana are revealedto him, every sanctum is a highway. No art of mortal pen can defeat thismischief of acuteness: character is character; oaks grow of acorns, andthe plan of a life may be detected in a microscopic speech. The careerof Mr. Jennings is as much predestined by us to iniquity, from the firstintimation that he never makes excuse, as honest Roger is to troubleand temptation from the weary effort wherewithal he woke. And, even now, pretty Grace and young Sir John, the reader thinks that he can guess atnature's consequence; while, with respect to Roger's going forth to digthis morning, he sees it straight before him, need not ask for theresult. Well, if the shrewd reader has the eye of Lieuenhöeck, and candiscern, cradled in the small triangular beech-mast, a nobleforest-tree, with silvery trunk, branching arms, and dark-green foliage, he deserves to be complimented indeed, for his own keen skill; but, atthe same time, Nature will not hurry herself for him, but will quietlyeduce results which he foreknew--or thought he did--a century ago. Andis there not the highest Art in this unveiled simplicity: to lead thereader onwards by a straight road, with the setting sun a-blaze at theend of it, knowing his path, knowing its object, yet still borne on withspirits unexhausted and unflagging foot? Trust me, there is betterpraise in this, than in dazzling the distracted glance with a perpetualsuccession of luminous fire-flies, and dragging your fair novel-reader, harried and excited, through the mazes of a thousand incidents. 

Thirdly, and lastly, in this prefatorial say, there is to be consideredthat inevitable defeator of all printed secrets--impatience. Nothing iseasier, nothing commoner (most wise people do it, whose fate is, thatthey must keep up with the race of current publication, and thereforemust keep down the still-increasing crowd of authorial creations), nothing is more venial, more laudable, than to read the last chapterfirst; and so, finding out all mysteries at once, to save one's self avast deal of unnecessary trouble. And, for mere tale-telling, this maybe sufficient. What need to burden memory with imaginary statements, orto weary out one's sympathies on trite fictitious woes?--come to thecatastrophe at once: the uncle hanged; the heir righted; the heroine, anorange-flowered bride; and the white-headed grandmother, after all herwrongs, winding up the story with a prudent moral. Now, this may all bevery well with histories that merely carry a sting in the tail, whosemoral is the warning of the rattlesnake, and whose hot-exciting interestis posted with the scorpion's venom. They are the Dragon of Wantley, with one caudal point--a barbed termination: we, like Moore of MooreHall, all point, covered with spikes: every where we boast ourselves anethical hedge-hog, all-over-armed with keen morals--a Rumour paintedfull of tongues, echoing all around with revealing of secrets. Thefeelings of our humble hero, altered Roger Acton, are worthy to bestudied by the great, to be sifted by the rich; and Grace's simpletongue may teach the sage, for its wisdom cometh from above; andJonathan, for all his shoulder-knot and smart cockade, is worthy to givelessons to his master: that master, also, is far better than you thinkhim; and poor Burke too, for true humanity's sake: so we get a mint ofmorals, set aside the story. It is not raw material, but theworkmanship, that gives its value to the flowered damask; ourgrand-dames' sumptuous taffeties and stand-alone brocades are but spunsilk-worms' interiors; the fairest statue is intrinsically but a mass ofclumsy stone, until, indeed, the sculptor has rough-hewn it, and shapedit, and chiselled it, and finished all the touches with sand-paper. Thisstory of '_The Crock of Gold_' purports to be a Dutch picture, asbecometh boors, their huts, their short and simple annals; so that, after its moralities, the mass of minute detail is the only thing thatgives it any value. 

Now, whilst all of you have been yawning through these egotisticphrases, Roger has been digging in his garden; there he is, pecking awayat what once was the celery-bed, but now are fallow trenches; celery, aswe all know, is a water-loving plant, doing best in marshy-land, so nowonder the trenches open on the sedge, and the muddy shallow oppositePike Island puddles up to them. There needs be no suspense, no mysteryat all; Roger's dream had clearly sent him thither, for he should nothave levelled those trenches yet awhile, it was a little too soon--badhusbandry; and, barring the appearance of a devil, Roger's dream cametrue. Yes, under the roots of a clump of bullrush, he lifted out withhis spade--a pot of Narbonne honey!

When first he spied the pot, his heart was in his mouth--it must begold, and with tottering knees he raised the precious burden. But, wofuldisappointment! the word "Honey, " with plenty of French and Fortnum onanother pasted label, stared him in the face; it was sweet and slimy tooabout the neck; there was no sort of jingle when he shook the crock;what though it be heavy?--honey's heavy; and it was tied over quite in acommon way with pig's bladder, and his clumsy trembling fingers couldnot undo that knot; and thus, with a miserable sense of cheated poverty, he threw it down beside the path, and would, perhaps, have flung itright away in sheer disgust, but for the reflection that the little onesmight like it. Once, indeed, the glorious doubt of maybe gold came backupon his mind, and he lifted up the spade to smash the baffling pot, andso make sure of what it might contain;--make sure, eh? why, you wouldonly lose the honey, whispered domestic economy. So he left the jar tobe opened by his wife when he should go in. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

JONATHAN'S STORE. 

AND where has Mrs. Acton been all this morning? Off to theHall, very soon after Grace had got away; and she rung at the sideentrance, hard by the kitchen, most fortunately caught Sarah Stackabout, and had a good long gossip with her; telling her, open-mouthed, all about Ben Burke having found a shawl of Mrs. Quarles's on theisland; and how, it being very rotten, yes, and smelling foul, Ben hadbeen fool enough to burn it; what a pity! how could the shawl have gotthere? if it only could ha' spoken what it knew! And the bereavedgossips mourned together over secrets undivulged, and their evidencedestroyed. As to the crockery, for a miraculous once in life, Mrs. Actonheld her tongue about a thing she knew, and said not a syllableconcerning it. Roger would be mad to lose the money. Just at partingwith her friend Mary Acton was going out by the wrong door, through thehall, but luckily did no more than turn the handle; or she never couldhave escaped bouncing in upon the lovers' interview, and therebyoccasioning a chaos of confusion. For, be it whispered, the step-damewas not a little jealous of her ready-made daughter's beauty, persistedin calling her a child, and treated her any thing but kindly andsisterly, as her full-formed woman's loveliness might properly havelooked for. Only imagine, if the Hecate had but seen Jonathan's lit-uplooks, or Grace's down-cast blushes; for it really slipped myobservation to record that there were blushes, and probably some causefor them when the keep-sake was given and accepted; only conceive ifthe step-mother had heard Jonathan's afterward soliloquy, when he waswatching pretty Grace as she tripped away--and how much he seemed tothink of her eyes and eye-lashes! I am reasonably fearful, had she heardand seen all this--Poll Acton's nails might have possibly drawn bloodfrom the cheeks of Jonathan Floyd. As it was, the little god of lovekindly warded from his votaries the coming of so crabbed an antagonist. 

Grace has now reached home again, blessing her overruling stars to haveescaped notice so entirely both in going and returning; for the motherwas hard at washing near the well, having got in half an hour before, and father has not yet left off digging in his garden. So she crept upstairs quietly, put away her Sunday best, and is just dropping on herknees beside her truckle-bed, to speak of all her sorrows to herHeavenly friend, and to thank him for the kindness He had raised her inan earthly one. She then, with no small trepidation, took out of hertucker, just below those withered snow-drops, the crumpled bit of paperthat held Jonathan's parting gift. It was surprising how her tuckerheaved; she could hardly get at the parcel. She wanted to look at thathalf-crown; not that she feared it was a bad one, or was curious aboutcoins, or felt any pleasure in possessing such a sum: but there was sucha don't-know-what connected with that new half-crown, which made herlong to look at it; so she opened the paper--and found its goldenfellows! O noble heart! O kind, generous, unselfish--yes, belovedJonathan! But what is she to do with the sovereigns? Keep them? No, shecannot keep them, however precious in her sight as proofs of deepaffection; but she will call as soon as possible, and give them back, and insist upon his taking them, and keeping them too--for her, if nootherwise. And the dear innocent girl was little aware herself how gladshe felt of the excuse to call so soon again at Hurstley. 

Meantime, for safety, she put the money in her Bible. 

What hallowed gold was that? Gained by honest industry, saved byyouthful prudence, given liberally and unasked, to those who needed, andcould not pay again; with a delicate consideration, an heroic essay atconcealment, a voluntary sacrifice of self, of present pleasure, passion, and affection. And there it lies, the little store, hidden upin Grace's Bible. She has prayed over it, thanked over it, intercededover it, for herself, for it, for others. How different, indeed, fromordinary gold, from common sin-bought mammon; how different from thatunblest store, which Roger Acton covets; how purified from meannesses, and separate from harms! This is of that money, the scarcest coins ofall the world, endued with all good properties in heaven and in earth, whereof it had been written, "The silver is mine, and the gold is mine, saith the Lord of hosts. "

Such alone are truly riches--well-earned, well-saved, well-sanctified, well-spent. The wealthiest of European capitalists--the Croesus ofmodern civilization--may be but a pauper in that better currency, whereof a sample has been shown in the store of Jonathan Floyd. 

CHAPTER XV. 

ANOTHER DISCOVERY, AND THE EARNEST OF GOOD THINGS. 

"DAME, here's one o' Ben's gallipots he flung away: it's naughtbut honey, dame--marked so--no crock of gold; don't expect it; no suchthing; luck like that isn't for such as me: though, being as it is, thebabes may like it, with their dry bread: open it, good-wife: I hope thewater mayn't ha' spoilt it. "

The notable Mary Acton produced certain scissors, hanging from herpocket by a tape, and cut a knot, which to Roger had been Gordian's. 

"Why, it's bran, Acton, not honey; look here, will you. " She tilted itup, and, along with a cloud of saw-dust, dropped out a heavy hail-stormof--little bits of leather!

"Hallo? what's that?" said Roger, eagerly: "it's gold, gold, I'll besworn!" It was so. 

Every separate bit of money, whatever kind of coins they were, had beentidily sewn up in a shred of leather; remnants of old gloves of allcolours; and the Narbonne jar contained six hundred and eighty-seven ofthem. These, of course, were hastily picked up from the path whereonthey had first fallen, were counted out at home, and the glitteringcontents of most of those little leather bags ripped up were immediatelydiscovered. Oh dear! oh dear! such a sight! Guineas and half-guineas, sovereigns and half-sovereigns, quite a little hill of bright, clean, prettily-figured gold. 

"Hip, hip, hooray!" shouted Roger, in an ecstacy; "Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!" and in the madness of his joy, he executed an extravagant passeul; up went his hat, round went his heels, and he capered awkwardlylike a lunatic giraffe. 

"Here's an end to all our troubles, Poll: we're as good as gentle-folksnow; catch me a-calling at the Hall, to bother about Jennings and SirJohn: a fig for bailiffs, and baronets, parsons, and prisons, and all, "and again he roared Hooray! "I tell you what though, old 'ooman, we mustjust try the taste of our glorious golden luck, before we do any thingelse. Bide a bit, wench, and hide the hoard till I return. I'm off tothe Bacchus's Arms, and I'll bring you some stingo in a minute, oldgal. " So off he ran hot-foot, to get an earnest of the blessing of hiscrock of gold. 

The minute that was promised to produce the stingo, proved to be ratherof a lengthened character; it might, indeed, have been a minute, or thefraction of one, in the planet Herschel, whose year is as long aseighty-five of our Terra's, but according to Greenwich calculation, itwas nearer like two hours. 

The little Tom and Jerry shop, that rejoiced in the classical heraldryof Bacchus's Arms, had been startled from all conventionalities by theunwonted event of the demand, "change for a sovereign?" and when it wasmade known to the assembled conclave that Roger Acton was the fortunatepossessor, that even assumed an appearance positively miraculous. 

"Why, honest Roger, how in the world could you ha' come by that?" wasthe troublesome inquiry of Dick the Tanner. 

"Well, Acton, you're sharper than I took you for, if you can squeezegold out of bailiff Jennings, " added Solomon Snip; and Roger knew nobetter way of silencing their tongues, than by profusely drenching themin liquor. So he stood treat all round, and was forced to hobanob witheach; and when that was gone, he called for more to keep their curiosityemployed. Now, all this caused delay; and if Mary had been waiting forthe "stingo, " she would doubtless have had reasonable cause for angerand impatience: however, she, for her part, was so pleasantly occupied, like Prince Arthur's Queen, in counting out the money, that, to say thetruth, both lord and liquor were entirely forgotten. 

But another cause that lengthened out the minute, was the embarrassingbusiness of where to find the change. Bacchus's didn't chalk up trust, where hard money was flung upon the counter; but all the accumulatedwealth of Bacchus's high-priest, Tom Swipey, and of the sevenworshippers now drinking in his honour, could not suffice to make upenough of change: therefore, after two gallons left behind him inlibations as aforesaid, and two more bottled up for a drink-offering athome, Roger was contented to be owed seven and fourpence; a debt neverlikely to be liquidated. Much speculation this afforded to the gossips;and when the treater's back was turned, they touched their foreheads, for the man was clearly crazed, and they winked to each other with agesture of significance. 

Grace, while musing on her new half-crown--it was strange how long shelooked at it--had heard with real amazement that uproarious huzzaing!and, just as her father had levanted for the beer, glided down from hercloset, and received the wondrous tidings from her step-mother. Sheheard in silence, if not in sadness: intuitive good sense proclaimed toher that this sudden gush of wealth was a temptation, even if she feltno secret fears on the score of--shall we call it superstition?--thatdream, this crock, that dark angel--and this so changed spirit of heronce religious father: what could she think? she meekly looked to Heavento avert all ill. 

Mary Acton also was less elated and more alarmed than she cared toconfess: not that she, any more than Grace, knew or thought about lordsof manors, or physical troubles on the score of finding the crock: butMrs. Quarles's shawl, and sundry fearful fancies tinged with blood, these worried her exceedingly, and made her look upon the gold with anuneasy feeling, as if it were an unclean thing, a sort of Achan's wedge. 

At last, here comes Roger back, somewhat unsteadily I fear, with a stonetwo-gallon jar of what he was pleased to avouch to be "the down-rightstingo. " "Hooray, Poll!" (he had not ceased shouting all the way fromBacchus's, ) "Hooray--here I be again, a gentle-folk, a lord, a king, Poll: why daughter Grace, what's come to you? I won't have no dull looksabout to-day, girl. Isn't this enough to make a poor man merry? No moretroubles, no more toil, no more 'humble sarvent, ' no more a ragged, plodding ploughman: but a lord, daughter Grace--a great, rich, luxuriouslord--isn't this enough to make a man sing out hooray?--Thank the crockof gold for this--Oh, blessed crock!"

"Hush, father, hush! that gold will be no blessing to you; Heaven sendit do not bring a curse. It will be a sore temptation, even if therights of it are not in some one else: we know not whom it may belongto, but at any rate it cannot well be ours. "

"Not ours, child? whose in life is it then?"

Mary Acton, made quite meek by a superstitious dread of having money ofthe murdered, stepped in to Grace's help, whom her father's fiercemanner had appalled, with "Roger, it belonged to Mrs. Quarles, I'mmorally sure on it--and must now be Simon Jennings's, her heir. "

"What?" he almost frantically shrieked, "shall that white hell-hound robme yet again? No, dame--I'll hang first! the crock I found, the crockI'll keep: the money's mine, whoever did the murder. " Then, changing hismad tone into one of reckless inebriate gayety--for he was more thanhalf-seas over even then from the pot-house toastings and excitement--headded, "But come, wenches, down with your mugs, and help me to getthrough the jar: I never felt so dry in all my life. Here's blessings onthe crock, on him as sent it, him as has it, and on all the joy andcomfort it's to bring us! Come, drink, drink--we must all drinkthat--but where's Tom?"

If Roger had been quite himself, he never would have asked sosuperfluous a question: for Tom was always in one and the same company, albeit never in one and the same place: he and his Pan-like Mentor werecontinually together, studying wood-craft, water-craft, and all mannerof other craft connected with the antique trade of picking and stealing. 

"Where's Tom?"

Grace, glad to have to answer any reasonable question, mildly answered, "Gone away with Ben, father. "

Alas! that little word, Ben, gave occasion to reveal a depth in Roger'sfall, which few could have expected to behold so soon. To think that theliberal friend, who only last night had frankly shared his all with him, whose honest glowing heart would freely shed its blood for him, that hein recollection should be greeted with a loathing! Ben would come, andclaim some portion of his treasure--he would cry halves--or, who knows?might want all--all: and take it by strong arm, or by threat to 'peachagainst him:--curse that Burke! he hated him. 

Oh, Steady Acton! what has made thee drink and swear? Oh, Honest Roger!what has planted guile, and suspicion, and malice in thy heart? Arethese the mere first-fruits of coveting and having? Is this the earliestblessing of that luck which many long for--the finding of a crock ofgold?

We would not enlarge upon the scene; a painful one at all times, whenman forgets his high prerogative, and drowns his reason in the tankard:but, in a Roger Acton's case, lately so wise, temperate, and patient, peculiarly distressing. Its chief features were these. Grace tastednothing, but mournfully looked on: once only she attempted toexpostulate, but was met--not with fierce oaths, nor coarse chidings, nor even with idiotic drivelling--oh no! worse than that she felt: hereplied to her with the maudlin drunken promise, "If she'd only be agood girl, and let him bide, he'd give her a big Church-bible, bound insolid gold--that 'ud make the book o' some real value, Grace. " Poorbroken-hearted daughter--she rushed to her closet in a torrent of tears. 

As for Mary Acton, she was miraculously meek and dumb; all the scold wasquelled within her; the word "blood" was the Petruchio that tamed thatshrew; she could see a plenty of those crimson spots, which might

 "The multitudinous seas incarnadine, Making the green, one red, "

dancing in the sun-beams, dotted on the cottage walls, sprinkled asunholy water, over that foul crock. Would not the money be a curse tothem any how, say nothing of the danger? If things went on as theybegan, Mary might indeed have cause for fear: actually, she could nota-bear to look upon the crock; she quite dreaded it, as if it hadcontained a "bottled devil. " So there she sat ever so long--silent, thoughtful, and any thing but comfortable. 

What became of Roger until next day at noon, neither he nor I can tell:true, his carcase lay upon the floor, and the two-gallon jar was empty. But, for the real man, who could answer to the name of Roger Acton, thesensitive and conscious soul--that was some where galloping away forfifteen hours in the Paradise of fools: the Paradise? no--the Maėlstrom;tossed about giddily and painfully in one whirl of tumultuousdrunkenness. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

HOW THE HOME WAS BLEST THEREBY. 

IT will surprise no one to be told that, however truly such anexcess may have been the first, it was by no means the last exploit ofour altered labourer in the same vein of heroism. Bacchus's was quiteclose, and he needs must call for his change; he had to call often;drank all quits; changed another sovereign, and was owed again; but, trust him, he wasn't going to be cheated out of that: take care of thepence, and the pounds will take care of themselves. But still it wasditto repeated; changing, being owed, grudging, grumbling: at last hefound out the famous new plan of owing himself; and as Bacchus's did notsee fit to reject such wealthy customers, Roger soon chalked up ayard-long score, and grew so niggardly that they could not get a pennyfrom him. 

It is astonishing how immediately wealth brings in, as its companion, meanness: they walk together, and stand together, and kneel together, asthe hectoring, prodigal Faulconbridge, the Bastard Plantagenet in _KingJohn_, does with his white-livered, puny brother, Robert. Wherefore, nosooner was Roger blest with gold, than he resolved not to be such a foolas to lose liberally, or to give away one farthing. To give, I say, forextravagant indulgence is another thing; and it was a fine, proudpleasure to feast a lot of fellows at his sole expense. If meanness isbrother to wealth, it is at any rate first cousin to extravagance. 

When the dowager collects "her dear five hundred friends" to paradebefore the fresh young heirs her wax-light lovely daughters--when all isglory, gallopade, and Gunter--when Rubini warbles smallest, andLablanche is heard as thunder on the stairs--speak, tradesmen, ye whobest can tell, the closeness that has catered for that feast; tell itout, ye famished milliners, ground down to sixpence on a ball-dressbill; whisper it, ye footmen, with your wages ever due; let Gath, letAskelon re-echo with the truth, that extortion is the parent ofextravagance!

Now, that episode should have been in a foot note; but no one takes thetrouble to read notes; and with justice too; for if a man has any thingto say, let him put it in his text, as orderly as may be. And, if orderbe sometimes out of the question, as seems but clearly suitable atpresent to our hero's manner of life, it is wise to go boldly on, without so prim an usher; to introduce our thoughts as they revealthemselves, ignorant of "their own degrees, " not "standing on the orderof their coming, " but, as a pit crowd on a benefit-night, bustling overone another, helter-skelter, "in most admired disorder. " This will wellcomport with Roger's daily life: for, notwithstanding the frequentinterference of an Amazon wife--regardless of poor, dear Grace's gentlevoice and melancholy eyes--in spite of a conscience pricking in hisbreast, with the spines of a horse-chestnut, that evil crockappeared from the beginning to have been found for but one solepurpose--_videlicet_, that of keeping alight in Roger's brain the fireof mad intoxication. Yes, there were sundry other purposes, too, whichmay as well be told directly. 

The utter dislocation of all home comforts occupied the foremost rank. True--in comparison with the homes of affluence and halls ofluxury--those comforts may have formerly seemed few and far between; yetstill the angel of domestic peace not seldom found a rest within thecottage. Not seldom? always: if sweet-eyed Grace be such an angel, thatever-abiding guest, full of love, duty, piety, and cheerfulness. Butnow, after long-enduring anguish, vexed in her righteous soul by theshocking sights and sounds of the drunkard and his parasites (for allthe idle vagabonds about soon flocked around rich Acton, and were freelywelcome to his reckless prodigality), Grace had been forced to stealaway, and seek refuge with a neighbour. Here was one blessing the less. 

Another wretched change was in the wife. Granted, Mary Acton had notever been the pink of politeness, the violet of meekness, nor the roseof entire amiability: but if she were a scold, that scolding was wellmeant; and her irate energies were incessantly directed towardscleanliness, economy, quiet, and other _notabilia_ of a busy house-wife. She did her best to keep the hovel tidy, to make the bravest show withtheir scanty chattels, to administer discreetly the stores of theirfrugal larder, and to recompense the good-man returning from his hardday's work, with much of rude joy and bustling kindness. But now, afterthe first stupor of amazement into which the crock and its consequencesthrew her, Poll Acton grew to be a fury: she raged and stormed, and wellshe might, at filth and discomfort in her home, at nauseous dregs andnoisome fumes, at the orgie still kept up, day by day, and night bynight, through the length of that first foul week, which succeeded thefortunate discovery. And not in vain she raged and stormed--and foughttoo; for she did fight--ay, and conquered: and miserable Roger, now infull possession of those joys which he had longed for at the casement ofHurstley Hall, was glad to betake himself to the bench at Bacchus's, whither he withdrew his ragged regiment. Thus, that crock had spoilt allthere was to spoil in the temper and conduct of the wife. 

Look also at the pretty prattling babes, twin boys of two years old, whom Roger used to hasten home to see; who had to say their simpleprayers; to be kissed, and comforted, and put to bed; to be made happierby a wild flower picked up on his path, than if the gift had been acoral with gold bells: where were they now? neglected, dirty, frettingin a corner, their red eyes full of wonder at father's altered ways, andtheir quick minds watching, with astonished looks, the progress ofdomestic discord. How the crock of gold has nipped those early blossomsas a killing frost!

Again, there used to be, till this sad week of wealth and riotoushilarity, that constantly recurring blessing of the morn and eveningprayer which Roger read aloud, and Grace's psalm or chapter; andafterwards the frugal meal--too scanty, perhaps, and coarse--but stillrefreshing, thank the Lord, and seasoned well with health and appetite;and the heart-felt sense of satisfaction that all around was earned byhonest labour; and there was content, and hope of better times, andGod's good blessing over every thing. 

Now, all these pleasures had departed; gold, unhallowed gold, gottenhastily in the beginning, broadcast on the rank strong soil of a heartthat coveted it earnestly, had sprung up as a crop of poisonous tares, and choked the patch of wheat; gold, unhallowed gold, light come, lightgone, had scared or killed the flock of unfledged loves that used tonestle in the cotter's thatch, as surely as if the cash were stones, flung wantonly by truants at a dove-cot; and forth from the crock, thategg of wo, had been hatched a red-eyed vulture, to tyrannize in this sadhome, where but lately the pelican had dwelt, had spread her fosteringwing, and poured out the wealth of her affections. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

CARE. 

BUT other happy consequences soon became apparent. If Acton inhis tipsy state was mad, in his intervals of soberness he was thoroughlymiserable. And this, not merely on the score of sickness, exhaustion, prostrated spirits, blue-devils, or other the long catalogue of adrunkard's joys; not merely from a raging wife, and a wretched home; notmerely from the stings, however sharp, however barbed, of a conscienceill at ease, that would rise up fiercely like a hissing snake, andstrike the black apostate to the earth: these all, doubtless, had theirpleasant influences, adding to the lucky finder's bliss: but there wasanother root of misery most unlooked for, and to the poor who dream ofgold, entirely paradoxical. 

The possession of that crock was the heaviest of cares. Where on earthwas he to hide it? how to keep it safely, secretly? What if he wererobbed of it in some sly way! O, thought of utter wo! it made thefortunate possessor quiver like an aspen. Or what, if some one or moreof those blustering boon companions were to come by night with abludgeon and a knife, and--and cut his throat, and find the treasure?or, worse still, were to torture him, set him on the fire like asaucepan (he had heard of Turpin having done so with a rich old woman), and make him tell them "where" in his extremity of pains, and give upall, and then--and then murder him at last, outright, and afterwardsburn the hovel over his head, babes and all, that none might live totell the tale? These fears set him on the rack, and furnished oneinciting cause to that uninterrupted orgie; he must be either mad ormiserable, this lucky finder. 

