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Cornell University Library 
 PR 4061.R3 1887 
 
 Red spider; a novel. 
 
 3 1924 013 210 723 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tlie Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 321 0723 
 
Authorized Edition. 
 
PREFACE, 
 
 Fifty years ago! Half a century has passed sirice 
 the writer was a child in the parish where he has laid the 
 scene of this tale. 
 
 There he had a trusty nurse, and a somewhat roman- 
 tic story was attached to her life. Faithful, good creat- 
 ure ! She was carrying the writer in her arms over a 
 brook by a bridge elevated high above the water, when 
 the plank broke. She at once held up her charge over 
 her head, with both arms, and made no attempt to save 
 herself, thinking only of him, as she fell on the stones and 
 into the water. He escaped wholly unhurt, owing to her 
 devotion. 
 
 Many years after, the author read a little German 
 story which curiously recalled to him his nurse and her 
 career. When a few years ago he revisited the scenes of 
 his childhood, he thought to recall on paper many and 
 many a recollection of village life in the southwest of 
 England in one of its most still and forgotten corners. 
 So he has taken this thread of story, not wholly original 
 in its initiation, and has altered and twisted it to suit his 
 purpose, and has strung on it sundry pictures of what was 
 
6 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXVI. — Bitter Medicine 21,9 
 
 XXVII. — After-Sweetness 226 
 
 XXVIII.— A First Step 235 
 
 XXIX.— A Blow 244 
 
 XXX.— Yes ! 252 
 
 XXXI.— The New Mistress 260 
 
 XXXII.— The China Dog 267 
 
 XXXIII. — Among the Gorse 273 
 
 ■ XXXIV.— The Visitation 283 
 
 XXXV.— A Warning 290 
 
 XXXVI. — A Settlement 299 
 
 XXXVII.— A Bowl of Broth 307 
 
 XXXVIII.— The Look-out Stone .... .317 
 
RED SPIDER, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE BROTHERS-IN-LAW. 
 
 Heigh ! for a badger-skin waistcoat like that of Hil- 
 lary Nanspian of Chimsworthy J What would not I give 
 to be the owner of such a waistcoat ? Many a covetous 
 glance was cast at that waistcoat in the parish church of 
 Bratton Clovelly, in the county of Devon, on Sundg.y, 
 where it appeared . during public worship in a pew ; and 
 when the parson read the Decalogue, many a heart was 
 relieved to learn that the prohibition against covetous- 
 ness did not extend to badger- skin waistcoats. That 
 waistcoat was made of the skin of a badger Hillary Nan- 
 spian had himself drawn and killed. In color it was 
 silver-gray graduating to black. The fur was so deep 
 that the hand that grasped it sank into it. The waistcoat 
 was lined with red, and had flaps of fur to double over 
 the breast when the wind lay in the east and the frost 
 was cruel. When the wind was wet and warm, the flaps 
 were turned back, exposing the gay crimson lining, and 
 greatly enhancing its beauty. The waistcoat had been 
 constructed for Hillary Nanspian by his loving wife be- ' 
 fore she died. " 
 
 Hillary Nanspian of Chimsworthy, was a big, brisk, 
 
8 RED SPIDER. 
 
 florid man, with light gray eyes. His face was open, 
 round', hearty, and of the color of a ribstone pippin. He 
 was, to all appearance, a well-to-do man. But appear- 
 ances are not always to be trusted. Chimsworthy, 
 where he lived, was a farm of two hundred acres; the 
 subsoil clay, some of the land moor, and more bog; -but 
 the taoor was a fine place for sheep, and the bog pro- 
 duced pasture for the young stock when the clay grass- 
 land was drought-dry. Hillary had an orchard of the 
 best sorts of apples grown in the West, and he had a 
 nursery of apples; of grafts, and of seedlings. When he 
 ate a particularly good apple, he collected the pips for 
 sowing, piit 'them in a paper cornet, and wrote thereon, 
 
 " This here apple was a-eated of I on ," such and 
 
 such a day, "and cruel good he were too." {Cruel, in the 
 West, means no more than "very.") 
 
 The farm of Chimsworthy had come to Nanspian 
 through his wife, who was dead. His brother-in-law was 
 Tavemer Langford of Langford, Taverner's mother had 
 been a Hill, Elandina Hill, heiress of Chimsworthy, and 
 it went to her daughter Blandina, who carried it, when 
 she married, to her Cornish husband, Hillary Nanspian. 
 
 Tavemer Langford was unmarried, getting on in years, 
 arid had no nearer relative than young Hillary Nanspian, 
 his nephew, the only child of his deceased sister Blan- 
 dina. It was an understood thing in the parish of Bratton 
 Clovelly that young Hillary would be heir to his uncle, 
 and succeed to both Langford and Chimsworthy. Tav- 
 emer said nothing about this, and took no particular no- 
 tice of Hillary junior, but, as Hillary senior and the parish " 
 argued, if Tavemer does not leave everything to the young 
 one, whom can he iriake his heir ? Hillary was a warm- 
 blooded man. He suffered little from cold ; he liked to 
 live in his shirt-sleeves. When rain fell, he threw a sack 
 
THE BROTHERS-IN-LAW. 
 
 9 
 
 over his shoulders. He drew on his cloth coat only for 
 church and' market. He was an imposing man, out of his 
 coat or in it, big in girth, broad in beam, and tall of 
 stature. But espefcially imposing was he when he rode to 
 market on his white cob, in his badger-skin waistcoat 
 turned up with crimson. The consciousness that he was, 
 or ought to be, a man of substance never left him. His 
 son Hillary would be a wealthy yeoman, and he — Hillary 
 senior — was the father of this son, this wealthy yeoman 
 prospective. On this thought he puffed himself up. Con- 
 sidering this, he jingled the coins in his pocket. Boasting 
 of this he drank with the farmers till he was as red in face 
 as the lappets of his waistcoat. 
 
 Adjoining the house was a good oak wood covering the 
 slope to the brook that flowed in the bottom. Fine sticks 
 of timber had been cut thence, time out of mind. The 
 rafters of the old house, the beams of the cattle-sheds, 
 the posts of the gates, the very rails ("shivers," as they 
 were locally called), the flooring ("plancheon" locally), 
 all were of oak, hard as iron ; and all came out of Chims- 
 worthy wood. An avenue of contorted, stunted limes led 
 to the entrance gates of granite, topped with stone balls ; 
 and the gates gave admission to a yard deep in dung. 
 The house was low, part of cob — that is, clay and straw 
 kneaded and unbaked — part of stone laid in clay, not in 
 lime; In the cob walls, plastered white, were oak win- 
 dows, in the stone walls two granite windows. The house 
 was shaped like the letter T, of which the top stroke rep- 
 resents the stone portion, containing the parlor and the 
 best bedroom over it, and the stairs. The roofs were 
 thatched. There was more roof than wall to Chimswor- 
 thy, which cowered almost into the ground. 
 
 At the back of the house rose the lofty bank of Broad- 
 bury, the highest ridge between Dartmoor and the At- 
 
lO RED SPIDER. 
 
 lantic. The rain that fell on the Down above oozed 
 through the shale about Chimsworthy, so that the lane 
 and yards were perpetually wet, and compelled those who 
 lived there to walk in wading boots. 
 
 In shape, Broadbury is a crescent, with the horns east 
 and west,- arid the lap of the half-moon lies to the south. 
 In this lap, the nursery of countless streams, stands Chims- 
 worthy, with a bank of pines behind it, and above the 
 black pines golden gorse, and over the golden gorse blue 
 sky and fleecy white clouds. The countless springs issue 
 from emerald patches of bog, where bloom the purple 
 butterwort, the white grass of Parnassus, the yellow aspho- 
 del, and the blood-tipped sundew. The rivulets become 
 rills, and swell to brooks which have scooped themselves 
 coornbs in the hill slope, and the coombs as they descend 
 deepen into valleys, whose sides are rich with oak coppice, 
 and the bottoms are rank with cotton grass, fleecy and 
 flickering as the white clouds that drift overhead. 
 
 Chimsworthy had originally belonged to the Hills, a 
 fine old yeoman family, but the last of the Hills had car- 
 ried it by marriage to the Langfords of Langford. How 
 it had gone to Hillary Nanspian by his marriage with the 
 daughter of Mrs. Langford has already been told. 
 
 Langford had been owned for many generations by 
 the Langfords, once a gentle family, with large estates 
 both in Bratton Clovelly and in Marham Church, near 
 Bude in Cornwall. Nothing now remained to Taverner 
 but the ancestral house and the home estate of some four 
 hundred acres. Chimsworthy had been united with it by 
 his father's marriage, but lost again by his sister's union 
 with the Cornishman Nanspian. 
 
 Something like twenty-four months of married life v/as 
 all that poor Blandina had ; and since he had lost his 
 wife, Hillary had remained a widower. Many a farmer's . 
 
THE BROTHERS-IN-LAW. n 
 
 daughter had set her eyes on him, for he was a fine man, 
 -but in vain. Hillary Nanspian had now lived ^t Chims^ 
 worthy twenty-two years. His son Hillary was aged 
 twenty. 
 
 Langford was a different sort of place from Chims- 
 worthy, and Taverner Langford was a different sort of 
 man from Hillary Nanspian. Langford stood higher than 
 Chimsworthy. It was built on the edge of Broadbury, 
 but slightly under its lea, in a situation commanding an 
 extensive and superb view. of Dartmoor, that rose against 
 the eastern horizon, a wall of turquoise in sunshine, of in- 
 digo in cloudy weather, with picturesque serrated ridge. 
 The intermediate country was much indented with deep 
 valleysi running north and south, clothed in dark woods, 
 and the effect was that of gazing over a billowy sea at a 
 mountainous coast. 
 
 Not a tree, scarce a bush, stood about Langford, which 
 occupied a site too elevated and exposed for the growth 
 of anything but thorns and gorse. The house itself was 
 stiff, slate roofed, and with slate-incased walls, giving it a 
 harsh, metallic appearance. 
 
 Taverner Langford was a tall, gaunt man, high-shoul- 
 dered, with a stoop, dark-haired, dark-eyed, and sallow- 
 complexioned. He had high cheekbones and a large, haj-d 
 mouth. His hair was grizzled with age, but his eyes had 
 lost none of their keenness, they bored like brad-awls. His 
 eyebrows were very thick and dark, looking more like 
 pieces of black fur glued on to his forehead than natural 
 growths. He never looked any one steadily in the face, 
 but cast furtive glances, with which, however, he saw 
 vastly more than did Hillary with his wide, gray-eyed stare. 
 
 Taverner Langford had never married. It had never 
 been heard in Bratton that he had courted a girl. His 
 housekeeping was managed by a gray-faced, sour woman, 
 
12 , RED SPIDER. 
 
 Widow Veale. As Hillary Nanspian was people's church- 
 warden, Taverner Langfprd was parson's churchwarden. 
 The Reverend Mr. Robbins, the rector, had appointed 
 him, at the Easter vestry five years before the opening of 
 this tale, because he was a Dissenter. He did this for two 
 reasons : first, to disarm Langford's opposition to the 
 Church ; and secondly, to manifest his own tolerance — :an 
 easy tolerance that springs out of void of convictions. The 
 two wardens were reappointed annually. They and two 
 others acted as feoffees of an estate left in charity for the 
 poor. They let the land to each other alternate years at 
 a shilling an acre, and consumed the proceeds in a dinner 
 at the " Ring of Bells " once a year. -The poor were pro- 
 vided with the scraps that fell from the feoffees' table. 
 
 Taverner Langford was respected in the place and 
 throughout the neighborhood, because he represented a 
 ' family as old as the parish church, a family which had 
 once ovvned large possessions, and maintained some state ; 
 also because he was an exceedingly shrewd man, whom 
 no one could overreach, and who was supposed to have 
 amassed much money. But he was not a popular man. 
 He was taciturn, self-contained, and shunned society. 
 He drank water only, never smoked nor swore ; with the 
 farmers he was unsociable, with the laborers ungracious, 
 ihall his dealings he was grasping and unyielding. Dis-, 
 honorable he was not; unscrupulous he was not, except 
 only in exactjng the last penny of his bargains. 
 
 Hillary Nanspian's presence was commanding and he 
 was fond of his glass, smoked, and swore; the glass, the 
 pip6, and an oath were all links of good fellowship. 
 Nevertheless, he also was not a popular man. In the first 
 place 'he was a foreigner — that is, a Cornishman ; in the 
 second, he was arrogant and boastful. 
 
 The brothers-in-law got on better with each other than 
 
THE BROTHERS-IN-LAW. 
 
 13 
 
 with others. Each knew and allowed for the other's in- 
 iSrmities. Toward Taverner Hillary bated his pride ; he 
 had sufficient discretion not to brag in the presence of" a 
 man to whom he owed money. Hillary was a bad man of 
 ' business, wasteful, liberal, and careless of his money. He 
 had saved nothing out of ChimSworthy, and, after a run 
 of bad seasons, had been forced to borrow of his brother- 
 in-law to meet current expenses. 
 
 ' Taverner and Hillary were not cordial friends, but 
 they were friends. Taverner felt, though he did not ac- 
 knowledge, his isolation, and h6 was glad to, have his 
 brother-in-law to whom he could open his lips. Knowing 
 himself to be of a good old gentle family, Taverner kept 
 himself from terms of familiarity with the farmers, but he 
 was too close with his money to take his place with the 
 gentry. 
 
 There was one point on which Hillary was irrationally 
 sensitive ; there was also a point on which Taverner was 
 tender." Each avoided touching the delicate and irritable 
 spot in the other. Once, and only once, had Nanspian 
 flared, up at a word from Langford, and for a moment 
 their friendship had been threatened with rupture. 
 
 Hillary Nanspian was, as has been said, a Cornishman, 
 and the rooted, ineiradicable belief of the Devonians is 
 that their Celtic Trans-Tamarian neighbors are born with 
 tails. The people of Bratton Clovelly persisted in assert- 
 ing that Nanspian had a tail concealed under his gar- 
 ments. When first he entered the parish, rude boys had 
 shouted after him inquiries aboiit the caudal appendage, 
 and he had retaliated so unmercifully, that their parents 
 had resented it, and the chastisement, instead of driving 
 the prejudice out, had deepened it into indelible convic- 
 tion. " For why," it was argued, " should he take on so, 
 unless it be true ? " 
 
14 
 
 RED SPIDER. 
 
 He was annoyed at church by the interested attention 
 paid to him by the women and children when he seated 
 himself in the Chimsworthy pew, and when riding to mar- 
 ket, by the look of curiosity with which his seat on the 
 Saddle was watched by the men. 
 
 The only occasion on which the friendship of Lang- 
 ford and Nanspian threatened a cleavage, was when the 
 former, whether with kindly intention or sarcastically can 
 noifbe determined, urged on Hillary the advisability of 
 his publicly bathing in the river Thrustle, one hot summer 
 day, so as to afford ocular demonstration to the people of 
 the parish that they labored under a delusion in asserting 
 the prolongation of his spine. This proposition so irri- 
 tated Nanspian, that he burst into a tempest of oaths, and 
 for some weeks would not speak to his brother-in-law. 
 Though eventually reconciled, the recollection of the 
 affront was never wholly effaced. 
 
 The sensitive point with Taverner Langford was of a 
 very different nature. Not being a married man he was 
 obliged to engage a housekeeper to manage his dairy, his 
 maids, and his domestic affairs generally. His house- 
 keeper, Mrs. Veale, was a vinegary woman, of very un- 
 pleasant appearance. She managed admirably, was eco- 
 nomical, active, and clean. The mere fact, however, of 
 her being at Langford was enough to give rise to some 
 scandal. She was intensely disliked by all the servants 
 on the farm and by the maids in the house. 
 
 " Why don't Mr. Langford get rid of the woman, so 
 ill-favored, so sharp-tongued, so unpleasant, unless he 
 can't help hisself ? " was reasoned. " You may depend on 
 it there's something." 
 
 Taverner was touchy on this matter. He broke with 
 Farmer Yelland for inquiring of him flippantly, "How 
 goes the missus ? " 
 
THE MONEY-SPINNER. 15 
 
 Langford detested the woman, who had a livid face, 
 pink eyes, and a rasping voice ; but as^ scandal attached 
 to him with such a creature in his house, he argued : How 
 much more consistency would it assume had he a better- 
 favored housekeeper ! 
 
 " Moreover," he reasoned, " where can I get one who 
 will look after my interests so well as Mrs. Veale ? If she 
 be bitter to me, she's sloes and wormwood to the serv- 
 ants." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE MONEY-SPINNER. 
 
 A LITTLE spark will burn a big hole — a very little spark 
 indeed was the occasion of a great blaze of temper, and a 
 great gap in the friendship of the brothers-in-law. Lang- 
 ford possessed this disadvantage : it lay so high, and was 
 so exposed, that it lacked coziness. It had nowhere about 
 it a nook where a man might sit and enjoy the sun without 
 being cut by the wind. Broadbury was the meeting-place 
 of all the winds. Thither the wind roared without let 
 from the Atlantic, and to the back of it every tree bowed 
 from the northwest ; thither it swept from the east with a 
 leap from the rocky crests of Dartmoor, sparing the inter- 
 vening park-like lowlands. 
 
 Chimsworthy had no prospect from its windows ; but 
 it stood at the source of an affluent of the Tamar, and be- 
 yond its granite gates, across the lane that led up to Broad- 
 bury, was a stile, and beyond the stile a slope with a view 
 down the valley to the setting sun and the purple range of 
 Cornish tors above Liskeard, Caradon, Boarrah, Kilmar, 
 and Trevartha. 
 
 On Sunday evenings, and whenever the fancy took him, 
 
1 6 RED SPIDER. 
 
 Taverner Langford would descend Broadbury by the Jane, 
 cross the stile, and seat himself- on a rude granite slab on 
 the farther side of the hedge, that had been placed there 
 by one' of the Hills — it had been the " quoit " of a great 
 prehistoric dolmen or cromlech, but the supporters had 
 been removed to serve as gate-posts, and the covering- 
 stone now formed a seat. On this stone Taverner Lang- 
 ford spent many an hour with his chin on the handle of 
 his thorn stick, looking over the wood and meadows and 
 arable land of Chimsworthy, and scheming how money 
 might be made out of the farm were it profitably worked. 
 He noted with jealous eye the ravages caused by neglect, 
 the gaps in the hedges, the broken roofs, the crop of thistles, 
 the choked drains bursting many yards above their mouths, 
 bursting because their mouths had hot been kept open. 
 The farm had been managed by Taverner's father along 
 with Langford, and had been handed over on Blandina's 
 marriage, in excellent condition, to Nanspian, and had 
 gone back ever since he had enjoyed it. This angered 
 Langford, though he knew Chimsworthy would never be 
 his. " This is the sort of tricks' to which young Larry is 
 reared, which he will play with Langford. As the bull 
 gambols, so capers the calf." 
 
 Hillary did not relish the visits of Taverner to the Look- 
 out Stone. He thought, and thought rightly, that Lang- 
 ford was criticising unfavorably his management of the 
 estate. He was conscious that the farm had deteriorated, 
 but he laid the blame on the weather and the badness of 
 construction of the drains, on everything but himself. 
 " How can you expect drains to last, put down as they 
 are, one flat stone on edge and another leaning on it aslant ? 
 Down it goes with the weight of earth atop, and the pas- 
 sage is choked. I'll eat a Jew without mint-sauce if a 
 drain so constructed will last twenty years. " Chimsworthy 
 
THE MONEY-SPINNER. 
 
 17 
 
 could never go to Tavemer, what right then had he to 
 grumble if it were in bad order? 
 
 When Langford came to the Look-out Stone Hillary 
 soon heard of it, and went to him in his shirt-sleeves, pipe 
 in mouth, and with a jug of cider in his hand. Then some 
 such a greeting as this ensued : 
 
 "Trespassing again, Tavemer ? " 
 
 " Looking at the land over wtich I've walked, and 
 where I've weeded many a day, with my father, before you 
 was thought of in Bratton Clovelly." 
 
 Then Hillary drew the pipe from his lips, and, raking 
 the horizon with the sealing-waxed end, said, " Fine land, 
 yonder." 
 
 "Moor — naught but moor," answered Langford dis- 
 paragingly. 
 
 " No cawding of sheep on peaty moor," said Nanspian 
 triumphantly. 
 
 " No fattening of bullocks on heather," replied Tav- 
 emer. " It is wet in Devon, it is wetter in Cornwall." 
 
 "Wetter ! That is not possible. Here we live on the 
 rose of a watering-can, pillowed among bogs." 
 
 " There are worse things than water," sneered Lang- 
 ford, pointing to the jug. 
 
 "Ah!" said Hillary in defense. "Sour is the land 
 that grows sour apples and sour folks." 
 
 "Heaven made the apples — they are good enough. 
 Man makes the cider — which is evil. Thus it is with 
 other good gifts, we pervert them to our bad ends." 
 
 This was the formula gone through, with slight varia- 
 tions, whenever the brothers-in-law met at the granite 
 seat. A little ruffle of each other, but it went ho fur- 
 ther. 
 
 Hillary Nanspian was a talker, not loud but continu- 
 ous. He had a rich, low, niurmuring voice, with which 
 
1 8 RED SPIDER. 
 
 he spoke out of one. side of his mouth, whUe he inhaled 
 tobacco through the other. It was pleasant to listen to, 
 like the thrum of a bumble-bee or the whirr of a winnow- 
 ing fan. The eyes closed, the head nodded, and sleep en- 
 sued. But every now and tlien Hillary uttered an oath, 
 for he was not a man to wear a padlock on his lips, and 
 then the dozing listener woke with a start. When that 
 listener was Tavemer, he uttered his protest. " The word 
 is \incalled for, Hillary ; change it for one that sounds like 
 it, and is inoffensive and unmeaning." 
 
 There was much difference in the way in which the 
 two men behaved when angered. Hillary was hot and 
 blazed up in a sudden outburst. He was easily angered, 
 but soon pacified, unless his pride were hurt. Taverner, 
 on the other hand, though equally ready to take umbrage, 
 took it in another fashion. He turned sallow, said little, 
 and brooded over his wrong. If an opportunity offered to 
 resent it, it was not allowed to pass, however long after 
 the event. One evening the brothers-in-law were at the 
 Look-out Stone. Hillary was standing with his foot on 
 the block on which Taverner sat. 
 
 "I'll tell you what," said Nanspian, "I wish I'd got a 
 few thousands to spare. Swaddledown is for sale, and 
 the farm joins mine, and would be handy for stock." 
 
 " And I wish I could buy Bannadon. That will be in 
 the market shortly, but I can not unless you repay me 
 what you have borrowed." 
 
 " Can't do that just now : not comfortably, you under- 
 stand." 
 
 "Then what is the good of your scheming to buy 
 Swaddledown .'' A man without teeth mustn't pick 
 nuts." 
 
 "And what is the good of your wanting Bannadon 
 when you have as much as you can manage at Langford ? 
 
THE MONEY-SPINNER. 
 
 19 
 
 A man with his mouth full mustn't take a second bite till 
 he's swajlowed the first." 
 
 Then neither spoke for a few moments. Presently* 
 however, Hillary drew a long whiff, and blew the smoke 
 before him. Slowly he pulled the pipe from between his 
 lips, and with the end of the stem pointed down the val'' 
 ley. "It would be something to be able to call those 
 fields my own." 
 
 " That would be pulling on boots to hide the stocking 
 full of holes,'' sneered Taverner. Hillary colored, and his 
 eyes twinkled. " There is no picking feathers off a- toad, ' 
 or clothes off a naked man," he muttered ; " and if you 
 squeeze a crab-apple you get only sourness. If I were 
 not your brother-in-law I shouldn't put up with your 
 words. But you can't help it. Sloes and blackberries 
 grow in the same hedge, and their natures , are as they 
 began. Older they grow, they grow either sweeter or 
 sourer." 
 
 " Ah ! " retorted Taverner, " out of the same acre 
 some grow wheat and others nettles." 
 
 " It is all very well your talking," said Hillary, putting 
 his thumbs in his waistcoat arm-holes, and expanding. 
 " You, no doubt, have made money, one way or other. , I 
 have not : but then, I am not a screw. I am a free- 
 handed, open man. God forbid that I should be a 
 screw ! " •'"'^ 
 
 " A screw holds together and a wedge drives apart," 
 said Taverner. 
 
 " I don't know," said Hillary, looking across lovingly 
 at the Swaddledown fields,, " but I may be able to find the 
 money. My credit is not so low that I need look far. If 
 you will not help me others will." 
 
 " How can you raise it ? on a mortgage ? You can 
 not without young Hillary's consent, and he is not of age." 
 
20 RED SPIDER. 
 
 "Luck will come my way some time," said Nanspian. 
 " Luck is not" nailed to one point of the compass,, brother 
 Langford. Don't you flatter yourself that it always goes 
 to you. Luck veers as the wind." 
 
 " That is true, but as the wind here sets three days 
 out of four from the west, so does luck set most time 
 toward the thrifty man." 
 
 " Sooner or later it will turn to me." 
 
 " I know what you mean. I've heard tell of what you 
 have said to the farmers when warmed with liquor. The 
 wind don't blow over a thistlehead without carrying away 
 some of its down and dropping it where least wanted. 
 I've heard your boasts, they are idle — idle as thistledown.. 
 Do you think you'll ever succeed to Langford ? I'll live 
 to see your burying." 
 
 " My burying won't help you to Chimswortby," re- 
 torted Hillary. " My Larry stands in your way. Heigh I 
 I said it ! The luck is coming my way already ! " he 
 exclaimed eagerly. He put down his foot, placed both 
 palms on the slab of granite, and leaned over it. 
 
 " Not a moment before it is needed," said Taverner. 
 " You've had some bad falls, and they'd have been break- 
 down tumbles but for my help. I suppose you must let 
 Swaddledown go ; it's a pity too, lying handy as the but- 
 ton at the flap of your pocket." 
 
 " She is coming my way as fast as she can ! " 
 
 " What, Swaddledown ? " 
 
 " No ! Luck ! Look ! running right into my hands. 
 The money-spinner ! " 
 
 " The money-spinner ! " Taverner started to his feet. 
 " Where ? Whither is she running ? " 
 
 " Stand out of the sunlight, will you ! " exclaimed 
 Hillary. " How can I see and secure her with your, 
 shadow cast across the stone ? " 
 
THE MONEY-SPINNER. 2 1 
 
 "Where is she?" 
 
 " I tell you she is making, direct for me. I knew the 
 luck would come if I waited. Curse you ! Get on one 
 side, will you?" 
 
 " Don't swear," said Langford, standing at the other 
 end of the granite slab, and resting his hands on it. " The 
 money-spinner is a tickle (touchy) beast, and may take 
 offense at a godless word. I see her, she has turned. 
 You've scared her with your oaths, and now she is run- 
 ning toward me." 
 
 " She's going to fetch some of your luck and bring it 
 to my pocket ; she's on the turn again." 
 
 " No, she is not. She is making for me, not you." 
 
 " But she is on my stone. She has brought the luck 
 to me." 
 
 " She may be on your stone now, but she is leaving it 
 for my hand, as fast as her red legs can carry her." 
 
 " You're luring her away from me, are you ? " cried 
 Hillary, blazing as red as any money-spinner. 
 
 " Luring ! She's running her natural course as sure 
 as a fox runs before the wind." 
 
 " Stand out of the sun ! It is the ugly shade you cast 
 that chills her. She goes where she may be warmest." 
 
 " Out of thine own mouth thou speakest thy con- 
 demnation," scoffed Langford. " Of course she goes to 
 the warmest corner, and which is warmest, my pocket or 
 thine ? — the full or the empty ? " 
 
 " The spinner is on my stone, and I will have her ! " 
 cried Hillary. 
 
 " Your stone ! — yes, yours because you got it and 
 Chimsworthy away from me." 
 
 " The spinner is by your hand ! " roared Nanspian, 
 and with an oath he threw himself across the stone and 
 swept the surface with his hands. 
 
22 RED SPIDER. 
 
 Langford uttered an exclamation of anger. "You 
 have crushed — you have killed her ! There is an end of 
 luck to you, you long-tailed Cornish orang-outang ! " 
 
 - Hillary Nanspian staggered back. His face became 
 dark with rage. He opened his lips, but was inarticulate 
 for a moment ; then he roared, " You say that, do you, 
 
 you -, that let yourself be led and tongue-lashed by 
 
 your housekeeper ! " 
 
 " Our friendship is at an end," said Langford, turning 
 livid, and his dark bushy brows met across his forehead. 
 " Never shall you set foot in Langford riow." 
 
 " Never ! It will come to my Larry, and I'll drink 
 your burying ale there yet." 
 • " Larry shall never have it." 
 
 " You can't keep him out," exclaimed Hillary. 
 
 " Do not be so sure of that," said Taverner. 
 
 " I am sure. I have seen the parchments." , 
 . "I know them better than you," laughed Langford. 
 Then he went to the stile to leave the field. 
 
 " I'll have the law of you," shouted Hillary ; " you are 
 trespassing on my land." 
 
 " I trespassing ! " mocked Langford ; " this is a stile 
 leading to Swaddledown." 
 
 " There is no right of way here. This is a private stile 
 leading only to the Look-out Stone. I will have the law 
 of you, I swear." 
 
 Thus it was that the friendship of twenty-two years 
 was broken, and the brothers-in-law became declared and ' 
 deadly enemies. The friendship was broken irremediably 
 by an insect almost microscopic — a little scarlet spider no 
 larger than a" mustard-seed, invested by popular supersti- 
 tion with the power of spinning money in the pocket of 
 him who secures it. 
 
WELLON'S CAIRN. 23 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 wellon's cairn. 
 
 While Hillary Nanspian and Taverner Langford were 
 falling out over a minute red spider, Hillary junior, or 
 Larry as he was called by his intimates, was talking to- 
 Honor Luxmore in a nook of the rubble of Wellon's 
 Cairn. 
 
 Wellon's Cairn is a great barrow or tumulus on Broad- 
 bury, not far from Langworthy. Its original name has 
 been lost. Since a certain Wellon was hung in chains on 
 a gallows set up on this mound for the murder of three^ 
 women it has borne his name. 
 
 The barrow was piled up of stones and black peat . 
 earth, and was covered with gorse, so that the old British 
 warrior who lay beneath may indeed be said to have 
 made his bed in glory. The gorse brake not only blazed 
 as fire, but streamed forth perfume like a censer. Only 
 on the summit was a bare space, where the gallows had 
 stood, and Wellon had dropped piecemeal, and been trod- 
 den by the sheep into the black soil. 
 
 On the south-west side, facing the sun, was a hollow. 
 Treasure-seekers had dug into the mound. Tradition 
 said that therein lay a hero in harness of gold. The pan- 
 opy that wrapped him round was indeed of gold, but it was 
 the gold of the ever-blooming gorse. Having found noth- 
 ing but a few flint flakes and broken sherds, the seekers 
 had abandoned the cairn, without filling up the cavity. 
 This had fallen in, and was lined with moss and short 
 grass, and fringed about with blushing heath and blazing 
 gorse. 
 
 In this br-ight and fragrant hollow, secluded from the 
 world, and sheltered from the wind that wafted down on 
 
24 RED SPIDER. 
 
 her the honey breath of the furze, and exposed to the 
 warmth of the declining sun, sat Honor Luxmore ; and 
 near her, not seated, but leaning against the side of the 
 excavation, stood Hillary junior talking to her. 
 
 Hillary was like his father, well built, fair-haired, and 
 flushed with life. His ^eyes were blue, quick and honest, 
 sparkling with fun ; and his bearing was that of the heir 
 of Chimsworthy and Langford. There was unmistakable 
 relf-reliance in his face, making up, in measure, for lack 
 of superior intelligence. 
 
 Honor Luxmore demands a fuller account than young. 
 Hillary. 
 
 Some way down the lane from Wellon's Cairn stood a 
 cottage. This cottage was constructed on the bank or 
 hedge above the roadway, so that the door was reached by 
 a flight of steps, partly cut in the rock, partly constructed 
 of stone. A handrail assisted ascent and descent. The 
 cottage seemed to have taken refuge up the side of the 
 bank to escape from the water in the lane. Actually the 
 roadway was cut through shale to some depth, leaving the 
 cottage on the true surface of the land. The road- had 
 no doubt in part been artificially cut, but certainly it had 
 been also scooped in part by the water, which, issuing 
 from the joints of the shale, converted it into a water- 
 course. The sides of the road were rich with moss and 
 fern, and the moss and fern were spangled with drops 
 that oozed out of the rock. Below the steps was a spring, 
 in a hole scooped in the side of the loose, shaly rock. 
 
 The cottage itself was of cob, whitewashed, with a 
 thatched roof, brown and soft as the fur of a mole. The 
 windows were small and low. In this cottage lived Oliver 
 Luxmore, a man poor in everything but children, and of 
 these he possessed more than he knew how to provide for. 
 The cottage was like a hive. Flaxen-haired boys " and 
 
WELLON'S CAIRN. 25^ 
 
 girls of all ages might be seen pouring out on their way to 
 school, or swarming home in the evening. They were all 
 pretty children, with dazzling blue eyes and clear com- 
 plexions and fair hair, from the youngest, a little maid of 
 three, upward ; and what was better than beauty, they 
 were patterns of neatness and cleanliness. According to 
 the proverb, cleanliness comes next to goodliness, but these 
 little Luxmores were both cleanly and goodly. The 
 goodliness they drew from their parents, but the cleanli- 
 ness was due to Honor, the eldest daughter of Oliver 
 Luxmore, who stood to her brothers and sisters in the 
 place of mother, for the wife of Luxmore had died three 
 years ago, just after the birth of her youngest. 
 
 The father was a carrier, who drove a van on Fridays 
 to Tavistock, and on Saturdays to Okehampton, the mar- 
 ket-days at these respective places. On the other week-, 
 days he worked for the farmers, doing odd jobs, and so 
 earning money for the sustenance of his many children. _ 
 
 Oliver Luxmore was a quiet, dreamy, unenergetic man, 
 who was hampered by a belief that Re was the right heir 
 to a good property, which would certainly be his if only 
 he were able to find the necessary registers, but what these 
 registers were, whether of marriage or birth, he was un- 
 certain. At the extreme limits of the parish, in a pretty 
 situation, lay a good house of Queen Anne's reign, with 
 some fine trees, and traces of gardens, and a fish-pond, 
 called Coombe Park, which had belonged to the Lux- 
 moores or Luxmores. But this property had been sold, 
 and Oliver maintained that if he had had but one hun- 
 dred pounds wherewith to find the registers, Coombe 
 Park could not have been sold, and he would be a squire 
 there, with a good fortune. He had visited a lawyer in 
 Okehampton, and another at Tavistock, to ask them to 
 take up his case on speculation, but Oliver's ideas were so 
 
26 RED SPIDER. 
 
 hazy as to his pedigree, never resolving themselves into 
 definite statements of fact, that both one and the other 
 declined to touch his claim unless they were given some 
 certain ground on which to work. 
 
 Then he went to the Rector of Bratton, and with his 
 help extracted all the entries of births, marriages, and 
 deaths of the Luxmores — pages of them, showing that 
 from the beginning of the sixteenth century the name had 
 abounded there, and belonged to or was assumed by per- 
 sons of all ranks and conditions. Then Oliver took this 
 list to the Okehampton lawyer. 
 
 ' " Look here," said he, "my eldest daughter -is called 
 Honor, and in' 1662 John Luxmore, gentleman, and Tem- 
 perance, his wife, had a daughter baptized called Honor. 
 Tliat's proof, is it not .' " 
 
 " Why was your daughter christened by this name ? " 
 
 "Well, you see, my wife was Honor, and so we called 
 our first girl after her." 
 
 This may be taken as a specimen that will sufiice of 
 Oliver's evidences, and as a justification of the solicitor's 
 declining to take up his claim. 
 
 "It is one hundred pounds that is wanted to doit," 
 said Oliver Luxmore. " If I had that to spend on the 
 registers, it would come right enough. I always heard my 
 father say that if we had our rights we shouldn't be in the 
 cottage in Water Lane." 
 
 Oliver spent money and wasted time over his inef- 
 fectual attempts to prove his descent and establish his 
 rights ; but he had not the slightest idea what to search 
 for and how to search. He did not even know his grand- 
 father's Christian-name, but believed it began with a J, 
 for he had an old linen shirt that was marked in the tail 
 with J. L^, and was so strong and sound that he wore it 
 still. J. might stand for John, or James, or Joseph, of 
 
WELLON'S CAIRN. 27 
 
 Jeremiah. But then he was not quite SMre the shirt had 
 belonged to his grandfather, but he had heard his mother 
 say she believed it had. 
 
 On days when he might be earning money he would 
 wander away to Coombe Park, prowl round the estate esti- 
 mating its value, or go into the house to drink cider with 
 the yeoman who now owned and occupied it, to tell him 
 that his claim might yet be established, and to assure him 
 that he would deal honorably and liberally with him when 
 he turned him out. The yeoman and his wife regarded 
 -him as something of a nuisance, but nevertheless treated 
 him with respect. There was no knowing, they said, but 
 that he might prove in the end to be the heir, and then 
 where would they be ? Oliver would have liked to see the 
 title-deeds, but of these he was not allowed a glimpse, 
 though he could not have read them had he seen them, or 
 made his claim the clearer if he had been able to read 
 them. 
 
 We have said that Oliver Luxmore worked for the 
 farmers on the days of the week on which he was not 
 carrying between Bratton and Tavistock and Okehamp- 
 ton ; but Thursdays and Mondays were broken days. On 
 Thursdays he went about soliciting orders, and on Mon^ 
 days he went about distributing parcels. Thus he had 
 only two clear days for jobbing. The work of a carrier is 
 desultory, and unfits him for manual labor and for perse- 
 vering work. He gets into idle, gossiping ways. When 
 he picks up a parcel or a passenger, he has to spend a 
 quarter of an hour discussing what has to be done with 
 the parcel, and has to settle the passenger comfortably 
 among the parcels, without the passenger impinging on 
 the parcels, or the parcels incommoding the passenger. 
 
 Oliver was an obliging, amiable man. In the front of 
 his van was a seat, the top of which could be- raised on 
 
28 RED SPIDER. 
 
 hinges, and in which he deposited watches that went to 
 be cleaned, books of the Reading Club that traveled be- 
 tween subscribers, medicine bottles, and boxes of pills, 
 ribbons, brooches, and other delicate goods. The lid of 
 this box was sat on and kept secure by Oliver. He was 
 devoid of humor. To every commission, to every joke, 
 to every reprimand, he had but one answer, " Certainly, 
 certainly, very true." 
 
 " Oliver," said Nanspjan one day, " I can suggest to 
 you a means of increasing your income. Put a sitting of 
 eggs under you ivhen you go to market, and sell the young 
 chickens when you get there." 
 
 " Certainly, certainly, sir, very true," was his civil re- 
 ply, without a muscle of his face moving, 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Luxraore ! " exclaimed Mrs. Robbins, the 
 rectoress, " this is the same book you brought me last 
 month from the parsonage at Maristowe. I have had it 
 and returned it, and now you bring it me again. Mind 
 it goes back on Friday ; and you shall not be paid for 
 your trouble, as I can not be expected to read the same 
 book over twice." 
 
 "Certainly, certainly, ma'am, very true." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Luxmore," said Mrs. Veale, " you are to 
 mind and match me the silk, cut on the cross, and if the 
 shade be out, I won't take it, you must return it, and pay 
 for it from your own pocket." 
 
 " Certainly, certainly, ma'am." 
 
 "The Vivid," as Mr. Luxmore'svan was called, belied 
 its name. There was no vividity (pass the word) about it. 
 It went slowly up hill, because the horse had so much to 
 draw. It went slower down hill, because it had- to back 
 against such a prodigious weight, descending by natural 
 velocity. There was not a mile — ^not half a mile — of 
 level road between Bratton Clovelly and thd market-towns. 
 
WELLON'S CAIRN. 29 
 
 The carrier's horse was a rough creature, brown, with 
 a long tail, thick mane, and coarse hair about the fetlocks, 
 of the color of tow. It lived in a precarious manner ; the 
 children cut grass in the hedges for it, and it was some- 
 times turned out on Broadbury, with hobbles on its feet. 
 It ate the refuse of Luxmore's vegetable garden, the tur- 
 nip-tops, the potato parings, the- maggot-nibbled outer 
 cabbage-leaves, and the decayed apples from his trees. 
 Once, when the horse had knocked his nose, and Lux- 
 more had put a linseed poultice over it, in a bit of sack^ 
 ing tied round the. head with four stout tapes, when his 
 back was turned the horse curled his tongue out of his 
 mouth, detached the poultice, and ate it, linseed, sacking, 
 and tapes, to the last grain and thread. There was noth- 
 ing but stones that horse would not eat. He bit away 
 great pieces from his manger. He took a bite out of Lux- 
 more's trousers, he gnawed the bark off the cherry-tree 
 by his gate, he gobbled up nettles, thistles, furze, as 
 though his appetite were as vitiated as an East In- 
 dian's. 
 
 Oliver Luxmore had to put up with a good many bad 
 debts ; his business did not bring him in much money ; 
 he was never able to lay by a penny : how could he with 
 so many mouths to feed at home ? Honor would have 
 been unable to make both ends meet unless she had been 
 a manager. The family would have been better off if 
 Charles, the eldest son, two years the senior of Honor, 
 had fulfilled his duty to his own. But Charles, having 
 reached the full wage-earning age, had enlisted, and was 
 away on foreign service. His father and sister did not 
 even know where he was, for he had not troubled him- 
 self to write since his departure. Charles had always 
 been a wild and headstrong boy who needed a firm hand 
 over him to direct him right. But Oliver Luxmore's hand 
 
30 
 
 RED SPIDER. 
 
 was weak, and the mother, a shrewd, painstaking woman 
 of decided character, had made the boy obstinate and 
 sulky, by exerting over him the authority which should 
 have been exercised by his father. 
 
 After the death of his wife, Oliver remained as weak 
 as during her life, very good-natured, and so pliant as to 
 bend to the wills of his children, even to that of his 
 youngest, Temperance, aged three. The family would in- 
 disputably have run wild, and his affairs gone to ruin, had 
 not Honor assumed her mother's place, and ruled the 
 little house with energy and decision. 
 
 Her rule was firm but loving, and few of the children 
 ventured to disobey her, not even the thirteen-year-old 
 Joseph, or her next sister, Kate, aged seventeen ; no, not 
 even her father, Oliver ; indeed he was the least difficult 
 to manage of all. There were nine children in alL 
 Charles, Honor, Kate, Joseph, have already been men- 
 tioned, so has little Temperance, the baby. Between Jo- 
 seph and Temperance came Pattie, that is Patience, Willy, 
 Martha, and Charity. The children were all pretty and 
 well-conducted. Charles was no longer a child. He was 
 away. He therefore is not reckoned among those who 
 were pretty and well-conducted. 
 
 Honor was tall ; her bearing very erect ; her well- 
 knit, vigorous frame, the glance of her clear hazel eyes, her 
 firm mouth, all combined to inspire respect and insure sub- 
 mission. The respectability of her father, the honesty of 
 her brothers and sisters were due to Honor, and to Honor 
 alone. But for her presence in the house everything 
 would have gone wrong. Kate was too lively and care- 
 less to manage it, the others too young, her father help- 
 less. Had she not been there to keep home orderly, and 
 the children neat, Oliver would have drifted to the tavern 
 to bury his troubles in the ale-can, and the little ones 
 
WELLON'S CAIRN. 
 
 31 
 
 would have sunk into squalor and strife, and struggled out 
 of childhood into misery, beggary, and vice. 
 
 The children had inherited from their father blue eyes 
 and very fair hair ; they had lovely complexions, and 
 clear, bright color; some of them had certainly derived 
 from him also an inertness of character, which left them 
 and their futures at the mercy of the persons and the" 
 chances that should surround or fall in their way. This 
 was not the case with Kate, who had character of her x 
 own, though very diverse from that of her eldest sister. 
 Kate promised to be the beauty of the family. Her blue 
 eyes twinkled with mirth and mischief, like summer seas. 
 She had a roguish dimple in her cheeks, and an expres- 
 sion of consciousness of her good looks on her face. 
 
 Honor was different in appearance, as in character, 
 from the rest. She hardly seemed to belong to the family. 
 She had hair the color of barley-sugar, and hazel-brown 
 eyes. She looked every one whom she addressed straight ■ 
 in the face, and was absolutely void of vanity ; she asked 
 no admiration like Kate. She was contemptuously indif- 
 ferent to her looks, and yet she was never untidy. All 
 the rest were better dressed than herself. She never gave . 
 herself new clothes ; she had an old store of her mother's 
 to draw from for her own clothing ; but though her gown 
 was antiquated and often patched, it was never ragged, 
 never had tape and thread ends hanging from it. She 
 had inherited her grandmother's scarlet cloak, and was 
 the last person in that neighborhood to wear such a gar- 
 ment. This she only wore on Sundays, but she wore it 
 on every Sunday, summer as well as winter, when she 
 went to church. She also wore red stockings, and as she 
 was taller than her mother, and her mother's gowns could 
 not be lengthened, a good deal of red stocking showed. 
 She wore these stockings simply because they were her 
 
32 RED SPIDER. 
 
 mother's and had to be worn out, and because Kate ob- 
 jected to them for her own feet. Perhaps it was the 
 shortness of the skirts that gave to Honor a look of 
 length of red limb below the scarlet cloak a little gro- 
 tesque, that occasioned the boys of Bratton to nicknamfe 
 her "the Red Spider." 
 
 The mischievous Kate teased her by asserting that 
 she got her name from her hair ; but Honor's hair was 
 not red, it was not even chestnut brown, it was golden 
 brown, like beech-leaves in autumn — a very rare, but a 
 most, beautiful color. It was all one to Honor what hair 
 she had, all one to her what the boys styled her. No 
 girl could be jealous of her ; she had no eyes for the lads, 
 ,her whole heart, her every thought was centered in home. 
 As the chapter-house of a cathedral is built in a circle' 
 and leans on one central pillar, and as the fall of that 
 pillar would insure the ruin of the house, so was it with, 
 the cottage of the Luxmores — on her it rested. This she 
 knew, and the little self-consciousness she possessed was 
 the consciousness that on her all leaned for support, and 
 to her owed their uprightness. 
 
 " What a lot of socks and stockings you have got on 
 the furze-bushes about you," said Hillary. 
 
 " Yes — like to have. There are so many little feet at 
 home that tread holes." 
 
 "You must be glad that they are two-footed, not 
 four-footed animals, those brothers and sisters of 
 yours." 
 
 " I am, or I could not darn their stockings, much less 
 knit them." 
 
 Hillary thought a moment ; then he said, looking at 
 a pair of very much darned red stockings hung over a 
 branch of heather, "You know they call you the Red 
 Spider, and they say true. The Red Spider brings luck 
 
WELLON'S CAIRN. 
 
 33 
 
 wherever she goes. I am sure you are the money-spinner 
 in your house." 
 
 " I ! " exclaimed the girl, who colored slightly, and 
 looked up ; "I — I spin, but never money." 
 
 "Wefl, you bring luck." 
 
 " I keep out ill-luck," she answered with confidence ; 
 ' I can do no more, but that is something, and that ta:kes 
 ilie all my time. I have hardly leisure to sleep." 
 
 " Why have you brought all these stockings out on the 
 Down? Are you going to convert Wellon's Cairn into a 
 second-hand mercer's shop ? " 
 
 " Larry, in spite of proverb to the contrary, I am forced 
 to do two things at a time. I have Diamond to watch as 
 well as stockings to darn. The poor beast is not well, and 
 I have brought him from the stable. The little ones are 
 at school, except of course Temperance, and Kate is with 
 her cutting grass in the lane for Diamond." 
 
 " What would you do if you lost Diamond ? " asked 
 young Hillary. 
 
 " O Larry, don't even suggest such an evil. If you 
 whistle you call up wind, and if you whisper the name of 
 the devil he looks in at the door. We got into debt buy- 
 ing Diamond, and it took us three years to work our way 
 out. Now we are clear, and it would be too dreadful to 
 get into debt again. You know, Larry, what the mothers 
 do with children who have the thrush. They pass them 
 under a bramble that grows with a loop into the ground. 
 I,ike enough the little creatures lose the thrush, but they 
 carry away scratches. Debt, to my thinking, is like treat- 
 ment ; you get rid of one evil by sticking yourself fiill of 
 thorns. So take my advice, and never get into debt.". 
 
 " I'm not like to," laughed the young man, " with 
 Chimsworthy behind me and Langford before me." 
 
 " Never reckon on what you've not got," said Honor. 
 
34 RED SPIDER. 
 
 " That's like buying the hogshead before the apples have 
 set, or killing a pig without having the pickle-tub. Lang- 
 ford is not yours, any more than Coombe Park is ours." 
 
 " Langford must come to us Nanspians some day, you 
 know, Honor. Not that I reckon on it. God forbid. 
 May Uncle Taverner live forever. But it gives a chap 
 confidence to know that a large estate will come to him in 
 the end." 
 
 " Don't reckon on that," said Honor. 
 
 " It can't fail. It stands so in the deeds." 
 
 " But Mr. Langford might marry." 
 
 Hillary would have burst into a hearty laugh at the 
 idea, had not Honor laid her hand on his arm to arrest 
 him, and raised the forefinger of the other to impose si- 
 lence. 
 
 Sitting up on its hind legs, in a begging posture, at the 
 mouth of the excavation, was a white hare. It looked at 
 the young people for a moment, doubtingly, inquiringly. ■ 
 Then Hillary stirred, and with a flash it was gone. 
 
 Hillary exclaimed, " O Honor ! is it not the picture of 
 Mrs. Veale ? " 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE WHITE HARE. 
 
 "I HAVE seen the white hare before, several times," 
 said Honor Luxmore. 
 
 " You have 1 Do you know what folks say ? " 
 
 " They say that it is unlucky to see a white hare ; but 
 I think nothing of that." 
 
 " I do not mean that," said Hillary, laughing. " But 
 they. say that when a witch goes on her errands she takes 
 this shape. Perhaps, Honor," he went on with roguery in 
 
THE WHITE HARE. . 35 
 
 his twinkling eyes, " Mrs. Veale is off over the Down in 
 quest of her master. He has gone to the Look-out Stone 
 to have a talk to my father." 
 
 " Nonsense, Larry. I put no credit in those tales of 
 witches ; besides, I never heard that Mrs. Veale was one — 
 not properly." 
 
 " She is white wi,th pink eyes, and so is the hare," 
 argued Hillary, " and spiteful she is, certainly. I hope, if 
 that were her, she won't be bringing mischief to you or to 
 me. We shall see. If that were her, Unpl'e Taverner 
 will be -coming home directly. Folks say that he is afraid 
 of her tongue, and that is the only thing in heaven or hell 
 he is afraid of." 
 
 Honor uttered an exclamation of surprise and alarm. 
 A black ungainly figure stood before them, black against 
 the glowing western sky. She recovered herself at once 
 and rose respectfully. Hillary turned and recognized his 
 uncle. 
 
 " Well, Uncle Taverner ! " he exclaimed, " you have 
 come on us suddenly. We were just talking about 
 you." 
 
 " Ah I " answered Langford, leaning on his stick and 
 lowering at him, " leave me out of your talk and your cal- 
 culations altogether. I dare say you have been reckoning 
 on my shoes, and how well they would fit your young feet. 
 No, no ! no feet of yours shall ever be thnist into thepi." 
 Then seeing that Hillary was disconcerted, he laughed a 
 harsh, bitter laugh. " Your father and I have parted for- 
 ever. We have quarreled ; I will not speak to him more. 
 To you I speak now for the last time also. As Nanspian 
 has split w^ith Langford, Chimsworthy and Langford will 
 not splice. Remember that. Go to work, young man, go 
 to workr instead of standing idling here. Your father is 
 in my debt, and you must help him to earn the money to 
 
36 RED SPIDER. 
 
 pay me off." Then he turned to Honor, and said, " Why " 
 are you here, instead of watching your horse? Diamond 
 is down in the gravel-pit, on his side, dead or dying." 
 
 Honor sprang up with a cry. 
 
 " The' white hare," said Hillary, " has brought the ill- 
 luck — to both of us at once." 
 
 Neither of the young people gave another thought to 
 Taverner Langford. Honor was in distress about the 
 horse, and Hillary was desirous of assisting her. He ac- 
 companied her to the spot, a hole dug in the surface of the 
 moor for rubble wherewith to mend the road. Diamond 
 had either made his way into it by the cart road, or had 
 fallen over the edge. He lay on his side panting. 
 
 " Poor fellow," said Hillary, gravely, " Diamond is 
 done for." 
 
 " Oh, I ought not to have let him from my sight," cried 
 Honor, stung with self-reproach. 
 
 ' " You could do nothing for him," said the young man. 
 " He is not dying from your neglect. Look here. Honor, 
 do you see that hoof-print ? He walked in, he did not 
 fall over the edge. , Every beast when it feels death ap- 
 proach tries to hide itself, as though it were ashamed— ^as 
 though death were a crime. It is so, Honor." 
 
 " O Larry ! What can I do ? What can I do for poor 
 Diamond ? " 
 
 "You can do nothing but pat him and let him go out 
 of the world with a word of love." 
 
 ' " I will do that. I will indeed ! " Then she caressed 
 the old horse, and stroked its cheek and nose, and spoke 
 to it tenderly. Diamond raised his head, snuffed, rubbed 
 his head against his young mistress, then laid it down 
 again on the stones and died. 
 
 Honor's tears flowed, but she was not one to make a 
 demonstration of distress. She said : " I must go home, 
 
THE WHITE HARE. 
 
 27 
 
 Larry, and get supper ready for the children. I can do 
 nothing here now." • 
 
 "I am very sorry for you," said Hillary, showing more 
 emotion than she ; " I am indeed, Honor. I know what 
 a terrible loss this will be to your father, and he is too 
 proud a man to go round with a brief. Put your hand to 
 mine, Honor ; we shall always be good friends, and I will 
 do what I can for you ; but it can not be much now that 
 Uncle Taverner is across with us, and about to exact his 
 money. I will tell you what. I will get my father to lend 
 you our horse Derby for a while, till we can scheme what 
 is to be done. I wish I'd got a quarter of an acre of land 
 of my own, and I v/ould sell it and give you the money 
 wherewith to buy another horse. I would, in truth and 
 sincerity. Honor." 
 
 "lam sure of that,'' answered the girl; "I know I 
 can always trust to your good-will and kind offices. 
 Good-by ! I must go." 
 
 Then Hillary went slowly homeward. The sun had 
 gone down in the west, and the sky was full of after glory. 
 A few level bars, steps of vivid fire, were drawn against 
 the sky, and there was, as it were, a pavement of sapphire 
 strewed with the down from a flamingo. The moor stood 
 ' with every furze-bush on its margin and two small cairns 
 on the edge blotted black against the blaze. As Hillary 
 descended from the moor he got into the Chimsworthy 
 Lane, shadowed by a plantation of Scottish pines his 
 father had made twenty years ago, and which stood up 
 high enough to intercept the light. 
 
 " Poor Honor ! " mused Hillary. " Whatever will she 
 and her father and all those little uns do without the horse ? 
 A carrier without a horse is a helpless animal. I don't 
 like to ask my father too much for the Luxmores, and 
 seem hot about them, or he will be thinking I am in love 
 
38 RED SPIDER. 
 
 with Honor, which I am not. Some chaps think a young 
 fellow can not speak to a girl, or even look at her, with- 
 out teing in love with her. I like Honor well enough, as 
 a friend, but no more." 
 
 The road was very rough, he could not descend fast 
 because of the loose stones. In rainy weather the way 
 was a watercourse, and the water broke up the shale rock 
 that formed the floor and scattered it in angular fragments 
 over the road. 
 
 "What a ridiculous notion, that I should be in love' 
 with a carrier's daughter ! I a Nanspian of Chimsworthy, 
 and heir — " he stopped. " No — that part is not to be, 
 though how Uncle Taverner will do us out of Langford is 
 more than I can imagine. That he should marry and 
 have a family is clean too ridiculous ! Confound that 
 stone! It nigh turned and broke my ankle. If Honor's 
 father had Coombe Park it would be another matter. 
 Then, posgiblyj I might think of her in a different way ; 
 but — a cottage girl ! — a carrier's daughter ! Luxmore is 
 not a bad name. But then they have the name and 
 nothing else. I'll cut myself a stick, or I shall be 
 down on my nose. I should not care for Honor to 
 see me to-morrow with a broken nose. These pines may 
 be a shelter, but they cast a very black shadow, and 
 the rabbits breed in the plantation like midges in a duck- 
 pond." 
 
 He cut himself a stick and went on. " If Honor were 
 here, I should be forced to lend her a hand, and then if 
 father or any one were to meet us, there'd be laughter and 
 jokes. I'm mighty glad Honor is not here." 
 
 Presently he got beyond the pines. 
 
 The hedges were high, the way still dark. 
 
 " Good heavens ! " he exclaimed, " the white hare 
 again ! " 
 
" TIMEO DANAOS ET DONA FERENTES." 
 
 39 
 
 As he cried out, a white animal ran. up the lane, passed 
 him and disappeared. 
 
 " Confound it," said Hillary. " I wish I had not seen 
 that. Why — what have we here ? " 
 
 He ran forward. In the lane, across it, where the stile 
 to the Look-out Stone allowed a streak of western light 
 to stream across the road, lay Hillary Nanspian senior, 
 insensible, on his face, with the broken cider jug in his 
 hand. 
 
 " Father ! what ails you .' Speak ! " cried Hillary jun- 
 ior. He tried to lift the old man ; he could raise but 
 not carry him. The anger aroused by his contention with 
 Langford had brought on a fit. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " TIMED DANAOS ET DONA FERENTES." 
 
 Honor Luxmore sat near the window, weaving a 
 hamper out of willow twigs. Her sister Kate was simi- 
 larly engaged. By the fire sat Oliver, smoking and watch- 
 ing the smoldering peat on the hearth. The sisters 
 earned money by making baskets. Down in the bottoms, 
 in the marshy land, grew willow-bushes ; and they were 
 allowed by the farmers to cut as much as they needed 
 free of charge. Toward Christmas, indeed from the ist 
 of October, there was a demand for " maunds," in which 
 to send away game as presents. Honor, Kate, and even 
 some of the younger children could plait withies into 
 hampers, which their father took into Launceston and 
 Tavistock on market-days and sold. Little figures make 
 up long sums, and so the small proceeds of the basket- 
 weaving formed no inconsiderable profit in the year, out 
 
40 
 
 RED SPIDER. 
 
 of which Honor was able to clothe her sister Kate and 
 one of the other children. 
 
 Silence had lasted some time in the room; Oliver 
 leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, dreamily 
 watching the fire. At last he said, " Whatever I am to do 
 for a horse I can not tell. I've sold the carcass to Squire 
 Impey to feed the hounds with for a half-sovereign, and 
 the skin for another ten shillings. That is all I got for 
 Diamond. I suppose I shall have to give up carrying and 
 go on the land. To think of that, I that should be in 
 Coombe Park riding about in a gilded coach with four 
 cream horses and long tails and a powdered coachman 
 on the box — that I should become a day laborer for lack 
 of a horse !" 
 
 " Never mind about Coombe Park, father. It is of no 
 use looking down a well for a lost shilling. Young Mr. 
 Larry Nanspian will lend you a horse for a while." 
 
 " What will that avail .' " asked Oliver disconsolately. 
 " It is like sucking eggs when you've got the consumption. 
 It puts off the dying a few days, but it don't cure." 
 
 "The last horse was paid for. You are not in debt." 
 
 " -Ah ! but then I had not so many little ones growing 
 up. I could be trusted to pay. But now they consume 
 every penny I earn." 
 
 " They cost more as -they grow up, but they also earn 
 something. I've a mind to do this, father. You know 
 I've been asked by several gentlefolk to go to their houses 
 and reseat their cane-bottomed chairs, but I've never 
 liked to go because of the distance, and because I wouldn't 
 leave the house and the children. But now Kate is old 
 enough to take my place and do such little matters as are 
 needed here during the day, I will go about and do the 
 chairs. 
 
 Oliver Luxmore kughed. " You'll never buy a horse 
 
TIMEO DANAOS ET DONA FERENTES." 
 
 41 
 
 with cane bottoms. No, that won't do. I'll give up car- 
 rying and go work on the roads. You don't know what 
 grand new macadamized roads are being laid out ; they 
 are carrying them round slopes, where before they went 
 straight up. They are filling in bottoms, and slicing into 
 hills. Thousands upon thousands of pounds are being 
 spent, and there are whole gangs of men engaged upon 
 them." 
 
 " No, father, you are too old for that work. Besides, 
 those who go to the road-making are the rough and riot- 
 ous young fellows who want high wages, and who spend 
 their money in drink. No, such society is not for you." ' 
 
 " I don't see that," said the father. "As you say, the 
 wages, are very high ; I am not so old that I can not 
 work." 
 
 "You are unaccustomed to the kind of work." 
 
 " I should get into the way of it, and I am no drunk- 
 ard to waste my money." 
 
 " But you are a Luxmore." 
 
 Oliver held up his head. That last was an unanswer- 
 able argument. He considered for a while, and then he 
 said, " I can not borrow the money of Mr. Nanspian, he is 
 ill. It is, of course, useless my asking Mr. Langford, he\ 
 is not a lending, but a taking man." 
 
 " If we worked out the first debt, we can work out the 
 second," said Honor. " I know that you can get nothing 
 from Chimsworthy, and I do not suppose you can get 
 anything from Langford, nevertheless you might try. Mr. 
 Langford knows you to be an industrious and a conscien- 
 tious man. He has but to look in your face, father, to 
 be sure that you would rather be cheated than cheat any 
 one. Try Mr. Taverner Langford to-morrow." 
 
 "It is no good," sighed Oliver. "Only wear out 
 shoe-leather for nothing. You go, if you think anything 
 
42 RED SPIDER. 
 
 of the chance. Folks say, walk with Hope, or" you are 
 walking backward.'' 
 
 " I— I go to Mr. Langford ! " 
 
 " No need for that, when I have come to you," an- 
 swered a voice at the open window. 
 
 Honor started, looked up, and saw Taverner Langford 
 there, looking at her, and then at Oliver. 
 
 " Won't you step in and take a chair, sir ? " asked 
 Honor, rising ^nd moving toward the door. 
 
 " No, I am well where I am," answered Taverner, lean- 
 ing his elbows on the bottom of the window and peering 
 in. He wore a broad-brimmed hat, that shadowed the 
 upper part of his face, but out of this shadow shone his 
 eyes with phosphoric light. 
 
 " Father ! " exclaimed Honor, " here is Mr. Langford." 
 
 Oliver had risen and stood with hi's pipe in one hand 
 leaning against one jamb of the chimney, looking wonder- 
 ingly at the visitor. Langford had ascended the steps 
 from the lane, and thus had appeared suddenly before the 
 Luxmores. 
 
 From the window no one that passed was visible unless 
 he were seated on the top of a load of hay, carted along 
 the lane from the harvest-field. 
 
 Oliver Luxmore went to the window, and, like his 
 -daughter, asked, "Will you step inside, sir.?" 
 
 " No, thank you," answered Langford, " I can talk very 
 comfortably standing where I am. I know you to be a 
 sensible man, Luxmore, and to have your eyes about you, 
 and your ears open. There is no man goes about the 
 country so much as you. They say that in a town the 
 birber knows all the news, and in the country the carrier. 
 Now I'll tell you what I want, Luxmore, and perhaps 
 you'll do me the favor to help me to what I want. I'm 
 short of hands, and I want a trusty fellow who can act as 
 
" TIMEO DANAOS ET DONA FEREI^TES." 43 
 
 cattle-driver for me. I won't have a boy. Boys over- 
 drive and hurt the cattle. I must have a man. Do you 
 know of one who will suit ? " 
 
 Oliver shook his head. -' I don't know that I do, and 
 I don't know that I don't." 
 
 " You are talking riddles, Luxmore. What do you 
 mean ? " 
 
 "Well, sir," answered the carrier, with a sigh, "my 
 meaning is this. Poor Diamond is dead, and I am think- 
 ing of giving up the carryingrtrade." 
 
 " Giving up the ' Vivid ' ! You are not in your senses, 
 man." 
 
 " Ah, sir, how am I to buy a new horse ? The price 
 is up and money is scarce — leastways with me. Horses 
 ain't to be bought on promises no more than they are to 
 be reared on wind." 
 
 " Want a horse, do you ? Of course the ' Vivid ' 
 won't go by herself except down hill, and that is what 
 every one and everything can do unassisted. It is the 
 getting up hill that costs a strain. Ah, Luxmore, I could 
 show you two men, one going up and the other down, 
 going down as fast as the laden van on Rexhill, without 
 a horse to back against it. You've only to look to Chims- 
 worthy to see that. I need not say in which direction to 
 turn your eyes to see the contrary." 
 
 He pushed up his hat and looked at the carrier, then 
 at Honor. He did riot deign to cast a passing glance at 
 , Kate. 
 
 "Then, sir," said Oliver, " if the worst came to the 
 worst — I mean, sir, begging your pardon, and no offense 
 intended, if I could not get another horse — and where it 
 is to come from the Lord Almighty only knows — I'd have 
 to work for my living some other way, and I might be 
 glad to take service with you. I was even thinking on 
 
44 
 
 RED SPIDER. 
 
 going to the roads that be making, but H,onor won't hear 
 of that, so I reckon it can't be." 
 
 "No," answered Taverner, with his eyes resting on 
 Honor, " no, she is quite right. Your proper place is at 
 home with the family. The men on the roads are a wild 
 lot." 
 
 "So she said," the carrier put in humbly, "and of 
 course Honor know^s." 
 
 " Now, look you here, Luxmore," said Taverner, " I'm 
 not a man to squander and give away, as every. one in 
 Bratton knows, but I'm not as hard as they are pleased to 
 say, and where a worthy man is in need, and no great risk 
 is seen by myself^ and I'm not out of pocket, I don't 
 mind helping him. I do not say but what I'll let you 
 have my gray for keep. She's not an infant. There's 
 not much gambol about her, but there is a deal of work. 
 You shall have her for a while ; and pay me ten shillings a 
 week, %s hire. That is a favorable offer, is it not? " 
 
 The carrier stood silent with astonishment. Honor's 
 cheeks flushed with pleasure and surprise, so did those of 
 Kate. 
 
 " Your gray ! " exclaimed Luxmore. " I know her 
 well. She's worth five-and-twenty pounds." 
 
 " She may be. I do not know. I will not consider 
 that. I do not want her just now, and shall be glad to 
 lend her for her keep and a trifle. You are an honest 
 man. Your family is like mine — come down in the world.'' 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed the carrier, raising his head proud- 
 ly, " I reckon Coombe Park is where I should be, and all 
 ,1 want wherewith to get it is a hundred pounds and a' 
 register." 
 
 "That may be," said Taverner; "there were Lux- 
 mores in Bratton as long as there have been Langfords, and 
 that goes back hundreds of years. I do not want to see 
 
■' TIMEO DANAOS ET DONA FERENTES." 45 
 
 you fall to the ground. I am ready to lend you a help- 
 ing hand. You may fetch away the gray when you like. 
 You will have to sign an acknowledgment, and promise to 
 return her in good and sound condition. Always safest to 
 have a contract properly executed and signed, then there 
 can be no starting up of a misunderstanding afterward." 
 
 " I am to have your gray ! " Oliver Luxmore could 
 not believe in his good fortune, and this good fortune 
 coming to him from such an unexpected quarter. " There 
 now I Honor said I was to go up to Langford and see 
 you. She thought you might help, and 'twas no use irj 
 the world asking at Chimsworthy." 
 
 " Honor said that ! " exclaimed Tavern er, and Tie 
 looked at the girl and nodded approvingly. 
 
 Then Luxmore, who had been sitting in his shirt- 
 sleeves, took his coat and put it on, went to the nail and 
 unhooked his hat. 
 
 ' I don't mind if I go and look at the gray," he. said. 
 He had sufiScient prudence not to accept till he had seen. 
 
 While Oliver Luxmore was assuming his coat, Lang- 
 ford, leaning on his arms in the window, watched the ac- 
 tive fingers of Honor, engaged in weaving a basket. Her 
 feet were thrust forward, with the red stockings incasing 
 them. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Taverner, half aloud, half to himself ; " I 
 know a red spider that brings luck. Well for him who 
 secures her." 
 
 Just then voices were audible, bright and clear, com- 
 ing from the lane ; and in a few minutes up the steps 
 trooped the younger children of the carrier, returning 
 from school. Each, even the boy of thirteen, went at 
 once to Honor, stood before her, and showed face and 
 hands and clothes. 
 
 " Please, Honor," said one little girl, " I've got a tear 
 
46 - RED SPIDER. 
 
 in my pinafore. I couldn't help it. There was a nail in 
 the desk." 
 
 " Well, Pattie, bring me my workbox." 
 
 How clean, orderly, happy the children were ! Each , 
 before going to school was examined to insure that it was 
 scrupulously neat ; and each on returning was submitted 
 to examination again to show that it had kept its clothes 
 tidy while at school, and its face and hands clean. 
 
 Regardless of the presence and observations of Lang- 
 ford, Honor mended Pattie 's. pinafore. She was accus- 
 tomed to do at once what she observed must be done. 
 She never put off what had to be done to a future time. 
 Perhaps this was one of the secrets of her getting through 
 so much work. 
 
 When each child had thus reported itself to Honor, 
 she dismissed it with a kiss, and sent it to salute the 
 father. 
 
 " You will find, each of you, a piece of bread-and-butter 
 and a mug of milk in the back kitchen," she said. Then 
 the children filed out of the room to where their simple 
 meal was laid out for them. 
 
 " Busy, systematic, thrifty," said Taverner Langford, 
 looking approvingly at Honor. " The three feet that stay 
 Honor." Whether he made this remark in reference to her 
 name the girl could not make out ; she looked up sud- 
 denly at him, but his face was inscrutable, as he stood 
 with his back to the light in the window, with his broad- 
 brimmed hat drawn over his eyes. 
 
 Her father was ready to depart with Langford. As 
 the latter turned to go, he nodded to the girl in an approv- 
 ing and friendly way, and then turning to her father, as 
 he prepared to descend the steps, said, " What a maid that 
 eldest daughter of yours is ! Everything in your house is 
 clean, eveything in place, even the children. The sphere 
 
THE PROGRESS OF STRIFE. 47 
 
 is not big enough for her, she has talents for managing a 
 farm." 
 
 " Ah ! " groaned Luxmore, " if we had our rights, and 
 Coombe Park came to us — " The sisters heard no more. 
 Their father had reached the foot of the steps. 
 
 When both he and Langford had disappeared, Kate 
 burst out laughing. 
 
 " O Honor ! " she said, that screw, Mr. Langford ! 
 how his voice creaked. I thought all the time he was 
 speaking of a screw driven into father, creak, creak, 
 creak ! " 
 
 " For shame, Kate ! Mr. Taverner Langford has done 
 us a great kindness. He must not be ridiculed." 
 
 " I do not believe in his kindness," answered the lively 
 Kate. " The gray has got the glanders, or is spavined, 
 that is why he wants to lend her. Unless father is very 
 keen, Mr. Langford will overreach him." Then she threw 
 aside the basket she had been weaving. " There, Honor, 
 that is done, and my fingers are sore. I will do no more. 
 No — not even to buy the gray with my earnings. I am 
 sure that gray is coming to bring us ill-luck. I turned 
 my thumb in all the time that Mr. Langford was here, I 
 thought he had the evil eye, and — Honor — his wicked eye 
 was on you." 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 THE PROGRESS OF STRIFE. 
 
 So it fell out that two worthy men, landowners, broth- 
 ers-in-law, in the parish of Bratton Clovelly, each a church- 
 warden, each a pillar of religion, Jakim and Booz, one of 
 the Temple, the other of the Tabernacle, were at variance. 
 About what ? About nothing, a little red spider, so mi- 
 
,48 ' RED SPIDER. 
 
 nute that many a man could not see it without his spec- 
 tacles. 
 
 The money-spinner had provoked the calling of names, 
 the flying forth of fury, the rush of blood to the head of 
 Hillary Nanspian, and a fit. It was leading to a good deal 
 more, it was about to involve others besides the principals. 
 
 But the money-spinner was really only the red speck at 
 the meeting-point of rivalries, and brooding discontents, 
 and growing grievances. Nanspian had long chafed at 
 the superiority assumed by Langford, had been angry at 
 his own ill-success, and envious of the prosperity of his 
 brother-in-law. And Langford had fretted over the thrift- 
 lessness of Nanspian, and the prospect of his own gains 
 being dissipated by his nephew. 
 
 Hillary was a boastful and violent man. Taverner was 
 suspicious and morose. But Nanspian, was good-natured 
 at bottom ; his anger, if boisterous, soon blew away. Lang- 
 ford's temper was bitter ; he was not malevolent, but he 
 harbored his wrongs, and made a sort of duty of reveng- 
 ing them. 
 
 The love of saving had become so much a part of 
 Taverner's soul that it caused him real agony of mind to 
 think that all he had laid by might be wasted by young 
 Hillary, who, brought up in his father's improvident ways, 
 was sure to turn out a like wastrel. Moreover, he did not 
 like young Larry. He bore him that curious aversion 
 which old men sometimes manifest for the young. Tav- 
 erner had been an ungainly youth, without ease of man- 
 ner of social warmth. He had never made himself friends 
 of either sex ; always solitary, he had been driven in on 
 himself. Now that he was in the decline of life he re- 
 sented the presence in others of those qualities he had 
 never himself possessed. The buoyant spirits, the self- 
 , confidence, the good humor, the pleasant looks, the swing- 
 
THE PROGRESS OF STRIFE. 
 
 49 
 
 ing walk of young Larry were all annoyances to Langford, 
 who would have taken a liking to the lad had he been shy 
 and uncouth. 
 
 Formerly, scarcely a day had passed without the 
 brothers-in-law meeting. Sometimes they encountered 
 accidentally on Broadbury, or in the lanes, at other times 
 they met by appointment at the Look-out Stone. They 
 discussed together the weather, the crops, the cattle, the 
 markets. Hillary was a shrewd man, and had seen more 
 of the world than Taverner, who had, however, read more 
 books than the other. Langford had respect for the 
 worldly experience of his brother-in-law, and Nanspian 
 venerated the book-learning in the other. The Chims- 
 worthy brother could see various ways in which money 
 might be made, and had even made suggestions by which 
 he of Langford had reaped a pecuniary profit, but he was 
 too lazy a man to undertake new ventures himself, too 
 lazy even to properly cultivate in the old way the land on 
 which he lived. 
 
 Hillary was conscious that .he was falling in the esti- 
 mation of his brother-in-law. He was chafed by the sense 
 of his indebtedness to him. He saw no way of escape 
 from the debt he owed save by Taverner's death, and he 
 began to have a lurking hope of release in that way. He 
 was not stimulated to activity. " What is the advantage 
 of making a labor of life," he asked — not of his brother- 
 in-law — " when a man has a comfortable property, and an- 
 other in reversion ? " 
 
 The great day of all, on which the kindly relations of 
 the brothers-in-law were brought forward and paraded be- 
 ford the parish, was on the feast-day of Coryndon's Charity. 
 Then Hillary Nanspian arrived arm-in-arm with Taverner 
 Langford, Hillary in his badger-skin waistcoat with red 
 lappets, Taverner in dark homespun, with black cravat 
 
'50 RED SPIDER. 
 
 ap'd high collar. As they walked down the village every 
 man touched his hat and every woman courtesied. When 
 ' they came to a puddle, and puddles are common in the 
 roads of Bratton Clovelly, then Hillary Nanspian would 
 say, " Take care, Taverner, lest you splash your polished 
 boots and dark breeches." Thereupon the brothers-in- 
 law unlinked, walked round the puddle, and hooked to- 
 gether on the farther side. At the dinner, which was at- 
 tended by the Rector, who sat at the head and carved, the 
 waywarden and the overseer, the landlord of the " Ring 
 of Bells," where the dinner was held, and several of the 
 principal farmers, ex-feo£fees, or feoffees in prospective, 
 speeches were made. Hillary, with a glass of rum-and- 
 water and a spoon in it, stood up and spoke of his fellow- 
 churchwarden and feoffee and brother-in-law in such a 
 rich and warm speech, that, under the united influence of 
 hot strong rum, and weak maudlin Christianity, and sound 
 general good-fellowship, and goose and suet pudding, the 
 tears rose into the eyes of the hearers, and their moral 
 feelings were as elevated as if they had heard a sermon 
 of Mr. Romaine. 
 
 After that, Taverner proposed the health of his co- 
 feoffee and churchwarden in a nervous, hesitating speech, 
 during which he shufHed with his feet on the floor, and 
 his hands on the table, and became hot and moist, and 
 almost cried — not with tender emotion, but with the sense 
 of humiliation at his own inability to speak with fluency. 
 But, of course, all present thought this agitation was due 
 to the great affection he bore to his brother-in-law. 
 
 When Parson Robbins, the Rector, heard of the quar- 
 rel, he was like one thunderstruck. He could not believe 
 it. " Whatever shall I do ? I shall have to take a side. 
 Mercy on us, what times we live in, when I am forced to 
 take a side ! " 
 
THE PROGRESS OF STRIFE. 51 
 
 As to the farmers generally, they chuckled. Now at 
 last there was a chance of one of them getting into Coryn- 
 don's Charity and getting a lease of the poor's lands. 
 
 Hillary Nanspian recovered from his fit, but the breach 
 between the brothers-in-law was not healed. When he 
 again appeared at market he was greatly changed. The 
 apoplectic stroke, the blood-letting, the call in of the 
 money owed to Langford, had combined to alter him. 
 He was not as florid, as upright, as imperious as before. 
 His face was mottled, the badger-skin waistcoat no longer 
 fitted him as a glove, it fell into wrinkles, and the hair be- 
 gan to look as though the moth had got into it. A slight 
 stoop appeared in his gait. He became querulous and 
 touchy. Hitherto, when offended, he had discharged a 
 big, mouth-filling oath, as a mortar throws a shell ; now 
 he fumed and swore, and grumbled. There was no ap- 
 peasing him. He was like the mitrailleuse that was to be, 
 but was not then. Hitherto, he had sat on his settle, 
 smoking, and eating his bread and cheese, and had al- 
 lowed the fowls to come in and pick up the crumbs at his 
 feet. Now he threw sticks at them and drove them out 
 of the kitchen. 
 
 Encounters between the brothers-in-law were unavoid- 
 able, but when they met they pretended not to see each 
 other. They made circuits to avoid meeting. When 
 they passed in the lane, they looked over opposite hedges. 
 
 The quarrel might, perhaps, have been patched up, 
 had it not been for the tongue of Mrs. Veale. Taverner 
 Langford disliked this pasty-faced, bleached woman 
 greatly, but he was afraid of dismissing her, because he 
 doubted whether it would be possible for him to provide 
 himself with as good a manager in his house and about 
 the cattle. Though he disliked her, he was greatly influ- 
 enced by her, and she found that her best mode of in- 
 
52 RED SPIDER. 
 
 gratiating herself with him was by setting him against oth- 
 ers. She had a venomous dislike for the Nanspians. " \i 
 anything were to happen to the master, those Nanspians 
 would take all, and where should I be ? " she reasoned. 
 She thought her best chance of remaining at Langford 
 and of insuring that something was left to her by the mas- 
 ter in consideration for her faithful services was to make 
 him suspect and dislike all who surrounded him. He lis- 
 tened to her, and though he discounted all she said, yet 
 the repetitioa of her hints and suggestions, and retailed 
 stories, told on him more than he allowed himself to be- 
 lieve. Through her he heard of the boasts of his brother- 
 in-law, and his attention was called to fresh instances of 
 mismgjiagement at Chimsworthy. At one time Mrs. 
 Veale had audaciously hoped to become mistress of the 
 place. Langford was a lone shy man, how could he re- 
 sist the ambuscades and snares of a designing woman ? 
 But Mrs. Veale in time learned that her ambition in this 
 direction was doomed to disappointment, and that efforts 
 made to secure the master would effect her own expul-' 
 sibn. She therefore changed her tactics, dared to lecture 
 and give him the rough of her tongue. Langford endured 
 this, because it showed him she had no designs on 
 him, and convinced him that she was severe and faith- 
 ful. And she made herself indispensable to him in be- 
 coming the medium of communication between himself 
 and those with whom he was offended. He had sufiScient 
 of the gentleman in him to shrink from reprimanding 
 his servants and haggling with a dealer ; he was miserly, 
 but too much of a gentleman to show it openly. He 
 made Mrs. Veale cut down expenses, watch against 
 waste, and economize in small matters. 
 
 How is it that women are able to lay hold of and lead 
 men by their noses as easily as they take up and turn 
 
THE PROGRESS OF STRIFE. 53 
 
 about a teapot by its handle ? Is it that their hands arp 
 fashioned for the purpose, and men's noses are fitted by 
 Nature for their hands ? Although the nose of Taverner 
 Langford was Roman, and expressive of character and 
 individuality, Mrs. Veale held him by it ; and he fol- 
 lowed with the docility of a colt caught and led by the 
 forelock. 
 
 It was a cause of great disappointment to Hillary that 
 Taverner was in a position to give him annoyance, where- 
 as he was unable to retaliate. Langford had called in the 
 money he had advanced to his brother-in-law; it must T?e 
 repaid within three months. Langford had threatened the 
 father and son with disinheritance. On the other side, 
 he was powerless to pupish Langford. The conscious- 
 ness of this was a distress to Nanspian, and occasioned 
 the irritability of temper we have mentioned. Unable to 
 , endure the humiliation of being hurt without being able 
 to return the blow, he went into the office of the lawyer 
 Physick, at Okehampton. 
 
 " Mr. Physick," said he, " I want to be thundering 
 disagreeable." 
 
 " By all means, Mr. Nanspian. Very right and 
 proper." 
 
 " I'm going to be very offensive." 
 
 " To be sure. You have occasion, no question." 
 
 "I want a summons made out against Mrs. Veale, 
 that is, the housekeeper of Taverner Langford." 
 
 " The deuce you do ! " exclaimed the lawyer, starting 
 into an erect position on his seat. " The housekeeper of 
 your brother-in-law ! " 
 
 " The same. I want to hit him through her." 
 
 " Why, Lord bless me ! What has come to pass ? I 
 thought you and Mr. Langford were on the best of 
 terms." 
 
54 RED SPIDER. 
 
 " Then, sir, you thought wrong. We are no longer 
 friends ; we do not speak." 
 
 " What has occasioned this ? " 
 
 Nanspian looked down. He was ashamed to mention 
 the red spider ; so he made no reply. 
 
 " Well ! and what is the summons to be made out 
 for ? " 
 
 " For giving me a stroke of the apoplexy." 
 
 " I do not understand." 
 
 "You must know," said Hillary, lowering his voice, 
 " that I have a notion Mrs. Veale is a witch ; and when 
 Langford and I fell out she came meddling with her 
 witchcraft. She came as a White Hare." 
 
 " As a what ? " 
 
 " As a White Hare," answered Hillary, drawing forth 
 a kerchief and blowing his nose, and in the act of blowing 
 fixing the lawyer over the top of it with his eyes, and 
 saying through it, " My Larry saw her." 
 
 Mr. Physick uttered a sigh of disappointment, and said 
 ironically, " This is not a case for me. You must consult 
 the White Witch in Exeter." 
 
 " Can you do nothing ? " 
 
 " Certainly not. If that is all you have come about, 
 you have come on a fool's errand." 
 
 But this was not all. Nanspian wante.d to raise the 
 money for paying his brother-in-law. Mr. Physick was 
 better able to accommodate him in this. ''There is 
 another matter I want to know," said Nanspian. " Tav- 
 erner Langford threatens to disinherit me and my Larry. 
 Can he do it ? I reckon not. You have the settle- 
 ments. The threat is idle and vain as the wind, is it 
 not?" 
 
 " Langford is settled property in tail male," answered 
 the solicitor. " Should Mr. Langford die unmarried and 
 
CORYNDON'S CHARITY. 55 
 
 without male issue, it will fall to you, and if you prede- 
 cease, to your son." 
 
 " There ! " exclaimed Hillary, drawing a long breath, 
 " I knew as much ; Larry and I are as sure of Langford 
 as if we had our feet on it now. He can not take it from 
 us. We could, if we chose, raise money on it." 
 
 " Not so fast, Mr. Nanspian. What aged man is your 
 brother-in-law ? " 
 
 " Oh, between fifty-eight and sixty." 
 
 " He may marry." 
 
 " Taverner marry ! " exclaimed .Hillary ; he put his 
 hands on his knees and laughed till he shook. " Bless 
 me ! whom could Taverner marry but Mrs. Veale ? — and 
 he won't take her. He is not such a fool as to turn a serv- 
 ant under him into a mistress over him. But let him. I 
 give him Mrs. Veale, and welcome. May I be at the wed- 
 ding. Why, she will not see this side of forty, and there 
 is no fear of a family." 
 
 " He may take some one else." 
 
 "She would not let him. She holds him under her 
 thutnb. Besides, there are none suitable ?ibout our neigh- 
 borhood. At Swaddledown are only children, Farmer 
 Yelland's sister at Breazle is in a consumption, and at the 
 rectory Miss Robbins is old. No, Mr. Physick, there is 
 absolutely no one suitable for him." 
 
 " Then he may take some one unsuitable." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 coryndon's charity. 
 
 The opinion gained ground in Bratton Clovelly that 
 it was a pity two such good friends and worthy brothers- 
 in-law should quarrel and be drawn on into acts of 
 
5<5 
 
 RED SPIDER. 
 
 violence and vengeance, as seemed probable. As the 
 Coryndon feoffee dinner drew on, expression was given to 
 their opinion pretty freely, and the question was debated. 
 What would happen at the dinner? Would the enemies 
 refuse to meet each other? In that case, which would 
 cede to the other ? Perhaps under the circumstance, the 
 dinner would not take place, and the profits, not being 
 consumed, would be given to the widows. That might 
 establish a dangerous precedent. Widows in future years 
 mi^ht quote this, and resist the reintroduction of the din- 
 ner. Fortunately widows, though often violent and noisy, 
 are not dangerous animals, and may be brow-beaten with 
 , impunity. 
 
 Nevertheless a general consensus of opinion existed 
 among the overseers and way-wardens, acting, ex-, and 
 prospective, that the dinner must not be allowed to fall 
 through even for one year. Englishmen, with their ha- 
 bitual caution, are very much afraid of establishing a 
 precedent. 
 
 Hillary. Nanspian was spoken to on the subject, and 
 he opined that the dinner must be held. " If Taverner 
 Langford is ashamed to meet me, let him stay away. I 
 shall pay him every penny I owed, and can look him in 
 the face. We shall be merrier without him." 
 
 Notice of' the dinner was sent to Langford ; he made 
 no reply, but from his manner it was concluded that he 
 would not attend. 
 
 The day of the Trust dinner arrived. Geese had been 
 killed. Whiff ! they could be smelled all down the village, 
 to leeward of the inn, and widows came out and sniffed 
 up all they were likely to receive of Coryndon's Charity. 
 Beef was being roasted. Hah ! The eye that peeped into 
 the kitchen saw it turning and browning before the great 
 wood fire, and when the landlord's wife was not talking, 
 
CORYNDON'S CHARITY. 57 
 
 the ear heard the frizzle of the fat and the drop, drop into 
 the pan beneath. 
 
 What was that clinking ? Men's hearts danced at the 
 sound. A row of tumblers was placed on the dresser, and 
 spoons set in them. In the dairy a maid was taking creani, 
 golden as the buttercup, off the pans to be eaten — believe 
 it, non-Devonians, if you can, gnash your teeth with envy 
 and tear your hair — to be eaten with plum-pudding. See !' 
 yonder stands a glass vessel containing nutty-white celery 
 in it, the leaves at the top not unfolded, not green, but of 
 the color of pale butter. Hard by is a plate with squares 
 of cheese on it, hard by indeed, for, oh — what a falling off 
 is there ! — the Devon cheese is like board. 
 
 About the door of the " Ring of Bells " was assembled 
 a knot of men in their Sunday best, with glossy, soaped 
 faces. They were discussing the quarrel between the 
 brothers-in-law when the Rector arrived. He was a bland 
 man, with a face like a suet-pudding ; he shook hands 
 cordially with every one. 
 
 " We've been talking. Parson, about the two who have 
 got ao-ross. 'Tis a pity now, is it not 1 " 
 
 Parson Robbins looked from one to another, to gather 
 the prevailing opinion, before he committed himself. 
 Then, seeing one shake his head, and hearing another say, 
 " It's a bad ^ob," he ventured to say, " Well, it may be so 
 considered." He was too cautious a man to say "/ con- 
 sider it so " ; he could always edge out of an " It may be 
 so considered." Parson Robbins was the most inoffensive 
 of men. He never, in the pulpit, insisted on a duty lest 
 he should offend a Churchman, nor on a doctrine lest he 
 should shock a Dissenter. It was his highest ambition to 
 stand well with all men, and he endeavored to gain his 
 point by disagreeing with nobody and insisting on nothing. 
 
 "I hear," said Farmer Yelland, "that the two never 
 
58 RED SPIDER. 
 
 meet each other and never speak. They are waiting a 
 chance of flying at each other's throats." 
 
 " Ah ! " observed the Rector, " so it has been reported 
 in the parish." He was too careful to say " reported to 
 mc." 
 
 " Why, pity on us ! " said a little cattle-jobber with a 
 squint ; " when folks who look straight before them fall 
 across, how am I to keep straight with my eyes askew ? " 
 
 Every one laughed at these words. Harry Piper, the 
 speaker, was a general ' favorite, because his jokes were 
 level with their comprehension, and he did not scruple to 
 make a butt of himself. The sexton, a solemn man, with 
 such command over his features that not a muscle twitched 
 when a fly walked on his nose, even he unbent, and creases 
 formed about his mouth. 
 
 "Now look here," said Piper, "if we don't take the 
 matter in hand these two churchwardens will be doing 
 each other a mischief. Let us reconcile them. A better 
 day than this for the purpose can not be found." 
 
 " Mr. Piper's sentiments are eminently Christian," said 
 the Rector, looking round; then qualifying his statement 
 with, " that is, as far as I can judge without going further 
 into the matter." 
 
 "Will Master Nanspian be here ? " asked one. 
 
 "I know that he will," answered the cattle-jobber, 
 " but not the other, unless he be fetched." 
 
 "Well, let him be fetched." 
 
 " That is," said the Parson, " if he will come." 
 
 There was then, leaning against the inn door, a ragged 
 fellow with a wooden leg, and a stump of an arm into 
 which a hook was screwed — a fellow with a roguish eye, 
 a bald head, and a black full beard. Tom Crout lived on 
 any little odd jobs given him by the farmers to keep him 
 off the parish. He had lost his leg and arm through the 
 
CORYNDON'S CHARITY. 59 
 
 explosion of a gun when out poaching. Now he drove 
 bullocks to pasture, cows to be milked, sheep to the com- 
 mon, and wired rabbits. This was the proper man to send 
 , after Taverner Langford. 
 
 "You may ride my pony," said the cattle-jobber, "and 
 so be quicker on your way." 
 
 " And," said the guardian of the poor, " you shall dine 
 on the leavings and drink the heel-taps for your trouble." 
 
 As he went on his way, Crout turned over in his mind 
 how he was to induce Taverner Langford to come to the 
 dinner. Crout was unable to comprehend how any man 
 needed persuasion to draw him to goose, beef, and plum- 
 pudding. 
 
 On his way he passed Hillary Nanspian, in his badger- 
 skin waistcoat with red lappets, riding his strawberry mare. 
 He was on his way to the " Ring of Bells." 
 
 "Whither away, Crout.?" shouted Hillary. 
 
 " Out to Broadbury, after Farmer Burneby's sheep that 
 have broken." 
 
 Then he rode on. 
 
 When he reached the gate of Langford, he descended. 
 At once the black Newfoundland house-dog became furi- 
 ous, and flew at him, and with true instinct snapped at 
 the calf of flesh, not the leg of wood. Tom Crout yelled 
 and swore, and made the best of his way to the door, 
 where Taverner and Mrs. Veale appeared to call off the 
 dog. 
 
 " It is a shame to keep dogs like that, vicious brutes 
 rea4y to tear a Christian to tatters." 
 
 "I didn't suppose you was a Christian, hearing your 
 heathenish oaths," said Mrs. Veale ; " and as to the tatters, 
 they were there before the dog touched you." 
 
 " The parson has sent me," said Crout, " and he would 
 not send me if I were not a Christian. As for my tatters, 
 
6o RED SPIDER. 
 
 if you will give me an old coat, I'll leave them behind. 
 Please, Mr. Langford, the feoffees and guests are at the 
 ' Ring of Bells,' and can not begin without you. The beef 
 is getting cold, and the goose is becoming burned." 
 
 " Let them fall to. The dinner is sure to be good." 
 
 " How can they, master, without you or Mr. Nanspian ? " 
 
 " Is he not there ? " 
 
 "Not a speck of his fur, waistcoat visible, not a grim- 
 mer of his blue eye to be seen. Ah, Mr. Langford, such 
 a dinner ! Such goose, with onion stuffi^ng, and sage, and 
 mint, and marjoram ! I heard the butcher tell our land- 
 lord he'd never cut such a sirloin in all his life as that 
 roasting for to-day ; smells like a bean-field, and brown as 
 ■a chestnut ! As for the plum-pudding, it is bursting with 
 raisins ! " 
 
 "That will suffice," said Taverner. unmoved by the 
 description. "I do not intend to go." 
 
 " Not intend to go ! Very well, then, I shall have to 
 go to Chimsworthy and bring Mr. Nanspian. I'll tell him 
 you haven't the heart to meet folks. You prefer to hide 
 your head here, as if you had committed something of 
 which you are ashamed. Very well. When he hears that 
 you durstn't show, he will go and swagger at the ' Ring 
 of Bells ' without you." 
 
 "I do not choose to meet him. He may be there 
 after all." 
 
 " Not a bit. When I left all were assembled, and he 
 was not there. May I be struck dead if he was there ! 
 The parson said to the rest, ' Whatever shall we do with- 
 out Master Langford, my own churchwarden, so to speak 
 — my right hand, and the representative of the oldest and 
 grandest family in the place ? That is a come-down of 
 greatness if he don't turn up at the feoffees' dinner.' May 
 I die on the doorstep if these were not his very words ! 
 
CORYNDON'S CHARITY. 6l 
 
 Then he went on, ' I did reckon on Master Langford to 
 be here -to keep me in countenance. Now, here I lay 
 down my knife and fork, and not a bite will I eat, nor a 
 cut will I make into that bubbling, frizzling, savory goose, 
 unless Taverner Langford be here. So go along, Crout, 
 and fetch him.' " 
 
 "Is that true ? " asked Langford, flattered. 
 
 " May my remaining leg and arm wither if it be not ! 
 Then Farmer Burneby up and said, ' He dursn't come, 
 he's mortally afraid of meeting Hillary Nanspian.' " 
 
 " Did he say that .' " asked Taverner, flushing. 
 
 " Strike me blind if he did not ! " 
 
 " I'll come. Go on, I will follow." 
 
 When Crout returned to the " Ring of Bells," he found 
 Nanspian there, large and red. The cripple slipped up 
 to Piper and whispered, "He'll be here, leave a place 
 opposite the other, and fall to at the beef." 
 
 " The fly," observed the parson to a couple of farmers 
 — "the fly is the great enemy of the turnip. It attacks 
 the seed-leaves when they appear." 
 
 " That is true." 
 
 " Now, what you want with turnips is a good shower 
 after the seed has been sown, and warmth to precipitate 
 the growth at the critical period. At least, so I have been 
 informed." 
 
 " It is so, Parson." 
 
 " In wet weather the fly does not appear, or the plant 
 grows with sufficient rapidity to outstrip the ravages of 
 the fly." 
 
 " To be sure, you are quite right, sir." 
 
 This fact of the turnip-fly was one of the few scraps of 
 agricultural information Parson Robbins had picked up, 
 and he retailed it at tithe, club, and feoffee dinners. 
 
 Then the landlord appeared at the inn door, and an- 
 
62 RED SPIDER. 
 
 nounced, "All ready, gentlemen! sorry you have been 
 kept wa,iting ! " 
 
 At the moment that Nanspian and the parson entered, 
 Langford arrived and went after them, without seeing the 
 former, down the passage to the long room. The passage 
 was narrow, tortuous, and dark. " Wait a bit, gentlemen," 
 said the host, " one at a time th'rough the door ; his Rever- 
 ence won't say grace till all are seated." 
 
 " Here is a place. Master Langford," said Piper, " on 
 the right hand of the parson, with your back to the win- 
 dow. Go round his chair to get at it." 
 
 Taverner took the place indicated. Then the Rector 
 rapped on the table, and all rose for grace. 
 
 As Langford rose he looked in front of him, and saw 
 the face of Nanspian, who sat on the Rector's left. Hil- 
 lary had not observed him before, he was looking at the 
 goose. When he raised his eyes and mefr the stare of 
 Taverner, his face became mottled, whereas that of his 
 brother-in-law turned white. Neither spoke, but sank into 
 his place, and during dinner looked neither to right, nor 
 left, nor in front. Only once did Taverner slyly peep at 
 Hillary, and in that glimpse he noted his altered appear- 
 ance. Hillary was oldened, fallen away, changed alto- 
 gether for the worse. Then he drew forth his blue cotton 
 pocket-handkerchief and cleared his nose. Neither rel- 
 ished his dinner. The goose was burned and flavorless, 
 the beef raw and tough, the potatoes under-boiled, the 
 appjte-tart lacked cloves, the plum -pudding was over- 
 spiced, the cheese was tough, and the celery gritty. So, 
 at least, they seemed to these two, but to these two alone. 
 When the spirits were produced all eyes were turned on 
 Hillary Nanspian, but he neither rose nor spoke. Taver- 
 ner Langford was also mute. " Propose the health of the 
 chairman," whispered Piper into Hillary's ear. 
 
CORYNDON'S CHARITY. 63 
 
 " I am people's churchwarden," answered he, sullenly. 
 
 " Propose the health of the chairman," said his right- 
 hand neighbor to Langford. 
 
 " I am a Dissenter," he replied. 
 
 Then the Rector stood up and gave the health of the 
 King, which was drunk with all honors. 
 
 " Shall we adjourn to the fire ? " asked he ; " each take 
 his glass and pipe." 
 
 Then up rose the Rector once again, and said, " Ahem ! 
 Fill your glasses, gentlemen. Mr. Langford, I insist. No 
 shirking this toast. You, Mr. Nanspian, need no persua- 
 sion. Ahem ! " 
 
 Piper came round and poured spirits into Langford's 
 glass, then hot water. 
 
 " Ahem ! " said the Rector. " I have been in your 
 midst,. I may say, as your spiritual pastor, set — set — ahem ! 
 — under you these forty years, and, I thank Heaven, never 
 has there been a single discord — ahem ! — between me and 
 my parishioners. If I have not always been able to agree 
 with them — ahem ! — I have taken care not to disagree with 
 them ! I mean — I mean, if they have had their opinions, 
 I have not always seen my way to accepting them, because 
 I have studiously avoided having any opinions at all. Now 
 — ahem ! — I see a slight jar between my nearest and dear- 
 est neighbors," he looked at Langford and Nanspian. 
 " And I long to see it ended." (" Hear, hear, hear ! ") 
 " I express the unanimous opinion of the entire parish. 
 On this one point, after forty opinionless years, I venture 
 — ahem ! — to have an opinion, a decided opinion, an em- 
 phatic opinion " — (immense applause) — " I call upon you 
 all, my Christian brethren, to unite with me in healing this 
 unseemly quarrel — I mean this quarrel : the unseemliness 
 is in the quarrel, not in the quarrelers." 
 
 Langford drank his gin-and-water not knowing v/hat 
 
64 RED SPIDER. 
 
 he did, and his hand shpok. Nanspian emptied his glass. 
 Both looked at the door : there was no escape that way, 
 the back of burly Farmer Brendon filled it. All eyes were 
 on them. 
 
 " Come now," said Piper, " what is the sense of this 
 quarrel .' Are you women to behave in this unreasonable 
 rnanner .' You, both of you, look the worse for the squab- 
 ble. What is it all about t" 
 
 " Upon my word, I do not know," said Nanspian. " I 
 never did Langford a hurt in my life. Why did he insult 
 me ? " 
 
 " I insult him ! " repeated Taverner. " Heaven knows 
 I bore him no ill-will, but when he dared to address me 
 as—" 
 
 " I swear by — " burst in Hillary. 
 
 " Do not swear ! " said Langford, hastily. " Let your 
 yea be yea." The ice was broken between them. One 
 had addressed the other. Now they looked each other 
 full in the face. Hillary's eyes moistened. Taverner's 
 mouth twitched. 
 
 "Why did you employ offensive language toward me ?" 
 asked Hillary. 
 
 " I ! " exclaimed Taverner ; " no, it was you who ad- 
 dressed me in words I could not' endure." 
 
 The critical moment had arrived. In another moment 
 they would clasp hands, and be reconciled for life. No 
 one spoke, all watched the two men eagerly. 
 
 "Well, Taverner," said Hillary, "you know I am a 
 hot man, and my words fly from my tongue before I have 
 cooled them." 
 
 "I dare say I may have said what I never meant. 
 Most certainly Avhat I did say was not to be taken seri- 
 ously." 
 
 " But," put in Parson Robbins, " what was said ? " 
 
A MALINGERER. 65 
 
 "Judge all," exclaimed Tavemer. "I was angry, and 
 I called Hillary Nanspian a long-tailed Cornish orang- 
 outang." 
 
 The moment the words were uttered, he was aware 
 that he had made a mistake. The insult was repeated in 
 the mpst public possible manner. If the words spoken 
 in private had exasperated Hillary, how much more so 
 now ! 
 
 Nanspian no sooner heard the offensive words than he 
 roared forth, " And I — I said then, and I repeat now, that 
 you are nose-led, tongue-lashed by your housekeeper, Mrs. 
 Veale." Then he dashed his scalding rum-and-water in 
 the face of his brother-in-law. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A MALINGERER. 
 
 The time taken by the " Vivid " over the journey to 
 and from the market towns was something to be wondered 
 at. A good man is merciful to his beast. Certainly Oli- 
 ver Luxmore was a good man, and he showed it by his 
 solicitude for the welfare of the gray. On Friday he 
 drove to Tavistock market at a snail's pace, to spare the 
 horse, because it had to make a journey on the morrow, 
 to Launceston or Okehampton. On Saturday he drove to 
 market at a slug's pace, because the gray had done such 
 hard work on the preceding day. The road, as has 
 been said, was all up and down hill, and the hills are as 
 steep as house roofs. Consequently the travelers by the 
 " Vivid " were expected to walk up the hills to ease the 
 load, and to walk down the hills lest the weight of the 
 
 " Vivid " should carry the van over the gray. The fare one 
 5 
 
6S RED SPIDER. 
 
 way was a shilling, the return journey could be made for 
 sixpence. All goods, except what might be carried on the 
 lap, were paid for extra. As the man said who was con- 
 veyed in a sedan-chair from which the bottom had fallen 
 out, but for the honor of the thing, he might as well have 
 walked. Passengers by the " Vivid " started at half- 
 past six in the morning, and reached the market town 
 about half-past eleven. They took provisions with them, 
 and ate two meals on the way.~ They also talked their 
 very lungs out ; but the recuperative power of their lungs 
 was so grfeat that they were fresh to talk all the way home. 
 The van left the town at four and reached Bratton at or 
 about nine. 
 
 A carrier must naturally be endowed with great pa- 
 tience. Oliver Luxmore was by nature thus qualified. 
 He was easy-going, gentle, apathetic. Nothing excited 
 him except the mention of Coombe Park. His business 
 tended to make him more easy-going and patient than he 
 was naturally. He allowed himself to be imposed upon, 
 he resented nothing, he gave way before every man who 
 had a rough, and every woman who had a sharp, tongue. 
 He was cheerful and kindly. Every one liked him, and 
 laughed at him. 
 
 One Saturday night, after his return from Okehamp- 
 ton, Oliver was taking his supper. The younger children / 
 were in bed, but Kate was up, she had been to market 
 that day with her father, Kate was a very pretty girl, 
 sharp eyed, sharp witted — with fair hair, a beautiful com- 
 plexion, and eyes blue and sparkling — turquoises with the 
 flash of the opal in them. She was seventeen. Her father 
 rather spoiled her. He bought her ribbons and brooches 
 when the money was needed for necessaries. 
 
 " I brought Larry Nanspian back part of the way with 
 me," said Oliver. " His father drove him into town, but 
 
A MALINGERER. 67 
 
 the (Jld man stayed to drink, and Larry preferred to come 
 on with me." 
 
 " That was well of him," said Honor,- looking up with 
 a smile. 
 
 " We talked of the gray," continued the carrier. " Lar- 
 ry was on the box with me. I put Kate inside, among 
 the clucking, clacking old women. Larry asked me about 
 the -gray, and I told him how that we had got her. He 
 shook his head, and he said, ' Take care of yourself, Lux- 
 more, lest in running out of the rain you get under the 
 drip. I don't believe that Uncle Taverner is the man to 
 do favors for nothing.' " 
 
 " Did he say that .' " asked Honor. " He meant noth: 
 ing by it — he was joking." 
 
 " Of course he was joking. We joke a good deal to- 
 gether about one thing or another. He is grown a fine 
 fellow. He came swinging up to me with his thumbs in 
 , his armholes and said, ' Mr. Luxmore, Honor, won't be 
 able to withstand me in this waistcoat. She'll fall down 
 and worship.' " 
 
 " Did he say that ? " asked Honor, and her brow 
 flushed. 
 
 "Tush! you must not take his words as seriously 
 meant. He had got a fine satin waistcoat to-day, figured 
 with flowers. He pulled his coat open to show it me. I 
 suppose he thought the satin waistcoat would draw you as 
 a scarlet rag will attract rabbits." 
 
 Honor turned the subject. 
 
 " What more did he say about Mr. Langford ? " 
 
 "Oh, nothing particular. He told me he was sorry 
 that his father could not spare us a horse, to keep us out 
 of the clutches of his uncle Taverner. Then he laughed 
 and said you had warned him not to run into debt, and 
 yet had led the way yourself." 
 
68 RED SPIDER. 
 
 "Run into debt, how ? " 
 
 Oliver evaded an answer. " In going up the hills, Kate 
 and he walked together. He got impatient at last, and 
 walked on by himself, and we never caught him up 
 again." 
 
 Honor did not look up from her work. She was mend- 
 ing some clothes of one of the children. 
 
 " He asked me • a great deal about you,'' said Kate. 
 " He said it was a shame that you should stick at home 
 and never go to market, and see life." 
 
 " How can I, with the house to look after ? When you 
 are a little more reliable, Kate, I may go. I can not now." 
 Suddenly they heard a loud, deep voice at the door. 
 
 " Halloo ! what a climb to the cock-loft." 
 
 They looked startled to the door, and saw a man 
 standing in it, with military trousers on his legs, and his 
 hands in his pockets, watching them, with a laugh on his 
 face. 
 
 "You have some supper! That's well. I'm cussed 
 hungry. Walked from Tavistock. Why weren't you there 
 to-day, father ? " 
 
 " It is Charles ! " exclaimed Luxmore, springing to his 
 feet, and upsetting the table as he did so — that the cider 
 jug fell and was broken, and spilled its contents, and some 
 plates went to pieces on the slate floor. 
 
 " Charlie, welcome home ! Who would have expected 
 to see you.' Where have you been? What have you 
 done ? Have you served your time 1 Have you got your 
 discharge .' Lord, how glad I am to see you ! " 
 
 Charles Luxmore, who entered the cottage, was a tall 
 man, he looked ragged and wretched. His shoes were 
 worn out, and his feet, stockingless, showed through the 
 holes. His military trousers were sun-scorched, worn, 
 badly patched, and in tatters about the ankles. His coat 
 
A MALINGERER. 69 
 
 was split down the back, brown where exposed to the 
 brunt of the weather. His whole appearance was such, 
 that one who met him in a lonely lane would be sensible 
 of relief when he had passed him, and found himself un- 
 molested. 
 
 " Halloo ! there," said he, drawing near to the fallen 
 table, picking up the broken jug, and swearing, because 
 the last drops of cider were out of it. "What are you 
 staring at me for, as if I were a wild beast escaped from 
 a caravan.' Curse me, body and bones, don't you know 
 me?"" 
 
 "Charles! " exclaimed Honor, "you home, and in this 
 condition ? " 
 
 " Dash it ! is that you, Honor ? How you have shot up. 
 And this you, Kate ? Thunder ! what a pair of pretty 
 girls you are. Where are the rest of the panpipes 1 Let 
 me see them, and get niy greeting over. Lug them out of 
 bed that I may see them. Curse it, I forget how many of 
 them there are." 
 
 " Seven, besides our two selves," said Honor. " Nine 
 in all." 
 
 " Let me see them. Confound it ! It must be got 
 over." 
 
 " The rest are in bed," said Honor. " They must not 
 bfe disturbed out of their' sleep." 
 
 " Never mind. Where is the old woman ? " 
 
 " I do not know whom you mean, Charles." 
 
 " Mother. Where is she ? " 
 
 " Dead, Charles." 
 
 He was silent for a moment. Then he said, " Fetch 
 the little devils, I want to see them." 
 
 " Charles, for shame ! " exclaimed Honor, reddening " 
 and frowning, and her brown eyes flashed an angry 
 light. 
 
70 RED SPIDER. 
 
 "Tut, tut ! soldier's talk. You won't find my tongue 
 wear kid gloves. I meant no harm." 
 
 " You shall not speak of the children in such terms," 
 said Honor, firmly. 
 
 " Halloo ! Do you think I will stand being hectored 
 by you ? " 
 
 " There, there," threw in Oliver Luxmore, " the boy 
 meant nothing by it. He has got into a careless way of 
 expressing himself. That is all." 
 
 "That is all," laughed Charles, "and now I have a 
 true soldier's thirst, and I am not a dog to lap up the spilled 
 liquor oflf the floor. What is it, beer .' Is there any brandy 
 in the house ? " 
 
 "You can have a drop of cider," said Honor, with 
 frowning brows. " Or, if that does not please you, water 
 from the spring. The cider is middling, but the water is 
 good." 
 
 " No water for me. Fetch me the cider." 
 
 " There is a hogshead in the cellar under the stairs in the 
 back kitchen," said Honor. " Fill yourself a mug of it." 
 
 "You can fetch it for me." 
 
 "I can do so, but I will not," answered Honor. 
 " Charles, I will not stir hand or foot for a man who will 
 speak of his innocent little brothers and sisters as you 
 have done." 
 
 " Take care of yourself I " exclaimed Charles, looking 
 at her threateningly. 
 
 She was not overawed by his look. Her cheeks glowed 
 with inner agitation. " I am not afraid of you," she said, 
 and reseated herself at her work. 
 
 " I will fetch the cider," offered the good-natured 
 Kate, springing into the back kitchen. 
 
 " That is a good, dear girl," said Charles ; " you and I 
 will be friends, and stand out against that dragon." 
 
A MALINGERED. 7 1 
 
 He took the mug. " Pshaw ! this is not sufficient. I 
 am thirsty as desert sand. Fetch me a jugfuL" 
 
 " There is not another jug in the house," said Kate. 
 " I will fill the mug again." 
 
 Just then at the kitchen door appeared a white 
 figure. 
 
 " Whom have we here ? " exclaimed Charles. 
 
 " Joe ! what has brought you down ? Go to bed again," 
 said Honor. 
 
 " Not a bit ; come here. I am the eldest in the house. 
 I take the command by virtue of seniority," shouted Charles, 
 and, springing from the chair, he caught the little white 
 figure, brought the child in, and seated him on his knee. 
 " I am your brother," said Charles. " Mind this. From 
 henceforth you obey me, and don't heed what Honor 
 says." 
 
 Honor looked at her father. Would he allow this ? 
 Oliver made no remark. 
 
 "What is your name, young jack-a-napes .' " asked 
 Charles, " and what brings you here ? " 
 
 " I am Joseph, that is, Joe," answered the little boy, 
 " I heard your voice, and something said about soldiers, 
 and I crawled downstairs to see who you were." 
 
 "Let the child go to bed," asked the father. "He 
 will catch a chill in his nightshirt." 
 
 " Not he," replied Charles. " The kid wants to hear 
 what I have to say, and you are all on pins, I know." 
 
 " Well, that is true," said Oliver Luxmore. " I shall 
 be glad to learn what brings you home. You have not 
 served your full time. You have not bought yourself out. 
 If you were on leave, you would be in uniform." 
 
 "Oh, I'm out of the service," answered Charles. 
 " Look here." He held out his right hand. The forefinger 
 was gone. " 1 cut it off myself, because I was sick of 
 
72 
 
 RED SPIDER. 
 
 servingjiis Majesty, tired of war and its hardships. I felt 
 such an inextinguishable longing for home, that I cut off 
 my trigger'finger to .obtain my discharge." 
 
 " Fbr shame, Charles, for shame ! " exclaimed Honor. 
 
 " Oh, you are again rebuking me ! You have missed 
 
 ' your proper place. You should be army chaplain. I've 
 
 been in India, and I've fought the Afghans. Ah! I've 
 
 been with General Pollock and stormed and looted Ca- 
 
 bul." 
 
 " You have been in battle ! " exclaimed little Joe. 
 
 " I have, and shot men, and run my bayonet into a 
 dozen naked Afghans." He laughed boisterously. "Itis- 
 like sticking a pig. That sack of Cabul was high fun. 
 No quarter given. We blew up the great bazaar, crack ! 
 boom ! high into the air, but not till we had cleared away 
 all the loot we could. And, will you believe it ? we 
 marched away in triumph, carrying off the cedar doors of 
 Somnath, as Samson with the gates of Gaza. Lord EUpn- 
 borough ordered it, and we did it. But they were not 
 the original gates after all, but copies. Then, damn it, I 
 thought—" 
 
 " Silence ! " said Honor indignantly. " "With the child 
 on your knee will you curse and swear ? " 
 
 " An oath will do no harm, will it, Joe ? " asked the 
 soldier, addressing the 'little boy, who sat staring va. his 
 face with wonder and admiration. " A good oath clears 
 the heart, as a cough relieves a choking throat, is it not 
 so, Joe ? or as a discharge of guns breaks a waterspout, 
 eh ? " The little boy looked from his brother to his sister. 
 It was characteristic of the condition of affairs in the 
 house that he did not look to his father. 
 
 " I don't know, brother Charles," answered he. " Hon- 
 or would not allow it, she says it is wicked." 
 
 "Oh,' she ! " mocked the soldier. " I suppose you are 
 
A MALINGERER. 
 
 72, 
 
 under petticoat government still, or have been. Never 
 mind, Joe. Now that I am come home you shall take or- 
 ders from me, and not from her." 
 
 " Joe," said Honor sternly, " go at once to bed." 
 ^ " He shall stay and hear the rest of the story. He 
 shall hear how I lost my finger." 
 
 The child hesitated. 
 
 Then Honor said gravely, "Joe, you will do that 
 which you know to be right." 
 
 At once the little boy slipped from his brother's knee, 
 ran to Honor, threw his arms round her neck, kissed her 
 on both cheeks, and ran away, upstairs. 
 
 " So, so," said Charles, "open war between us ! Well, 
 sister, you have begun early. We shall see who will ob- 
 tain the victory." 
 
 " I don't think Honor need fear a soldier who cuts off 
 his finger to escape fighting," said Kate. 
 
 " What, you also in arms against me ? " exclaimed 
 Charles, turning on the younger sister. 
 
 " You asked Joe if he were under petticoat govern- 
 ment, and sneered at him for it ; but you seem to be 
 valiant only when fighting petticoats," retorted Kate. 
 
 "I'm in a wasp's nest here," laughed Charles. 
 
 " Never mind Kate," said Oliver, " she has a sharp 
 tongue. Tell us further about your finger." 
 
 "I lost more than my finger — I lost prize-money and 
 a pension. As I told you, I was weary of the service, and 
 wanted to get home. I thought I should do well with all 
 the loot and prize-money, and if I were wounded also and 
 incapacitated for service, I should have a pension as well ; 
 so I took off my finger with an axe, and tried to make be- 
 lieve I was hurt in action. But the surgeon would not 
 allow it. I got into trouble and was discharged with the 
 loss of my prize-money as a malingerer." 
 
74 RED SPIDER. 
 
 "You are not ashamed to tell us this?" exclaimed 
 Honor. 
 
 " It was a mistake," said Charles. 
 
 " We are ashamed to sit and listen to you," said Honor, 
 with an indignant flash of her eyes, and with set brows. 
 "Come, Kate, let us to bed and leave him." 
 
 " Good-night, malingerer," said Kate. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 CHARLES LUXMORE. 
 
 The next day was Sunday. Charles lay in bed, and 
 did not appear to breakfast. Oliver Luxmore, Kate, and 
 the younger children were dressed for church. Honor 
 remained at home alternately with. Kate on Sunday morn- 
 ings to take care of Tempie, the youngest, and to cook the 
 dinner. This was Honor's morning at home. 
 
 Oliver Luxmore stood in doubt, one moment taking 
 his Sunday hat, then putting it back in its card box, then 
 again changing his mind. 
 
 Before they started, Charles swaggered into the kitchen, 
 and asked for something to eat. 
 
 " Where are you all going to, you crabs, as gay as if 
 fresh scalded ? " asked Charles. 
 
 "This is Sunday," answered his father, "and I was 
 thinking of taking them to church ; but if you wish it, I 
 will remain at home." 
 
 " Suit yourself," said Charles, contemptuously, " only 
 don't ask me to go with you. I should hardly do you 
 credit in these rags, and the parson would hardly do me 
 good. In India there were four or five religions, and 
 
CHARLES LUXMORE. 75 
 
 where there is such a choice one learns to shift without 
 any." 
 
 " What had I better do ? " asked Oliver, turning to 
 Honor. 
 
 " Go to church with the children, father. I will remain 
 with Charles." 
 
 " I am to have your society, am I .' " asked the soldier. 
 " An hour and a half of curry, piping hot ! Well, I can 
 endure it. I can give as well as take. Let me have a 
 look at you, Kate. A tidy wench, who will soon be turn- 
 ing the heads of the boys, spinning them like tee-totums. 
 Let me see your tongue." Kate put out her tongue, then 
 he chucked her under the chin and made her bite her 
 tongue. The tears came into her eyes. 
 
 " Charles ! you have hurt me. You have hurt me very 
 much." 
 
 " Glad to hear it," he said, contemptuously. " I in- 
 tended to do it. The tongue is too long, and too sharp, 
 and demands clipping and blunting. I have chastised you 
 for your impertinence last night." 
 
 " I suppose I had better go," said Oliver. 
 
 " Certainly, father," ansAvered Honor. 
 
 Then, still hesitating at every step from the cottage to 
 the lane, Oliver went forth, followed by seven children. 
 
 Charles drew a short black pipe from his pocket, stuffed 
 it with tobacco, which he carried loose about him, and 
 after lighting it at the fire on the hearth, seated himself in 
 his father's chair, and began to smoke. Presently he drew 
 the pipe out of his mouth, and looking askance at his sis- 
 ter, said, " Am I to forage for myself this morning ? " 
 
 Honor came quietly up to him, and standing before 
 him, said, " I spoke harshly to you, Charles, last night. I 
 was angry, when you talked of the dear little ones offen- 
 sively. But I dare say you meant no harm. It is a bad 
 
^6 RED SPIDER. 
 
 sign when the words come faster from the lips than- the 
 thoughts form in the heart. You shall have your break- 
 fast. I will lay it for you on the table. I am afraid, 
 Charles, that your service in the army has taught you all 
 the vices and none of the virtues of the soldier. A soldier 
 is tidy and trim, and you are dirty and ragged. I am 
 sorry for you; you are my brother, and I have always 
 loved you." 
 
 "Blazes and fury!" exclaimed Charles; "this is a 
 new-fangled fashion of showing love. I have been from 
 home five years, and this is the way in which I am wel- 
 comed home ! I have come home with a ragged coat, 
 and therefore I am served with cold comfort. If I had 
 returned with gold guineas I should have been over- 
 whelmed with affection." 
 
 " Not so," said Honor gravely. " If you had returned 
 with a sound character we would respect the rags ; but 
 what makes my heart ache is to see, not the tattered 
 jacket, but the conscience all to pieces. How long is it 
 since you landed ? " 
 
 " Five or six months ago." 
 
 " Where have you been since your return .' " 
 
 " Where I could spend my money. I did bring some- 
 thing with me, and I lived on it while it lasted. It is not 
 ^11 gone yet. Look here." He plunged his hand into 
 his trousers pocket and jingled his coins carelessly in it. 
 
 " There ! " said he, " you will feel more respect for me, 
 and your love wake up, when you see I have money still, 
 not much, but still, some. Curse it, I was a fool not to 
 buy you a ribbon or a kerchief, and then you would have 
 received me with smiles instead of frowns." 
 
 Honor looked him steadily in the face, out of her clear 
 hazel eyes. " No, Charles, I want no presents from you. 
 Why did not you return to lis a,t once ? " 
 
CHARLES LUXMORE. yj 
 
 " Because I had no wish to be buried alive in Bratton 
 Clovelly. Are you satisfied ? Here I am at last." 
 
 " Yes," she repeated, " here you are at last. What are 
 you going to do now you are here ? " 
 
 "I don't know," answered her brother with a shrug. 
 Then he folded his arms, threw out his legs, and leaned 
 back in the chair. " A fellow like me, who has seen the 
 world, can always pick up a living." 
 
 Honor sighed. What had he learned ? For what was 
 he fitted ? 
 
 "Charles," she said, "this is your father's house, and 
 here you were born. You have as true a right to shelter 
 in it as I. You are heartily welcome, you may believe 
 that. But look about you. We are not in Coombe Park. 
 Including you we make up twelve in this cottage. What 
 we live on is what your father earns by his carrying ; but 
 he is in debt, and we have no money to spare, we can not 
 afford to maintain idlers." 
 
 "Take my money," said Charles, emptying his pocket 
 on the table. 
 
 " No," answered Honor. " For a week we will feed 
 you for nothing. That money must be spent in dressing 
 you respectably. By next week you will have found 
 work." 
 
 " Maybe," said the soldier. " It is not every sort of 
 work that will suit me. Any one want a game-keep,er 
 about here ? " 
 
 " No, Charles, there is only Squire Impey in this par- 
 ish ; besides, without your forefinger, who would take you 
 as a game-keeper .? " 
 
 " The devil take me, I forgot that." 
 
 " Curses again," said Honor. " You must refrain your 
 mouth before the children." 
 
 "I have not gone to church," said Charles, sullenly, 
 
78 RED SPIDER. 
 
 " because I didn't want to be preached to ; spare me a 
 sermon at home." 
 
 " Charles," said Honor, " I have hard work to make 
 both ends meet, and to keep the children in order. You 
 must not make my work harder — perhaps impossible. If 
 you remain here, you will need my help to make you com- 
 fortable and to put your clothes in order. You will throw 
 an additional burden on me, already heavily weighted. I 
 do not grudge you that. But remember that extra work 
 for an additional member means less time for earning 
 money at basket-weaving. We must come to an under- 
 standing. I do not grudge you the time or the trouble, but 
 I will only give them to you on condition that you do not 
 interfere with my management of the children, and that 
 you refrain your tongue from oaths and unseemly speech." 
 
 Charles stood up, went to her, topk her by both ears, 
 and kissed her. " There, corporal, that is settled." 
 
 Honor resented the impertinence of laying hold of her 
 by both ears, but she swallowed her annoyance, and ac- 
 cepted the reconciliation. 
 
 " I have a good heart," said Charles, " but it has been 
 rolled in the mud."- 
 
 " Give us the goodness, and wash off the soil," an- 
 ' swered Honor. Then she brought him some bread-and- 
 butter and milk. "Charles," she said, " I will see if I can 
 not find some of father's clothes that will fit you. I can 
 not endure to see you in this condition." 
 
 " Not suitable to the heir of Coombe Park, is it ? " 
 laughed Charles. " Is the governor as mad on that now 
 as of old?" 
 
 " Say nothing to him about Coombe Park, I pray you," 
 urged Honor. " It takes the nerve out of his arms and 
 the marrow from his bones. It may be that we have gen- 
 tle blood in us, or it may not. I have heard tell that in 
 
CHARLES LUXMORE. 
 
 79 
 
 old times servants in a house took the names of their 
 masters." 
 