Also, even in his tipsy state, he could not cast off care: he might inhis cups reveal the dangerous secret of having found a crock of gold. Asecret still it was: Grace, his wife, and himself, were the only soulswho knew it. Dear Grace feared to say a word about the business: not inapprehension of the law, for she never thought of that too probableintrusion on the finder: but simply because her unsophisticated pietybelieved that God, for some wise end, had allowed the Evil One to tempther father; she, indeed, did not know the epigram, The devil now is wiser than of yore: He tempts by making rich--not making poor:

but she did not conceive that notion in her mind; she contrasted thewealthy patriarch Job, tried by poverty and pain, but just and patientin adversity--with the poor labourer Acton, tried by luxury and wealth, and proved to be apostate in prosperity: so she held her tongue, andhitherto had been silent on a matter of so much local wonder as herfather's sudden wealth, in the midst of urgent curiosity andextraordinary rumours. 

Mary was kept quiet as we know, by superstition of a lower grade, thedread of having money of the murdered, a thought she never breathed toany but her husband; and to poor uninitiated Grace (who had not heard aword of Ben's adventure), her answer about Mrs. Quarles and Mr. Jenningsin the dawn of the crock's first blessing, had been entirelyunintelligible: Mary, then, said never a word, but looked on dreadinglyto see the end. 

As for Roger himself, he was too much in apprehension of a landlord'sclaims, and of a task-master's extortions, to breath a syllable aboutthe business. So he hid his crock as best he could--we shall soon hearhow and where--took out sovereign after sovereign day by day, and madehis flush of instant wealth a mystery, a miracle, a legacy, good luck, any thing, every thing but the truth: and he would turn fiercely roundto the frequent questioner with a "What's that to you?--Nobody'sbusiness but mine:" and then would coaxingly add the implied bribe tosecresy, in his accustomed invitation--"And now, what'll you take?"--amagical phrase, which could suffice to quell murmurs for the time, andpostponed curiosity to appetite. Thus the fact was still unknown, andweighed on Roger's mind as a guilty concealment, an oppressive secret. What if any found it out?

For immediate safety--the evening after his memorable first fifteenhours of joy--he buried the crock deeply in a hole in his garden, filling all up hard with stones and brick-bats; and when he hadsmoothed it straight and workmanlike, remembered that he surely hadn'tkept out enough to last him; so up it had to come again--five more takenout, and the crock was restored to its unquiet grave. 

Scarcely had he done this, than it became dark, and he began to fancysome one might have seen him hide it; those low mean tramps (neverbefore had he refused the wretched wayfarers his sympathy) were alwayssneaking about, and would come and dig it up in the night: so he wentout in the dark and the rain, got at it with infinite trouble and abroken pickaxe, and exultingly brought the crock in-doors; where heburied it a third time, more securely, underneath the grouted floor, close beside the fire in the chimney-corner: it was now nearly midnight, and he went to bed. 

Hardly had he tumbled in, after pulling on a nightcap of the flagon, than the dread idea overtook him that his treasure might be melted! Wasthere ever such a fool as he? Well, well, to think he could fling hispurse on the fire! What a horrid thought! Metallurgy was a science quiteunknown to Roger; he only considered gold as heavy as lead, andtherefore probably as fusible: so down he bustled, made another hole, adeeper one too this time, in the floor under the dresser, where, exhausted with his toil and care, he deposited the crock by four in themorning--and so retired once more. 

All in vain--nobody ever knew when Black Burke might be returning fromhis sporting expeditions--and that beast of a lurcher would be sure tobe creeping in this morning, and would scratch it up, and his brute of amaster would get it all! This fancy was the worst possible: and Rogerrose again, quite sick at heart, pale, worn, and trembling with amiser's haggard joys. Where should he hide that crock--the epithet"cursed" crock escaped him this time in his vexed impatience. In thehouse and in the garden, it was equally unsafe. 

Ha! a bright thought indeed: the hollow in the elm-tree, creakingoverhead, just above the second arm: so the poor, shivering wretch, almost unclad, swarmed up that slimy elm, and dropped his treasure inthe hollow. Confusion! how deep it was: he never thought of that; herewas indeed something too much of safety: and then those boys ofneighbour Goode's were birds'-nesting continually, specially round thelake this spring. What an idiot he was not to have remembered this! Andup he climbed again, thrust in his arm to the shoulder, and managed torepossess himself a fifth time of that blessed crock. 

Would that the elm had been hollow to its root, and beneath the root achasm bottomless, and that Plutus in that Narbonne jar had served as asupper to Pluto in the shades! Better had it been for thee, my Roger. 

But he had not hid it yet; so, that night--or rather that cold morningabout six, the drenched, half-frozen Fortunatus carried it to bed withhim: and a precious warming-pan it made: for nothing would satisfy thefinder of its presence but perpetual bodily contact:--accordingly, heplaced it in his bosom, and it chilled him to the back-bone. 

Yes; that was undoubtedly the safest way; to carry the spoil about withhim; so, next noon--how could he get up till noon after such a wofulnight?--next noon he emptied the jar, and tying up its contents in ahandkerchief, proceeded to wear it as a girdle; for an hour he clatteredabout the premises, making as much jingle as a wagoner's team of bells;laden heavily with gold, like the [Greek: ibebusto] genius in Herodotus:but he soon found out this would not do at all; for, independently ofall concealment at an end, so long as his secret store was rattling ashe walked, louder than military spurs or sabre-tackle, he soberlyreflected that he might--possibly, possibly, though not probably--get aglass too much again, by some mere accident or other; and then to berobbed of his golden girdle, this cincture of all joy! O, terriblethought! as well [this is my fancy, not Rogers's] deprive Venus of herzone, and see how the beggared Queen of Beauty could exist without hertreasury, the Cestus. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

INVESTMENT. 

NEXT day, the wealthy Roger had higher aspirations. Why shouldnot he get interest for his money, like lords and gentlefolk? His goldhad been lying idle too long; more fool he: it ought to breed moneysomehow, he knew that; for, like most poor men whose sole experience ofinvestment is connected with the Lombard's golden balls, he took exaltedviews of usury. Was he to be "hiding up his talent in a napkin--?"

Ah!--he remembered and applied the holy parable, but it smote across hisheart like a flash of frost, a chilling recollection of good things pastand gone. What had he been doing with his talents--for he oncepossessed the ten? had he not squandered piety, purity, and patience?where were now his gratitude to God, his benevolence to man? thefather's duteous care, the husband's industry and kindness, thelabourer's faith, the Christian's hope--who had spent all these?--Tillmoney's love came in, and money-store to feed it, the poor man had beenrich: but now, rotten to the core, by lust of gold, the rich is poorindeed. 

However, such considerations did not long afflict him--for we know thatlookers-on see more than players--and if Roger had encouraged half ourwise and sober thoughts, he might have been a better man: but Rogerquelled the thoughts, and silenced them; and thoughts are tenderintonations, shy little buzzing sounds, soon scared by coarser noise:Roger had no mind to cherish those small fowls; so they flew back againto Heaven's gate, homeless and uncomforted as weeping peri's. 

The bank--the county bank--Shark, Breakem, and Company--this was thespecious Eldorado, the genuine gold-increaser, the hive where he wouldstore his wealth (as honey left for the bees in winter), and was to haveit soon returned fourfold. It was indeed a thought to make the rich manglad, that all his shining heap was just like a sample of seed-corn, andthe pocket-full should next year fill a sack. How grudgingly he nowbegan to mourn over past extravagance, five pieces gone within the week!how close and careful he resolved to be in future! how he would scrapeand economize to get and save but one more of those sweet little seeds, that yield more gold--more gold! And if Roger had been privileged inyouth to have fed upon the wisdom of the Eton Latin grammar, he couldhave now quoted with some experimental unction the "_Crescit Amor_"line, which every body well knows how to finish. Truly, it was growingwith his growth, and rioting in strength above his weakness. 

Swollen with this expanding love, he packed up his money in what were, though he knew it not, _rouleaux_, but to his plebeian eyes looked morelike golden sausages: and he would take it to the bank, and they shouldbow to him, and Sir him, and give him forthwith more than he hadbrought; and if those summary gains were middling great--say twice asmuch, to be moderate--he thought he might afford himself a chaise comingback, and return to Hurstley Common like a nabob. Thus, full of wealthyfancies, after one glass more, off set Roger to the county town, withhis treasure in a bundle. 

Half-way to it, as hospitality has ordained to be the case whereverthere be half-ways, occurred a public-house: and really, notwithstanding all our monied neophyte's economical resolutions, histhroat was so "uncommon dry, " that he needs must stop there to refreshthe muscles of his larynx: so, putting down his bundle on the settle, hecalled for a foaming tankard, and thanking the crock, as his evil wontnow was, sat down to drink and think. Here was prosperity indeed, aflood of astonishing good fortune: that he, but a little week agone, adirty ditcher--so was he pleased to designate his former self--a raggedwretch, little better than a tramp, should be now progressing like amonarch, with a mighty bag of gold to enrich his county town. To enrich, and be thereby the richer; for Roger's actions of finance were sosimple, as to run the risk of being called sublimely indistinct: he tookit as an axiom that "money bred money, " but in what way to draw forthits generative properties, whether or not by some new-fangled manure, hewas entirely ignorant; and it clearly was his wisdom to leave all thatmystery of money-making solely to the banker. All he cared about wasthis: to come back richer than he came--and, lo! how rich he wasalready. Lolling at high noon, on a Wednesday too, in the extremest modeof rustic beauism, with a bag of gold by his side, and a pot of porterin his hand--here was an accumulation of magnificence--all theprepositions pressed into his service. His wildest hopes exceeded, andalmost nothing left to wish. Blown up with the pride and importance ofthe moment, and some little oblivious from the potent porter--he hadpaid and sallied forth, and marched a mile upon his way, full of goldenfancies, a rich luxurious lord as he was--when all on a sudden thehallucination crossed his dull pellucid mind, that he had left the storebehind him! O, pungent terror!--O, most exquisite torture! was it cleangone, stolen, lost, lost, lost for ever? Rushing back in an agony offear, that made the ruddy hostess think him crazed, with his hair onend, and a face as if it had been white-washed, he flew to the tap-room, and--almost fainted for ecstasy of joy when he found it, where he hadlaid it, on the settle!

Better had you lost it, Roger; better had your ecstasy been sorrow:there is more trouble yet for you, from that bad crock of gold. But ifyour lesson is not learnt, and you still think otherwise, go on a littlewhile exultingly as now I see you, and hug the treasure to yourheart--the treasure that will bring you yet more misery. 

And now the town is gained, the bank approached. What! that big barred, guarded place, looking like a mighty mouse-trap? he didn't half like toventure in. At last he pushed the door ajar, and took a peep; therewere muskets over the mantel-piece, ostentatiously ticketed as "Loaded!Beware!" there were leather buckets ranged around the walls: he did notin any degree like it: was he to expose his treasure in this idiotfashion to all the avowed danger of fire and thieves? However, since hehad come so far, he would get some interest for his money, that hewould--so he'd just make bold to step to the counter and ask a veryobsequious bald-headed gentleman, who sired him quite affably, "How much, Master, will you be pleased to give me for my gold?"

The gentleman looked queerish, as if he did not comprehend the question, and answered, "Oh! certainly, sir--certainly--we do not object to giveyou our notes for it, " at the same time producing an extremely dirtybundle of worn-out bits of paper. 

Roger stroked his chin. 

"But, Master, my meaning is, not how many o' them brown bits o' paperyou'll sell me for my gold here, " and he exhibited a greater store thanMr. Breakem had seen at once upon his counter for a year, "but how muchmore gold you'll send me back with than what I've brought? by way ofinterest, you know, or some such law: for I don't know much about theFunds, Master. "

"Indeed, sir, " replied the civil banker, who wished by any means tocatch the clodpole's spoil--"you are very obliging; we shall be glad toallow you two-and-a-half per centum per annum for the deposit you aregood enough to leave in our keeping. "

"Leave in your keeping, Master! no, I didn't say that! by your leave, I'll keep it myself!"

"In that case, sir, I really do not see how I can do business with you. "

True enough; and Roger would never have been such a monetary blockhead, had he not been now so generally tipsy; the fumes of beer had mingledwith his plan, and all his usual shrewdness had been blunted into follyby greediness of lucre on the one side, and potent liquors on the other. The moment that the banker's parting speech had reached his ear, theabsurdity of Roger's scheme was evident even to himself, and with a bare"Good day, Master, " he hurriedly took his bundle from the counter, andscuttled out as quick as he could. 

His feelings, walking homeward, were any thing but pleasant; the bubbleof his ardent hope was burst: he never could have more than the paltrylittle sum he carried in that bundle: what a miser he would be of it:how mean it now seemed in his eyes--a mere sample-bag of seed, insteadof the wide-waving harvest! Ah, well; he would save and scrape--ay, andgo back to toil again--do any thing rather than spend. 

Got home, the difficulty now recurred, where was he to hide it? Thestore was a greater care than ever, now those rascally bankers knew ofit. He racked his brain to find a hiding-place, and, at length, reallyhit upon a good one. He concealed the crock, now replenished with itscontents, in the thatch just over his bed's head: it was a rescueddarling: so he tore a deep hole, and nested it quite snugly. 

Perhaps it did not matter much, but the rain leaked in by that hole allnight, and fortunate Roger woke in the morning drenched with wet, andracked by rheumatism. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

CALUMNY. 

MORE blessings issue from the crock; Pandora's box is set wideopen, and all the sweet inhabitants come forth. If apprehensions for itssafety made the finder full of care, the increased whisperings of theneighbourhood gave him even deeper reason for anxiety. In vain he toldlie upon lie about a legacy of some old uncle in the clouds; in vain hestuck to the foolish and transparent falsehood, with a doggedpertinacity that appealed, not to reason, but to blows; in vain he madeaffirmation weaker by his oath, and oaths quite unconvincing by hiscudgel: no one believed him: and the mystery was rendered moreinexplicable from his evidently nervous state and uneasy terror ofdiscovery. 

He had resolved at the outset, cunningly as he fancied, to change nomore than one piece of gold in the same place; though Bacchus'sundoubtedly proved the rule by furnishing an exception: and theconsequence came to be, that there was not a single shop in the wholecounty town, nor a farm-house in all the neighbourhood round, whereRoger Acton had not called to change a sovereign. True, the silver hadseldom been forthcoming; still, he had asked for it; and where in lifecould he have got the gold? Many was the rude questioner, whosecuriosity had been quenched in drink; many the insufferable pryer, whomclub-law had been called upon to silence. Meanwhile, Roger steadily kepton, accumulating silver where he could: for his covetous mind delightedin the mere semblance of an increase to his store, and took someuntutored numismatic interest in those pretty variations of hisidol--money. 

But if Roger's heap increased, so did the whispers and suspicions of thecountry round; they daily grew louder, and more clamorous; and soon thecharitable nature of chagrined wonder assumed a shape more heart-rendingto the wretched finder of that golden hoard, than any other care, orfear, or sin, that had hitherto torn him. It only was a miracle that theneighbours had not thought of it before; seldom is the world sounsuspicious; but then honest Roger's forty years of character weresomething--they could scarcely think the man so base; and, above all, gentle Grace was such a favourite with all, was such a pattern ofpurity, and kindliness, and female conduct, that the tongue would haveblistered to its roots, that had uttered scorn of her till now. Asthings were, though, could any thing be clearer? Was charity herself toblame in putting one and one together? Sir John was rich, was young, gay, and handsome; but Grace was poor--but indisputably beautiful, andprobably had once been innocent: some had seen her going to the Hall atstrange times and seasons--for in truth, she often did go there;Jonathan and Sarah Stack, of course, were her dearest friends on earth:and so it came to pass, that, through the blessing of the crock, honestRoger was believed to live on the golden wages of his daughter's shame!Oh, coarse and heartless imputation! Oh, bitter price to pay for secresyand wonderful good fortune! In vain the wretched father stormed, andswore, and knocked down more than one foul-spoken fellow that hadbreathed against dear Grace. None but credited the lie, and many enviouswretches actually gloried in the scandal; I grieve to say thatwomen--divers venerable virgins--rejoiced that this pert hussey was atlast found out; she was too pretty to be good, too pious to be pure; nowat length they were revenged upon her beauty; now they had their triumphover one that was righteous over-much. For other people, they would urgethe reasonable question, how else came Roger by the cash? and getting noanswer, or worse than none--a prevaricating, mystifying mereput-off--they had hardly an alternative in common exercise of judgment:therefore, "Shame on her, " said the neighbours, "and the bitterest shameon him:" and the gaffers and grand-dames shook their heads virtuously. 

Yet worse: there was another suggestion, by no means contradictory, though simultaneous: what had become of Tom? ay--that bold youngfellow--Thomas Acton, Ben Burke's friend: why was he away so long, hiding out of the country? they wondered. 

The suspected Damon and Pythias had gone a county off to certain fens, and were, during this important week, engaged in a long process ofensnaring ducks. 

Old Gaffer White had muttered something to Gossip Heartley, which Dickthe Tanner overheard, wherein Tom Acton and a gun, and Burke, andburglary, and throats cut, and bags of gold, were conspicuousingredients: so that Roger Acton's own dear Tom, that eagle-eyed andhandsome better image of himself, stood accused, before his quailingfather's face, of robbery and murder. 

Both--both darlings, dead Annie's little orphaned pets, thus stricken byone stone to infamy! Grace, scouted as a hussey, an outcast, a bad girl, a wanton--blessed angel! Thomas--generous boy--keenly looked for, in hisnear return, to be seized by rude hands, manacled, and dragged away, andtried on suspicion as a felon--for what? that crock of gold. Yet Rogerheard it all, knew it all, writhed at it all, as if scorpions werelashing him; but still he held on grimly, keeping that bad secret. Should he blab it out, and so be poor again, and lose the crock?

That our labourer's changed estate influenced his bodily health, underthis accumulated misery and desperate excitement, began to be mademanifest to all. The sturdy husbandman was transformed into a tremulousdrunkard; the contented cottager, into a querulous hypochondriac; thecalm, religious, patient Christian, into a tumultuous blasphemer. Couldall this be, and even Roger's iron frame stand up against the battle!No, the strength of Samson has been shorn. The crock has poured ablessing on its finder's very skin, as when the devil covered Job withboils. 

CHAPTER XX. 

THE BAILIFF'S VISIT. 

ONE day at noon, ere the first week well was over since thefortunate discovery of gold, as Roger lay upon his bed, recovering froman overnight's excess, tossed with fever, vexation, and anxiety, he wasat once surprised and frightened by a visit from no less a personagethan Mr. Simon Jennings. And this was the occasion of his presence:

Directly the gathering storm of rumours had collected to that focus ofall calumny, the destruction of female character and murder charged uponthe innocent, Grace Acton had resolved upon her course; secresy could bekept no longer; her duty now appeared to be, to publish the story of herfather's lucky find. 

Grace, we may observe, had never been bound to silence, but only imposedit on herself from motives of tenderness to one, whom she believed to betaken in the toils of a temptation. She, simple soul, knew nothing ofmanorial rights, nor wotted she that any could despoil her father of hismoney; but even if such thoughts had ever crossed her mind, she loathedthe gold that had brought so much trouble on them all, and cared not howsoon it was got rid of. Her father's health, honour, happiness, wereobviously at stake; perhaps, also, her brother's very life: and, as forherself, the martyr of calumny looked piously to heaven, offered up heroutraged heart, and resolved to stem this torrent of misfortune. Accordingly, with a noble indignation worthy of her, she had gonestraightway to the Hall, to see the baronet, to tell the truth, flingaside a charge which she could scarcely comprehend, and openly vindicateher offended honour. She failed--many imagine happily for her own peace, if Sir John had not been better than his friends--in gaining access tothe Lord of Hurstley; but she did see Mr. Jennings, who serenelyinterposed, and listened to all she came to say--"her father had beenunfortunate enough to find a crock of money on the lake side near hisgarden. "

When Jennings heard the tale, he started as if stung by a wasp: andurging Grace to tell it no one else (though the poor girl "must, " shesaid, "for honour's sake"), he took up his hat, and ran off breathlesslyto Acton's cottage. Roger was at home, in bed, and sick; there was noescape; and Simon chuckled at the lucky chance. So he crept in, carefully shut the door, put his finger on his lips to hush Roger's noteof admiration at so little wished a vision; and then, with one of hisaccustomed scared and fearful looks behind him, muttered under hisbreath, "Man, that gold is mine: I have paid its price to the uttermost; give methe honey-pot. "

Roger's first answer was a vulgar oath; but his tipsy courage faded soonaway before old habits of subserviency, and he faltered out, "I--I--Muster Jennings! I've got no pot of gold!"

"Man, you lie! you have got the money! give it me at once--and--" headded in a low, hoarse voice, "we will not say a word about the murder. "

"Murder!" echoed the astonished man. 

"Ay, murder, Acton:--off! off, I say!" he muttered parenthetically, thenwrestled for a minute violently, as with something in the air; andrecovering as from a spasm, calmly added, "Ay, murder for the money. "

"I--I!" gasped Roger; "I did no murder, Muster Jennings!"

A new light seemed to break upon the bailiff, and he answered with atone of fixed determination, "Acton, you are the murderer of Bridget Quarles. "

Roger's jaw dropped, dismay was painted on his features, and certainlyhe did look guilty enough. But Simon proceeded in a tenderer tone;

"Notwithstanding, give me the gold, Acton, and none shall know a wordabout the murder. We will keep all quiet, Roger Acton, all nice andquiet, you know;" and he added, coaxingly, "come, Roger, give me up thiscrock of gold. "

"Never!" with a fierce anathema, answered our hero, now himself again:the horrid accusation had entranced him for a while, but this coaxingstrain roused up all the man in him: "Never!" and another oath confirmedit. 

"Acton, give it up, I say!" was shouted in rejoinder, and Jenningsglared over him with his round and staring eyes as he lay faint upon hisbed--"Give up the crock, or else--"

"Else what? you whitened villain. "

The bailiff flung himself at Roger's neck, and almost shrieked, "I'llserve you as I--"

There was a tremendous struggle; attacked at unawares, for the moment hewas nearly mastered; but Acton's tall and wiry frame soon overpoweredthe excited Jennings, and long before you have read what I havewritten--he has leaped out of bed--seized--doubled up--and flung thebattered bailiff headlong down the narrow stair-case to the bottom. Thisdone, Roger, looking like Don Quixote de la Mancha in his penitentialshirt, mounted into bed again, and quietly lay down; wondering, half-sober, at the strange and sudden squall. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

THE CAPTURE. 

HE had not long to wonder. Jennings got up instantly, despiteof bruises, posted to the Hall, took a search-warrant from Sir John'sstudy, (they were always ready signed, and Jennings filled one up, ) andreturned with a brace of constables to search the cottage. 

Then Roger, as he lay musing, fancied he heard men's voices below, andhis wife, who had just come in, talking to them; what could they want?tramps, perhaps: or Ben? he shuddered at the possibility; with Tom too;and he felt ashamed to meet his son. So he turned his face to the wall, and lay musing on--he hadn't been drinking too much over-night--Oh, no!it was sickness, and rheumatics, and care about the crock; Tom should betold that he was very ill, poor father! Just as he had planned this, andresolved to keep his secret from that poaching ruffian Burke, some onecame creeping up the stairs, slided in at the door, and said to him in adeep whisper from the further end of the room, "Acton, give me the gold, and the men shall go away; it is not yet toolate; tell me where to find the crock of gold. "

An oath was the reply; and, at a sign from Jennings, up came the othertwo. 

"We have searched every where, Mr. Simon Jennings, both cot and garden;ground disturbed in two or three places, but nothing under it; in-doorstoo, the floor is broken by the hearth and by the dresser, but no signsof any thing there: now, Master Acton, tell us where it is, man, andsave us all the trouble. "

Roger's newly-learnt vocabulary of oaths was drawn upon again. 

"Did you look in the ash-pit?" asked Jennings. 

"No, sir. "

"Well, while you two search this chamber, I will examine it myself. "

Mr. Jennings apparently entertained a wholesome fear of Acton's powersof wrestling. 

Up came Simon in a hurry back again, with a lot of little empty leatherbags he had raked out, and--the fragment of a shawl! the edges burnt, itwas a corner bit, and marked B. Q. 

"What do you call this, sir?" asked the exulting bailiff. 

"Curse that Burke!"--thought Roger; but he said nothing. 

And the two men up stairs had searched, and pried, and hunted everywhere in vain; the knotty mattress had been ripped up, the chimneyscrutinized, the floor examined, the bed-clothes overhauled, and as forthe thatch, if it hadn't been for Roger Acton's constant glance upwardsat his treasure in the roof, I am sure they never would have found it. But they did at last: there it was, the crock of gold, full proof ofrobbery and murder!

"Aha!" said Simon, in a complacent triumph, "Mrs. Quarles's identicalhoney-pot, full of her clean bright gold, and many pieces still encasedin those tidy leather bags;" and his round eyes glistened again; but allat once, with a hurried look over his left shoulder, he exclaimed, involuntarily, in a very different tone, "Ha! away, I say!--" Then hesnatched the crock up eagerly, and nursed it like a child. 

"Come along with us, Master Acton, you're wanted somewhere else; up, man, look alive, will you?"

And Roger dressed himself mechanically. It was no manner of use, not inthe least worth while resisting, innocent though he was; his treasurehad been found, and taken from him; he had nothing more to live for; hisgold was gone--his god; where was the wisdom of fighting for any thingelse; let them take him to prison if they would, to the jail, to thegallows, to any-whither, now his gold was gone. So he put on hisclothes without a murmur, and went with them as quiet as a lamb. 