 " I have always boasted I was a gentleman, till I came 
 to believe it," said the soldier. " You'd have laughed to 
 hear me talk of Coombe Park, and the deer there, and the 
 coaches and horses, and father as Justice of Peace, and 
 Deputy-Lieutenant, and all that sort of thing, and his 
 wrath at my enlisting as a private." 
 
 " I should not have laughed. I should have cried;" 
 
 " And, Honor, I reckon it is the gentle blood in my 
 veins which has made a wastrel of me. I could never 
 keep my money, I threw it away like a lord." 
 
 Honor sighed. The myth of descent from the Lux- 
 mores of Coombe Park had marred her father's moral 
 strength, and depraved her brother's character. 
 
 " There they come, the little devils ! " shouted Charles, 
 springing up and knocking the ashes out of his pipe, which 
 he put away in his waistcoat pocket. 
 
 " Charles '! " again remonstrated Honor, but in vain. 
 Her elder brother was unaccustomed to control his tongue. 
 There was a certain amount of good nature in him, inher- 
 ited from his father, and this Honor thankfully recog- 
 nized ; but he was like his father run to seed. Luxmore 
 would have become the same but for the strong sustaining 
 character of his daughter. 
 
 Charley went to the door, and stood at the head of the 
 steps. Along the lane came Oliver Luxmore with his chil- 
 dren, Hillary junior and Kate bringing up the rear. 
 
 " Now, then, you kids, big and little ! " shouted Charles, 
 " see what I have got. A handful of half-pence. Scram- 
 ble for them. Who gets most buys most sweeties." Then 
 he threw the coppers down among the children. The lit- 
 tle ones held up their hands, jumped, tumbled over each 
 other, quarreled, tore and dirtied their Sunday clothes. 
 
8o~ REB SPIDER. 
 
 while Charles stood above, laughing and applauding. 
 Oliver Luxmore said nothing. 
 
 " Come in, come in at once ! " cried Honor, rushing to 
 the door with angry face. " Charles, is this the way you 
 keep your promises ? " 
 
 " I must give the children something, and amuse my- 
 self as well," said the soldier. 
 
 Honor looked down the road and saw Kate with young 
 Hillary Nanspian. They were laughing together. 
 
 "There now," said Kate, as she reached the foot of 
 the steps, "Honor, see the young fellow who boasts he 
 will make you fall down and worship his waistcoat. " 
 
 "It was a joke," said Larry, turning red. He poked 
 his hat up from his right, then from his left ear, he was 
 overcome with shame. 
 
 Honor's color slightly changed at the words of her 
 sister, but she rapidly recovered herself. 
 
 " So," continued the mischievous Kate, " you have 
 come round all this way to blaze your new waistcoat in 
 the eyes of Honor, because she could not come to church 
 to worship it.? " 
 
 Young Nanspian looked up furtively at Honor, ashamed 
 to say a word in self-exculpation. 
 
 "Talk of girls giving themselves airs over their fine 
 clothes ! " said Kate, " men are as proud as peacocks 
 when they put on spring plumage." 
 
 "It serves you right, Mr. Larry," said Honor, "that 
 Kate torments you. Vanity must be humbled." 
 
 " I spoke in jest," explained Hillary. " All the parish 
 knows that when I joke I do not mean what I say. When 
 a word comes to my lips, out it flies, good or bad. All 
 the world knows that." 
 
 " All the world knows that," she repeated. " It is bad 
 to wear no drag on the tongue, but let it run down hill 
 
ON THE STEPS. gl 
 
 to a smash. Instead of boasting of this you should be 
 ashamed of it.'' 
 
 " I am not boasting," he said, with a little irritation. 
 
 " Then I misunderstood you. When a man has a fault, 
 let him master it, and not excuse himself with the miser- 
 able reason, that his fault is known to all the world." 
 
 " Come, Honor, do not be cross with me," he said, run- 
 ning up the steps, and holding out his hand. 
 
 " I am not cross with you," she answered, but she did 
 not give him her hand. 
 
 " How can I know that, if you will not shake hands ? " 
 
 " Because all the world knows I tell no lies," she an- 
 swered coldly, and turned away. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ON THE STEPS. 
 
 For a week Charles Luxmore made a pretense of look- 
 ing for work. Work of various kind was offered him, but 
 none was sufficiently to his taste for him to accept it. He 
 had still money in his pocket. He did not renew his offer 
 of it to Honor. She had fitted him in a suit of his father's 
 clothes, and he looked respectable. He was often in the 
 "Ring of Bells," or at a public-house in a neighboring 
 parish. He was an amusing companion to the young men 
 who met in the tavern to drink. He had plenty to say for 
 himself, had seen a great deal of life, and had been to the 
 other side of the world. Thus he associated with the least 
 respectable, both old and young, the drunkards and the 
 disorderly. 
 
 He was not afflicted with bashfulness, nor nice about 
 truth, and oyer his ale he boasted of what he had seen and 
 
82 RED SPIDER. 
 
 done in India. He said no more about his self-inflicted 
 wound ; and was loud in his declamation against the in- 
 justice of his officers, and the ingratitude of his country 
 which cast him adrift, a maimed man, without compensa- 
 tion and pension. When he had drunk he was noisy and 
 quarrelsome ; and those who sat with him about the tav- 
 ern table were cautious not to fall into dispute with him. 
 There was a fire in his eye which led them to shirk a 
 quarrel. 
 
 About a mile from the church in a new house lived a 
 certain Squire Impey, a gentleman who had bought a 
 property there, but who did not belong to those parts. 
 No one knew exactly whence he came. He was a jovial 
 man, who kept hounds, hunted and drank. Charles went 
 to him, and he was the only man for whom> he con- 
 descended to do some work, and from whom to take pay ; 
 but the work was occasional, Charles was an amusing man 
 to talk to, and Impey liked to have a chat with him. Then 
 he rambled away to Coombe Park, where he made himself 
 so disagreeable by his insolence, that he was ordered off 
 the premises. His father and brothers and sisters did not 
 see much of him ; he returned home occasionally to sleep, 
 and when the mind took him to go to market, he went in 
 the van with his father. 
 
 Much was said in the place of the conduct of Charles 
 Luxmore — more, a great deal, than came to the ears of 
 Honor. Oliver heard everything, for in the van the parish 
 was discussed on the journey to market, and those who 
 sat within did not consider whether the driver on the box 
 heard what they said. Oliver never repeated these things 
 to his eldest daughter, but Honor knew quite enough of 
 the proceedings of Charles without this. She spoke to 
 Charles himself, rebuked him, remonstrated with him, en- 
 treated him with tears in her eyes to be more steady ; but 
 
ON THE STEPS. 83 
 
 she only made matters worse ; she angered him the more 
 because he knew she was right. He scoffed at her anxiety 
 about himself; he swore and burst into paroxysms of fury 
 when she reprimanded him. 
 
 " Do not you suppose," said he, " that I am going to be 
 brought under your thumb, like father and the rest." 
 
 Possibly she might have been more successful had she 
 gone to work more gently. But with her clear under- 
 standing she supposed that every one else could be gov- 
 erned by reason, and she appealed to his sense, not to his 
 heart. He must see, she argued, to what end this dis- 
 orderly life would lead, if she put it before him nakedly. 
 She supposed she could prove to him her sisterly affection 
 in no truer way than by rebuke and advice. 
 
 Although Honor's heart was full of womanly tender- 
 ness, there was something masculine in her character. 
 There could not fail to be. Since her mother's death she 
 had been the strength of the house, to her all had held. 
 Circumstances had given her a hardness which was not 
 natural to her. 
 
 Charles vowed after each fresh contest with Honor 
 that he could not go near the cottage again. He would 
 go elsewhere, out of range of her guns ; but he did not 
 keep his vow. It was forgotten on the morrow. Honor 
 was not a scold. She had too good judgment to go on 
 rebuking and grumbling, but she spoke her mind once, 
 and acted with decision. She withstood Charles whenever 
 his inconsiderate good nature or his disorderly conduct 
 threatened to disturb the clocklike working of the house, 
 to upset the confidence the children had in her, and to 
 mar their simplicity. She encountered his violence with 
 fearlessness. She never became angry, and" returned 
 )vords for words, but she held to her decision with tough- 
 ness. Her father was afraid of Charles, and counseled 
 
84 iiED SPIDER.- 
 
 his daughter to yield. Opposition, he argued, was un- 
 availing, and would aggravate unpleasantnesses. 
 
 Honor suffered more than transpired. Her brother's 
 disrepute rankled in her heart. She was a proud girl, and 
 though she placed no store on her father's dreams of 
 Coombe Park, she had a strong sense of family dignity, and 
 she was cut to the quick when Charles's conduct became 
 the talk of the neighborhood. Never a talker, she grew 
 more than ever reserved. When she went to or returned 
 from church on Sunday, she shunned acquaintances ; she 
 would not linger for a gossip in the churchyard, or join 
 company with a neighbor in the lane. She took a child 
 by each hand, and with set face, and brows sternly con- 
 tracted, looking neither right nor left, she went her way. 
 Brightness had faded from her face. She was too proud 
 to show the humiliation she felt at heart. " Oh my," said 
 the urchins, "ba,in't Red Spider mighty stuck up! Too 
 proud to speak to nobody, now, seeming." 
 
 Honor saw little of young Larry. Once or twice he 
 made as though he would walk home with her from church, 
 but she gave him no encouragement ; she held little 
 Charity's hand, and made Charity hold that of Martha, 
 and kept Charity and Martha between her and the young 
 man, breaking all familar converse. She had not the 
 heart to talk to him. 
 
 " You need not take on about Charles," said her father 
 one day. " Every one knows that you are a good girl, 
 and makes allowances for a soldier." 
 
 " Disorderly ways," answered Honor, "are like infec- 
 tious diseases. When one has an attack, it runs through 
 the house." 
 
 " Wh}? do you not encourage folk to be friendly ? You 
 hold yourself aloof from all." 
 
 Honor sighed. 
 
ON THE STEPS. 85 
 
 " I can not forget Charles, and the shame he is bring- 
 ing on us. For me it matters little, but it matters much 
 to the rest. The children will lose sense of fear at bad 
 language, lies and bragging. Kate is a pretty girl, and 
 some decent lad may take a fancy to her ; but who would 
 make a maid his wife who had such a brother ? " 
 
 " Oh ! as for that, young Larry Nanspian is after her. 
 You should see how they go on together, tormenting and 
 joking each other." 
 
 Honor colored and turned her face aside. She said 
 nothing for a minute, then with composed voice and man- 
 ner she went on. 
 
 " See the bad example set to Joe. He tries his wings 
 to fly away from me, as is natural ; boys resist being con- 
 trolled by the apron. He sees his elder brother, he hears 
 him, he copies him, and he will follow him down the road 
 to destruction. We must get Joe away into service unless 
 we can make Charles go, which would be the better plan 
 of the two." 
 
 " Charles has been away for some years. We must not 
 drive him out of the house now we have him home again." 
 
 " Father, I wish you would be firm with him." 
 
 " I — I ! " he shook his head. " I can not be hard with 
 the boy. Remember what he has gone through in India, 
 in the wars. Look at his poor hand. Home is a place 
 to which a child returns when no other house is open 
 to it." 
 
 Honor looked sadly at the carrier. No help was to 
 be had from him. 
 
 " I suppose, father," she said, " that there are rights 
 all round. If Charles comes home claiming the shelter 
 of our roof and a place at our table, he is bound in some 
 way. He has no right to dishonor the roof and disturb 
 the table. I grudge him no pains to make him comforta- 
 
86 RED SPIDER. 
 
 ble, but I do expect he will not make it impossible for me 
 to keep the home decent." 
 
 " Of course, of course, Honor," «aid the carrier, rub- 
 bing his palms slowly between his knees, and looking 
 vacantly into the fire. " That is reasonable." 
 
 " And right," said Honor. " And, father, you should 
 make a stand. Now all the responsibility falls on me." 
 
 " Oh, yes. I will make a stand ; certainly, certainly," 
 said Luxmore. " Now let us change the subject." 
 
 " No," answered the girl. " I can not, a.nd I will not. 
 Charles must be made -to conduct himself properly. I 
 will not allow the little ones to hear his profane talk, and 
 see his devil-may-care ways. Mother committed them to 
 me, and I will stand between them and evil. If it comes 
 to a fight, we shall fight. All I wish is that the fight was 
 not to be between brother and sister." Her voice became 
 hard, her brows contracted, her face became pale with in- 
 tensity of feeling. 
 
 " There, there ! " groaned Oliver Luxmore, " don't 
 make out matters worse than they are. A sheep looks as 
 big as a cow in a fog. You see ghosts where I see thorn- 
 trees. Be gentler with Charles, and not so peremptory. 
 Men will not be ordered about by women. Charles is 
 not a bad boy. There is meat on a trout as well as 
 bones. All will come right in the end." 
 
 Honor said no more. ller eyes filled; she stooped 
 over' her needlework to conceal them ; her hand moved 
 quickly, but the stitches were uneven. 
 
 " I will do something, I will indeed," said Luxmore, 
 rising. He took his hat and went out, but returned 
 quickly a few minutes later, agitated, and went through 
 the room, saying hastily, " Honor ! he is coming, and — I 
 think — drunk." 
 
 Then he escaped into the back kitchen and out into 
 
ON THE STEPS. %j 
 
 the paddock in the rear where he kept his horse. That 
 was all the help Honor was likely to get from him — to be 
 forewarned. 
 
 Next moment two of the children flew up the steps 
 frightened ' and heated. 
 
 " O, Honor ! Charlie is tight ! " 
 
 Honor stood up, folded her needlework, put it aside, 
 and went to the door. 
 
 " Children," she said, " go behind into the field to 
 father." Then she went to the head of the steps and 
 looked down the lane. 
 
 She saw her brother, coming on with a lurching walk, 
 holding a stick, followed by a swarm of school-children, 
 recently dismissed, who jeered, pelted him, and when he 
 turned to threaten, dispersed to gather again and con- 
 tinue tormenting. Charles was not thoroughly drunk, 
 but he was not sober. Honor's brow became blood-red 
 for a moment, and her hand trembled on the rail ; but the 
 color left her forehead again, and her hand was firm as 
 she descended the steps. 
 
 At the sight of Honor Luxmore the children fell back, 
 and ceased from their molestations. 
 
 " Halloa, Honor ! " shouted Charles, staggering to the 
 foot of the steps. " A parcel of gadflies, all buzz and 
 sting ! I'll teach 'em to touch a soldier I liCt me pass. 
 Honor, and get away from the creatures." 
 
 " No, Charles," answered his sister, " you do not pass." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Because I will not let you — drunk." 
 
 " I am not drunk, not at all. It is you who are in 
 liquor. Let me pass." He put his hand on the rail, and 
 took a step up. 
 
 " You shall not pass ! " she spoke coolly, reso- 
 lutely. 
 
88 RED SPIDER. 
 
 " Curse you for a pig-headed fool," said Charles, " I'm 
 not going to be stopped by such as you." 
 
 " Such as I shall stop you," answered Honor. " Shame 
 on you to dishonor the steps by which our mother went 
 down to her burial ! Verily, I saw her in my dreams, 
 putting her hands over her face in her grave to hide the 
 sight of her son." 
 
 " Stand aside." 
 
 " I will not budge ! " 
 
 " I was a fool to come home," muttered Charles, " to be 
 pickled in vinegar like walnuts. I wish I'd stayed away." 
 
 " I wish you had, Charles, till you had learned to con- 
 duct yourself with decency." 
 
 " I will not be preached to," he growled ; then becom- 
 ing lachrymose, he said, " I come home after having been 
 away, a wanderer, for many years. I come home from 
 bloody wars; covered with wounds, and find all against 
 me. This is a heartless world. I did expect to find love 
 at home, and pity from my sister." 
 
 "I love and pity you," said Honor, "but I can only 
 respect him who is respectable." 
 
 " Let me pass." 
 
 " I will not, Charles." 
 
 Then he laid hold of her, and tried to pull her off the 
 steps ; but she had a firm grip of the rail, and she was 
 strong. 
 
 The children in the lane, seeing the scuffle, drew near 
 and watched with mischievous delight. Charles was not 
 so tipsy that he did not know what he was about, not so 
 far gone as to be easily shaken off. Honor was obliged 
 to hold with both hands to the rail. He caught her 
 round the waist, and slung her from side to side, while" 
 oaths poured from his lips. In the struggle her hair 
 broke loose, and fell about her shoulders. 
 
ON THE STEPS. 
 
 89 
 
 She set her teeth and her eyes glittered. Fire flamed 
 in her cheeks. She was resolved at all costs not to let 
 him go by. She had threatened that she would fight him, 
 and now, before she had expected it, the fight was forced 
 vipon her. 
 
 Finding himself foiled, unable to dislodge her, and un- 
 able to pass her, Charles let go, went down the steps, and 
 kicked and thrust at the support of the handrail, till he 
 broke it down. Then, with a laugh of defiance, he sprang 
 up the steps brandishing the post. But, when the rail 
 gave way, Honor seized it, and ascending before him, 
 facing him, stepping backward, she planted herself against 
 the cottage door, with the rail athwart it, behind her, held 
 with both hands, blocking the entrance. 
 
 Charles was forced to stay himself with the broken 
 post he held, as he ascended the steps. 
 
 " Honor ! " he shouted, " get out of the way at once, 
 I am dangerous when opposed." 
 
 " Not to me," she answered ; " I am not afraid of you, 
 drunk or sober. You shall not cross this doorstep." 
 
 He stood eying her, with the post half raised, threat- 
 eningly. She met his unsteady gaze without flinching. 
 Was there no rfsne to see her there but the tipsy Charles 
 and the frightened children ? A pity if there was not. 
 She was erect, dignified, with bosom expanded, as her 
 bare arms were behind her. Her cheeks were brilliant 
 with color, her fallen hair, raining about her shoulders, 
 blazed with the red evening sun on itj her large hazel eyes 
 were also full of fire. Her bosom heaved as she breathed 
 fast and hard. She wore a pale, faded print dress, and a 
 white apron. Below, her red ankles and feet were plant- 
 ed firm as iron on the sacred doorstep of Home, that she 
 protected. 
 
 As Charles stood irresolute, opposite her, the children 
 
9° 
 
 RED SPIDER. 
 
 in the lane, thinking he was about to strike her, began to 
 scream. 
 
 In a moment Hillary Nanspian appeared, sprang up 
 the steps, caught Charles by jthe shoulder, sttuck the post 
 out of his hand, and, dragging him down the steps, flung 
 him his length in the road. 
 
 " Lie there, you drunken blackguard ! " he said ; " you 
 shall not stand up till you have begged your sister's par- 
 don, and asked permission to sleep off your drink m the 
 stable," 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 IN THE LINNEY. 
 
 Next morning, when Charles Luxmore awoke, he 
 found himself lying on the hay in the little " linney," or 
 lean-to shed, of his father. The door was open and the 
 sun streamed in,, intense and glaring. In the doorway, on 
 a bundle of straw, sat his sister Honor, knitting./ The sun 
 was shining in and through her golden hair, and the 
 strong, fiery light shone through her hands, and nose, and 
 lips, crimson — or seemed to do so. Charles watched her 
 for some time out of his half-closed eyes, and confessed 
 to himself that she was a fine, noble-looking girl, a girl for 
 a brother to be proud of. Her profile was to the light, 
 the nose straight, the lips sharp-cut, now expanded, then 
 closed tight, as moved by her thoughts, and her hair shone 
 like the morning clouds above the rising sun. 
 
 " What ! sentinel, keeping guard ? " shouted Charles, 
 stretching his limbs and sitting up. " In custody, am I ? 
 Eh ? " 
 
 " I have brought you your breakfast,, Charles," answered 
 
IN THE LINNEY. 
 
 91 
 
 Honor. "There is a bowl of bread-and-milk at your 
 elbow." 
 
 He was hungry, so he took the bowl. His hair was 
 ruffled, and full of strands of hay ; he passed his hand 
 over his face. 
 
 " I've had many a sleep in a bam before now," he said ; 
 " there are worse bed-rooms, but there is one drawback. 
 You can't smoke a pipe in one, or you run the chance of 
 setting fire to bed and house. I did that once, and had a 
 near scratch to escape before the flames roasted me. Best 
 was, I managed to escape before any one was on the spot, 
 so I was not taken up ; suspicion fell on a laborer who 
 had been dismissed a fortnight before." 
 
 " And you said nothing ? " 
 
 " Certainly not. Do you take me for a fool ? " 
 
 Honor's lips contracted, so did her brow. 
 
 Charles put the spoon into the bread-and-milk, then 
 as he was setting it to his mouth, burst out laughing, and 
 spilled the sop over his clothes. 
 
 " It was enough to make a fellow laugh," he explained, 
 " To see last night how scared the kids were — Martha and 
 Charity — and how they cut along when they saw me com- ' 
 ing home." 
 
 " This is not a cause for laughter. If you had a heart 
 you would weep." 
 
 " I thought I caught sight of father.'' 
 
 "You did, but he also turned and left you. He could 
 not face you as you were. You should be ashamed of 
 yourself, Charles." 
 
 " There, there ! " he exclaimed impatiently, " I will 
 listen to no rebukes. I was not drunk, only a bit fresh." 
 
 " Drunk or fresh matters little, you were not in a fit 
 condition to come home; and what is more, I will not 
 allow you to live in this cottage longer," 
 
92 RED SPIDER, 
 
 " You will not ? " 
 
 "No, I will not." 
 
 " Who is to prevent me ? " 
 
 " I will." 
 
 " You ! — and what if I force you out of the way, and 
 go in and brave you ? " 
 
 " You may go in, but I leave and take with me all the 
 little ones. I have made up my mind what to do ; I can 
 work and earn enough to support the children, but I will 
 not — no, I will not let them see you and hear you more." 
 
 He looked at her. Her face was resolute. She was 
 the girl to carry out her threat. 
 
 " I curse the day I came back to see your wry face," 
 he muttered, and rolled over on his side, away from her. 
 
 She made no reply. Her lips quivered. He did not 
 see it, as he was no longer looking at the door. 
 
 "Home is home," he said, "and go where one will 
 there are threads that draw one back to it." 
 
 Honor was softened. " I am glad, Charles, that you 
 love home. If you love it, respect it." 
 
 " Don't fancy that I came home out of love for you." 
 
 Honor sighed. 
 
 " I came home to see how father fared about Coombe 
 Park, and how mother was flourishing." 
 
 "Well, Charles, I am glad you thought of father 
 and mdther. You must have a right heart, at ground. 
 Mother is dead, but I know she shames over your bad 
 conduct, and would rejoice were you to mend." 
 
 " How do you know that ? There is no postal com- 
 munication with the other world, that I am aware of." 
 
 " Never mind how I know it, but I do." 
 
 " I was a fool to return. There is no kindness left in 
 the world. If there were I should find a pinch at home, 
 and pity from you." 
 
IN THE LINNEY. 
 
 93 
 
 " Charles, if I have been harsh with you, it has been 
 through your own fault. God, who reads all hearts, knows 
 that I love you. Biit then, I love all the rest of ray broth- 
 ers and sisters, and now that mother is not here to see after 
 them, whom have they got but myself to protect them ? I 
 defend them as a cat defends her kittens from a dog. 
 Charles, I am sorry if I have been rough and unkind, and 
 unsisterly to you, but indeed, indeed I can not help my- 
 self. Mother laid the duty on me when she was dying. 
 She caught my hand — so," she grasped his wrist, and look- 
 ing earnestly in his face, said, " and laid it on me to be 
 father and mother to the little ones. I bent over her and 
 kissed her, and promised I would, and she died with her 
 hand still holding my wrist. I feel her grip there to this 
 day, whenever danger threatens the children. When you 
 first came into the house, on your return, I felt her fingers 
 close as tight on me as when she died. She is always 
 with me, keeping me up to my duty. I can not help my- 
 self, Charles; I must do what I know I ought, and I am 
 sure it is wrong for me to allow you to remain with us 
 longer. Consider, Charles, what the life is that you are 
 now leading." 
 
 "The life is all right," said he, moodily. "I can pay 
 my way. I have more brains than any of these clodhop- 
 pers round, and can always earn my livelihood." 
 
 " Begin about it," urged Honor. 
 
 " Time enough for that when the last copper is gone 
 wherewith to stop a pipe and fill a can of ale." 
 
 " O Charles ! Charles ! " exclaimed his sister, " your 
 own coppers are spent long ago. Now you are smoking 
 the clothes off your little brothers' and sisters' backs, and 
 drinking and squandering the little money I have for feed- 
 ing them. For shame ! " the blood rushed into her cheeks 
 with sudden anger, as the injustice of his conduct presented 
 
94 RED SPIDER. 
 
 itself before her vividly. "Your father works that you 
 may idle ! J\. is a shame ! It is a sin ! " 
 
 " Hold your tongue ! " 
 
 " I will not hold my tongue," she answered, hotly. 
 " You know how good, and gentle, and forbearing father 
 is, how ready he is to give everything to his children, how 
 unwilling to say to any one a harsh word, and you take 
 advantage of his good nature ; you, that should be build- 
 ing up the house, are tearing it down on the heads of all 
 of us, father, Kate, Patience, Joe, Willy — down to little 
 Temperance, all, all ! " 
 
 " That is right, Honor, comb his head with a rake and 
 the locks will lie smooth." 
 
 Both Honor and Charles looked up. Hillary stood 
 before them in the doorway. The girl liad turned her 
 fac€ to her brother, and had not observed his approach. 
 She was ill-pleased at his arrival. She wished no stranger 
 to intermeddle with her family troubles. 
 
 " You here ? " exclaimed Charles, starting to one knee. 
 
 " Mr. Larry Nanspian, I owe you something, and I shall 
 
 repay it when the occasion comes. Not now, though I 
 
 have a mind to it, because I have a headache. But I can 
 
 , order you off the premises. Get along, or I'll kick you." 
 
 Larry gave a contemptuous shrug with his shoulders, 
 ■and looked to Honor. 
 
 " Well, Honor, have you a good-morning for me ? " 
 
 " I have ordered you off the premises ! " shouted 
 Charles. 
 
 " Shall I pitch him into the road again ? " asked Larry 
 of the girl. 
 
 ' Then Honor said, " I did not ask your help yesterday, 
 and I do not seek your interference now." 
 
 Charles burst into a rude laugh. "You have your 
 answer, Mr. Larry," he said ; "about face and away with 
 
IN THE LINNEY. 95 
 
 you, and learn that there is one girl in the place whose 
 head you have not turned." 
 
 " If I am not wanted, of course I go," said Hillary, an- 
 noyed. 
 
 Then he walked away, whistling, with his hands in his 
 pockets. "There are more cherries on the tree than that 
 on the topmost twig," he "said to himself in a tone of dis- 
 satisfaction. " If Honor can't be pleasant, others are not 
 so particular." 
 
 Larry Nanspian was a spoiled lad. The girls of Brat- 
 ton made much of him. He was a fine young man, and 
 he was heir to a good estate. The girls not only did not 
 go out of their way to avoid him, but they threw them- 
 selves, unblushingly, ostentatiously in his path; and their 
 efforts to catch him were supported by their mothers. 
 The girls hung about the lanes after church, hoping to 
 have a word with him, and sighed and cast him languish- 
 ing glances during Divine worship. Their mothers flat- 
 tered him. This was enough to make the lad conceited. 
 Only Honor kept away from him. She scarcely looked at 
 him, and held him at a distance. The other girls accepted 
 his most impudent sallies without offense ; he did not 
 venture a jest with Honor. Her refusal of the homage 
 which he had come to regard as his due piqued him, and 
 forced him to think of Honor more often than of any 
 other girl in the place. He did not know his own mind 
 about her, whether he liked or whether he disliked her, 
 but he knew that he was chagrined at her indifference. 
 
 Sulky, he sauntered on to Broadbury, toward Wellon's 
 Cairn. The moor was stretched around, unbroken by 
 a hedge, or wall, or tree. Before him rose the Tumulus. 
 " Hah ! " he said to himself, " she was ready to talk to 
 me here ; we were to have been good friends, but that 
 cursed White Hare brought us all ill-luck." 
 
96 RED SPIDER. 
 
 As he spoke, to his surprise he saw something white 
 emerge from the cutting in the side. He stood still, and 
 in a moment Mrs. Veale leaped out of the hollow, went 
 over the side, and disappeared down a dike that ran in 
 the direction of Langford. 
 
 The apparition and disappearance were so sudden, the 
 sight of the woman so surprising, that Hillary was hardly 
 sure he was in his senses, and not the prey to a hallucina- 
 tion. He was made very uncomfortable by what he had 
 seen, and instead of going on toward the mound, he 
 turned and walked away. 
 
 " This is wonderful," he said. " Whatever could take 
 Mrs. Veale to Wellon's Cairn ? If it were she — and I'd 
 not take my oath on it — I'm too bewildered to guess her 
 purpose." 
 
 He halted and mused. " I always said she was a witch, 
 and now I believe it. She's been there after her devilries, 
 to get some bones or dust of the gibbeted man, or a link 
 of his chain, to work some further wickedness with. I'll 
 s£e Honor again, I will, for all the airs she gives herself, 
 and warn her' not to sit on Wellon's mount. It's not 
 safe." 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 LANGFORD. 
 
 Honor put on her hat and threw a kerchief over her 
 shoulders, and took her little brother Willy by the hand. 
 
 " Whither are you going, Honor ? " asked Kate. 
 
 " I am going to find a place for Charles, as he will not 
 seek one for himself. I have turned him out of this house, 
 and must secure him shelter elsewhere." 
 
 " Who will have him ? " asked Kate contemptuously. 
 
LANGFORD. 
 
 97 
 
 She was less forbearing with Charles than Honor. Honor 
 did not answer immediately. 
 
 " Try Chimsworthy," suggested Kate ; " Larry would 
 put in a word for us." 
 
 Honor slightly colored. She put on her red cloak. 
 
 " I can not, Kate. Larry and Charles have quarreled." 
 
 " Larry bears no grudges. I will answer for him." 
 
 " I do not wish to ask a favor of the Nanspians." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 Honor made no reply. She clasped the child's hand 
 tightly and closed her lips. Then, without another word, 
 she left the cottage. Kate shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 Honor went slowly up the lane to Broadbury ; she did 
 not speak to her little brother, her head was slightly 
 ■bowed, she was deep in thought, and hectic soots of color 
 tinged her cheeks. 
 
 "What! Honor, in your scarlet!" exclaimed Larry. 
 She looked up in surprise. He had come up to Broad- 
 bury the second time that day, drawn there irresistibly by 
 desire to see Honor. He thought it probable, as the day 
 was fine, that she would go there with her knitting. 
 
 ',' What has brought you to Broadbury in this array, 
 Honor .' " asked Hillary, standing before her, and inter- 
 cepting her path. 
 
 " I am on my road to Langford," answered the girl 
 with composure. 
 
 " Take care, Honor, take care where you go. There 
 is a witch there, Mrs. Veale ; if you get in her bad books 
 you will rue it. I have seen her to-day at Wellon's Cairn ' 
 gathering the dead man's dust, out of which to mix some 
 hell-potion." 
 
 Honor shook her head. 
 
 " It is true," said Hillary earnestly ; " she jumped and 
 ran — and her ways were those of that white hare we saw 
 7 
 
g8 RED SPIDER. 
 
 at the mound. Nothing will now persuade me that she 
 was not that hare. Do not go on, Honor ; leave Lang-- 
 ford alone. No luck awaits you there." 
 
 " Nonsense, Larry, you can not have seen Mrs. Veale 
 up here." 
 
 " I tell you that I did. I saw something white hop- 
 ping and running, and I am sure it was she in the hole 
 scooped by the treasure-seekers." 
 
 " What can she have wanted there ? " 
 
 " What but the dust of old Wellon ? And what good 
 can she do with that ? None — she needs it only for some 
 devilry. Do not go near her, Honor ; I have come here 
 on purpose to warn you that the woman is dangerous." 
 
 " I must go on," said Honor. " It is kind of you, 
 Larry, but I have business which I must do at Langford. 
 I have never harmed Mrs. Veale, and she will not want to 
 hurt me. But now, Larry, let me say that I am sorry if I 
 offended you this morning. I spoke rather rough, because 
 I was afraid of a quarrel and a fight between you and 
 Charles. Do not take it amiss. Now do not stay me, I 
 must go forward." 
 
 " I will let you go on one promise — that you will not 
 cross Mrs. Veale." He caught her hand. 
 
 " How can I give offense to her ? She is nothing to 
 me nor I to her. You must really make way, Larry." 
 
 He shook his head. " I don't like it," he said ; but he 
 could not further stay her. 
 
 Langford lies under the brow of Broadbury, looking 
 over the tossing sea-like expanse of hill and dale. It lies 
 at a very considerable elevation, nearly a thousand feet 
 above the sea, and to protect it from the weather ts cov- 
 ered with slate, as though mail-clad. Few trees stand 
 about it affording shelter. Honor walked through the 
 yard to the door and thrice knocked. Very tardy was the 
 
LANGFORD. 
 
 99 
 
 reply. Mrs. Vpale opened the door, and stood holding it 
 with one hand, barring the entrance with her body and 
 the other hand. She was in a light cotton dress, from 
 which the colors had been washed. Her face, her eyes, 
 her hair had the same bleached appearance. Her eye- 
 lashes were white, overhanging faded eyes, to which they 
 gave a blinking uncertain look. 
 
 " What do you want ? " asked the housekeeper, look- 
 ing at her with surprise and with flickering eyes. 
 
 " I have come to see Mr. Langford," answered Honor; 
 " is your master at home ? " 
 
 " My master, oh yes ! " with a sneer, " my master is at 
 home — my mistress not yet. Oh, no ! not yet." 
 
 " I want to see him." 
 
 "You do? Come, this is sharp, quick work. You 
 follow one on another as April on March." 
 
 Honor did not understand her. She thought the 
 woman was out of her mind. She made no reply, but 
 looking firmly at her, said, " I will go into the kitchen 
 and sit down till your master is disengaged. Is he in 
 the house now .' " 
 
 " You know he is, and you know who is with him." 
 
 Honor drew her brother after her, and entered. She 
 was too proud to give the woman words. 
 
 " What do you want .' Where are you going .■' " asked 
 the housekeeper, standing aside to let Honor pass, but 
 casting at her a look so full of malevolence, that Honor 
 turned down her thumb in her palm instinctively to coun- 
 teract the evil eye. Honor took a kitchen chair and 
 seated herself. " I will wait here," she said, " till Mr. 
 Langford can see me." 
 
 Mrs. Veale stood, still holding the door, looking at 
 her, her white face quivering, her eyes flickering. The 
 child, startled, crept close to his sister, and clung to her. 
 
lOO RED SPIDER. 
 
 Mrs. Veale came forward, without removing her eyes 
 from the girl. " Take care ! " she said, in a husky voice. 
 " Take care ! you are not here yet." 
 
 Then Honor laughed. 
 
 " Not here, Mrs. Veale ? What do you mean ? I am 
 here." 
 
 Before the housekeeper could speak again, men's 
 voices were audible in the passage, and, to her astonish-' 
 ment, Honor recognized that of her father. She rose at 
 once, and confronted him and Tavemer Langford as they 
 entered the kitchen. 
 
 " What — you here ? " exclaimed Oliver Luxmore with 
 undisguised astonishment. "Why, Honor, what in the 
 world has drawn you to Langford 1 I did not know that 
 you and Mrs. Veale were friends." 
 
 " I have come to speak to Mr. Langford," was her 
 reply, spoken quietly ; " but I am glad, father, that you 
 are here, as I should prefer to speak before you. May 
 we go into the parlor ? " 
 
 She looked at Mrs. Veale, as much as to say that she 
 did not care to speak before witnesses. 
 
 " Mrs. Veale," said Langford, with a sharp tone, " I 
 heard steps from the parlor door two minutes ago. I ob- 
 ject to listeners at key-holes. Do you understand.' " 
 
 He did not wait for an answer, but turned and led the 
 way down the passage he and Luxmore had just emerged 
 from. 
 
 Little Willy uttered a cry. " Don't leave me with the 
 old woman, please, please. Honor ! " 
 
 " You shall come with me," answered the girl, and she 
 drew the child with her into the parlor. 
 
 " Here we are," said Taverner, shutting the door. 
 " Take a seat, take a seat ! The little boy can find a 
 stool at the window." 
 
LANGFORD. lOl 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Langford, I will not detain you five 
 minutes. I prefer to stand. I am glad niy father is 
 here. Doubtless he has come on the same matter as my- 
 self." 
 
 The two men exchanged glances. 
 
 " I have come to ask you to try Charles," she contin- 
 ued. "Some little while ago you told father that you 
 wanted a man to act as drover for you. I have not heard 
 that you have met with such a servant. Try my brother 
 Charles. He is doing no work now, and Satan sets snares 
 in the way of the idle. If you will please to give him a 
 chance, you will confer on us a great favor, and be doing 
 a good work as well, for which the Lord will reward you." 
 
 " That is what has brought you here .' " asked the yeo- 
 man. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Have you heard it said throughout the country that 
 I am not a man to grant favors ? " 
 
 " I do not heed what folks say. Besides, I know that 
 this is not so. You have already acted very kindly to us. 
 You lent father a very good horse." 
 
 "Why have you not applied elsewhere? at Chims- 
 worthy, for instance." 
 
 " Because I do not wish to be beholden to the Nan- 
 spians, sir," answered Honor. 
 
 " You do not approve of your sister keeping company 
 with that Merry Andrew," said Taverner approvingly. 
 
 " She does not keep company with him," answered the 
 girl gravely. 
 
 " At any rate she lets him dance after her, draws him 
 on. Well, well ! it is natural, perhaps. But don't advise 
 her to be too eager. Young Larry is not so great a catch 
 as some suppose, and as he and his father give out. Look 
 at Chimsworthy — a wilderness of thistles, and rushes 
 
I02 ItED SPIDER. 
 
 springing where grass grew to my recollection. There is 
 no saying, some day you may be seated at Coombe Park, 
 and then the Nanspians will be below you." 
 
 " Coombe Park ! " echoed Honor, looking at her father, 
 then at old Langford. " Surely, sir, you think nothing of 
 that ! Do not encourage father in that fancy ; we never 
 were and never will be at Coombe Park." 
 
 " Honor ! " exclaimed Oliver Luxmore, working his 
 feet uneasily under the table, " there you are wrong. The 
 Luxmores have had it for many generations. You have 
 only to look in the registers to see that." 
 
 " Yes, father, some Luxmores have been there, but not 
 our Luxmores as far as we know. I wish you would not 
 trouble your head about Coombe Park. We_ shall never 
 get it. I doubt if we have a thread of a right to it. If 
 we have, I never saw it." 
 
 "We shall see, we shall see," said the carrier. " Girls 
 haven't got lawyers' minds, and don't follow evidence." 
 
 " I have undertaken to go with your father to Lawyer 
 Physick at Okehampton," said Taverner Langford, " and 
 to help-him to have his right examined." 
 
 " Nothing can come of it but heart-breakings," sighed 
 Honor ; " father will slip certainties to seize shadows." 
 
 " I have nothing to lose," said Oliver, " and much to 
 gain." 
 
 Honor knew it was in vain to attempt to disabuse him , 
 of his cherished delusion. She so far shared his views as 
 to believe that the family had gentle blood in their veins, 
 and were descended somehow, in some vague, undefined 
 manner, from the Luxmores of Coombe Park, through, 
 perhaps, some younger son of a junior branch, and she 
 liked to suppose that the beauty and superiority of man- 
 ner in her brothers and sisters were due to this, but she 
 did not share in her father's expectations of recovering 
 
LANGFORD. 
 
 lOJ 
 
 the property. Her understanding was too clear to harbor 
 this. 
 
 " I will go back to what I asked of Mr. Langford," she 
 said, after a pause. " Will you take my brother Charles 
 into your service, sir ? He wants a firm hand over him. 
 He is not bad at heart, but he is infirm of purpose, easily 
 led astray. If he were here with you, he would be far 
 from the ' Ring of Bells,' and his work would sever him 
 from idle companions." 
 
 " So, you don't want him to be at Chimsworthy .' " 
 
 " I do not desire to be under obligation there." 
 
 " You have no objection to placing yourself under obli- 
 gation to me ?" 
 
 Honor did not like the tone. She did not understand 
 his returning to the same point ; she turned uneasily 
 to her father, and asked him to put in a word for poor 
 Charles. 
 
 " Mr. Langford is more likely to grant a boon to you 
 than to me," answered Oliver evasively. 
 
 " Sit down. Honor,'' he said. " You have remained 
 standing the whole time you have been here." 
 
 " I have been making a request," she answered. 
 
 " The request is granted. Sit down." 
 
 She was reluctant, yet unwilling to disoblige. 
 
 Oliver signed to her to take a place. She obeyed. 
 She was uncomfortable. There was an indefinable some- 
 thing in the way in which the old yeoman looked at and 
 addressed her, something equally indefinable in her father's 
 manner, that combined to disturb her. 
 
 Mrs. Veale came in on some excuse, to ask her master 
 a question, with her white eyelashes quivering. She cast 
 a sidelong glance at Honor full of malice, as she entered. 
 When she left the room she did not shut the door, an4 the 
 girl saw her white face and flickering eyes turned toward 
 
104 RED SPIDER. 
 
 her, watching her out of the darkness of the passage. She 
 was for a moment spellbound, but recovered herself 
 when Taverner Langford, with an impatient exclamation, 
 slammed the door. 
 
 " I shall be glad to be rid of the old prying cat," he 
 said. 
 
 " Is Mrs. Veale going to leave you ? " asked Honor. 
 Then she caught her father and Langford exchange 
 glances, and her brow became hot — she hardly knew 
 wherefore. 
 
 " I am thinking of a change," said the yeoman. 
 
 " I hope you are going to have as good a housekeeper," 
 said Honor ; "a better you can not have." 
 
 " Oh ! " he laughed, " a better, certainly, and — ^what 
 is quite as certain — a prettier one. If I had'not been sure 
 of that, I would not have — " He checked himself and 
 nodded to the carrier, who laughed. 
 
 Honor looked from one to the other inquiringly, then 
 asked somewhat sternly, " You would not have — what, 
 Mr. Langford ? " 
 
 " Humph ! I would not have taken Charles." 
 
 " What is the connection ? " asked the girl. 
 
 " More things are connected than sleeve-links," an- 
 swered Langford. " I would not have let your father have 
 the horse, if you were thriftless at home. I would not take 
 Charles into service, unless I thought to find in him some 
 of the qualities of the sister." 
 
 " Put my qualities, such as they are, on one side," said 
 Honor roughly. 
 
 "That," said Langford, looking across at Luxmore, 
 " that is not to be thought of." 
 
 Then the carrier laughed nervously, aiid with a side 
 glance at his daughter. 
 
 Honor colored. She was offended, but unable to say 
 
THE REVEL. 105 
 
 at what. She put her hand on her little brother's head 
 and stroked it nervously. 
 
 Then the yeoman began to talk to the carrier about 
 his estate, the quality of the land, his cows and horses, his 
 woods, his pastures, the money he was able to put away 
 every year, and contrasted his style of farming with that 
 of the Nanspians at Chimsworthy. As he spoke he fixed 
 his eyes on Honor, to see if his wealth impressed her. 
 But her face expressed no concern. It was clouded ; she 
 was thinking, not listening. 
 
 All at once the insinuations of Mrs. Veale rushed into 
 her mind. She saw her meaning. She connected that 
 with the looks of the two men. Blood rushed to her face. 
 She sprang to her feet. The room swam before her eyes. 
 
 " I must go," she said. " I am wanted at home." • 
 
 CHAPTER Xni. 
 
 THE REVEL. 
 
 If to Sally in our alley and the apprentice who loved 
 her, " Of all the days within the week there was no day 
 but one day," so to all the maids and all the lads in coun- 
 try villages, in olden times, there was no day in all the 
 year that might compare with the day of the village Revel. 
 
 The Revel is now a thing of the past, or lingers on, a 
 limp and faded semblance of the robust festival that, fifty 
 years ago, was looked forward to through half the year, 
 and looked back on through the other half, and formed 
 the topic of conversation for the entire twelve months. 
 
 On Revel day horse-races were run, got up by the vil- 
 lage tavemer, for a plated mug or a punch-ladle ; wrest- 
 ling-matches were played for a champion belt, booths 
 
I06 RED SPIDER. 
 
 were set up in streets of canvas and board for the sale of 
 brooches, ribbons, toys, sweetstuff, and saffron-cakes. 
 There were merry-go-rounds, peep-shows, menageries, and 
 waxworks. The cheap-jack was never wanting, the focus 
 of merriment. 
 
 In and about 1849 the commons were inclosed on which 
 the races had been run, and the tents pitched, and gypsies 
 had encamped. Magistrates, squires, parsons and police 
 conspired against Revels, routed them out of the field, and 
 supplied their places with other attractions — cottage-gar- 
 den shows, harvest thanksgivings, and school teas. 
 
 Possibly there were objectionable features in those old 
 Revels which made their abolition advisable, but the writer 
 remembers none of these. He saw them through the eyes 
 of a child, and recalls the childish delight they afforded. 
 
 The day was clear and sunny. People streamed into 
 Bratton Clovelly from the country round, many on foot, 
 others in gigs and carts, all in gayest apparel. Honor had 
 dressed the children neatly, had assumed her scarlet cloak, 
 and stood at the cottage door turning the key, ready to 
 depart with the little eager company, when the tramp of a 
 horse's hoof was heard, and Larry Nanspian drew up be- 
 fore the house. He was driving his dappled cob in the 
 shafts of a two-wheeled tax-cart. 
 
 " What, Larry ! " exclaimed Kate, " mounted on high 
 to display the flowery waistcoat ? Lost your legs, that you 
 can not walk a mile 1 " 
 
 " Not a bit, sharp-tongue," answered the young man, 
 good-naturedly. " I have come round for Honor and you 
 and the-little ones." 
 
 " We have feet, sixteen among us." 
 
 "But the tiny feet will be tired with trotting all day. 
 You ^ill have fairings, moreover, to bring home." 
 
 " Thank you for the kind thought, Larry," said Honor, 
 
THE REVEL. 107 
 
 softened by his consideration and by the pleasant smile 
 that attended his words. " Kate and I will walk, but we 
 accept your offer for the children." 
 
 " I can not take them without you," said the young 
 man. " I hold the whip with one hand and the reins with 
 the other. I have not a third wherewith to control a load 
 of wriggling worms." 
 
 "Jump in, Honor," said Kate; "sit between me and 
 the driver, to keep the peace." 
 
 The eldest sister packed the children in behind and 
 before, then, without more ado, ascended the seat by 
 Larry, and was followed by Kate, with elastic spring. 
 
 " Heigho ! " exclaimed the young man, " I reckon no 
 showman at the Revel has half so fine wares as myself to 
 exhibit." 
 
 " What, the waistcoat .' " asked Kate, leaning forward 
 to look in his face. 
 
 " No, not the waistcoat," answered he ; " cutlery, 
 keen and bright." 
 
 " Your wit must have gone through much sharpening." 
 
 " I do not allude to my wit. I mean the pretty wares 
 beside me." 
 
 " But, driver, the wares are not and never will be 
 yours." 
 
 As they drew near Bratton they heard a shout from 
 behind, and turning saw Taverner Langford driving in, 
 with Mrs. Veale beside him, at a rattling pace. Larry 
 drew aside to let them pass ; as they went by, Taverner 
 looked keenly at Honor, and Mrs. Veale cast her a 
 spiteful glance, then turned to her master, and whispered 
 something. 
 
 " Upon my word ! " exclaimed Larry, " I've a mind to 
 play a lark. Say nothing, girls, but don't be surprised if 
 we give Uncle Langford ahare-hunt." 
 
I08 RED SPIDER. 
 
 He drew rein and went slow through the street of the 
 " church town." The street and the open space before 
 the church gate were full of people. It v/as, moreover, 
 enlivened with booths. Larry was well content to appear 
 in state at the fair, driving instead of walking like a com- 
 mon laborer, and driving with two such pretty girls as 
 Honor and Kate at his side. He contrasted his company 
 to that of his uncle. " I wonder my uncle don't get rid 
 of that Mrs. Veale. No wonder he has turned sour with 
 her face always before him." He shouted to those who 
 stood in the road to clear the way ; he cracked his whip, 
 and when some paid no attention brought the lash across 
 their shoulders. Then they started aside, whether angry 
 or good-humored mattered nothing to the thoughtless lad. 
 
 He drew up before the " Ring of Bells," cast the 
 reins to the ostler, jumped out, and helped the sisters to 
 descend, then lifted the children down with a cheerful 
 word to each. 
 
 The little party strolled through the fair, Honor hold- 
 ing Charity by her left and Temperance by her right 
 hand ; but the crowd was too great for the youngest to 
 see anything. Honor stooped and took the little girl on her 
 right arm, but immediately Larry lifted the child from her 
 to his shoulder. 
 
 " See ! " whispered Joe, holding a coin under Kate's 
 eyes, " Larry Nanspian gived me this." 
 
 "And I have something too from him-," said Pattie. 
 
 " And so have I," whispered Willy. 
 
 Honor pretended not to hear, but she was touched, 
 and looked with kindly eyes at the young man. He had 
 his faults, his foolish vanity ; but there was good in him, 
 or he would not trouble himself about the little ones. 
 She had not been able to give the children more than a 
 penny each for fairing. The village was thronged. The 
 
THE REVEL. 
 
 169 
 
 noise was great. .The cheap-jack shouted in a voice 
 made hoarse by pi;of essional exercise. The ringers ' had 
 got to the bells in the church tower. At a stall was a man 
 with a gun, a target, and a tray of nuts, calling, " Only a 
 half-penny a shot ! " There was Charles there trying the 
 gun, and his failures to hit the bull's-eye elicited shouts of 
 laughter, which became more boisterous as he lost his 
 temper. The barrel was purposely bent to prevent a level 
 shot reaching the mark. A boy paraded gaudy paper- 
 mills on sticks that whirled in the wind — only one penny 
 each. A barrel organ ground forth " The flaxen-headed 
 Plow-boy," and a miserable blinking monkey on it held 
 put a tin for coppers. Honor was so fully engrossed in 
 the children, watching that they did not stray, get knocked 
 over or crushed, that she had not attention to give to the 
 sights of the fair ; but Kate was all excitement and delight. 
 Larry kept near the sisters, but could not say much to 
 them : the noise was deafening and little Temperance ex- 
 acting. 
 
 Presently the party drew up before a table behind 
 which stood a man selling rat poison. A stick was at- 
 tached to the table, and to this stick was affixed a board, 
 above the heads of the people, on which was a pictorial 
 representation of rats and mice expiring in attitudes of 
 mortal agony. The man vended also small hones. He 
 took a knife, drew the edge of the blade over his thumb 
 to show that it was blunt, then swept it once, twice, thrice,, 
 this way, that way, on the bit of stone, and see ! he 
 plucked a hair from his beard, and cut, and the blade 
 severed it. Fourpence for a small stone, sixpence, a 
 shilling, according to sizes. The coins were tossed on 
 the table, and the hones carried away. 
 
 " What is it, ma'am — a hone ? " asked the dealer. 
 
 " No, the poison." 
 
no RED SPIDER. 
 
 A white arm was thrust between those who lined the 
 table. Hillary turned, and saw Mrs. Veale. 
 
 "Keep it locked up, ma'am. There's . enough in that 
 packet to poison a regiment." 
 
 Whether a regiment of soldiers or of rats he did not 
 explain. 
 
 At the crockery stall Larry halted, and passed Tem- 
 t)erance over to Honor. Now his reason for driving in 
 the spring-cart became apparent. He had been commis- 
 sioned to purchase a supply of pots, and mugs, and dishes, 
 and plates, for home use. Honor also made purchases at 
 this stall, and the young man carried them for her to his 
 cart, as well as his own supply. Then she lingered at a 
 drapery stall, and bought some strong material for frocks 
 for the youngest sisters. While she was thus engaged, 
 Larry went to a stall of sweetstuff, presided over by a 
 man in white apron, with copper scales, and bought some 
 twisted red and white barbers' poles of peppermint. Im- 
 mediately the atmosphere about the little party was im- 
 pregnated with the fragrance of peppermint. 
 
 A few steps beyond was a menagerie. A painted can- 
 vas before the inclosure of vans represented Noah's ark, 
 with the animals ascending a plank and entering it by a 
 door in the side. In another compartment was a picture 
 of a boa-constrictor catching a negro, and opening his 
 jaws to swallow him. Over this picture was inscribed, 
 " Twine, gentle evergreen," and the serpent was painted 
 emerald. In another compartment, again, was a polar 
 scene, with icebergs and white bears, seals and whales. 
 
 " Oh, we must see the wild beasts ! ' ' exclaimed Kate. 
 
 A consultation ensued. Larry wished to treat the 
 whole party, but to this Honor would not agree. Finally, 
 it was decided that Kate, Joe, and Pattie should enter, 
 and that Honor should remain without with the children. 
 
THE REVEL. MI 
 
 Accordingly, the three went in with Larry, and presently 
 returned disappointed and laughing. The menagerie had 
 resolved itself into a few molting parrots, a torpid snake 
 in a blanket, two unsavory monkeys, and an ass painted 
 with stripes to pass as a zebra. 
 
 Adjoining the menagerie was another exhibition, even 
 more pretentious. Three men appeared before it on a 
 platform, one with a trumpet, another with cymbals, the 
 third with a drum. Then forth leaped clown, harlequin, 
 and columbine, and danced, cut jokes, and went head 
 over heels. The clown balanced a knife on his nose ; 
 then bang ! toot, toot ! clash ! bang, bang, bang ! from 
 the three instruments, working the children into the wild- 
 est speculation. Honor had spent the money laid aside 
 for amusement, and could not afford to take her party in, 
 and she would accept no further favors from Larry. 
 
 Just then up came Charles. 
 
 " Halloo, mates ! you all here" ! " he shouted, elbowing 
 his way to them. " That is prime. I will treat you ; I've 
 a yellow boy," he spun a half-sovereign in the air and 
 caught it between both palms. " Come along, kids. I'm 
 going to treat half a dozen young chaps as well. Shall I 
 stand for you, Larry ? " he asked contemptuously, " or 
 have the thistles and rushes sold so well you can afford to 
 treat yourself ? " 
 
 Larry frowned. " I see my father yonder signing to 
 me," he said. " I must go to him." 
 
 Then Hillary worked his way to the rear, offended at 
 the insolence of Charles, red in face, and vowing he would 
 not do another kindness to the family. 
 
 Old Nanspian was in the long-room of the " Ring of 
 Bells,'' at the window. He had caught sight of his son, 
 whose flowered satin waistcoat was conspicuous, and was 
 beckoning to him with hisclay pipe; he wanted to know 
 
112 RED SPIDER. 
 
 whether he had bought the crockery — vulgo '' cloam " — as 
 desired, and what he had paid for it. 
 
 " Come on, you fellows ! " called Charles to some of 
 his companions. " How many are you ? Six, and myself, 
 and the two girls, that makes nine sixpences, and the little 
 uns at half-price makes five threepences. Temperance 
 is a baby and don't count. That is all, five-and-nine ; 
 shovel out the change, old girl, four-and-three." 
 
 He threw down the gold coin on the table, where a 
 gorgeous woman in red and blue and spangles, wearing a . 
 gilt foil crown and huge earrings, was taking money and 
 giving greasy admission tickets. The circus was small. 
 The seats were one row deep, deal planks laid on trestles. 
 Only at one end were reserved places covered with red 
 baize for the nobility, gentry, and clergy, who., as a bill 
 informed the public, greedily patronized the show. On 
 this occasion these benches were conspicuously empty. 
 The performers appeared in faded fleshings, very soiled 
 at the elbows and knees ; the paint on the faces was laid 
 oh coarsely ; the sawdust in the ring was damp and smelt 
 sour. 
 
 The clown cut his jests with the conductor, carried off 
 his cap, and received a crack of the whip. He leaped 
 high in the air, turned a somersault, and ran round the 
 arena on hands and feet, peering between his legs. 
 
 A dappled horse was led out, and the columbine 
 mounted and galloped round the ring. Every now and 
 then the hoofs struck the inclosing boards, and the chil- 
 dren shrank against Honor and Kate in terror. Then a 
 spray of sawdust was showered over the lads, who roared 
 with laughter, thinking it a joke. 
 
 A second horse was led out to be ridden by the harle- 
 quin, but the clown insisted on mounting it, and was 
 kicked off. Then the harlequin ran across the area^ while 
 
THE REVEL. 113 
 
 the horse was in full career, and leaped upon its back, 
 held the columbine's hand, and round and round they 
 went together. All was wretchedly poor. The jokes of 
 the clown were as threadbare as the silks, and as dull as 
 the spangles on the equestrians. Poverty and squalor 
 peered through the tawdry show. But an audience of 
 country folk is uncritical and easily pleased. The jests 
 were relished, the costumes admired, and the somersaults 
 applauded. All at once a commotion ensued. The queen 
 in red and blue, who had sold the tickets of admission, 
 appeared in a state of loud and hot excitement, call- 
 ing for the manager and gesticulating vehemently. The 
 performance was interrupted. The horses of harlequin 
 and columbine were restrained, and were walked leisurely 
 round the arena, while the lady in gauze (very crumpled) 
 seated herself on the flat saddle and looked at the specta- 
 tors, who curiously scrutinized her features and compared 
 opinions as to her beauty. Presently the clown ran to the 
 scene of commotion. The queen was in very unregal ex- 
 citement, shaking her head, with her pendent earrings 
 flapping, very loud and vulgar in voice ; some of the audi- 
 ence crowded about the speakers. 
 
 Then Honor was aware that faces and fingers were 
 pointed toward the bench which she and her party occu- 
 pied, and in another moment the manager, the crowned 
 lady-manageress, the clown, now joined by the harlequin, 
 who had given his horse to a boy, and a throng of in- 
 quisitive spectators, came down — some across the arena, 
 others stumbling over the deal benches — toward the little 
 party. 
 
 "That's he!" shouted the lady in crimson and blue, 
 shaking her black curls, puffing with anger, and indicating 
 with a fat and dirty hand. " That's the blackguard who 
 has cheated us." She pointed at Charles. 
 8 
 
114 ^^^ SPIDER. 
 
 The columbine drew rein and stood her horse before 
 the group, looking down on it. She had holes in her 
 stockings, and the cherry silk of her bodice was frayed. 
 Kate saw that. 
 
 " Look here, you rascal ! What do you mean by try- 
 ing to cheat us poor artists, with horses and babies to feed, 
 and all our wardrobe to keep in trim, eh ? What do you 
 mean by it ? " 
 
 Then the clown in broad cockney, "What do you 
 mean by it, eh? Some one run for the constable, will 
 you ? Though we be traveling showmen, we're true-born 
 Britons, and the law is made' to protect all alike." 
 
 " What is the matter ? " asked Honor, rising, with the 
 frightened Temperance in her arms clinging to her neck 
 and screaming, and Charity and Martha holding her skirts, 
 wrapping themselves in her red cloak and sobbing. 
 
 "Ah, you may well ask what is the matter!" ex- 
 claimed the queen. " If that young chap belongs to -you 
 in any way, more's the pity." 
 
 " It is an indictable offense," put in the manager. " It 
 is cheating honest folk ; that is what it is." 
 
 Charles burst out laughing. 
 
 " I've a right to pay you in your own coin, eh ? " he 
 said contemptuously, thrusting his hands into his pockets, 
 and planting a foot on the barrier. 
 
 " What do you mean by our own coin ? " asked the 
 angry manageress, planting her arms akimbo. 
 
 " Giving false for false," mocked Charles. 
 
 " It is insulting of us he is ! " exclaimed the columbine, 
 from her vantage post. "And he calls himself a gentle- 
 man." 
 
 " Pray what right have you to invite the public to such 
 a spectacle as this ? " asked Charles. " You have only a 
 couple of screws for horses, and an old girl of forty for 
 
THE REVEL. 
 
 115 
 
 columbine, a harlequin with the lumbago, and a clown 
 without wit — and you don't call this cheating? " 
 
 " Turn him out ! " cried the lady in crumpled muslin, 
 " it's but twenty-three I am." 
 
 "What is this all about?" asked Honor, vainly en- 
 deavoring to gather the cause of the quarrel and compose 
 the frightened children at the same time. The bystanders, 
 indignant at the disparagement of the performance, hissed. 
 All those on the farther side of the arena, losing their 
 awe of the sawdust, came over it, crowding round the 
 gauzy columbine and her horse, asking what the row was 
 about, and getting no answer. 
 
 The columbine was obliged to use her whip lightly to 
 keep them off. Boys were picking spangles off the saddle- 
 cloth, and pulling hairs out of the mane of the horse. 
 
 " How many was it ? Fourteen persons let in ? " asked 
 the manager. 
 
 "And I gave him back change, four-and-three," added 
 the manageress. 
 
 "You shall have your cursed change," said Charles- 
 " Get along with you all. Go on with your wretched per- 
 formance. Here are four shillings, the boys shall scram- 
 ble for the pence when I find them." He held out some 
 silver. 
 
 " No, I won't take it. You shall pay for all the tickets," 
 said the woman. "You ain't a-going to defraud us no- 
 hows if I can help it. Let's see, how many was you? 
 Four-and-three from ten makes five-and-nine." 
 
 "I can't do it," said Charles, becoming sulky. "If 
 you were the fool to accept a brass token you must pay 
 for the lesson, and be sharper next time. I have no more 
 money." 
 
 I " Cheat 1 cheat ! Passingbad money ! " the bystanders 
 groaned, hissed, hooted. Charles waxed angry and blazed 
 
Ii6 RED SPIDlER. 
 
 red. He cursed those who made such a noise, he swore 
 he would not pay a halfpenny, he had no money. They 
 might search his pockets. They might squeeze him. 
 They would get nothing out of him. They might keep 
 the brass token, and welcome, he Had nothing else to give 
 them. He turned his pockets out to show that they were 
 empty. 
 
 The whole assembly, performers in tights, muslin, vel- 
 vets, ochre and whitening, the spectators — country lads 
 with their lasses, farmers and their wives — were crushed 
 in a dense mass about the scene of altercation. Many of 
 the lads disliked Charles for his swagger and superiority, • 
 and were glad to vent their envy in groans and hisses. 
 The elder men thought it incumbent on them to see that 
 justice was done ; they called out that the money must be 
 paid. 
 