Never was there a clearer case; the housekeeper's hoard had been foundin his possession, with a fragment of her shawl; and Sir John Vincentwas very well aware of the mystery attending the old woman's death;besides, he was in a great hurry to be off; for Pointer, and Silliphant, and Lord George Pypp, were to have a hurdle race with him that day, fora heavy bet; so he really had not time to go deep into the matter; andthe result of five minutes' talk before the magisterial chairs (SquireRyle having been summoned to assist) was, that, on the accusation ofSimon Jennings, Roger Acton was fully committed to the county jail, tobe tried at next assizes, for Bridget Quarles's murder. 

Thank God! poor Roger, it has come to this. What other way than this wasthere to save thee from thy sin--to raise thee from thy fall? Whereelse, but in a prison, could you get the silent, solitary hours leadingyou again to wholesome thought and deep repentance? Where else could youescape the companionship of all those loose and low associates, sottishbrawlers, ignorant and sensual unbelievers, vagabond radicals, andother lewd fellows of the baser sort, that had drank themselves drunk atyour expense, and sworn to you as captain! The place, the time, themeans for penitence are here. The crisis of thy destiny is come. 

Honest Roger, Steady Acton, did I not see thy guardian angel--after allhis many tears, aggrieved and broken spirit!--did I not see him lift hisswollen eyes in gratitude to Heaven, and benevolence to thee, and smilea smile of hopeful joy when that damned crock was found?

Gladly could he thank his Lord, to behold the temptation at an end. 

Did I not see the devil slink away from thee abashed, issuing like anadder from thy heart, and then, with a sudden Protean change, drivenfrom thy hovel as a thunder-cloud dispersing, when Simon Jennings seizedthe jar, hugged it as his household-god--and took it home with him--andcounted out the gold--and locked the bloody treasure in his iron-chest?

Fitly did the murderer lock up curses with his spoil. 

And when God smote thine idol, dashing Dagon to the ground, and thyheart was sore with disappointment, and tender as a peeled fig--whenhope was dead for earth, and conscience dared not look beyond it--ah!Roger, did I judge amiss when I saw, or thought I saw, those eyes fullof humble shame, those lips quivering with remorseful sorrow?

We will leave thee in the cold stone cell--with thy well-named angelGrace to comfort thee, and pray with thee, and help thee back to Godagain, and so repay the debt that a daughter owes her father. 

Happy prison! where the air is sweetened by the frankincense of piety, and the pavement gemmed with the flowers of hope, and the ceiling archedwith Heaven's bow of mercy, and the walls hung around with the dewydrapery of penitence!

Happy prison! where the talents that were lost are being found again, gathered in humility from this stone floor; where poor-making riches arebanished from the postern, and rich-making poverty streameth in as lightfrom the grated window; where care vexeth not now the labourer emptiedof his gold, and calumny's black tooth no longer gnaws the heart-stringsof the innocent. 

Hark! it is the turnkey, coming round to leave the pittance for the day:he is bringing in something in an earthern jar. Speak, Roger Acton, which will you choose, man--a prisoner's mess of pottage--or a crock ofgold?

CHAPTER XXII. 

THE AUNT AND HER NEPHEW. 

WHILE we leave Roger Acton in the jail, waiting for the verynear assizes, and wearing every hour away in penitence and prayer, itwill be needful to our story that we take a retrospective glance atcertain events, of no slight importance. 

I must now speak of things, of which there is no human witness;recording words, and deeds, whereof Heaven alone is cognizant, Heavenalone--and Hell! For there are secret matters, which the murdered cannottell us, and the murderer dare not--let him confess as fully as he will. Therefore, with some omnipresent sense, some invisible ubiquity, I mustnote down scenes as they occurred, whether mortal eye has witnessed themor not; I must lay bare secret thoughts, unlatch the hidden chambers ofthe heart, and duly set out, as they successively arose, the idea whichtongue had not embodied, the feeling which no action had expressed. 

Hitherto, we have pretty well preserved inviolate the three grandunities--time, place, circumstance; and even now we do not sin againstthe first and chiefest, however we may seem so to sin; for, had itsuited my purpose to have begun with the beginning, and to have placedthe present revelations foremost, the strictest stickler for the unitieswould have only had to praise my orthodox adherence to them. As it is, Ihave chosen, for interest sake, to shuffle my cards a little; and twoknaves happen to have turned up together just at this time and place. The time is just three weeks ago--a week before the baronet came of age, and a fortnight antecedent to the finding of the crock; which, as weknow, after blessing Roger for a se'nnight, has at last left him injail. The place is the cozy house-keepers room at Hurstley: and thebrace of thorough knaves, to enact then and there as _dramatis personę_, includes Mistress Bridget Quarles, a fat, sturdy, bluffy, old woman, ofa jolly laugh withal, and a noisy tongue--and our esteemed acquaintanceMister Simon Jennings. The aunt, house-keeper, had invited the nephew, butler, to take a dish of tea with her, and rum-punch had now succeededthe souchong. 

"Well, Aunt Quarles, is it your meaning to undertake a new master?"

"Don't know, nephy--can't say yet what he'll be like: if he'll leave usas we are, won't say wont. "

"Ay, as we are, indeed; comfortable quarters, and some little to put by, too: a pretty penny you will have laid up all this while, I'll be bound:I wager you now it is a good five hundred, aunt--come, done for ashilling. "

"Get along, foolish boy; a'n't you o' the tribe o' wisdom too--ha, ha, ha!"

"I will not say, " smirked Simon, "that my nest has not a feather. "

"It's easy work for us, Nep; we hunt in couples: you the men, and I themaids--ha, ha!"

"Tush, Aunt Bridget! that speech is not quite gallant, I fear. " And theworshipful extortioners giggled jovially. 

"But it's true enough for all that, Simon: how d'ye manage it, eh, boy?much like me, I s'pose; wages every quarter from the maids, dues fromtradesmen Christmas-tide and Easter, regular as Parson Evans's; prettylittle bits tacked on weekly to the bills, beside presents from everybody; and so, boy, my poor forty pounds a-year soon mounts up to ahundred. "

"Ay, ay, Aunt Bridget--but I get the start of you, though you probablywere born a week before-hand: talk of parsons, look at me, a regulargrand pluralist monopolist, as any bishop can be; butler in doors, bailiff out of doors, land-steward, house-steward, cellar-man, andpay-master. I am not all this for naught, Aunt Quarles: if so much goesthrough my fingers, it is but fair that something stick. "

"True, Simon--O certainly; but if you come to boasting, my boy, I don'tcarry this big bunch o' keys for nothing neither. Lord love you! whymerely for cribbings in the linen-line for one month, John Draperswapped me that there shawl: none o' my clothes ever cost me a penny, and I a'n't quite as bare as a new-born baby neither. Look at themtrunks, bless you!"

"Ay, ay, aunt, I'll be bound the printer of your prayer-book has leftout a 'not, ' before the 'steal, ' eh?--ha! ha!"

"Fie, naughty Simon, fie! them's not stealings, them's parquisites. Where's the good o' living in a great house else? But come, Si, haven'tyou struck out the 'not, ' for yourself, though the printer did his duty, eh, Nep?"

"Not a bit, aunt--not a bit: all sheer honesty and industry. Look at mypretty little truck-shop down the village. Wo betide the labourer thatleaves off dealing there! not one that works at Hurstley, but eats mybread and bacon; besides the 'tea, coffee, tobacco, and snuff. '"

"Pretty fairish articles, eh? I never dealt with you, Si: no, Nep, no--you never saw the colour o' my money. "

Jennings gave a start, as if a thought had pricked him; but gaylyrecovering himself, said, "Oh, as to pretty fairish, I know there is one thing about the bacongood enough; ay, and the bread too--the very best of prices; ha! ha! isnot that good? And for the other genuine articles, I don't know thatmuch of the tea comes from China--and the coffee is sold ground, becauseit is burnt maize--and there's a plenty of wholesome cabbage leaf cut upin the tobacco--while as for snuff, I give them a dry, peppery, choky, sneezy dust, and I dare say that it does its duty. "

It was astonishing how innocently the worthy couple laughed together. 

"My only trouble, Aunt Quarles, is where to keep my gains--what to dowith them. I am quite driven to the strong-box system, interest is sobad; and as to speculations, they are nervous things, and sicken one. Iinvest in the Great Western one day--a tunnel falls in, so I sell myshares the next, and send the proceeds to Australia; then, looking atthe map, I see the island isn't clean chalked out all round, andbeginning to fear that the sea will get in where it a'n't madewater-tight by the Admiralty, I call the money home again. You see Idon't know what to do with gold when I get it. Where do you keep yoursnow, aunt, I wonder?"

"O, Nep, never mind me; you rattle on so I can't get in never a word. I'll only tell you where I don't keep it. Not at Breakem's bank, forthey're brewers, and hosiers, and chandlers, and horse-dealers--ay, andswindlers too, the whole 'company' on 'em; not in mortgages, for I hatethe very smell of a lawyer, with all his pounce and parchment; not inGover'me't 'nuities, for I'm an old 'ooman, boy; and not in the Threeper Cents, nor any other per cents, for I've sense enough to know thatmy highest interest lies in counting out, as my first principle isdropping in. " And the fat female laughed herself purple at the venerablejoke. 

Simon was a courtier, and laughed too, as immoderately as possible. 

"Ah! I dare say now you have got a Chubb's patent somewhere full ofgold?" he asked somewhat anxiously; "take your punch, aunt, wont you? Ido not see you drink. "

"Simon, mark me; fools who want to be robbed put their money into aniron chest, that thieves may know exactly where to find it; they mightas well ticket it 'cash, ' and advertise to Newgate--come and steal. Iknow a little better than to be such a fool. "

"Yes, certainly--I dare say now you keep it in your work-box, or sew itup in your stays, or hide it in the mattress, or in an old tea-pot, maybe. " And Jennings eyed her narrowly. 

"Nephew, what rhymes to money?"

"Money?--Well I can't say I am a poet--stony, perhaps. At least, " addedthe benevolent individual, "when I have raised a wretch's rent to gain alittle more by him, stony is not a bad shield to lift against prayers, and tears, and orphans, and widows, and starvation, and all suchnonsense. "

"Not bad, neither, Nep: but there's a better rhyme than that. "

"You cannot mean honey, aunt? when I guessed stony, I thought you mighthave some snug little cash cellar under the flags. But honey? are yousuch a thorough Mrs. Rundle as to pickle and preserve your very guineas, the same as you do strawberries or apricots in syrup?"

"Oh, you clever little fool! how prettily you do talk on: your tongue'sas tidy as your cash-book: when you've any money to put by, come to AuntBridget for a crock to hide it in: mayn't one use a honey-pot, as TeddyRourke would say, barring the honey?"

"Ha! and so you hide the hoard up there, aunt, eh? along with thepreserves in a honey-pot, do you?"

"We'll see--we'll see, some o' these long days; not that the money's tobe yours, Nep--you're rich enough, and don't want it; there's your poorsister Scott with her fourteen children, and Aunt Bridget must give hera lift in life: she was a good niece to me, Simon, and never left myside before she married: maybe she'll have cause to bless the dead. "

Jennings hardly spoke a word more; but drained his glass in silence, gotup a sudden stomach-ache, and wished his aunt good-night. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

SCHEMES. 

WE must follow Simon Jennings to his room. He felt keenlydisappointed. Money was the idol of his heart, as it is of many millionothers. He had robbed, lied, extorted, tyrannized; he had earned scorn, ill-report, and hatred; nay, he had even diligently gone to work, andlost his own self-love and self-respect in the service of his darlingidol. He was at once, for lucre's sake, the mean, cringing fawner, andthe pitiless, iron despot; to the rich he could play supple parasite, while the poor man only knew him as an unrelenting persecutor; with thegood, and they were chiefly of the fairer, softer sex, he walked inmeekness, the spiritual hypocrite; the while, it was his boast toover-reach the worst in low duplicity and crooked dealing. All this hewas for gold. When the eye of the world was on him, and intuition warnedhim of the times, he was ever the serene, the correct, with a smoothtongue and an oily smile; but in the privacy of some poor hovel, wherehis debtor sued for indulgence, or some victim of his passions (he hadmore depravities than one) threw her wretched self upon his pity, thencould Simon Jennings lash sternness into rage, and heat his brazen heartwith the embers of inveterate malice. It was as if the serpent, thatvoluble, insinuating reptile, which had power to fascinate poor Eve, turned to rend her when she had fallen, erect, with flashing eyes, andbristling crest, with venomed fangs, and hissing. Behold, snake-worshippers of Mexico, the prototype of your grim idol, inMammon's model slave and specimen disciple!

Such a man was Simon Jennings, a soul given up to gold--exclusively togold; for although, as we have hinted, and as hereafter may appear, hecould sell himself at times to other sins, still these were but as starsin his evil firmament, while covetousness ruled it like the sun; or, ifthe beauteous stars and blessed sun be an image too hallowed for hiswickedness, we may find a fitter in some stagnant pool, where thepestilential vapour over all is Mammonism, and the dull, fat weeds thatrot beneath, are pride, craftiness, and lechery. In fact, to speak ofpassions in a heart such as his, were a palpable misnomer; all wasreduced to calculation; his rage was fostered to intimidate, and wherethe wretch seemed kinder, his kindnesses were aimed at power, as anobject, rather than at pleasure--the power to obtain more gold. 

For it is a dreadful truth (which I would not dare to utter if suchcrimes had never been), that a reprobate of the bailiff Jennings's stampmay, by debts, or fines, or kind usurious loans, entrap a beggaredcreature in his toils; and then lyingly propose remission at the secretsacrifice of honour, in some one, over whom that dastard beggar hascontrol; and having this point gained, the seducer is quite capable ofusing, for still more extortion, the power which a threatening ofexposure gives, when the criminally weak has stooped to sin, on promisesof silence and delivery from ruin. I wish there may be no poor yeomanin this broad land, of honourable name withal, he and his progenitorsfor ages, who can tell the tale of his own base fears, a creditor'sexactions, and some dependant victim's degradation: some orphaned niece, some friendless ward, immolated in her earliest youth at the shrine ofblack-hearted Mammon; I wish there may be no sleek middle-man guilty ofthe crimes here charged upon Simon Jennings. 

This worthy, then, had been introduced at Hurstley by his aunt, Mrs. Quarles, on the occurrence of a death vacancy in the lad-of-all-workdepartment, during the long ungoverned space of young Sir John'sminority. As the precious "lad" grew older, and divers in-doorpotentates died off, the house-keeper had power to push her nephew on topageship, footmanship, and divers other similar crafts, even to thefinal post of butler; while his own endeavours, backed by his aunt'sinterest, managed to secure for him the rule out of doors no less thanin, and the closest possible access to guardians and landlords, to thetenants--and their rent. 

Now, the amiable Mrs. Quarles had contrived the elevation of her nephew, and connived at his monopolies, mainly to fit in cleverly with her ownworldly weal; for it would never have done to have risked the loss ofinnumerable perquisites, and other peculations, by the possible adventof an honest butler. But, while the worshipful Simon, to do him onlyjustice, fully answered Mrs. Bridget's purpose, and even added much toher emoluments; still he was no mere derivative scion, but anindependent plant, and entertained views of his own. He had his owndesigns, and laid himself out to entrap his aunt's affections; orrather, for I cannot say he greatly valued these, to secure her goodgraces, and worm himself within the gilded clauses of her will; she wasan old woman, rolling in gold, no doubt had a will; and as for himself, he was younger by five-and-thirty years, so he could afford to wait alittle, before trying on her shoes. The petty schemes of thievery andcheating, which he in his Quotem capacities had practised, were to hiseyes but as driblets of wealth in comparison with the mighty stream ofhis old aunt's savings. Not that he had done amiss, trust him! but thenhe knew the amount of his own hoard to a farthing, while of hers he wasentirely ignorant; so, on the principle of '_omne ignotum promirifico_, ' he pondered on its vastness with indefinite amazement, although probably it might not reach the quarter of his own. For itshould in common charity be stated, that, with all her hiding and hivingpropensities, Mrs. Quarles, however usually a screw, was by fits andstarts an extravagant woman, and besides spending on herself, hadoccasionally helped her own kith and kin; poor niece Scott, inparticular, had unconsciously come in for many pleasant pilferings, andhad to thank her good aunt for innumerable filched groceries, andhosieries, and other largesses, which (the latter in especial) reallyhad contributed, with sundry other more self indulgent expenses, to makeno small havoc of the store. 

Still, this store was Simon's one main chance, the chief prize in hishope's lottery; and it was with a pang, indeed, that he found all hisendeavours to compass its possession had been vain. Was that endlesscribbage nothing, and the weary Bible-lessons on a Sunday, and theconstant fetchings and carryings, and the forced smiles, shamcongratulations, and other hypocritical affections--fearing for his dearaunt's dropsy, and inquiring so much about her bunions--was all thisdull servitude to meet with no reward? With none? worse than none! Foolthat he was! had he schemed, and plotted, and flattered, andcozened--ay, and given away many pretty little presents, lost decoys, that had cost hard money, all for nothing--less than nothing--to belaughed at and postponed to his Methodist sister Scott? The impudence ofdeliberately telling him he "didn't want it, and was rich enough!" as if"enough" could ever be good grammar after such a monosyllable as "rich;"and "want it" indeed! of course he wanted it; if not, why had he slavedso many years? want it, indeed! if to hope by day, and to dream bynight--if to leave no means untried of delicately showing how he longedfor it--if to grow sick with care, and thin with coveting--if this wereto want the gold, good sooth, he wanted it. Don't tell him of starvingbrats, his own very bowels pined for it; don't thrust in his face thenecessities of others--the necessity is his; he must have it--he willhave it--talk of necessity!

Wait a bit: is there no way of managing some better end to all this? nomode of giving the right turn to that wheel of fortune, round which hiscares and calculations have been hovering so long? Is there noconceivable method of possessing that vast hoard?

Bless me! how huge it must be! and Simon turned whiter at the thought:only add up Mother Quarles's income for fifty-five years: she isseventy-five at least, and came here a girl of twenty. Simon's hairstood on end, and his heart went like a mill-clapper, as he mentallyfigured out the sum. 

Is there no possibility of contriving matters so that I may be thearchitect of my own good luck, and no thanks at all to the old witchthere? Dear--what a glorious fancy--let me think a little. Cannot I getat the huge hoard some how?

CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE DEVIL'S COUNSEL. 

"STEAL it, " said the Devil. 

Simon was all of a twitter; for though he fancied his own heart said it, still his ear-drum rattled, as if somebody had spoken. 

Simon--that ear-drum was to put you off your guard: the deaf can hearthe devil: he needs no tympanum to commune with the spirit: listenagain, Simon; your own thoughts echo every word. 

"Steal it: hide in her room; you know she has a shower-bath there, whichnobody has used for years, standing in a corner; two or three cloaks init, nothing else: it locks inside, how lucky! ensconce yourself there, watch the old woman to sleep--what a fat heavy sleeper she is!--quietlytake her keys, and steal the store: remember, it is a honey-pot. Nothing's easier--or safer. Who'd suspect you?"

"Splendid! and as good as done, " triumphantly exclaimed the nephew, snapping his fingers, and prancing with glee;--"a glorious fancy! blessmy lucky star!"

If there be a planet Lucifer, that was Simon's lucky star. 

And so, Mrs Quarles the biter is going to be bit, eh? It generally is soin this world's government. You, who brought in your estimable nephew toaid and abet in your own dishonest ways, are, it seems, going to berobbed of all your knavish gains by him. This is taking the wise intheir own craftiness, I reckon: and richly you deserve to lose all yourill-got hoard. At the same time, Mrs. Quarles--I will be just--there areworse people in the world than you are: in comparison with your nephew, I consider you a grosser kind of angel; and I really hope no harm maybefall your old bones beyond the loss of your money. However, if you areto lose this, it is my wish that poor Mrs. Scott, or some other honestbody, may get it, and not Simon; or rather, I should not object that hemay get it first, and get hung for getting it, too, before the sisterhas the hoard. 

Our friend, Simon Jennings, could not sleep that night; his reveries andscheming lasted from the rum-punch's final drop, at ten P. M. , tocirciter two A. M. , and then, or thenabouts, the devil hinted "steal it;"and so, not till nearly four, he began to shut his eyes, and dreamagain, as his usual fashion was, of adding up receipts in five figures, and of counting out old Bridget's hoarded gold. 

Next day, notwithstanding nocturnal semi-sleeplessness, he awoke asbrisk as a bee, got up in as exhilarated a state as any gas-balloon, andwas thought to be either surprisingly in spirits, or spiritssurprisingly in him; none knew which, "where each seemed either. " Thatwhole day long, he did the awkwardest things, and acted in the mostabsent manner possible; Jonathan thought Mr. Simon was beside himself;Sarah Stack, foolish thing! said he was in love, and was observed tolook in the glass several times herself; other people did not know whatto think--it was quite a mystery. To recount only a few of hisunprecedented exploits on that day of anticipative bliss:

First, he asked the porter how his gout was, and gave him a thimble-fullof whiskey from his private store. 

Secondly, he paid Widow Soper one whole week's washing in full, withoutthe smallest deduction or per centage. 

Thirdly, he ordered of Richard Buckle, commonly called Dick the Tanner, a lot of cart harness, without haggling for price, or even asking it. 

And, fourthly, he presented old George White, who was coming round witha subscription paper for a dead pig--actually, he presented old GafferWhite with the sum of two-pence out of his own pocket! never was suchcareless prodigality. 

But the little world of Hurstley did not know what we know. Theypossessed no clue to the secret happiness wherewithal Simon Jenningshugged himself; they had no inkling of the crock of gold; they thoughtnot he was going to be suddenly so rich; they saw no cause, as we do, why he should feel to be like a great heir on the eve of his majority;they wotted not that Sir John Devereux Vincent, Baronet, had scarcelymore agreeable or triumphant feelings when his clock struck twenty-one, than Simon Jennings, butler, as the hour of his hope drew nigh. 

If a destiny like this man's can ever have a crisis, the hour of hishope is that; but downward still, into a lower gulf, has beencontinually his bad career; there is (unless a miracle intervene) nostopping in the slope on which he glides, albeit there may beprecipices. He that rushes in his sledge down the artificial ice-hillsof St. Petersburgh, skims along not more swiftly than Jennings, from thealtitude of infant innocence, had sheered into the depths of full-growndepravity; but even he can fall, and reach, with startling suddenness, alower deep. 

As if that Russian mountain, hewn asunder midway, were fitted flush toa Norwegian cliff, beetling precipitately over the whirlpool; then tiltthe sledge with its furred inmate over the slope, let it skim withquicker impetus the smoking ice, let it touch that beetling edge, and, leaping from the tangent, let it dart through the air, let it strike theeddying waters, be sucked hurriedly down that hoarse black throat, windamong the roots of the everlasting hills, and split upon the loadstoneof the centre. 

Even such a fate, "down, down to hell, " will come to Simon Jennings;wrapped in the furs of complacency, seated in the sledge ofcovetousness, a-down the slippery launch of well-worn evil habit--overthe precipice of crime--into the billows of impenitent remorse--to beswallowed by the vortex of Gehenna!

CHAPTER XXV. 

THE AMBUSCADE. 

NIGHT came, and with it all black thoughts. Not that they wereblack at once, any more than darkness leaps upon the back of noon, without the intervening cloak of twilight. Oh dear, no! Simon's thoughtsaccommodated themselves fitly to the time of day. They had been, forhim, at early morning, pretty middling white, that is whity-brown;thence they passed, with the passing hour kindly, through the shades ofburnt sienna, raw umber, and bistre; until, just as we may notice in thecase of marking-ink; that which, five minutes ago, was as water onlydelicately dirtied, has become a fixed and indelible black. 

Simon was resolved upon the spoil, come what might; although his wakingsensations of buoyancy, his noon-day cogitations of a calmer kind, andhis even-tide determined scheming, had now given way to a nervous andunpleasant trepidation. So he poured spirits down to keep his spiritsup. Very early after dark, he had watched his opportunity while Mrs. Quarles was scolding in the kitchen, had slipped shoeless andunperceived, from his pantry into the housekeeper's room, and lockedhimself securely in the shower bath. Hapless wight! it was very littleafter six yet, and there he must stand till twelve or so: his foresighthad not calculated this, and the devil had already begun to cheat him. But he would go through with it now; no flinching, though his rabbitback is breaking with fatigue, and his knocked knees totter withexhaustion, and his haggard eyes swim dizzily, and his bad heart isfailing him for fear. 

Yes, fear, and with good reason too for fear; "nothing easier, nothingsafer, " said his black adviser; how easily for bodily pains, how safelyfor chances of detection, was he getting at the promised crock of gold!

"Mr. Jennings! Mr. Simon! where in the world was Mr. Jennings?" nobodyknew; he must have gone out somewhere. Strange, too--and left his hatand great-coat. 

Here's a general for an ambuscade; Oh, Simon, Simon! you have had thewhole day to think of it--how is it that both you and your dark friendoverlooked in your calculations the certainty of search, and the chanceof a discovery? The veriest school-boy, when he hid himself, would hidehis hat. I am half afraid that you are in that demented state, whichbefits the wretch ordained to perish. 

But where is Mr. Jennings? that was the continued cry for four agonizinghours of dread and difficulty. Sarah, the still-room maid, was sittingat her work, unluckily in Mrs. Quarles's room; she had come in shortlyafter Simon's secret entry; there she sat, and he dared not stir. Andthey looked every where--except in the right place; to do the deviljustice, it was a capital hiding-corner that; rooms, closets, passages, cellars, out-houses, gardens, lofts, tenements, and all the "generalwords, " in a voluminous conveyance, were searched and searched in vain;more than one groom expected (hoped is a truer word) to find Mr. Jennings hanging by a halter from the stable-lamp; more than oneexhilarated labourer, hastily summoned for the search, was sounding thewaters with a rake and rope, in no slight excitement at the thought offishing up a deceased bailiff. 