 Charles, becoming heated, cast his words about, re- 
 gardless whom he hurt. The manager stared, the queen 
 screamed, the clown swore, and columbine, who held a 
 hoop, tried to throw it over the head of the offender, and 
 pull him down over the barrier. By a sudden movement 
 the young man wrenched the whip from the hand of the 
 manager, and raising it over his head threatened to clear 
 a way with the lash. The people started back. Then 
 into the space Honor advanced. 
 
 " What has he done ? I am his sister. Show me the 
 piece of money." 
 
 " Look at that — and turn yeller," exclaimed the man- 
 ager's wife. " Darn it now, if I ain't a-gone and broke 
 one o' them pearl drops in my ear. Look at the coin," 
 she put the token into the girl's hand. " What do you say 
 to that ? " Then she whisked her head of curls about as 
 if to overtake her ear and-see the wreck of pearl-drop — , 
 silvered glass which had been crushed in the press. "And 
 
THE REVEL. 1 17 
 
 this also, young man, comes of yer wickedness. What am 
 I to do with one pendant ? Can't wear it in my nose like 
 an Injun. Now then, young woman in scarlet, what do 
 yer call that ? " 
 
 Honor turned the coin over in her palm. 
 
 " This is a brass tradesman's token," she said, " it is 
 not money. We stand in your debt iive-and-ninepence. 
 I have nothing by me. You must trust me ; you shall be 
 paid." 
 
 " No, no ! we won't trust none of you," said the angry 
 woman. "We ain't a-going to let you out without the 
 money. Pay or to prison you walk. Some one run for 
 the constable, and I'll give him a ticket gratis for this 
 evening's entertainment." 
 
 Then many voices were raised to deprecate her wrath. 
 ''This is Honor." "Trust Honor as you'd trust granite." 
 " Honor in name and Honor in truth." " Honor never 
 wronged a fly." "Red spider is a lucky insect." "Why 
 don't the red spider spin money now ? " 
 
 " Leave her alone, she's good as gold. She can't help 
 if the brother is a rascal." 
 
 But though many voices were raised in her favor, no 
 hands were thrust into pockets to produce the requisite 
 money. 
 
 Honor looked about. She was hot, and her brow 
 moist ; her lips quivered ; a streak of sun was on her scar- 
 let cloak and sent a red reflection over her face. 
 
 " We will not be beholden to you, madam," she said, 
 with as much composure as she could muster. Then she 
 unloosed her cloak from her neck and from the encircling 
 arms of Temperance. "There," she said, "take this; the 
 cloth is good. It is worth more money than what we owe 
 you. Keep it till I come or send to redeem it." 
 
 She put the scarlet cloak into the woman's hands, then 
 
Il8 RED SPIDER. 
 
 turned, gathered the children about her, and looking at 
 those who stood in front, said with dignity, " I will trouble 
 you to make way. We will interrupt the performance no 
 longer." 
 
 Then, gravely, with set lips and erect head, she went 
 out, drawing her little party after her, Kate following, 
 flushed and crying, and Charles with a swagger and a 
 laugh and jest to those he passed, behind Kate. 
 
 When they came outside, however, Charles slunk away. 
 The six young men whom Charles had treated remained. 
 They had worked their way along the benches to disso- 
 ciate themselves from the party of Luxmores, and put on 
 a look as if they had paid for their own seats. "We 
 needn't go, for sure," whispered one to another. "We be 
 paid for now out of Miss Honor's red cloak." 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE LAMB-KILLER. 
 
 Honor could not recover herself at once. Her heart 
 beat fast and her breathing was quick. Her hands that 
 clasped the children twitched convulsively. She looked 
 round at Charles before he slipped away, and their eyes 
 met. His expression rapidly changed, his color went, his 
 eyes fell before those of his sister. He drew his cap over 
 his face, and elbowed his way through the crowd out of 
 sight. 
 
 Honor felt keenly what had occurred ; she was the 
 sister of a rogue ; the honorable name of Luxmore was 
 tarnished. How would her father bear this ? This^ the 
 family honor, was the one thing on which he prided him- 
 self. And what about Charles ? Would not he be forced, 
 
THE LAMB-KILLER. \ 19 
 
 to leave the place she had found for him ? Would Tav- 
 erner Langford keep in his employ a man who cheated ? 
 
 But Honor took a more serious view of the occurrence 
 than the general public. Popular opinion was not as cen- 
 sorious as her conscience. Those whom Charles had at- 
 tempted to defraud were strangers — vagrants belonging to 
 no parish, and without the pale, fair game for a sharp man 
 to overreach. If the public virtue had protested loudly 
 in the show, it was not in the interests of fair dealing, but 
 as an opportunity of annoying a braggart. 
 
 Honor, wounded and ashamed, shrank from contact 
 with her acquaintances, and with Kate worked her way 
 out of the throng, away from the fair, and home, without 
 seeing more of Larry. 
 
 Kate took Charles's misconduct to heart in a different 
 way from Honor; she was angry, disappointed because 
 her pleasure was spoiled, and fretted. But the children, 
 as they trotted homeward, were not weary of talking of 
 the wonders they had seen and the enjoyment they had 
 had. 
 
 In the evening Hillary drove up with his spring-cart, 
 and called the girls out to take their fairings from his trap> 
 some crocks, a roll of drapery, and some other small mat- 
 ters. Hillary was cheerful and full of fun. He repeated 
 the jokes of the cheap-jack, and told of the neighbors that 
 had been taken in. He mentioned whom he had met, 
 and what he had seen. He allowed the dappled horse to 
 stand in the road, with the reins on the ground, while, 
 with one foot planted on the steps, he lingered chatting 
 with the girls before their door. He was so bright and 
 amusing that Kate forgot her vexation and laughed. 
 Even the grave Honor was unable to forbear a smile. Of 
 the disturbance in the circus caused by Charles he said 
 nothing, and Honor felt grateful for his tact. He re- 
 
120 RED SPIDER. 
 
 mained talking for half an hour. He carried the girls' 
 parcels into the cottage for them, and insisted on a kiss 
 from the tiny ones. It almost seemed as if he were tarry- 
 ing for something — an opportunity which did not offer ; 
 but this did not occur to the girls. They felt his kindness 
 in halting to cheer them. Their father was not yet re- 
 turned ifrom the fair. They were not likely to see Charles 
 again that day. 
 
 " By the way, Honor," said Larry, " you have fame 
 lambs, have you not ? " 
 
 " Yes, five." 
 
 " Can you fasten them and the ewes in at night ? " 
 
 '' No — we have no place. But why ? They will not 
 take hurt at this time of the year." 
 
 " Don't reckon on that," said the young man ; " I've 
 heard tell there is a lamb-killer about. Farmer Hegadon 
 lost three, and one went from Swaddledown last night. 
 Have you not heard ? Watches must be set. None can 
 tell whose dog has taken to lamb-killing till it is seen in 
 the act" 
 
 " A bad business for us if we lose our lambs," said 
 Honor. " We reckon on selling them and the ewes in the 
 fall, to meet our debt to Mr. Langford for the horse." 
 
 " Then forewarned is forearmed. Lock them up." 
 
 "It can't be done, Larry. You can't pocket your 
 watch when you're without a pocket." 
 
 " In that case I hope the lamb-killer will look else- 
 where. That is all. Good-night. But before I go, mind 
 this. If you have trouble about your lambs, call on me. 
 I'll watch for you now you have not Charles at your com- 
 mand. We're neighbors and must be neighborly." 
 
 " Thank you heartily, Larry. I will do so." 
 
 Then the lad went away, whistling in his cart, but as 
 he went he turned and waved his hand to the sisters. 
 
THE LAMB-KILLER. 121 
 
 The children were tired and put to bed. Kate was 
 weary and soon left. Honor had to sit up for her father, 
 whose van was in request that day to convey people and 
 their purchases from the fair to their distant homes. After 
 Oliver had come in and had his supper, Honor put away 
 the plates, brushed up the crumbs, set the chairs straight, 
 and went to bed. Kate and the children were sound 
 asleep. Honor's brain was excited, and she kept awake. 
 She was unobserved now, and could let her tears flow. 
 She had borne up bravely all day ; the relaxation was 
 necessary for her now. Before her family and the world 
 Honor was reserved and restrained. She was forced to 
 assume a coldness that was not natural to her heart. 
 There was not one person in the house who could be 
 relied on. Her father was devoid of moral backbone. 
 He remembered the commissions of his customers^ but 
 his memory failed respecting his duties to his children 
 and the obligations of home. Kate had too sharp a 
 tongue and a humor too capricious to exercise authority. 
 She set the children by the ears. As for the little ones, 
 they were too young to be supposed to think. So Honor 
 had to consider for her father and the other seven inmates 
 of the cottage, also of late for Charles — to have a head to 
 think for nine creatures who did not think for themselves. 
 There was not one of the nine who stood iirm, who was 
 not shiftless. There are few occupations more trying to 
 the temper than the setting up of nine-pins on a skittle- 
 floor. Honor did not become querulous, as is the manner 
 of most women who have more duties to discharge than 
 their strength allows. • She was overtaxed, but she shel- 
 tered herself under an assumption of coldness. Some 
 thought her proud, others unfeeling. Kate could not 
 fathom her. Oliver took all she did as a matter of course. 
 He neither spared her nor applauded her. Perhaps no 
 
122 RED SPIDER. 
 
 one in the parish was so blind to her excellence as her 
 father. Kate was his favorite daughter. 
 . Honor dried her tears on the pillow. What would the 
 end be ? Kate was at her side fast asleep. Honor 
 leaned on her elbow and looked at her sleeping sister. 
 The moon was shining. A muslin blind was drawn 
 across the win^iow, but a patch of light was on the white- 
 washed wall, and was brilliant enough to irradiate the 
 whole chamber. Kate's light silky hair was ruffled about 
 her head. She lay with one arm out, and the hand under 
 her head ; her delicate arm was bare. Honor looked 
 long at her ; her lips quivered, she stooped over Kate and 
 kissed her, and her lips quivered no more. " How pretty 
 she is," she said to her own heart ; "no wonder he went 
 away whistling ' Kathleen Mavourneen.' " 
 
 All at once Honor started, as though electrified. She 
 heard the sheep in the paddock making an unwonted 
 noise, and recalled what Larry had said. In a moment . 
 she was out of bed, and had drawn aside the window- 
 blind. The sheep and lambs were running wildly about. 
 Some leaped at the hedge, trying to scramble up and 
 over ; others huddled against the gate leading to the lane. 
 Honor opened the casement and put forth her head. 
 Then she saw a dark shadow sweep across the field, before 
 which the clustered sheep scattered. 
 
 Honor slipped on a few garments, descended the stair, 
 opened the kitchen door, and went forth, armed with a 
 stick. The lamb-killer was in the paddock, chasing down 
 one of the flock that he had managed to separate from 
 the rest. Honor called, but her ■s'oice was unheeded or 
 unheard, owing to the bleating of the frightened sheep. 
 She ran through the dewy grass, but her pace was as 
 nothing to that of the dog. The frightened lamb fled 
 from side to side, and up and down, till its powers were 
 
THE LAMB-KILLER. 123 
 
 exhausted; and then it stood piteously bleating, paralyzed 
 with terror, and the dog was at its throat and had torn it 
 before Honor had could reach the spot. 
 
 When she approached, the dog leaped the hedge and 
 disappeared through a gap in the bushes at the top. The 
 girl went about the field pacifying the'sheep, calling them, 
 and counting them. They came about her skirts, press- 
 ing one on another, bleating, entreating protection, inter- 
 fering with her movements. Two of the lambs were gone. 
 One she had seen killed ; a second was missing. She 
 searched and found it ; it had been overrun and had got 
 jammed between two rails. In its efforts to escape, it had 
 become injured. Its life was spent with exhaustion and 
 fear, but is was not quite dead. It still panted. She dis- 
 engaged the little creature, and carried it in her arms into 
 the house, followed by the agitated ewes, whom she could 
 hardly drive back from the garden gate. 
 
 Honor did not expect the dog to return that night, but 
 she sat up watching for a couple of hours, and then re- 
 turned to her bedroom, though not to sleep. 
 
 Here was a fresh trouble come upon the family. The 
 loss of two lambs, in their state of poverty, was a serious 
 loss, and she could not be sure that this was the end. The 
 dog might return another night and kill more, and that 
 was a crushing loss to poor people. 
 
 Next morning, when Kate and the children heard the 
 news, their distress was great. Many tears were shed over 
 the dead lambs. Kate was loud in her indignation against 
 those who let their dogs rove at night. She was sure it 
 was done on purpose, out of malice. It was impossible to 
 suppose that the owner of a lamb-killer was ignorant of 
 the proclivities of his dog. If they could only find out 
 whose dog it was they would make him pay for the mis- 
 chief. 
 
124 ^^^ SPIDER. 
 
 " I suppose, father, you will sit up to-night and watch 
 for the brute ? " 
 
 " I — I ! " answered the carrier. " What will that avail ? 
 I never shot anything in my life but one sparrow, and 
 that I blew to pieces. I rested my gun-barrel on the 
 shiver (bar) of a gate, and waited till a sparrow came to 
 some crumbs I had scattered. Then I fired, and a splash 
 of blood and some feathers were all that remained of the 
 sparrow. No, I am no shot. The noise close to my ear 
 'Unnerves me. Besides, I am short-sighted. No; if the 
 dog takes the lambs, let him, I can not prevent it." 
 
 " But you must sit up, father." 
 
 " What can I do ? If I saw the dog I should not know 
 whose 'twas. Honor saw it, she can say whose it was." 
 
 " I do not know. It struck me as like Mr, Langford's 
 Rover, but I can not be sure ; the ash-trees were between 
 the moon and the meadow, and flickered," 
 
 " Oh ! if it be Rover we are right," 
 
 " How so, father ? " 
 
 " Langford will pay if his dog has done the damage." 
 
 " He must be made to pay," said Kate. " He won't 
 do it if he can scrape out." 
 
 "I can not be sure it was Rover," said Honor. "I 
 saw a dark beast, but the ash flickered in the wind, and 
 the flakes of moonlight ran over the grass like lambs, and 
 the shadows like black dogs. I was not near enough to 
 make sure. Unless we can swear to Rover, we must be 
 content to lose." 
 
 " Mr. Langford will not dispute about a lamb or two," 
 said Oliver, rubbing his ear. 
 
 " Then he will be different in this to what he is in 
 everything else," said Kate. 
 
 " He won't be hard on us," said her father. Honor 
 v/as accustomed to see him take his troubles easily, but he 
 
THE LAMB-KILLER. 
 
 125 
 
 was unwontedly, perplexingly indifferent novv, and the 
 loss was grave and might be graver. 
 
 " I will watch with you to-night, Honor," said Kate. 
 " And what is more, I will swear to Rover, if I see the end 
 of his tail. Then we can charge the lambs at a pound 
 a-piece to old Langford." 
 
 "As for that," said the father, with a side-glance at 
 his eldest daughter, " Mr. Langford — don't call him old 
 Langford any more, Kate, it's not respectful — Mr. Lang- 
 ford won't press for the horse. It lies with you whether 
 we have him for nothing or have to return him." 
 
 He spoke looking at Honor, but he had addressed 
 Kate just before. The latter did not heed his words. 
 Honor had been crossing the room with a bowl in her 
 hands. She stood still and looked at him. A question as 
 to his meaning rose to her lips, but she did not allow it to 
 pass over them. She saw that a knowing smile lurked at 
 her father's mouth-corners, and that he was rubbing his 
 hands nervously. The subject was not one to be prose- 
 cuted in the presence of her brothers and sisters. She 
 considered a moment, then went into the back kitchen 
 with the bowl. She would make her father explain him- 
 self when they were together alone. 
 
 Dark and shapeless thoughts passed through her mind, 
 like the shadows of the ash foliage in the moonlight. She 
 was full of undefined apprehension of coming trouble. 
 But Honor had no time to give way to her fears. There 
 was no leisure for an explanation. The dead lambs had 
 to be sJtinned and their meat disposed of. 
 
 Honor was busily engaged the whole morning. She 
 was forced to concentrate her mind on her task, but unable 
 to escape the apprehension which clouded her. It did not 
 escape her that her father's manner changed, as soon as 
 the children were dispatched to school and Kate had gone 
 
126 RED SPIDER. 
 
 forth. He became perceptibly nervous. He was shy of 
 being in the room with Honor, and started when she spoke 
 to him. He pretended to look for means of fastening up 
 the flock for the night, but he went about it listlessly. His 
 playful humor had evaporated ; he seemed to expect to be 
 taken to task for his words, and to dread the explanation. ,) 
 His troubled face cleared when he saw Hillary Nanspia,^/ 
 appear at the top of the hedge that divided the Chims- 
 worthy property from the carrier's paddock. The young 
 man swung himself up by a bough, and stood on the hedge 
 parting some hazel-bushes, 
 
 "What is this I hear? The lamb-killer been to you 
 last night ? " 
 
 "Yes, Larry, and I am trying to find how we may pen 
 the sheep in out of reach. I've only the linhay, and that 
 is full." 
 
 "Are you going to sit up?" 
 
 "No, Larry, I am not a shot, and like a beetle at 
 night." 
 
 " I'll do it. Where are Kate and Honor? I promised 
 them I would do it, and I keep my word. Little Joe tells 
 me Honor thinks the dog was Rover. What a game if I 
 shoot Uncle Taverner's dog! I hope I may have that 
 luck. Expect me. I will bring my gun to-night." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A BOLT FROM THE BLUE. 
 
 Honor's kitchen work was done. She came to her 
 father after Larry Nanspian had departed, and said, " Now, 
 father, I want to know your meaning, when you said that 
 it lay with me whether you should keep the horse or not ? " 
 
A BOLT FROM THE BLUE. 127 
 
 Then she seated herself near the door, with a gown of 
 little Pattie's she was turning. 
 
 " It was so to speak rigmarole," answered Oliver color- 
 ing, and pretending to plait a lash for his whip. 
 
 She shook her head. " You did not speak the words 
 without purpose." 
 
 "We lead a hard life," said Oliver evasively. "That 
 you can't deny and keep an honest tongue." 
 
 " I do not attempt to deny it," she said, threading a 
 needle at the light that streamed in through the open 
 door. The carrier looked at her appealingly. Behind 
 her, seen through the door, was a bank of bushes and pink 
 fox-gloves, " flopadocks " is the local name. He looked at 
 the sunlit picture with dreamy eyes. 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder,'' he said, " if there was a hun- 
 dred flowers on that there tallest flopadock." 
 
 " I should not either," said Honor without looking off 
 her work. Then ensued another pause. 
 
 Presently the carrier sighed and said, " It be main 
 difficult to make both ends meet. The children are grow- 
 ing up. Their appetites increase. Their clothes get 
 more expensive. The carrying business don't prosper as 
 it ought. Kate, I reckon, will have to go into service, we 
 can't keep her at home ; but I don't like the notion — she 
 a Luxmore of Coombe Park." 
 
 " We are not Luxmores of Coombe Park, but Lux- 
 mores out of it," said Honor. 
 
 " Coombe Park should be ours by right, and it rests 
 with you whether we get our rights." 
 
 " How so ? This is the second hint you have given 
 that much depends on me. What have I to do with the 
 recovery of Coombe Park .' How does the debt for the 
 horse rest with me ? " 
 
 " It is a hard matter to be kept out of our rights," said 
 
128 RED SPIDER. 
 
 Oliver. " A beautiful property, a fine house and a fishpond 
 — only a hundred pounds wanted to search the registers 
 to get it." 
 
 " No hundred pounds will come to us," said Honor. 
 " The clouds drop thunderbolts, not nuggets. So as well 
 make up our minds to be where we are." 
 
 " No, I can't do that," said the carrier, plaiting vigor- 
 ously. " You haven't got a bit of green silk, have you, to 
 finish the lash with ? " 
 
 " Whether from wishing or from working, no hundred 
 pounds will come," continued the girl. 
 
 "And see what a rain of troubles has come on us," said 
 the carrier. " First comes your poor mother's death, then 
 the horse, now the lambs, and on top of all poor Charles." 
 
 "More the reason why we should put aside all thought 
 of a hundred pounds." 
 
 "Providence never deserts the deserving," said Lux- 
 more. " I'm sure I've done my duty in that state o' life 
 in which I am. It is darkest before dawn." 
 
 " I see no daylight breaking. " 
 
 " Larry Nanspian makes great count of Kate," mused 
 Luxmore, and then abruptly, " confound it ! I've plaited 
 the lash wrong, and must unravel it again." 
 
 "What will come of Larry's liking for Kate.' Will 
 that bring us a hundred pounds and Coombe Park?" 
 asked Honor bluntly. 
 
 " I can't quite say' that. But I reckon it would be a 
 rare thing to have her settled at Chimsworthy." 
 
 " No," said Honor, " not unless Larry alters. Chims- 
 worthy grows weeds. The old man is more given to 
 boasting than to work. Larry cares more to be flattered 
 than to mind the plow." 
 
 " I won't have a Luxmore of mine marry out of her 
 station. We must hold up our heads." 
 
A BOf.T FROM THE BLUE. 129 
 
 " Of course we must," said Honor. " What am I doing 
 all day, thinking of all night, but how we may keep our 
 heads upright ? " 
 
 " What a mercy it would be not to be always fretting 
 over ha'pence ! If you and Kate were well married, what 
 a satisfaction it would be to me, and what a comfort all 
 round ! " 
 
 "Do not reckon on me," said Honor; "I shall not 
 marry, I. have the children to care for. You do not want 
 to drive me out of the house, do y', father .? " 
 
 " No, certainly not. But I should like to see you and 
 Kate well married, Kate to Larry Nanspian and Chims- 
 worthy, and you — well, you equally well placed. Then you 
 might combine to help me to my own. Consider this, 
 Honor ! If we had Coombe Park, all our troubles would 
 clear like clouds before a setting sun. Charles would no 
 longer be a trouble to us. He shows his gentle blood by 
 dislike for work. If he were not forced to labor he would 
 make a proper gentleman. Why then, Honor, what a sat- 
 isfaction to you to have been the saving, the making of 
 your brother ! " 
 - "Then won't stand on the feet oilf," said Honor. 
 
 " It depends on you." 
 
 " How on me ? " she rested her hands on her lap, and 
 looked steadily at her father. He unraveled his lash with 
 nervous hands. Honor saw that they shook. Then 
 without turning his eyes from his plaiting, he said timidly, 
 '" I only thought how well it would be for us if you were 
 at Langford." 
 
 " How can I be at Langford .' Mrs. Veale is the 
 housekeeper, and I do not wish for her place." 
 
 " Oh no, not her place — not her place by any means," 
 said her father. 
 
 " What other place then ? " she was resolved to 
 9 
 
I30 RED SPIDER. 
 
 force him to speak out, though she guessed his mean- 
 ing. 
 
 He did not answer her immediately. He looked at the 
 " flopadocks " through the front door, then he looked to 
 see if there was a way of escape open by the back. 
 
 "I — I thought — that is to say — I hoped — you might 
 fancy to become Mrs. Langford." 
 
 Honor rose proudly from her seat, and placed her 
 needlework in the chair. She stood in the doorway, with 
 the illumined hedge behind her. If Oliver had looked at 
 her face he could not have seen it ; he would have seen 
 only the dark head set on a long and upright neck, with a 
 haze of golden brown about it. But he did not look up ; 
 he drew a long breath. The worst was over. He had 
 spoken, and Honor knew all. 
 
 In the morning the carrier had flattered himself it 
 would be easy to tell Honor, but when he prepared to 
 come to -the point he found it difficult. He knew that the 
 proposal would offend his daughter, that it would not 
 appear to her in the light in which he saw it. He was 
 afraid of her, as an inferior nature fears one that is greater, 
 purer than itself. Now he felt like a schoolboy who has 
 been caught cribbing, and expects the cane. 
 
 "You see, Honor," said he in an apologetic tone, 
 "Taverner Langford is a rich man, and of very good 
 family. It would be no disgrace to him to marry you, 
 and you can not reckon to look higher. I don't know but 
 that his family and ours date back to Adam. He has kept 
 his acres, and we have lost ours. However, with your 
 help, I hope we may recover Coombe Park and our proper 
 position. What a fine thing, Honor, to be able to restore 
 a fallen family, and to be the means of saving a brother ! 
 Taverner Langford is proud, and would like to see his 
 wife's relations among the landed gentry. He would help 
 
A BOLT FROM THE BLUE. 
 
 131 
 
 us with a hundred pounds. Indeed, he has almost prom- 
 ised the money. As to the horse, we need not concern 
 ourselves about that, and the lambs need trouble you no 
 more. There is a special blessing pronounced on the 
 peacemakers, Honor, and that would be yours if you mar- 
 ried Taverner, and Kate took Hillary, for then Langford 
 must make up his quarrel with the Nanspians." 
 
 Honor reseated herself, and put her work back on her 
 .lap. Oliver had not the courage to look at her face, or 
 he would have seen that she was with difficuly controlling 
 the strong emotion that nigh choked her. He sat with 
 averted eyes, and maundered on upon the advantages of 
 the connection. 
 
 "So," exclaimed Honor at length, "Taverner Lang- 
 ford has asked for me to be his wife ! But, father, he 
 asked before he knew of that affair yesterday. That 
 alters the look. He will back out when he hears of 
 Charles's conduct. " 
 
 "Not at all. I saw him yesterday evening, and he 
 laughed at the story. He took it as a practical joke 
 played on the circus folk — and what harm } Every one 
 likes his jokes, and the Revel is the time forplaying them." 
 
 " He has not dismissed Charles ? " 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 " I would have done so, had he been my servant." 
 
 Then she leaned her head on her hand and gazed be- 
 fore her, full of gloomy thought. Her father watched her, 
 when he saw she was not looking at him. 
 
 " The advantage for Charles would be so great," he said. 
 
 " Yes," she exclaimed, with a tone of impatience. 
 '' But there are some sacrifices it is not fair to expect of a 
 sister." 
 
 "Consider that, instead of being a servant in the 
 house, Charles would regard himself as at home at Lang- 
 
132 RED SPIDER. 
 
 ford. He is not a bad fellow, his blood is against his 
 doing menial work. When he mounts to his proper place 
 you will see he will be a credit to us all. You don't take 
 razors to cut cabbages. I, also, will no longer be forced 
 to earn my livelihood by carrying. If your mind be 
 healthy, Honor, you will see how unbecoming it is for 
 a Luxmore to be a common carrier. Lord bless me ! 
 When I am at Coombe Park, you at Langford, and Kate 
 at Chimsworthy, what a power we shall be in the place ! 
 Why, I may even become a feoffee of Coryndon's Charity ! 
 Langford is rich. He has a good estate. He has spent 
 nothing on himself for many years. There must be a lot 
 of money laid by somewhere. He can not have saved 
 less than three hundred pounds a year, and I should not 
 stare to hear he had put by five. Say this has been going on 
 for twenty years. That amounts to ten thousand pounds 
 at the lowest reckoning. Ten thousand pounds ! Think 
 of that, Honor. Then remember that old Hillary Nan- 
 spian is in debt to Taremer Langford, and pressed to 
 raise the money, as the debt has been called up. You 
 must persuade Taverner to let the money lie where it is, 
 and so you will bring peace to Chimsworthy." 
 
 Honor shook her head. 
 
 " It can not be, father," she said, in a low tone. 
 
 " I feared you would raise difficulties," he said, in an 
 altered, disappointed voice. " Of course he is too old for 
 you. That is what you girls think most about." 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " Perhaps you have fancied some one else," he went 
 on ; " well, we can't have plum-cake every day. It is 
 true enough that Taverner Langford is not a yellow gos- 
 ling ; but then he has ten thousand pounds, and they say 
 that a young man's slave is an old man's darling. He 
 won't live forever, and then you know—" 
 
A BOLT FROM THE BLUE. 133 
 
 Honor's cheeks flushed ; she raised her head, passed her 
 hand over her brow, and looking at her father with dim 
 eyes, said, "That is not it — no, that is not it." Then 
 with an access of energy, " I will tell you the real truth. 
 I can not marry whom I do not love, and I can not love 
 whom I do not respect. Mr. Langford is a hard man. 
 He has been hard on his kinsman, Mr. Nanspian, and 
 though the old man had a stroke, Mr. Langford never 
 went near him, never sent to ask how he was, and re- 
 mained his enemy; About what ? I've heard tell about 
 a little red spider. Mr. Langford may be rich, but he 
 loves his money more than his flesh and blood, and such 
 a one I can not respect." 
 
 The carrier forced a laugh. " Is not this pot falling 
 foul of kettle ? " he asked. " Who is hard if you are not ? 
 Have you shown gentleness to Charles, who is your very 
 brother .' Whereas Nanspian is but a brother-in-law." 
 
 " I have not been hard with Charles. I must protect 
 the children from him. He is my brother, and I love him. 
 But I love the others also. I will do all I can for him, 
 but I will not have the others spoiled for his amusement." 
 
 " We don't all see ourselves as others see us,'' said 
 Oliver, sulkily. Honor was stung by his injustice, but 
 she made no reply. She took up her sewing again, but 
 she could not see to make stitches. She laid her work 
 again on her lap, and mused, looking out of the door at 
 the fox-gloves and the honeysuckle and wild rose in the 
 hedge. The scent of the honeysuckle was wafted into 
 the room. 
 
 "Why should Mr. Langford want me as his wife?" 
 she asked, dreamily ; " surely Mrs. Veale will suit him 
 better. She is near his age, and accustomed to his ways. 
 Besides," she paused, then resumed^ " there have been 
 queer tales about him and her." 
 
134 ^^^ SPIDER. 
 
 "Pshaw, Honor ! a pack of lies." 
 
 " I have no doubt of that," she said ; " still — I can 
 not see why he wants me." 
 
 " Honor, my child," said her father slowly, and with 
 his face turned from her, " he and Nanspian of Chims- 
 worthy don't hit it off together, and the property is so left 
 that if he hasn't children it will pass to his sister's son, 
 young Larry. The old man can't bear to think of that, 
 and on their reckoning on his dead shoes, and he'd draw 
 a trump from his pack against those Nanspians." 
 
 Honor flamed crimson and her eyes flashed. "And 
 so — so this Ts it ! I am to help to widen the split ! I am 
 to stand between Larry and his rights! Father, dear 
 father, how can you urge me ? How can you hope this .? 
 No, never, never will I consent. Let him look elsewhere. 
 There are plenty of maidens in Bratton less nice than me. 
 No, never, never will I have him." 
 
 Oliver Luxmore stood up, troubled and ashamed. 
 
 "You put everything upside down," he said; "I 
 thought you would be a peace-maker." 
 
 " You yourself tell me that I am chosen out of spite to 
 make the strife hotter. Now you have told me the why, 
 the matter is made worse. Such an offer is an outrage. 
 Never, father, no, never, never ! " she stamped, so strong^ 
 so intense was her disgust. "I will hear no more. I 
 grieve that you have spoken, father. I grieve more that 
 you have thought such a thing possible. I grieve most of 
 all that you have wished it." 
 
 " Turn the offer over in your mind, Honor," he said, 
 sauntering to the door, from which she had withdrawn. 
 She was leaning ag,ainst the wall between the door and 
 the window, with her hands over her face. " Milk runs 
 through the fingers when first you dip 'em, but by turn- 
 ing and turning you turn out butter. So, I dare be 
 
KEEPING WATCH., 135 
 
 bound, the whole thing will look different if you turn it 
 over." 
 
 " I will put it away from me, out of my thought," she 
 said hotly. She was hurt and angry. 
 
 " If you refuse him we shall have to buy a horse." 
 
 " Well, we must buy. I will work the flesh from my 
 fingers till I earn it, and get out of obligation. But I 
 never, never, never will consent to be Taverner Lang- 
 ford's wife, not for your sake, father, nor for that of 
 Charles." ' ^ 
 
 " Well," said the carrier ; " some folks don't know 
 what is good for 'em. I reckon there's a hundred bells 
 on that there fiopadock. I'll go and count 'em." 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 KEEPING WATCH. 
 
 In the evening Hillary the younger arrived, according 
 to promise, with his gun. Oliver Luxmore feebly pro- 
 tested against troubling him. " It is very good of you, 
 Larry, but I don't think I ought to accept it." 
 
 "It is pleasure, not trouble," answered Larry. 
 
 " If the dog does not come to-night, I will keep guard 
 on the morrow," said the carrier. " I may not be able to 
 shoot the dog, but I can scare him away with a bang." 
 
 " I hope to kill him," said Hillary. " Have you not 
 heard that a guinea is offered for his carcass 1 Several 
 farmers have clubbed and offered the reward." 
 
 " Have your lambs suffered, Larry? " 
 
 " Ours are all right ; driven under cover." 
 
 The young man supped with the Luxmores. He was 
 full of mirth. Kate did not spare her tongue ; she at- 
 
136 RED SPIDER. 
 
 tacked and he retaliated, but all good-humoredly. " They 
 make a pair, do they not ? " whispered Oliver to his eldest 
 daughter. "Better spar before marriage and kiss after, 
 than kiss first and squabble later." 
 
 " Larry," said Honor, " I will keep the fire up with a 
 mote (tree-stump). You may be cold during the night, 
 and like to run in and warm yourself." 
 
 " Ay, Honor," said her father. " Have a cider posset 
 on the hob to furnish inner comfort." 
 
 " Let no one sit up for me ; I shall want nothing," 
 answered Hillary, " unless one of you girls will give me 
 an hour of your company to break the back of the 
 watch." 
 
 " Your zeal is oozing out at your elbows,'' said Kate. 
 "Honor or I, or even little Joe, could manage to drive 
 away the dog." 
 
 " But not shoot it," retorted Hillary. "' Lock your 
 door and leave me without. I shall be content if I earn 
 the guinea." 
 
 " I will remain below," said Honor, quietly. " We 
 must not let all the burden rest on you. And if you are 
 kind enough, Larry, to look after our Iambs, we are bound 
 to look after you." 
 
 " If one of you remains astir, let it be Honor," said 
 the young man. "Kate and I would quarrel, and the 
 uproar would keep the dog away." 
 
 " I do not offer to sit up to-night," said the carrier, 
 " as my turn comes on the morrow, and I have had heavy 
 work to-day that has tired me." 
 
 Then he rose, held out his hand to Larry, kissed his 
 daughters, and went upstairs to his room. Kate followed 
 him speedily. Larry took up his gun and went out, and 
 walked round the field. Then he came to the kitchen and 
 said, " All is quiet, not a sign to be seen of the enemy. I 
 
KEEPING WATCH. 1 37 
 
 hope he will not disappoint me. You must have your red 
 cloak again." 
 
 " My red cloak ? " repeated Honor. 
 
 " Ay, your red cloak that you parted with to the woman 
 at the circus. I heard about it. If I shoot the dog, half 
 the prize-money goes to you." 
 
 " Not so, Larry. It is, or will be, all your own." 
 
 " But you first saw the dog, you share the watch, you 
 keep up the fire, and brew me a posset. How was it with 
 David's soldiers? What was his decision? They that 
 tarried with the stuff should share with those that went to 
 war. You have Scripture against you. Honor, and will 
 have to take ten-and-six." 
 
 " Don't reckon and divide before the dog is shot." 
 
 "If he comes this way he shall sup oif lead, never 
 doubt. Then you shall have your red cloak again." 
 
 Honor sighed. " No, Larry, I shall never see it more. 
 The fair is over, the circus gone, whither I know no more 
 than what has become of yesterday." 
 
 " Charles behaved very badly. Of course I did not 
 mention it before, but we are alone together now, and I 
 may say it." 
 
 "He did not act rightly — he meant it as a joke." 
 
 " I can't forgive him for robbing you of your pretty red 
 cloak. Here, Honor, take it. I have it." 
 
 Then he pulled out a closely folded bundle and ex- 
 tended it to her. The girl was surprised and pleased. 
 This was considerate and kind of Larry. She had noticed 
 him carrying this bundle, but had given no thought as to 
 what it was. Her eyes filled. 
 
 "O, Larry! God bless you for your kindness." 
 
 " I was tempted to hang it round my neck till I gave 
 it back, I should have looked quite military in it." 
 
 " It was my mother's cloak," she answered, quickly. 
 
138 RED SPIDER. 
 
 " You might have worn it and it would have done you 
 good. My mother will bless you out of paradise for your 
 consideration. Oh, my dear, dear mother I she was so 
 wise, and thoughtful, and good." Honor spread the 
 cloak over the young man's head. "There," she said, 
 "take that as if she had touched you. You have lost 
 your mother." 
 
 " Yes, but I do not remember her." 
 
 " Oh ! it is a bad thing for you to be without your 
 mother, Larry." She paused, then held out her hand to 
 him, and her honest eyes met his glowing with gratitude, 
 swimming with feeling. 
 
 "All right," he said. "No thanks. We are neigh- 
 bors and good friends. If I help you to-day you will 
 stand by me to-morrow. That is so, is it not, dear Honor ? " 
 
 He threw his gun over his shoulder and went out into 
 the meadow. He was glad to escape the pressure of her 
 hand ; the look of her eyes had made his heart beat with 
 unwonted emotion. She had never given him such a look 
 before. She was not as cold as he supposed. He was 
 aware that he had acted well in the matter of the cloak. 
 He had gone to the manageress of the circus directly he 
 heard what had taken place, and had made an offer for 
 the garment. The woman, seeing his eagerness to secure 
 it, refused to surrender it under a sum more than its value. 
 He had bought it with the sacrifice of the rest of his 
 pocket-money. That was one reason why he hoped to 
 kill the dog. He would replenish his empty purse. Ir 
 this matter he had acted as his heart dictated, but he was 
 quite aware that he had done a fine thing. Honor paid 
 him his due, and that raised Honor in his estimation. 
 "She has heart," he said, "though she don't often show 
 it. A girl must have heart to do as she did for that worth- 
 less brother." 
 
KEEPING WATCH. 
 
 139. 
 
 While Larry stood without waiting for the dog, Honor 
 was within, sitting by the fire, a prey to distressing thoughts. 
 She was not thinking of Larry or of Charles ; she was 
 thinking of what had passed between her and her father. 
 
 She occupied a low stool on the^ hearth, rested her 
 head in her lap, folded her hands round her knees. The 
 red "glow of the smoldering fire made her head like cop- 
 per, and gave to her faded red stockings a brilliancy they 
 lacked by day. 
 
 She had dimly suspected that something was plotted 
 against her on the occasion of her visit to Langford, when 
 she had found her father with Langford. What she had 
 dreaded had come to pass. Her father had consented to 
 sell her so as to extricate himself from a petty debt, but, 
 above all, that he might be given means of prosecuting his 
 imaginary claims. Coombe Park was a curse to them. It 
 had blighted Charles, it had spoiled her father's energies, 
 it was doomed to make a breach between her and her 
 father. She had never herself thought of Coombe Park ; 
 she had treated its acquisition as an impossible dream, 
 only not to be put aside as absurd because harbored by 
 her father. She was conscious now of a slight stirring of 
 reproach in her heart against him, but she battled against 
 it and beat it down. Strong in her sense of filial respect, 
 she would not allow herself to entertain a thought that her 
 father was unjust. She apologized to herself for his con- 
 duct. She explained his motives. He had supposed that 
 the prospect of being mistress of a large house, over wide 
 acres, would fill her ambition. He meant well, but men 
 do not ifnderstand the cravings of the hearts of women. 
 But, explain away his conduct as she would, she was unable 
 to dissipate the sense of wrong inflicted, to salve the wound 
 caused by his apparent eagerness to get rid of her out of 
 the house. The back door was opened softly. 
 
I40 RED SPIDER. 
 
 " Honor ! still awake ? " 
 
 "Yes, Larry." 
 
 " Will you give me a drop of hot cider ? I am chilled. 
 Have you a potato sack I can cast over my shoulders ? 
 The dew falls heavily." 
 
 " No sign of the dog yet ? " 
 
 " None at all. The sheep are browsing at ease. It is 
 dull work standing at a gate watching them. I wish the 
 dog would come." 
 
 " Let us change places, Larry. You come by the fire 
 and I will watch at the gate. The moment that I see him 
 I will give warning." 
 
 " And scare him away ! No, Honor, I want the prize- 
 money." 
 
 " Then I will come out and keep you company. Here 
 are two potato sacks, one for your shoulders, the other for 
 mine. If we talk in a low tone we shall not warn off 
 the dog." 
 
 "That is well. Honor. So we shall make the hours 
 spin. The moon is shining brightly. There have been 
 . clouds, and then the dew did not fall as cold and chill. I 
 have been hearkening to the owls, what a screeching and 
 a hooting they make, and there is one in the apple-tree 
 snoring like my father." 
 
 " Have you been standing all the while, Larry ? " 
 
 " Yes, Honor, leaning against the gate. If there 
 had been anything to sit on I should have seated my- 
 self. My fingers are numb. I must thaw them at your 
 coals." 
 
 He v-^ent to the fire and held his hands in the glow. 
 " Honor ! " he said, " you have been crying. I see the 
 glitter of the tears on your cheeks." 
 
 "Yes, I have been crying — not much." 
 
 "What made you cry ? " 
 
KEEPING WATCH. 141 
 
 " Girl's troubles," she answered. 
 
 " Girl's troubles ! What are they ? " 
 
 " Little matters to those they do not concern. Here is 
 a low stool on which the children sit by the hearth. I will 
 take it out and set it under the hedge. We can sit on it 
 and talk together awaiting the dog." 
 
 "What is the time, Honor? Is the clock right? 
 Eleven ! I will wait till after midnight and then go. He 
 will not come to-night if he does not come before that. 
 He will have gone hunting elsewhere. Perhaps he remem- 
 bers that you scared him last night." Honor carried out 
 a low bench, and placed it near the gate under the hedge 
 where a thorn-tree overhung. 
 
 " We shall do well here," said Hillary. " The dog will 
 not see us, and we shall know he is in the field by the 
 fright of the sheep." 
 
 He seated himself on the bench and Honor did the 
 same, at a distance from him — as far away as the bench 
 permitted. She had thrown the potato sack over her head, 
 and wore it as a hood ; it covered her shoulders as well, 
 and shaded her face. The dew was falling heavily, the 
 meadow in the moon was white with it, as though frosted, 
 and through the white sprinkled grass went dark tracks, 
 as farrows, where the sheep 'had trodden and dispersed 
 the sparkling drops. 
 
 " Do you hear the owls ? " asked Larry. " I've heard 
 there are three which are seen every night fleeting over 
 Wellon's Cairn, and that they are the souls of the three 
 women Wellon killed. I've never been there at night, 
 have you. Honor ? " 
 
 " No, I do not go about at night." 
 
 " I should not like to be on Broadbury after dark, not 
 near the old gibbet hill, anyhow. Listen to the old fellow 
 snoring in the apple-tree. I thought owls slept by day 
 
142 RED SPIDER. 
 
 and waked by night, but this fellow is dead asleep, judg- 
 ing by the noise he makes." 
 
 After silence of a few moments, during which they 
 listened to the owls, "I wonder, Honor," said the youn^ 
 man, " that you liked to sit on the mound where Wellon 
 was hung. It's a queer, whisht (uncanny) place." 
 
 " I only sit there by day, and that only now and then 
 when I can get out a bit. I have not been there for some 
 time." 
 
 Then ensued another pause. 
 
 " I wish you would tell me one thing," said the girl, 
 " yet it is what I have no right to ask. Do you owe Mr. 
 Langford a great deal of money.' " 
 
 ' " Oh yes," answered Hillary carelessly, " a great deal. 
 He has called it in, and we shall have to pay in a month 
 or two." 
 
 " Can you do so out of your savings ? " 
 
 "We have no savings. We shall go to Mr. Physick — 
 father and I — and get a mortgage made on the property. 
 It is easily done. I am of age. Father couldn't have 
 done it by himself, but I can join and let him." He held 
 up his head. He was proud of the consequence gained 
 by consenting to a mortgage. 
 
 " The first thing you have to do with the property is 
 to burden it/' said Honor. 
 
 Hillary screwed up his mouth. 
 
 " You may put it so if you like." Instead of looking 
 round at him admiring his consequence, she reproached 
 him. 
 
 " That is something to be ashamed of, I think," she 
 said. 
 
 " Not at all. If I did not, Uncle Tavemer could come 
 down on us, and have a sale of our cattle and wagons and 
 what not. But, maybe, that would suit your ideas better?" 
 
KEEPING WA TCH. \ 43 
 
 " No," said Honor gravely, " not at all. No doubt you 
 
 are right ; but you are old enough not to have let it come 
 
 to this. Your service on the farm ought to have been 
 
 worth fifty pounds a year for the last four years. I doubt 
 
 ' if it has been worth as many shillings." 
 
 He clicked his tongue in the side of his mouth, and 
 threw out his right leg impatiently. 
 
 " Mr. Langford has saved thousands of pounds. He 
 puts by several hundreds every year, and his land is no 
 better than yours." 
 
 "Uncle Taverner is a screw." Then, jauntily, "we 
 Nanspians are open-handed, we can't screw." 
 
 " But you can save, Larry." 
 
 "If Uncle Taverner puts away hundreds, I wonder 
 where he puts them away.? " 
 
 " That, of course, I can not say." 
 
 " I wonder if Mrs. Veale knows ? " Then he chuckled, 
 and said, " Honor, some of the chaps be talking of giving 
 him a hare-hunt. We think he ought, to be shamed out of 
 letting that woman tongue-lash him as she does ! " 
 
 " Larry ! " exclaimed Honor, turning sharply on him, 
 and clutching his arm, "for God's sake do not be mixed 
 up in such an affair! He is your uncle, and you may be 
 very unjust." He shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " I'm not over-sweet on Uncle Taverner," he said. " It 
 is mean of him calling in that money, and he deserves to 
 be touched up on the raw." 
 
 " Larry, you warned me against Mrs. Veale. Now I 
 warn you to have no hand in this save to hold it back. It 
 must not be ; and for you to share in it will be scandalous." 
 
 " How the owls are hooting ! To-whoo ! Whoo ! Whoo ! 
 I wonder what sort of voice the old white owl has ? He 
 goes about noiseless, like a bit of cotton grass blown by 
 the wind." 
 
144 REDSPIDER. 
 
 Then Honor went back to what she was speaking of 
 before. " It goes to my heart to see good land neglected. 
 Your nettle-seeds sow our land, and thistle-heads blow 
 over our hedge. Now that your father is not what he 
 was, you should grasp the plow-handle firmly. Larry, you 
 know the knack of the plow. Throw your weight on the 
 handles. If you do not, what happens ? " 
 
 "The plow throws you." 
 
 " Yes, flings you up, and falls over. It is so with the 
 farm. Throw your whole weight on it, through your arms, 
 or it will throw you." 
 
 " That old snorer is waking," said Hillary. 
 
 "You love pleasure, and do not care for work," pur- 
 sued Honor. " You are good-natured, and are every one's 
 friend and your own enemy. You shut your eyes to your 
 proper interest, and open your purse to the parish. The 
 bee and the wasp both build combs, both fly over the 
 same flowers and enjoy the same summer, but one gathers 
 honey and the other emptiness. Larry, do not be offended 
 with me if I speak the truth. The girls flirt with you and 
 flatter you, and the elder folk call you a Merry Andrew, 
 and say you have no mischief in you, and it is a pity you 
 have not brains. That is not true. You have brains, but 
 you do not use them. Larry, you have no sister and no 
 mother to speak openly to you. Let me speak to you as 
 if I were your sister, and take it well, as it is meant." 
 
 So she talked to him. Her voice was soft and low, her 
 tone tremulous. She was afraid to hurt him, and yet de- 
 sirous to let him know his duty. 
 
 She was stirred to the depth of her heart by the events 
 of the day. 
 
 Larry was unaccustomed to rebuke. He knew that 
 she spoke the truth, but it wounded his vanity, as well as 
 flattered it, to be taken to task by her. It wounded him, 
 
KEEPING WATCIf. 145 
 
 t 
 
 because it showed him he was no hero in her eyes ; it 
 flattered him, because he saw that she took a strong inter- 
 est in his welfare. He tried to vindicate himself. She 
 listened patiently ; his excuses were lame. She beat 
 them aside with a few direct words. " Do not be 
 ofiended with me," she pleaded, turning her face to him, 
 and then the moonlight fell over her noble features ; the 
 potato sack had slipped back. " I think of you, dear 
 Larry, as a brother, as a kind brother who has done many 
 a good turn to us, and I feel for you as an elder sister." 
 
 " But, Honor, you are younger than I am by eighteen 
 months." 
 
 " I am older in experience, Larry ; in that I am very, 
 very old. You are not angry with me ? " 
 
 " No, Honor, but I am not as bad as you make out." 
 
 " Bad ! Oh, Larry, I never, never thought, I nevei;' 
 said you were bad. Far otherwise. I know that your 
 heart is rich and deep and good. It is like the soil of 
 your best meadows. But then, Larry, the best soil will 
 grow the strongest weeds. Sornetimes when I look 
 through the gates of Chimsworthy I long to be within, 
 with a hook reaping down and rooting up. And now I 
 am peering through the gates of your honest eyes, and 
 the same longing comes over me." 
 
 He could see by the earnest expression of her face, by 
 the twinkle of tears on her lashes, that she spoke out of the 
 fullness of her heart. She was not praising him, she was 
 rebuking him, yet he was not angry. He looked intently 
 at her pure, beautiful face. She could not bear his gaze, 
 he saw her weakness. He put his finger to her eyelashes. 
 " The dew is falling heavily, and has dropped some dia- 
 monds here," he said. 
 
 She stood up. 
 
 " Hark ! " she said, and turned her head. " The 
 10 
 
146 RED SPIDER. 
 
 cuckoo clock in the kitchen is calling midnight. We 
 need remain here no longer." 
 
 " I should like to remain till day." said Larry. 
 
 "What, to be scolded?" 
 
 " To be told the truth, dear Honor." 
 
 " Do not forget what I have said. I spoke because I 
 care for you. The sheep will not be disturbed to-night. 
 Will you have some posset and go home ? " 
 
 "Your father will keep guard to-morrow night, but 
 the night after that I will be here again. Oh, Honor, you 
 will sit up with me,, will you not ? " He took her hand. 
 "How much better I had been, how the Chimsworthy 
 coomb would have flowed with honey, had God given me 
 such a sister as you ! " 
 
 " Well, begin to weed yourself and Chimsworthy," she 
 said with a smile. 
 
 " Will you not give me a word of praise as well as of 
 blame?" 
 
 "When you deserve it." 
 
 She pressed his hand, then withdrew it, entered the 
 cottage, and fastened the door. 
 
 Hillary walked away with his gun over his shoulder^ 
 musing as he had not mused before. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 MRS. VEALE. 
 
 Charles Luxmore had left the Revel shortly after 
 the departure of his sisters. He returned to Langford 
 covered with shame and full of anger. He was not 
 ashamed of his rascality. He thought himself justified in 
 playing a trick on tricksters. But he was ashamed at be- 
 
MRS. VEALE. 
 
 147 
 
 ing conquered by his sister, and he was unable to dis- 
 guise to himself that he cut an ignoble figure beside her. 
 At the circus there had been a general recognition of her 
 worth, and as general a disparagement of himself. Why- 
 had she interfered ? He had courted a ' " row " in which 
 he might have held his own against the equestrians, sure of 
 support from the young Brattonians. That would have 
 been sport, better than tumbling in the sawdust and skip- 
 ping through hoops. If he could only have excited a 
 fight, the occasion would have been forgotten in the re- 
 sults ; he would have come out in flaming colors as a 
 gallant fellow. Now, because Honor had interfered and 
 put him in the wrong, he had been dismissed as a 
 rogue. 
 
 He knew well enough the red cloak Honor had given 
 away. He knew that it had belonged to her mother, and 
 that Honor prized it highly, and that it was very neces- 
 sary to her. 
 
 Let him excuse himself as he would, a sense of degra- 
 dation oppressed him which he was unable to shake off. 
 
 The behavior of his comrades had changed toward 
 him, and this galled him. After leaving the circus he had 
 essayed swagger, but it had not availed. His companions 
 withdrew from him as if ashamed to be seen in his soci- 
 ety. The popular feeling was roused in behalf of Honor, 
 who was universally esteemed, rather than offended at the 
 fraud played on the equestrians. It was well known that 
 he, Charles, had not behaved toward her with considera- 
 tion, that he had increased the burden she bore so bravely. 
 This last act was the climax of his wrong-doing. Charles's 
 inordinate vanity had been hurt, and he was angry with ' 
 every one but himself. 
 
 He returned to the farmhouse, where he had been 
 taken in, cursing the stupidity of the villagers, the med- 
 
148 RED SPIDER. 
 
 dlesomeness of his sisters, the cowardice of his compan- 
 ions, and his own generosity. 
 
 He was without money now, and with no prospect of 
 getting any till his wage was paid. 
 
 He turned out his pockets ; there was nothing in 
 them, not even the brass token. He was too proud to 
 borrow of his boon companions ; he questioned whether, 
 if he asked, they would lend him any. He doubted if the 
 innkeeper would let him drink upon trust. How intoler- 
 able for him to be without money ! To have to lounge 
 his evenings away in the settle before the fire at Langford, 
 or loafing about the lanes ! " I know well enough," he 
 muttered, '' why the louts keep away from me. 'Tis be- 
 cause they know I'm cleaned out. It's not along of that 
 cursed token, not a bit. If I'd my pockets full they'd be 
 round me again as thick as flies on a cow's nose." 
 
 He had only been a few days in the service of Tav- 
 erner Langford. He had entered the service rather sur* 
 lily, only because forced to do so, as Honor refused to al- 
 low him to sleep and have meals at home. " It'll keep me 
 in meat for a bit, and I'll look about me," he said ; "but 
 it is not the sort o' place for a gentleman — a Lux- 
 more." 
 
 He had not asked leave to take a holiday on the occa- 
 sion of the Revel. He had taken it as a matter of course. 
 The Revel was a holiday, of course ; so is Sunday, " I 
 don't ask old Langford whether I'm to keep the Sabbath 
 by doing nothing : I do nothing. I don't ask him if I'm 
 to enjoy myself Revel-day : I enjoy myself. These are 
 understood things." He curled his lip contemptuously; 
 " What a shabby wage I get, or am to get ! " he muttered, 
 " No pay, no work ; short pay, short work. That stands 
 to reason — ^like buttering parsnips." 
 
 He sauntered into the Langford kitchen and threw 
 
MRS. VEALE. 1 49 
 
 himself into the settle, with his hat on, and his legs out- 
 stretched, and his hands in his pockets. Disappointment, 
 humiliation, impecuniosity combined to chafe his temper, 
 and give him a dejected, hang-dog appearance. 
 
 Mrs. Veale passed and repassed without speaking. She 
 observed him without allowing him to perceive that she 
 observed him. Indeed, he hardly noticed her, and he was 
 startled by her voice when she said, as he bent over the 
 fire, " Charles Luxmore, what do y' think of the Revel 
 now? I've a-been there, and to my reckoning it were 
 grand, but. Lord ! you've been over the world, and seen 
 so many fine things that our poor Revel is naught in your 
 eyes, I reckon." 
 
 " Bah ' poor stuff, indeed. You should see Bombay, 
 or the bazaar at Candahar ! Bratton Clovelly ! Bah ! 
 Punjab, Cawbul, Delhi, Peshawur ! Ghuznee ! Hydera- 
 bad ! " The utterance of these names, which he knew 
 would convey no idea whatever to the mind of Mrs. Veale, 
 afforded him relief. It morally elevated him. It showed 
 him that he knew more of the world than Mrs. Veale. 
 "You don't happen to know Dost Mahommed?" 
 
 " Oh, dear, no ! " 
 
 " Nor ever heard tell of him ? " 
 
 "No, Mr. Luxmore." 
 
 " He's an Ameer." 
 
 " Is he, now ? " 
 
 " I've fought him. Leastways his son, Akbar Khan." 
 
 " You wasn't hard on him, I hope ? " 
 
 " No, I wasn't that. I merely carried off the doors of 
 his mosque." 
 
 " Did that hurt him much } " 
 
 " His feelings, Mrs. Veale, awful." 
 
 " Lord bless me ! " exclaimed the woman, looking at 
 him over her shoulder as she stirred a pot on the fire, with 
 
I50 RED SPIDER. 
 
 her queer blinking eyes studying his expression but ex- 
 pressing nothing themselves. 
 
 " I do wonder you be home from the Revel so early. 
 A soldier like you, and a fine young chap, ought to have 
 stayed and enjoyed yourself. The best of the fun,- I've 
 heard fell, is in the evening." 
 
 "How can I stay at the Revel when I haven't a cop- 
 per to spend there ? " asked Charles, surlily. 
 
 " I don't like to see a grand young fellow like you sit- 
 ting at home, like an old man with the rheumatics. We 
 will be friends, Charles. I will give you a crown to buy 
 your good-will." She took the money from her pocket 
 and handed it to him. 
 
 " I thank you," he said, grandly — she had called him 
 a grand young man — " but I can't go to the Revel now." 
 Nevertheless he pocketed the crown. " I've seen enough 
 of it, and got sick of it. Wretched stalls where nothing is 
 for sale worth buying, wretched shows where nothing is 
 seen worth seeing. I came away because the Revel wea- 
 ried me." 
 
 " You'll find it dull here," said the housekeeper. " We 
 poor ignorant creatures think the Revel and all in it mighty 
 fine things, because we know no better and haven't seen 
 the world. It seems to me, Mr. Luxmore, you're in the 
 wrong place, as the elephant said to the stickleback that 
 had got into the ark." 
 
 " I should just about think I was," said Charles, kick- 
 ing out with both his heels. Mrs. Veale was a plain, not 
 to say unpleasant-looking woman, much older than him- 
 self ; he would not have given her a thought had she not 
 called hini "Mr. Luxmore," and so recognized that he 
 was a superior being to the Dicks and Toms on the farm. 
 
 " Peshawur ! Jelalabad ! Cawbul ! that's how they - 
 corne," said Charles. Mrs. Veale stood with hand on the 
 
MRS. VEALE. 151 
 
 handle of the pan, an iron spoon uplifted in the other, 
 waiting to drink in further information. " Through the 
 Khyber Pass," he added, drawing his brows together and 
 screwing up his mouth. 
 
 " No doubt about it," said Mrs. Veale. " If must be 
 so, if you sez it. And Solomon in all his glory was not 
 arrayed like one of these." She stirred the pot ; then, 
 thinking she had not made herself intelligible, she ex- 
 plained, "I mean that Solomon, though the wisest of men, 
 didn't know that, I reckon." 
 
 "How could he, asked Charles, "never having been 
 there ? " 
 
 " I do wonder, now, if you'll excuse the remark," said 
 the housekeeper, "that you didn't bring the silver belt 
 here and hang it up over the mantel-shelf." 
 
 " Silver belt ? What silver belt ? " 
 
 " Oh ! you know. "The champion wrestler's belt that 
 is to be tried for this afternoon. I suppose you didn't go 
 in for it because you thought it wouldn't be fair on the 
 young chaps here to take from them everything." 
 
 " I did not consider it worth ray while trying for it,'' 
 i said Charles, with a kick at the hearth with his toes — not 
 an irritated kick, but a flattered, self-satisfied, pleased kick. 
 " Of course I could have had it if I had tried." 
 
 " Of course you might, you who've been a soldier in 
 the wars, and fought them blood-thirsty Afghans. Lord ! 
 I reckon they was like Goliath s of Gath, the weight of 
 whose spear was as a weaver's beam." 
 
 Charles jerked his head knowingly. 
 
 " Afghanistan was a hard nut to crack." 
 
 " Ah ! " acquiesced Mrs. "Veale. " So said old Goodie 
 as she mumbled pebbles." Then she stood up and looked 
 at him. " I know a fine man when I see him," she said, 
 " able to hold himself like the best gentleman, and walk- 
 
152 RED SPIDER. 
 
 ing with his.head in the air as if the country belonged to 
 him." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Charles, taking off his hat and sitting 
 erect, " if all men had their rights Coombe Park would be 
 ours. 
 
 "Don't I know that?" asked the housekeeper. 
 " Every one knows that. Nobody can look at you without 
 seeing you're a gentleman born. And I say it is a shame 
 and a sin that you should be kicked out of your proper 
 nest, and it the habitation of strangers, cuckoos who never 
 built it, but have turned out the rightful owners. I reckon 
 it made me turn scarlet as your sister's cloak to see her 
 come crawling here t'other day on bended knees to ask 
 the master to take you in, She's no lady, not got a drop 
 of blue blood in her veins, or she'd not ha' done that. I'll 
 tell you what it is, Mr. Charles. All the gentle blood has 
 run one way and all the vulgar blood the other, as in our 
 barton field the sweet water comes out at the well, and the 
 riddam (ferruginous red water) at the alders." She spoke 
 with such acrimony, and with a look so spiteful, that Charles 
 asked, " What has Honor done to offend you ? " 
 
 " Oh nothing, nothing at all ! I don't stoop to take 
 offense at her," Then, observing that the young man re- 
 sented this disparagement of his sister, she added hastily, 
 " There, enough of her. She's good enough to wash and 
 comb the little uns and patch their clothes. We will talk 
 about yourself, as the fox said to the goose, when she axed 
 him if duck weren't more tasty. Why have you come from 
 the Revel ? There be some better reason than an empty 
 pocket." 
 
 "I have been insulted." 
 
 " Of course you have," said Mrs. Veale, " and I know 
 the reason. The young men here can't abide you. For 
 why ? Because you're too much of a gentleman, you're 
 
MRS. VBALE. 153 
 
 too high for 'em. As the church-yard cross said to the 
 cross on the spire, ' Us can't talk wi'out shouting.' Do 
 you know what the poacher as was convicted said to 
 the justice o' peace ? ' I'm not in a position, your wor- 
 ship, to punch your head, but I can spit on your 
 shadow.' " 
 
 " Without any boasting, I may admit that I and these 
 young clodhopping louts ain't of the same sort," said 
 Charles proudly. 
 
 " That's just what the urchin (hedgehog) said to the 
 little rabbits when he curled up in their nest." 
 
 " Ah ! " laughed Charles, but the urchin had quills and 
 could turn the rabbits out, and I have not." 
 
 " You've been in the army, and that gives a man bear- 
 ing, and you've been half over the world, and that gives 
 knowledge ; and nature have favored you with good looks. 
 The lads are jealous of you." 
 
 "They do not appreciate me, certainly," said Charles, 
 swelling with self-importance. 
 
 "This is a wicked world," said Mrs. Veale. Then 
 she produced a bottle of gin and a glass, and put them at 
 Charles's elbow. " Take a drop of comfort," she said per- 
 suasively, " though for such as you it should be old crusted 
 port and not the Plymouth liquor, as folks say is distilled 
 from turnips." 
 