It was a terrible time for the ensconced one: sometimes he thought ofcoming out, and treating the affair as a bit of pleasantry: but then thedevil had taken off his shoes--as a Glascow captain deals with his cargoof refractory Irishers; how could he explain that? his abominable oldaunt was shrewd, and he knew how clearly she would guess at the truth;if he desired to make sure of losing every chance, he could come outnow, and reveal himself; but if he nourished still the hope of countingout that crock of gold, he'll bide where he is, and trust to--to--tofate. The wretch had "Providence" on his blistered tongue. 

If, under the circumstances, any thing could be added to Simon'sgratification, such pleasing addition was afforded in overhearing, asLord Brougham did, the effect which his rumoured death produced on theminds of those who best had known him. It so happened, Sarah was sick, and did not join the universal hunt; accordingly, being the onlyaudience, divers ambassadors came to tell her constantly the same mostwelcome news, that Jennings had not yet been found. 

"Lawk, Sally, " said a helper, "what a blessing it'll be, if that meanold thief's dead; I'll go to town, if 'tis so, get a dozen Guy's-dayrockets, tie 'em round with crape, and spin 'em over the larches:that'll be funeral fun won't it? and it'll sarve to tell the neighboursof our luck in getting rid on him. "

"I doan't like your thought, Tom, " said another staider youth: "it'sill-mirth playing leap-frog over tomb-stones, and poor bravery insultingthe dead. Besides, I'm thinking the bad man that's taken from us an't agoing up'ards, so it's no use lending him a light. I wish we may all liein a cooler grave than he does, and not have to go quite so deepdown'ard. "

"Gee up for Lady-day!" exclaimed the emancipated coachman; "why, Sall, Ishall touch my whole lump of wages free for the fust time: and I onlywish the gals had our luck. "

"Here, Sarah, " interposed a kind and ruddy stable youth, "as we're allmaking free with Mr. Simon's own special ale, I've thought to bring youa nogging on't: come, you're not so sick as you can't drink with all therest on us--The bailiff, and may none on us never see his face no more!"

These, and similar testimonials to the estimation in which Simon'scharacter was held, must have gratified not a little the hearer of hisown laudations: now and then, he winced so that Sarah might have heardhim move: but her ear was alive to nothing but the news-bringers, andher eyes appeared to be fixed upon the linen she was darning. ThatJennings vowed vengeance, and wreaked it afterwards too, on the youthsthat so had shown their love, was his solitary pleasure in theshower-bath. But his critics were too numerous for him to punish all:they numbered every soul in the house, besides the summoned aiders--onlyexcepting three: Sarah, who really had a head-ache, and made but littleanswers to the numerous glad envoys; Jonathan Floyd, whose charity didnot altogether hate the man, and who really felt alarmed at his absence;and chiefest, Mrs. Quarles, who evinced more affection for her nephewthan any thought him worthy of exciting--she wrung her hands, wept, offered rewards, bustled about every where, and kept callingblubberingly for "Simon--poor dear Simon. "

At length, that fearful hue and cry began to subside--the hubbub cameto be quieter: neighbour-folks went home, and inmates went to bed. SarahStack put aside her work, and left the room. 

What a relief to that hidden caitiff! his feet, standing on the cold, damp iron so many hours, bare of brogues, were mere ice--only that theyached intolerably: he had not dared to move, to breathe, and was allover in one cramp: he did not bring the brandy-bottle with him, as heonce had planned; for calculation whispered--"Don't, your head will bethe clearer; you must not muddle your brains;" and so his cautionover-reached itself, as usual; his head was in a fog, and his brains ina whirlwind, for lack of other stimulants than fear and pain. 

O Simon, how your prudence cheats you! five mortal hours of anguish andanxiety in one unalterable posture, without a single drop ofcreature-comfort; and all this preconcerted too!

CHAPTER XXVI. 

PRELIMINARIES. 

AT last, just as the nephew was positively fainting fromexhaustion, in came his kind old aunt to bed. She talked a good deal toherself, did Mrs. Quarles, and Simon heard her say, "Poor fellow--poor, dear Simon, he was taken bad last night, and hasseemed queerish in the head all day: pray God nothing's amiss with theboy!"

The boy's heart (he was forty) smote him as he heard: yes, even he wasvexed that Aunt Bridget could be so foolishly fond of him. But he wouldgo on now, and not have all his toil for nothing. "I'm in for it, " saidhe, "and there's an end. "

Ay, Simon, you are, indeed, in for it; the devil has locked you in--butas to the end, we shall see, we shall see. 

"I shouldn't wonder now, " the good old soul went on to say, "ifSimon's wentured out without his hat to cool a head-ache: hisgrand-father--peace be with him! died, poor man, in a Lunacy 'Sylum:alack, Si, I wish you mayn't be going the same road. No, no, I hopenot--he's always so prudent-like, and wise, and good; so kind, too, to apoor old fool like me:" and the poor old fool began to cry again. 

"Silly boy--but he'll take cold at any rate: Sarah!" (here Mrs. Quarlesrung her bell, and the still-maid answered it. ) "Sarah Stack, sit upawhile for Mr. Jennings, and when he comes in, send him here to me. Poorboy, " she went on soliloquizing, "he shall have a drop or two to comforthis stomach, and keep the chill out. "

The poor boy, lying _perdu_, shuddered at the word chill, and reallywished his aunt would hold her tongue. But she didn't. 

"Maybe now, " the affectionate old creature proceeded, "maybe Simon wasvexed at what I let drop last night about the money. I know he loves hissister Scott, as I do: but it'll seem hard, too, to leave him nothing. Imust make my will some day, I 'spose; but don't half like the job: it'salways so nigh death. Yes--yes, dear Si shall have a snug littlecorner. "

The real Simon Pure, in his own snug little corner, writhed again. Mrs. Quarles started at the noise, looked up the chimney, under the bed, tried the doors and windows, and actually went so near the mark as toturn the handle of the shower-bath; "Drat it, " said she, "Sarah must ha'took away the key: well, there can't be nothing there but cloaks, that'sone comfort. "

Last of all, a thought struck her--it must have been a mouse at thepreserves. And Mrs. Quarles forthwith opened the important cupboard, where Jennings now well knew the idol of his heart was shrined. Thenanother thought struck Mrs. Quarles, though probably no unusual one, andshe seemed to have mounted on a chair, and to be bringing down someelevated piece of crockery. Simon could see nothing with his eyes, buthis ears made up for them: if ever Dr. Elliotson produced clairvoyancein the sisters Okey, the same sharpened apprehensions ministered to theinner man of Simon Jennings through the instrumental magnet of hisinordinately covetous desires. Therefore, though his retina bore nopicture of the scene, the feelers of his mind went forth, informing himof every thing that happened. 

Down came a Narbonne honey-pot--Simon saw that first, and it was as thelamp of Aladdin in his eyes: then the bladder was whipped off, and thecrock set open on the table. Jennings, mad as Darius's horse at thesight of the object he so longed for, once thought of rushing from hishiding-place, taking the hoard by a _coup de main_, and running offstraightway to America: but--deary me--that'll never do; I mustn't leavemy own strong-box behind me, say nothing of hat and shoes: and if I stopfor any thing, she'd raise the house. 

While this was passing through the immaculate mind of Simon Jennings, Bridget had been cutting up an old glove, and had made one of itsfingers into a very tidy little leather sacklet; into this she depositeda bright half sovereign, spoil of the day, being the douceur of a needybrush-maker, who wished to keep custom, and, of course, charged allthese vails on the current bill for mops and stable-sponges. 

"Ha!" muttered she, "it's your last bill here, Mr. Scrubb, I can tellyou; so, you were going to put me off with a crown-piece, were you? andactually that bit of gold might as well have been a drop of blood wrungfrom you: yes--yes, Mr. Scrubb, I could see that plainly; and so you'vedone for yourself. "

Then, having sewed up the clever little bag, she dropped it into thecrock: there was no jingle, all dumby: prudent that, in his aunt--forthe dear morsels of gold were worth such tender keeping, and leatherwould hinder them from wear and tear, set aside the clink beingsilenced. So, the nephew secretly thanked Bridget for the wrinkle, andthought how pleasant it would be to stuff old gloves with his own yellowstore. Ah, yes, he would do that--to-morrow morning. 

Meanwhile, the pig-skin is put on again, and the honey-pot stored away:and Simon instinctively stood a tip-toe to peep ideally into thatwealthy corner cupboard. His mind's eye seemed to see more honey-pots!Mammon help us! can they all be full of gold? why, any one of them wouldhold a thousand pounds. And Simon scratched the palms of his hands, andlicked his lips at the thought of so much honey. 

But see, Mrs. Quarles has, in her peculiar fashion, undressed herself:that is to say, she has taken off her outer gown, her cap and wig--andthen has _added_ to the volume of her under garments, divers nighthabiliments, flannelled and frilled: while wrappers, manifold as aturbaned Turk's, protect ear-ache, tooth-ache, head-ache, and face-ache, from the elves of the night. 

And now, that the bedstead creaks beneath her weight, (as well it may, for Bridget is a burden like Behemoth, ) Simon's heart goes thump soloud, that it was a wonder the poor woman never heard it. That heart inits hard pulsations sounded to me like the carpenter hammering on hercoffin-lid: I marvel that she did not take it for a death-watch tappingto warn her of her end. But no: Simon held his hand against his heart tokeep it quiet: he was so very fearful the pitapating would betray him. Never mind, Simon; don't be afraid; she is fast asleep already; and hersnore is to thee as it were the challenge of a trumpeter calling to theconflict. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

ROBBERY. 

HUSH--hush--hush!

Stealthily on tiptoe, with finger on his lips, that fore-doomed mancrept out. 

"The key is in the cupboard still--ha! how lucky: saves time that, andtrouble, and--and--risk! Oh, no--there can be no risk now, " and thewretch added, "thank God!"

The devil loves such piety as this. 

So Simon quietly turned the key, and set the cupboard open: it was tohim a Bluebeard's chamber, a cave of the Forty Thieves, a garden of theGenius in Aladdin, a mysterious secret treasure-house of wealthuncounted and unseen. 

What a galaxy of pickle-pots! tier behind tier of undoubtedcurrant-jelly, ranged like the houses in Algiers! vasty jars ofgooseberry! delicate little cupping-glasses full of syruped fruits! Yetall these candied joys, which probably enhance a Mrs. Rundle's heaven, were as nothing in the eyes of Simon--sweet trash, for all he caredthey might be vulgar treacle. His ken saw nothing but thehoney-pots--embarrassing array--a round dozen of them! All alike, allposted in a brown line, like stout Dutch sentinels with their hands intheir breeches pockets, and set aloft on that same high-reached shelf. Must he really take them all? impracticable: a positive sack full. What's to be done?--which is he to leave behind? that old witchcontrived this identity and multitude for safety's sake. But what if heleft the wrong one, and got clear off with the valuable booty of twodozen pounds of honey? Confusion! that'll never do: he must take themall, or none; all, all's the word; and forthwith, as tenderly aspossible, the puzzled thief took down eleven pots of honey to his one ofgold--all pig-bladdered, all Fortnumed--all slimy at the string;"Confound that cunning old aunt of mine, " said Simon, aloud; and took nonotice that the snores surceased. 

Then did he spread upon the table a certain shawl, and set the crocks inorder on it: and it was quite impossible to leave behind that prettyostentatious "Savings' Bank, " which the shrewd hoarder kept as a feintto lure thieves from her hidden gold, by an open exhibition of hersilver: unluckily, though, the shillings, not being leathered up norbranned, rattled like a Mandarin toy, as the trembling hand of Jenningsdeposited the bank beside the crockeries--and, at the well-known sound, I observed (though Simon did not, as he was in a trance of addledtriumph) or fancied I observed Mrs. Quarles's head move: but as she saidnothing, perhaps I was mistaken. Thus stood Simon at the table, surveying his extraordinary spoils. 

And while he looked, the Mercy of God, which never yet hath seen thesoul too guilty for salvation, spake to him kindly, and whispered in hisear, "Poor, deluded man--there is yet a moment for escape--flee fromthis temptation--put all back again--hasten to thy room, to thy prayers, repent, repent: even thou shalt be forgiven, and none but God, who willforgive thee, shall know of this bad crime. Turn now from all thy sins;the gate of bliss is open, if thou wilt but lift the latch. "

It was one moment of irresolute delay; on that hinge hung Eternity. Thegate swung upon its pivot, that should shut out hell, or heaven!

Simon knit his brow--bit his nails--and answered quite out loud, "What!and after all to lose the crock of gold?"

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

MURDER. 

HE had waked her!

In an instant the angel form of Mercy melted away--and there stood thedevil with his arms folded. 

"Murder!--fire!--rape!--thieves!--what, Nephew Jennings, is that you, with all my honey pots? Help! help! help!"

"Phew-w-w!" whistled the devil: "I tell you what, Master Simon, you mustquiet the old woman, she bellows like a bull, the house'll be about yourears in a twinkling--she'll hang you for this!"

Yes--he must quiet her--the game was up; he threatened, he implored, butshe would shriek on; she slept alone on the ground-floor, and knew shemust roar loudly to be heard above the drawing-rooms; she would not bequieted--she would shriek--and she did. What must he do? she'll raisethe house!--Stop her mouth, stop her mouth, I say, can't you?--No, she'sa powerful, stout, heavy woman, and he cannot hold her: ha! she hasbitten his finger to the bone, like a very tigress! look at the blood!

"Why can't you touch her throat; no teeth there, bless you! that's theway the wind comes: bravo! grasp it--tighter! tighter! tighter!"

She struggled, and writhed, and wrestled, and fought--but all wasstrangling silence; they rolled about the floor together, tumbled on thebed, scuffled round the room, but all in horrid silence; neither uttereda sound, neither had a shoe on--but all was earnest, wicked, death-dealing silence. 

Ha! the desperate victim has the best of it; gripe harder, Jennings; shehas twisted her fingers in your neckcloth, and you yourself are choking:fool! squeeze the swallow, can't you? try to make your fingers meet inthe middle--lower down, lower down, grasp the gullet, not the ears, man--that's right; I told you so: tighter, tighter, tighter! again; ha, ha, ha, bravo! bravo!--tighter, tighter, tighter!

At length the hideous fight was coming to an end--though a hungryconstrictor, battling with the huge rhinoceros, and crushing his mailedribs beneath its folds, could not have been so fierce or fearful; fewernow, and fainter are her struggles; that face is livid blue--the eyeshave started out, and goggle horribly; the tongue protrudes, swollen andblack. Aha! there is another convulsive effort--how strong she is still!can you hold her, Simon?--can he?--All the fiend possessed him now withsavage exultation: can he?--only look! gripe, gripe still, you areconquering, strong man! she is getting weaker, weaker; here is yourreward, gold! gold! a mighty store uncounted; one more grasp, and it isall your own--relent now, she hangs you. Come, make short work of it, break her neck--gripe harder--back with her, back with here against thebedstead: keep her down, down I say--she must not rise again. Crack!went a little something in her neck--did you hear it? There's thedeath-rattle, the last smothery complicated gasp--what, didn't you hearthat?

And the devil congratulated Simon on his victory. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE REWARD. 

TILL the wretch had done the deed, he scarcely knew that it wasdoing. It was a horrid, mad excitement, where the soul had spread itswings upon the whirlwind, and heeded not whither it was hurried. Aterrible necessity had seemed to spur him onwards all the while, andone thing so succeeded to another, that he scarce could stop at any butthe first. From the moment he had hidden in the shower-bath (but forGod's interposing mercy), his doom appeared to have beensealed--robbery, murder, false witness, and--damnation!

Crime is the rushing rapid, which, but for some kind miracle, inevitablycarries on through circling eddies, and a foamy swinging tide, to thecataract of death and wo: haste, poor fisherman of Erie, paddle hardback, stem the torrent, cling to the shore, hold on tight by thisfriendly bough; know you not whither the headlong current drives? hearyou not the roar of many waters, the maddening rush as of an oceandisenthralled? feel you not the earth trembling at the thunder--see younot the heaven clouded o'er with spray? Helpless wretch--thy frail canoehas leapt that dizzy water-cliff, Niagara!

But if, in doing that fell deed, madness raged upon the minutes, nowthat it was done--all still, all calm, all quiet, Terror held thehour-glass of Time. There lay the corpse, motionless, though coiled andcramped in the attitude of struggling agony; and the murderer gazed uponhis victim with a horror most intense. Fly! fly!--he dared not stop tothink: fly! fly! any whither--as you are--wait for nothing; fly! thoucaitiff, for thy life! So he caught up the blood-bought spoils, and wasfumbling with shaky fingers at the handle of the garden-door, when theunseen tempter whispered in his ear, "I say, Simon, did not your aunt die of apoplexy?"

O, kind and wise suggestion! O, lightsome, tranquillizing thought!Thanks! thanks! thanks!--And if the arch fiend had revealed himself inperson at the moment, Simon would have worshipped at his feet. 

"But, " and as he communed with his own black heart, there needed now nodevil for his prompter--"if this matter is to be believed, I mustcontrive a little that it may look likelier. Let me see:--yes, we mustlay all tidy, and the old witch shall have died in her sleep; apoplexy!capital indeed; no tell-tales either. Well, I must set to work. "

Can mortal mind conceive that sickening office?--To face the strangledcorpse, yet warm; to lift the fearful burden in his arms, and order outthe heavily-yielding limbs in the ease of an innocent sleep? To arrangethe bed, smooth down the tumbled coverlid, set every thing straightabout the room, and erase all tokens of that dread encounter? It needednerves of iron, a heart all stone, a cool, clear head, a strong arm, amindful, self-protecting spirit; but all these requisites came toSimon's aid upon the instant; frozen up with fear, his heart-stringsworked that puppet-man rigidly as wires; guilt supplied a recklessenergy, a wild physical power, which actuates no human frame but onesaturate with crime, or madness; and in the midst of those terrificdetails, the murderer's judgment was so calm and so collected, thatnothing was forgotten, nothing unconsidered--unless, indeed, it werethat he out-generalled himself by making all too tidy to be natural. Hence, suspicion at the inquest; for the "apoplexy" thought was reallysuch a good one, that, but for so exact a laying out, the fat old corpsemight have easily been buried without one surmise of the way she met herend. Again and again, in the history of crimes, it is seen that a "Judashangs himself;" and albeit, as we know, the murderer has hithertoescaped detection, still his own dark hour shall arrive in its dueplace. 

The dreadful office done, he asked himself again, or maybe took counselof the devil (for that evil master always cheats his servants), "Whatshall I do with my reward, this crock--these crocks of gold? It might beeasy to hide one of them, but not all; and as to leaving any behind, that I won't do. About opening them to see which is which--"

"I tell you what, " said the tempter, as the clock struck three, "whatever you do, make haste; by morning's dawn the house and gardenwill be searched, no doubt, and the crocks found in your possession. Listen to me--I'm your friend, bless you! remember the apoplexy. PikeIsland yonder is an unfrequented place; take the punt, hide all therenow, and go at your best leisure to examine afterwards; but whatever youdo, make haste, my man. "

Then Jennings crept out by the lawn-door, thereby rousing the house-dog;but he skirted the laurels in their shadow, and it was dark andmizzling, so he reached the punt both quickly and easily. 

The quiet, and the gloom, and the dropping rain, strangely affected himnow, as he plied his punt-pole; once he could have wept in his remorse, and another time he almost shrieked in fear. How lonesome it seemed! howdreadful! and that death-dyed face behind him--ha! woman, away I say!But he neared the island, and, all shoeless as he was, crept up itsmuddy bank. 

"Hallo! nybor, who be you a-poaching on my manor, eh? that bean't goodmanners, any how. "

Ben Burke has told us all the rest. 

But, when Burke had got his spoils--when the biter had been bitten--therobber robbed--the murderer stripped of his murdered victim'smoney--when the bereaved miscreant, sullenly returning in the dark, damp night, tracked again the way he came upon that lonely lake--no oneyet has told us, none can rightly tell, the feelings which oppressedthat God-forsaken man. He seemed to feel himself even a sponge which, the evil one had bloated with his breath, had soaked it then in blood, had squeezed it dry again, and flung away! He was Satan's broken tool--aweed pulled up by the roots, and tossed upon the fire; alone--alone inall the universe, without countenance or sympathy from God, or man, ordevil; he yearned to find, were it but a fiend to back him, but in vain;they held aloof, he could see them vaguely through the gloom--he couldhear them mocking him aloud among the patter of the rain-drops--ha! ha!ha--the pilfered fool!

Bitterly did he rue his crime--fearfully he thought upon its neardiscovery--madly did he beat his miserable breast, to find that he hadbeen baulked of his reward, yet spent his soul to earn it. 

Oh--when the house-dog bayed at him returning, how he wished he was thatdog! he went to him, speaking kindly to him, for he envied thatdog--"Good dog--good dog!"

But more than envy kept him lingering there: the wretched man did it fordelay--yes, though morn was breaking on the hills--one more--one moremoment of most precious time. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

SECOND THOUGHTS. 

FOR--again he must go through that room!

No other entrance is open--not a window, not a door: all close as aprison: and only by the way he went, by the same must he return. 

He trembled all over, as a palsied man, when he touched the lock: withstiffening hair, and staring eyes, he peeped in at that well-rememberedchamber: he entered--and crept close up to the corpse, stealthily anddreadingly--horror! what if she be alive still?

SHE WAS. 

Not quite dead--not quite dead yet! a gurgling in the bruised throat--ashadowy gleam of light and life in those protruded eyes--an irregularconvulsive heaving at the chest: she might recover! what a fearfulhope: and, if she did, would hang him--ha! he went nearer; she wasmuttering something in a moanful way--it was, "Simon did it--Simon didit--Simon did it--Si--Si--Simon did--" he should be found out!

Yet once again, for the last time, the long-suffering Mercy of the Lordstood like Balaam's angel in the way, pleading with that miserable manat the bed-side of her whom he had strangled. And even then, thatGuardian Spirit came not with chiding on his tongue, but He utteredwords of hope, while his eyes were streaming with sorrow and with pity. 

"Most wretched of the sinful sons of men, even now there may be mercyfor thee, even now plenteous forgiveness. True, thou must die, and paythe earthly penalty of crimes like thine: but do my righteous bidding, and thy soul shall live. Go to that poor, suffocating creature--cherishthe spark of life--bind up the wounds which thou hast rent, pouring inoil and wine: rouse the house--seek assistance--save her life--confessthy sin--repent--and though thou diest for this before the tribunal ofthy fellows, God will yet be gracious--he will raise again her whom thouhadst slain--and will cleanse thy blood-stained soul. "

Thus in Simon's ear spake that better conscience. 

But the reprobate had cast off Faith; he could not pledge the Presentfor the Future; he shuddered at the sword of Justice, and would nottouch the ivory sceptre of Forgiveness. No: he meditated horriditeration--and again the fiend possessed him! What! not only lose thecrock of gold, but all his own bright store? and give up every thing ofthis world's good for some imaginary other, and meekly confess, andmeanly repent--and--and all this to resuscitate that hated old aunt ofhis, who would hang him, and divorce him from his gold?

No! he must do the deed again--see, she is moving--she will recover! herchest heaves visibly--she breathes--she speaks--she knows me--ha!down--down, I say!

Then, with deliberate and damning resolution--to screen off temporaldanger, and count his golden hoards a little longer--that awful criminaltouched the throat again: and he turned his head away not to see thathorrid face, clutched the swollen gullet with his icy hands, andstrangled her once more!

"This time all is safe, " said Simon. And having set all smooth asbefore, he stole up to his own chamber. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

MAMMON, AND CONTENTMENT. 

AY, safe enough: and the murderer went to bed. To bed? No. 

He tumbled about the clothes, to make it seem that he had lain there:but he dared neither lie down, nor shut his eyes. Then, the darknessterrified him: the out-door darkness he could have borne, and Mrs. Quarles's chamber always had a night-lamp burning: but the darkness ofhis own room, of his own thoughts, pressed him all around, as with athick, murky, suffocating vapour. So, he stood close by the window, watching the day-break. 

As for sleep, never more did wholesome sleep rėvisit that atrociousmind: laudanum, an ever-increasing dose of merciless laudanum, that wasthe only power which ever seemed to soothe him. For a horrid visionalways accompanied him now: go where he might, do what he would, fromthat black morning to eternity, he went a haunted man--a scared, sleepless, horror-stricken wretch. That livid face with goggling eyes, stuck to him like a shadow; he always felt its presence, and sometimes, also, could perceive it as if bodily peeping over his shoulder, next hischeek; it dogged him by day, and was his incubus by night; and often hewould start and wrestle, for the desperate grasp of the dying appearedto be clutching at his throat: so, in his ghostly fears, and bloodyconscience, he had girded round his neck a piece of thin sheet-iron inhis cravat, which he wore continually as armour against those clammyfingers: no wonder that he held his head so stiff. 

O Gold--accursed Mammon! is this the state of those who love theedeepest? is this their joy, who desire thee with all their heart andsoul--who serve thee with all their might--who toil for thee--plot forthee--live for thee--dare for thee--die for thee? Hast thou no betterbliss to give thy martyrs--no choicer comfort for thy most consistentworshippers, no fairer fate for those, whose waking thoughts, anddreaming hopes, and intricate schemes, and desperate deeds, were onlyaimed at gold, more gold? God of this world, if such be thy rewards, letme ever escape them! idol of the knave, false deity of the fool, if thisbe thy blessing on thy votaries--come, curse me, Mammon, curse thou me!

For, "The love of money is the root of all evil. " It groweth up alittle plant of coveting; presently the leaves get rank, the branchesspread, and feed on petty thefts; then in their early season come theblossoms, black designs, plots, involved and undeveloped yet, of foulconspiracies, extortions on the weak, rich robbings of the wealthy, thethreatened slander, the rewarded lie, malice, perjury, sacrilege; thenspeedily cometh on the climax, the consummate flower, dark-red murder:and the fruit bearing in itself the seeds that never die, is righteous, wrathful condemnation. 