 Young Luxmore needed no pressing; he helped him- 
 self. 
 
 "I reckon," pursued Mrs. Veale, "you were done out 
 of Coombe Park by those who didn't scruple to swear it 
 away. Money and law together will turn the best rights 
 topsy-turvy." 
 
 "No doubt about that, ma'am," said Charles. "I've 
 heard my father say, many a time, that with a hundred 
 pounds he could win Coombe Park back." 
 
154 RED SPIDER. 
 
 " Then why do you not lay out the hundred pounds ? " 
 
 " Because I haven't got 'em," answered Charles. 
 
 " Oh ! they're to be got," said the housekeeper, " as the 
 gypsy said to his wife when she told'n she were partial to 
 chickens.'' 
 
 " It seems to me," said the young man, " that it is a 
 ^hard world for them that is straight. The crooked one 
 have the best of it." 
 
 " Not at all," answered the housekeeper.. " The crooked 
 ones can't go through a straight hole. It is they who can 
 bend about like the ferret as gets on best, straight or 
 crooked as suits the occasion." 
 
 Charles stood up, drank off his glass, and paced the 
 room. The housekeeper filled his glass again. The young 
 man observed her actions and returned to his seat. As 
 he flung himself into the settle again he said, " I don't 
 know what the" devil makes you take such ah interest in 
 my affairs." 
 
 " Mrs. Veale looked hard at him, and answered, " A 
 woman can't be indifferent to a good-looking man." Charles 
 tossed off his glass to hide his confusion. So this bleached 
 creature had fallen in love with him! — a woman his senior 
 by some fifteen years. He was flattered, but felt that the 
 situation was unpleasant. 
 
 " This is a bad world," he said, " and I wish I had 
 the remaking of it. The good luck goes to the unde-^ 
 serving." 
 
 " That is only true because those who have wits want 
 readiness. A screw will go in and hold where a nail 
 would split. Coombe Park is yours by right ; it has been 
 taken from you by wrong. I should get it back again 
 were I you, and not be too nice about the means.'' Charles 
 sighed and shook his head. 
 
 " What a life you would lead as young squire ! " said 
 
MJiS. VEALE. ' .155 
 
 Mrs. Veale. " The maidens now run after Larry Nan- 
 spian, because he is heir to Chimsworthy, and don't give 
 much attention to you, because you've nothing in present 
 and nothing in prospect. But if you were at Coombe 
 Park they'd come round you thick as damsels in Shushan 
 to be seen of Ahasuerus, and Larry Nanspian would be no- 
 where in their thoughts." She laughed scornfully. " And 
 the fellows that turn up their noses at you now, because 
 you eat Langford's bread-crusts and earn ninepence, how 
 they would cringe to you and call you sir, and run errands 
 for you, and be thankful for a nod or a word ! Then the 
 farmers who now call you a good-for-naught would pipe 
 another note, and be proud to shake hands. And Parson 
 Robbins would wait with his white gown on, and not 'vent- 
 ure to say, "When the wicked man," till he saw you in 
 tiie Coombe Park pew. And the landlord's door at the 
 ' Ring of Bells ' would be ever open to you, and his best 
 sit by the iire would be yours. And I — poor I — would be 
 proud to think I'd poured out a glass of Plymouth spirit 
 to the young squire, and that he'd listened to my foolish 
 words." 
 
 Charles tossed his head, and threw up and turned over 
 the crown in his trousers packet. Then, unsolicited, he 
 poured himself out another glass and tossed it off. That 
 would be a grand day when he was squire and all Bratton 
 was at his feet. 
 
 Mrs. Veale stood erect before him with flickering eyes. 
 " Do y' know the stone steps beside the door ? " she asked. . 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 " What be they put there for .-' " 
 
 " They are stepping-stones to help to mount into the 
 saddle." 
 
 " What stones be they ? " 
 
 " I'm sure I can't say." 
 
156 , RED SPWER. 
 
 " Right ; no more does he know or care who uses them. 
 Well, I'm naught, but I can help you into the saddle of 
 Coombe Park." 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 TREASURE TROVE. 
 
 Charles Luxmore was not able to sleep much that 
 night. It was not that his conscience troubled him. He 
 gave hardly a thought to the affair at the circus. His 
 imagination was excited ; that delusive faculty, which, 
 according to Paley, is the parent of so much error and 
 evil. The idea of Coombe Park recurred incessantly to 
 his mind and kept him awake. But it was not the acqui- 
 sition of wealth and position that made the prospect so 
 alluring ; it was the hope of crowing over all those who 
 had despised him, of exciting the envy of those who now 
 looked down on him. 
 
 The " Ring of Bells " was on the Coombe estate. How 
 he could swagger there as the landlord's overlord ! The 
 Nanspians, Tavemer Langford, had but a few hundred 
 acres, and the Coombe Park property was nigh on two 
 thousand. 
 
 Squire Impey and he would be the two great men of 
 the place, and as the squire at Culm Court was a hunting 
 man, he, Charles Luxmore, would be hand in glove with 
 . him. 
 
 It would be worth much to ride, in scarlet after the 
 hounds, with his top boots and a black velvet cap, and 
 the hand holding a whip curled on the thigh so, and to 
 jog past old Langford, and cast him a " ' Do, Tavemer, 
 this morning ? Middling, eh ? " and to crack the whip at 
 Hillary N'anspian and shout, " Gut o' the way, you cub, or 
 
TREASURE TROVE. 157 
 
 I'll ride you down!" He sat up in bed and flapped his 
 arms, holding the blanket as reins, and clicked with' his 
 tongue, and imagined himself galloping over the field after 
 the hounds at full cry. Right along Broadbury, over the 
 fences of Langford, across Taverner's land, tearing, break- 
 ing through the hedges of Chimsworthy, tally-ho ! With 
 a kick, Charles sent the bedclothes flying on to the floor. 
 
 " By George ! " he said. " We shall have a meet in 
 front of Coombe Park, and Honor and Kate shall serve out 
 cherry-brandy to the huntsmen." Then he scrambled 
 about the floor collecting his bedclothes and rearranging 
 them. I'll go to Coombe Parke to-morrow, and look where 
 the kennels are to be. I'll give an eye also to the pond. 
 I don't believe it has been properly cleaned out and fit 
 for trout since the place left our hands. I'm afraid Honor 
 will jiever rise to her situation — always keep a maid-of- 
 ail-work mind. Confound these bedclothes, I've got them 
 all askew." 
 
 So possessed was Charles with the idea that it. did not 
 forsake him when morning came. It clung to him all the 
 ,day. "There's only a hundred pounds wanted," he said, 
 "for us to establish our claim." 
 
 Then he paused in the work on which he was engaged. 
 " How am I to reach a hundred pounds on ninepence a 
 day, I'd like to know? Ninepence a day is four-and-six 
 a week, and that makes eleven guineas or thereabout per 
 annum. I must have something to spend on clothing 
 and amusement. Say I put away seven guineas in the 
 year, why it would take me thirteen to fourteen years to 
 earn a hundred pounds — going straight as a nail, not as a 
 screw, nor as a ferret." 
 
 In the evening Charles wandered away to Coombe 
 Park. The owner, a yeoman named Pengelly, who, how- 
 ever, owned only the home farm, not- the entire property. 
 
158 RED SPIDER. 
 
 had been accustomed to the visits of Oliver Luxmore, 
 which had been regarded as a sort of necessary nuisance. 
 He was by no means disposed to have his place haunted 
 by the young man also, of whose conduct he had received 
 a bad report from all sides. He therefore treated Charles 
 with scant courtesy, and when young Luxmore tried blus- 
 ter and brag, he ordered him off the premises. 
 
 Charles returned to Langford foaming with rage. 
 Mrs. Veale awaited him. 
 
 " The master is not home," she said ; " where have 
 you been 1 " 
 
 " Been to see my proper home," he answered, " and 
 been threatened with the constable if I did not clear away. 
 What do you mean by giving me all sorts of ideas and 
 expectations, and subjecting me to insult, eh ? answer me 
 that." 
 
 " Don't you fly out in flaming fury, Mr. Charles." 
 
 " I'm like to when treated as I have been. So would 
 you. So will you, if what I hear is like to come about. 
 There's talk of a hare-hunt." 
 
 "A what?" 
 
 "A hare-hunt." 
 
 " Where ? " Mrs. Veale stood before him growing 
 deadlier white every moment, and quivering in all her 
 members and in every fiber of her pale dress, in every hair 
 of her blinking eyelids. 
 
 "Why, here — at Langford." 
 
 She caught his arm and shook him. " You will not 
 suffer it ! You will stay it ! " 
 
 " Should they try it on, trust me," said Charles mock- 
 ingly. "Specially if Larry Nanspian be in it. I've a 
 grudge against him must be paid off." 
 
 Mrs. Veale passed her hand over her brow. "To 
 think they should dare! should dare!" she muttered. 
 
TREASURE TROVE. 159 
 
 "But you'll not suffer it. A hare-hunt! what do they 
 take me for?" 
 
 Charles Luxmore uttered a short ironical laugh. 
 " Dear blood ! " * she muttered, and her sharp fingers 
 nipped and played on his arm as though she were finger- 
 ing a flute. " You'll revenge me if they do ! Trust me ! 
 when I am deadly wronged I can hurt, and hurt I will, 
 and when one does me good I repay it — to a hundred 
 pounds." 
 
 She laughed bitterly. There was something painful 
 in her laugh. It was devoid of mirth and provoked no 
 laughter. Although she said many odd things, invented 
 quaint similes, or used those which were traditional, they 
 hardly ever awoke a smile, her tone was so cheerless, 
 husky, and unpleasant. 
 
 " So Farmer Pengelly insulted you ! Ha ! it would 
 be a most laughable conceit to prove that he had no title, 
 and had thrown away his thousands." 
 
 "OnCoombePark?" 
 
 " On what else ? What did he say to you .' " 
 
 " Never mind what he said. What he said hurt me. 
 He called me a vagabond and empty pocket, and said I 
 might go pack to the devil." 
 
 "And when you have established your right and shown 
 that he bought without a proper title, then you'd stand on 
 the doorsteps, stick in hand, and say, ' Pengelly ! who has 
 the empty pocket? Who is the vagabond without a 
 house ? Go pack to the devil. What be you to stye in a 
 gentleman's mansion? Whom God Almighty made an 
 ass bides an ass. And cats as ain't got manners must 
 ' keep, off Turkey carpets.' " 
 
 Then, still holding his arm, she said, "Come here! 
 I've never shown you over this house ; not that Langford 
 
 * A Devonshire expression, meaning " Dear fellow." 
 
l6o RED SPIDER. 
 
 is fit to compare with Coombe Park. Yet this were a 
 gentleman's house once. But what were the Langfords 
 as compared with the Luxmores ? You'll see a Luxmore 
 monument at the very altar-steps of the chancel in Brattbn 
 Church, but that of a Langford is half-way down the nave, 
 which shows how different they were estimated." After 
 a short silence, Charles felt a spasmodic quiver pass over 
 her, like the thrill of a peacock when spreading its tail. 
 " They would have a hare-hunt, would they, and put me 
 , to a public shame ? " 
 
 "No, no, Mrs. Veale," said Charles, caressingly, "I'll 
 put a stop to that ; and if they venture, I'll break the 
 necks of those that have to do with it." 
 
 " Come with me," said the woman hoarsely, " I'll show 
 you all. Here," she flung open the sitting-room door, 
 " here is the parlor where your sister went down on her 
 knees to the master. If Ke'd ha' axed her to lick his 
 boots she'd ha' done it — no proper pride in her — and all 
 for ninepence a day," 
 
 Charles became very red in the face. 
 
 " This is the desk at which the master writes and does 
 his accounts. In it, I reckon, be his books. I've never 
 seed them, and I doubt if I could make much out of 'em 
 if I did. Them things don't agree wi' my faculties, as the 
 cherub said of the armchair." 
 
 " Does old Langford always sit in this room ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! too proud to sit in the kitchen wi' such as 
 me — not even in winter. Then I must make his fire here 
 every day, and have the worry of keeping it in. There is 
 one thing don't suit him now he is cut wi' the Nanspians. 
 Formerly he got all his fuel from their wood. There are 
 no plantations on Langford, and the old trees are cut 
 down. When he got his fuel at Chimsworthy, he hadn't 
 to pay, and now he must get a riek of firing elsewhere." 
 
TREASURE TROVE. i6i 
 
 She pointed to an old-fashioned cupboard in the wall. 
 " There he keeps his sugar and his tea and his currants. 
 He keeps all under key, lest I or the maidens should steal 
 them. Now you look at me, and I'll show you something." 
 She opened an empty place under the cupboard and 
 knocked upward thrice with her fist, and the glass doors 
 of the repository of the groceries flew open. She laughed 
 huskily. " There ! if I strike I shoot up the bolt, and the 
 lock won't hold the doors together. When I press them 
 together and shut back, down falls the bolt." 
 
 " That is ingenious, Mrs. Veale — stay, don't shut yet. 
 I have a sweet tooth, and see some raisins in the bag 
 there." 
 
 "Now leave them alone. I've something better to 
 show you. Men reckon themselves clever, but women 
 beat them in cleverness. Go to the fire-place. Kneel at 
 it, and put your hand up on the left side, thrust in your 
 arm full length and turn the hand round." 
 
 " I shall dirty myself. I shall get a black hand." 
 
 "Of course you will. That is how I found it out. 
 Don't be afraid of a little soot. There is a sort of oven 
 at the side. This room were not always a parlor, I reckon ; 
 there were a large open fire-place in it, and when the grate 
 was put in it left the space behind not at all, or only half, 
 filled in — leastways, the road to the oven door was not 
 blocked. Have you found it ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Charles. " I have my hand in some- 
 thing." 
 
 "And something in your hand, eh .' " 
 
 " Yes, a box, a largish box." 
 
 He drew forth a tin case, very heavy, with a handle at 
 the top. It was locked with a letter padlock. 
 
 "Into that box the master puts all his savings. I 
 reckon there be hundreds of pounds stowed away there, 
 11 
 
1 62 RED SPIDER. 
 
 may be thousands. The master himself don't know how 
 much. He's too afeared of being seen or heard counting 
 it. When he has money he takes out the box, opens it, 
 and puts in the gold, only gold and paper, no silver. 
 Banks break. He will have none of them, but this old 
 cloam oven he thinks is secure. He may be mistaken."' 
 
 " How did you find this out." 
 
 " By his black hand. Whenever he had sold bullocks 
 or sheep, and I knew he had received money, so sure was 
 he to come in here with a white hand and come out with 
 one that was black, that is how I found it. I know more. 
 I know the word that will open the box." 
 
 " How did you find that out ? " 
 
 " The master was himself afraid of forgetting it, and I 
 chanced to see in the first leaf of his Bible here in pencil 
 the reference Gen. xxxvi. 23. One day I chanced to look 
 out the passage, and it was this : ' The children of Shobal 
 were these : Alvan, and Manahath, and Ebal, Shepho, and 
 Onam.' I thought a man must have a bad conscience to 
 find comfort in such a passage as that. And what do y' 
 think ? I found the same reference in his pocket-book. 
 Then I knew it must mean something I didn't see the end 
 of. And one day I were full o' light, like a lantern. I 
 saw it all. Do y' see, this new padlock makes only four 
 letter words, and in that verse there are two words of four 
 letters, and I found as how the master changed about. 
 One year he took Ebal, and next year Onam. It be the 
 turn o' Ebal now." 
 
 Charles felt the weight of the case, and turned the 
 padlock toward him. 
 
 "Lord!" exclaimed Mrs. Veale, "what if the master 
 have got his thousand or two there ! It's nothing to what 
 might be yours if you had Coombe Park." 
 
 Suddenly both started. Langford's voice was heard 
 
A DEAD DOG. 1 63 
 
 outside. Charles hastily replaced the case where he had 
 found it, and slipped out of the room with Mrs. Veale, 
 who held him and drew him after her, her nervous fingers 
 playing on his arm-bone as on a pipe. 
 
 " Come here," she whispered, "let me wash your hand. 
 It is black. Here, at the sink." She chuckled as she 
 soaped his hand and wrist. " And here the master have 
 washed his, and thought I did not consider it." Then 
 she quivered through her whole body, and her eyes 
 blinked. She put up her shaking finger, and whispered, 
 " Ebal." 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A DEAD DOG. 
 
 The second night of watch proved unavailing, for the 
 best of good reasons, that the watch was not kept. Oliver 
 Luxmore sat up, but, finding the night chilly outside the 
 house, attempted to keep watch with a pipe of tobacco 
 and a jug and glass of cider posset within. The conse- 
 quence was that he went to sleep over the fire. During 
 that same night another of the lambs was worried. Mis- 
 chief had also been done at Swaddledown, as the family 
 heard during the day. There a ewe had been killed, over- 
 run, thrown into a grip (dyke by hedge) whence it could 
 not rise, and where it had been torn, and had died. 
 
 " We must not ask your father to watch again," said 
 Hillary, with the corners of his mouth twitching. "We 
 believe what he says now when he tells us he is very short- 
 sighted. I will come to-night and the night after, if need 
 be, till I earn my guinea. The rascal has been here twice 
 and has escaped. He shall not succeed the third time. I 
 will take a nap by day and be lively as an owl at night." 
 
164 RED SPIDER. 
 
 The maids at Chimsworthy joked the lad about his 
 visits to the cottage ; he did not go there after the dog, 
 but after Kate. A guinea ! What was a guinea to the 
 heir of Chimsworthy ? A young man cares more for girls' 
 hearts than for money. He did not contradict them, he 
 turned aside their banter with banter. But the lively con- 
 versation of Kate had lost its charm for him. He ex- 
 changed jests with her, but took less pleasure than here- 
 tofore in doing so. That night and the next he spent at 
 his post watching for the lamb-killer. Honor gave him 
 her company. He was surprised at himself for becoming 
 serious, still more that the conversation and society of the 
 grave Honor should afford him so much pleasure. In her 
 company everything assumed a new aspect, was seen 
 through colored glass. 
 
 Honor herself was changed during these still night 
 watches. A softness, inbred in her, but to which she was 
 unable to yield during the day, manifested itself in her 
 manner, her speech, her appearance, a bloom as that on 
 the plum. Her inner heart unfolded like a night-flower, 
 and poured forth fragrance. Thoughts that had long 
 dwelt and worked in her mind, but to which she had never 
 given words, found expression at last. Her real mind, her 
 great, pure, deep soul, had been as a fountain sealed to 
 her father and sister Kate ; they could not have under- 
 stood her thoughts ; she knew this without acknowledging 
 it other than by instinctive silence. But now she had be- 
 side her a companion, sympathetic, intelligent ; and the- 
 night that veiled their faces and the working of their emo- 
 tions allowed them to speak with frankness. Banter died 
 away on Hillary's lips, he respected her and her thoughts 
 too highly to treat either lightly. Though he could not 
 fully understand her he could not withhold his reverence. 
 He saw the nobility of her character, her self-devotion 
 
A DEAD DOG. 165 
 
 made beautiful by its unconsciousness, her directness of 
 purpose, her thoroughness, and her clear simplicity run- 
 ning through her life like a sparkling river. Her nature 
 was the reverse of his own. He treated life as a holiday, 
 and its duties as annoyances ; she looked to the duties as 
 constituting life, and to pleasures as accidents. He be- 
 came dissatisfied with himself without feeling resentment 
 toward Honor for inspiring the feeling. With all his 
 frivolity and self-conceit there was good stuff in Hillary. 
 It was evidence of this that he now appreciated Honor. _ 
 At night, under the dark heavens strewed with stars, or 
 with the moon rising as a globe of gold over Dartmoor, 
 these two young people sat on the bench, with potato- 
 sacks over their shoulders sheltering them from the dew, 
 or at the hearth suffused by the glow of the peat embers, 
 and talked with muffled voices as if in church. 
 
 The second, the third night, during which Hillary 
 watched, passed uneventfully. Each night, or morning 
 rather, as Hillary left, the pressure of his hand clasping 
 that of Honor became warmer. After he was gone, the 
 girl sat musing for some minutes, listening to his dying 
 steps as he passed along the lane homeward. Then she 
 sighed, shook her head, as though to shake off some 
 dream that stole over her, and went to bed. 
 
 Hillary's determined watching was not, however, des- 
 tined to remain fruitless. Early on the fourth night, after 
 he had been at his post an hour, the bleating and scam- 
 pering of the sheep showed that their enemy was at 
 hand. 
 
 In another moment both saw a dark animal dash across 
 the field in pursuit. Hillary fired, and the creature fell 
 over. 
 
 "Bring a lantern, Honor," he shouted. "Let us see 
 whose dog it is." 
 
l66 RED SPIDER. 
 
 She ran indoors. Her father and Kate had been 
 roused by the report. 
 
 When she returned with the lantern to the field, " You 
 were right, Honor," said Hillary, "this is Uncle Tav- 
 emer's Rover. Poor fellow, we were friends once, when 
 I was allowed at Langford. Now he and his master have 
 fallen to bad ways. I have put the seal on my misdoings, 
 and Uncle Tavemer will never forgive me for having shot 
 his dog." 
 
 " Well, perhaps you will recover your wits now," said 
 Kate. 
 
 " Wits ! why .? " 
 
 " Wits — you have been dull enough lately. Perhaps 
 as the dog went sheep-killing, your wits went wool-gather- 
 ing. They have been dead, or not at home." 
 
 " Go home, Larry," said Honor ; " and take our best 
 thanks to warm you." 
 
 Hillary, however, seemed ill-disposed to go. He 
 hung about the kitchen pretending that his fingers wanted 
 warming, or considering what was to be done with the 
 carcass of the dog. What he really desired was a further 
 chat with Honor. But Kate would not allow him to be 
 alone with her sister, though unsuspicious of the state of 
 his feelings, and indifferent to them herself. She was 
 like a mosquito that buzzes about a sleep-drunk man, 
 threatening him, rousing him, settling and ^tabbing, and 
 escaping before his hand can chastise. The more she 
 plied him with her jokes, the more dispirited he become, 
 and incapable of repartee. 
 
 " Well," said he, at length, " I suppose it is time for all 
 to go to bed. You have all seen enough of the dead 
 dog." 
 
 "And we of the live lion," said Kate. 
 
 He went hesitatingly to the door, then came back, tied 
 
A DEAD DOG. 1 67 
 
 the dog's hind feet together, and slung the body over his 
 back on his gun. Then he went back to the door. 
 
 Kate said something to Honor, gave Larry a nod, and 
 went away to bed. 
 
 Honor accompanied him to the door, to fasten it, after 
 him. 
 
 " I wish Rover had not come for a couple of hours," 
 he said, as he held out his hand. , 
 
 " You have won your guinea, and must be content," 
 she answered with a smile. 
 
 " Do you suppose I care for the guinea, except that I 
 may share it with you ? " he asked. " I'll tell you what 
 we will do with it, break it in half, and each keep a half." 
 
 " Then it will be of no good to either," answered 
 Honor. "You told me yourself that the money was a 
 consideration to you, as you were empty-pocketed." 
 
 " I forgot all about the guinea after the first night in 
 the pleasure of being with you. I would give the guinea 
 to be allowed to come here again to-morrow night. Con- 
 found old Rover for being in such a hurry for his dose of 
 lead!" 
 
 " What is that about lead ? " called Kate, from the 
 steps of the stairs. " I think, Larry, the lead has got into 
 your brains, and into your feet." 
 
 Honor shook her head, and tried to withdraw her 
 hand from that of the young man ; but he would not re- 
 lease it. " No, Larry, no, that can not be." 
 
 " May I not come again } " 
 
 " No, Larry, on no account," she said, gravely. 
 
 " But, Honor, if I come down the lane, and you hear 
 the owls call very loud under the bank, you will open the 
 door and slip out. You will bring the potato-sacks, and 
 let us have a talk again on the bench with them over our 
 shoulders ? " 
 
l68 REP SPIDER. 
 
 " No, I will not — indeed I will not. I pray you, if 
 you have any thought for me, do not try this. Good- 
 night, Larry — you are a brother to me." 
 
 She wrenched her hand from his, and shut the door. 
 He heard her bolt it. Then he went down the steps and 
 walked away ill-pleased. But after he had gone some dis- 
 tance, he turned, and saw the cottager^ door open, and 
 Honor standing in it, her dark figure against the fire-glow. 
 Had she relented and changed her mind ? He came 
 back. Then the door was shut and barred again. He 
 was offended, and, to disguise his confusion, whistled a 
 merry air, and whistled it so loud as that Honor might 
 hear it and understand that her refusal gave him no concern. 
 
 Hillary had not reached the end of the lane before he 
 stumbled against Charles. 
 
 " Hallo ! " exclaimed the latter. " What are you do- 
 ing here at this time o' night ? Got your gun, eh ? And 
 game too, eh ? Poaching on Langford. A common 
 poacher. I'll report you. Not hare-hunting yet ? Take 
 care how you do that. I'll break your neck if you come 
 near Langford after that game ! " 
 
 " What you have been doing is clear enough," said 
 Hillary, stepping aside. "You have been at the 'Ring 
 of Bells,' drinking." 
 
 " What if I have ? No harm in that, if I have money 
 to pay my score. Nothing against that, have you ? " 
 
 " Nothing at all ; but I doubt your having the money. 
 A week ago you were reduced to a brass token." 
 
 " You think yourself cock of the walk, do you ? " said 
 Charles, insolently, " because you are heir to Chims- 
 worthy .' What is Chimsworthy to Coombe Park ? 
 Come ! I bet now you've naught but coppers in your 
 pocket. Hands in, and see which can make the most 
 show." 
 
A DEAD DOG. 1 69 
 
 As he spoke, he thrust forth his palm, and Hillary- 
 heard the chink of money, and the sound of coins falling 
 on the stones. 
 
 " If you had money at the fair-time," said Hillary, 
 coldly, " all I can say is that you behaved infamously." 
 
 " I had no money then." 
 
 " How you have got it since, I do not know," said 
 Hillary. 
 
 " That is no concern of yours, Master Larry," an- 
 swered Charles,, roughly. "You will live to see me 
 Squire at Coombe Park ; and when I'm there, curse me if 
 I don't offer you the place of game-keeper to keep off 
 rogues. An old poacher is the best keeper." 
 
 " You cur ! " exclaimed Hillary, blazing up. " This is 
 my game." He swung the dead dog about, and struck 
 Charles on the cheek with the carcass so violently as to 
 knock him into the hedge. " This is my game. Your 
 master's dog, which has been worrying and killing your 
 father's lambs while you have been boozing in a tavern." 
 
 " By George ! " swore Charles, with difficulty picking 
 himself up. " I'll break your cursed neck, I will ! " 
 
 But Larry had gone on his way by the time Charles 
 had regained equilibrium. 
 
 " This is the second time he's struck me down," said 
 Charles, and next moment a great stone passed Larry, then 
 another struck the dead dog on his back with sufficient 
 force to have stunned him had it struck his head. 
 
 He turned and shouted angrily: "You tipsy black- 
 guard, heave another, and I'll shoot! The gun is loaded." 
 
 " And, by George ! I'll break your neck ! " yelled 
 Charles after him. 
 
I70 RED SPIDER. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A FIVE-POUND NOTE. 
 
 No sooner had Hillary got the guinea for shooting the 
 sheep-killer than he went to the cottage and offered half 
 to Honor Luxmore. She refused it, and would by no 
 persuasion be induced to accept it. 
 
 " No, Larry, no — a thousand times no. You redeemed 
 my cloak, and will not let me pay you for that. I will not 
 touch a farthing of this well-earned prize." 
 
 Then Larry went to Tavistock and expended part of 
 the money in the purchase of a handsome silk kerchief 
 white with sprigs of lilac, and slips of moss-rose on it. He 
 returned in the carrier's van instead of waiting for his 
 father, who remained to drink with other farmers. This 
 entailed the walking up of the hills. When he got out 
 for this object, he left his parcel on the seat. On his re- 
 turn he found the women within sniggering. 
 
 "Don't y' be offended at us now," said one. "But it 
 is just so. Your parcel came open of herself wi' the jolt- 
 ing of the Vivid, and us could'nt help seeing what was 
 inside. Us can't be expected to sit wi' our eyes shut. 
 'Tain't in reason nor in nature. I must say this — 'tis a ' 
 pretty kerchief, and Kate Luxmore will look like a real 
 leddy in it o' Sunday, to be sure." 
 
 Then the rest of the women laughed. 
 
 Hillary colored, and was annoyed. The parcel had 
 not come open of itself. The women's inquisitive fingers 
 had opened it, and their curious eyes had examined the 
 contents. They had rushed to the conclusion that the 
 kerchief was intended for Kate — Larry was much about 
 with the maiden, they were always teasing each other, 
 
A FIVE-POUND NOTE, i 171 
 
 laughing together, and Hillary had been several evenings 
 to the carrier's cottage guarding the Iambs and sheep. 
 
 The young man did not disabuse them of their error. 
 He was vexed that they should suppose him caught by the 
 rattle Kate, instead of by the reliable Honor ; it showed 
 him that they supposed him less sensible than he was. 
 But he thought with satisfaction of the surprise of the gos- 
 sips on Sunday, when they saw the kerchief about the 
 neck of the elder sister, instead of that of Kate. 
 
 In this expectation, however, he was disappointed. 
 J^ext day, he went to the cottage at an hour when he was 
 sure to find Honor there alone, and, with radiant face and 
 sparkling eyes, unfolded the paper, and offered his present 
 to the girl. 
 
 Honor was more startled than pleased — at 1 least, it 
 seemed so — and at first absolutely declined the kerchief. 
 "No, Larry, I thank you for your kind thought, but t 
 must not accept it. I am sorry that you have spent your 
 money — the kerchief is very pretty; but I can not wear it." 
 
 " How wrong-headed and haughty you are, -Honor ! 
 Why will you not take it ? " The blood made his face 
 dark, he was offended and angry. He had never made a 
 girl a present before, and this, his first, was rejected. " It 
 gave me a vast deal of pleasure buying it. I turned over 
 a score, and couldn't well choose which would look best 
 on your shoulders. You have given me good advice ; and 
 here is my return, as an assurance that I will observe it." 
 
 " I am not wrong-headed and haughty, Larry," an- 
 swered Honor, gently. " But see ! in spite of what I said, 
 in spite of my better judgment, rather than wound you, I 
 will take the handkerchief. Indeed, indeed, dear Larry, 
 I am not unthankful and ungracious, though I may' seem 
 so.- And now I will only take it as a pledge that you 
 have laid my words to heart. Let it mean that, and that 
 
172 RED SPIDER. 
 
 only. But, Larry, the women in the van saw it. I can 
 not wear it just now, certainly not on Sunday next. You 
 know yourself what conclusions they would draw, and we 
 must not deceive them into taking us to be what we are 
 not, and never can be, to each other." 
 
 "Why not. Honor?" 
 
 Instead of answering, she said with a smile, "My 
 brother, Larry, this I will undertake. When I see that 
 you have become a man of deeds and not of words, then 
 I will throw the kerchief round my neck and wear it at 
 church. It shall be a token to you of my approval. Will 
 that content you .' " 
 
 He tried his utmost to obtain a further concession. 
 She was resolute. She did not wish to be ungracious, but 
 she was determined to give him no encouragement. She 
 had thought out her position, and resolved on her course. 
 She knew that her way was chalked for her. She must 
 be mother to all her little sisters and brothers, till they 
 were grown up and had dispersed. There was no saying 
 what her father might do were she away. He might marry 
 again, and a stepmother would ill-treat or neglect the little 
 ones. If she were to marry, it could be on one under- 
 standing only, that she brought the family with her to the 
 husband's house — and to that no man would consent. It 
 would be unfair to burden a young man thus. Her father, 
 moreover, was not a man to be left. What Charles had 
 become, without a firm hand over him, that might Oliver 
 Luxmore also become, even if he did not marry. His dis- 
 positions were not bad, but his character was infirm. No I 
 it was impossible for her to contemplate marriage. Kate 
 might, but not she. The line of duty lay clear before her 
 as a white road in summer heat, and she had not even the 
 wish to desert it. It was right for her to nip Larry's grow- 
 ing liking for herself, at once and in the bud. 
 
A FIVE-POUND NOTE. 173 
 
 After Larry had gone, she folded and put away his 
 present among her few valuables. She valued it, as the 
 .first warm breath of spring is valued. She said nothing 
 to Kate or the others about it. Her heart was lighter, 
 and she sang over her work. The little offering was a 
 token that through the troubled sky the sun was about to 
 shine. 
 
 A day or two after, Charles lounged in, and seated 
 himself by the fire. She was pleased to see hira. He 
 was, at honest work with Mr. Langford, earning an honest 
 wage. She said as much. Charles laughed contemptu- 
 ously. " Ninepence," he said, " ninepence a day. What 
 is ninepence ? " 
 
 "It is more than you had as a soldier." 
 
 " But as a soldier I had the uniform and the position. 
 Now I am a day-laborer — I, a Luxmore, the young squire 
 with ninepence and lodging and meat." 
 
 '■ Well, Charles, it is a beginning." 
 
 " Beginning at ninepence.' As Mrs. Veale says, ' One 
 can't stand upon coppers and keep out of the dirt.' What 
 is the meat and drink ? The cider cuts one's throat as it 
 goes down, and the food is insufficient and indigestible. 
 If I had not a friend to forage me, I should be badly 
 off." 
 
 " If you keep this place a twelvemonth, you will get a 
 better situation next year." 
 
 " Keep at Langford a twelvemonth ! " exclaimed 
 Charles. " Not if I know it. It won't do. Never mind 
 why. I say it won't do." 
 
 Then he began working his heel in a hole of the floor 
 where the slate was broken. 
 
 " You know Mrs. Veale ? " he asked, without looking 
 at his sister. 
 
 "Yes, Charles. That is, I have seen her, and have 
 
174 RED SPIDER. 
 
 even spoken to her, but— know her — that is more than I 
 profess. She is not a person I am like to know." 
 
 " You had better not," said Charles. " She don't love 
 you. When I mention your name, her face turns green. 
 She'd ill- wish you if she could." 
 
 " I have never done her an injury," said Honor. 
 
 " That may be. Hate is like love, it pitches at random, 
 as Mrs. Veale says. You may laugh. Honor, but that same 
 woman is in love with me." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " Honor did not laugh, she was too 
 shocked to laugh. 
 
 " What is there nonsensical in that ? I tell you she is. 
 She cooks me better food than for the rest of the men, 
 and she favors me in many ways." 
 
 " She can not be such a fool." 
 
 "There is no folly in fancying me," said Charles, 
 sharply. " I have good looks, have seen the world, and 
 compare with the louts here as wheat with rye. Many a 
 woman has lost her heart to a younger man than her- 
 self." 
 
 " Charles, you must be plain and rough with her if this 
 be so — though I can scarce believe it." 
 
 " No one forces you to believe it. But don't you think 
 I'm going to make Mrs. Veale your sister-in-law. I'm too 
 wide-awake for that. She is ugly, and — she's a bad un. 
 Yes,'' musingly, " she is a bad un." 
 
 ' Then he worked his heel more vigorously in the hole. 
 " Take care what you are about, Charles, you are break- 
 ing the slate, and making what was bad, worse." 
 
 "I wish I had Mrs. Veale's heart under that there 
 stone," said Charles, viciously. "I'd grind my heel into 
 it till I'd worked through it. You don't know how un- 
 comfortable she makes me." 
 
 "Well, keep her at arm's length." 
 
A FIVE-POUND NOTE. 175 
 
 , " I can't do it. She won't let me. She runs after me 
 as a cat after a milk-maid." 
 
 " Surely, Charles, you can just put a stop to that." 
 
 " I suppose I must." 
 
 He continued, in spite of remonstrance, grinding 
 through the broken slate into the earth. His face was hot 
 and red. He put his elbow up, and wiped his brow on his 
 sleeve. 
 
 " It is cursed warm here," he said, at last. 
 
 " Then keep away from the fire. I'm glad you have 
 come to see me, Charles ; I always wish you well." 
 
 " Oh, for the matter of that, I only came here to be 
 out of the way of Mrs. Veale." 
 
 Then Honor laughed. " Really, Charles, this is child- 
 ish." 
 
 " It~ is not kind of you to laugh," said he, sulkily f 
 " you do not know what it i? to have your head turned, 
 and to feel yourself pulled about and drawn along 
 against your will. It is like " oranges and lemons," as we 
 played at school, when you are on the weakest side.'' 
 
 " Whither can Mrs. Veale draw you ? Not to the altar- 
 rails, surely ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! not to the altar-rails. Mrs. Veale is a bad un." 
 
 His manner puzzled Honor. She was convinced he 
 was not telling her everything. 
 
 " What is it, Charles ? " she said ; " you may give me 
 your confidence. Tell me all that troubles you. What is 
 behind ? I know you are keeping back something from 
 me. If I can advise and help you, I will do so. I am 
 your nearest sister." Then she put her arms round his 
 neck and kissed him. 
 
 " Don't do that," said he, roughly. " I hate scenes, 
 sisterly affection and motherly counsel, and all that sort 
 of batter-pudding without egg and sugar. I reckon I am 
 
176 RED SPIDER. 
 
 outgrown that long ago. I have been a soldier and know 
 the world. If you think to pin me to your apron, as you 
 have pinned father, you are mightily mistaken. No ; I 
 will tell you no more, only this — don't be surprised if I 
 leave Langford. Ninepence a day is not enough to hold 
 me. 
 
 " O Charles, I entreat you to stay. You have regu- 
 lar work there and regular pay. As for Mrs. Veale — " 
 
 " Curse Mrs. Veale ! " interrupted Charles, and with a 
 stamp of his iron-shod heel he broke the comers of the 
 slate slab. Then he stood up. 
 
 " Look here, Honor. I mustn't forget a message. Old 
 Langford wants to see my father mighty particular, and he 
 is to come up to the house to have a talk with him. He 
 told me so himself, and indeed sent me here. Father is 
 to come up this evening, as he is not at home now. You 
 will remember to send him, Honor ? " 
 
 "Yes," she answered, bending her face over her work, 
 "yes, I shall not forget, Charles." ' 
 
 Her brother had not the faintest suspicion, that his 
 master was a suitor for Honor's hand. Mrs. Veale knew 
 it, but she did not tell him. She had reasons for not do- 
 ing so. 
 
 " Ninepence per diem ! " muttered the young man, 
 standing in the doorway. " That makes fourpence for 
 ale, and fourpence for baccy, and a penny for clothing. 
 'Tain't reasonable. I won't stand it. I reckon I'll be off." 
 
 Then, after a moment of irresolution, he came back 
 into the middle of the room, and, taking Honor's head 
 between his hands, said, in an altered tone, as he kissed 
 her, " After all, you are a good girl. Don't be angry if I 
 spoke sharp. I'm that ruffled I don't know what I say, 
 or what I do. You mayn't be a proper Luxmore in spirit 
 — that is, not like father and me — but you are hard-work- 
 
A FIVE-POUND NOTE. ijy 
 
 ing, and so I forgive you in a Christian spirit. As Mrs. 
 Veale says, even the Chosen People must have Gibeonites 
 to hew wood and draw water for them. After I am gone, 
 look under the china dog on the mantel-shelf." 
 
 Then he went hastily away. 
 
 Honor shuddered. His breath smelled of brandy. 
 
 Half an hour later, Oliver Luxmore came in. Then 
 Honor told him that Charles had been to the house with 
 a message for him from Mr. Langford. Oliver rubbed his 
 head and looked forlorn. He knew as well as his daughter 
 what this meant. 
 
 " I suppose," said he, in a timid, questioning tone — " I 
 suppose. Honor you have not thought better of what we 
 was discussing together .' No doubt Mr. Langford is im- 
 patient for his answer." 
 
 " No doubt," answered the girl. 
 
 " You haven't reconsidered your difficulty in the mat- 
 ter ? It seems to me — but then I am nobody, though your 
 father — it seems to me that if there be no prior attachment, 
 as folks call it — and you assure me there is none — there 
 can't be great hardship in taking him. Riches and lands 
 are not bad things ; and. Honor, it is worth considering 
 that in this world we never can have everything we desire. 
 Providence always mixes the portions we are given to sup." 
 
 " Yes, father, that is true. I am content with that put 
 to my lips. It is sweet, for I have your love, and the love 
 of all my brothers and sisters. Charles has been here, and 
 he kissed me as he never kissed me before. That makes 
 nine lumps of sugar in my cup. If there be a little bitter- 
 ness, what then 1 " 
 
 "Well, Honor, you must decide. We can not drive 
 you, and you count our wishes as naught." 
 
 He was seated, rubbing his hands, then his hair, and 
 turning his head from side to side in a feeble, forlorn, 
 12 
 
178 RED SPIDER. 
 
 irresolute manner. Honor was sorry for his disappoint- 
 ment, but not inclined to yield. 
 
 "Father dear, consider. If I did take Mr.'Langford, 
 he would not receive you and all the darlings into Lang- 
 ford house as well — and I' will not be parted from you. 
 Who takes me takes all the hive. I am the queen-bee." 
 
 " I will ask," said the carrier, breathing freer. " I can 
 but ask. He can but refuse ; besides, it will look better^ 
 putting the refusal on his hands. It may be that he will 
 not object. There be a lot o' rooms, for sure, at Langford 
 he makes no use of; and I dare say he might accommo- 
 date us. There be one, I know, full o' apples, and another 
 of onions, and I dare say he keeps wool in a third." 
 
 Honor, who was standing by the fire, started, and said 
 hastily, with shaking voice, "You misunderstand me, 
 father. On no account will I take him. No — on no con- 
 ditions whatever." Her hand was on the mantel-shelf, and 
 as it shook with her emotion she touched and knocked 
 over a china dog spotted xed, a rude chimney ornament. 
 A piece of folded paper fell at her feet. She stooped and 
 picked it up. It was a five-pound note. 
 
 She looked at it at first without perceiving what it was, 
 as her mind was occupied. But presently she saw what it 
 was that she held, and then she looked at it with perplex- 
 ity, and after a moment with uneasiness, and changed 
 color. 
 
 " Father ! " she said, " here is a five-pound note of the 
 Exeter and Plymouth Bank, left by Charles. What does 
 it mean? How can he have got it? Before he parted 
 from me, he said something about looking under the china 
 dog, but I gave no heed to his words ; his breath smelled of 
 spirits, and I thought he spoke away from his meaning. 
 His manner was odd. Father ! wherever can Charles 
 have got the money ? O father ! I hope all is right." 
 
REFUSED! lyg 
 
 She put her hand to her heart ; a qualm of. fear came 
 over her. 
 
 " Right ! Of course it is right,'' said the carrier. 
 " Five pounds ! Why, that will come in handy. It will 
 go toward the cost of the horse if you persist. As for 
 these lambs, he ought to pay me for them, but I don't 
 like to press it, as I hear he won't allow it was his dog 
 killed them, and he swears Hillary shot Rover out of 
 spite, and lays the lamb-killing on the dog unjustly. 
 Well, Honor, I suppose you must have your own way ; 
 but it is hard on Charles and me, who work as slaves — 
 we who by rights should be squires." 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 REFUSED ! 
 
 The carrier walked slowly and reluctantly to Lang- 
 ford. He was uncomfortable with the answer he had to 
 take to Taverner , Langford. Oliver was a kindly man, 
 ready to oblige any one, shrinking from nothing so sensi- 
 tively as from a rough word and an angry mood. " It . 
 would have saved a lot of trouble," said he to himself, 
 "if Honor had given way. I shouldn't have been so out 
 of countenance now — and it does seem an ungrateful 
 thing after the loan of the horse.'' 
 
 He found Langford in his parlor at his desk. The 
 old man spun round on his seat. 
 
 " Ah, ha ! " said he, " come at my call, father-in-law. 
 Well— when is the wedding to be ? " 
 
 The carrier stood stupidly looking at him, rubbing 
 his hands together and shifting from foot to foot. " The 
 wedding ! " 
 
l8o RED SPIDER. 
 
 " Yes, man, the wedding ; when is it to be ? " 
 
 " The wedding ! " repeated Oliver, looking through 
 the window for help. " I'm sure I don't know." 
 
 " You must find that out. I'm impatient to be mar- 
 ried. Ha, ha ! what faces the Nanspians will pull, father 
 and son, when they see me lead from church a blooming, 
 blushing bride ! " 
 
 " Well, now," said the carrier, wiping the perspiration 
 from his brow, " I'm sorry to have to say it, but Honor 
 don't see it in the proper light." 
 
 " What— refuses me ? " 
 
 " Not exactly refuses, but begs off." 
 
 " Begs off ! " repeated Tavemer, incredulously. He 
 could hardly have been more disconcerted if he had 
 heard that all his cattle were dying and his stacks blaz- 
 ing. " Begs off ! " he again exclaimed ; " then how about 
 my horse ? ' ' 
 
 The carrier scratched his head and sighed. 
 
 " Do you suppose that I gave you the horse ? " said 
 Taverner. " You can hardly have been such a fool as 
 that. I am not one to give a cow here, and a sheep there, 
 and a horse to a third, just because there are so many 
 •needy persons wanting them. You must return me the 
 horse and pay me ten shillings a week for the hire during 
 the time you have had him, unless Honor becomes my 
 wife." 
 
 " I will pay you for the horse," said Luxmore, faintly. 
 
 " Whence will you get the money ? Do you think I 
 am a fool ? " asked Langford, angrily. His pride was hurt. 
 His eyes flashed and his skin became of a livid com- 
 plexion. He, the wealthiest man in Bratton Clovelly ; he, 
 the representative of the most respectable family there — 
 one as old as the parish itself ; he, the parson's church- 
 warden, and the elder of the Methodist chapel — he had 
 
REFUSED I l8i 
 
 been refused by a poverty-stricken carrier's daughter ! 
 The insult was unendurable. He stood up to leave the 
 room, but when he had his hand on the latch he turned 
 and came back. In the first access of wrath he had re- 
 solved to crush the carrier. He could do it. He had 
 but to take back his horse, and the Vivid was reduced to 
 a stationary condition. Luxmore might offer to buy the 
 horse, but he could not do it. He knew how poor he 
 was. Moreover, he could cut his business away from him 
 at any moment by setting up the cripple as carrier. 
 
 But he thought better of it. Of what avail to him if 
 Luxmore were ruined? He desired to revenge himself 
 on the Nanspians. The carrier was too small game to be 
 hunted down, he was set on the humiliation of much big- 
 ger men than he. His envy and hatred of the Nanspians 
 had by no means abated, and the killing of his dog Rover 
 by young Hillary had excited it to frenzy. That his dog 
 was a sheep-killer wo'uld not excuse Larry's act. He did 
 not allow that Rover was the culprit. His nephew had 
 shot the dog out of malice, and had feigned as an excuse 
 that he had caught the dog pursuing lambs. 
 
 The wealthy yeoman might certainly, without diffi- 
 culty, have found another girl less hard to please than 
 Honor. All girls would not have thought with her. His 
 money would have weighed with them. He could not 
 understand his refusal. "What is the matter with the 
 girl .' " he said surlily. " I thought her too wise to be in 
 love. She has not set her heart on any boyish jackanapes, 
 has she ? " 
 
 " Honor ? Oh, no ! Honor has no sweetheart," said 
 the father. " It certainly is not that, Mr. Langford." 
 
 " Then what is it ? What possible objection can she 
 make ? I'm not a beardless boy and a rosy-faced beauty, 
 that is true." 
 
1 82 RED SPIDER. 
 
 " No, Mr. Langford, I am sure she has not ' a word 
 against your age and personal appearance. Indeed, a 
 young girl generally prefers as a husband one to whom 
 she can look up, who is her superior in every way." 
 
 " I am that. What is it, then ? " 
 
 "Well, Mr. Langford," said the carrier, drawing the 
 back of his hand across his lips, " I think it is about this. 
 She don't like to desert me and the children. She prom- 
 ised her mother to stand by us, and Honor is so conscien- 
 tious that what she has promised she will stick to." 
 
 " Oh," said Taverner, somewhat mollified to find that 
 neither his age nor lack of beauty was objected to, " that 
 is it, is it.'" 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered the carrier, sheepishly. " You 
 see there are six little uns ; then comes Kate, and then 
 Charles, and then I. That makes nine of us Honor has 
 to care for. And," he said more eagerly, heaving a sigh 
 of relief, " you see she didn't think it quite a fair thing to 
 saddle you with us all, with Pattie and Joe, Willie, Mar- 
 tha, Charity, Temperance, Kate, Charles, and myself. It 
 does make a lot when you come to consider." 
 
 It did certainly, as Taverner admitted. He had no 
 intention whatever of incumbering himself with Honor's 
 relations, if he did marry her. He took a turn up and 
 down the room, with his heavy dark brows knit and his 
 thin lips screwed together. Oliver watched his face, 
 and thought that it was a very ugly and ill-tempered 
 face. 
 
 " It does Honor some credit having such delicacy of 
 feeling,'' suggested he. " I very much doubt how you 
 could accommodate us all in this house." 
 
 " I do not see how I could possibly do it," said Taver^ 
 ner, sharply. 
 
 " And Honor couldn't think to tear herself away from 
 
REFUSED! 1 8.3 
 
 us. I suppose you wouldn't consider the possibility of 
 coming to us ? " 
 
 "No, I would not." 
 
 Tayerner Langford, was perplexed. He entirely ac- 
 cepted Oliver's explanation. It was quite reasonable that 
 Honor should refuse him out of a high sense of duty ; it 
 was not conceivable that she should decline alHance with 
 him on any other grounds. Now, although Taverner had 
 not hitherto found time or courage to marry, he was by no 
 means insensible to female beauty. He had long ob- 
 served the stately, Upright daughter of the carrier, with 
 her beautiful abundant auburn hair and clear brown eyes. 
 He had observed her more than she supposed, and he 
 had seen how hard-working, self-devoted she was, how 
 economical, how clean in her own person and in herj 
 house. Such a woman as that would be more agreeable 
 in the house than Mrs. Veale. He would have to pay her 
 no wage for one thing, her pleasant face and voice would 
 be a relief after the sour visage and grating tones of the 
 housekeeper. He knew perfectly that Mrs. Veale had 
 had designs on him from the moment she had entered 
 his house. She had flattered, slaved ; she had assumed 
 an amount of authority in the house hardly consistent 
 with her position. Langford had not resisted her en- 
 croachments ; he allowed her to cherish hopes of securing 
 him in the end, as a means of insuring her fidelity to his 
 interests. He chuckled to himself at the thought of the 
 rage and disappointment that would consume her when he 
 announced that he was about to be married. 
 
 He was a suspicious man, and he mistrusted every 
 woman, but he mistrusted Honor less than any woman 
 or man he knew. He had observed no other with half 
 the attention he had devoted to her, and he had never 
 seen in her the smallest tokens of frivolity and indifference 
 
1 84 RED spider: 
 
 to duty. If she was so scrupulous in the discharge of her- 
 obligations to father and sisters, how dependable she 
 would be in her own house, when working and saving for 
 husband and children of her own ! 
 
 She was no idler, she was no talker, and Tavemer 
 hated idleness and gossip. Of what other girl in Bratton 
 Clovelly could as much be said ? No, he would trust 
 his house and happiness to no other than Honor Lux- 
 more. 
 
 Tavemer dearly loved money, but he loved mastery 
 better. A wife with a fortune of her own would have felt 
 some independence, but a wife who brought him nothing 
 would not be disposed to assert herself. She would look 
 up to him as the exclusive author of her happiness, and 
 never venture to contradict him, never have a will of her 
 own. 
 
 "If that be her only objection, it may be circum- 
 vented," said Langford, " if not got over. I thought, 
 perhaps, she declined my hand from some other cause." 
 
 " What other cause could there be ? " asked Oliver. 
 
 " To be sure there is no other that should govern a 
 rational creature ; but few women are rational. I have 
 done something for you already, for you have my horse. 
 I have done a good deal for Charles also ; I pay him nine- 
 pence a day and give him his food. It is quite possible that 
 I may do a vast deal for the rest of you. But of course 
 that depends. I'm not likely to take you up and make 
 much of you unless you are connected with me by mar- 
 riage. You can judge for yourself. Should I be likely 
 to leave you all unprovided for if Honor were Mrs. Lang- 
 ford ? Of course I would not allow it to be said that my 
 wife's relations were in need." 
 
 These words of Tavemer Langford made Oliver's pulse 
 beat fast. 
 
REFUSED I 185 
 
 " And then," continued the yeoman, " who can say but 
 that I might give you a hand to help you into Coombe 
 Park ? " 
 
 Luxmore's eye kindled, and his cheeks became dappled 
 v/ith 'fiery spots. Here was a prospect ! but it was like 
 the prospect of the Promised Land to Moses on Pisgah if 
 Honor proved unyielding. 
 
 " You are the girl's father," said Langford. " Hoity- 
 toity ! I have no patience with a man who allows his 
 daughter to give herself airs. He knows what is best for 
 her, and must decide. Make her give way." 
 
 Oliver would have laughed aloud at the idea of his forc- 
 ing his daughter's will into compliance with his own, had 
 not the case been so serious. 
 
 " Look here, Mr. Langford," he said. " I'll do what I 
 can. I'll tell Honor the liberal offer you have made ; and 
 I trust she'll see it aright and be thankful." He stood up. 
 "Before I go," he said, producing the five-pound note, 
 " I'd just like to reduce my debt to you for the horse, if 
 you please." 
 
 " How much ? " asked Taverner. 
 
 " Five pounds," answered the carrier. " If I kept it by 
 me I should spend it, so I thought best to bring it straight 
 toyou. You'll give me a slip o' paper as a receipt." 
 
 Langford took out his pocket-book, folded the note, 
 and put it in the pocket of the book ; then made a pen- 
 cil entry. " I always," said he, " enter every note I re- 
 ceive with its number. Comes useful at times for refer- 
 ence. To be sure, you shall have a receipt." 
 
1 86 RED SPIDER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE HAYSEL. 
 
 Hillary became impatient. He made no way with 
 Honor ; if any change in his position had taken place, 
 he had gone back. In spite of her entreaty, he went to 
 the cottage down the lane hooting like an owl, but she 
 did not answer the call. Then he plucked up courage 
 and went in on the chance of getting a word with her 
 alone, but he went in vain. Oliver Luxmore was glad to 
 see him, chatted with him, and offered him a place at 
 their supper-board, or a drink of cider. He defended 
 himself against the sallies of Kate. He spoke now and 
 then to Honor, and was answered in friendly tone ; but 
 that was all. If by chance he met her during the day in 
 the lane or on the down, and she could not escape him, 
 she would not stay to talk, she pleaded work. Hillary 
 was disappointed, and, what was more, offended. His 
 vanity was hurt, and vanity in a young man is his most 
 sensitive fiber. No other girl in the parish would treat his 
 advances as did Honor. The other girls laid themselves 
 out to catch him, Honor shrank from him. He knew that 
 she liked him, he was angry because she did not love him. 
 
 Hillary's nature, though sound, was marred by his 
 bringing up. He had been spoiled by flattery and indul- 
 gence. His father's boasting, the great expectations held 
 out to him, the consciousness of vigor, health, and good 
 looks, combined to make Larry consider himself the very 
 finest young fellow, not in Bratton only, but in all Eng- 
 land. Self-conceit is like mercury, when it touches gold 
 it renders it dull, and a strong fire is needed to expel the 
 alloy and restore the gold to its proper brilliancy. 
 
THE HAYSEL. 1 87 
 
 I 
 
 Mortified in his self-consequence, stung by Honor's 
 indifference, after a few attempts and failures, Hillary 
 changed his tactics. He resolved to show Honor, if she 
 did not meet him, he could turn elsewhere. Unfortunate- 
 ly, Kate was at hand to serve his purpose. Kate did not 
 particularly care for Larry. She had a fancy for Samuel 
 Voaden, the farmer's son at Swaddledown ; but of this 
 Honor neither knew nor suspected anything. Kate was 
 pleased to see Hillary whenever he came, as she was glad 
 to have a butt for her jokes, and with feminine ingenuity 
 used him to throw dust in the eyes of her father, sister, 
 and companions to obscure their perception of her attach- 
 ment for Sam Voaden. 
 
 At first Hillary was in a bad temper, disinclined for 
 conversation, and unable to retaliate upon Kate ; but by 
 degrees his old cheerfulness returned, and he received and 
 replied to her banter with what readiness he possessed. 
 
 One day he came into the cottage with a hay-fork over 
 his shoulder. " You maidens," he said, " come along to 
 the hay-field. We want help badly. Bring the little ones 
 and let them romp and eat cake. While the sun shines 
 we must make hay.'' 
 
 Honor, without a word, rose and folded her work/ 
 
 " If you can toss hay as you can toss chaff," said the 
 young man, addressing Kate, " you will be useful indeed." 
 
 " Larry, it is reported that your uncle Langford will 
 not save hay till it has been rained on well. ' If it be too 
 good,' he argues, ' the cows will eat too much of it.' Yaur 
 wit is ricked like Langford's hay ; it is weak and washed 
 out. A little goes a long way with those who taste it." 
 
 A happy and merry party in the hay-field, women and 
 girls tossing the hay into cocks, and the men with the 
 wagon collecting it and carrying it home. The air was 
 fragrant with the scent. In a corner uiider a hedge were 
 
1 88 RED Spider. 
 
 a barrel of cider, and blue and white mugs, and a basket- 
 ful of saffron-cake. Whoever was thirsty went to the 
 cider-cask, whoever was hungry helped himself to the 
 plum loaf. The field rang with laughter, and occasional 
 screams, as a man twisted a cord of hay, cast the loop 
 round a girl's neck, drew her head toward him, and kissed 
 her face. That is called " the making of sweet hay." 
 
 Honor worked steadily. No one ventured to make 
 " sweet hay " with her, and Kate was too much on the 
 alert, though one or two young men slyly crept toward 
 her with twisted bands. The little ones were building 
 themselves nests of hay, and burpng one another, and 
 jumping over haycocks, and chasing each other with 
 bands, to catch and kiss, in imitation of their elders. 
 Hillary turned in his work and looked at Honor and 
 Kate, hoping that the former would commend his dili- 
 gence, and that the latter would give him occasion for a 
 joke. But Honor was too much engrossed in her raking, 
 and had too little idea of necessary work being lauded as 
 a virtue ; and the latter was looking at Samuel Voaden, 
 who had come over from Swaddledown to help his neigh- 
 bor — the haysel at home being over. 
 
 When the half-laden wagon drew up near where Honor 
 was raking, Hillary said to her, in a low tone, " I have 
 been working ever since the dew was off the grass." 
 
 " I suppose so, Larry." 
 
 " I have been working very hard." 
 
 " Of course you have, Larry." 
 
 "And I am very hot." 
 
 " I do not doubt it." 
 
 " How cool you are. Honor ! " 
 
 "I — cool!" she looked at him with surprise. "On 
 the contrary, I am very warm." She had no perception 
 that he pleaded for praise. 
 
THE HAYSEL. 189 
 
 " Larry," said Kate, " you were right to press us into 
 service. It will rain to-morrow." 
 
 " How do you know that .' " 
 
 " Because you are working to-day." 
 
 Quick as thought, he threw some hay strands round 
 her head, and kissed both her rosy cheeks. 
 
 Kate drew herself away, angry at his impudence, es- 
 pecially angry at his kissing her before Samuel Voaden. 
 She threw down her pitchfork (" heable " in the local 
 dialect), and folding her arms, said with a frown and a 
 pout, " Do the rest yourself. I will work for you no 
 more." 
 
 " Oh, Kate, do not take offense. I went naturally 
 where was the sweetest hay." 
 
 In her anger she looked prettier than when in good 
 humor. She glanced round out of the corners of her eyes, 
 and saw to her satisfaction that Samuel was on the farther 
 side of the wagon, unconscious of what had taken place. 
 Hillary was humble, he made ample apology, and oifered 
 lavish flattery. Kate maintained, or affected to maintain, 
 her anger for some time, and forced Larry to redouble his 
 efforts to regain her favor. Her fair hair, fine as silk just 
 wound from a cocoon, was ruffled over her brow, and her 
 brow was pearled with heat-drops. She was a slender 
 girl, with a long neck and the prettiest shoulders in the 
 world. She wore a light gown, frilled about the throat 
 and bosom and sleeves, tucked up at the side, showing a 
 blue petticoat and white stockings. She picked up the 
 " heable " with a sigh, and then stood leaning on it, with 
 the sleeves fallen back, exposing her delicate arms as far 
 as the rosy elbows. 
 
 It was not possible for Kate to remain long angry with 
 Larry, he was so good-natured, so full of fuss, so coax- 
 ing ; he paid such pretty compliments, his eyes were so 
 
I go RED SPIDER. 
 
 roguish, his face so handsome — ^besides, Samuel was on 
 the other side of the wagon, seeing, hearing nothing. 
 
 The dimples formed in her cheeks, the contraction of 
 lips and brows gave way, the angry sparkle disappeared 
 from her blue eyes, and then her clear laugh announced 
 that she was pacified, iiillary, knowing he had con- 
 quered, audacious in his pride of conquest, put his ^rm 
 round her waist, stooped, and kissed the bare arm nearest 
 him that rested on the pitchfork, then he sprang aside as 
 she attempted to box his ears. 
 
 Honor was hard by and had seen both kisses, and had 
 heard every word that had passed. She continued her 
 work as though unconscious. For a moment, a pang of 
 jealousy contracted her bosom, but she hastily mastered 
 it. She knew that she could not, must not regard HiUary 
 in any other light than as a brother, and yet she was un- 
 able to see her sister supplanting her in his affections 
 without some natural qualms. But Honor was unselfish, 
 and she hid her suffering. Kate as little suspected the 
 state of her sister's heart as Honor suspected Kate's lik- 
 ing for Sam Voaden, And now, all at once, an idea shot 
 through Honor's mind which crimsoned her face. How 
 she had misread Hillary's manner when they were to- 
 gether -watching for the lamb-killer ! She had fancied 
 then that his heart was drawing toward her, and the 
 thought had filled her with unutterable happiness. Now 
 she saw his demeanor in another aspect. He really loved 
 Kate, and his affection for her was only a reflection of 
 his love for the younger sister. He had sought to gain 
 her esteem, to forward his suit with Kate. When this 
 thought occurred to Honor, she hid her face, humbled 
 and distressed at having been deluded by self-conceit. 
 She made it clear to herself now that Hillary had thought 
 only of Kate. Her sister had said nothing to her about 
 
THE HAYSEL. 191 
 
 Hillary — ■'but was that wonderful, as he had not declared 
 himself? A transient gleam had lightened her sotil. It 
 was over. Work was Honor's lot in life, perhaps sorrow, 
 not love. 
 
 " The last load is carried, and in good order. Where 
 is the dance to be .' " asked Samuel Voaden, coming into 
 sight as the wagon moved on. 
 
 "In the barn," answered Hillary. 
 
 "Kate," said Hillary, "give me the first dance." 
 
 " And me the second," pleaded Samuel. 
 
 When Combe wrote and Rowlandson illustrated the 
 " Tour of Doctor Syntax," a dance was the necessary 
 complement of a harvest whether of corn or hay-^es- . 
 pecially of the latter, as then the barn was empty. The 
 Reverend Doctor Syntax thought it not derogatory to his 
 office to play the fiddle on such occasions. Moreover, 
 half a century ago, the village fiddler was invited into any 
 cottage, when, at the sound of his instrument, lads and 
 maidens would assemble, dance for a couple of hours and 
 disperse before darkness settled in. The denunciation of 
 dancing as a deadly sin by the Methodists has caused it to 
 fall into desuetude. Morality has not been bettered there-> 
 by. The young people who formerly met by daylight on 
 the cottage floor, now meet, after chapel, in the dark, in 
 hedge-corners. 
 
 Hillary and Samuel had engaged Kate. Neither had 
 thought of Honor, though she stood by, raking the fra- 
 grant hay. 
 
 " Up, up ! " shouted both young men. " Kate, you 
 must ride on the last load." 
 
 The wagon moved away, with Kate mounted on the 
 sweet contents, and with the young men running at the 
 side. Honor remained alone, looking after them, resting on 
 her rake, and, in spite of her efforts, the tears filled her eyes. 
 
192 RED SPIDER. 
 
 But she did not give way to her emotion. 
 
 Honor called the children, when the last load left the 
 field; and led them home. She was hot and tired, and her 
 heart ached, but she was content with herself. She had 
 conquered the rising movement of jealousy, and was ready 
 to accept Hillary as her sister's acknowledged lover. 
 
 Kate followed her. An hour later the dance in the 
 bam would begin. The lads and maidens went home to 
 smarten up, and wash off the dust and stain of labor, and 
 the bam had to be decorated with green branches, and the 
 candles lit. 
 
 Kate went up-stairs at once to dress. Honor remained 
 below to hear the children's prayers, and get the youngest 
 ready for bed. Then she went up to the room she shared 
 with Kate, carrying little Temperance in her arms. 
 
 "O Honor, bundle them all in. What a time you 
 have been ! We shall be late ; and I have promised to 
 open the dance with Larry." 
 
 " I am not going, Kate." 
 
 " Not going ! Of course you are going." 
 
 " No, I am not. Father is not home, and will want 
 his supper. Besides, I can not leave the house with all 
 the little ones in it unprotected.'' 
 
 " There are no ogres hereabout that eat children," said 
 Kate, hastily. " We can manage. This is nonsense ; you 
 must come." 
 
 " I do not care to, Kate. Sit down in that chair, 
 and I will dress your hair. It is tossed like a hay- 
 cock." 
 
 Kate seated herself, and Honor combed and brushed 
 her sister's hair, then put a blue ribbon through it ; and 
 took the kerchief from her box, and drew it over Kate's 
 shoulders, and pinned it in place. 
 
 " O Honor ! What a lovely silk kerchief ! Where did 
 
A BRAWL. 
 
 193 
 
 you get this ? How long have you had it ? Why have you 
 not shown it me before ? " 
 
 " It is for you, dearest Kate ; I am glad you like it." 
 
 TCate stood up, looked at herself in the glass, and then 
 threw her arms round her sister and kissed her. 
 
 " You are a darling," exclaimed Kate, " Always think- 
 ing of others, never giving yourself anything. Let me re- 
 main at home — do you go instead of me." 
 
 Honor shook her head. She was pleased to see Kate's 
 delight, but there was an under-current of sadness in her 
 soul. She was adorning her sister for Hillary. 
 
 Kate did not press Honor to go instead of her, though 
 she was sufficiently good-hearted to have taken her sister's 
 place without becoming ill-tempered, had Honor accepted 
 the offer. 
 
 " Do I look very nice ? " asked Kate, with the irresist- 
 ible dimples coming into her cheeks. " I wonder what 
 Larry will say when he sees me with this blue ribbon, and 
 this pretty kerchief." 
 
 " And I — " said Honor slowly, not without effort, " I 
 also wonder." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A BRAWL. 
 
 When Rate came to the barn, she found it decorated 
 with green boughs. There were no windows, only the 
 great barn door, consequently the sides were dark ; biit 
 here four lanterns had been hung, diffusing a dull yellow 
 light. The thrashing-floor was in the middle, planked ; 
 on either side the barn was slated, so that the dancing was 
 to be in the middle. Forms were placed on the slate floor- 
 13 
 
194 
 
 RED SPIDER. 
 
 ing for those who rested or looked oa. On a table sat the 
 fiddler with a jug of cider near him. 
 
 The season, of the year was that of Bamaby bright, 
 when, as the old saw says, there is all day and no night. 
 The sun did not set till past eight, and then left the north- 
 west full of silver light. The hedgerows, as Kate passed 
 between them, streamed forth the fragrance from the 
 honeysuckle which was wreathed about them in masses of 
 flower, apricot-yellow, and pink. Where the incense of 
 the eglantine ceased to fill the air it was burdened with the 
 sweetness of white clover that flowered thickly over the 
 broad green patches of grass by the road-side. 
 
 Hillary was awaiting Kate to open the dance with her. 
 He had gone to the gate to meet her ; he recognized his 
 kerchief at once ; he was surprised and hurt. Why was 
 Honor not there ? Kate came with her little brother Joe 
 holding her hand. Joe had begged permission to attend 
 the dance. Why had Honor made over Larry's present 
 to her sister 1 It was a slight, an intentional slight, Larry 
 bit his lips and frowned ; his heart beat fast with angry 
 emotion. He approached Kate with an ungracious air, 
 and led her to the dance without a pleasant word. 
 
 Kate was unquestionably the prettiest girl present. 
 She held her fair head erect, in consciousness of superior- 
 ity. Her hair was abundant, full of natural wave and 
 curl, and the sky-blue ribbon in it seemed to hold it to- 
 gether, and to be the only restraining power that prevented 
 it breaking loose and enveloping her from head to foot in 
 the most beautiful gloss silk. Her complexion was that 
 of the wild rose, heightened by her rapid walk and by 
 excitement ; her eyes were blue as the forget-me-not. 
 
 The evening sun shone in at the barn-door, as yellow, 
 but purer and brighter than the lantern light. Had there 
 been a painter present he would have seized the occasion 
 
A BRAWL. 195 
 
 to paint the pretty scene — the old barn with oaken timbers, 
 its great double doors open, from under a penthouse roof 
 leaning forward to cover the laden wains as they were 
 being unpacked of their corn-sheaves ; the depths of the 
 barn dark as night, illumined feebly by the pendent lan- 
 terns ; and the midst, the thrashing-floor, crowded with 
 dancers, who flickered in the saffron glow of the setting 
 sun. 
 
 Kate noticed that Hillary, while he danced with her, 
 observed the kerchief intently. 
 
 "Is it not pretty.'" she asked innocently. "Honor 
 gave it -me. She had kept it for me in her box ever since 
 the Revel, and not told me that she had it ; nor did I see 
 her buy it then. Honor is so good, so kind." 
 
 Hillary said nothing in reply, but his humor was not 
 improved. His mind wandered from his partner. 
 
 " When is Honor coming ? " he asked abruptly. 
 
 "She is not coming at all." 
 
 "Why not.'" 
 
 " Father is not home, and will want his supper when 
 he does return." 
 
 " Honor must do all the drudging while others dance," 
 he said peevishly. 
 
 " I offered to stay and let her come, but she would not 
 hear of it." 
 
 Hillary danced badly ; he lost step. He excused him- 
 self ;- but Kate was dissatisfied with her partner, he was 
 dull, and she was displeased to see that Sam Voaden was 
 dancing and laughing and enjoying himself with some 
 one else. 
 
 "You are a clumsy partner," she said, "and dance like 
 old Diamond when backing against a load going down hill." 
 
 "Honor gave you that kerchief? What did she say 
 when she gave it you ? " 
 
196 RED SPIDER. 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 He said no more, and led her to a bench in the side 
 of the barn. 
 
 "What! tired already, Larry? I am not." 
 
 " I am," he answered sulkily. 
 
 Directly Sam Voaden came to her, and was received 
 with smiles. 
 
 "Larry Nanspian came left leg foremost out of bed 
 this morning," she said. " He is as out of tune as Piper's 
 fiddle." 
 
 Kate was in great request that evening. The lads 
 pressed about her, proud to circle round the floor with the 
 graceful pretty girl ; but she gave the preference to Samuel 
 Voaden. Hillary asked her to dance with him in " The 
 Triumph," but she told him sharply she would reserve her 
 hand for him in the Dumps, and he did not ask her 
 again. 
 
 The girls present looked at Kate with envy. They 
 were unable to dispute her beauty ; but her charm of man- 
 ner and lively wit made her even more acceptable to the 
 lads than her good looks. She was perfectly conscious of 
 the envy and admiration she excited, and as much grati- 
 fied with one as with the other. 
 
 Samuel Voaden was infatuated. He pressed his at- 
 tentions, and Kate received them with pleasure. As she 
 danced past Larry she cast him glances of contemptuous 
 
 pity. 
 
 Hillary was angry with Honor, angry with Kate, angry 
 with himself. The spoiled prince was cast aside by two 
 girls — a common carrier's daughters. He was as irritated 
 against Kate now as he was previously against Honor. 
 When he heard Kate laugh, he winced, suspecting that 
 she was joking about him. His eyes followed the kerchief, 
 and his heart grew bitter within him. He made no attempt 
 
A BRAWL. 
 
 197 
 
 to be amusing. He had nothing to say to any one. He 
 let the dances go on without seeking partners. He stood 
 lounging against the barn door, with a sprig of honeysuckle 
 in his mouth, and his hands behind his back. 
 
 The sun was set, a cool gray light suffused the meadow, 
 the stackyard, the barn, the groups who stood about, and 
 the dancers within. 
 
 A dog ventured in at the door, and he kicked it out. 
 
 The dog snarled and barked, and he nearly quarreled 
 with young Voaden because the latter objected to his dog 
 being kicked. 
 
 Then, all at once, his mood changed. It occurred to 
 him that very probably Honor stayed away just for the 
 purpose of showing him she did not care for him. If that 
 were so, he would let her know that he was not to be put 
 out of heart by her slights. He would not afford her the 
 gratification of hearing through her sister that he was dis- 
 pirited and unhappy. Then he dashed into the midst of 
 the girls, snatched a partner, and thenceforth danced and 
 laughed and was uproariously merry. 
 
 At ten o'clock the dancing was over. Country folk 
 kept early hours then ; the cider barrel was run out, the 
 basket of cakes emptied, and the tallow lights in the lan- 
 terns burned down to a flicker in a flood of melted grease. 
 
 The young men prepared to escort their partners home. 
 
 Hillary saw that Samuel was going with Kate. He 
 was exasperated to the last degree. He did not care par- 
 ticularly for Kate, but he did care that it should not be 
 talked of in the village that Sam Voaden had plucked her 
 away from under his very nose. Gossip gave her to him 
 as a sweetheart, and gossip would make merry over his 
 discomfiture. Besides, he wanted an excuse for going to 
 the cottage and having an explanation with Honor about 
 the kerchief. 
 
198 RED SPIDER. 
 
 As Voaden's dog passed in front of him at a call from 
 his master, Larry kicked it. 
 
 " Leave my dog alone, will you ! " shouted Samuel. 
 " That is the second time you have kicked Punch. The 
 dog don't hurt you, why should you hurt him ? " 
 
 " I shall kick the brute if I choose," said Hillary. " It 
 has no right here in the bam." 
 
 "What harm has Punch done? And now, what is 
 against his leaving ? " 
 
 " You had no right to bring the dog here. It has been 
 in the plantation after young game." 
 
 " Punch is wrong whether in the barn or out of it. 
 The guinea you got for shooting Rover has given you a 
 set against dogs seemingly,'' said young Voaden. 
 
 " The dog took your lambs at Swaddledown, and you 
 were too much a lie-a-bed to stop it," sneered Hillary. 
 
 "Some folk," answered Samuel, "have everything in 
 such first-rate order at home they can spare time to help 
 their neighbors." 
 
 " No more ! " exclaimed Kate ; " you shall not quarrel." 
 
 Hillary looked round. Near him were two women who 
 had been in the van when he returned from Tavistock with 
 the kerchief. They no doubt recognized it over Kate's 
 shoulders. They made sure it was his love-token to her, 
 and, wearing it, she was about to affront him. in their eyes. 
 His wounded vanity made him blind to what he said or 
 did. 
 
 " Here, Kate," he said, thrusting himself forward, " I 
 am going to take you home. You can not go with Sam- 
 uel. His cursed Punch is an ill-conditioned brute, and 
 will kill your chickens." 
 
 " Nonsense," laughed Kate, " our chickens are all un- 
 der cover." 
 
 " I'll fight you," said Hillary, turning to Samuel. " Kate 
 
A BRAIVL. 
 
 199 
 
 was engaged to me for the Tank,* and you carried her off 
 without asking leave. I will not be insulted by you on 
 my father's land, and under my own roof. If you are a 
 man you will fight me." 
 
 " Nonsense, Larry," answered Samuel, good-humoredly, 
 " I'll not quarrel with you. It takes two to make a quar- 
 rel, as it takes two to kiss." 
 
 "You are afraid, that is why." 
 
 " I am not afraid of you, Larry," said Samuel. " You 
 are as touchy this evening as if whipped with nettles." 
 
 " Come with me, Kate," exclaimed Hillary. " You 
 have known me longer than Voaden. If he chooses to 
 take you, he must fight me first." 
 
 *' I will not fight you, Larry," answered the young 
 Swaddledown farmer ; " but I don't object to a fling with 
 you, if you will wrestle." 
 
 "Very well ; throw off your coat." 
 
 The young men removed their jackets, waistcoats, and 
 the handkerchiefs from their throats. They were both 
 fine fellows — ^well built and strong. Those who had been 
 dancing surrounded them in a ring, men and maids. 
 
 " Cornish fashion, not Devon," said Samuel. 
 
 " Ay, ay ! " shouted the bystanders, " Cornish wrestle 
 now." 
 
 " Right — Cornish," answered Hillary. 
 
 The difference between Devon and Cornish wrestling 
 consists in this, that in a Devon wrestle kicking is admissi- 
 ble ; but then, as a protection to their shins, the antago- 
 nists have their legs wreathed with haybands (vulgo skil- 
 libegs). As the legs were on this occasion unprotected, 
 Devon wrestling was inadmissible. Both fashions were 
 in vogue near the Tamar, and every young man would 
 wrestle one way or the other as decided beforehand. 
 * An 6ld country dance. 
 
200 RED SPIDER. 
 
 The opponents fixed each other with their eyes, and 
 stood breathless, and every voice was hushed. Instantane- 
 ously, as moved by one impulse, they sprang at each 
 other, and were writhing, tossing, coiling in each other's 
 embrace. Neither could make the other budge from his 
 ground, or throw him, exerting his utmost strength and 
 skill. The haymakers stood silent, looking on apprecia- 
 tively — the girls a little frightened, the men relishingly, 
 relishing it more than the dance. Not one of the lads at 
 that moment had a thought to cast at his partner. Their 
 hands twitched, their feet moved, they bent, threw them- 
 selves back, swung aside, responsive to the movements of 
 the wrestlers. 
 
 The antagonists gasped, snorted, as with set teeth and 
 closed lips they drew long inspirations through their nos- 
 trils. Their sweat poured in streams from their brows. 
 
 Simultaneously, moved by one impulse, they let go 
 their hold, and stood quivering and wiping their brows, 
 with laboring breasts ; then, with a shout, closed again. 
 
 " Ho ! " a general exclamation. In the first grapple 
 Hillary had slipped, and gone down on one knee. Im- 
 mediately Samuel let go. 
 
 " There ! " said he, holding out his hand. " We have 
 had enough. Strike palms, old boy." 
 
 " No," gasped Hillary, blazing with anger and shame. 
 " I was not flung. I slipped on the dock-leaf there. I will 
 not allow myself beaten. Come on again." 
 
 " I will not do so," answered Samuel. " If yon have 
 not had enough, I have." 
 
 "You shall go on. You are a coward to sneak out 
 when an accident gave you advantage." 
 
 " Very well, then," said Samuel ; " but you have lost 
 your temper, and I'll have no more than this round with 
 you." 
 
A BRAWL. 20 1 
 
 The young men were very equally matched. They 
 grappled once more, twisted, doubled, gasped ; the ground 
 was torn up under their feet, 'As the feet twirled and 
 flew, it was hard to say how many were on the ground at 
 once, and whose they were. 
 
 Samuel suddenly caught his antagonist over the arms, 
 and pushed them to his side. 
 
 " He'll have Larry down ! he will, by George ! " 
 shouted several. "Well done, Samuel! Go it, Samuel 
 Voaden ! " 
 
 " Ha ! " shouted Sam, starting back. " Who goes 
 against rules ? You kicked." 
 
 "You lie! I did not." 
 
 "You did! you did, Larry," shouted three or four of 
 the spectators. It was true ; in his excitement Larry had 
 forgotten that he and his opponent were without skillibegs 
 and wrestling in Cornish fashion, and he had kicked ; but 
 in good faith he had denied doing it, for he was uncon- 
 scious of his actions, so blinded and bemuzzed was he 
 with anger, disappointment, and shame. 
 
 " I'll not wrestle any more," said Samuel, " if you don't 
 wrestle fair. No — I won't at all. You are in a white 
 fury. So — if it's unfair in you to kick, it is unfair in me 
 to take advantage of your temper." 
 
 " It is not done. One or other must go down." 
 
 Then Kate pushed forward. " Neither of you shall 
 attend me home," she said ; " I am going with little Joe 
 only." 
 
 Whether this would have ended the affray is doubtful. 
 Another interruption was more successful. Suddenly a 
 loud blast of a horn, then a yelping as of dogs, then an- 
 other blast — and through the yard before the barn, break- 
 ing the ring, sweeping between the combatants, passed a 
 strange figure — a man wearing a black bull's hide, with 
 
202 RED SPIDER. 
 
 long brown paper ears on his head ; the hide was fast- 
 ened about his waist, and the tail trailed behind. He was 
 followed by a dozen boys barking, baying, yelping, and 
 after them hobbled Tom Crout blowing a horn. 
 
 " It's no good," said the lame fellow, halting in the 
 broken ring; "I can't follow the hare, Mr. Larry Nan- 
 spian ; the hunt is waiting for you. On wi' a green coat, 
 and mount your piebald, and take my horn. I wish I 
 could follow ; but it's un-possible. Whew ! you hare ! 
 Heigh ! Piper, stay, will you, and start fair." 
 
 " I'll have nothing to do with it," said Hillary, still 
 panting. 
 
 "That is right, Larry," said Kate in his ear, "you 
 oughtn't. Honor said as much, and that she hoped you 
 would keep out of it." 
 
 " Did she ? " said Hillary, angrily ; " then I'll go in 
 for it." 
 
 " Larry, old chap," exclaimed Voaden, patting him on 
 the shoulder, " I wasn't the better man, nor was you. 
 You slipped on the dock-leaf, and that don't reckon as a 
 fall. We'll have another bout some other day, if you wish 
 it. Now let us have the lark of the Hare Hunt." 
 
 Hillary considered a moment, and wiped his face. 
 He had fallen in the general estimation. He had been 
 sulky, he had provoked Sam, and the wrestle had not 
 fumed to his credit. Here was a chance offered of tak- 
 ing the lead once more. If he did not act the huntsman, 
 Sam would. 
 
 " All right, Crout," said he, " give me the horn ; I'll 
 hive my horse round directly, and the green coat on." 
 
 " Do not, do not, Larry," entreated Kate. 
 
 " Tell Honor I'm not pinned to her apron," answered 
 the young man, and ran into the house. 
 
THE HAND OF GLQRY. 203 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE HAND OF GLORY. 
 
 The reader may have been puzzled by the hints made 
 by Larry to Honor, and by Charles to Mrs. Veale, of a 
 threatened hare hunt, and he may have wondered why 
 such a threat should have disturbed Honor and angered 
 the housekeeper. There ajre plenty of hares on Broad- 
 bury Moor ; there have been hare hunts there as long as 
 men can remember; frequently, all through the winter. 
 An ordinary hare hunt would not have stirred much feel- 
 ing in women's bosoms. The menaced hare hunt was 
 something very different. A stag and a hare hunt are the 
 rude means employed by a village community for main- 
 taining either its standard of morals or expressing its dis- 
 approbation of petticoat rule. The stag hunt is by no 
 means an institution of the past, it flourishes to the pres- 
 ent day ; and where the magistrates have interfered, this 
 interference has stimulated it to larger proportions. The 
 hare hunt, now extinct, was intended to ridicule the man 
 who submitted to a rough woman's tongue. 
 
 The stag hunt takes place either on the wedding-night 
 of a man who has married a girl of light character, or when 
 a wife is suspected of having played her husband false. 
 The hare hunt more properly satirized the relations be- 
 tween Taverner Langford and Mrs. Veale. In not a few 
 cases, especially with a stag hunt, there is gross injustice 
 done. It can not be otherwise : the Vehm-Gericht is self- 
 constituted, sits in the tavern, and passes its sentence with- 
 out summons and hearing of thef accused. There is no 
 defense and no appeal from the court. The infliction of 
 the sentence confers an indelible stain, and generally drives 
 
204 RED SPIDER. 
 
 those who have been thus branded out of the neighborhood. 
 Petty spite and private grudges are sometimes so revenged ; 
 and a marriage in a well-conducted family, which has held 
 itself above the rest in a parish, is made an occasion for 
 one of these outrages, whereby the envy of the unsuccess- 
 ful and disreputable finds a vent. 
 
 There probably would have been no hare hunt near 
 Langford had not the quarrel between Langford and 
 Nanspian agitated the whole parish, and given occasion 
 for a frolic which would not have been adventured had 
 the brothers-in-law been combined. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Charles," said Mrs. Veale, "what have you 
 done with the five-pound note I let you have ? Is it all 
 spent ? " 
 
 " I gave it to my father and sister," answered Charles. 
 " I've occasioned them some expense, and I thought I'd 
 make it up to them while I could." 
 
 " That was mighty liberal of you," sneered Mrs. Veale. 
 
 " I am liberal, pretty free-handed with my money. It 
 comes of my blood." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the housekeeper, " and I reckon now you'll 
 be wanting more." 
 
 " I could do with more," replied young Luxmore, " but 
 I will not trouble you." 
 
 " Oh ! it's no trouble," said Mrs. Veale, " I know very 
 well that lending to you is safe as putting into the Bank 
 of England. You must have your own some day, and 
 when you're squire you won't see me want." 
 
 " Rely on me, I will deal most generously with you. 
 I shall not forget your kindness, Mrs. Veale." 
 
 "But," said the woman slyly, eying him, " I can't find 
 you as much as you require, You can't spin more out of 
 me than my own weight, as the silkworm said. I've put 
 aside my little savings. But as you see, the master don't 
 
THE HAND OF GLORY. 
 
 205 
 
 pay freely. He gives you only ninepence, and me — " she 
 shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " If I were in your place," she went on, after a pause, 
 " I should be tempted to borrow a hundred or so, and go 
 to Physick the lawyer with it, and say, help me to Coombe 
 Park, and when I've that, I'll give you a hundred more." 
 
 " Who'd lend me the money ? You have not so much." 
 
 " No, I have not so much." 
 
 "What other person would trust me.'" 
 
 "The money might be had." 
 
 " Others don't see my prospects as you do." 
 
 "I'd be inclined to borrow wi'out asking," said the 
 housekeeper cautiously. She was as one feeling her way ; 
 she kept her eyes on Charles as she talked. Charles 
 started. He knew her meaning. 
 
 "How dare you suggest such a thing?" he said in a 
 low tone, looking at her uneasily. " Curse you ! Don't 
 wink at me with your white lashes that way, you make me 
 uneasy." 
 
 " I only suggested it," said Mrs. Veale, turning her 
 head aside. " I reckon no harm would be done. The 
 master don't know how much he has in his box. We had 
 it out t'other day between us, and counted. There be 
 over a thousand pounds there. Do y' think he counts it 
 every week ? Not he. Who'd know ? The money 
 would be put back, and wi' interest, six, seven, ten per 
 cent, if you liked, when you'd got Coombe Park." 
 
 " Have done," said Luxmore with nervous irritation ; 
 " I'm' no thief, and never could become one." 
 
 " Who asked you to be one ? Not I. I said as how 
 you might become his banker for a hundred pounds. The 
 bank gives but three per cent, and you would give nine. 
 Who'd be the loser? Not master. He'd gain nine 
 pounds without knowing it — and wouldn't he crow ! " 
 
206 RED SPIDER. 
 
 Charles Luxmore caught his hat and stood up. 
 
 " Where be you going to ? " asked Mrs. Veale. 
 
 " I can not stand this," he said, in an agitated voice. 
 " You torment me. You put notions into me that won't 
 let me sleep, that make me miserable. I shall go." 
 
 " Whither ? To the Ring o' Bells. There be no one 
 there to-night, all be away to Chimsworthy at the Haysel. 
 You sit down again, and I will give you some cherry cor- 
 dial." 
 
 He obeyed sulkily. ' 
 
 " You can't go to dance at Chimsworthy, because you 
 be here at Langford, and there's no dancing and merry- 
 making here. But wait till you're at Coombe Park, and 
 then you'll have junketings and harvest-homes and 
 dances when you will. That'll be a rare life." 
 
 He said nothing, but thrust his hands into his pockets, 
 and looked moodily before him. 
 
 " Shall I tell you now who'll find you the money ? " 
 
 He did not speak. 
 
 " Wellon will." 
 
 " What ? " he looked up in surprise. 
 
 "Ay ! old Wellon as was gibbeted, he will." 
 
 Charles laughed contemptuously. "You are talking 
 folly. I always thought you mad." 
 
 " Did you ever hear of the Hand of Glory ? " 
 
 " No, never." 
 
 " I wonder what become of Wellon's hand — the hand 
 that throttled Mary Rundle, and stuck the knife into the 
 "heart of Jane, and brought down their aunt wi' a blow of 
 the fist. That hand was a mighty hand." 
 
 " Wellon was hung in chains, and fell to dust." 
 
 " But not the hand. Such a hand as that was too 
 precious. Did you never hear it was cut off, and the 
 body swung for years without it ? " 
 
THE HAND OF GLORY. 207 
 
 " No, I did not." 
 
 " It was so." 
 
 " What good was it to any one ? " 
 
 " It was worth pounds and pounds." 
 
 " As a curiosity ? " 
 
 " No, as a Hand of Glory. It were washed in moth- 
 er's milk to a child base-born, and smoked in the reek of 
 gallows- wood, and then laid with tamarisk from the sea, 
 and vervain, and rue, and bog-bean." 
 
 "Well, what then?" 
 
 " Why, then, sure it's a Hand of Glory." She paused, 
 then struck her hand across her forehead, " and grass off 
 the graves of them as it killed — I forgot to say that 
 was added." 
 
 " What can such a hand do ? " 
 
 " Everything. If I had it here and set it up on the 
 mantel-shelf, and set a light to the fingers, all would flame 
 blue, and then every soul in the house would sleep excfept 
 us two, and we might ransack the Whole place and none 
 would stir or hinder or see. And if we let the hand 
 flame on, they would lie asleep till we were far away be- , 
 yond their reach." 
 
 " If you had this Hand of Glory, I wouldn't help you 
 to use it," said Charles, writhing on his seat. 
 
 " That is not all," Mrs. Veale went on, standing by a 
 little tea-table with her hand on it, the other against her 
 side. " That hand has wonderful powers of itself. It is as 
 a thing alive, though dead and dry as leather. If you say 
 certain words it begins to run about on its fingers like a 
 rat. Maybe you're sitting over the fire of nights, and hear 
 something stirring, and see a brown thing scuttling over 
 the floor and you think it is a rat. It is not. It is the 
 dead man's hand. Perhaps you hear a scratching on the 
 wall, and look round, and see a great black spiderT— a 
 
. 2o8 RED SPIDER. 
 
 monstrous spider going about, running over and over the 
 wainscot, and touching and twitching at the bell wires. 
 It is not a spider, it is the murderer's hand. It hasn't 
 eyes, it goes by the feel, till it comes to gold, and then, 
 at the touch the dark skin becomes light and shines as the 
 tail of a glowworm, and it picks and gathers by its own 
 light. I reckon, if that hand o' Wellon's were in the oven 
 behind the parlor-grate, it would make such a light that 
 you'd see what was on every guinea, whether the man and 
 horse or the spade, and you could read every note as well 
 as if you had the daylight. Then the ring-finger and the 
 little finger close over what money -the hand has been 
 bidden fetch, and it runs away on the thumb and other two 
 — and then, if you will, it's spiderlike with a bag behind." 
 
 " I don't believe a word of it," said Charles, but his 
 words were more confident than his tone. 
 
 "You see," Mrs. Veale v/ent on, "there is this about 
 it, you tell the hand to go and fetch the money, but you 
 don't say whither it is to go, and you do not know. You 
 get the money and can swear you have robbed no one. I 
 reckon, mostly the money is found by the hand in old 
 cairns and ruins. I've been told there's a table of gold in 
 Bfoadbury Castle that only comes to the top on Midsum- 
 mer night for an hour, and then sinks again. Folks far 
 away see a great light on Broadbury, and say we be 
 swaling (burning gorse) up here ; but it is no such thing ; 
 it is the gold table coming up, and shining like fire, and 
 the clouds above reflecting its light." 
 
 " Pity the hand don't break off bits of the gold table," 
 said Charles sarcastically ; but his face was mottled with 
 fear; Mrs. Veale's stories frightened him. 
 
 " Yes, 'tis a pity," she said. " Maybe it will some day." 
 
 " Pray what do you say to the hand to make it run 
 your errands ? " 
 
THE HAND OF GLORY. 
 
 209 
 
 "Ah ! " she continued, without answering his question. 
 " There be other things the Hand of Glory can do. It 
 will go if you send it to some person — ^bolts and locks 
 will not keep it out, and it will catch the end of the bed- 
 clothes, and scramble up, and pass itself over the eyes of 
 the sleeper, and make him sleep like a dead man, and it 
 will dive under the clothes and lay its fingers on the heart ; 
 then tliere will come aches and spasms there, or it will 
 creep down the thighs and pinch and pat, and that brings 
 rheumatic pains. I've heard of one hand thus sent as 
 went down under the bedclothes to the bottom of the 
 sleeper's foot, and there it closed up all the fingers but 
 one, and with that it bored and bored, working itself 
 about like a gimlet, and then gangrene set in, and the 
 man touched thus was dead in three days." 
 
 " It is a mighty fortunate thing you've not the hand of 
 old Wellon," growled Charles. 
 
 " I have got it," answered Mrs. Veale. 
 
 Charles looked at her with staring eyes. 
 
 " You shall see it," she said. 
 
 " I. do not want to. I will not ! " he exclaimed, shud- 
 dering. 
 
 " Wellon's hand will fetch you a hundred pounds, and 
 we will not ask whence it comes," said Mrs. Veale. 
 
 " I will not have it, I will not touch it ! " He spoke 
 in a hoarse, horrified whisper. 
 
 " You shall come with me, and I will show you where 
 I keep it, and perhaps you will find the hand closed ; and 
 when I say, Hand of Glory ! open ! Hand of Glory ! give 
 up ! then you will see the fingers unclose, and the glitter- 
 ing gold coins will be in the brown palm." 
 
 " I will not touch them." 
 
 " No harm in your looking at them. Come with me." 
 
 She stood before him with her firm mouth set, and her 
 14 
 
2IO RED SPIDER. 
 
 blinking eyes on him. He tried to resist. He settled 
 himself more comfortably into his seat. But his efforts to 
 oppose her will were in vain. He uttered a curse, drew 
 his hands out of his pocket, put his hat on his head. 
 
 "Go on," he said surlily; "but I tell y' I won't go 
 without the lantern. Where is it ? " 
 
 " In Wellon's Cairn." 
 
 " I will not go," said Charles, drawing back and all 
 color leaving his cheek. 
 
 " Then I'll send the hand after you. Come." 
 
 " I'll take the lantern." 
 
 " As you like, but hide the light till we get to the hill. 
 There it don't matter if folks see a flame dancing about 
 the mound. They will keep their distance. Come on, 
 after me." 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE HARE HUNT. 
 
 Directly "Mrs. Veale, followed by Charles, came out- 
 side the house the former turned and said, with a chuckle, 
 " You want a lantern, do yVa summer night such as this .' " 
 
 The sky was full of twilight, every thorn-tree and 
 holly-bush was visible on the hedges, every pebble in the 
 yard. 
 
 " I'm not going to Wellon's Cairn without," said Lux- 
 more, sulkily. " I don't want to go at all ; and I won't 
 go there without a light." 
 
 " Very well. I will wait at the gate for you." 
 
 He went into the stable, where was a horn-sided tin 
 lantern, and took it down from' its crook, then went back 
 into the kitchen and lighted the candle at the fire. 
 
 "I've a mind not to go," he muttered. "What does 
 
THE HARE.HUNT. ill 
 
 the woman want with me, pulling me, driving me, this way 
 and that ? If I'd been told I was to be subjected to this 
 sort of persecution, I wouldn't have come here. It's not 
 to be endured for ninepence. Ninepence ! It would be 
 bad at eighteen pence. I wish I was in Afghanistan. 
 Cawbul, Ghuznee, Candahar don't astonish her. She ain't 
 open-mouthed at them, but sets my hair on end with her 
 Hand of Glory, and talks of how money is to be got. I 
 know what she is after ; she wants me to run away with 
 her and the cash box. I won't do it — not with her, for 
 certain ; not with the cash box if I can help it. I don't 
 believe a word about a Hand of Glory. I'm curious to 
 know how she'll get out of it, now she's promised to show 
 it me." 
 
 He started, and swore. 
 
 " Gorr ! " he said ; " it's only a rat behind the wain- 
 scot ; I thought it was the hand creeping after me. I sup- 
 pose I must go. For certain, Mrs. Veale is a bad un. 
 But, what is that ? The shadow of my own hand on the 
 wall, naught else." 
 
 He threw over him a cloak he wore in wet weather, 
 and hid the lantern under it. 
 
 "For sure," he said, "folks would think it queer if 
 they saw me going out such a summer night as this with a 
 lantern ; but I won't go to Wellon's Cairn without, that is 
 certain." 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Veale ; " so you have come at last ! " 
 
 " Yes, I have come. Where is the master .' I've not 
 seen him about." 
 
 " He never said nothing to no one, and went off to 
 Holsworthy to-day." 
 
 "When will he be back?" 
 
 " Not to-morrow ; there's a fair there ; the day after, 
 perhaps." 
 
212 RED SPIDER. 
 
 A heavy black cloud hung in the sky, stretching ap- 
 parently above Broadbury. Below it the silvery light 
 ifowed from behind the horizon. To the east, although it 
 was night, the range of Dartmoor was visible, bathed in 
 the soft reflection from the northwestern sky. The tumu- 
 lus upon which Wellon had been executed was not far but 
 on the heath. Mrs. Veale led the way with firm tread; 
 Charles followed with growing reluctance. A great whjte 
 owl whisked by. The glowworms were shining mysteri- 
 ously under tufts of grass. As they pushed through the 
 heather they disturbed large moths. A rabbit dashed past. 
 
 " Hush ! " whispered Charles. " I'm sure I heard a 
 horn." 
 
 " Ah ! " answered Mrs. Veale, " Squire Arscott rides 
 the downs at night, they say, and has this hundred years." 
 
 " I don't care to go any farther," said the young man. 
 
 "You shall come on. I am going to show you the 
 Hand of Glory." 
 
 He was powerless to resist. As his father had fallen 
 under the authority of Honor, so the strong, overmaster- 
 ing will of this woman domineered Charles, and made 
 him do what she would. He felt his subjection, his pow- 
 erlessness. He saw the precipice to which she was lead- 
 ing him, and knew that he could not escape. 
 
 " I wish I had never come to Langford," he muttered 
 to himself. " It's Honor's doing. If I go wrong, she is 
 to blame. She sent me here, and all for ninepence." 
 Then, stepping forward beside the housekeeper, " I say, 
 Mrs. Veale, how do you manage to stow anything away in 
 a mound ? " 
 
 " Easy, if the mound be not solid," she replied. " There 
 is a sort of stone coffin in the middle, made of pieces of 
 granite set on end, and others laid on top. ' »Vhen the 
 treasure-seekers dug into the hill, they came as far as one 
 
THE HARE HUNT. 213 
 
 of the stones, and they stove it in, but found nothing, or, 
 if they found aught, they carried it away. Then, I reckon, 
 they put the stone back, or the earth fell down and cov- 
 ered all up, and the heather-bushes grew over it all. But 
 I looked one day about there for a place where I could 
 hide things. I thought as the master had his secret place, 
 I'd have mine too ; and I knew no place could be safer 
 than where old Wellon hung, as folks don't like to come 
 too near it — leastways in the dark. Well, then, I found a 
 little hole, as might have been made by a rabbit, and I 
 cleared it out ; and there I found the gap and the stone 
 coffin. I crept in ; it were not over-big, but wi' a light I 
 could see about. I thought at first I'd come on Wellon's 
 bones, but no bones were there, nothing at all but a rab- 
 bit nest, and some white snail-shells. After that I made 
 up the entrance again, just as it was, and no one would 
 know it was there. But I can find it ; there is a buncji 
 of heath by it, and some rushes, and how rushes came to 
 grow there beats me." 
 
 " So you keep Wellon's hand in there, do you ? " 
 
 "Yes, I do." 
 
 " How did you manage to get it ? " 
 
 " I will not tell you." 
 
 " I do not believe you have it ; I don't believe but 
 what you told me a parcel of lies about the Hand of 
 Glory. I've been to Afghanistan, and Cawbul, and the 
 Bombay Presidency, and never heard of such a thing. It 
 is not in reason. If a dead hand can move, why has not 
 my finger that was cut off in battle come back to me ? " 
 
 " Shall I send the Hand after it ? " 
 
 The suggestion made Charles uneasy. He looked 
 about him, as afraid to see the black hand, running on 
 the grasSj^Tfeaping the tufts of furze, carrying his dead fin- 
 ger, to drop it at his feet. 
 
214 ^^^ SPIDER. 
 
 " What are you muttering ? " asked he, sharply. 
 
 " I'm only repeating, Hand of Glory ! Hand of 
 Light ! Fetch, fetch ! Run and bring — " 
 
 " I'll strike you down if you go on with your devilry, 
 you hag ! " said Charles, angrily. 
 
 " We are at the place." 
 
 They entered the cutting made by the treasure-seek- 
 ers, the gap in which Honor had often sat in the sun, un- 
 conscious of the stone kistvaen hidden behind her, indif- 
 ferent to the terrors of the haunted hill, while the sun 
 blazed on it. 
 
 " The night is much darker than it was," said Charles 
 uneasily, as he looked about him. 
 
 It was as he said. The black mass of cloud had 
 spread and covered the sky, cutting off the light except 
 from the horizon. 
 
 " I don't like the looks of the cloud," said Charlesi 
 " There will be rain before long, and there's thuhder 
 aloft for certain." 
 
 "What is that to you.? Are you afraid of a shower.' 
 You have your cloak. Bring out the lantern. It matters 
 not who sees the light now. If any one does see it, lie'U 
 say it's a corpse-candle on its travels." 
 
 " What is a corpse-candle ? " 
 
 "Don't you know.'" She gave a short, dry laugh. 
 " It's a light that travels by night along a road, and comes 
 to the door of the house out of which a corpse will be 
 brought in a day or two." 
 
 " Does no one carry the candle ? " 
 
 " It travels by itself." Then she said, " Give me the 
 light." 
 
 " I will not let it out of my hand," answered Charles, 
 looking about him timorously. " I don't think any one 
 will see the light, down in this hole." 
 
THE HARE HUNT. 215 
 
 " Hold the lantern where I show you — there.'' 
 
 He did as required. It gave a poor, sickly light, but 
 sufficient to show where the woman wanted to work. 
 She began to scratch away the earth with her hands, and 
 Charles, watching her, thought she worked as a rabbit or 
 hare might with its front paws. Presently she said : 
 
 " There is the hole, look in." 
 
 He saw a dark opening, but had no desire to peer into 
 it. Indeed, he drew back. 
 
 "How can I see if you take away the lantern?" 
 asked Mrs. Veale. " Put your arm in and you will find 
 the hand." 
 
 He drew still farther away. "I will not. I have 
 seen enough. I know of this hiding-place. That suiBfices. 
 I will go home." 
 
 The horror came over him lest she should force him to 
 put his hand into the stone coffin, and that there, in the 
 blackness and mystery of the interior, the dead hand of 
 the murderer would make a leap and clasp his. 
 
 " I have had enough of this," he said, and a shiver ran 
 through him, " I will go home. Curse me ! I'm not go- 
 ing to be mixed up with all this devilry and witchery if I 
 can help it." 
 
 " Perhaps the hand is gone," said Mrs. Veale. 
 
 " Oh ! I hope so." 
 
 " I sent it after your finger." 
 
 " Indeed, may it be long on its travels." He was re- 
 assured. It was not pleasant to think of so close prox- 
 imity to the murderer's embalmed, still active hand. He 
 suspected that Mrs. Veale was attempting to wriggle out 
 of her undertaking. " Indeed — I thought I was to see 
 the hand, and now the hand is not here." 
 
 " I can not say. Anyhow the money is here." 
 
 "What money?" 
 
2l6 , RED SPIDER. 
 
 '' That for which you asked." 
 
 "I asked for none." 
 
 " You desired a hundred pounds for the purpose of 
 getting back Coombe Park. Put in your hand and 
 take it." 
 
 " I will not." 
 
 His courage was returning, as he thought he saw eva- 
 sion of her promise in the woman. 
 
 " For the matter of that, if this Hand of Glory 
 can fetch money, it might as well fetch more than 
 that." 
 
 "How much.?" 
 
 " A hundred is not overmuch. Two hundred — a 
 thousand." 
 
 " Say a thousand." 
 
 " So I do." 
 
 " Put in your hand. It is there." 
 
 " Hark ! " 
 
 " Put in your hand." 
 
 " I will not." 
 
 " Then, you fool ! you coward ! I must take it for 
 you ! " she hissed in her husky voice. She stooped and 
 thrust both her hands and arms deep into the kistvaen. 
 
 " Hush ! " whispered Charles, as he laid his hand on 
 her shoulder, and covered the light with a flap of his man- 
 tle. She remained still for a minute with her arms buried 
 in the grave. There was certainly a sound, a tramp of 
 many feet, and the fall of horses' hoofs, heard, then not 
 heard, as they went over road or turf. 
 
 " There," whispered Mrs. Veale, and drew a box from 
 the hole and placed it on Charles's lap. As she did so, 
 the mantle-flap fell from the lantern, and the light shone 
 over the box. Charles at once recognized Tavemer 
 Langford's cash-box, with the letter padlock. 
 
THE HARE HUNT. 217 
 
 "Ebal," whispered Mrs. Veale. "A thousand pounds 
 are yours." 
 
 At that instant, loud and startling, close to the cairn 
 sounded the blast of a horn, instantly responded to by the 
 baying and yelping of dogs, by shouts, and screams, and 
 cheers, and a tramp of rushing feet, and a crack of 
 whips. 
 
 The suddenness of the uproar, its unexpectedness, its 
 weirdness, coming on Charles's overwrought nerves, at the 
 same moment that he saw himself unwillingly involved in 
 a robbery, completely overcame him ; he uttered a cry of 
 horror, sprang to his feet, upset the money-box, and' 
 leaped out of the cutting, swinging the lantern, with his 
 wide mantle flapping about him. His foot tripped and he 
 fell ; he picked himself up and bounded into the road 
 against a horse with rider, who was in the act of blowing 
 - a horn. 
 
 Charles was too frightened and bewildered to remember 
 anything about the hare hunt. He did not know where 
 he was, what he was doing, against whom he had flung 
 himself. The horse plunged, bounded aside, and cast his 
 rider from his back. Charles stood with ope hand to his 
 head looking vacantly at the road and the prostrate figure 
 in it. In another moment Mrs. Veale was at his elbow. 
 " What have you done ? " she gasped. " You fool ! what 
 have you done ? " 
 
 Charles had sufficiently recovered himself to under- 
 stand what had taken place. 
 
 " It is the hare hunt," he said. " Do you hear them? 
 The dogs ! This is — my God ! it is Larry Nansplan. He 
 is dead. I said I would break his neck, and I have done 
 it. But I did not mean it. I did not intend to frighten 
 the horse. I — I " — and he burst into tears. 
 
 " You are a fool," said Mrs. Veale, angrily. " What 
 
2l8 RED SPIDER. 
 
 do you mean by staying here ? " She took the horn from 
 the prostrate Larry and blew it. " Don't let them turn 
 and find you here by his dead body. If you will not go, 
 I must, though I had no hand in killing him." She 
 snatched the lantern from his hand and extinguished it. 
 " That ever I had to do with such a one as you ! Be off, 
 as you value your neck ; do not stay. Be off ! If you 
 threatened Larry and have fulfilled your threat, who will 
 believe that this was accident ? " 
 
 Charles, who had been overcome by weakness for a 
 moment, was nerved again by fear. 
 
 " Take his head," said Mrs. Veale, " lay him on the 
 turf, among the dark gorse, where he mayn't be seen all at 
 once, and that will give you more time to get off." 
 
 " I can not take his head," said Charles, trembling. 
 
 "Then take his heels. Do as I bid," ordered the 
 housekeeper. She bent and raised Larry. 
 
 "Sure enough," she said, " his neck is broken. He'll 
 never speak- another word." 
 
 Charles let go his hold of the feet. " I will not touch 
 him," he said. " I will not stay. I wish I'd never come 
 to Langford. It was all Honor's fault forcing me. I must 
 
 go." 
 
 "Yes, go," said Mrs. Veale, "and go along Broadbury, 
 where you will meet no man, and no footmarks will be left 
 by which you may be traced." Mrs. Veale, unassisted, 
 dragged the senseless body out of the rough road over 
 the turf. 
 
 " Is he dead } is he really dead ? " asked Charles. 
 
 " Go ! " said Mrs. Veale, " or I shall have the chance 
 of your hand to make into a better Hand of Glory than 
 that of Wellon." 
 
219 
 
 BITTER MEDICINE. 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 BITTER MEDICINE. 
 
 The hare and hounds ran some distance before they 
 perceived that they were not pursued by the huntsman 
 and that the horn had ceased to cheer them on. Then 
 little Piper, the cattle-jobber, clothed in the black ox- 
 hide, stopped panting, turned, and said, "Where be the 
 hunter to? I don't hear his horse nor his horn." The 
 dogs halted. They were boys and young men with black- 
 ened faces. Prper's face was also covered with soot. 
 His appearance was diabolical, with the long ears on his 
 head, his white eyes peering about from under them, a 
 bladder under his chin, and the black hide enveloping 
 him. According to the traditional usage on such occa- 
 sions, the hunt ends with the stag or hare, one or the other, 
 being fagged out, and thrown at the door of the house 
 whose inmates' conduct has occasioned the stag or hare 
 hunt. Then the hunter stands astride over the animal, if 
 a stag, and with a knife slits the bladder that is distended 
 with bullock's blood, and which is thus poured out before 
 the offender's door. If, however, the hunt be that of a 
 hare the pretense is — or was — made of knocking it' on the 
 head. It may seem incredible to our readers that such 
 savage proceedings should still survive in our midst, yet it 
 is so, and they will not be readily abolished.* 
 
 * The author once tore down with his own hands the following bill 
 a6Sxed to a wall at four cross-roads : — 
 
 " Notice !— On Thursday night the Red Hunter's pack of 
 stag hounds will meet at - . . inn, and will run to ground a 
 famous stag. gentlemen are requested to attend." 
 
 The police were communicated with, but were unable to interfere, 
 as no breach of the peace was committed. 
 
220 RED SPIDER.. 
 
 Not suspecting anything, the hare and the pack turned 
 and ran back along the road they had traversed, yelping, 
 shouting, hooting, blowing through their half-closed hands, 
 leaping, some lads riding on the backs of others, one in a 
 white female ragged gown running about and before the 
 hare, flapping the arms and hooting like an owl. 
 
 Would Taverner Langford come forth, worked to fury 
 by the insult? Several were armed with sticks in the 
 event of an affray with him and his men. Would he hide 
 behind a hedge and fire at them out of his trumpet- 
 mouthed blunderbuss that hung over the kitchen mantel- 
 piece in Langford? If he did that, they had legs and 
 could run beyond range. They did not know that he was 
 away at Holsworthy. The road to that town lay over the 
 back of Broadbury and passed not another house in the 
 parish. 
 
 The wild chase swept over the moor, past Wellon's 
 Cairn, past Langford, then turned and went back again. 
 
 " I'll tell you what it be," said Piper, halting and con- 
 fronting his pursuers. "Larry Nanspian have thought 
 better of it, and gone home. T'es his uncle, you know, 
 we'm making game of, and p'raps he's 'shamed to go on 
 in it." 
 
 " He should have thought of that before," said one of 
 the dogs. " Us ain't a going to have our hunt spoiled for 
 the lack of a hunter." 
 
 "Why didn't he say so in proper time?" argued a 
 second. 
 
 "Heigh ! there's his horse ! " shouted a third, and ran 
 over the moor toward the piebald, which, having recovered 
 from its alarm, was quietly browsing on the sweet, fine 
 moor grass. 
 
 " Sure eneaf it be," said Piper ; " then Larry can't be 
 far off." 
 
BITTER MEDICINE. 221 
 
 Another shout. 
 
 "He's been thrown. He is lying here by the road- 
 side." 
 
 Then there was a rush of the pack to the spot indi- 
 cated, and in a moment the insensible lad was in the arms 
 of Piper, surrounded by an eager throng. 
 
 "Get along, you fellows," shouted the hare, "you'll 
 give him no breathing room." 
 
 " Ah ! and where'U he think himself, I wonder, when 
 he opens his eyes and sees he is in the hands of one with 
 black face and long ears, and tail, and hairy body? I- 
 reckon he won't suppose he's in Abraham's bosom." 
 
 " What'U he take you for either, in your black faces ? " 
 retorted Piper. "Not angels of light, sure-ly." Then 
 old Grout hobbled up. He had followed far in the rear, 
 as best he could with his lame leg and stick. 
 
 "What be the matter, now?" he asked. "What, 
 Larry Nanspian throwed ? Some o' you lads run for a 
 gate. Us mun' carry 'n home on that. There may be 
 bones abroke, mussy knows." 
 
 "I reckon we can't take 'n into Langford," suggested 
 Sam Voaden. 
 
 " Likely, eh ? " sneered Piper. " You, Sam, get a gate 
 for the lad. He must be carried home at once, and send 
 for a doctor.'' 
 
 He was obeyed ; and in a few miiiutes a procession 
 was formed, conveying Larry from the moor. 
 
 " He groaned as we lifted 'n," said Sam Voaden. 
 
 " So he's got life in him yet." 
 
 " His hand ain't cold, what I may call dead cold," said 
 another. 
 
 "You go for'ard. Piper," said Tom Grout, "that he 
 mayn't see you and be frightened if he do open his eyes." 
 
 Then the cattle-jobber walked first, holding the long 
 
±22 RED SPIDER. 
 
 cow's tail over his arm, lest those who followed should 
 tread on it and ' be tripped up. Sam Voaden and three 
 other young men raised the gate on their shoulders, and 
 walked easily under it. Behind came the hounds, careful 
 not to present their blackened faces to the opening eyes of 
 their unconscious friend ; and, lastly, Tom Crout mounted 
 on the piebald. One of the boys had found the horn, and, 
 unable to resist the temptation to try his breath on it, blew 
 a faint blast. 
 
 " Shut up, will you .' " shouted Piper, turning. " Who 
 is that braying ? You'll be making Larry fancy he hears 
 the last trump, and he'll jump off the gate and hurt him- 
 self again." 
 
 Larry Nanjpian had not broken his neck nor fractured 
 his skull. He was much bruised, strained, and his right arm 
 and collar-bone were broken. His insensibility proceeded 
 from concussion of the brain ; but even this was not seri- 
 ous, for he gradually recovered his consciousness as he 
 was being carried homeward. Too dazed at first to know 
 where he was, what had happened, and how he came to 
 be out and lying on a gate, he did not speak or stir. In- 
 deed, he felt unwilling to make an effort, a sense of ex- 
 haustion overmastered him, and every movement caused 
 him pain. He lay with his face to the night sky, watch- 
 ing the dark cloud, listening to the voices of his bearers, 
 and picking with the fingers of his left hand at a mossy 
 gate bar under him. At first he did not hear what words 
 were passing about him, he was aware only of voices 
 speaking ; the first connected sentence he was able to fol- 
 low was this : — 
 
 " 'Twould be a bad job if Larry were killed." 
 
 " Bad job for him, yes," was the reply. 
 
 " What do y' mean by that ? " asked Sam Voaden. He 
 recognized Sam's voice at once, and he felt the movement 
 
BITTER MEDICINE. 
 
 223 
 
 of Sam's shoulder tilting the fore end of the gate as he 
 turned his head to ask the question. 
 
 " Oh, I mean naught but what every one says. A bad 
 job for any chap to die; but I don't reckon the loss would 
 be great to Chimsworthy. Some chance, then, of the farm 
 going to proper hands. Larry ain't muchj and never will 
 be, but for larks and big talk. I say that Chimsworthy is 
 a disgrace to the parish ; and what is more there is sure 
 to be a smash there unless there comes an alteration. 
 Alteration there would never be under Larry." 
 
 " I've heard tell that the old man has borrowed a sight 
 of money from Taverner Langford, and now he's bound 
 to pay it off, and can't do it." 
 
 " Not like to, the way he's gone on ■ sowing brag brings 
 brambles." 
 
 "You see," said Voaden, "they always reckoned on 
 getting Langford, some day, when the old fellow died." 
 
 " And what a mighty big fool Larry is to aggravate his 
 uncle ! Instead of keeping good terms with the old gen- 
 tleman, he goes out o' his road to offend him." 
 
 "I say it's regular un-decent his being out to-night 
 hunting the hare before his own uncle's door." 
 
 " I say so, too. It weren't my place to say naught, but 
 I thought it, and so did every proper chap." , 
 
 " It is an ill bird that fouls its own nest." 
 
 " Does his father know what he's been after ? " 
 
 " No, of course not ; old Nanspian would ha' taken a 
 stick to his back, if he'd heard he was in for such things." 
 
 " I know that however bad an uncle might use me, I'd 
 never have nothing to do with a hare-hunt that concerned 
 him — no, nor an aunt neither." 
 
 " Larry was always a sort of a giddy chap." 
 
 " He's a bit o' a fool, or he wouldn't have come into 
 this." 
 
224 RED SPIDER. 
 
 " Maybe this will shake what little sense he has out of 
 his head." 
 
 " I'll tell y' what. If Larry had been in the army — 
 he'd have turned out as great a blackguard as Charles 
 Luxmore." 
 
 " The girls have spoiled Larry, they make so much of 
 him." 
 
 " Make much of him ! They like to make sport of 
 him, but there's not one of them cares a farthing for him, 
 not if they've any sense. They know fast enough what 
 Chimsworthy and idleness are coming to. Why, there 
 was Kate Luxmore. Every one thought she and Larry 
 were keeping company and would make a pair ; but this 
 evening, you saw, directly she had a chance of Sam, she 
 shook him off, and quite right too." 
 
 " Never mind me and Kate," said Sam, turning his 
 head again. 
 
 " But us do mind, and us think as Kate be a sensible 
 maiden, and us thought her a fool before to take up wi' 
 Larry Nanspian." 
 
 This conversation was not pleasant for the young man 
 laid on the gate to hear, and it took from him the desire 
 to speak and allow his bearers to know he was awake, and 
 had heard their criticism on his character and conduct. 
 The judgment passed on him was not altogether just, but 
 there was sufficient justice in it to humble him. Yes, he 
 had acted most improperly in allowing himself to be drawn 
 into taking part in the hare-hunt. No — he was not, he 
 could never have become such a blackguard as Charles 
 Luxmore. 
 
 " Halt ! " commanded Piper, and the convoy stood 
 still. 
 
 " We can't go like this to Chimsworthy," said the little 
 cattle-jobber ; " it'll give the old man another strike. Let 
 
BITTER MEDICINE. 225 
 
 us stop at the Luxmores' cottage, and wash our faces, and 
 put off these things, and send on word that we're coming ; 
 the old fellow mustn't be dropped down on wi' bad news 
 too sudden." 
 
 " Right ! Honor shall be sent on to break the news." 
 Honor ! Larry felt the blood mount to his brow. She 
 had herself dissuaded him from having anything to do with 
 this wretched affair which had ended so disastrously to 
 himself, and when Kate advised him to keep away from it 
 because Honor disapproved, 'he had sent her an insolent 
 defiance. Now he was to be laid before her door, bruised 
 and broken, because he had disobeyed her warning. He 
 tried to lift himself to protest — but sank back. " No " — he 
 thought — "it serves me right." 
 
 The party descended the rough lane from Broadbury, 
 and had to move more slowly and with greater precaution. 
 The bearers had to look to their steps and talk less. 
 Larry's thoughts turned to Honor. Now he had found 
 out how true were her words. What she had said to him 
 gently, was said now roughly, woundingly. She had but 
 spoken to him the wholesome truth which was patent to 
 every one but himself, but she had spoken it so as to inflict 
 no pain. She had tried to humble him, but with so pitiful 
 a hand, that he could have kissed the hand, and asked it 
 to continue its work. But he had not taken her advice, 
 he had not learned her lesson, and he was now called to 
 suffer the consequences. Those nights spent beside Honor 
 under the clear night sky — ^how happy they had been! 
 How her influence had fallen over him like dew, and he 
 had felt that it was well with him to his heart's core ! How 
 utterly different she was from the other girls of Bratton! 
 They flattered him. She rebuked him. They pressed 
 their attentions on him. She shrank from his notice. He 
 
 could recall all she had said. Her words stood out in his 
 
 35 
 
226 RED SPIDER. 
 
 recollection like the stars in the night heavens — but he 
 had not directed his course by them. 
 
 Now, as the young men carried him down the lane, he 
 knew every tree he passed, and that he was nearing Honor, 
 step by step. He desired to see her, yet feared her re- 
 proachful eye. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 AFTER-SWEETNESS. 
 
 Oliver Luxmore had returned home before Kate 
 came from the dance, and had eaten his supper, and gone 
 to bed. Her father had been a cause of distress to Honor 
 of late. He said, indeed, no more about Taverner's suit, 
 but he could not forget it, and he was continually grum- 
 bling over the difficulties of his position, his poverty, the 
 hardships of his having to be a carrier when he ought, to 
 be a gentleman, and might be a squire if certain persons 
 would put out a little finger to help him to his rights. 
 
 His careless good humor had given place to peev- 
 ish discontent. By nature he was kind and considerate, 
 but his disappointment had, at least temporarily, embit- 
 tered his mood. He threw out oblique reproaches which 
 hurt Honor, for she felt that they were aimed at her. 
 He complained that times were altered, children were 
 without filial affection, they begrudged their parents the 
 repose ' that was their due in the evening of their days. 
 He was getting on in years, and was forced to slave for 
 the support of a family, when his family — at least the elder 
 of them — ought to be maintaining -him. He wished that 
 the Thrustle were as deep as the Tamar, and he would 
 throw himself in and so end his sorrows. His children — 
 his ungrateful children — must not be surprised if some 
 
AFTER-SWEETNESS. 22;' 
 
 day he did not return. There was no saying, on occa- 
 sions, when a waterspout broke, the Thrustle was so full 
 of water that a man might drown himself in it. 
 
 In vain did Honor attempt to turn his thoughts into 
 pleasanter channels. He found a morbid pleasure in be- 
 ing absorbed in the contemplation of his sores. He be- 
 came churlisB toward Honor and refused to be cheered. 
 She had fine speeches on her tongue, but he was a man 
 who preferred deeds to words. A girl of words and not 
 of deeds was like a garden full of weeds. When the 
 weeds began to grow, like the heavens thick with snow, 
 when the snow began to fall — and so on — and so on — he 
 had forgotten the rest of the jingle. 
 
 Now for the first time, dimly, was Honor conscious of 
 a moral resemblance between her father and Charles. 
 What Charles had become, her father might become. The 
 elements of character were in germ in him that had de- 
 veloped in the son. As likenesses in a family come out, 
 at unexpected moments, that had never before been no- 
 ticed, so was it with the psychical features of these tw'o. 
 Honor saw Charles in "her father, and the sight distressed < 
 her. 
 
 Oliver Luxmore did not venture to say out openly what , 
 he desired, but his hints, his insinuations, his grumblings, 
 were significant ; they pierced as barbed steel, they bruised 
 as blows. Till recently, Oliver had recognized his daugh- 
 ter's moral superiority, and had submitted. Now his eye 
 was jaundiced. He thought her steadfastness of purpose 
 to be doggedness, her resistance to his wishes to be the 
 result of self-will, and his respect for her faded. 
 
 Although Honor made no complaint, no defense,- she 
 suffered acutely. She had surrendered Larry because her 
 duty tied her to the home that needed her. Was it neces- 
 sary for her to make a further sacrifice — a supreoae sac- 
 
228 RED SPIDER. 
 
 rifice for the sake of her father ? She had no faith in the 
 verbal promises of Taverner Langford, to stand by and 
 assist her brothers and sisters, but it was in her power to 
 exact from him a written undertaking which he would be 
 unable to shake off. ' Suppose she were to marry Lang- 
 ford —what then ? Then — the dark cloud would lift and 
 roll away. There would be no more struggle to make 
 both ends meet, no more patching and darning of old 
 clothes, no more limiting of the amount of bread dealt out 
 to each child. Her father's temper would mend. He 
 would recover his kindly humor, and play with the little 
 ones, and joke with the neighbors, and be affectionate 
 toward her. There would be no more need for him to 
 travel with a wagon in all weathers to market, but he 
 would spend his last years in comfort, cared for by his 
 children, instead of exhausting himself for them. 
 