Dyed with all manner of iniquity, tinged with many colours like theMohawk in his woods, goeth forth in a morning the covetous soul. Hischeek is white with envy, his brow black with jealous rage, his lividlips are full of lust, his thievish hands spotted over with the crimsondrops of murder. "The poison of asps is under his lips; and his feet areswift to shed blood: destruction and misery are in his ways; and thereis no fear of God before his eyes. "

O, ye thousands--the covetous of this world's good--behold at what afire ye do warm yourselves! dread it: even now, ye have imagined manydeaths, whereby your gains may be the greater; ye have caught, inwishful fancy, many a parting sigh; ye have closed, in a heartlessrevery, many a glazing eye--yea, of those your very nearest, whom yourhopes have done to death: and are ye guiltless? God and conscience beyour judges!

Even now ye have compassed many frauds, connived at many meannesses, trodden down the good, and set the bad on high--all for gold--hard gold;and are ye the honest--the upright? Speak out manfully your excuse, ifyou can find one, ye respectables of merchandise, ye traders, barteringall for cash, ye Scribes, ye Pharisees, hypocrites, all honourable men. 

Even now, your dreams are full of money-bags; your cares are how to addsuperfluity to wealth; ye fawn upon the rich, ye scorn the poor, ye pineand toil both night and day for gold, more gold; and are ye happy?Answer me, ye covetous ones. 

Yet are there righteous gains, God's blessing upon labour: yet is thererightful hope to get those righteous gains. Who can condemn the poorman's care, though Faith should make his load the lighter? And who willextenuate the rich man's coveting, whose appetite grows with what itfeeds on? "Having food and raiment, be therewith content;" that is thegolden mean; to that is limited the philosophy of worldliness: the manmust live, by labour and its earnings; but having wherewithal for himand his temperately, let him tie the mill-stone of anxiety to the wingof Faith, and speed that burden to his God. 

If Wealth come, beware of him, the smooth false friend: there istreachery in his proffered hand, his tongue is eloquent to tempt, lustof many harms is lurking in his eye, he hath a hollow heart; use himcautiously. 

If Penury assail, fight against him stoutly, the gaunt grim foe: thecurse of Cain is on his brow, toiling vainly; he creepeth with the wormby day, to raven with the wolf by night: diseases battle by his side, and crime followeth his footsteps. Therefore fight against him boldly, and be of a good courage, for there are many with thee; not alone thedoled alms, the casual aids dropped from compassion, or wrung out byimportunity; these be only temporary helps, and indulgence in thempampers the improvident; but look thou to a better host of strongallies, of resolute defenders; turn again to meet thy duties, needy one:no man ever starved, who even faintly tried to do them. Look to thy God, O sinner! use reason wisely; cherish honour; shrink not from toil, though somewhile unrewarded; preserve frank bearing with thy fellows;and in spite of all thy sins--forgiven; all thy follies--flung away; allthe trickeries of this world--scorned; all competitions--disregarded;all suspicions--trodden under foot; thou neediest and raggedest oflabourers' labourers--Enough shall be thy portion, ere a week hathpassed away. 

Well did Agur-the-Wise counsel Ithiel and Ucal his disciples, when heuttered in their ears before his God, this prayerful admonition, "Twothings have I required of Thee; deny me them not before I die: removefar from me vanity and lies; give me neither poverty nor riches: feed mewith food convenient for me. Lest I be full, and deny Thee, saying, Whois the Lord? or lest I be poor, and steal, and dishonour the name of theLord my God. "

CHAPTER XXXII. 

NEXT MORNING. 

DAY dawned apace; and a glorious cavalcade of flaming cloudsheralded the Sun their captain. From far away, round half the widehorizon, their glittering spears advanced. Heaven's highway rang withthe trampling of their horse-hoofs, and the dust went up from itsjewelled pavement as spray from the bottom of a cataract. Anon, hecame, the chieftain of that on-spurring host! his banner blazed upon thesky; his golden crest was seen beneath, nodding with its ruddy plumes;over the south-eastern hills he arose in radiant armour. Fair Nature, waking at her bridegroom's voice, arrived so early from a distant clime, smiled upon him sleepily, gladdening him in beauty with her sweethalf-opened eyelids, and kissing him in faithfulness withdew-besprinkled lips. 

And he looked forth upon the world from his high chariot, holding backthe coursers that must mount the steep of noon: and he heard the morninghymn of thankfulness to Heaven from the mountains, and the valleys, andthe islands of the sea; the prayer of man and woman, the praise oflisping tongues, the hum of insect joy upon the air, the sheep-belltinkling in the distance, the wild bird's carol, and the lowing kine, the mute minstrelsy of rising dews, and that stilly scarce-hearduniversal melody of wakeful plants and trees, hastening to turn theirspring-buds to the light--this was the anthem he, the Lord of Day, nowlistened to--this was the song his influences had raised to bless theGod who made him. 

And he saw, from his bright throne of wide derivative glory, Hope flyingforth upon her morning missions, visiting the lonesome, comforting thesorrowful, speaking cheerfully to Care, and singing in the ear ofLabour: and he watched that ever-welcome friend, flitting with thegleams of light to every home, to every heart; none but gladly let herin; her tapping finger opened the very prison doors; the heavy head ofSloth rejoiced to hear her call; and every common Folly, every commonSin--ay, every common Crime--warmed his unconscious soul before herwinning beauty. 

Yet, yet was there one, who cursed that angel's coming; and the holy Eyeof day wept pityingly to see an awful child of man who dared not look onHope. 

The murderer stood beside his casement, watching that tranquil scene:with bloodshot eyes and haggard stare, he gazed upon the waking world;for one strange minute he forgot, entranced by innocence and beauty; butwhen the stunning tide of memory, that had ebbed that one strangeminute, rolled back its mighty flood upon his mind, the murderer swoonedaway. 

And he came to himself again all too soon; for when he arose, buildingup his weak, weak limbs, as if he were a column of sand, the cruelgiant, Guilt, lifted up his club, and felled the wretch once more. 

How long he lay fainting, he knew not then; if any one had vowed it wasa century, Simon, as he gradually woke, could not have gainsaid the man;but he only lay four seconds in that white oblivious trance--for Fear, Fear knocked at his heart:--Up, man, up!--you need have all your witsabout you now;--see, it is broad day--the house will be roused beforeyou know where you are, and then will be shouted out that awfulname--Simon Jennings! Simon Jennings!

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

THE ALARM. 

HE arose, held up on either hand that day as if fightingagainst Amalek;--despair buttressed him on one side, and secresy shoredhim on the other: behind that wall of stone his heart had strength tobeat. 

He arose; and listened at the key-hole anxiously: all silent, quiet, quiet still; the whole house asleep: nothing found out yet. And he bithis nails to the quick, that they bled again: but he never felt thepain. 

Hush!--yes, somebody's about: it is Jonathan's step; and hark, he ishumming merrily, "Hail, smiling morn, that opes the gates of day?" Wo, wo--what a dismal gulph between Jonathan and me! And he beat his breastmiserably. But, Jonathan cannot find it out--he never goes to Mrs. Quarles's room. Oh! this suspense is horrible: haste, haste, some kindsoul, to make the dread discovery! And he tore his hair away byhandfulls. 

"Hark!--somebody else--unlatching shutters; it will be Sarah--ha! she istapping at the housekeeper's room--yes, yes, and she will make it known, O terrible joy!--A scream! it is Sarah's voice--she has seen her dead, dead, dead;--but is she indeed dead?"

The miscreant quivered with new fears; she might still mutter "Simon didit!"

And now the house is thoroughly astir; running about in all directions;and shouting for help; and many knocking loudly at the murderer's owndoor--"Mr. Jennings! Mr. Jennings!--quick--get up--come down--quick, quick--your aunt's found dead in her bed!"

What a relief to the trembling wretch!--she _was_ dead. He could haveblessed the voice that told him his dread secret was so safe. But hisparched tongue may never bless again: curses, curses are all itsblessings now. 

And Jennings came out calmly from his chamber, a white, stern, sanctimonious man, lulling the storm with his wise presence:--"God'swill be done, " said he; "what can poor weak mortals answer Him?" And heplayed cleverly the pious elder, the dignified official, theaffectionate nephew: "Ah, well, my humble friends, behold what life is:the best of us must come to this; my poor, dear aunt, the latehouse-keeper, rest her soul--I feared it might be this way some night orother: she was a stout woman, was our dear, deceased Bridget--and, though a good kind soul, lived much on meat and beer: ah well, ah well!"And he concealed his sentimental hypocrisy in a cotton pocket-handkerchief. 

"Alas, and well-a-day! that it should have come to this. Apoplexy--yousee, apoplexy caught her as she slept: we may as well get her buried atonce: it is unfortunately too clear a case for any necessity to open thebody; and our young master is coming down on Tuesday, and I could notallow my aunt's corpse to be so disrespectful as to stop till it becameoffensive. I will go to the vicar myself immediately. "

"Begging pardon, Mr. Jennings, " urged Jonathan Floyd, "there's a strangemark here about the throat, poor old 'ooman. "

"Ay, " added Sarah, "and now I come to think of it, Mrs. Quarles'sroom-door was ajar; and bless me, the lawn-door's not locked neither!Who could have murdered her?"

"Murdered? there's no murder here, silly wench, " said Jennings, with anervous sneer. 

"I don't know that, Mr. Simon, " gruffly interposed the coachman; "it's acase for a coroner, I'll be bail; so here I goes to bring him: let allbide as it is, fellow-sarvents; murder will out, they say. "

And off he set directly--not without a shrewd remark from Mr. Jennings, about letting him escape that way; which seemed all very sage andlikely, till the honest man came back within the hour, and a _possecomitatus_ at his heels. 

We all know the issue of that inquest. 

Now, if any one requests to be informed how Jennings came to be lookedfor as usual in his room, after that unavailing search last night, Ireply, this newer, stronger excitement for the minute made the houseoblivious of that mystery; and if people further will persist to know, how that mystery of his absence was afterwards explained (though I formy part would gladly have said nothing of the bailiff's own excuse), letit be enough to hint, that Jennings winked with a knowing and gallantexpression of face; alluded to his private key, and a secret return attwo in the morning from some disreputable society in the neighbourhood;made the men laugh, and the women blush; and, altogether, as he mightwell have other hats and coats, the delicate affair was not unlikely. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

DOUBTS. 

AND so, this crock of gold--gained through extortion, by thefrauds of every day, the meannesses of every hour--this concreteoppression to the hireling in his wages--this mass of petty pilferingsfrom poverty--this continuous obstruction to the charities ofwealth--this cockatrice's egg--this offspring of iniquity--had alreadybeen baptized in blood before poor Acton found it, and slain its earthlyvictim ere it wrecked his faith; already had it been perfected by crime, and destroyed the murderer's soul, before it had endangered the life ofslandered innocence. 

Is there yet more blessing in the crock? more fearful interest still, tocarry on its story to an end? Must another sacrifice bleed before theshrine of Mammon, and another head lie crushed beneath the heel of thatmonster--his disciple?

Come on with me, and see the end; push further still, there is alabyrinth ahead to attract and to excite; from mind to mind crackles theelectric spark: and when the heart thrillingly conceives, itschildren-thoughts are as arrows from the hand of the giant, flyingthrough that mental world--the hearts of other men. Fervent still fromits hot internal source, this fountain gushes up; no sluggishLethe-stream is here, dull, forgetful, and forgotten; but liker to theburning waves of Phlegethon, mingling at times (though its fire is stillunquenched), with the pastoral rills of Tempe, and the River from theMount of God. 

Lower the sail--let it flap idly on the wind--helm a-port--and so tosmoother waters: return to common life and humbler thoughts. 

It may yet go hard with Roger Acton. Jennings is a man of character, especially the farther from his home; the county round take him for amodel of propriety, a sample of the strictest conduct. We know the badman better; but who dare breathe against the bailiff in hispower--against the caitiff in his sleek hypocrisy--that, while he makesa show of both humilities, he fears not God nor man? What shall hinder, that the perjured wretch offer up to the manes of the murdered thelife-blood of the false-accused? May he not live yet many years, heapingup gold and crime? And may not sweet Grace Acton--her now repentantfather--the kindly Jonathan--his generous master, and if there be anyother of the Hurstley folk we love, may they not all meet destruction athis hands, as a handful of corn before the reaper's sickle? I say notthat they shall, but that they might. Acton's criminal state of mind, and his hunger after gold--gold any how--have earned some righteousretribution, unless Providence in mercy interpose; and young Sir John, in nowise unblameable himself, with wealth to tempt the spoiler, livesin the spoiler's very den; and as to Jonathan and Grace, this world hasmany martyrs. If Heaven in its wisdom use the wicked as a sword, Heavenis but just; but if in its vengeance that sword of the wicked is turnedagainst himself, Heaven showeth mercy all unmerited. To a criminal likeJennings, let loose upon the world, without the clog of conscience toretard him, and with the spur of covetousness ever urging on, any thingin crime is possible--is probable: none can sound those depths: and whenwe raise our eyes on high to the Mighty Moral Governor, and note theclouds of mystery that thunder round his Throne--He may permit, or hemay control; who shall reach those heights?

CHAPTER XXXV. 

FEARS. 

MOREOVER, innocent of blood, as we know Roger Acton to be, appearances are strongly against him: and in such a deed as secret, midnight murder, which none but God can witness, multiplied appearancesjustify the world in condemning one who seems so guilty. 

The first impression against Roger is a bad one, for all the neighboursknow how strangely his character had been changing for the worse oflate: he is not like the same man; sullen and insubordinate, he wasturned away from work for his bold and free demeanor; as to church, though he had worn that little path these forty years, all at once heseems to have entirely forgotten the way hither. 

He lives, nobody knows how--on bright, clean gold, nobody knows whence:his daughter says, indeed, that her father found a crock of gold in hisgarden--but she needs not have held her tongue so long, and borne somany insults, if that were all the truth; and, mark this! even thoughshe says it, and declares it on her Bible-oath, Acton himself moststrenuously denied all such findings--but went about with impudent talesof legacy, luck, nobody knows what; the man prevaricated continually, and got angry when asked about it--cudgelling folks, and swearinglike--like any one but old-time "honest Roger. "

Only look, too, where he lives: in a lone cottage opposite Pike Island, on the other side of which is Hurstley Hall, the scene of robbery andmurder: was not a boat seen that night upon the lake? and was not thelawn-door open? How strangely stupid in the coroner and jury not to haveimagined this before! how dull it was of every body round not to havesuspected murder rather more strongly, with those finger-marks about thethroat, and not to have opened their eyes a little wider, when themurderer's cottage was within five hundred yards of that open lawn-door!

Then again--when Mr. Jennings, in his strict and searching way, accusedthe culprit, he never saw a man so confused in all his life! and onrepeating the charge before those two constables, they all witnessed hisguilty consternation: experienced men, too, they were, and never saw afelon if Acton wasn't one; the dogged manner in which he went with themso quietly was quite sufficient; innocent men don't go to jail in thatsort of way, as if they well deserved it. 

But, strongest of all, if any shadow of a doubt remained, the mostfearful proof of Roger's guilt lay in the scrap of shawl--the littleleather bags--and the very identical crock of gold! There it was, nestled in the thatch within a yard of his head, as he lay in bed atnoon-day guarding it. 

One proof, weaker than the weakest of all these banded together, has erenow sufficed to hang the guilty; and many, many fears have I that thismultitude of seeming facts, conspiring in a focus against Roger Acton, will be quite enough to overwhelm the innocent. "Nothing lies like afact, " said Dr. Johnson: and statistics prove it, at least as well ascircumstantial evidence. 

The matter was as clear as day-light, and long before the trial cameabout, our poor labourer had been hanged outright in the just judgmentof Hurstley-cum-Piggesworth. 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

PRISON COMFORTS. 

MANY blessings, more than he had skill to count, had visitedpoor Acton in his cell. His gentle daughter Grace, sweet minister ofgood thoughts--she, like a loving angel, had been God's instrument ofpenitence and peace to him. He had come to himself again, in solitude, by nights, as a man awakened from a feverish dream; and the hallowingministrations of her company by day had blest reflective solitude withsympathy and counsel. 

Good-wife Mary, too, had been his comforting and cheering friend. Immediately the crock of gold had been taken from its ambush in thethatch, it seemed as if the chill which had frozen up her heart had beenmelted by a sudden thaw. Roger Acton was no longer the selfish prodigal, but the guiltless, persecuted penitent; her care was now to soothe hisgriefs, not to scold him for excesses; and indignation at the false andbloody charge made him appear a martyr in her eyes. As to his accuser, Jennings, Mary had indeed her own vague fancies and suspicions, butthere being no evidence, nor even likelihood to support them, she didnot dare to breathe a word; she might herself accuse him falsely. Ben, who alone could have thrown a light upon the matter, had always beencomparatively a stranger at Hurstley; he was no native of the place, andhad no ties there beyond wire and whip-cord: he would appear in thatlocality now and then in his eccentric orbit, like a comet, and, soondeparting thence, would take away Tom as his tail; but even when there, he was mainly a night-prowler, seldom seen by day, and so little versedin village lore, so rarely mingling with its natives, that neitherJennings nor Burke knew one another by sight. His fame indeed was known, but not his person. At present, he and Tom were still fowling in somedistant fens, nobody could tell where; so that Roger's only witness, whomight have accounted for the crock and its finding, was as good as deadto him; to make Ben's absence more unusually prolonged, and hisrėappearance quite incalculable, he had talked of going with his cargoof wild ducks "either to London or to Liverpool, he didn't rightly knowwhich. "

Nevertheless, Mary comforted her husband, and more especially herself, by the hope of his return as a saving witness; though it was alwaysdoubtful how far Burke's numerous peccadilloes against property wouldeither find him at large, or authorize the poacher in walking straightbefore the judges. Still Ben's possible interposition was one source ofhope and cheerful expectation. Then the good wife would leave her babesat home, safely in a neighbour's charge, and stay and sit many longhours with poor Roger, taking turns with Grace in talking to himtenderly, making little of home-troubles past, encouraging him to wear astout heart, and filling him with gratitude for all her kindly care. Thus did she bless, and thus was made a blessing, through the loss andabsence of that crock of gold. 

For Roger himself, he had repented; bitterly and deeply, as became hisheadlong fall: no sweet luxuries of grief, no soothing sorrow, nochastened meditative melancholy--such mild penitence as this, hethought, could be but a soberer sort of joy for virgins, saints, andmartyrs: no--he, bad man, was unworthy of those melting pleasures, andin sturdy self-revenge he flung them from him, choosing rather to feeloverwhelmed with shame, contrition, and reproaches. A humbled man with abroken heart within him--such was our labourer, penitent in prison; andwhen he contrasted his peaceful, pure, and Christian course those fortyyears of poverty, with his blasphemous and infidel career for the onebad week of wealth, he had no patience with himself--only felt his fallthe greater; and his judgment of his own guilt, with a naturalexaggeration, went the length of saying--I am scarcely less guiltybefore God and man, than if, indeed, my hands were red with murder, andmy casual finding had been robbery. He would make no strong appeals tothe bar of justice, as an innocent condemned; not he--not he: innocent, indeed? his wicked, wicked courses--(an old man, too--gray-headed, withno young blood in him to excuse, no inexperience to extenuate), thesedeserved--did he say hanging? it was a harsher syllable--hell: and thecontrite sinner gladly would have welcomed all the terrors of thegibbet, in hope to take full vengeance on himself for his wicked thirstfor gold and all its bitter consequences. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

GOOD COUNSEL. 

BUT Grace advised him better. "Be humbled as you may beforeGod, my father, but stand up boldly before man: for in his sight, and byhis law, you are little short of blameless. I would not, dearest father, speak to you of sins, except for consolation under them; for it illbecomes a child to see the failings of a parent. But when I know at oncehow innocent you are in one sense, and how not quite guiltless inanother, I wish my words may comfort you, if you will hear them, father. Covetousness, not robbery--excess, not murder--these were your onlysins; and concealment was not wise, neither was a false reportbefitting. Money, the idol of millions, was your temptation: its earnestlove, your fault; its possession, your misfortune. Forgive me, father, if I speak too freely. Good Mr. Evans, who has been so kind to us foryears, (never kinder than since you were in prison, ) can speak betterthan I may, of sins forgiven, and a Friend to raise the fallen: it isnot for poor Grace to school her dear and honoured father. If you feelyourself guilty of much evil in the sight of Him before whom the angelsbow in meekness--I need not tell you that your sorrow is most wise, andwell-becoming. But this must not harm your cause with men: though tiredof life, though hopeless in one's self, though bad, and weak, and liketo fall again, we are still God's servants upon earth, bound to guardthe life he gives us. Neither must you lightly allow the guilt ofunrighteous condemnation to fall upon the judge who tries you; nor letyour innocent blood cry to God for vengeance on your native land. Manfully confront the false accuser, tell openly the truth, plead yourown cause firmly, warmly, wisely:--so, God defend the right!"

And as Grace Acton said these words, in all the fervour of a daughter'slove, with a flushed cheek, parted lips, and her right hand raised toHim whom she invoked, she looked like an inspired prophetess, or thefair maid of Orleans leading on to battle. 

In an instant afterwards, she humbly added, "Forgive me any thing I may have said, that seems to chide my father. "

"Bless you, bless you, dearest one!" was Roger's sobbing prayer, whohad listened to her wisdom breathlessly. "Ah, daughter, " then exclaimedthe humbled, happy man, "I'll try to do all you ask me, Grace; but it isa hard thing to feel myself so wicked, and to have to speak up boldlylike a Christian man. "

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

EXPERIENCE. 

THEN, with disjointed sentences, suited to the turmoil of histhoughts, half in a soliloquy, half as talking to his daughter, RogerActon gave his hostile testimony to the worth of wealth. 

"Oh, fool, fool that I have been, to set so high a price on gold! Tohave hungered and thirsted for it--to have coveted earnestly so bad agift--to have longed for Mammon's friendship, which is enmity with God!What has not money cost me? Happiness:--ay, wasn't it to have given mehappiness? and the little that I had (it was much, Grace, not little, very much--too much--God be praised for it!) all, all the happiness Ihad, gold took away. Look at our dear old home--shattered and scattered, as now I wish that crock had been. Health, too; were it not for gold, and all gold gave, I had been sturdy still, and capable; but my nightsmaddened with anxieties, my days worried with care, my head feverishwith drink, my heart rent by conscience--ah, my girl, my girl, when Ithought much of poverty and its hardships, of toil, and hunger, andrheumatics, I little imagined that wealth had heavier cares and pains: Ienvied them their wanton life of pleasure at the Hall, and little knewhow hard it was: well are they called hard-livers who drink, and game, and have nothing to do, except to do wickedness continually. Religion--can it bide with money, child? I never knew my wicked heart, till fortune made me rich; not until then did I guess how base, lying, false, and bad was 'honest Roger;' how sensual, coarse, and brutal, wasthat hypocrite 'steady Acton'. Money is a devil, child, or pretty nearakin. Then I complained of toil, too, didn't I?--Ah, what are all theaches I ever felt--labouring with spade and spud in cold and rain, hungry belike, and faint withal--what are they all at their worst (andthe worst was very seldom after all), to the gnawing cares, the hideousfears, the sins--the sins, my girl, that tore your poor old father?Wasn't it to be an end of troubles, too, this precious crock of gold?Wo's me, I never knew real trouble till I had it! Look at me, and judge;what has made me live like a beast, sin like a heathen, and lie downhere like a felon? what has made me curse Ben Burke--kind, hearty, friendly Ben?--and given my poor good boy an ill-report as having stolenand slain? all this crock of gold. But O, my Grace, to think that thecrock's curses touched thee, too! didn't it madden me to hear them?Dear, pure, patient child, my darling, injured daughter, here upon myknees I pray, forgive that wrong!" And he fell at her feet beseechingly. 

"My father, " said the noble girl, lifting up his head, and passionatelykissing it; "when they whispered so against me, and Jonathan heard thewicked things men said, I would have borne it all, all in silence, andlet them all believe me bad, father, if I could have guessed that byuttering the truth, I should have seen thee here, in a dungeon, treatedas a--murderer! How was I to tell that men could be so base, as tocharge such crimes upon the innocent, when his only fault, or hismisfortune, was to find a crock of gold? Oh! forgive me, too, thiswrong, my father!"

And they wept in each other's arms. 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

JONATHAN'S TROTH. 

GRACE had been all but an inmate of the prison, ever since herfather had been placed there on suspicion. Early and late, and often inthe day, was the duteous daughter at his cell, for the governor and theturn-keys favoured her. Who could resist such beauty and affection, entreating to stay with a father about to stand on trial for his life, and making every effort to be allowed only to pray with him? Thus didGrace spend all the week before those dread assizes. 

As to her daily maintenance, ever since that bitter morning when thecrock was found, her spiritual fears had obliged her to abstain fromtouching so much as one penny of that unblest store; and, seeing thathonest pride would not let her be supported by grudged and commoncharity, she had thankfully suffered the wages of her now betrothedJonathan to serve as means whereon she lived, and (what cost more thanall her humble wants) whereby she could administer many little comfortsto her father in his prison. When she was not in the cell, Grace wasgenerally at the Hall, to the scandal of more than one Hurstleyangossip; but perhaps they did not know how usually kind Sarah Stack wasof the company, to welcome her with Jonathan, and play propriety. Sarahwas a true friend, one for adversity, and though young herself, and notill-looking, did not envy Grace her handsome lover; on the contrary, shedid all to make them happy, and had gone the friendly length ofinsisting to find Grace and her family in tea and sugar, while all thislasted. I like that much in Sarah Stack. 