 However bright such a prospect might appear, Honor 
 could not reconcile herself to it. Her feminine instincts 
 revolted against the price she must pay to obtain it. 
 
 That evening Oliver Luxmore ate his supper in sulky- 
 silence, and went to bed without wishing Honor a good- 
 night. When Kate arrived, she found her sister in tears. 
 
 " Honor ! " exclaimed the eager, lively girl, " what is 
 the matter ? You have been crying — because you could 
 not go to the dance." 
 
 " No, dear Kate, not at all." 
 
 " Honor ! what is the meaning of this ? Marianne 
 Spry tells me she saw the silk kerchief you gave me be- 
 fore to-day." 
 
 "Well, why not?" 
 
 " But, Honor, I do not understand. Mrs. Spry says 
 that Larry bought it — bought it at Tavistock after he had 
 killed the dog that worried our lambs — after he had got 
 the guinea, and she believes he bought it with that money." 
 
AFTERS WEETNESS. 
 
 229 
 
 " Well, Kate ! " Honor stooped over her needlework. 
 
 " Well, Honor ! " — Kate paused and looked hard at 
 her. "How is it that Larry bought it, and you had it in 
 your chest ? That is what I want to know." 
 
 " Larry gave it me." 
 
 " Oh— ho ! He gave it you ! " 
 
 " Yes, I sat up with him when he was watching for 
 the lamb-killer ; he is grateful for that trifling trouble I 
 took." 
 
 " But, Honor ! Marianne Spry said that she and 
 others chaffed Larry in the van about the kerchief he had 
 bought for me — and it was not for me.*' 
 
 Honor said nothing ; she worked very diligently with 
 her fingers by the poor light of the tallow candle on the 
 table. Kate stooped to get sight of her face, and saw that 
 her cheek was red. 
 
 " Honor, dear ! The kerchief was not for me. Why 
 did you make me wear it ? " 
 
 " Because, Kate — because you are the right person to 
 wear his present." 
 
 " I — why I ? " asked Kate impetuously. 
 
 Honor looked up, looked steadfastly into her sister's 
 eyes. 
 
 " Because Larry loves you, and you love him." 
 
 " I can answer for myself that I do not," said Kate 
 vehemently. " And I don't fancy he is much in love with 
 me. No, Honor, he was in a queer mood this evening, 
 and what made him queer was that you were not in the 
 barn, and had decked me out in the kerchief he gave you 
 to wear. I could not make it out at the time, but now I 
 see it all." Then Kate laughed gayly. I don't suppose 
 you care very much for him, he's a Merry Andrew and a 
 scatter-brain, but I do believe he has a liking for yoij, 
 Honor, and I believe there is no one in the world could 
 
230 RED SPIDER. 
 
 make a fine good man of Larry but you." Then the im- 
 pulsive girl threw her arms round her sister. " There ! " 
 she exclaimed, " I'm glad you don't care for Larry, be- 
 cause he is not worthy of you — ^no, there's not a lad that 
 is — except, maybe, Samuel Voaden, and him I won't spare 
 even to you." 
 
 " O Kate ! " 
 
 So the sisters sat on, and the generous, warm-hearted 
 Kate told all her secret to her sister. 
 
 When girls talk of affairs of the heart, time flies with 
 them. "Their father and brothers and sisters were asleep 
 and they sat on late. Kate was happy to confide in her 
 sister. 
 
 All at once Kate started, and held her finger to her ear. 
 
 " I hear something. O Honor, what is it ? I hope 
 these hare-hunters be not coming this way." 
 
 She had not told Honor Larry's message. 
 
 "I hear feet," answered the elder. "Do not go to 
 the door, Kate. It is very late." 
 
 The tramp of feet ceased, the two girls with beating 
 hearts heard steps ascend to their door, then a rap at it. 
 Honor went at once to open, Kate hung back. She sus- 
 pected the hare-hunters, but was afraid of the black faces, 
 and she could not understand the halt and summons. 
 
 " Don't y' be frightened, Honor," said a voice, through 
 the door, "us want y' out here a bit, if you don't mind." 
 Honor unbolted, and the black-faced, white-eyed, long- 
 eared, skin-clothed Piper stood before her, holding the 
 black cow-tail in his hand. 
 
 " Don't y' be scared. I'm only the hare. I won't 
 touch a hair of your head." 
 
 " What do you want, Mr. Piper ? " asked Honor with- 
 out trepidation. 
 
 " Well, it is this : There's been an accident, and 
 
AFTER-SWEETNESS. 231 
 
 Master I^arry Nanspian bev fallen on his head off his 
 horse and hurted himself bad." 
 
 Honor began to tremble, and caught the door with 
 one hand and the door-post with the other. 
 
 " Now do y' take it easy. He ain't dead, only hurt. 
 Us don't want to go right on end carrying him into 
 Chimsworthy, all of us dressed as we are. First place, 
 it might frighten Master Nanspian ; second place^ he 
 mightn't like the larks Larry has been on. So us thought 
 if you would let us clean our faces, and take off our skins 
 and other things, and cut the green coat off the back of 
 Larry, here ; and then, you'd be so good as run on to 
 Chimsworthy and prepare the old gentleman, you'd be, 
 well, you'd be yourself — I couldn't put it better," 
 
 Honor had recovered her composure. 
 
 " I will do what you wish," she said, and her voice 
 was firm, though low. 
 
 "You see," Piper went on, "it's a bit ockerd like ; 
 I reckon the old man wouldn't be satisfied that Larry 
 were mixed up in a hare-hunt that made game of Taverner 
 Langford, his own wife's brother ; and I don't say that 
 Larry acted right in being in it. Howsomever, he has 
 been, and is now the worse for it. Will you please to 
 bring the candle and let us see how bad he be." 
 
 Honor took the tin candlestick with the tallow dip, 
 and descended the steps, holding it. 
 
 The four bearers set the gate upon the ground, and 
 Honor held the candle aloft that the light might fall on 
 Larry. But a soft wind was blowing, and it drove the 
 flame on one side, making the long wick glow and then 
 carrying it away in sparks. 
 
 " Mr. Piper, go into the cottage and ask my sister 
 Kate to give you my scissors. I will remove the coat 
 Go all of you, either to the well a few steps down the 
 
232 RED SPIDER. 
 
 lane, or into our kitchen, and wait. Kate will give you 
 towel and soap. Leave me with Larry. I must deal~very 
 gently with him, and I had rather you were none of you 
 by." 
 
 "You're right," said Piper. "Us had better have 
 white faces and get clear of horses and other gear before 
 he sees us." 
 
 " We must be quick," said Sam Voaden. " Larry 
 must be got home as fast as may be." 
 
 Then they ran, some to the well in the bank, some — 
 Sam, of course — into the cottage, and left Honor for a 
 moment or two beside the prostrate man, kneeling, hold- 
 ing, the guttering candle with one hand, and screening the 
 flame from the wind with the other. 
 
 Then Larry opened his eyes, and looked long and 
 earnestly into her face. He said nothing. He did not 
 stir a finger ; but his eyes spoke. 
 
 " Larry ! " she breathed. Her heart spoke in her 
 voice ; " Larry, are you much hurt .' " 
 
 He slightly moved his head. 
 
 " Much, Larry ? where ? " 
 
 " In my pride, Honor," he answered. 
 
 She looked at him with surprise : at first hardly com- 
 prehending his meaning. 
 
 Then Kate came down the steps with the scissors. 
 
 " O Honor ! How dreadful ! I told him not to go ! I 
 told him you disapproved ! And now he is punished. O 
 Honor ! is he badly injured ? He is not killed .' " 
 
 " No, Kate, he is not killed. How far hurt I can not 
 tell. Larry! you must let me move you. I may hurt 
 you a little — " 
 
 " You can not hurt me," he said. " I have hurt myself." 
 
 " O Honor ! " exclaimed Kate. " If he can speak he 
 is not so bad. Shall I help ? " 
 
AFTER-SWEETNESS. 233 
 
 " No, Kate," answered Honor, " go back to the cottage 
 and give the young men what they want to clean their 
 faces ; those at the well also. I can manage Larry by 
 myself." 
 
 She stooped over him. 
 
 " Larry ! you must let me raise you a little bit. Tell 
 me truly, are any bones broken ? " 
 
 " I do not know, Honor. I feel as if I could not move. 
 I am full of pain, full in all my limbs, but most full in my 
 heart." 
 
 She began to cut up the seams of the sleeves. 
 
 " I can not move my right arm," he said. " I suppose 
 there is some breakage there." 
 
 " Yes," she said gravely, " I can feel a bone is broken." 
 
 " If that be all it does not matter," he said more cheer- 
 fully, " but I want to say to you, Honor, something while 
 no one is by." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " I have done very wrong in many ways. I have been 
 a fool, and I shall never be anything else unless you — " 
 
 " Never mind that now," she hastily interrupted him. 
 "We must think only at present of your aching joints and 
 broken bones." 
 
 Then Oliver Luxmore's voice was heard calling, and 
 asking what was the matter. Who were in the house? 
 He had been roused from his sleep and was alarmed. 
 Kate ran up the stairs to pacify him, and when he knew 
 the circumstances he hastily dressed. 
 
 An altercation broke out at the well. There was not 
 room for all to get at the water. One came running up 
 with streaming face to Honor. " Am I clean ? " he asked. 
 " How is Larry ? Not so bad hurt after all, is he ? " 
 Then he went up the steps into the cottage to consult his 
 fellows as to the condition of his face, and to wipe it. 
 
234 RED SPIDER. 
 
 Honor removed the coat in pieces. 
 
 " Thank you," said Larry. " The candle is out ? " 
 
 " Yes, the wind has made it out " (extinguished it). 
 
 " My left hand is sound. Come on that side." 
 
 She did as he asked. 
 
 "And this," he said, "is the side where my heart is. 
 Honor, I'm very sorry I did not follow your advice. I am 
 sorry now for many things. I want you to forgive me." 
 
 " I have nothing to forgive." 
 
 " Lean over me. I want to whisper. 1 don't want 
 •the fellows to hear." 
 
 She stooped with her face near his. Then he raised his 
 uninjured arm, put it round her neck, and drew her cheek 
 to his lips, and kissed her. " Honor ! dear Honor ! I love 
 no one — no one in the world but you 1 And I love you 
 more than words can say." 
 
 Did she kiss him ? She did not know herself. A 
 light, then a darkness, were before her eyes. What time 
 passed then .' A second or a century .' She did not know. 
 A sudden widening of the world to infinity, a loss of all 
 limitations — time, space — an unconsciousness of distinc- 
 tion, joy, pain, day, night, a loss of identity — was it she 
 herself, or another 1 
 
 Then a wakening as from a trance, with tingling veins, 
 aind dazed eyes, and whirling brain, and fluttering heart, 
 and voice uncontrolled, as from the cottage door, down 
 the steps, and from the well, up the lane came simulta- 
 neously the rabble of boys and men. 
 
 "Well, how is he?" "Have you got the coat off.?" 
 " Can he speak .' " " Any bones broke ? " 
 
 Honor could not answer the questions ; she heard them, 
 but had no voice wherewith to speak. 
 
 "Raise the gate again," said Piper. "Sam, are you 
 ready? Why are you behind ? We must get on." 
 
A FIRST STEP. 235 
 
 " Honor," said Larry in a low voice, " walk by the side 
 of me. Hold my hand." 
 
 " He is better," said one of the young men ; " he can 
 speak. He knows Honor." 
 
 "Yes, he is better," she said, "but he has his right arm 
 broken, and he is much shaken and bruised. Let me walk 
 beside him, I can stay the gate and ease him as you carry 
 him over the ruts and stones." So she walked at his side 
 with her hand in his. In a few minutes the party had ar- 
 rived at the granite gates of Chimsworthy. 
 
 " Stay here," ordered Piper. " Now, Honor Luxmore, 
 will you go on up the avenue and tell the old gentleman ? 
 Us'll come after with Master Larry in ten minutes." 
 
 " I will go," said Honor, disengaging her hand. 
 
 " How are you now ? " asked Piper, coming up to the 
 young man. 
 
 "Better," he said, "better than ever before." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVHL 
 
 A FIRST STEP. 
 
 For the next two days and nights Larry was in great 
 pain. His arm and collar-bone had been set, but strains 
 are more painful than breakages, and the young fellow in 
 his fall had managed to bruise and sprain his muscles as 
 well as fracture his bones. He could not sleep ; he could 
 not move in bed ; every turn, even the slightest, caused 
 him agony. The doctor enjoined perfect rest. Through 
 the two long sleepless nights his mind was active, and the 
 train of thought that had begun as he was being carried 
 from Broadbury continued to move in his brain. What 
 different nights were these to those spent by him on the 
 
236 RED SPIDER: 
 
 bench -with Honor! He considered what she had said to 
 him, and he knew that what she had said was right. How 
 careless of his best interests he had been ! How regard- 
 less of his duties! How neglectful of his proper self- 
 respect ! Of course she was right. His father never had 
 properly managed the farm, and since his stroke he had 
 paid it less attention than before. He, the son and heir, 
 ought to have devoted himself to the work of the farm, 
 and made that his main object, not to amuse himself. 
 
 His father came up to his room several times a day to 
 inquire how he was. 
 
 "There's Physick coming here," said the old man, 
 " and I want you to use your hand when he comes." 
 
 " I have only my left." 
 
 "Well, the left must do. If you can't sign your name, 
 you can make a cross, and that will suffice." 
 
 " What do you want me to sign, father ? " 
 
 "The mortgage. Physick will find the money, and 
 then we shall pay off Taverner Langford, and have done." 
 
 Larry sighed. He remembered what Honor had said. 
 He was helping to burden, not to relieve, the property. 
 
 "Can't it be helped, father.? I'd rather not, if the 
 money could be raised any other way." 
 
 "But that is impossible without a sale." 
 
 " Why did Uncle Taverner lend the money .' " 
 
 " We were behind in a score of things." 
 
 " Is it all gone, father?" 
 
 " Gone ! of course it is. Now I'm wanting more, and 
 I must raise double what Taverner lends me, half to pay 
 him off, and half to meet present demands." 
 
 "How is this?" 
 
 " Bad times. • Things will come round some day." 
 
 " How long have they been bad ? " 
 
 " Ever since your mother died. That was a bad day 
 
A FIRST STEP. 237 
 
 for us." The old man sat rubbing his chin. " The next 
 bad day was when I quarreled with Taverner, or rather, 
 when Taverner quarreled with me. 'Tis a pity. I made 
 up his orchard with my new grafts ; and a more beautiful 
 lot of , apple-trees are not to be seen — and he for to cut 
 them. Shameful ! " 
 
 " What was the quarrel about, father .' " 
 
 " I've told you afore. A red spider. Taverner tried 
 to sloke [draw] her away, when she was running straight 
 as a line into my pocket. But I reckon he can't keep you 
 forever out of Langford. He may live for ten or twelve 
 years out of wicked spite, but he is not immortal, and 
 Langford will come to you in the end. Then you can 
 clear off the mortgages. — I reckon I shall be gone then." 
 
 " Don't say that, father." 
 
 " I know I shall. When Taverner sloked that spider 
 away he carried off my health, and I were took with the 
 stroke immediately. I've not been myself since." He 
 continued rubbing his chin. "And now comes this mort- 
 gage, and you laid up in bed as you never was before. It 
 all comes o' sloking away the spider." 
 
 " Father," said Larry, earnestly, but timorously, " I 
 wish you would let me bring another here." 
 
 " Another what ? " 
 
 " Red Spider." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Honor Luxmore." 
 
 The old man' looked puzzled, then gradually an idea 
 of his son's meaning crept into his head. 
 
 " I thought," said he, slowly, " I thought it was t'other 
 maid." 
 
 " No, dear father, I love Honor. Let me bring her 
 here, let her be my wife, and I am sure she will bring luck 
 to this house." 
 
238 RED SPIDER. 
 
 Hillary senior continuecl rubbing his chin. "Her 
 mayn't have money," he mused, " but her's good up and 
 down the backbone ; as a money-spinner is all redness 
 and naught else, so is Honor all goodness and not a speck 
 of black in her." 
 
 " It is so indeed, father." 
 
 '■ I'm better pleased than if it were Kate." 
 
 "I never really thought of Kate." 
 
 " Well, you was sly about it then. All folks said that 
 Kate had stolen your fancy. Well, now, Honor mayn't 
 be a money-bringer, I reckon she's got nothing — Oliver 
 be poor as rushy land — but she may spin it. There's no 
 saying." 
 
 " Say yes, father." 
 
 " Her's a red spider that Tavemer won't try to sloke 
 away," / chuckled old Nanspian. Then he continued 
 musing. He was an altered man of late, not ready with 
 his thoughts, quick of motion, lively of tongue as before. 
 He took time to come to a decision, and drifted in his 
 ideas from one matter to another. " Things haven't gone 
 quite right since Blandina died, they haven't — though I 
 don't allow that to others. I've five years of wool beamed 
 [laid] up. I said I'd not sell with wool so low, and it has 
 been sorry down ever since, and now it's risen a penny 
 and I tried to sell — the worm is in it and the staple is 
 spoiled, and it won't fetch any price. Then there be the 
 maidens. They've let the thunder get into the milk and 
 turn it sour, and wasted the Lord knows how much but- 
 ter, because they were lazy and wouldn't leave their beds 
 in time at five o'clock, and make before the sun is hot. 
 If you'd a good wife, her'd mend all that. And Honor ! 
 well, no one has other than a good word for her. I'm 
 main pleased wi' your choice, Larry. Yes, I be." 
 
 " O father ! Thank you ! thank you ! " 
 
A FIJiST STEP. 239 
 
 " It's not for me to go into the maidens' room and 
 rake them out of bed at half-past three in the mornings. 
 I put it to you, Larry. Folks would say it was ondecent. 
 And if I don't, the butter ain't made, the thunder gets in 
 the pans, and I lose many pounds. I reckon Honor Lux- 
 more would do that. I've been racking my brains as you 
 rack- cider, how to get over the difficulty, and it was all 
 dark before me, but now I see daylight at last. Honor 
 will rake the maids out o' their beds, and I needn't inter- 
 fere. ' You'll be quick about it, won't you, Larry, before 
 the blazing, hot summer weather sets in, with thunder in 
 the air, and spoils the milk." 
 
 He passed his hand through his gray hair. " I had a 
 bell put up in their bedroom, and a wire brought along to 
 mine, and a handle nigh my bed, that I might ring them 
 up in the mornings early. It cost me nigh on thirty 
 shillings did that- bell. The hanger had to come all the 
 way from Tavistock, and it took him two days to put up, 
 and there were a lot of cranks to it. Well, it was just so 
 much money thrown away. What do y' think the maidens 
 contrived ? Why, they stuffed an old worsted stocking 
 into the bell and tied it round the clapper ; I might pull 
 the rope as if I were pealing a triple bob major, and not a 
 sound came out of the bell, because of the stocking. 
 Well, I wouldn't go into the maidens' room and see what 
 was the matter, and so I sent to Tavistock for the bell- 
 hanger out again, and he charged, me three shillings for 
 himself, and half-a-crown for his man, and ten shillings 
 for the hire of a trap, and all he did was to remove the 
 stocking. Next night the maidens tied up the clapper 
 with the fellow stocking. If Honor were here she'd put 
 all that to rights, wouldn't she ? " 
 
 " I'm sure of it, father." 
 
 "You be sharp and get well," continued the old man, 
 
240 RED SPIDER. 
 
 "then we'll have it all over, and save pounds of butter." 
 He stood up. " I mustn't shake hands wi' you, Larry, 
 but I'm main pleased. Honor's good through and 
 through as a money-spinner is scarlet." 
 
 Larry was fain to smile, in spite of his pain. This 
 was like his father. The old man went on vehemently, 
 hotly for some new fancy, and in a few weeks tired of it, 
 and did nothing more about it. 
 
 Next day Physick the lawyer came, and brought the 
 mortgage and the money. The signatures were appended, 
 a cross for Larry, and the money received. 
 
 " Now," said the old man, " I'd like you, Mr. Physick, 
 to go over to Langford and pay the sum I owe to my 
 brother-in-law. I can't go myself. He's spoken that in- 
 solent to me, and that too before the whole of Coryndon's 
 Charity, that I can never set foot over his drexil [thresh- 
 old] again. So I'd wish you to go for me, and bring me 
 my note of hand back all square." 
 
 " I will go as well," said Larry, who was up, able to 
 walk about, but without his jacket, because of his band- 
 aged bones and arm strapped back. 
 
 " You ! '.' exclaimed his father. " Why should you 
 
 go.?" 
 
 " I wish it," answered the lad. " I'll tell you the rea- 
 son after." 
 
 "You'd better not go out yet." 
 
 " Why not ? Mr. Physick will drive me there and 
 back in his gig. I shall not be shaken. The gig -has 
 springs." 
 
 " I reckon there's a certain cottage the rogue will want 
 to get out at on the way. Don't let him, Mr. Physick,- or 
 he won't be home for hours." 
 
 Although the gig had springs, Larry suffered in it, and 
 was glad to descend with Mr. Physick at Langford. 
 
A FIRST STEP. 
 
 241 
 
 Taverner Langford had returned home but an hour 
 before ; he had been to the fair at Holsworthy, and thence 
 had gone into Bideford about a contract for young bul- 
 locks. He had just finished his dinner of bread and 
 cheese, washed down with water, when Mrs. Veale opened 
 the parlor door, and without a word showed in Mr. Phys- 
 ick and Larry. 
 
 Langford greeted the lawyer with a nod. " Please to 
 take a chair." He stared at Hillary with surprise, and 
 said nothing to him. 
 
 "We've come to pay you the loan you called in," said 
 Physick. 
 
 " Right," answered Taverner, " I was expecting the 
 money, though why ? — grapes of thorns and figs of this- 
 tles is against nature as well as Scripture." Then he eyed 
 his nephew furtively. He saw that he was looking pale 
 and worn, that his arm was bandaged, and he was without 
 a jacket. He saw that the lad moved stifHy when he 
 walked. "You may sit down," he said gruffly. Larry 
 took the back of an armchair with his left hand and drew 
 it to him, then slowly let himself down into it. All his 
 movements, and the twitching of the muscles in his face, 
 showed he was in pain. His uncle watched him and saw 
 this, but he asked no questions. 
 
 When the money had been counted, and the release 
 handed over, and Physick had indulged in some desul- 
 tory talk, and disparagement of water, which he saw 
 that Taverner was drinking, he rose to leavfe. Langford 
 was not in a conversationable mood, his dark brows were 
 knit. 
 
 Then Larry stood up, and came toward the table, 
 against which he stayed himself with his hand. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Uncle Taverner," he said in a 
 voice somewhat tremulous, while color came into and 
 16 
 
242 RED SPIDER. 
 
 spotted his brow. " I came here, though I thought you 
 would not care to see me." 
 
 • "I don't mind when I see your back," interrupted 
 Langford surlily ; " your father insulted me grossly." 
 
 " I have come, Uncle Taverner — " 
 
 " Ah ! I suppose your father has sent you. He wants 
 to patch up the quarrel ; you may go back and tell him it 
 is too late. I won't make it up. It is of no use. I have 
 nothing to lose by estrangement. You and he are. the 
 losers, and that to a heavy amount, as you shall learn some 
 day." 
 
 "I have not come with any message from my father.'' 
 
 " You've come for yourself, have you ? You think that 
 Langford- would be a fine farm for the growth of wild 
 oats? You shan't try it." 
 
 " I came here on my own accord," said the young man. 
 " My father knows nothing of my purpose. I have come 
 to tell you that I am very sorry for what I did — ^what I 
 did, I dare say you have not heard, as you have been 
 away. You shall hear from me." 
 
 " What have you done ? Some foolery, I warrant." 
 
 " Yes, uncle, something worse than foolery. The night 
 you were away, and when we did not know but you were 
 at Langford, there was a hare-hunt before your doors." 
 
 " What ! " almost screamed the old man. 
 
 Physick was unable to restrain a laugh. 
 
 " There was a hare-hunt, and I was in it. I took a 
 principal part. I was thrown from my horse, and picked 
 up unconscious, and the thing came to an end, it went 
 no further. I have been badly hurt. I might have been 
 killed." 
 
 " And pray how came that about ? " asked the old man 
 quivering with anger. " A light from heaven — struck you 
 to the ground, like Saul when breathing out threatenings 
 
A FIRST STEP. 
 
 243 
 
 and slaughters against the Elect ? And now you're a con- 
 verted character, eh ? and so think FU take you back into 
 favor, and let you have Langford ? " 
 
 " No, uncle. I do not know quite what it was threw 
 me down. Don't think me mad if I say it — but it seemed 
 to me to be old Wellon rising from the cairn and rushing 
 down on me, to strike me to the earth." 
 
 Langford looked at him with amazement. 
 
 " I tell you just what happened. I was riding in the 
 hunt — more shame to me — and I had the horn to my lips, 
 and was just by the Gibbet Hill, when my piebald stood 
 bolt still, and shivered with fear, and all at once there 
 came a yellow light out of the barrow, and a great black 
 figure with flapping clothes about it, and I remember no 
 more." 
 
 Langford was like the rest of his class, full of belief in 
 the supernatural. Larry spoke with such earnestness of 
 tone, his face so fully expressed his conviction, that the 
 old man was awed. 
 
 " I have broken my right arm and collar-bone. I have 
 suffered a great deal, I have not slept for three nights, 
 and this is the first day I have been out of my bedroom. 
 Uncle Tavefner, I made up my mind the very first night, 
 that I would come to you directly I was able, and tell you 
 that I am ashamed of myself. When the fellows were 
 carrying me away on a gate, and I woke up — then I knew 
 I had done wrong. I was warned beforehand twice to 
 have nothing to do with the hunt. I heard those who 
 were carrying me say how bad I behaved in taking part 
 in the game against my own uncle. There — uncle ! I'm 
 very sorry, and I hope I'll never be such a fool and so 
 wicked again." 
 
 Tavemer's lips quivered, whether from suppressed rage, 
 or from a rising better emotion, neither Physick nor Larry 
 
244 ^^^ SPIDER. 
 
 knew, for they left the room, while the old man stared 
 after them with his dark brows contracted over his keen, 
 twinkling eyes, and he sat motionless, and without speak- 
 ing. 
 
 Larry was some little while getting into the gig. Mrs. 
 Veale stood on the doorsteps watching him. All at once 
 they heard a cry from the inside of the house — a cry, 
 whether of terror, or rage, or pain, could not be told. 
 " What is it ? " asked Physick. " What's the matter .' " 
 " It's master," said Mrs. Veale ; " something has dis- 
 agreed with him, I reckon." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 A BLOW. 
 
 Honor felt like one who has looked into the lightning. 
 A glimpse of surpassing light, a vision into a heaven of fire, 
 was succeeded by darkness and numbness of mind. 
 
 She was unable for some while to recover her mental 
 and moral balance. The joy that had wrapped her soul 
 as in flame had left a pain of fire. What had she done .'' 
 What would come of this ? Must she go on or could she 
 step back ? The moment when Larry's lips had met her 
 cheek, and his words of love had rushed in at her ear and 
 boiled through her veins, had been one in which her self- 
 control had deserted her. 
 
 She thought over and over what had taken place. She 
 felt his grasp of her hand, his arm about her neck, the 
 pressure of his lips. What must follow on this ? She had 
 not withdrawn herself from him at his touch. She could 
 not have done so. The power of resistance had left her.- 
 But now, as her clear mind arranged duties and weighed 
 
, A BLOW. 245 
 
 them against passion,, she was doubtful what to do. It 
 was strange for her to feel need of advice, to be forced to 
 ask another what to do, yet now she felt that she could 
 not judge for herself ; but she also knew of no one who 
 could advise her. There was nothing for her but to wait. 
 Her simple faith raised her soul to God, and she prayed 
 for a right judgment. She would leave the future in His 
 hands : events must decide her course for her. Of one 
 thing she was clear in her view : her duty to her father 
 and brothers, and sisters — she must not desert them. 
 Whether she must wholly surrender her happiness for 
 them, or whether she could combine her duty with her 
 inclination, she could not tell ; that Larry and the future 
 must decide. 
 
 She waited in patience. She knew that he would come 
 to her as soon as he could. She heard daily from Chims- 
 worthy how he was. Little Joe ran up and inquired. 
 
 She saw him drive by with Mr. Physick. Whither 
 was he going? To Okehampton ? It was not the shortest 
 road. As he passed the cottage his face was turned to- 
 ward it, and she saw his eyes looking for her, but the gig 
 was not arrested. She was in the house, and had but a 
 glimpse of him through the open door. Whether he had 
 seen her or not she could not tell. 
 
 Presently he returned. He must have been to Lang- 
 ford. She stood in the doorway, and their eyes met. He 
 did not stay the horse ; he could not. He sat beside the 
 lawyer, who was driving, and the broken right arm was 
 near the reins. Physick was between him and Honor; 
 but Larry turned his head and looked at her as the trap 
 went by. How pale and thin he seemed ! What marks 
 of suffering were on his face ! The tears of pity came into 
 Honor's eyes. 
 
 " He will come and see me soon," she said to herself. 
 
246 RED SPIDER. 
 
 " May I have my strength to do what is right." Then she 
 seated herself at her work. 
 
 Kate was in the house, lively as a finch. Honor was 
 always reserved ; she was now more silent than usual. 
 Kate's humor was unusually lively. Her tongue moved as 
 nimbly as her feet and fingers, her conversation sparkled, 
 and her tones danced like her eyes. When she was not 
 talking she was singing. She made her jokes and laughed 
 over them herself, as Honor was in no laughing mood. 
 
 Oddly enough, Sam Voaden was daily in the lane. He 
 came round by the cottage from Swaddledown to ask at 
 Chimsworthy after Larry; he made two miles out of a 
 ' journey that need not have been three-quarters across the 
 fields. When Sam went by he whistled very loud, and 
 then Kate found that the pitcher was empty and needed 
 replenishing at the well ; on such occasions, moreover, the 
 pitcher took a long time filling. Kate made no secret of 
 her heart's affairs to her sister. It was in her nature to 
 talk, and a girl in love likes nothing better, when not with 
 her lover, than to talk about him. 
 
 Honor put away her needlework and got the supper- 
 table ready, and while she was putting the cold pasty on 
 the table her father walked in. He was going next day 
 to Tavistock, and had been round for commissions. 
 
 He was out of spirits, did not say much, wiped his face 
 with his sleeve, and complained of the weather — it was 
 sultry, he was tired. Some of his customers had been 
 exacting and had worried him. " The pasty is heavy ; it 
 goes against me," he grumbled. " All well for young 
 appetites." 
 
 " Shall I do you a bit of bacon, father .' " asked 
 Honor. 
 
 " Rich that," he said discontentedly. " I'm fanciful in 
 my eating. I can't help it ; I'm too poor to have what 
 
A BIO IV. 247 
 
 would suit me. It is in my constitution. Those who have 
 the constitutions of gentlefolk want the food of gentlefolk." 
 He took a little piece of pasty, but pushed it away. " It 
 makes my throat rise ; look at that great hunch of suet in 
 it, like a horse-tooth [quartz spar] in granite. I can't eat 
 anything ; you may clear away." 
 
 Actually Oliver Luxmore had eaten supper at one of 
 the farms ; that was why he had now no appetite ; but 
 he made occasion of his having no relish for his food to 
 grumble and make Honor uncomfortable. 
 
 " The fog was a-hunting this morning, so we've had a 
 fine day for going nowhere, and it's gone a-fishing this 
 evening,' to let me understand it will rain to-morrow when 
 I go into Tavistock. It is always so. Rain on market 
 days to spoil my custom and run away with profits." 
 
 In explanation of his words, it is necessary to say that, 
 when the white fog mounts the hills it is said to go hunt- 
 ing, when it lies along the rivers it is said to be fishing, 
 and these conditions of fog are weather indications. 
 
 " I don't know what you call that," said Oliver, point- 
 ing with his fork to a piece of meat in the pasty. " It looks 
 to me as if it were a goat caterpillar got in. I suppose you 
 found it crawling across the lane from one of the willow- 
 trees, and, because we're poor and can't afford meat, stuck, 
 it in." 
 
 " Father, it is wholesome ; it is nothing but a bit of 
 pigrcrackling. You know we were given a piece of young 
 pork by Mrs. Voaden, the other day." 
 
 Then Oliver sprang to his feet, and Honor started 
 back in surprise. 
 
 Without a word of salutation, with white face, and 
 glaring eyes, with hand extended and shaking, Taverner 
 Langford came in at the door. 
 
 " There ! there ! " he said, in a voice raised almost to 
 
248 RED SPIDER. 
 
 a scream. " This is what comes of doing a favor. Now 
 I am punished." 
 
 "What is the matter, Mr. Langford? " asked the car- 
 rier deferentially. 
 
 "What is the matter? Everything is the matter," he 
 cried. He turned to Honor : " It is your doing, yours, 
 yours." 
 
 " MThat have I done ? " she asked, with composure. 
 
 " You asked me to take him in ; the scoundrel, the 
 rogue." 
 
 " You can not mean my brother Charles," said Honor, 
 with dignity ; " or you would not speak thus under our 
 roof to his father and sisters." 
 
 " Oh no, of course not, you don't like to hear it ; but 
 that is what he is." 
 
 " What has Charles done "i " asked Oliver in alarm. 
 
 " Robbed me ! " shrieked Taverner, with his whole 
 body quivering, and with vehement action of his hands. 
 " Robbed me, and run away with my money." 
 
 He gasped for breath, his eyes glared, the sweat ran 
 off his brow. He was without his hat, he had run bare- 
 headed from Langford, and his grizzled hair was dis- 
 ordered. 
 
 " He has robbed me of nigh on a thousand pounds, 
 and he has gone away with the money. He took occa- 
 sion of my being from home ; he has taken all — all — all I 
 had laid by. I thought no one knew where was my bank. 
 He must have watched me ; he found out ; he has taken 
 the box and all its contents." 
 
 " Charles could not, would not, do such a thing," said 
 Honor, with heaving bosom ; she was more angry at the 
 charge than alarmed. 
 
 " Could not ! would not ! Where is he now ? " 
 
 " I do not know. We have not seen him for several days." 
 
A SLOW. 
 
 249 
 
 " He has not been seen at Langford either. As soon 
 as I was off to Holsworthy he bolted. He knew he would 
 have three days clear, perhaps more, for getting away with 
 the money." 
 
 " It is impossible,'' said Honor. " Charles may be idle, 
 but he is not wicked." 
 
 " He has robbed me ! " repeated Taverner, vehe- 
 mently. " Do you want proof .? The five-pound note." 
 
 Honor shuddered ; she had forgotten that. 
 
 " Do you remember, Luxmore, you paid me a note of 
 the Exeter and Plymouth Bank ? Do you remember 
 that I took the number ? " 
 
 Oliver looked helplessly about the room, from Lang- 
 ford to Honor and Kate. 
 
 " I ask you, whence you got that note ? Come, 
 answer me that ! You, Luxmore, who gave you that 
 note ? " 
 
 " Charles," moaned the carrier, and covered his face- 
 with his hands, as he threw himself into a chair. 
 
 " I thought as much. Let me tell you that that note 
 had been abstracted from my box. I had the list of all 
 the notes in it, but I did not go over them till I found that 
 I had been robbed. Here is the note. I did not restore 
 it to the box. I kept it in my pocket-book. I can swear 
 — I have my entries to prove it — that it had been stolen 
 from me. When I found Charles was gone, I thought it 
 must have been he who had robbed me. When I saw the 
 number of the note agreed with one I had put into the 
 box a month ago, then I knew it must be he. You 
 brought me the note, and he is your son." 
 
 Kate burst into tears and wrung her hands. 
 
 Honor saw the faces of the children frightened, in- 
 clined for tears ; she sent them all upstairs to their bed- 
 rooms. 
 
250 "^RED SPIDER. 
 
 Oliver sat at the table with his forehead in his hands, 
 and his fingers in his hair. 
 
 None spoke. Langford looked at the carrier, then at 
 
 Honor. Kate threw herself into the chair by the window 
 
 / and wept aloud. Honor stood in the middle of the room, 
 
 with her head bent ; she was deadly pale, she dared not 
 
 raise her eyes. 
 
 " What will you do .' " she asked in a low tone. 
 
 " Do ! " exclaimed Taverner ; " oh, that is soon an- 
 swered. I send at once to Tavistock, Launceston, and 
 Okehampton, and communicate with the proper authorities 
 and have him arrested. There are magistrates, and con- 
 stables, and laws, and prisons in England, for the deten- 
 tion and chastisement of thieves and burglars." 
 
 Oliver moaned. '' I can not bear the disgrace. I 
 shall drown myself." 
 
 " What will that avail ? " sneered Langford. " Will it 
 save my thousand pounds ? Will it save Charles from 
 transportation ? It is a pity that there is no more hang- 
 ing for robbery, or.Wellon's mound would be handy, and 
 the old gibbet beam in my barn would serve once more." 
 
 The words were cruel. Honor's teeth clinched and 
 her hands closed convulsively. 
 
 Then Oliver Luxmore withdrew his hands from his 
 face, dragged himself toward Langford, and threw himself 
 on the ground at his feet. 
 
 " Have pity on him, on me, on us all. The shame will 
 kill us, brand us. It will kill me, it will stain my name, 
 my children, forever." 
 
 " Get up," said Langford, roughly. " I'm not to be 
 moved by men's tears." 
 
 But Oliver was deaf ; his great absorbing agony mo- 
 mentarily gave dignity to his feeble pitiful character, to 
 him even crouching on the slate floor. 
 
A BLOW. 25 r 
 
 " Spare us the dishonor," he pleaded. " I can not 
 bear it ; this one thing I can not. Luxmore — thief — con- 
 vict ! " He passed his hand over his brow and raised 
 his eyes ; they were blank. " Luxmore, of Coombe Park 
 — Luxmore ! Take care ! " his voice became shrill. 
 " Dishonor I can not bear. Take care lest you drive me 
 desperate. Rather let us all die, I, Honor, Kate, and the 
 little ones, and end the name, than that it should live on 
 stained." He tried to rise, but his knees shook and gave 
 way under him. ' 
 
 " You may sell all I have. Take the van, everything. 
 We can not find you a thousand pounds. We will all 
 •work as slaves — only — spare us the dishonor! spare us 
 this ! " 
 
 Kate came up and cast herself at her father's side and 
 raised her streaming eyes. 
 
 "Well," said Taverner, turning to Honor, "do you 
 alone not join ? Are you too proud .' " 
 
 "Mr. Langford," she answered, with emotion, "you 
 are too hard. I pray to God, who is merciful." 
 
 " You are proud ! You are proud ! " he said, scowl- 
 ing. "You, Oliver Luxmore! you, Kate! do not kneel 
 to me. Go, turn to her. The fate of Charles, the honor 
 of your name, your happiness, that of your children, rest 
 with her — with her ! " 
 
 He looked at her. 
 
 She did not speak ; she understood his meaning. A 
 pang as of a sword went through her soul. She raised her 
 clinched hands and put them to her mouth and pressed 
 the knuckles against her teeth. In the agony of that mo- 
 ment she was near screaming. 
 
 " There ! " said Langford, pointing to her. " Look 
 how haughty she is. But she must bend. Entreat her, 
 or command her, as you will. With her the issue lies. I 
 
252 RED SPIDER. 
 
 will wait till to-morrow at ten, and take no steps for the 
 capture of Charles. If before that hour I have yes, it is 
 well. I pay a thousand pounds for that yes. I shall be 
 content. If not, then — " He did not finish the sentence ; 
 he went out at the door. 
 
 Then only did Honor give way. She saw as it were a 
 cloud of blue smoke rising round her. She held out her 
 hands, grasping, but catching nothing, and fell on the floor 
 insensible. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 yes! 
 
 Honor could not rest in her bed that night. Oliver 
 Luxmore in the adjoining room groaned and sighed, he 
 was sleepless. Kate, who shared her bed, was awake and 
 tossed from side to side. Poor Kate knew that the dis- 
 grace would separate her from Sam. She was too gener- 
 ous to urge her sister to make the costly sacrifice. Oliver 
 felt that words would be unavailing, the matter must be 
 left to Honor ; his best advocate was in her own con- 
 science. The resolution one way or the other must be 
 come to by Honor unresisted, unswayed. She lay still in 
 her bed, but Kate knew she did not sleep. She lay with 
 her hands clasped as in prayer on her heaving bosom. 
 Her eyes were on the little latticed window, and on a moth 
 dancing dreamily up and down the panes, a large black 
 moth that made the little diamonds of glass click at the 
 stroke of its wings. Her hair over her brow was curled 
 with the heat of her brain, the light short hair that would 
 not be brushed back and lie with the copper-gold strands. 
 Great drops rolled off her forehead upon the pillow. Af- 
 terward, Kate felt that the cover was wet, and thought 
 
YES/ 253 
 
 it was with Honor's tears, but she was not crying. Her 
 eyes were dry and burning, but the moisture poured off 
 her brow. Her feet were like ice. She might have been 
 dead, she lay so still. Kate hardly heard her breathe. 
 She held her breath and listened once, as she feared 
 Honor was in a swoon. She did not speak to her sister. 
 An indefinable consciousness that Honor must not be dis- 
 turbed, must be left alone, restrained her. Once she stole 
 her hand under the bedclothes round her sister, and laid 
 it on her heart. Then she knew for certain what a raging 
 storm was awake in that still, hardly breathing form. 
 
 That touch, unattended by word, was more than Honor 
 could bear. She said nothing, but stole from bed, and 
 put on some of her clothes. Kate watched her through 
 her half-closed lids, and dared not speak or otherwise in- 
 terfere. Honor went softly, barefooted down the stairs, 
 that creaked beneath her tread. Her father heard the 
 step. He knew whose it was. He also would not inter- 
 fere. It was best for all — for Kate, for Charles, for him- 
 self, for Joe, and Pattie, and Willie, and Martha, and 
 Charity, and little Temperance — that Honor should be 
 wholly undisturbed. 
 
 The girl unfastened the back door, took up the little 
 bench, cast a potato-sack over her head, and went forth, 
 shutting the door gently behind her. 
 
 She carried the seat under the hedge in the paddock, 
 where she had watched with Larry, and placed- herself on 
 it, then rested her elbow on her knee, and her head in her 
 hand. Her feet were bare, dipped in the dewy grass ; a 
 seeded dandelion, stirred by them, shed its ripe down over 
 them. She thrust the sack from her head. She could 
 not endure the weight and the heat, and laid it across her 
 shoulders ; from them it slipped unheeded. Her arms 
 were bare from the elbow. The cold night wind stroked 
 
2S4 R^D SPIDER. 
 
 the arm that stayed up her scorched brain. She had prayed 
 that God would guide her, and the guidance had led into 
 a way of sorrows. " It is expedient that one man should 
 die for the people," those words of the High Priest re- 
 curred to Honor, and she thought how that He to whom 
 they referred had accepted the decision. She would have 
 died — died ! O how' willingly, how eagerly ! — for the dear 
 ones under the thatched roof ; she would have leaped into 
 fire, not for all, but for any one of them, for little Temper- 
 ance, for dear Charity, for Martha, for Willie, for darling 
 Pattie, for good, true Joe, for Kate, for her father of course 
 — yes, even for Charles — ^but this that was demanded of 
 her was worse than a brief spasm of pain in fire ; it was a 
 lifelongmartyrdom, a sacrifice infinitely more dreadful than 
 of life. The thrushes were singing. There was no night in 
 the midst of June, and the birds did without sleep, or slept 
 in the glare of midday. The only night was within the girl's 
 soul. There was no singing or piping there, but the groan- 
 ing of a crushed spirit. 
 
 She started. She was touched. She put out her hand 
 and sighed. The horse that Langford had let them have 
 was in the paddock; it had become much attached to 
 Honor, and the beast had come over to her, unperceived, 
 and was resting his head on her shoulder and rubbing it 
 against her ear and cheek. She stroked the nose of the 
 beast with her left hand without altering her position, me- 
 chanically, and without much diversion of her thoughts* 
 When poor Diamond was dying in the. gravel pit. Honor 
 had sat by him and caressed him ; now Diamond's suc- 
 cessor had come to comfort Honor, as best he could, when 
 her girlhood was dying in anguish, passing into a woman- 
 hood of sorrow. 
 
 Chink ! chink ! chink ! a finch was perched on the top- 
 most twig of an alder that swayed under its light weight 
 
YES/ 2SS 
 
 in the wind, repeating its monotonous cry, chinjk ! chink ! 
 .chink! 
 
 The cold about Honor's feet became stronger, the dew 
 looked whiter, as if it were passing into frost, the breath 
 of the horse was as steam. High, far aloft, in the dusky 
 sky some large bird was winging its way from sea to sea, 
 from the Atlantic boisterous barren coast about Bude, to 
 the summer, luxuriant bays of the Channel. What bird it 
 was Honor could not tell. She would not have seen it 
 but that the winking of its wings as they caught the light 
 from the north attracted her attention. Strange as it may 
 seem, though engrossed in her own sorrows, she watched 
 the flap of the wings till they passed beyond range of 
 vision. 
 
 Not a cloud was in the sky. The stars were but dimly 
 seen in the silvery haze of summer twilight. One glow- 
 worm in the hedge opposite her shone brighter than any 
 star, for it shone out of darkness deeper than the depths 
 of heaven. 
 
 One long leaf near Honor was as if it had been var- 
 nished, wet with dew, and as the dew gathered on it, at 
 stooped and the moisture ran to the lanceate end, bowing 
 it farther, and forming a clear drop ; then the drop fell, 
 and the leaf with a dancing rebound recovered its first 
 position. Honor's eye rested on the leaf; as the dew 
 formed on it, and bent it down, so were tears forming on 
 her soul and bowing it. The leaf shook off the drop ; 
 would her spirit ever recover .' 
 
 What wondrous sounds are heard at night ! How 
 mysterious, how undiscoverable in origin ! It seemed to 
 Honor less still in the meadow, under the thorn hedge, 
 than in the cottage. Insect life was stirring all about ; 
 the spiders were spinning, moths flitting, leaves rustling, 
 birds piping, the wind playing among the thorns ; the 
 
2j6 RED SPIDER. 
 
 field mice were running, and the night birds watching for 
 them on wing. 
 
 All was cool, all but Honor's head. Whatever sounds 
 were heard were pleasant, whatever movement was sooth- 
 ing. Through all the intricate life that stirred there ran a 
 breath of peace — only not over the heaving soul of Honor. 
 
 Poor Larry ! Honor's thoughts were less of herself 
 than of Others. She was sure to the ground of her heart 
 that he loved her. She knew, without riddling out the 
 Why and how, that she could have made him happy and 
 good at once. There was sterling gold in him ; the fire 
 would purge away the dross. As in the cocoon th6re is 
 an outer shell of worthless web which must be torn away 
 before the golden thread is discovered, so was it with 
 him ; the outer husk of vanity and idleness and inconsid- 
 erateness was coming away, and now all that was needed 
 was a tender hand to find and take hold of the end of the 
 thread and spin off the precious fiber. Another hand, 
 rough and heedless, might break and confuse and ruin it. 
 i But, though she knew she could have made Larry's 
 life right and orderly, yet she would not undertake to do 
 so unless she saw the other lives committed to her trust 
 cared for and safe. 
 
 Above all, high as the highest star, in her pure soul 
 shone the duty imposed on her by her mother. If she 
 could not combine her duty to the dear ones under the 
 brown thatch with the charge of Larry's destiny, she would 
 not undertake the latter. 
 
 And now, most horrible gall to her womanly mind, 
 came the knowledge that she — she whom Larry loved and 
 looked up to — she, she who loved the careless lad, even she 
 must step in between him and his uncle's property, that 
 she was chosen by old Langford as the weapon of his re- 
 venge on the Nanspians. 
 
YES! 257 
 
 The Langford estate must descend to Larry should his 
 uncle die childless, and she — 
 
 Her breath came in a gasp. She- tore up the cold dock- 
 leaves and pressed them to her brow to cool the burning 
 there, to take the sting out of her nettled brain. 
 
 There was no rest for Honor anywhere, in the meadow 
 or in her bed — no rest for her evermore. 
 
 She rose and went back to the house, but when she 
 reached the door, true to her regular habits, remembered 
 that she had left the sack and the bench in the field, and 
 went back, fetched them, and put each in its proper place. 
 Nothing was ever left littering about by Honor. If she 
 had been dying and had seen a chip on the floor, she 
 would have striven to rise and remove it. 
 
 In the morning the carrier and his two eldest daughters 
 looked haggard and pale. The children seemed aware of 
 trouble. Joe was attentive and helped to quiet and amuse 
 the youngest, and watched his father, but especially Honor, 
 to read what was menaced in their faces. He had not 
 been at home when Langford came, and his sister Pattie 
 could give him but the vaguest idea of what had occurred. 
 All she knew was that it was a trouble connected with 
 Charles, who had run away. The carrier had to be ready 
 early to start for Tavistock market. Honor and Kate 
 prepared breakfast for him and • the children, without a 
 word passing between them on what was uppermost in 
 their minds. As they were eating, the Ashbury postboy 
 passed down the lane and called at the steps. 
 
 The carrier went out. 
 
 "A letter for you." 
 
 Oliver took and paid for it, then brought it in and 
 
 opened it slowly with shaking fingers. He, Honor, Kate 
 
 knew that it must have reference to their trouble. It 
 
 was in the handwriting of Charles : it bore the Plym- 
 
 17 
 
2S8 RED SPIDER. 
 
 outh postmark. The carrier spread it on his plate ; he 
 did not read it aloud because Joe and the other children 
 were present ; but Honor alid Kate stood behind him 
 and read over his shoulder without uttering a word. 
 This was the letter : 
 
 " Dear Father : I take my pen in hand, hopping this 
 finds you has it leafs me, with a bad running at the noaz,' 
 and a shockin corf, gripes orful in my innerds, and 
 hakes all over me. I dersay you've eard what I gone and 
 done, don-'t judge me harshly, I couldn't do otherwise, 
 and I'm not so bad to blame as you may suppoge. I 
 didn't intend delibberat to do 't, but I did it off-hand so 
 to speke. Wot's dun can't be undun. It's no use crying 
 over spilt milk. Wot can't be kured must be undured. 
 That's wot Mrs. Veale would say, and her's a bad un. I 
 ketched a cold with getting wet running away, but I shall 
 be all rite soon, please God when I'm away on the i seez. 
 I'm goin to Ameri'kay which is the place to which the 
 flour of the British aristokracy. go when its ockerd or em- 
 barassing at ome. As it is ockerd and embarassing to me, 
 I'm orf, and' I hope with the Almighty's aid to do well in 
 the new whirld, wheer I intend to found a new Coom 
 Park, to which I shall invite you all to come, when I can 
 drive you about in a carridge and pare. I want to know how 
 it is with Larry, whether he be alive or dead. I came away 
 in such aste I couldn't stay to know, but I'm very desir- 
 ing to know. Don't rite to me by my proper name, there 
 may be disagreeables in my wereabout being knone, so 
 direct to Mr. Charles, poast resteny, Plymouth. — From 
 your loving sun, Charles Luxmore. 
 
 of Coom Park, Esquire. 
 
 " P. S.— Doan't say nothink to nobody of were I be, 
 
YES I 259 
 
 wotever you do, and kiss the kids for me. Poast anser at 
 Tavistock or Lanson." 
 
 Oliver Luxmore refolded the letter, and put it away in 
 his pocket without a word. Neither Honor nor Kate 
 spoke or looked at each other. It was too clear to all 
 that Charles was guilty. The last doubt of his guilt dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 Oliver went about the horse and van. Honor did not 
 fail to observe the change effected in him by one night. 
 He seemed older by ten years — to have tumbled down 
 the decline of life, and been shaken by the fall. His 
 clothes did not appear to fit him, his walk was unsteady, 
 his hand shook, his eye wandered, his hair had a grayer 
 tinge, and was lank and moist. Joe ran to help in the 
 harnessing of the horse. His father was trying to force 
 on the collar without turning it. He put on the saddle 
 wrong, and fastened the wrong buckles. The boy cor- 
 rected his father's errors. Then the man brought the 
 van into the lane, and stood with his hand to his fore- 
 head. 
 
 " I've forgotten 'em all," he said. " Whatever were 
 the commissions I don't know." The whip was shaking in 
 his hand as a withy by a waterbrook. " I shouldn't wonder 
 if I never came back," he said, then looked up the steps 
 at Honor. It was the first time he had met her eye since 
 Taverner Langford had left the house. " I sha'n't know 
 what is to be till I come home," he muttered. " The 
 cuckoo clock has just called seven, and it is three hoprs 
 to ten. I think my heart will die within me at Tavistock. 
 I sha'n't be home till night. However I shall bear it and 
 remember my commissions I do not know. Joe shall 
 come with me. I can't think. I can't drive. I can do 
 nothing." 
 
'26o RED SPIDER. 
 
 Theti Honor came down the steps with her scarlet 
 cloak about her shoulders, and her red stockings on her - 
 feet, slowy, looking deadly pale, and with dark rings about 
 her eyes. 
 
 "Where are you going? " asked the carrier; "not com- 
 ing with me to Tavistock ? " 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " Are you — are you going to — to Langford ? " he asked. 
 " To say what ? " — he held his breath. 
 
 " Yes ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE NEW MISTRESS. 
 
 " Halloo ! where be you off to. Red Spider ? " asked 
 Farmer Nanspian, who was on Broadbury, when he saw 
 Honor Luxmore in her scarlet cloak coming over the 
 down. " Stay, stay ! " he said, and put his hand to her 
 chin to raise her face. " You never come Chimsworthy 
 road — ^^leastways, you haven't yet. — Where be you going 
 to now? " 
 
 " To Langford, sir." 
 
 "To Langford, eh?" his face clouded. "I didn't 
 think you was on good terms- with Mr. Langford. Take 
 care — take care ! I won't have he sloke away this Red 
 Spider from Chimsworthy." Then he nodded, smiled, and 
 went on. He little knew, he had no suspicion, that what 
 he hinted at was really menaced. 
 
 Honor went on to the old, lonely house, and asked to 
 speak to Mr. Langford. She was shown into his parlor. 
 Tayerner was about the farm. She had some minutes to 
 wait, and nerve herself for the interview, before he arrived. 
 
THE NEW MISTRESS. ^ 261 
 
 "Well," said he when he came in, "you are in good 
 time. You have brought me tjie answer." 
 
 " Yes," she replied, looking down. 
 
 " Do I take that Yes as a reply to this question, or to 
 that I made yesterday ? " 
 
 " To both." 
 
 " There's not another woman in all England to whom 
 I'd have behaved as I have to you." 
 
 " I hope not, sir ! " 
 
 " I mean," said Langford, knitting his brows, and red- 
 dening, " I mean, I would not have foregone a thousand 
 pounds for any other. I would not have spared the man 
 • who had robbed me for any other woman's sake." 
 
 "I have come here," she said, "myself, instead of 
 sending a message, because I wished to speak with you 
 in private.'' 
 
 " There is no one here to overhear you. I have 
 stopped up the keyhole ; Mrs. Veale listened, she can 
 catch nothing now." 
 
 " Mr. Langford, I was told by my father that you 
 had promised to do something for my brother and 
 sisters." 
 
 "Oh, do not be afraid — I will do something for 
 them." 
 
 " I want you to grant me one request, the only one I 
 will ever make of you. Promise me some small yearly 
 sum assured to my father, I do not ask for much. When 
 I am in the house I can manage, but it is hard work for 
 me to do so. When I am gone, Kate will find it hard, 
 and she may not remain long there ; she is a pretty girl, 
 and has her admirers, she is sure to marry soon — then 
 what will become of my father and the little ones ? I do 
 not ask you to take them in here. That would not be 
 reasonable — except so far as they can work for you, and 
 
262 RED SPIDER. 
 
 be of use to you — Joe will be a valuable servant, and Pat- 
 tie is growing up to be neat and active and thoughtful." 
 
 " How many more ? " asked Langford. 
 
 "That is all," replied Honor quietly. " If I ask you 
 to do anything for these two it is only because they will 
 be worth more than you will pay them. But I ask for my 
 father. It will be a loss to him, my leaving the house. 
 He will not be happy. Kate is very good, but she does 
 not understand thrift, and she is light-hearted. Promise 
 me a small sum every year for my father and the little 
 ones to relieve them from the pinch of poverty, and to 
 give them ease and happiness." 
 
 " How many have you ? " 
 
 " There are Joe, and Pattie, Willie, Martha, Charity, 
 and Temperance. If I might bring Temperance with mc 
 I should be very thankful ; she is but three, and will miss 
 me.'" 
 
 "In the Proverbs of Solomon we are told that the 
 horseleech hath three daughters, which cry. Give, give, 
 give ! Here are more, some seven, all wanting to suck 
 blood. If I marry you, I don't marry the family." 
 
 Honor was silent for a moment, recovering herself; 
 his rudeness hurt her, angered her. 
 
 " I make a request. I will ask nothing more." 
 
 She looked up at him, and rested her eyes on his face. 
 He had been observing her ; how pale she was — how 
 worn ; and it annoyed him : it seemed to him that it had 
 cost her much to resolve to take him ; and this was not 
 flattering to his pride. 
 
 " I can not grant it," he said. " It is not reasonable. 
 I am not going to be eaten out of house and home by a 
 parcel of ravenous school-children. I want you, I do not 
 want all your tail of brothers and sisters, and, worst of 
 all, your helpless father. I know very well what will hap- 
 
THE NEW MISTRESS. 263 
 
 pen. I shall be thrown to them like an old horse to 
 Squire Impey's pack — to have my flesh torn off, and my 
 bones even crunched up. I cut this away in the begin- 
 ning ; I will not have it." 
 
 " I ask only for a small sum of money for my father. 
 The van barely sustains him. The family is so large. I 
 will not bring any of the children here, except little Tem- 
 perance, who is very, very dear to my heart." 
 
 " No, I will have none of them." 
 
 " I may not have Temperance ? " 
 
 " No, I said, none of them. Give an inch, and an ell 
 is taken. Put in the little finger, and the fist follows." 
 
 " Then you will grant me an allowance for my father ? " 
 
 He laughed. " A thousand pounds is what you have 
 cost me. When that thousand pounds is made up, or re- 
 paid, then we will talk about an allowance. Not till then 
 — no, no ! I may pay too dear for my bargain. A thou- 
 sand pounds is ample." 
 
 " That is your last word ? " 
 
 " My last." 
 
 Then Honor, looking steadily at him, said : " Mr. 
 Langford, it is true that you lose money by me ; but I lose 
 what is infinitely more precious by you. I lose my whole 
 life's happiness. When my mother was dying, I promised 
 her to be a mother to her darlings. Now I am put in this 
 terrible position, that, to save them from a great disgrace 
 and an indelible stain, I must leave them. I have spent 
 the whole night thinking out what was right for me to do. 
 If I remain with them, it is with a shame over our whole 
 family. If I go, I save them from that, but they lose my 
 care. One way or other there is something gone. It can 
 not be other. I have made my choice. I will come to 
 you ; but I have strings from my heart to little Temper- 
 ance, and Charity, and Martha, and Willie, and Pattie, 
 
264 RED SPIDER. 
 
 and Joe, and Kate, and father. If they are unhappy, un- 
 comfortable, I shall suffer in my soul. If ill comes to. 
 them, I shall be in pain. If the little ones grow up neg- 
 lected, untidy, untruthful, my heart and my head will 
 ache night and day. If my father is uncared for, the dis- 
 tress of knowing it will be on me ever. I shall be drawn 
 by a hundred nerves to my own dear ones, and not be able 
 to do anything for them. You can not understand me. 
 You must believe me when I say that the loss to me is ten 
 thousand times greater than the loss of a thousand pounds 
 to you. My happiness is in the well-being and well-bring-, 
 ing up of my brothers and sisters. You take all tha;t away 
 from me. Did you ever hear the tale of the widower who 
 married again, and his new wife neglected the children by 
 the dead wife ? — One night the father came to the nursery 
 door, and saw the dead woman rocking and soothing the 
 babes. She had come from, her gr-ave. The crying had 
 drawn her. She could not sleep because they called her. 
 I do not know that I can bear it, to be separated from my 
 brothers and sisters — I can not say — if they suffered 01 
 Avere neglected — I fancy nothing could withhold me from 
 going to them." 
 
 Tavemer remained silent : her eyes seemed to burn 
 their way into him. She shifted her position from one 
 foot to the other ; and went on, in an earnest tone, with a 
 vibration in it from the strength of her emotion : " I am 
 bound to tell you all. If you are to be my husband, you 
 must know everything. I can not love you. What love I 
 have that is not taken up by Temperance, and Charity, 
 and Martha, and Willie, and Pattie, and Joe, and Kate, 
 and father, and — " still looking frankly, earnestly at him, 
 " yes, and by Charles, I have given elsewhere. I can not 
 help it. It has been taken from me in a whirlwind of fire, 
 as Elijah was caught up into heaven ; it is gone from me ; 
 
. THE NEW MISTRESS. 265 
 
 I can not call it down again. If you insist on knowing to 
 whom. I gave it, I will tell you, but not now, not yet— after- 
 ward. To show you, Mr. Langford, how I love my home, 
 I had made up my mind to give him up, to throw away 
 all that beautiful happiness, to forget it as one forgets a 
 dream, because I would not be parted from my dear ones. 
 I was resolved to give him up whom I love for them, and 
 now I am required to give them up for you whom I love 
 not.'' She breathed heavily, her laboring heart beat. She 
 drew the red cloak about her, lest the heaving bosom and 
 bounding heart should be noticed. Langford saw the 
 long drops run down her brow, but there were no tears in 
 her eyes. 
 
 " You will never love me .'' " he asked. 
 
 " I can not say ; it depends how you treat my dear 
 ones.'' 
 
 She took a long breath. 
 
 "There is one reason why my consent costs me more 
 when given to you than to another ; but I can not tell you 
 that now. I will tell you later." 
 
 She meant that by marrying him she was widening the 
 breach between the uncle and nephew — that she was mar- 
 rying the former for the express purpose of depriving the 
 latter of his inheritance. She could not tell Langford 
 this now. 
 
 " I will do my duty by you to the best of my lights. 
 But I shall have one duty tying me here, and seven draw- 
 ing me to the little cottage in the lane, and I feel — I feel 
 that I shall be torn to pieces." 
 