However, the remainder of the virtuous world were not so considerate, nor so charitable. Many neighbours shunned the poor girl, as ifcontaminated by the crimes which Roger had undoubtedly committed: themore elderly unmarried sisterhood, as we have chronicled already, wereoverjoyed at the precious opportunity:--"Here was the pert vixen, whomall the young fellows so shamelessly followed, turned out, after all, amurderer's daughter;--they wished her joy of her eyes, and lips, andcurls, and pretty speeches: no good ever came of such naughty ways, thatthe men liked so. "

Nay, even the tipsy crew at Bacchus's affected to treat her name withscorn:--"The girl had made much noise about being called a trull, as ifmany a better than she wasn't one; and, after all, what was the prudishwench? a sort of she-butcher; they had no patience with her proudlooks. "

As to farmer Floyd, he made a great stir about his boy being about tomarry a felon's daughter; and the affectionate mother, with manyelaborate protestations, had "vowed to Master Jonathan, that she wouldrather lay him out with her own hands, and a penny on each eye, than seea Floyd disgrace himself in that 'ere manner. "

And uncles, aunts, and cousins, most disinterestedly exhorted that theobstinate youth be disinherited--"Ay, Mr. Floyd, I wish your son was ahigh-minded man like his father; but there's a difference, Mr. Floyd; Iwish he had your true blue yeoman's honour, and the spirit that becomeshis father's son: if the lad was mine, I'd cut him off with a shilling, to buy a halter for his drab of a wife. Dang it, Mrs. Floyd, it'll neverdo to see so queer a Mrs. Jonathan Junior, a standing in your tidy shoesbeside this kitchen dresser. "

These estimable counsels were, I grieve to say, of too flattering anature to displease, and of too lucrative a quality not to becontinually repeated; until, really, Jonathan was threatened withbeggary and the paternal malediction, if he would persist in hisdisreputable attachment. 

Nevertheless, Jonathan clung to the right like a hero. 

"Granting poor Acton is the wretch you think--but I do not believe oneword of it--does his crime make his daughter wicked too? No; she is anangel, a pure and blessed creature, far too good for such a one as I. And happy is the man that has gained her love; he should not give her upwere she thrice a felon's daughter. My father and mother, " Jonathan wenton to say, "never found a fault in her till now. Who was more welcome onthe hill than pretty Grace? who would oftenest come to nurse some sicklylamb, but gentle Grace? who was wont, from her childhood up, to run homewith me so constantly, when school was over, and pleased my kinsfolk soentirely with her nice manners and kind ways? Hadn't he fought for hermore than once, and though he came home with bruises on his face, hismother praised him for it?" Then, with a natural divergence from thestrict subject-matter of objection, vicarious felony, Jonathan went onto argue about other temporal disadvantages. "Hadn't he heard his fathersay, that, if she had but money, she was fit to be a countess? and wasmoney, then, the only thing, whereof the having, or the not having, could make her good or bad?--money, the only wealth for soul, and mind, and body? Are affections nothing, are truth and honour nothing, religionnothing, good sense nothing, health nothing, beauty nothing--unlessmoney gild them all? Nonsense!" said Jonathan, indignantly, warmed byhis amatory eloquence; "come weal, come wo, Grace and I go down to thegrave together; for better, if she can be better--for worse, if shecould sin--Grace Acton is my wealth, my treasure, and possession; andlet man do his worst, God himself will bless us!"

So, all this knit their loves: she knew, and he felt, that he was goingin the road of nobleness and honour; and the fiery ordeal which he hadto struggle through, raised that hearty earthly lover more nearly to alevel with his heavenly-minded mistress. Through misfortune andmistrust, and evil rumours all around, in spite of opposition from falsefriends, and the scorn of slanderous foes, he stood by her moreconstantly, perchance more faithfully, than if the course of true-lovehad been smoother: he was her escort morning and evening to and from theprison; his strong arm was the dread of babbling fools that spoke a wordof disrespect against the Actons; and his brave tongue was now makingitself heard, in open vindication of the innocent. 

CHAPTER XL. 

SUSPICIONS. 

YES--Jonathan Floyd was beginning to speak out boldly certainstrange suspicions he had entertained of Jennings. It was a courageous, a rash, a dangerous thing to do: he did not know but what it might havejeoparded his life, say nothing of his livelihood: but Floyd did it. 

Ever since that inquest, contrived to be so quickly and so quietly gotover, he had noticed Simon's hurried starts, his horrid looks, hisaltered mien in all he did and said, his new nervous ways atnightfall--John Page to sleep in Mr. Jennings's chamber, and arush-light perpetually--his shudder whenever he had occasion to call atthe housekeeper's room, and his evident shrinking from the frequentphrase "Mrs. Quarles's murder. "

Then again, Jonathan would often lie awake at nights, thinking overdivers matters connected with his own evidence before the coroner, whichhe began to see might be of great importance. Jennings said, he had goneout to still the dog by the front door--didn't he?--"How then, Mr. Jennings, did you contrive to push back the top bolt? The Hall chairshad not come then, and you are a little fellow, and you know that nobodyin the house could reach, without a lift, that bolt but me. Besides, before Sir John came down, the hinges of that door creaked, like alitter o' kittens screaming, and the lock went so hard for want of useand oil, that I'll be sworn your gouty chalkstone fingers could neverhave turned it: now, I lay half awake for two hours, and heard no creak, no key turned; but I tell you what I did hear though, and I wish now Ihad said it at that scanty, hurried inquest; I heard what I now believewere distant screams (but I was so sleepy), and a kind of muffledscuffling ever so long: but I fancied it might be a horse in the stablekicking among the straw in a hunter's loose box. I can guess what it wasnow--cannot you, Mr. Simon?--I say, butler, you must have gone out toquiet Don--who by the way can't abear the sight of you--through Mrs. Quarles's room: and, for all your threats, I'm not afeard to tell youwhat I think. First answer me this, Mr. Simon Jennings:--where were youall that night, when we were looking for you?--Oh! you choose to forget, do you? I can help your memory, Mr. Butler; what do you think of theshower-bath in Mother Quarles's room?"

As Jonathan, one day at dinner in the servants' hall, took occasion todirect these queries to the presiding Simon, the man gave such a horridstart, and exclaimed, "Away, I say!" so strangely, that Jonathan coulddoubt no longer--nor, in fact, any other of the household: Jennings gavethem all round a vindictive scowl, left the table, hastened to his ownroom, and was seen no more that day. 

Speculation now seemed at an end, it had ripened into probability;--butwhat evidence was there to support so grave a charge against this rigidman? Suspicions are not half enough to go upon--especially since RogerActon seemed to have had the money. Therefore, though the folks atHurstley, Sir John, his guests, and all the house, could not but thinkthat Mr. Jennings acted very oddly--still, he had always been a strangecreature, an unpopular bailiff; nobody understood him. So, Floyd, to hisown no small danger, stood alone in accusing the man openly. 

CHAPTER XLI. 

GRACE'S ALTERNATIVE. 

VERY shortly after that remarkable speech in the servants'hall, Jonathan found another reason for believing that Mr. SimonJennings was equal to any imaginable amount of human wickedness. Thatreason will shortly now appear; but we must first of all dig at itsroots somewhat deeper than Jonathan's mental husbandry could manage. 

If any trait of character were wanting to complete the desperate infamyof Jennings--(really I sometimes hope that his grandfather's madness hada kind of rėawakening in this accursed man)--it was furnished by a newand shrewd scheme for feeding to the full his lust of gold. The bailiffhad more than once, as we have hinted, found means to increase his evilhoard, by having secretly gained power over female innocence and honestreputation: similarly he now devised a deep-laid plot, nothing short ofdiabolical. His plot was this: and I choose to hurry over such foultreason. Let a touch or two hint its outlines: those who will, may paintup the picture for themselves. Simon looked at Sir John--young, gay, wealthy; he coveted his purse, and fancied that the surest bait to catchthat fish was fair Grace Acton: if he could entrap her for his master(to whom he gave full credit for delighting in the plan), he countedsurely on magnificent rewards. How then to entrap her? Thus:--he, representing himself as prosecutor of Roger, the accused, held for him, he averred, the keys of life and death: he would set this idea (whethertrue or not little mattered, if it served his purpose) before anaffectionate daughter, who should have it in her power to save herparent, if, and only if, she would yield herself to Jennings: and hewell knew that, granting she gave herself secretly to him first, on sucha bribe as her father's liberation, he would have no difficulty whateverin selling her second-hand beauty on his own terms to his master. It wasa foul scheme, and shall not be enlarged upon: but (as will appear) thusslightly to allude to it was needful to our tale, as well as to thedevelopment of character in Mammon's pattern-slave, and to the fullnessof his due retribution in this world. I may add, that if any thing couldmake the plan more heinous--if any shade than blackest can beblacker--this extra turpitude is seen in the true consideration, thatthe promise to Grace of her father's safety would be entirely futile--asJennings knew full well; the crown was prosecutor, not he: andcircumstantial evidence alone would be sufficient to condemn. Again, itreally is nothing but bare justice to remark, with reference to SirJohn, that the deep-dyed villain reckoned quite without his host; forhowever truly the baronet had oft-times been much less a self-denyingScipio than a wanton Alcibiades, still the fine young fellow would haveflung Simon piecemeal to his hounds, if ever he had breathed soatrocious a temptation: the maid was pledged, and Vincent knew it. 

Now, it so happened that one evening at dusk, when Grace as usual wasobliged to leave the prison, there was no Jonathan in waiting toaccompany her all the dreary long way home: this was strange, as hisgood-hearted master, privately informed of his noble attachment, neverrefused the man permission, but winked, for the time, at his frequentevening absence. Nevertheless, on this occasion, as would happen now andthen, Floyd could not escape from the dining-room; probably because--Mr. Jennings had secretly gone forth to escort the girl himself. Accordingly, instead of loved Jonathan, sidled up to her the loathsomeSimon. 

Let me not soil these pages by recording, in however guarded phrase, thegrossness of this wretch's propositions; it was a long way to Hurstley, and the reptile never ceased tormenting her every step of it, till thevillage was in sight: twice she ran, and he ran too, keeping up withher, and pouring into her ear a father's cruel fate and his owndetestable alternative. She never once spoke to him, but kept on prayingin her own pure mind for a just acquittal; not for one moment would sheentertain the wicked thought of "doing evil that good might come;" andso, with flushed cheek, tingling ears, the mien of an insulted empress, and the dauntless resolution of a heroine, she hastened on to Hurstley. 

Look here! by great good fortune comes Jonathan Floyd to meet her. 

"Save me, Jonathan, save me!" and she fainted in his arms. 

Now, truth to say, though Sir John knew it, Simon did not, that Gracewas Jonathan's beloved and betrothed; and the cause lay simply in this, that Jonathan had frankly told his master of it, when he found thedreadful turn things had taken with poor Roger; but as to Simon, nomortal in the neighbourhood ever communicated with him, further than asurged by fell necessity. Of course, the lovers' meetings were as privateas all such matters generally are; and Sarah's aid managed themadmirably. Therefore it now came to pass that Simon and Jonathan lookedon each other in mutual astonishment, and needs must wait until GraceActon could explain the "save me. " Not but that Jennings seemed much asif he wished to run away; but he did not know how to manage it. 

"Dear Jonathan, " she whispered feebly, "save me from Simon Jennings. "

In an instant, Jonathan's grasp was tightly involved in the bailiff'sstiff white neckcloth. And Grace, with much maidenly reserve, told herlover all she dared to utter of that base bartering for her father'slife. 

"Come straight along with me, you villain, straight to the master!" Andthe sturdy Jonathan, administering all the remainder of the way (aquarter of a mile of avenue made part of it) innumerable kickings andcuffings, hauled the half-mummied bailiff into the servants' hall. 

"Now then, straight before the master! John Page, be so good as to knockat the dining-room door, and ask master very respectfully if his honourwill be good enough to suffer me to speak to him. "

CHAPTER XLII. 

THE DISMISSAL. 

IT was after dinner. Sir John and his friends had somehow beenless jovial than usual; they were absolutely dull enough to be talkingpolitics. So, when the boy of many buttons tapped at the door, andmeekly brought in Jonathan's message, recounting also how he had got Mr. Jennings in tow for some inexplicable crime, the strangeness of theaffair was a very welcome incident: both host and guests hailed it anadventure. 

"By all means, let Jonathan come in. "

The trio were just outside; and when the blue and silver footman, hauling in by his unrelinquished throat that scared bailiff, andfollowed by the blushing village beauty, stood within the room, Sir Johnand his half-dozen friends greeted the _tableau_ with unitedacclamations. 

"I say, Pypp, that's a devilish fine creature, " metaphorically remarkedthe Honorable Lionel Poynter. 

"Yaas. " Lord George was a long, sallow, slim young man, with a goatishbeard, like the Duc d'Aumale's; he affected extreme fashion and infinite_sangfroid_. 

"Well, Jonathan, what is it?" asked the baronet. 

"Why, in one word, my honoured master, this scoundrel here has beenwickedly insulting my own poor dear Grace, by promising to save herfather from the gallows if--if--"

"If what, man? speak out, " said Mr. Poynter. 

"You don't mean to say, Jennings, that you are brute enough to beseducing that poor man Roger's daughter, just as he's going to be triedfor his life?" asked Sir John. 

Simon uttered nothing in reply; but Grace burst into tears. 

"A fair idea that, 'pon my honour, " drawled the chivalrous Pypp, proceeding to direct his delicate attentions towards the weeping damsel. 

"Simon Jennings, " said Sir John, after pausing in vain for his reply, "Ihave long wished to get rid of you, sir. Silence! I know you, and havebeen finding out your rascally proceedings these ten days past. I havelearnt much, more than you may fancy: and now this crowning villany[what if he had known of the ulterior designs?] gives me fair occasionto say once and for ever, begone!"

Jennings drew himself up with an air of insufferable impudence, andquietly answered, "John Vincent, I am proud to leave your service. I trust I can afford tolive without your help. "

There was a general outcry at this speech, and Jonathan collared himagain; but the baronet calmly set all straight by saying, "Perhaps, sir, you may not be aware that your systematic thievings andextortions have amply justified me in detaining your iron chest andother valuables, until I find out how you may have come by them. "

This was the _coup de grace_ to Jennings, who looked scared andterrified:--what! all gone--all, his own beloved hoard, and thatdear-bought crock of gold? Then Sir John added, after one minute ofdignified and indignant silence, "Begone!--Jonathan put him out; and if you will kick him out of thehall-door on your private account, I'll forgive you for it. "

With that, the liveried Antinous raised the little monster by the smallof the back, drew him struggling from the presence, and lifting him uplike a football, inflicted one enormous kick that sent him spinning downthe whole flight of fifteen marble stairs. This exploit accomplished tothe satisfaction of all parties, Jonathan naturally enough returned tolook for Grace; and his master, with a couple of friends who had run tothe door to witness the catastrophe, returned immediately before him. 

"Lord George Pypp, you will oblige me by leaving the young woman alone;"was Sir John's first angry reproof when he perceived the rustic beautyradiant with indignation at some mean offence. 

"The worthy baronet wa-ants her for himself, " drawled Pypp. 

"Say that again, my lord, and you shall follow Jennings. "

Whilst the noble youth was slowly elaborating a proper answer, Jonathan's voice was heard once more: he had long looked very white, kept both hands clenched, and seemed as if, saving his master'spresence, he could, and would have vanquished the whole room of them. 

"Master, have I your honour's permission to speak?"

"No, Jonathan, I'll speak for you; if, that is to say, Lord Georgewill--"

"Paardon me, Sir John Devereux Vincent, your feyllow--and his master, are not fit company for Lord George Pypp;"--and he leisurely proceededto withdraw. 

"Stop a minute, Pypp, I've just one remark to make, " hurriedly exclaimedMr. Lionel Poynter, "if Sir John will suffer me; Vincent, my goodfriend, we are wrong--Pypp's wrong, and so am I. First then, let me begpardon of a very pretty girl, for making her look prettier by blushes;next, as the maid really is engaged to you, my fine fellow, it is notbeneath a gentleman to say, I hope that you'll forgive me for too warmlyadmiring your taste; as for George's imputation, Vincent--"

"I beyg to observe, " enunciated the noble scion, "I'm awf, Poynter. "

He gradually drew himself away, and the baronet never saw him more. 

"For shame, Pypp!" shouted after him the warm-hearted Siliphant; "I tellyou what it is, Vincent, you must let me give a toast:--'Grace and herlover!' here, my man, your master allows you to take a glass of winewith us; help your beauty too. "

The toast was drank with high applause: and before Jonathan humbly ledaway his pleased and blushing Grace, he took an opportunity of saying, "If I may be bold enough to speak, kind gentlemen, I wish to thank you:I oughtn't to be long, for I am nothing but your servant; let it beenough to say my heart is full. And I'm in hopes it wouldn't be verywrong in me, kind gentlemen, to propose;--'My noble master--honour andhappiness to him!'"

"Bravo! Jonathan, bravo-o-o-o!" there was a clatter of glasses;--and thehumble pair of lovers retreated under cover of the toast. 

CHAPTER XLIII. 

SIMON ALONE. 

JENNINGS gathered himself up, from that Jew-of-Malta tumbledown the steps, less damaged by the fall than could have been imaginedpossible; the fact being that his cat-like nature had stood him in goodstead--he had lighted on his feet; and nothing but a mighty dorsalbruise bore witness to the prowess of a Jonathan. 

But, if his body was comparatively sound, the inner man was bruised allover: he crept back, and retreated to his room, in as broken anddespondent a frame of mind, as any could have wished to bless himwherewithal. However, he still had one thing left to live for: hishoard--that precious hoard within his iron box, and then--the crock ofgold. He took Sir John's threat about detaining, and so forth, asmerely future, and calculated on rendering it nugatory, by decampingforthwith, chattels and all; but he little expected to find that theidea had already been acted upon!

On that identical afternoon, when Simon had gone forth to insult GraceActon with his villanous proposals, Sir John, on returning from a ride, had commanded his own seal to be placed on all Mr. Jennings's effects, and the boxes to be forthwith removed to a place of safety: inducedthereto by innumerable proofs from every quarter that the bailiff hadbeen cheating him on a most liberal scale, and plundering his tenantssystematically. Therefore, when Jennings hastened to his chamber toconsole himself for all things by looking at his gold, and counting outa bag or two--it was gone, gone, irrevocably gone! safely stored awayfor rigid scrutiny in the grated muniment-room of Hurstley. Oh, what ahowl the caitiff gave, when he saw that his treasure had been taken! hewas a wild bull in a net; a crocodile caught upon the hooks; a hyena atbay. What could he do? which way should he turn? how help himself, orget his gold again? Unluckily--Oh, confusion, confusion!--hisaccount-books were along with all his hoard, those tell-tale legers, wherein he had duly noted down, for his own private and triumphantglance, the curious difference between his lawful and unlawful gains;there, was every overcharge recorded, every matter of extortionsystematically ranged, that he might take all the tenants in their turn;there, were filed the receipts of many honest men, whom the guardiansand Sir John had long believed to be greatly in arrear; there, wasrecorded at length the catalogue of dues from tradesmen; there, the listof bribes for the custom of the Hall. It would amply authorize Sir Johnin appropriating the whole store; and Jennings thought of this withterror. Every thing was now obviously lost, lost! Oh, sickening littleword, all lost! all he had ever lived for--all which had made him livethe life he did--all which made him fear to die. "Fear to die--ha! whosaid that? I will not fear to die; yes, there is one escape left, I willhazard the blind leap; this misery shall have an end--this sleepless, haunted, cheated, hated wretch shall live no longer--ha! ha! ha! ha!I'll do it! I'll do it!"

Then did that wretched man strive in vain to kill himself, for his hourwas not yet come. His first idea was laudanum--that only mean of anything like rest to him for many weeks; and pouring out all he had, alittle phial, nearly half a wine-glass full, he quickly drank it off: nouse--no use; the agitation of his mind was too intense, and the habitof a continually increasing dose had made him proof against the poison;it would not even lull him, but seemed to stretch and rack his nerves, exciting him to deeds of bloody daring. Should he rush out, like a Malayrunning a muck, with a carving-knife in each hand, and kill right andleft:--vengeance! vengeance! on Jonathan Floyd, and John Vincent? No, no; for some of them at last would overcome him, think him mad, and, Oterror!--his doom for life, without the means of death, would besolitary confinement. "Stay! with this knife in my hand--means ofdeath--yes, it shall be so. " And he hurriedly drew the knife across histhroat; no use, nothing done; his cowardly skin shrank away fromcutting--he dared not cut again; a little bloody scratch was all. 

But the heart, the heart--that should be easier! And the miscreant, notquite a Cato, gave a feeble stab, that made a little puncture. Not yet, Simon Jennings; no, not yet; you shall not cheat the gallows. "Ha!hanging, hanging! why had I not thought of that before?"

He mounted on a chair with a gimlet in his hand, and screwed it tightlyinto the wainscotting as high as he could reach; then he took a cordfrom the sacking of his bed, secured it to the gimlet, made a noose, puthis head in, kicked the chair away--and swung by his wounded neck; invain, all in vain; as he struggled in the agonies of self-protectingnature, the handle of the gimlet came away, and he fell heavily to theground. 

"Bless us!" said Sarah to one of the house-maids, as they were arrangingtheir curl-papers to go to bed: "what can that noise be in Mr. Jennings's room? his tall chest of drawers has fallen, I shouldn'twonder: it was always unsafe to my mind. Listen, Jenny, will you?"

Jenny crept out, and, as laudable females sometimes do, listened atSimon's key-hole. 

"Lack-a-daisy, Sall, such a groaning and moaning; p'raps he's a-dying:put on your cap again, and tell Jonathan to go and see. "

Sarah did as she was bid, and Jonathan did as he was bid; and there wasMr. Jennings on the floor, blue in the face, with a halter round hisneck. 

The house was soon informed of the interesting event, and the bailiffwas nursed as tenderly as if he had been a sucking babe; fomentations, applications, hot potations: but he soon came to again, without any hopeor wish to repeat the dread attempt: he was kept in bed, closelywatched, and Stephen Cramp, together with his rival, Eager, remainedcontinually in alternate attendance: until a day or two recovered him asstrong as ever. I told you, Simon Jennings, that your time was not yetcome. 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

THE TRIAL. 

THE trial now came on, and Roger Acton stood arraigned ofrobbery and murder. I must hasten over lengthy legal technicalities, which would only serve to swell this volume, without adding one iota toits interest or usefulness. Nothing could be easier, nothing more worthwhile, as a matter of mere book-making, than to tear a few pages out ofsome musty record of Criminal Court Practice or other NewgateCalendar-piece of authorship, and wade wearily through the length andbreadth of indictments, speeches, examinations, and all the otherlearned clatter of six hours in the judgment-halls of law. If the readerwishes for all this, let him pore over those unhealthy-looking books, whose exterior is dove-coloured as the kirtle of innocence, but theirinwards black as the conscience of guilt; whitened sepulchres, allspotless without; but within them are enshrined the quibbling knavery, the distorted ingenuity, the mystifying learnedness, the warped andwarping views of truth, the lying, slandering, bad-excusing, good-condemning principles and practices of those who cater for theircustom at the guiltiest felon's cell, and would glory in defendingLucifer himself. 

In the case of sheer innocence, indeed, as Roger's was--or in one ofmuch doubt and secresy, where the client denies all guilt, and thecounsel sees reason to believe him--let the advocate manfully battle outhis cause: but where crime has poured out his confessions in acounsellor's ear--is not this man bought by gold to be a partaker andabettor in his sins, when he strives with all his might to clear theguilty, and not seldom throws the hideous charge on innocence? If theadvocate has no wish to entrap his own conscience, nor to damage thetissue of his honour, let him reject the client criminal who confesses, and only plead for those from whom he has had no assurance of theirguilt; or, better far, whose innocence he heartily believes in. 

Such an advocate was Mr. Grantly, a barrister of talents and experience, who, from motives of the purest benevolence, did all that in him lay forRoger Acton. In one thing, however, and that of no small import, thekindly cautious man of law had contrived to do more harm than good: for, after having secretly made every effort, but in vain, to find Ben Burkeas a witness--and after having heard that the aforesaid Ben was anotorious poacher, and only intimate at Hurstley with Acton and hisfamily--he strongly recommended Roger to say nothing about the man orhis adventure, as the acknowledgment of such an intimacy would onlydamage his cause: all that need appear was, that he found the crock inhis garden, never mind how he "thought" it got there: poachers are notmuch in the habit of flinging away pots of gold, and no jury wouldbelieve but that the ill-reputed personage in question was an accomplicein the murder, and had shared the spoil with his friend Roger Acton. Allthis was very shrewd; and well meant; but was not so wise, for all that, as simple truth would have been: nevertheless, Roger acquiesced in it, for a better reason than Mr. Grantly's--namely, this: his feelingstoward poor Ben had undergone an amiable revulsion, and, well aware howthe whole neigbourhood were prejudiced against him for his freebootingpropensities, he feared to get his good rough friend into trouble if hementioned his nocturnal fishing at Pike island; especially when heconsidered that little red Savings' Bank, which, though innocent as tothe getting, was questionable as to the rights of spending, and that, really, if he involved the professed poacher in this mysterious affair, he might put his liberty or life into very serious jeopardy. On thisaccount, then, which Grace could not entirely find fault with (thoughshe liked nothing that savoured of concealment), Roger Acton agreed toabide by Mr. Grantly's advice; and thus he never alluded to hisconnexion with the poacher. 

Enlightened as we are, and intimate with all the hidden secrets of thestory, we may be astonished to hear that, notwithstanding all Mr. Grantly's ingenuity, and all the siftings of cross-questioners, the casewas clear as light against poor Acton. No _alibi_, he lived upon thespot. No witnesses to character; for Roger's late excesses had wipedaway all former good report: kind Mr. Evans himself, with tears in hiseyes, acknowledged sadly that Acton had once been a regular church-goer, a frequent communicant: but had fallen off of late, poor fellow! Andthen, in spite of protestations to the contrary, behold! the _corpusdelicti_--that unlucky crock of gold, actually in the man's possession, and the fragment of shawl--was not that sufficient?

Jonathan Floyd in open court had been base enough to accuse Mr. Jenningsof the murder. Mr. Jennings indeed! a strict man of high character, lately dismissed, after twenty years' service, in the most arbitrarymanner by young Sir John, who had taken a great liking to the Actons. People could guess why, when they looked on Grace: and Grace, too, wassufficient reason to account for Jonathan's wicked suspicions; ofcourse, it was the lover's interest to throw the charge on other people. As to Mr. Jennings himself, just recovered from a fit of illness, it wasastonishing how liberally and indulgently he prayed the court to showthe prisoner mercy: his white and placid face looked quite benevolentlyat him--and this respectable person was a murderer, eh, Mr. Jonathan?

So, when the judge summed up, and clearly could neither find nor make aloop-hole for the prisoner, the matter seemed accomplished; all knewwhat the verdict must be--poor Roger Acton had not the shadow of achance. 

CHAPTER XLV. 

ROGER'S DEFENCE. 

THEN, while the jury were consulting--they would not leave thebox, it seemed so clear--Roger broke the death-like silence; and hesaid:

"Judge, I crave your worship's leave to speak: and hearken to me, countrymen. Many evil things have I done in my time, both against Godand my neighbour: I am ashamed, as well I may be, when I think on 'em: Ihave sworn, and drunk, and lied; I have murmured loudly--covetedwickedly--ay, and once I stole. It was a little theft, I lost it on thespot, and never stole again: pray God, I never may. Nevertheless, countrymen, and sinful though I be in the sight of Him who made us, according to man's judgment and man's innocency, I had lived among youall blameless, until I found that crock of gold. I did find it, countrymen, as God is my witness, and, therefore, though a sinner, Iappeal to Him: He knoweth that I found it in the sedge that skirts mygarden, at the end of my own celery trench. I did wickedly and foolishlyto hide my find, worse to deny it, and worst of all to spend it in thelow lewd way I did. But of robbery I am guiltless as you are. And as tothis black charge of murder, till Simon Jennings spoke the word, I neverknew it had been done. Folk of Hurstley, friends and neighbours, you allknow Roger Acton--the old-time honest Roger of these forty years, before the devil made him mad by giving him much gold--did he evermaliciously do harm to man or woman, to child or poor dumb brute?--No, countrymen, I am no murderer. That the seemings are against me, I wotwell; they may excuse your judgment in condemning me to death--and I andthe good gentleman there who took my part (Heaven bless you, sir!)cannot go against the facts: but they speak falsely, and I truly; RogerActon is an innocent man: may God defend the right!"

"Amen!" earnestly whispered a tremulous female voice, "and God will saveyou, father. "

The court was still as death, except for sobbing; the jury were doubtingand confounded; in vain Mr. Jennings, looking at the foreman, shook hishead and stroked his chin in an incredulous and knowing manner; clearlythey must retire, not at all agreed; and the judge himself, that masquedman in flowing wig and ermine, but still warmed by human sympathies, struck a tear from his wrinkled cheek; and all seemed to beinvoluntarily waiting (for the jury, though unable to decide, had notyet left their box), to see whether any sudden miracle would happen tosave a man whom evidence made so guilty, and yet he bore upon his openbrow the genuine signature of Innocence. 

"Silence, there, silence! you can't get in; there's no room for'ards!"But a couple of javelin-men at the door were knocked down right andleft, and through the dense and suffocating crowd, a black-whiskeredfellow, elbowing his way against their faces, spite of all obstruction, struggled to the front behind the bar. Then, breathless with giganticexertion (it was like a mammoth treading down the cedars), he roaredout, "Judge, swear me, I'm a witness; huzza! it's not too late. "

And the irreverent gentleman tossed a fur cap right up to the skylight. 

CHAPTER XLVI. 

THE WITNESS. 

MR. GRANTLY brightened up at once, Grace looked happily toHeaven, and Roger Acton shouted out, "Thank God! thank God!--there's Ben Burke!"

Yes, he had heard miles away of his friend's danger about an old shawland a honey-pot full of gold, and he had made all speed, with Tom in histrain, to come and bear witness to the innocence of Roger. The sensationin court, as may be well conceived, was thrilling; but a vociferouscrier, and the deep anxiety to hear this sturdy witness, soon reducedall again to silence. 

Then did they swear Benjamin Burke, who, to the scandal of his cause, would insist upon stating his profession to be "poacher;" and at first, poor simple fellow, seemed to have a notion that a sworn witness meantone who swore continually; but he was soon convinced otherwise, and hiswhole demeanour gradually became as polite and deferent as his coarsenature would allow. And Ben told his adventure on Pike island, as wehave heard him tell it, pretty much in the same words, for the judge andMr. Grantly let him take his own courses; and then he added (with acharacteristic expletive, which we may as well omit, seeing itoccasioned a cry of "order" in the court), "There, if that therewhite-livered little villain warn't the chap that brought the crocks, myname an't Ben Burke. "

"Good Heavens! Mr. Jennings, what's the matter?" said a briefless one, starting up: this was Mr. Sharp, a personage on former occasionsdistinguished highly as a thieves' advocate, but now, unfortunately, outof work. "Loosen his cravat, some one there; the gentleman is in fits. "

"Oh, Aunt--Aunt Quarles, don't throttle me; I'll tell all--all; let go, let go!" and the wretched man slowly recovered, as Ben Burke said, "Ay, my lord, ask him yourself, the little wretch can tell you all aboutit. "

"I submit, my lurd, " interposed the briefless one, "that thisrespectable gentleman is taken ill, and that his presence may now bedispensed with, as a witness in the cause. "

"No, sir, no;" deliberately answered Jennings; "I must stay: the time Ifind is come; I have not slept for weeks; I am exhausted utterly; I havelost my gold; I am haunted by her ghost; I can go no where but that facefollows me--I can do nothing but her fingers clutch my throat. It istime to end this misery. In hope to lay her spirit, I would have offeredup a victim: but--but she will not have him. Mine was the hand that--"

"Pardon me, " upstarted Mr. Sharp, "this poor gentleman is a mono-maniac;pray, my lurd, let him be removed while the trial is proceeding. "

"You horse-hair hypocrite, you!" roared Ben, "would you hang theinnocent, and save the guilty?"

Would he? would Mr. Philip Sharp? Ay, that he would; and glad of such afamous opportunity. What! would not Newgate rejoice, and Horsemonger beglad? Would not his bag be filled with briefs from the community ofburglars, and his purse be rich in gold subscribed by the brotherhood ofthieves? Great at once would be his name among the purlieus of iniquity:and every rogue in London would retain but Philip Sharp. Would he? askhim again. 

But Jennings quietly proceeded like a speaking statue. 

"I am not mad, most noble--" [the Bible-read villain was from habitquoting Paul]--"my lord, I mean. My hand did the deed: I throttled her"(here he gave a scared look over his shoulder): "yes--I did it once andagain: I took the crock of gold. You may hang me now, Aunt Quarles. "

"My lurd, my lurd, this is a most irregular proceeding, " urged Mr. Sharp; "on the part of the prisoner--I, I crave pardon--on behalf ofthis most respectable and deluded gentleman, Mr. Simon Jennings, Icontend that no one may criminate himself in this way, without theshadow of evidence to support such suicidal testimony. Really, mylurd--"

"Oh, sir, but my father may go free?" earnestly asked Grace. But BenBurke's voice--I had almost written woice--overwhelmed them all:

"Let me speak, judge, an't it please your honour, and take you notice, Master Horsehair. You wan't ewidence, do you, beyond the man'sconfession: here, I'll give it you. Look at this here wice:" and hestretched forth his well-known huge and horny hand:

"When I caught that dridful little reptil by the arm, he wriggled like asniggled eel, so I was forced you see, to grasp him something tighter, and could feel his little arm-bones crack like any chicken's: now then, if his left elbow an't black and blue, though it's a month a-gone andmore, I'll eat it. Strip him and see. "

No need to struggle with the man, or tear his coat off. Jenningsappeared only too glad to find that there was other evidence than hisown foul tongue, and that he might be hung at last without sacking-ropeor gimlet; so, he quietly bared his arm, and the elbow looked all mannerof colours--a mass of old bruises. 

CHAPTER XLVII. 

MR. SHARP'S ADVOCACY. 

THE whole court trembled with excitement: it was deep, stillsilence; and the judge said, "Prisoner at the bar, there is now no evidence against you: gentlemen ofthe jury, of course you will acquit him. "

The foreman: "All agreed, my lord, not guilty. "

"Roger Acton, " said the judge, "to God alone you owe this marvellous, almost miraculous, interposition: you have had many wrongs innocently toendure, and I trust that the right feelings of society will requite youfor them in this world, as, if you serve Him, God will in the next. Youare honourably acquitted, and may leave this bar. "

In vain the crier shouted, in vain the javelin-men helped the crier, thecourt was in a tumult of joy; Grace sprang to her father's neck, and SirJohn Vincent, who had been in attendance sitting near the judge all thetrial through, came down to him, and shook his hand warmly. 

Roger's eyes ran over, and he could only utter, "Thank God! thank God! He does better for me than I deserved. " But thecourt was hushed at last: the jury rėsworn; certain legal forms andtechnicalities speedily attended to, as counts of indictment, and soforth: and the judge then quietly said, "Simon Jennings, stand at that bar. "

He stood there like an image. 

"My lurd, I claim to be prisoner's counsel. "

"Mr. Sharp--the prisoner shall have proper assistance by all means; butI do not see how it will help your case, if you cannot get your clientto plead not guilty. "

While Mr. Philip Sharp converses earnestly with the criminal inconfidential whispers, I will entertain the sagacious reader with a fewadmirable lines I have just cut out of a newspaper: they are headed

 "SUPPRESSION OF TRUTH AND EXCLUSION OF EVIDENCE. 

"Lawyers abhor any short cut to the truth. The pursuit is the thing fortheir pleasure and profit, and all their rules are framed for making themost of it. 

"Crime is to them precisely what the fox is to the sportsman: and theobject is not to pounce on it, and capture it at once, but to have agood run for it, and to exhibit skill and address in the chase. Whetherthe culprit or the fox escape or not, is a matter of indifference, therun being the main thing. 

"The punishment of crime is as foreign to the object of lawyers, as theextirpation of the fox is to that of sportsmen. The sportsman, becausehe hunts the fox, sees in the summary destruction of the fox by the handof a clown, an offence foul, strange, and unnatural, little short ofmurder. The lawyer treats crime in the same way: his business is thechase of it; but, that it may exist for the chase, he lays down rulesprotecting it against surprises and capture by any methods but those ofthe forensic field. 

"One good turn deserves another, and as the lawyer owes his business tocrime, he naturally makes it his business to favour and spare it as muchas possible. To seize and destroy it wherever it can be got at, seems tohim as barbarous as shooting a bird sitting, or a hare in her form, doesto the sportsman. The phrase, to give _law_, for the allowance of astart, or any chance of escape, expresses the methods of lawyers in thepursuit of crime, and has doubtless been derived from their practice. 

"Confession is the thing most hateful to law, for this stops its sportat the outset. It is the surrender of the fox to the hounds. 'We don'twant your stinking body, ' says the lawyer; 'we want the run after thescent. Away with you, be off; retract your admission, take the benefitof telling a lie, give us employment, and let us take our chance ofhunting out, in our roundabout ways, the truth, which we will not takewhen it lies before us. '"

 * * * * *

As I perceive that Mr. Sharp has not yet made much impression upon thedesponding prisoner, suffer me to recommend to your notice anothersensible leader: the abuse which it would combat calls loudly foramendment. There is plenty of time to spare, for some preliminaries oftrial have yet to be arranged, and the judge has just stepped out to geta sandwich, and every body stands at ease; moreover, gentle reader, theparagraphs following are well worthy of your attention. Let us namethem, "MORBID SYMPATHIES. 

"We have often thought that the tenderness shown by our law to presumedcriminals is as injurious as it is inconsistent and excessive. Amiserable beggar, a petty rioter, the wretch who steals a loaf tosatisfy the gnawings of his hunger, is roughly seized, closely examined, and severely punished; meanwhile, the plain common sense of our mobs, ifnot of our magistracy, has pitied the offender, and perhaps acquittedhim. But let some apparent murderer be caught, almost in the flagrantdeed of his atrocity; let him, to the best of all human belief, havekilled, disembowelled, and dismembered; let him have united the coolnessof consummate craft to the boldest daring of iniquity, and straightway(though the generous crowd may hoot and hunt the wretch with yellingexecration) he finds in law and lawyers, refuge, defenders, andapologists. Tenderly and considerately is he cautioned on no account tocriminate himself: he is exhorted, even by judges, to withdraw thehonest and truthful plea of 'guilty, ' now the only amends which such aone can make to the outraged laws of God and man: he is defended, evento the desperate length of malignant accusation of the innocent, bylearned men, whose aim it is to pervert justice and screen the guilty!he is lodged and tended with more circumstances of outward comfort andconsideration than he probably has ever experienced in all his lifebefore; and if, notwithstanding the ingenuity of his advocates, and themerciful glosses of his judge, a simple-minded British jury capitallyconvict him, and he is handed over to the executioner, he still findspious gentlemen ready to weep over him in his cell, and titled dames tosend him white camellias, to wear upon his heart when he is hanging. [A]

"Now what is the necessary consequence of this, but a mighty, afearfully influential premium on crime? And what is its radical cause, but the absurd indulgence wherewith our law greets the favoured, _because_ the atrocious criminal? Upon what principle of propriety, orof natural justice, should a seeming murderer not be--we will not saysternly, but even kindly--catechised, and for his very soul's sakecounselled to confess his guilt? Why should the _morale_ of evidence beso thoroughly lost sight of, and a malefactor, who is ready toacknowledge crime, or unable, when questioned, to conceal it, on noaccount be listened to, lest he may do his precious life irreparableharm? It is not agonized repentance, or incidental disclosure, thatmakes the culprit his own executioner, but his crime that has preceded;it is not the weak, avowing tongue, but the bold and bloody hand. 

"We are unwilling to allude specifically to the name of any recentmalefactor in connexion with these plain remarks; for, in the absencealike of hindered voluntary confession and of incomplete legal evidence, we would not prejudge, that is, prejudice a case. But we do desire toexclaim against any further exhibition of that morbid tendernesswherewith all persons are sure to be treated, if only they are accusedof enormities more than usually disgusting; and we specially protestagainst that foolish, however ancient, rule in our criminal law, whichdiscourages and rejects the slenderest approach to a confession, whileit has sacrificed many an innocent victim to the uncertainty ofevidence, supported by nothing more safe than outward circumstantials. "

At length, and after much gesticulation and protestation, Mr. Sharp hassucceeded; he had apparently innoculated the miserable man with hopes;for the miscreant now said firmly, "I plead not guilty. "

 * * * * *

The briefless one looked happy--nay, triumphant: Jennings was a wealthyman, all knew; and, any how, he should bag a bouncing fee. How far suchmoney was likely to do him any good, he never stopped to ask. "Money ismoney, " said Philip Sharp and the Emperor Vespasian. 

We need not trouble ourselves to print Mr. Sharp's very flashy, flippantspeech. Suffice it to say, that, not content with asserting vehementlyon his conscience as a Christian, on his honour as a man, that SimonJennings was an innocent, maligned, persecuted individual; labouring, perhaps, under mono-mania, but pure and gentle as the babe new-born--notsatisfied with traducing honest Ben Burke as a most suspicious witness, probably a murderer--ay, _the_ murderer himself, a mere riotous ruffian[Ben here chucked his cap at him, and thereby countenanced the charge], a mere scoundrel, not to say scamp, whom no one should believe upon hisoath; he again, with all the semblance of sincerity, accused, howevervainly, Roger Acton: and lastly, to the disgust and astonishment of thewhole court, added, with all acted appearances of fervent zeal forjustice, "And I charge his pious daughter, too, that far too prettypiece of goods, Grace Acton, with being accessory to this atrociouscrime after the fact!"

There was a storm of shames and hisses; but the judge allayed it, quietly saying, "Mr. Sharp, be so good as to confine your attention to your client; heappears to be quite worthy of you. "

Then Mr. Sharp, like the firm just man immortalized by Flaccus, stoodstout against the visage of the judge, sneered at the wrath of citizenscommanding things unjust, turned to Ben Burke minaciously, calling him"_Dux inquieti turbidus Adrię_" [as Burke had heard this quotation, hethought it was about the "ducks" he had been decoying], and altogetherseemed not about to be put down, though the huge globe crack about hisears. After this, he calmly worded on, seeming to regard the judge'sstinging observation with the same sort of indifference as the lionwould a dew-drop on his mane; and having poured out all manner ofvoluminous bombast, he gradually ran down, and came to a conclusion;then, jumping up refreshed, like the bounding of a tennis-ball, heproceeded to call witnesses; and, judging from what happened at theinquest, as well as because he wished to overwhelm a suspected andsuspecting witness, he pounced, somewhat infelicitously, on JonathanFloyd. 

"So, my fine young fellow, you are a footman, eh, at Hurstley?"

"Yes, sir, an' it please you--or rather, an' it please my master. "

"You remember what happened on the night of the late Mrs. Quarles'sdecease?"

"Oh, many things happened; Mr. Jennings was lost, he wasn't to be found, he was hid somewhere, nobody saw him till next morning. "

"Stop, sirrah! not quite so quick, if you please; you are on your oath, be careful what you say. I have it in evidence, sirrah, before thecoroner;" and he looked triumphantly about him at this clencher to allJonathan's testimony; "that you saw him yourself that night speaking tothe dog; what do you mean by swearing that nobody saw him till nextmorning?"

"Well, mister, I mean this; whether or no poor old Mrs. Quarles saw heraffectionate nephew that night before the clock struck twelve, there'snone alive to tell; but no one else did--for Sarah and I sat up for himtill past midnight. He was hidden away somewhere, snug enough; and as Iverily believe, in the poor old 'ooman's own--"

"Silence, silence! sir, I say; we want none of your impertinent guesseshere, if you please: to the point, sirrah, to the point; you sworebefore the coroner, that you had seen Mr. Jennings, in his courage andhis kindness, quieting the dog that very night, and now--"

"Oh, " interrupted Jonathan in his turn, "for the matter of that, when Isaw him with the dog, it was hard upon five in the morning. And here, gentlemen, " added Floyd, with a promiscuous and comprehensive bow allround, "if I may speak my mind about the business--"

"Go down, sir!" said Mr. Sharp, who began to be afraid of truths. 

"Pardon me, this may be of importance, " remarked Roger Acton's friend;"say what you have to say, young man. "

"Well, then, gentlemen and my lord, I mean to say thus much. Jenningsthere, the prisoner (and I'm glad to see him standing at the bar), sworeat the inquest that he went to quiet Don, going round through the frontdoor; now, none could get through that door without my hearing of him;and certainly a little puny Simon like him could never do so without Icame to help him; for the lock was stiff with rust, and the bolt out ofhis reach. "

"Stop, young man; my respected client, Mr. Jennings, got upon a chair. "

"Indeed, sir? then he must ha' created the chair for that specialpurpose: there wasn't one in the hall then; no, nor for two days after, when they came down bran-new from Dowbiggins in London, with the rest o'the added furnitur' just before my honoured master. "

This was conclusive, certainly; and Floyd proceeded. 

"Now, gentlemen and my lord, if Jennings did not go that way, nor thekitchen-way neither--for he always was too proud for scullery-door andkitchen--and if he did not give himself the trouble to unfasten thedining-room or study windows, or to unscrew the iron bars of his ownpantry, none of which is likely, gentlemen--there was but one other wayout, and that way was through Bridget Quarles's own room. Now--"

"Ah--that room, that bed, that corpse, that crock!--It is no use, nouse, " the wretched miscreant added slowly, after his first hurriedexclamations; "I did the deed, I did it! guilty, guilty. " And, notwithstanding all Mr. Sharp's benevolent interferences, and appeals tojudge and jury on the score of mono-mania, and shruggings-up ofshoulders at his client's folly, and virtuous indignation at the evidentleaning of the court--the murderer detailed what he had done. He spokequietly and firmly, in his usually stern and tyrannical style, as ifsevere upon himself, for being what?--a man of blood, a thief, aperjured false accuser? No, no; lower in the scale of Mammon's judgment, worse in the estimate of him whose god is gold; he was now a pauper, amere moneyless forked animal; a beggared, emptied, worthless, pennilesscreature: therefore was he stern against his ill-starred soul, and tookvengeance on himself for being poor. 

It was a consistent feeling, and common with the mercantile of thisworld; to whom the accidents of fortune are every thing, and thequalities of mind nothing; whose affections ebb and flow towardsfriends, relations--yea, their own flesh and blood, with the varyingtide of wealth: whom a luckless speculation in cotton makes an enemy, and gambling gains in corn restore a friend; men who fall down mentallybefore the golden calf, and offer up their souls to Nebuchadnezzar'sidol: men who never saw harm nor shame in the craftiest usurer ormeanest pimp, provided he has thousands in the three per cents. ; andwhose indulgent notions of iniquity reach their climax in thephrase--the man is poor. 

So then, with unhallowed self-revenge, Simon rigidly detailed hiscrimes: he led the whole court step by step, as I have led the reader, through the length and breadth of that terrible night: of the facts heconcealed nothing, and the crowded hall of judgment shuddered as oneman, when he came to his awful disclosure, hitherto unsuspected, unimagined, of that second strangulation: as to feelings, he might aswell have been a galvanized mummy, an automaton lay-figure enunciatingall with bellows and clapper, for any sense he seemed to have of shame, or fear, or pity; he admitted his lie about the door, complimented Burkeon the accuracy of his evidence, and declared Roger Acton not merelyinnocent, but ignorant of the murder. 

This done, without any start or trepidation in his manner as formerly, he turned his head over his left shoulder, and said, in a deep whisper, heard all over the court, "And now, Aunt Quarles, I am coming; look out, woman, I will have my revenge for all your hauntings: again shall wewrestle, again shall we battle, again shall I throttle you, again, again!"

O, most fearful thought! who knoweth but it may be true? that spirits ofwickedness and enmity may execute each other's punishment, as those ofrighteousness and love minister each other's happiness! that--damnedamong the damned--the spirit of a Nero may still delight in torturing, and that those who in this world were mutual workers of iniquity, mayfind themselves in the next, sworn retributors of wrath? No idle threatwas that of the demoniac Simon, and possibly with no vain fears did theghost of the murdered speed away. 

When the sensation of horror, which for a minute delayed thecourt-business, and has given us occasion to think that fearful thought, when this had gradually subsided, the foreman of the jury, turning tothe judge, said, "My lord, we will not trouble your lordship to sum up; we are allagreed--Guilty. "

One word about Mr. Sharp: he was entirely chagrined; his fortunes wereat stake; he questioned whether any one in Newgate would think of himagain. To make matters worse, when he whispered for a fee to Mr. Jennings (for he did whisper, however contrary to professionaletiquette), that worthy gentleman replied by a significant sneer, to theeffect that he had not a penny to give him, and would not if he had:whereupon Mr. Sharp began to coincide with the rest of the world inregarding so impoverished a murderer as an atrocious criminal; then, turning from his client with contempt, he went to the length ofcongratulating Roger on his escape, and actually offered his hand to BenBurke. The poacher's reply was characteristic: "As you means it kindly, Master Horsehair, I won't take it for an insult: howsomdever, eitheryour hand or mine, I won't say which, is too dirty for shaking. Let medo you a good turn, Master: there's a blue-bottle on your wig; I thinkas it's Beelzebub a-whispering in your ear: allow me to drive him away. "And the poacher dealt him such a cuff that this barrister reeled again;and instantly afterwards took advantage of the cloud of hair-powder toleave the court unseen. 

CHAPTER XLVIII. 

SENTENCE AND DEATH. 

SILENCE, silence! shouted the indignant crier, and theepisodical cause of Burke, _v. _ Sharp, was speedily hushed. 

The eyes of all now concentred on the miserable criminal; for the time, every thing else seemed forgotten. Roger, Grace, and Ben, groupedtogether in the midst of many friends, who had crowded round them tocongratulate, leaned forward like the rest of that dense hall, as simplythralled spectators. Mr. Grantly lifted up a pair of very moistened eyesbehind his spectacles, and looked earnestly on, with his wig, fromagitation, wriggled tails in front. The judge (it was good old BaronParker) put on the black cap to pronounce sentence. There was a pause. 

But we have forgotten Simon Jennings--what was he about? did that"cynosure of neighbouring eyes" appear alarmed at his position, anxiousat his fate, or even attentive to what was going on? No: he not onlyappeared, but was, the most unconcerned individual in the whole court:he even tried to elude utter vacancy of thought by amusing himself withexternal things about him: and, on Wordsworth's principle of inducingsleep by counting

 "A flock of sheep, that leisurely pass by, One after one, "

he was trying to reckon, for pleasant peace of mind's sake, how manyfolks were looking at him. Only see--he is turning his white starefulface in every direction, and his lips are going a thousand andforty-one, a thousand and forty-two, a thousand and forty-three; he willnot hurry it over, by leaving out the "thousand:" alas! this holiday ofidiotic occupation is all the respite now his soul can know. 

And the judge broke that awful silence, saying, "Prisoner at the bar, you are convicted on your own confession, as wellas upon other evidence, of crimes too horrible to speak of. Thedeliberate repetition of that fearful murder, classes you among theworst of wretches whom it has been my duty to condemn: and when to thisis added your perjured accusation of an innocent man, whom nothing but amiracle has rescued, your guilt becomes appalling--too hideous for humancontemplation. Miserable man, prepare for death, and after that thejudgment; yet, even for you, if you repent, there may be pardon; it ismy privilege to tell even you, that life and hope are never to beseparated, so long as God is merciful, or man may be contrite. TheSacrifice of Him who died for us all, for you, poor fellow-creature[here the good judge wept for a minute like a child]--for you, no lessthan for me, is available even to the chief of sinners. It is my dutyand my comfort to direct your blood-stained, but immortal soul, eagerlyto fly to that only refuge from eternal misery. As to this world, yourcareer of wickedness is at an end: covetousness has conceived andgenerated murder; and murder has even over-stept its common bounds, torepeat the terrible crime, and then to throw its guilt upon theinnocent. Entertain no hope whatever of a respite; mercy in your casewould be sin. 

"The sentence of the court is, that you, Simon Jennings, be taken fromthat bar to the county jail, and thence on this day fortnight to beconveyed to the place of execution within the prison, and there by thehands of the common hangman be hanged by the neck--"

At the word "neck, " in the slow and solemn enunciation of the judge, issued a terrific scream from the mouth of Simon Jennings: was he madafter all--mad indeed? or was he being strangled by some unseenexecutioner? Look at him, convulsively doing battle with an invisiblefoe! his eyes start; his face gets bluer and bluer; his hands, fixedlike griffin's talons, clutch at vacancy--he wrestles--struggles--falls. 

All was now confusion: even the grave judge, who had necessarily stoppedat that frightful interruption, leaned eagerly over his desk, whilebarristers and serjeants learned in the law crowded round the prisoner:"He is dying! air, there--air! a glass of water, some one!"

About a thimbleful of water, after fifty spillings, arrived safely in atumbler; but as for air, no one in that court had breathed any thing butnitrogen for four hours. 

He was dying: and three several doctors, hoisted over the heads of anadmiring multitude, rushed to his relief with thirsty lancets:apoplexy--oh, of course, apoplexy: and they nodded to each otherconfidentially. 

Yes, he was dying: they might not move him now: he must die in his sins, at that dread season, upon that dread spot. Perjury, robbery, andmurder--all had fastened on his soul, and were feeding there likeharpies at a Strophadian feast, or vultures ravening on the liver ofPrometheus. Guilt, vengeance, death had got hold of him, and rent him, as wild horses tearing him asunder different ways; he lay theregurgling, strangling, gasping, panting: none could help him, none couldgive him ease; he was going on the dark, dull path in the bottom of thatawful valley, where Death's cold shadow overclouds it like a canopy; hewas sinking in that deep black water, that must some day drown usall--pray Heaven, with hope to cheer us then, and comfort in the fierceextremity! His eye filmed, his lower jaw relaxed, his head droppedback--he was dying--dying--dying--

On a sudden, he rallied! his blood had rushed back again from head toheart, and all the doctors were deceived--again he battled, and fought, and wrestled, and flung them from him; again he howled, and his eyesglared lightning--mad? Yes, mad--stark mad! quick--quick--we cannot holdhim: save yourselves there!

But he only broke away from them to stand up free--then he gave onescream, leaped high into the air, and fell down dead in the dock, with acrimson stream of blood issuing from his mouth. 

CHAPTER XLIX. 

RIGHTEOUS MAMMON. 

THUS the crock of gold had gained another victim. Is the curse of itsaccumulation still unsatisfied? Must more misery be born of thatunhallowed store? Shall the poor man's wrongs, and his little ones' cryfor bread, and the widows' vain appeal for indulgence in necessity, andthe debtor's useless hope for time--more time--and the master's misusedbounty, and the murmuring dependants' ever-extorted dues--must thefrauds, falsehoods, meannesses, and hardnesses of half a century long, concentrate in that small crock--must these plead still for bloodyjudgments from on high against all who touch that gold?

No! the miasma is dispelled: the curse is gone: the crimes are expiated. The devil in that jar is dispossessed, and with Simon's last gasp hasreturned unto his own place. The murderer is dead, and has thereby laidthe ghost of his mate in sin, the murdered victim; while that victim haslong ago paid by blood for her many years of mean domestic pilfering. 

And now I see a better angel hovering round the crock: it is purified, sanctified, accepted. It is become a talent from the Lord, instead of atemptation from the devil; and the same coin, which once has been butdull, unrighteous mammon, through justice, thankfulness, and piety, shineth as the shekel of the temple. Gratefully, as from God, therightful owner now may take the gift. 

For, gold is a creature of God, representing many excellencies: thesweat of honest Industry distils to gold; the hot-spring of Geniuscongeals to gold; the blessing upon Faithfulness is often showered ingold; and Charities not seldom are guerdoned back with gold. Let no manaffect to despise what Providence hath set so high in power. None do sobut the man who has it not, and who knows that he covets it in vain. Sour grapes--sour grapes--for he may not touch the vintage. This is notthe verdict of the wise; the temptation he may fear, the cares he mayconfess, the misuse he may condemn: yet will he acknowledge that, received at God's hand, and spent in his service, there is scarce acreature in this nether world of higher name than Money. 

Beauty fadeth; Health dieth; Talents--yea, and Graces--go to bloom inother spheres--but when Benevolence would bless, and bless for ages, his blessing is vain, but for money--when Wisdom would teach, and teachfor ages, the teacher must be fed, and the school built, and the scholarhelped upon his way by money--righteous money. There is a righteousmoney as there is unrighteous mammon; but both have their ministrationshere limited to earth and time; the one, a fruit of heaven--the other, afungus from below: yet the fruit will bring no blessing, if the Growerbe forgotten; neither shall the fungus yield a poison, if warmed awhilebeneath the better sun. Like all other gifts, given to us sweet, butspoilt in the using, gold may turn to good or ill: Health may kick, likefat Jeshurun in his wantonness; Power may change from beneficence totyranny; Learning may grow critical in motes until it overlooks thesunbeam; Love may be degraded to an instinct; Zaccheus may turnPharisee; Religion may cant into the hypocrite, or dogmatize totheologic hate. Even so it is with money: its power of doing good has noother equivalent in this world than its power of doing evil: it is likefire--used for hospitable warmth, or wide-wasting ravages; like air--thegentle zephyr, or the destroying hurricane. Nevertheless, all is forthis world--this world only; a matter extraneous to the spirit, alwaysforeign, often-times adversary: let a man beware of lading himself withthat thick clay. 

I see a cygnet on the broad Pactolus, stemming the waters with its downybreast; and anon, it would rise upon the wing, and soar to other skies;so, taking down that snow-white sail, it seeks for a moment to rest itsfoot on shore, and thence take flight: alas, poor bird! thou art sinkingin those golden sands, the heavy morsels clog thy flapping wing--invain--in vain thou triest to rise--Pactolus chains thee down. 

Even such is wealth unto the wisest; wealth at its purest source, exponent of labour and of mind. But, to the frequent fool, heaped withfoulest dross--for the cygnet of Pactolus and those golden sands, read--the hippopotamus wallowing in the Niger, and smothered in a bay ofmud. 

CHAPTER L. 

THE CROCK A BLESSING. 

THERE was no will found: it is likely Mrs. Quarles had never made one;she feared death too much, and all that put her in mind of it. So thenext of kin, the only one to have the crock of gold, was Susan Scott, agood, honest, hard-working woman, whom Jennings, by many arts, had keptaway from Hurstley: her husband, a poor thatcher, sadly out of workexcept in ricking time, and crippled in both legs by having fallen froma hay-stack: and as to the family, it was already as long a flight ofsteps as would reach to an ordinary first floor, with a prospect (so thegossips said) of more in the distance. Susan was a WesleyanMethodist--many may think, more the pity: but she neither dislikedchurch, nor called it steeple-house: only, forasmuch as Hagglesfield wasblessed with a sporting parson, the chief reminders of whose presence inthe parish were strifes perpetual about dues and tithes, it is littleblame or wonder, if the starving sheep went anywhither else forpasturage and water. So, then, Susan was a good mother, a kindneighbour, a religious, humble-minded Christian: is it not a comfort nowto know that the gold was poured into her lap, and that she hallowed hergood luck by prayers and praises?

I judge it worth while stepping over to Hagglesfield for a couple ofminutes, to find out how she used that gold, and made the crock ablessing. Susan first thought of her debts: so, to every village shoparound, I fear they were not a few, which had kindly given her credit, some for weeks, some for months, and more than one for a year, the happyhouse-wife went to pay in full; and not this only, but with manythanks, to press a little present upon each, for well-timed help in heradversity. 

The next thought was near akin to it: to take out of pawn divers valuedarticles, two or three of which had been her mother's; for Reuben'slameness, poor man, kept him much out of work, and the childer came soquick, and ate so fast, and wore out such a sight of shoes, that, butfor an occasional appeal to Mrs. Quarles--it was her one fair featurethis--they must long ago have been upon the parish: now, however, allthe ancestral articles were redeemed, and honour no doubt with them. 

Thirdly, Susan went to her minister in best bib and tucker, and humblybegged leave to give a guinea to the school; and she hoped his reverencewouldn't be above accepting a turkey and chine, as a small token of hergratitude to him for many consolations: it pleased me much to hear thatthe good man had insisted upon Susan and her husband coming to eat itwith him the next day at noon. 

Fourthly, Susan prudently set to work, and rigged out the whole familyin tidy clothes, with a touch of mourning upon each for poor AuntBridget, and unhappy brother Simon; while the fifthly, sixthly, and toconclude, were concerned in a world of notable and useful schemes, witha strong resolution to save as much as possible for schooling andgetting out the children. 

It was wonderful to see how much good was in that gold, how large a fundof blessing was hidden in that crock: Reuben Scott gained health, thefamily were fed, clad, taught; Susan grew in happiness at least as trulyas in girth; and Hagglesfield beheld the goodness of that store, whosecurse had startled all Hurstley-cum-Piggesworth. 

But also at Hurstley now are found its consequential blessings. 

We must take another peep at Roger and sweet Grace; they, and Ben too, and Jonathan, and Jonathan's master, may all have cause to thank anoverruling Providence, for blessing on the score of Bridget's crock. Only before I come to that, I wish to be dull a little hereabouts, andmoralize: the reader may skip it, if he will--but I do not recommend himso to do. 

For, evermore in the government of God, good groweth out of evil: and, whether man note the fact or not, Providence, with secret care, dothvindicate itself. There is justice done continually, even on this stageof trial, though many pine and murmur: substantial retribution, even inthis poor dislocated world of wrong, not seldom overtakes the sinner, not seldom encourages the saint. Encourages? yea, and punishes: blessinghim with kind severity; teaching him to know himself a mere bad root, ifhe be not grafted on his God; proving that the laws which govern lifeare just, and wise, and kind; showing him that a man's own heart'sdesire, if fulfilled, would probably tend to nothing short of sin, sorrow, and calamity; that many seeming goods are withheld, because theyare evils in disguise; and many seeming ills allowed, because they aremasqueraded blessings; and demonstrating, as in this strange tale, thatthe unrighteous Mammon is a cruel master, a foul tempter, a pestilentdestroyer of all peace, and a teeming source of both world's misery. 

Listen to the sayings of the Wisest King of men:

"As the whirlwind passeth, so is the wicked no more: but the righteousis an everlasting foundation. "

"The righteous is delivered out of trouble, and the wicked cometh in hisstead. "

"He that trusteth in his riches shall fall: but the righteous shallflourish as a branch. "

"Better is a little with righteousness, than great revenues withoutright. "

"The wicked shall be a ransom for the righteous, and the transgressorfor the upright. "

"A good man leaveth an inheritance to his children's children: and thewealth of the sinner is laid up for the just. "

CHAPTER LI. 

POPULARITY. 

THE storm is lulled: the billows of temptation have ebbed awayfrom shore, and the clouds of adversity have flown to other skies. 

"The winter is past; the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear uponthe earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice ofthe turtle is heard in our land: the fig-tree putteth forth his greenfigs, and the blossoms of the vine smell sweetly. Arise, and come away. "

Yesterday's trial, and its unlooked-for issue, have raised Roger Actonto the rank of hero. The town's excitement is intense: and the littleinn, where he and Grace had spent the night in gratitude and prayerfulpraise, is besieged by carriages full of lords and gentlemen, eager tosee and speak with Roger. 

Humbly and reverently, yet preserving an air of quiet self-possession, the labourer received their courteous kindnesses; and acquitted himselfof what may well be called the honours of that levee, with a dignitynative to the true-born Briton, from the time of Caractacus at Rome toour own. 

But if Roger was a demi-god, Grace was at the least a goddess; shecharmed all hearts with her modest beauty. Back with the shades ofnight, and the prison-funeral of Jennings, fled envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness; the elderly sisterhood of Hurstley, not to beout of a fashion set by titled dames, hastened to acknowledge herperfections; Calumny was shamed, and hid his face; the uncles, aunts, and cousins of the hill-top yonder, were glad to hold their tongues, andbite their nails in peace: Farmer Floyd and his Mrs. Positively camewith peace-offerings--some sausage-meat, elder-wine, jam, and otherdainties, which were to them the choicest sweets of life: and as forJonathan, he never felt so proud of Grace in all his life before; thehandsome fellow stood at least a couple of inches taller. 

Honest Ben Burke, too, that most important witness--whose coming was asBlucher's at Waterloo, and secured the well-earned conquest of theday--though it must be confessed that his appearance was something ofthe satyr, still had he been Phoebus Apollo in person, he wouldscarcely have excited sincerer admiration. More than one fair creaturesketched his unkempt head, and loudly wished that its owner was abandit; more than one bright eye discovered beauty in his opencountenance--though a little soap and water might have made it moredistinguishable. Well--well--honest Ben--they looked, and wisely looked, at the frank and friendly mind hidden under that rough carcase, andlittle wonder that they loved it. 

Now, to all this stream of hearty English sympathy, the kind and properfeeling of young Sir John resolved to give a right direction. Hisfashionable friends were gone, except Silliphant and Poynter, both goodfellows in the main, and all the better for the absence (among others)of that padded old debauchee, Sir Richard Hunt, knight of the order ofSt. Sapphira--that frivolous inanity, Lord George Pypp--and thatprofessed gentleman of gallantry, Mr. Harry Mynton. The follies and thevices had decamped--had scummed off, so to speak--leaving the morerectified spirits behind them, to recover at leisure, as best theymight, from all that ferment of dissipation. So, then, there was nowneither ridicule, nor interest, to stand in the way of a young andwealthy heir's well-timed schemes of generosity. 

Well-timed they were, and Sir John knew it, though calculation seldomhad a footing in his warm and heedless heart; but he could not shut hiseyes to the fact, that the state of feeling among his hereditarylabourers was any thing but pleasant. In truth, owing to the desperatemalpractices of Quarles and Jennings, perhaps no property in the kingdomhad got so ill a name as Hurstley: discontent reigned paramount;incendiary fires had more than once occurred; threatening notices, veryill-spelt, and signed by one _soi-disant_ Captain Blood, had beendropped, in dead of winter, at the door-sills of the principal farmers;and all the other fruits of long-continued penury, extortion, andmis-government, were hanging ripe upon the bough--a foul and fatalharvest. 

Therefore, did the kind young landlord, who had come to live among hisown peasantry, resolve, not more nobly than wisely, to seize anopportunity so good as this, for restoring, by a stroke of generouspolicy, peace and content on his domain. No doubt, the baronet rejoiced, as well he might, at the honourable acquittal of innocence, and themysteries of murder now cleared up; he made small secret of hissatisfaction at the doom of Jennings; and, as for Bridget Quarles, byall he could learn of her from tenants' wives, and other femaledependants, he had no mind to wish her back again, or to think her fateill-timed: nevertheless, he was even more glad of an occasion tovindicate his own good feelings; and prove to the world that bailiffSimon Jennings was a very opposite character to landlord Sir JohnDevereux Vincent. 

To carry out his plan, he determined to redress all wrongs within oneday, and to commence by bringing "honest Roger" in triumph home again toHurstley; following the suggestion of Baron Parker, to make some socialcompensation for his wrongs. With this view, Sir John took counsel ofthe county-town authorities, and it was agreed unanimously, exceptingonly one dissenting vote--a rich and radical Quaker, one Isaac Sneak, grocer, and of the body corporate, who refused to lose one day's serviceof his shopmen, and thereby (I rejoice to add) succeeded in getting ridof fifteen good annual customers--it was agreed, then, and arranged thatthe morrow should be a public holiday. All Sir John's own tenantry, aswell as Squire Ryle's, and some of other neighbouring magnates, were tohave a day's wages without work, on the easy conditions of attending theprocession in their smartest trim, and of banqueting at Hurstleyafterwards. So, then, the town-band was ordered to be in attendance nextmorning by eleven at the Swan, a lot of old election colours were shakenfrom their dust and cobwebs, the bell-ringers engaged, vastypreparations of ale and beef made at Hurstley Hall--an ox to be roastedwhole upon the terrace, and a plum-pudding already in the cauldron oftwo good yards in circumference--and all that every body hoped for thatnight, was a fine May-day to-morrow. 

CHAPTER LII. 

ROGER AT THE SWAN. 

MEANWHILE, eventide came on: the crowd of kindly gentle-folkshad gone their several ways; and Roger Acton found himself (through SirJohn's largess) at free quarters in the parlour of the Swan, with Graceby his side, and many of his mates in toil and station round him. 

"Grace, " said her father on a sudden, "Grace--my dear child--comehither. " She stood in all her loveliness before him. Then he took herhand, looked up at her affectionately, and leaned back in the old oakchair. 

"Hear me, mates and neighbours; to my own girl, Grace, under God, I owemy poor soul's welfare. I have nothing, would I had, to give her inreturn:" and the old man (he looked ten years older for his six weeks, luck, and care, and trouble)--the old man could not get on at all withwhat he had to say--something stuck in his throat--but he recovered, andadded cheerily, with an abrupt and rustic archness, "I don't know, mates, whether after all I can't give the good girl something: I cangive her--away! Come hither, Jonathan Floyd; you are a noble fellow, that stood by us in adversity, and are almost worthy of my angel Grace. "And he joined their hands. 

"Give us thy blessing too, dear father!"

They kneeled at his feet on the sanded floor, in the midst of theirkinsfolk and acquaintance, and he, stretching forth his hands like apatriarch, looked piously up to heaven, and blessed them there. 

"Grace, " he added, "and Jonathan my son, I need not part with you--Icould not. I have heard great tidings. To-morrow you shall know how kindand good Sir John is: God bless him! and send poor England's children ofthe soil many masters like him. 

"And now, mates, one last word from Roger Acton; a short word, and asimple, that you may not forget it. My sin was love of money: mypunishment, its possession. Mates, remember Him who sent you to belabourers, and love the lot He gives you. Be thankful if His blessing onyour industry keeps you in regular work and fair wages: ask no more fromGod of this world's good. Believe things kindly of the gentle-folks, formany sins are heaped upon their heads, whereof their hearts areinnocent. Never listen to the counsels of a servant, who takes away hismaster's character: for of such are the poor man's worst oppressors. Besatisfied with all your lowliness on earth, and keep your just ambitionsfor another world. Flee strong liquors and ill company. Nurse no heatedhopes, no will-o'-the-wisp bright wishes: rather let your warmest hopesbe temperately these--health, work, wages: and as for wishing, mates, wish any thing you will--sooner than to find a crock of gold. "

CHAPTER LIII. 

ROGER'S TRIUMPH. 

THE steeples rang out merrily, full chime; High street was gay withstreamers; the town-band busily assembling; a host of happy urchins fromemancipated schools, were shouting in all manner of keys all manner ofgleeful noises: every body seemed a-stir. 

A proud man that day was Roger Acton; not of his deserts--they wereworse than none, he knew it; not of the procession--no silly child washe, to be caught with toy and tinsel; God wot, he was meek enough inself--and as for other pride, he knew from old electioneerings, what ahumbling thing is triumph. 

But when he saw from the windows of the Swan, those crowds of new-madefriends trooping up in holiday suits with flags, and wands, andcorporation badges--when the band for a commencement struck up theheart-stirring hymn 'God save the Queen, '--when the horsemen, andcarriages, and gigs, and carts assembled--when the baronet's ownbarouche and four, dashing up to the door, had come from Hurstley Hallfor _him_--when Sir John, the happiest of the happy, alighting with histwo friends, had displaced them for Roger and Grace, while the kindgentlemen took horse, and headed the procession--when Ben Burke (asclean as soap could get him, and bedecked in new attire) was ordered tosit beside Jonathan in the rumble-tumble--when the cheering, and themerry-going bells, and the quick-march 'British Grenadiers, ' rapidlysucceeding the national anthem--when all these tokens of a generoussympathy smote upon his ears, his eyes, his heart, Roger Acton weptaloud--he wept for very pride and joy: proud and glad was he that day ofhis country, of his countrymen, of his generous landlord, of his gentleGrace, of his vindicated innocence, and of God, "who had done so greatthings for him. "

So, the happy cavalcade moved on, horse and foot, and carts andcarriages, through the noisy town, along the thronged high road, downthe quiet lanes that lead to Hurstley; welcomed at every cottage-doorwith boisterous huzzas, and adding to its ranks at every corner. And sothey reached the village, where the band struck up, "See the conquering hero comes, Sound the trumpets, beat the drums!"

Is not this returning like a nabob, Roger? Hath not God blest theethrough the crock of gold at last, in spite of sin?

There, at the entrance by the mile-stone, stood Mary and the babes, witha knot of friends around her, bright with happiness; on the top of itwas perched son Tom, waving the blue and silver flag of Hurstley, andacting as fugleman to a crowd of uproarious cheerers; and beside it, onthe bank, sat Sarah Stack, overcome with joy, and sobbing like agladsome Niobe. 

And the village bells went merrily; every cottage was gay with springgarlands, and each familiar face lit up with looks of kindness; Hark!hark!--"Welcome, honest Roger, welcome home again!" they shout: and thepatereroes on the lawn thunder a salute; "welcome, honestneighbour;"--and up went, at bright noon, Tom Stableboy's dozen ofrockets wrapped around with streamers of glazed calico--"welcome, welcome!"

Good Mr. Evans stood at the door of fine old Hurstley, in wig, and band, and cassock, to receive back his wandering sheep that had been lost: andthe school-children, ranged upon the steps, thrillingly sang out thebeautiful chant, "I will arise, and go to my Father, and will say untoHim, 'Father, I have sinned against Heaven and before Thee, and am nomore worthy to be called thy son!'"

Every head was uncovered, and every cheek ran down with tears. 

CHAPTER LIV. 

SIR JOHN'S PARTING SPEECH. 

THEN Sir John, standing up in the barouche at his ownhall-door, addressed the assembled multitude:

"Friends, we are gathered here to-day, in the cause of common justiceand brotherly kindness. There are many of you whom I see around me, mytenants, neighbours, or dependants, who have met with wrongs andextortions heretofore, but you all shall be righted in your turn; trustme, men, the old hard times are gone, your landlord lives among you, andhis first care shall be to redress your many grievances, paying back thegains of your oppressor. "

"God bless you, sir, God bless you!" was the echo from many a gladdenedheart. 

"But before I hear your several claims in turn, which shall be doneto-morrow, our chief duty this day is to recompense an honest man forall that he has innocently suffered. It is five-and-thirty years, as Ifind by my books, on this very first of May, since Roger Acton firstbegan to work at Hurstley; till within this now past evil month, he hasalways been the honest steady fellow that you knew him from his youth:what say you, men, to having as a bailiff one of yourselves; a kind andhumble man, a good man, the best hand in the parish in all the works ofyour vocation--a steady mind, an honest heart--what say ye all to RogerActon?"

There was a whirlwind of tumultuous applause. 

"Moreover, men, though you all, each according to his measure and mymeans, shall meet with liberal justice for your lesser ills, yet we mustall remember that Bailiff Acton here had nearly died a felon's death, through that bad man Jennings and the unlucky crock of gold; inaddition, extortion has gone greater lengths with him, than with anyother on the property; I find that for the last twenty years, RogerActon has regularly paid to that monster of oppression who is now dead, a double rent--four guineas instead of forty shillings. I desire, as agood master, to make amends for the crimes of my wicked servant;therefore in this bag, Bailiff Acton, is returned to you all the rentyou ever paid;" [Roger could not speak for tears;]--"and your cottagerepaired and fitted, with an acre round it, is yours and yourchildren's, rent-free for ever. "

"Huzzah, huzzah!" roared Ben from the dickey, in a gush of disinterestedjoy; and then, like an experienced toast-master, he marshalled in duehip, hip, hip order, the shouts of acclamation that rent the air. In aninterval of silence, Sir John added, "As for you, good-hearted fellow, if you will only mend your speech, I'll make you one of my keepers; you shall call yourself licensedpoacher, if you choose. "

"Blessings on your honour! you've made an honest man o' me. "

"And now, Jonathan Floyd, I have one word to say to you, sir. I hear youare to marry our Roger's pretty Grace. " Jonathan appeared like a sheepin livery. 

"You must quit my service. " Jonathan was quite alarmed. "Do you suppose, Master Jonathan, that I can house at Hurstley, before a Lady Vincentcomes amongst us to keep the gossips quiet, such a charming little wifeas that, and all her ruddy children?"

It was Grace's turn to feel confused, so she "looked like a rose inJune, " and blushed all over, as Charles Lamb's Astręa did, down to theankle. 

"Yes, Jonathan, you and I must part, but we part good friends: you havebeen a noble lover: may you make the girl a good and happy husband!Jennings has been robbing me and those about me for years: it isimpossible to separate specially my rights from his extortions: but all, as I have said, shall be satisfied: meanwhile, his hoards are mine. Iappropriate one half of them for other claimants; the remaining half Igive to Grace Floyd as dower. Don't be a fool, Jonathan, and blubber;look to your Grace there, she's fainting--you can set up landlord foryourself, do you hear?--for I make yours honestly, as much as Rogerfound in his now lucky Crock of Gold. "

Poor Roger, quite unmanned, could only wave his hat, and--the curtainfalls amid thunders of applause. 

[Footnote A: It has been stated as a fact, that a certain Lady L----S----, in her last interview with a young man, condemned to death forthe brutal murder of his sweetheart, presented him with a whitecamellia, as a token of eternal peace, which the gallant gentlemanactually wore at the gallows in his button-hole. ]