 Taverner Langford' stood up and paced the room with 
 his arms folded behind his back. His head was bowed 
 and his cheeks pale. The girl said no more. She again 
 shifted her feet, and rested both hands, under her cloak, 
 on the table. Langford looked round at her; her head 
 
266 RED SPIDER. 
 
 was bent, her yellow-brown hair was tied in a knot behind. 
 As her head was stooping, the back of her neck showed 
 above the red cloak. It was as though she bent before 
 the executioner's axe. He turned away. 
 
 " Sit down," he said. " Why have you been standing ? 
 .You look ill. What has ailed you ? " 
 
 " In body nothing," she answered. 
 
 "Who is it.'" he asked surlily, looking out of the 
 window, and passing his own fingers over his face. 
 
 She slightly raised her head and eyes questioningly. 
 
 "I mean," he said, without turning to see her, but 
 understanding by her silence that she asked an explana- 
 tion — " I allude to what you were saying just now. Who 
 is it whom you fancy? " 
 
 " If you insist, I will tell. If you have any pity you 
 will spare me. In time — before the day, you shall know." 
 
 He passed his hand over his face again. 
 
 " This is a pleasant prospect," he said, but did not ex- 
 plain whether he alluded to the landscape or to his mar- 
 riage. He said no more to force further confidence from 
 her. 
 
 "Come," said he, roughly, and he turned suddenly 
 round, "you shall see the house. You shall be shown 
 what I have in it, all the rooms and the furniture, also the 
 cow-sheds, and the dairy — everything. You shall see 
 what will be yours. You would get no other man with so 
 much as I have." 
 
 "Not to-day, Mr. Langford. Let me go home. I 
 should see nothing to-day. My eyes are full, and my 
 heart fuller." 
 
 "Then go," he said, and reseated himself at the table. 
 
 She moved toward the door. He had his chin on his 
 hand, and was looking at the grate. She hesitated, hold- 
 ing the handle. ■ 
 
THE CHINA DOG. 267 
 
 " Hah ! " exclaimed Langford, starting up. " Did you 
 hear that ? a fluttering down the passage ? That was Mrs. 
 Veale, trying to listen, but could hear nothing ; trying to 
 peep, but could see nothing, because I have covered every 
 chink. — Come here ! come here, Mrs. Veale ! " 
 
 As she did not respond, he rang the bell violently, and 
 the pale woman came. 
 
 " Come here, Mrs. Veale ! show the future mistress out 
 of the house ! Not by the kitchen, woman ! Unbar the 
 great door. Show her out, and courtesy to her, and at the 
 same time take your own discharge." 
 
 " ' When one comes in the other goes out,' as the man 
 said of the woman in the weather-house," remarked Mrs. 
 Veale with a sneer. She courtesied profoundly. " There's 
 been calm heretofore. Now comes storm." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 THE CHINA DOG. 
 
 No sooner was the scarlet cloak gone than Mrs. Veale 
 leaned back against the wall in the passage and laughed. 
 Langford had never heard her laugh before, and the noise 
 she made now was unpleasant. Her face was gray, her 
 pale eyes glimmered in the dark passage. 
 
 " Will you be quiet .' " said Taverner angrily. " Get 
 along with you into the kitchen, and don't stand gulping 
 here like water out of a narrow-necked bottle." 
 
 " So ! — that be the wife you've chosen, master ! It is 
 ill screwing a big foot into a small shoe ; best suit your 
 shoe to the size of your foot." 
 
 " You have received notice to leave. A month from 
 to-day." 
 
268 RED' SPIDER. 
 
 " lliis is breaking the looking-glass because you don't 
 like your face," said the housekeeper. " ' Come help me 
 on with the plow,' said the ox to the gadfly. ' With 
 the greatest of pleasure,' answered the fly, and stung the 
 ox." 
 
 " Gadfly ! " shouted Taverner. " Sheathe your sting, 
 please, or don't practice on me." 
 
 " You marry ! " scoffed Mrs. Veale. " ' I'm partial to 
 honey,' said the fox, and upset the hive. 'You must 
 learn to take it,' answered the swarm, and surrounded 
 him." 
 
 " I'll turn you out at once," said Langford, angrily. 
 
 " No, you ,will not," answered the housekeeper ; " or 
 you will have to pay my wage and get nothing for it. 
 I've served you faithfully all these years, and this is my 
 reward. I am turned away. What has Ijeen my pay 
 while here .' What ! compared with my services ? And 
 now I am to make room for the sister of a thief. What 
 will become of your earnings when she comes ? If her 
 brother picked a stranger, he will skin a relative. And 
 the rest of them ! ' I am tilling for you,' said the farmer 
 to the rabbits ; ' come into my field and nibble the tur- 
 nips.' Love in an old man is like a spark in a stackyard, 
 It burns up everything, even common sense." 
 
 He thrust her down the passage. She kept her white 
 face toward him, and went along sliding her hands against 
 the wall, against which she leaned her back. 
 
 " I did suppose you had more sense than this. I 
 knew .you were bit, but not that you were poisoned. I 
 thought that you would be too wise to go on with your 
 courting when you found that you had been robbed by 
 Charles. Who that is not a fool will give the run of his 
 house to the man who has plundered him ? Can you keep 
 him out when you have married his sister ? What of the" 
 
THE CHINA DOG. 269 
 
 young ones ? They will grow up like their brother, 
 lloguery is like measles, it runs through a house. Have 
 not I been faithful ? Have I taken a thread out of yodr 
 clothes, Or a nail from your shoe .' Have I relations to 
 ' pester you for help ? Mine might have begged, but would 
 not have stolen ; yours will have their hands in all your 
 pockets. Now you are everything in the house, and we 
 are all your slaves. All is yours, your voice rules, your 
 will governs. Will it be so when you bring a mistress 
 home— and that Honor Luxmore ? Every one knows 
 her; she governs the house." Mrs. Veale laughed again, 
 " That will be a fine sight to see Master Taverner Lang- 
 ford under the slipper. ' I'm seen in the half but lost in 
 the full,' said the man in the moon." 
 
 Langford thrust her through the kitchen-door and shut 
 it, then returned to his parlor, where he bolted himself in, 
 and paced the room with his arms folded behind his back. 
 
 There was enough of truth in what Mrs. Veale had 
 said to make him feel uncomfortable. It was true that 
 now he was absolute in his house ; but would he reign as 
 independently when married ? Was not the ox inviting 
 the gadfly to help to draw the plow? In going after 
 the honey, like the fox, was he not inviting stings ? 
 
 Langford had suifered great loss from rabbits. They 
 came out of Chimsworthy plantation and fell on his tur- 
 nips, nibbled pieces out of hundreds, spoiling whole rows, 
 which when touched rotted with the first frost. There- 
 fore Mrs. Veale's allusion to them went home. Yes ! — 
 there were a swarm of human rabbits threatening, the 
 children from the cottage. They would all prey on him. 
 He was inviting them to do so. " I till for you," said the 
 farmer. Confound Mrs. Veale ! Why was she so full of 
 saws and likenesses that cut like knives ? And Charles ! — 
 of course he would return when he knew that he would 
 
270 RED SPIDER. 
 
 not be prosecuted. How could he be prosecuted when 
 the brother-in-law of the man he had robbed ? When he 
 returned, how could he be kept away, how prevented from 
 further rascality ? A thousand pounds gone ! and he was 
 not to punish the man who had taken the money. This 
 was inviting him to come and rob him again. He did not 
 think much of what Honor had said of an attachment to 
 some imknown person. Taverner had never loved, and 
 knew nothing of love as a passion. He regarded it as an 
 ephemeral fancy. Every girl thought herself in love, got 
 over it, and bore no scars. It would be so with Honor. 
 Presently he rang for his breakfast. Mrs. Veale came in. 
 She saw he was disconcerted, but she said nothing, till the 
 tray was on the table, and she was leaving ; then, holding 
 the handle of the door, she said, " It is a pity." 
 
 "What is a pity?" 
 
 " The hare hunt." 
 
 " What of that ? " he asked angrily. 
 
 " That it was not put off a month, then changed to 
 a stag hunt," she replied, and went through the door 
 quickly, lest he should knock her down. 
 
 Mrs. Veale went to her kitchen, and seated herself by 
 the fire. She was paler than usual, and her eyelids blinked 
 nervously. There was work to be done that morning, but 
 she neglected it. 
 
 Her scheme had failed. She had endeavored to force 
 Charles Luxmore on to steal of his master, thinking that 
 this must inevitably break the connection with the Lux- 
 mores. Taverner, she thought, could not possibly pursue 
 his intentions when he knew he had been robbed by 
 Charles. She was disappointed. What next to attempt 
 she knew not. She was determined to prevent the mar- 
 riage if she could. She had not originally intended to 
 steal the cash-box, nor, indeed, to rob it of any of its con- 
 
THE CHINA DOG. 
 
 271 
 
 tents, but she had been forced to take it, as Charles would 
 not. Now she was given her dismissal, and if she left, she 
 would take the money with her. But she had no desire 
 to leave without further punishment of her ungrateful 
 master. She had spent fifteen years in his service. She 
 had plotted and worked and had not gained any of her 
 ends. She had at first resolved on making him marry her. 
 When she found it impossible to achieve this, she deter- 
 mined to make herself so useful to him, so indispensable, 
 that he would in his old age fall under her power, and 
 then, he would leave her by his will well off. She was^ 
 now to be driven out into the cold, after all her labor,- 
 disappointments, to make room for a young girl. This 
 should not be. If she must go, she would mar the sport 
 behind her back. If Taverner Langford would not take 
 her, he should take none other. If she was not to be 
 mistress in the house, no young chit of a girl should 
 be. 
 
 She stood up and took down from the chimney-piece a 
 china dog blotched red, and turning it over, removed from 
 the inside a packet of yellow paper. 
 
 She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she did not 
 see that some one had entered the kitchen by the open 
 back-door. 1 
 
 " I declare ! They'd make a pair ! " 
 
 Mrs. Veale started, a shiver ran through her from head 
 to foot. She turnedj still quivering, and looked at the 
 speaker. Kate Luxmore had entered, and stood near the 
 table. 
 
 " Well, now," said Kate, " this is curious. We've got 
 a dog just like that, with long curly ears, and turns his 
 dear old head to the left, and you've one with the same 
 ears, and same color, turns his head to the right. We'd a 
 pair once, but Joe broke the fellow. I reckon you'd a 
 
2/2 RED SPIDER. 
 
 pair once, but your fellow is broke. 'Tis a pity they two 
 dogs should be widowers and lonely." 
 
 Mrs. Veale stared at her ; Kate had never been there 
 Jsefore. What had brought her there now ? Were all the 
 Luxmores coming to make that their home, even before 
 thfe marriage ? 
 
 " And what have you got there ? " pursued Kate, full 
 of liveliness. " Why, that is one of the yellow paper rat- 
 poison packets the man sold at the fair. I know it:. 'Tis 
 a queer thing you keeping the poison in the body of the 
 dog. But I suppose you are right ; no one would think 
 to go there for it." 
 
 "What do you want here ? " asked Mrs. Veale, hastily 
 replacing the packet and the dog on the mantel-shelf. 
 " Why have you come ? We've had enough of you Lux- 
 mores already. Your brother Charles has played us a 
 pretty tune, and now your sister's like to lead a dance." 
 
 " I have come for Honor. Is she here ? " 
 
 " She — no ! She's been gone some time. Ain't she 
 home ? Perhaps she's walking over the land, and counting 
 the acres that may be hers, and prizing the fleeces of the 
 sheep." 
 
 " She is wanted. As for Charles, there's naught proved 
 against him, and till there is, I won't believe it. I've just 
 had a talk with some one, and he tells me another tale 
 altogether. So there — not another word against poor 
 Charles. He wasn't ever sweet on you, I can tell you. 
 'Tis a pity, too, about those dogs. They're both water- 
 spaniels — what intelligent eyes they have, and what love- 
 ly long curly ears ! They ought to be a pair some day." 
 
 " I tell you," said Mrs. Veale, " your sister is not here." 
 
 "tOur dog," went on Kate, unabashed, " don't belong to 
 father. He is Honor's own. She had the pair, till Joe 
 knocked one of them over. Her mother gave it her. 'Tis 
 
AMONG THE GORSE. 273 
 
 curious now that her dog should turn his blessed nose one 
 way, and this dog should turn his nose the other way. It 
 looks as if they were made for each other, which is more 
 than is the case with some that want to be pairing. A 
 mantel-shelf don't look as well with a spaniel in the middle 
 as it do with one at each end. That is, I suppose, why 
 your master is looking out for a wife. Well ! I think he'd 
 have matched better with you than with some one else 
 whom I won't name. A house with one in it is like a man- 
 tel-shelf with one odd dog on it. Does this chimney 
 ornament belong to you or to the house ? " 
 
 " Never mind, go your ways. Don't you think ever to 
 pair them two dogs, nor your sister and the master. There 
 is a third to be considered. If one be broken, there is no 
 pairing. Do y' know what the ash said to the axe .' — 
 
 'Whether coupled or counter is wisht [unlucky] for me, 
 My wood makes the haft for to fell my tree.' " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXin. 
 
 AMONG THE GORSE. 
 
 - -"Where be you going to, Larry?" asked his father. 
 " I've just seen the Red Spider running Langford way. 
 Take care Uncle Taverner don't sloke that one away as 
 he tried to sloke t'other." 
 
 Hearing that Honor was gone over the moor to Lang- 
 ford, Hillary took that direction, and, as he had expected, 
 encountered her as she was returning to her cottage, be- 
 fore she had left the down. 
 
 "You are going to give me a quarter of an hour," said 
 Larry. " I dare say you may be busy, but I can't spare 
 .you till we've had it out with each other, I've but one 
 18 
 
274 ^^O SPIDER. 
 
 ann now that I can use, but I'll bar the way with that, if 
 you attempt to escape me." 
 
 Honor looked at him hesitatingly. She was hardly 
 prepared for the inevitable trial, then. She would have 
 liked to defer it. But, on second thoughts, she considered 
 that it was best to have it over. Sooner or later, an ex- 
 planation must be made, so perhaps it would be as well 
 for her that day to pass through all the fires. There on 
 Broadbury, when the gorse is swaled (burned), the cattle 
 are driven through the flames. They plunge and resist, 
 but a ring of men and dogs incloses them, armed with . 
 sharp stakes, and goad them, forward, and at last, with 
 desperation, lowing, kicking, leaping, angry and terrified, 
 they plunge through the flames. Honor thought of this 
 familiar scene and that she was herself being driven on. 
 Sooner or later she must enter the fire, be scorched, and 
 pass through ; she would traverse it without further re- 
 sistance at once. 
 
 " I am ready, Larry," she said in a low voice. 
 
 " My dear, dear Honor, what ails you ? You are look- 
 ing ill, and deadly white ! What is it. Honor ? " 
 
 " We all have our troubles, Larry. You have a broken 
 arm, and I have a breakage somewhere, but never mind 
 where." 
 
 " I do mind," he said vehemently. " What is amiss ? " 
 
 "You told me, Larry, the night your arm was hurt, 
 that your pride had sustained a fall and was broken." 
 
 "So it was." 
 
 " So also is mine." 
 
 " But what has hurt you .? How is it ? Explain to 
 me all. Honor." 
 
 She shook her head. " It is not my affair only. I 
 have others to consider besides myself, and you must for- 
 give me if my lips are locked." 
 
AMONG THE GORSE. 275 
 
 He put his left arm round her, to draw her to him, 
 and kiss her. " I will keep the key of those lips," he said, 
 but she twisted herself from his grasp. 
 
 " You must not do that, Larry.'' 
 
 " Why not ? We understand each other. Though we 
 did not speak, that night, our hearts told each other 
 everything." 
 
 " Larry, do you remember what I said to you when we 
 were together in the paddock ? " 
 
 "I remember every word." 
 
 "I told you that I regarded you — as a brother." 
 
 " I remember every word but that.'' 
 
 " You have been a friend, a dear friend, ever since we 
 were children. You were always thoughtful toMrard uSj 
 my sister and me, when you thought of nothing else. You 
 were always kind, and as Charles was away, of late, I came 
 to think of you as a brother." 
 
 " But I, Honor, I never have and never will consent 
 to regard you as a sister. I love you more dearly than 
 brother ever loved sister. I never had one of my own, 
 ' but I am quite sure I could not think of one in the way I 
 think of you. I love you, Honor, with all my heart, and 
 I respect you and look up to you as the only person 
 who can make me lead a better life than I have led here- 
 tofore." 
 
 Honor shook her head and sighed. It was her way to 
 answer by nod or shake rather than by word. 
 
 " I have good news to tell you," he went on ; " my 
 father is delighted at the prospect, and he is nearly as im- 
 patient as I am to have your dear self in Chimsworthy." 
 
 " I can not, go there," said Honor in a tone that ex- 
 pressed the desolation of her heart. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 She hesitated. 
 
276 RED SPIDER. 
 
 " Why not, Honor ? Wheii I wish it, when my father 
 is eager to receive you ? " 
 
 " Dear Larry," she said sadly, " it can never, never 
 be." 
 
 " Come here," he exclaimed, impatiently, and drew 
 her along with him. " What is the meaning of this ? I 
 will understand." Before them for nearly a mile lay a 
 sheet of gold, a dense mass of unbroken gorse, in full 
 blaze of flower, exhaling a nectareous fragrance in the 
 sun, that filled the air. So dense were the flowers that no 
 green spines could be seen, only various shades of orange 
 and gold and pale yellow. Through it a path had been 
 reaped, for rabbit-shooters, and along this Hillary drew 
 her. The gorse reached to their waists. The fragrance 
 was intoxicating. 
 
 " Look here, Honor," said he, " look at this furze. It 
 is like my nature. It is said that there is not a month in 
 the year in which it does not blossom. Sometimes there 
 is only a golden speck here and there — when the snow 
 is on the ground, not more than a few flowers, and then 
 one stalk sets fire to another, as spring comes on, and the 
 whole brush burns and is not consumed, like that in the 
 desert, when God spoke to Moses from it. It has been 
 so with me. Honor. I have always loved you. Some- 
 times the prickles have been too thick, and then there 
 have been but few tokens of love ; but never, never has 
 the bloom died away altogether. In my heart. Honor, love 
 has always lived, and now it is all blazing, and shining, 
 and full of sweetness." 
 
 " Larry," answered Honor slowly, " look here " ; she 
 put her hand to a gorse-bush and plucked a mass of gold- 
 in bloom. 
 
 " Honor ! " he exclaimed, " what have you done ? " 
 She opened her hand, it was full of blood. 
 
AMONG THE GORSE. 277 
 
 " I have grasped the glorious flower," she said, " and 
 am covered with wounds, and pierced with thorns." 
 
 " No — no, dear Honor," he said, taking her hand, re- 
 moving from it the prickles, and wiping the blood away 
 with the kerchief that bound his broken arm. " There 
 shall be no thorns in our life together. The thorns will 
 all go from me when I have you to prune me. I have 
 been wild and rough, and I dare say I may have given 
 you pain. I know that I have. I was angry with you 
 and behaved badly ; but I was angry only because I 
 loved you." Then his pleasant sweet smile broke over 
 his pale face, and he said in an altered tone, " You do not 
 harbor anger. Honor ; you forgive, when the offender is 
 repentant." 
 
 She raised her eyes to him, and looked long and stead- 
 ily into his. 
 
 " I forgive you for any little wrong you may have 
 done me, heartily and wholly. But, O Larry! I must 
 wrong you in a way in which I can expect to get no for- 
 giveness from you." 
 
 " That is quite impossible," he said, smiling. 
 
 " Larry, you can not even dream what my meaning is. 
 When you know — there will not be a flower on the furze- 
 bush, the last gold bud of love will fall off." 
 
 " Never, never. Honor ! " 
 
 " You do not know." 
 
 He was perplexed. What could stand in the way of 
 her ready acceptance of him, except his own former bad 
 conduct ? 
 
 " Honor," he said, " I have had some sleepless nights 
 — these have not been altogether caused by my arm — and 
 during the dark hours I have thought over all my past 
 manner of life, and I have quite resolved to break with it. 
 I will no longer be idle. I will no more boast. I will no 
 
278 RED SPIDER. 
 
 more let the girls make a fool of me. I will work hard on 
 the farm as any laborer — indeed, Honor, I will work 
 harder and longer than they. If you mistrust me, prove 
 rae. 1 deserve this trial. My father would like you to be 
 his daughter-in-law at once ; but I know that I do not 
 deserve you. In the old story, Jacob served fourteen years 
 for Rachel, and I am not a Jacob — I will wait, though 
 fourteen years is more than my patience will bear, still — 
 dear Honor, dear heart ! — I will wait. I will wait your 
 own time, I will not say another word to you till you see 
 that I am keeping my promise, and am becoming' in some 
 little Way worthy of you. "I know," he said in a humble 
 tone, " that really I can never deserve you — but I shall be 
 happy to try and gain your approval, and, if you do not 
 wish me to say more of my love till I show you I am on 
 the mend, so shall it be. I am content. Put on the ker^ 
 chief when I am to speak again." 
 
 He stopped, and looked at her. She was trembling, 
 and her eyes cast down. Now, at last, the tears had come, 
 and were flowing from her eyes. One, like a crystal, hung 
 on her red cloak. Knowing that he awaited an answer, 
 she raised her head with an effort, and looked despairing- 
 ly right and left, but saw no help anywhere, only the flare 
 of yellow blossom flickering through a veil of tears. 
 
 Oh, infinitely sweet, infinitely glorious was this sight and 
 this outpouring of Larry's heart to her^but infinitely 
 painful as well — piercing, wounding, drawing forth blood 
 — like the gorse. 
 
 " Larry ! " she said earnestly, " no — no — not for one 
 moment do I doubt your word. I believe everything 
 you say. I could trust you perfectly. I know that with 
 your promise would come fulfillment, but — it is not 
 that." 
 
 " What is it then ? " 
 
AMONG THE GORSE. 279 
 
 : She could not tell him. The truth was too repugnant 
 to her to think, much less to tell — ^and tell to him. 
 
 "I can not tell you; my father, my brothers and 
 sisters." 
 
 " I have thought of that, you dear true soul," he inter- 
 rupted. "I know that you will not wish to hurt them. 
 But; Honor, there will be no desertion. I have only to 
 cut a gap through the hedge of your paddock, and in three 
 minutes, straight as an arrow, you can go from one house 
 to the other. Round by the road is longer, but when you 
 are at Chimsworthy we'll have a path between ;.then you 
 can go to and fro as you like, and the little ones will be 
 always on the run. You can have them all in with you 
 when and as long as you like ; and my father will be over- 
 pleased if your father will come and keep him company 
 on the Look-out stone. Since Uncle Tavemer and he 
 have quarreled father has been dull, and felt the want of 
 some one to talk to. So you see all will be just right. 
 Everything comes as though it were fitted to be as we are 
 going to make it." 
 
 Again he paused, waiting for her answer. While he 
 had been speaking she had worked herself up to the neces- 
 sary pitch of resolution to tell him something — not all, no! 
 all she could not tell. 
 
 " Larry ! it can not be. I am going to marry another." 
 
 He stood still, motionless, not even breathing, gazing 
 at her with stupid wonder. What she said was impossible. 
 Then a puff of northwest wind came from the far ocean, 
 rolling over the down, gathering the fragrance of the yellow 
 sea, and condensing it ; then poured it as a breaking wave 
 over the heads of those two standing in the lane cut 
 through the golden trees. And with the odor came a 
 humming, a low thrilling music, as the wind passed through 
 the myriad spines beneath the foam of flower, and set them 
 
28o RED SPIDER. 
 
 vibrating as the tongues of ^olian harps. The sweetness 
 and the harmony were in the air, all around, only not in 
 the hearts of those two young people, standing breast deep 
 in the gorse-brake. The wind passed, and all was still 
 once more. They stood opposite each other, speechless. 
 Her hand, which he had let go, had fallen, and the blood 
 dropped from it. How long they thus stood neither knew. 
 He was looking at her ; she had bent her head, and the 
 sun on her hair was more glorious than oji the gorse- 
 fiowers. He would have pierced to the depth of her soul 
 and read it if he could, but he was baffled. There was an 
 impenetrable veil over it, through which he could not see. 
 
 "You do not — ^you have not loved me," he said with 
 an effort. This was the meaning of her coldness, her re- 
 serve. Then he put out his left hand and touched her, 
 touched her lightly on the bosom. That light touch was 
 powerful as the rod of Moses on the rock in Horeb. 
 Her self-control deserted her. She clasped her hands on 
 her breast, and bowed, and burst into convulsive -weeping, 
 which was made worse by her efforts to arrest it and to 
 speak. 
 
 Hillary said nothing. He was too dazed to ask for 
 any explanation, too stupefied by the unexpected declara- 
 tion that cut away forever the ground of his happiness. 
 
 She waved her hand. " Leave me alone. Go, 
 Larry, go ! I can tell you nothing more ! Let me alone ! 
 Oh, leave me alone, Larry ! " 
 
 He could not refuse to obey, her distress was so great, 
 her entreaty so urgent. Silent, filled with despair, with 
 his eyes on the ground, he went along the straight-cut 
 path toward the road, and nearly ran against Kate. 
 
 " Oh ! you here ! " exclaimed the lively girl, " then 
 Honor is not far distant. Where is she ? What, yonder ! 
 and I have been to Langford to look for her. What is 
 
AMONG. THE GORSE. 28 1 
 
 the matter? Oh, -fiddlesticks ! you have been making 
 yourselves and each other miserable. There is no occa- 
 sion for that till all is desperate, and it is not so yet. 
 Come along, Larry, back to Honor. I must see her ; I 
 want to tell her something, and you may as well be by. 
 You are almost one of the family." 
 
 She made him follow her. Honor had recovered her 
 composure when left to herself, unwatched, and she was 
 able to disguise her emotions from her sister. 
 
 " O Honor ! " exclaimed Kate, " I have something 
 to tell you. I think you've been a fool, and too precipi- 
 tate — I do indeed, and so does Sam Voaden. A little 
 while ago I chanced to go down the lane after some water, 
 when, curiously enough, Sam was coming along it, and we 
 had a neighborly word or two between us. I told Sam 
 all about Charles, and what Mr. Langford charged him 
 with." 
 
 " Kate-^you never — ! " gasped Honor in dismay. 
 
 " I did. Why not ? Where's the hurt ? Sam swore 
 to me he'd tell no one." 
 
 " What is this ? " asked Hillary. 
 
 " Don't you know ? " retorted .Kate. " What, has 
 Honor not told you .' Faith ! there never was another 
 girl like her for padlocking her tongue. I'm sure I could 
 not keep from telling. Sam saw I was in trouble and 
 asked the reason, and my breast was as full as my pitcher, 
 so it overflowed. Well, Honor, Sam is not such a fool as 
 some suppose. He has more sense than all we Luxmores 
 put together — leastways, than we had last night. He 
 says he don't believe a word of it, and that you was to 
 blame for acting on it till you knew it was true." 
 
 " It is true. I know it is true," said Honor discon- 
 solately. " It is no use denying it." 
 
 " But, as Sam said, why act on it till it is proved ? 
 
282 RED SPIDER. 
 
 Where is Charles ? All you know is from Taverner Lang- 
 ford, and he is an interested party ; he may be mistaken, 
 or he may put things wrong way on willfully." 
 > " No, Kate, no ! You should not have spoken." 
 
 " But I have spoken. If a pitcher is full, will it not 
 run over the brim ? I have been over-full, and have over- 
 flowed. That is nature, my nature, and I can't help it. 
 No hurt is done. Sam will not talk about it to any one ; 
 and what he says shows more sense than is to be found in 
 all the nine heads that go under our cottage roof, wise as 
 you consider yourself. Honor. Sam says nothing ought 
 to be promised or done till Charles has been seen and you 
 have heard what account he can give of himself." 
 
 " His letter, Kate .? " 
 
 " Well, what of his letter ? He says nothing about 
 stealing in it — stealing a thousand pounds. What he says 
 may mean no more than his running away and leaving 
 ninepence a day for nothing." 
 
 " I am sorry you spoke," said Honor. 
 
 " I am glad I spoke," said Kate sharply. " I tell you 
 Sam's brain is bigger than all our nine. He saw the 
 rights of the matter at once, and — look here ! — he prom- 
 ised me that he would go and find Charles if he's gone no 
 further than Plymouth." 
 
 " You told him where he was ! " exclaimed Honor, 
 aghast. 
 
 *' Of course I did. I wasn't going to send him off 
 searching to Lundy Isle or Patagonia. Well, Sam says 
 that he'll go and find him on certain conditions." 
 ' " On what conditions ? " 
 
 " Never mind, they don't concern you, they are pri- 
 vate. And he wants to have a talk with Larry first ; but 
 Sam says he don't believe Charles took the money. He's 
 too much of a'Luxmore to act dishonorable, he said." 
 
THE VISITATION. 283 
 
 Honor was still unconvinced. "Larry," continued Kate, 
 " will you go at once to Swaddledown and see Sam ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but I understand nothing of what this is about. 
 You must explain it to me." 
 
 " No, Larry, go to Sam — he knows all." 
 
 In after years, when the gorse was flowering full. 
 Honor said to Larry, ''The honey scent always brings 
 back to my memory one day." 
 
 " Yes," he replied ; " the furze is like love, thorns and 
 flowers ; but the flowers grow, and swell, and burst, and 
 blaze, and swallow up the thorns, that none are seen." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE VISITATION. 
 
 The amazement of Larry was equaled by his indigna- 
 tion when he heard from Sam Voaden the whole story of 
 the charge against Charles, and of Honor consenting to 
 save him at the cost, of herself. He did not share Sam's 
 confidence in the groundlessness of the charge ; he thought 
 Charles quite rascal enough to have robbed his -master 
 and bolted with the money. Nevertheless he thought 
 that the best thing that could be done was for Sam to go 
 after Charles, as he himself could not do so, on account of 
 his arm and collar-bone ; and he urged on Voaden to use 
 his best endeavors, if he found Charles, which was doubt- 
 ful, to persuade him to return the money, through him, to 
 Langford. 
 
 " When he finds that he is suspected he may do that, 
 especially if you threaten to hand him over to the con- 
 stables should he refuse." 
 
284 ^^^ SPIDER. 
 
 "I don't believe he ever took it," said Sam, "I know 
 Charles better than you." 
 
 Hillary was coming away from Swaddledown, -along 
 the road or lane to Broadbury, when he met his uncle 
 Taverner, in his Sunday suit, a hat on his head, walking 
 along lustily, with a stick in his hand. 
 
 Larry stood in the way. 
 
 " Uncle Taverner," he said. ' 
 
 " Stand aside," said Langford, roughly. 
 
 "One word." 
 ' " Not one ! I have nothing to do with you or yours. 
 Stand aside, that I may pass oii." 
 
 " I can not ; I will not ! You are in my path, not I 
 in yours — that is, in the path of my life's happiness." 
 
 Langford looked at him interrogatively. 
 
 " Uncle Langford, I must speak to you." 
 
 " I am busy, I have to go to the church. It is the 
 rural dean's visitation. I am churchwarden." 
 
 " 1 will not detain you long." 
 
 " I will not be detained at all." 
 
 " I must speak to you, uncle. You are too — too cruel ! 
 yoii have come between me and happiness." 
 
 " Get along. Don't think anything you say will 
 make me leave Langford to you." 
 
 " It is not that. I have not given that a thought. 
 But, Honor—" 
 
 " What of Honor ? " asked Taverner, sharply, stop- 
 ping. 
 
 " I love her, uncle — I love her with my whole heart. 
 I always have loved her, more or less, but now I love her 
 as I can love no one else." 
 
 " Oh, that is it ! " exclaimed the old man, bending his^ 
 brows, and disguising his agitation and annoyance by 
 striking the stones out of the road with the end of his 
 
THE VISITATION. 28$ 
 
 Stick. " A boy's fancy, light as thistle-seed ; and a boy's 
 head is as full of fancies as a thistle is of seed." 
 
 " Nothing of the sort," said the young man viehe- 
 mently. " There is no one but Honor can make me what 
 I know I ought to become. I have never had a mother 
 or a sister to guide me. I have grown up unchecked, 
 unadvised, and now I want my dear, dear Honor to help 
 me to be what I should be, and am not. Uncle ! you 
 sneer at Chimsworthy because it is full of docks, and 
 thistles, and rushes, but I am like that — worthy land, and 
 none but Honor can weed me. Why do you come cruelly 
 in between us, and kill her happiness as well as mine ? 
 Her you can not make other than noble and true, but me ! 
 — me, without her you will ruin. I must have Honor ! 
 I can not live without her. O uncle, uncle ! what are 
 you doing ? It is unworthy of you to use poor Honor's 
 necessity to wring from her her consent. You know she 
 only gives it to save her brother. Why, because she is 
 generous, would you take advantage of her generosity?" 
 
 The lad pleaded with earnestness, vehemence, and 
 with tears in his voice. Taverner looked at him, and 
 thought, " How like he is to his mother ! This is Blan- 
 dina's face and Blandina's voice. He is not a Nanspian, 
 he is a Langford." But he said roughly, " Pshaw ! let me 
 go by. The rural dean is waiting. Do not you mistake 
 me for a weathercock to be turned by every breath. You 
 must get over your fancy — it is a fancy — or change it to 
 regard for Honor as your aunt. Do not attempt to move 
 me. What is settled is settled." 
 
 As Hillary still interposed himself between Langford 
 and his course, the old man raised his stick. 
 - " Come ! must I strike you ? " he said angrily. " I've 
 spoken to you more freely than you deserve. Stand aside. 
 I am not to be turned from my way by you or any other." 
 
286 RED SPIDER. 
 
 He went forward headlong, striking about him with 
 his stick, and was not to be further stayed. He went, as 
 he said, to the church to meet the rural dean, but not only 
 because summoned — he went also to see him as surrogate, 
 and obtain a marriage license. 
 
 "A Langford can not be married by bans," he said. 
 " And I'm not going to have every one in church snigger- 
 ing when our names are called." 
 
 As he went along the road, head down, muttering, the 
 face of Hillary haunted him — pale with sickness, refined, 
 spiritualized by suffering, not the suffering of the body but' 
 of the mind. He was strangely like Blandina in her last 
 sickness, and there were tones in his voice of entreaty that 
 brought back to Langford memories of his sister and of 
 his mother. 
 
 He arrived at the church before the rector and the 
 rural dean. The latter was taking refreshment at the 
 parsonage a mile away. Would Nanspian be there ? He 
 did not wish to meet him, but he would not be away lest 
 it should be said he had feared to meet him. Nanspian 
 was not there. He had forgotten all about, the visitation. 
 
 " He wants a deal of reminding," said the clerk, who 
 had unlocked the church. " He forgets most things worse 
 than ever since his stroke.'' 
 
 Langford disengaged himself from the clerk and en- 
 tered the church — a noble building, of unusual beauty. 
 In the nave at his feet was a long slate stone, and the 
 name taverner langford. He knew very well that the 
 stone was there, with its inscription and the date 1635 ; 
 but as he stood looking at it an uncomfortable feeling 
 came over him, as if he were standing at the edge of his 
 own grave. He was alone in the church. The air was 
 chill and ;damp, and smelled of decay. The dry-rot was in 
 the pews. The slates were speckled, showing that the 
 
THE VISlTATIOm 287 
 
 church roof was the haunt of bats, who flew about in 
 flights when darkness set in. If it were cold and damp 
 in the church, what must it be in the vault below ? He 
 knew what was there — the dust of many Langfords, one 
 or two old lead coffins crushed down by their own weight. 
 And he knew that some day he would lie there, and the 
 "Taverner Langford"on the stone would apply to him 
 as well as to his ancestor. How horrible to be there at 
 night, with the cold eating into him, and the smell of mil- 
 dew about him, and the bats fleeting above him ! The 
 thought made him uneasy, and he went out of the church" 
 into the sunlight, thinking that he would pay a woman to 
 scour the stone of the bat-stains which befouled it. He 
 had never dreamed of doing this before, but when he con- 
 sidered that he must himself lie there, he took a loathing 
 to the bats, and an indignation at the vault-covering stone 
 being disfigured by them. 
 
 He walked through the coarse grass to where his sister 
 was laid. She was not buried in the family vault. Nan- 
 spian had not wished it. 
 
 The clerk came to him. 
 
 " Mr. Nanspian had a double-walled grave made," said' 
 the clerk, who was also sexton. " Folks laughed, I mind, 
 when he ordered it, and said he was sure to marry again 
 — a fine lusty man like he. But they were wrong. He 
 never did. He has bided true to her memory." 
 
 " I would never have forgiven him had he done other," 
 said Langford. 
 
 "I reckon you never forgive him, though he has not," 
 said the solemn clerk. 
 
 Langford frowned and moved his shoulders uneasily. 
 
 " The grave is cared for," said he in a churlish tone. 
 
 " Young Larry Nanspian sees to that," answered the 
 clerk. " If there be no other good in him there is that — 
 
288 ~ RED SPIDER. 
 
 he don't forget what is due to his mother, though She be 
 dead." 
 
 Langford put his stick to the letters on the headstone. 
 "In loving memory of Blandina Nanspian, only daughter 
 of Moses Langford, of Langford, gent." " Oh ! " muttered 
 Taverner, " my father could call himself a gentleman when 
 he had Chimsworthy as well as Langford, but I suppose I 
 can't call myself anything but yeoman on my poor farm. 
 Blandina should never have married, and then Chims- 
 worthy would not have gone out of the family." 
 
 " But to whom would both have gone after your death, 
 Mr. Langford .' " asked the clerk. " 'Twould be a pity 
 if an old ancient family like yours came to an end, and, I 
 reckon, some day both will be joined- again, by Mr. Larry." 
 
 " No, no ! — no, no ! " growled Taverner, and walked 
 away. He saw the rural dean and the rector coming 
 through the churchyard gate. 
 
 An hour later, Taverner was on his way home. He 
 had paid the fee, made the necessary application, and 
 would receive the license on the morrow. It was too late 
 for him to draw back, even had he been inclined. Taver- 
 ner was a proud man, and he was obstinate. He flattered 
 himself that when he had once resolved on a thing he 
 always went through with it ; no dissuasion, no impedi- 
 ments turned him aside. But he was not easy in mind as 
 he walked home. Never before had he seen the family . 
 likeness so strong in Larry ; he had caught an occa-sional 
 look of his mother in the boy's face before, but now that 
 he was ill in mind and body the likeness was striking. 
 Taverner still laid no great weight on Larry's expressed 
 attachment for Honor ; he did not know that love was not 
 a fiction, and was unable to conceive of it as anything 
 more than a passing fancy. What really troubled the old 
 man was the prospect of disarrangement of his accustomed 
 
THE VISITATION. 289 
 
 mode of life. When he was married his wife would claim 
 entrance into his parlor, and would meddle with what he 
 had there, would use his desk, would come in and out 
 when he was busy, would talk when he wanted quiet. A 
 housekeeper could be kept in order by threat of dismissal, 
 but a wife was tied for life. Then — how about Larry? 
 He might forbid him the house, but would he keep away ? 
 Would not he insist on seeing his old friend and compan- 
 ion and love, Honor ? That would be dangerous to his 
 own peace of mind, might threaten his happiness. He re- 
 membered some words of Mrs. Veale, and his blood rushed 
 through his head like a scalding wave. 
 
 When he came to his door, Mrs. Veale was there. She 
 seemed to know by instinct his purpose in going to Bratton. 
 
 " Have you get it, master ? " she asked with husky 
 voice and fluttering eyelids. 
 
 " Got what ? " 
 
 " What you went to get — ^the license." 
 
 " It is coming by post to-morrow. Are you satisfied ? " 
 he asked, sneering, and with a glance of dislike. 
 
 " A corpse-light came up the lane and danced on the 
 doorstep last night," said Mrs. Veale. "And you are 
 thinking .of marrying ! ' I'd better have left things as 
 th^y were,' said the man who scalded his dog to clear it of 
 fleas. The spider spread for a midget and caught a hor- 
 net. ' Marry come up,' said the mote [tree-stump], ' I 
 will wed the flame ' ; so she took him, embraced him, 
 and — " Mrs. Veale stooped to the hearth, took up a 
 handful of light wood-ash, and blew it in her master's 
 face from her palm, then said, " Ashes, remain." 
 
 The ensuing night the house was disturbed. Taverner 
 Langford was ill, complaining of violent sickness, cramps, 
 and burning in the throat. He must have a doctor sent 
 for from Okehampton. 
 19 
 
2g5 RED SPIDER. 
 
 " Get a doctor's foot on your floor and he leaves his 
 shoes," said Mrs. Veale. " No, wait till morning. If yoti're 
 no better then we will send." 
 
 " Go out of my room ! " shouted Taverner to the farm 
 men and maids who had crowded in. His calls and ham- 
 merings with the stick had roused every one in the house. 
 ' Do you think I am going to die because I'm took with 
 spasms ? Mrs. Veale is enough. Let her remain." 
 
 " I reckon I caught a chill standing in the damp ' 
 church with the smell of the vaults in my nose," said 
 Taverner, sitting in his chair and groaning. " I felt the 
 cold rise." 
 
 " It is waiting," remarked Mrs. Veale. 
 
 " What is waiting ? " he asked irritably. 
 
 " The corpse-candle ; I see it on the doorstep. And 
 you that should be considering to have the bell tolled 
 ordering a wedding peal ! Those who slide on ice must 
 expect falls, and elephants mustn't dance on tight-ropes. 
 Rabbits that burrow in bogs won't have dry quarters. 
 The fox said, ' Instead of eating I shall be eaten,' when, 
 seeking a hen-roost, he walked into a kennel." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 A WARNING. 
 
 The day was wet ; a warm southwesterly wind was 
 breathing, not blowing, and its breath was steam, a steam 
 that condensed into minute water-drops. The thatch 
 was dripping. The window panes were blind with shiny 
 films of moisture. There had been dry weather for 
 the haysel, glorious weather, and now, just when wanted, 
 the earth was bathed in a cloud. It would be inaccurate 
 
■ A WARNING. 291 
 
 to say that it rained. It rained only; under the eaves and 
 beneath the trees ; the earth was taking a vapor bat^. 
 
 Honor and Kate were in the cottage, basket- weaving. 
 The children were at school. No wet dismays the Devo- 
 nian, but east wind throws him on his back, and he shriv- 
 els with frost. Kate had recovered her spirits marvelously 
 since her interview with Sam Voaden. She had a buoyant 
 heart ; it was like a cork in water, that might be pressed 
 under, but came up with a leap again. She felt keenly 
 for the time, but wounds speedily healed with her. It was 
 other with Honor ; she remained depressed, pale, thin 
 looking, and silent. She said nothing to her sister about 
 Hillary. Kate had some glimmering idea that Honor - 
 liked the young man, but did not suppose that there was 
 more in her heart than a liking. But Kate, though she 
 dearly loved her sister, was somewhat in awe of her. She 
 never ventured to peer into her soul, and she understood 
 nothing of what went on there. Honor was scrupulous, 
 precise, close ; and Kate, though a good*hearted, true girl, 
 was not close, but open, not precise, but careless, and 
 -ready to stretch a point of conscience to suit her pleasure. 
 Kate, in the presence of Honor, was much like an un- 
 mathematical boy set over a problem in Euclid. She was 
 sure that all was very true in Honor's mind, but also that 
 the process by which it arrived at its conclusions was be- 
 yond her understanding. Honor possessed, what is the 
 prerogative of few women, a just mind. Forced by her 
 position into dividing between the children who looked 
 up to her, obliged to consider their complaints against 
 each other in petty quarrels from opposite sides, and of 
 deciding equably, she had acquired breadth and fairness 
 and self-restraint, against action upon impulse. Kate wais 
 eager to take sides, and was partial ; Honor never. She 
 was always disposed to consider that there was something 
 
292 RED SPIDER. 
 
 to be said on the side opposed to that first presented to 
 her, and was cautious not to pronounce an opinion till she 
 had heard both sides. This Kate could not understand, 
 and she regarded her sister as wanting in warmth and 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 " No news yet from Sam," said Kate. " That is 
 odd. I thought we should have known at once about 
 .Charles." 
 
 " How could that be ? Plymouth is a large place, and 
 Sam Yoaden will not know where to look. It is even 
 possible that Charles may have sailed." 
 
 " If he has sailed you need not be tied to old Lang- 
 ford — that is, not unless you like." 
 
 "I have passed my word. I can not withdraw." 
 
 " Fiddlesticks-ends ! You only promised on condition 
 that Mr. Langford would not proceed against Charles." 
 
 " He has not proceeded." 
 
 " He can't — if Charles is out of England." 
 
 " But he might have done so the day he discovered his 
 loss, before Charles got away. I gave my word to prevent 
 his taking immediate action, and so Charles had time to 
 make his escape from the country." 
 
 " Taverner Langford had no right to ask it of you," 
 
 "He did ask it, and I gave my word. I can not with- 
 draw now. That would not be fair and right." 
 
 Kate shrugged her shoulders. " I should pay him out 
 in his own coin." 
 
 " Like Charles at the circus ? " 
 
 Kate colored. "That was another matter altogether. 
 Mr. Langford had no right to put such a price on his for- 
 bearance. Besides, I don't believe in Charles's guilt 
 Sam does not, and, thick as some folks think Sam, he has 
 as much brains as are wanted to fill a large skull, and these 
 of first quality. Sam can see into a millstone." 
 
A WARNING. 
 
 293 
 
 " Yes, Kate, but what is in a millstone ? — the same as 
 outside." 
 
 "Sam says that he knows Charles is innocent." 
 
 " What reasons does he give ? " 
 
 " Oh, none at all. I did not ask for any. Ife thinks 
 it, that is enough for me." 
 
 " He thinks it, now ; he knows it, a minute ago." 
 
 "I am quite sure that Charles never took the money." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "There you are again with your 'whys.* Because 
 Sam .says it." 
 
 "Yes, dear Kate, Sam is a good-hearted fellow, who 
 will not think badly of any one, and he supposes others 
 are as straightforward as himself." 
 
 "You have a dozen splendid reasons for thinking 
 Charles a thief, and not one of them convinces me. I 
 don't know why, except that Sam is so positive ; but I 
 will scratch all the silver off my looking-glass if I am 
 wrong. Charles did not take the money." 
 
 Honor said no more. It was useless arguing with 
 Kate, and nothing was gained if she did convince her. 
 The girls worked on for a few minutes in silence ; then 
 Kate burst out with, " After all, I do not see anything so 
 dreadful in becoming Mrs. Langford. One can not have 
 everything. Taverner has not the youth and looks of — 
 say Sam Voaden, but Sam Voaden has no money of his 
 own, and Mr. Langford can roll in money when his back 
 itches. Langford is a very fine property still, and 'the 
 house is first-rate. If I take Sam at any time — I don't say 
 I shall — I shall have to put up with poverty. If you take 
 Taverner Langford you must put up with ugliness. You 
 can't catch herring and hake at one fishing." Then she 
 burst into a ringing laugh. 
 
 " It will be worth while marrying him only for the fun 
 
294 
 
 RED SPIDER. 
 
 of making Larry Nanspian call you aunt." Honor winced, 
 but Kate was too tickled by the idea to observe Tier sister's 
 face. 
 
 "When is it to be, Honor? It is mean of you to be 
 so secret about the day. I am your isister, and I ought to 
 know." 
 
 " I only do not tell you because you can not keep a 
 secret, and I wish no one to know till all is over. Some 
 morning when nothing is expected, it — " She shivered 
 and turned her face to the wall. 
 
 " I will not blab. I will not, indeed, dear." 
 
 " Some day this week. Well, if you must know, Thurs- 
 day. Pray be secret ; you will only add to my pain, my 
 shame, if it be known, and a crowd of the curious be as- 
 sembled to see. He also wished it to be kept from getting 
 wind. Indeed, he insisted." 
 
 "I don't like a marriage without smart dresses and 
 bridesmaids. Who is to be best man ? I don't believe 
 old Taverner has a friend anywhere. Why — Honor, he'll 
 be my brother-in-law. That is a strange prospect. We'll 
 come up to Langford and see you every day, that you may 
 not be dull. What are you going to do with Mrs. Veale ? 
 You are surely not going to keep her! Do you know. 
 Honor, in the kitchen is a darling china spaniel, just like 
 ours yonder on the mantel-piece, and he turns his head 
 the opposite way to ours. I'm really glad you are going 
 to marry Mr. Langford, because then the dogs will make 
 a pair. They look so desolate, one here and the other 
 there ; they are ordained to keep company." Honor said 
 nothing ; she let her sister rattle on without paying heed 
 to her tattle. 
 
 " Honor," said Kate, " do you know whence Charles 
 got the notion of putting the five-pound note under the 
 dog .' Guess." 
 
A WARNING. 29S 
 
 " I can not guess. It does not matter.'' 
 
 "Yes, it does matter. Charles got the notion from 
 sweet Mrs. Veale. When I was at Langford looking for 
 you, I saw that she used the dog as a place for putting 
 things away that must not lie about. If you turn one of 
 these china dogs on end, you will see that they are hollow. 
 Well, Mrs. Veale had stuffed a packet of rat-poison into 
 the dog. You remember the man at the Revel who sold 
 hones and packets of poison for mice and rats ? Do you^ 
 not recollect the board above his table with the picture on 
 it of the vermin tumbling about as if drunk, and some 
 lying on their backs dead } -AH his packets were in yellow 
 paper with a picture on them in small like that on the 
 board. It does not seem right to let poison lie about. I 
 should lock it up if I had it; but Mrs. Veale is unlike 
 every one else in her appearance and in her talk, and, I 
 suppose, in her actions. She keeps the yellow paper of 
 rat-poison in the body of the china spaniel. I saw her 
 take it thence, and stow it in there again. The place is 
 not amiss. No one would dream of looking there for it. 
 Who knows? Perhaps Mrs. Veale keeps her money in 
 the same place. Charles may have seen that, and when 
 he came here, and wanted to give us five pounds and 
 escape thanks, he put it under the dog. That is reason: 
 able, is it not. Honor ? " 
 
 Honor did not answer. 
 
 " I declare ! " exclaimed Kate impatiently. " You 
 have not been attending to what I said." 
 
 "Yes, I have, Kate." 
 
 " What was I saying? Tell me if you can." 
 
 " You said that Mrs. Veale kept her money in a china 
 dog on the chimney-piece." 
 
 " No, I did not. I said she kept rat-poison there in a 
 yellow paper." 
 
296 RED SPIDER. 
 
 " Yes, Kate, so you did. She hides the poison there 
 lest careless hands should get hold of it." 
 
 " I am glad you have had the civility to listen. You 
 seem to me to be in a dream. I don't think, after all, 
 Honor, but for Sam, that I should mind being in your 
 place. It must be an experience as charming as new to 
 have money at command. After all, an old man in love 
 is led by the nose, and you. Honor, he must love, so you 
 can take him about, and make him do exactly what you 
 want. I almost envy you. Where is father ? " 
 
 " Gone to see Prize, the shoemaker. I had a pair of 
 shoes ordered from him two months ago, and father has 
 gone to see if they are done. I shall want them on Thurs- 
 day." 
 
 " Father is quite pleased at the idea of your marriage. 
 I know he is. He fnakes sure of getting Coombe Park. 
 He says that Mr. Langford will lend the money ; and he 
 expects grand days when we get our own again. Father 
 don't believe any more in Charles being guilty, after I told 
 him Sam's reasons." 
 
 " What reasons .' " 
 
 " Well, I mean assertions. Does father know the day 
 on which you are to be married ? " 
 
 " No, Kate. Mr. Langford wished him not to be told. 
 Father is so obliging, so good-natured, that if any one 
 were to press him to tell, he could not keep the secret, so 
 we thought it best not to let him know till just at the last." 
 
 " Won't father be proud when you are at Langford ! 
 Why, the van will not contain all his self-importance. To 
 have his eldest daughter married into one of the best and 
 oldest families of the neighborhood, to be planted in the 
 best house — after Squire Impey's — in the parish ! . My 
 dear Honor! an idea strikes me. Shall I throw myself at 
 Squire Impey's head ? Father would go stark mad with 
 
A WARNING. 297 
 
 pride if that were so — that is, if I succeeded. And if he 
 got Coombe back, we three would rule the parish. We 
 might all three become feoffees of Coryndou's Charity, 
 and. pass the land round among us. That would be 
 grand ! Honor ! what is to be done with Mrs. Veale ? I 
 can not abide the woman. It was a queer idea, was it 
 not, putting the rat-poison in the china dog ? " 
 
 All at once, Kate looked up. " My dear Honor, talk 
 of somebody that shall be nameless, and he is sure to ap- 
 pear." She spoke in a whisper, as Mrs. Veale came from 
 the steps in at the door. She had a dark cloak thrown 
 over her pale cotton dress. She stood in the doorway 
 blinking nervously. 
 
 Honor stood up, put her light work aside, and, with 
 her usual courtesy to all, went toward her. " Do you 
 want me, Mrs. Veale ? Will you take a chair? " 
 
 " No, I will not sit down. So " — she looked about — 
 " you will go from a hovel to a mansion ! At least, so you 
 expect. Take care ! Take care, lest, in trying to jump 
 into the saddle, you jump over the horse." 
 
 Honor moved a chair toward the woman. Kate looked 
 curiously at her. The pale, faded creature stood look- 
 ing about her in an inquisitive manner. "I've come 
 with a message," she said. " You are very set on getting 
 into Langford, eh ? Oh, Langford is a palace to this cot- 
 tage." 
 
 Honor did not answer. She drew up her head, and 
 made no further offer of a seat. " What is your mes- 
 sage ? " she asked, coldly. But Kate fired up in her sis- 
 ter's defense, and tossing her head, said, " Don't you sup- 
 pose, Mrs. Veale, that Honor, or my father, or I, or Joe, 
 or any of us think that a prize has been drawn in your 
 master. Quite the other way — he is in luck. He don't 
 deserve what he has got, for Honor is a treasure." 
 
298 ' RED SPIDER. 
 
 " What message have you brought ? " asked Honor again. 
 
 The vindictiveness against the girl seemed to have disr 
 appeared from the woman — ^at least, she did not look at 
 Honor with the same malevolent glance a^ formerly ; and, 
 indeed, she was not now so full of hate against her as an- 
 ger against Langford — the deadlier passion had obscured 
 the weaker. 
 
 " What is the message ? " she repeated. 
 
 " Oh, this : You and your father are to come up to 
 , Langford as soon as you can. Lawyer Physick be there 
 and waiting." Then, with quivering voice and eyelids, 
 ahd trembling hands thrust through her black cloak, " I^- 
 I be sent wi' this message. He had the face to send me ! 
 Him that I've served true, and followed as a hound these 
 fifteen years, turns against me now, and drives me from 
 his door ! Look here. Miss Honor Luxmore ! " She 
 held up her long white finger before her face. "I've 
 knowed a man as had a dog, and that dog wi' ill-treat- 
 ment went mad, and when the dog were mad she bit her 
 master, and he died." She blinked and quivered, and as 
 she quivered the water-drops flew off her cloak over the 
 slate floor, almost as if a poodle had shaken himself. 
 " Take care ! " she said again, " take care ! The man - 
 that kicks at me won't spare you. Take care, I say again. 
 Be warned against him. I've given you his message, but 
 don't take it. Don't go to Langford. Let Lawyer Phys- 
 ick go away. The license has come. Let it go to light 
 a fire. Make no use of it. Stay where you are, and let 
 the master find he's been made a fool of. Best so! In 
 the hitting of nails you may hammer your knuckles. I've 
 served him fifteen years as if I were his slave, and now he 
 bids me pack. ' I should have thought of my thatch be- 
 fore I fired my chimney,' said the man who was burned 
 out of house and home." 
 
A SE TTLEMENT. 299 
 
 " Go back to Langford, and say that my father and I 
 will be there shortly." 
 
 " Then take the consequences." Mrs. Veale's eyes for 
 a moment glittered like steel, then disappeared under her 
 winking white lashes. She turned and left the cottage, 
 muttering: "When the owl hoots, look out for sorrow. 
 When the dog bays, he smells death, and I am his dog— 
 and, they say, his blinking owl ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 A SETTLEMENT. 
 
 Oliver Luxmore entered shortly after Mrs. Veale 
 had left. " Frize promises the shoes by Monday," he 
 said. 
 
 Then Honor told him that he and she were awaited 
 at Langford, and she went upstairs to get herself ready. 
 In the corner of her room was an old oak box, in which 
 she kept her clothes and few treasures. She opened it, 
 and took out the red cloak, her best and brightest pair 
 of red stockings. Then she touched the paper that con- 
 tained the kerchief Larry had given her. Should she 
 Wear it.' No; that she could not wear, and yet she felt 
 as if to have it crossed over her bosom would give it 
 warmth and strength. She opened the paper and looked 
 at the white silk, with its pretty moss-rose buds and sprigs 
 of forget-me-not. A tear fell from her eye on if. She 
 folded it up again, and put it away. 
 
 Presently she came downstairs, dressed to go with her 
 father. On Sundays she wore a straw bonnet with cherry- 
 colored ribbons in it, but now that the air was full of 
 moisture she could not risk her pretty bows in the wet. 
 
300 ^RED SPIDER. 
 
 She would draw the hood of her scarlet cloak over her 
 head. 
 
 Neither she nor her father spoke much on the way to 
 Larigford. He was, as Kate had said, not ill-pleased at 
 the alliance — indeed, but for the trouble about Charles, he 
 would have been exultant. 
 
 Honor had been brought to accept what was best for 
 her and for all the family at last. Oliver had easily ac- 
 cepted Kate's assertion that Charles was innocent, but 
 he would not maintain the innocence of Charles before 
 Honor, lest it should cause her to draw back from her 
 engagement. 
 
 Even on a fine day, with the sun streaming in at the 
 two windows, Langford's parlor was not cheerful. It 
 was paneled with deal, painted slate-gray ; the moldings 
 were coarse and heavy. There were no curtains to the 
 windows, only blinds, no carpet on the floor, and the fur- 
 niture was stiff, the chairs and sofa covered with black 
 horsehair. What was in the room was in sound condi- 
 tion and substantial, but tasteless. Even the table was 
 bare, of cover. Till Honor entered in her scarlet cloak 
 there was not a speck of pure color in the room. She re- 
 moved her cloak, and stood in a dark gown, somewhat 
 short, showing below it a strip of red petticoat and her 
 red stockings. Round her neck was a white handker- 
 chief, of cotton, not of silk. 
 
 Mr. Physick and Langford were at the table ; they 
 were waiting, and had been expecting them. Both rose 
 to receive her and her father, the first with effusion, the 
 latter with some embarrassment. 
 
 " What is the matter with you, sir ? " asked the car- 
 rier of Taverner Langford. " You don't look yourself to- 
 day." 
 
 " I've been unwell," answered the yeoman. " I had 
 
A SETTLEMENT. 
 
 301 
 
 to be down, at the church t'other day to meet the rural 
 dean, as I'm churchwarden, atid Nanspian is too lazy to 
 act ; I heated myself with walking, and I had an encount- 
 er with the young Merry Andrew on the way." He 
 glanced at Honor, but she neither stirred nor raised her 
 eyes from the table. " Some words passed. He was im- 
 pudent, and I nigh on thrashed him. I would have chas- 
 tised him, but that he had a broken arm. My blood was 
 up, and I had to stand in the damp church, and I reckon 
 I got a chill there. I was taken bad in the night, and 
 thought I must die — burning pains and cramps, but it 
 passed off. I'm better now. It was an inflammation, 
 but I'm getting right again. I have to be careful what I 
 eat, that is all. Slops — slops. I wouldn't dare touch 
 that," said he, pointing to a brandy-bottle beside the law- 
 yer. " It would feed the fire and kill me." 
 
 " My opinion is that the affection is of the heart, not 
 of the stomach," laughed Physick, " and when I look at 
 Miss Honor I'm not surprised at the burning. Enough 
 to set us all in flames, eh, Langford ? Heartburn, man, 
 heartburn ! — nothing worse than that, and now you're go- 
 ing to take the best medicine to cure that disorder." 
 
 " Not that at all," said Taverner, surlily. " I caught a 
 chill across me standing waiting in the church at the visi- 
 tation ; I felt the cold and damp come up out of the 
 vault to me. I was taken ill the same night." 
 
 " You've a nice house here," said the lively Physick, 
 " a little cold such a day as this, with the drizzle against 
 the windows, but — love will keep it warm. What do 
 you think. Miss Honor, of the nest, eh ? Lined with 
 wool, eh ? well, money is better than wool." 
 
 Honor measured him with a halughty glance, and Phys- 
 ick, somewhat disconcerted, turned to the carrier and 
 Mr. Langford to discuss business. 
 
302 
 
 RED SPIDER. 
 
 Honor remained standing, cold, composed, and reso- 
 lute, but with a heart weaker than her outward appear- 
 ance betokened. " Come," said Physick, " next to the 
 parson I'm the most necessary workman to hammer the 
 chain. The parson can do something for the present, I 
 for the future. If you will listen to the settlement, you 
 won't grumble at my part. Little as you may think of 
 me, I've had your interests in eye. I've taken care of 
 you." 
 
 " You have done nothing but what I have bid you," 
 said Taverner, roughly. " Oliver Luxmore and I talked 
 it over before you, and you have written what we de- 
 cided." 
 
 " Oh, of course, of course ! " exclaimed Physick, 
 " but there are two ways of doing a thing. A slip of the , 
 pen, a turn of expression, and all is spoiled. I've been 
 careful, and I do consider it hard that the parson who 
 blesses the knot should be allowed to claim a kiss, and 
 the lawyer who plaits it should not be allowed even to ask 
 for one." He glanced at Taverner and Oliver and winked, 
 
 " Certainly, certainly," said the carrier. 
 
 " Come," said Langford, " to business. I want her "r^ 
 he pointed with his elbow at Honor — " to see what I have 
 done. I'm a fair man, and I want her to see that I have 
 dealt generously by her, and to know if she be con- 
 tent." ■ 
 
 ' " I have asked you for one thing, Mr. Langford, and 
 that you have refused. I must needs be content with 
 whatever you have decided for me, but I care for nothing 
 else." 
 
 " Listen, listen, Honor, before you speak," said Oliver 
 Luxmore. "I have considered your interests as your 
 father, and I think you will say that / also have dealt 
 handsomely by you." 
 
A SETTLEMENT. 
 
 303 
 
 " You, dear father ! " She wondered what he could 
 have done, he who had nothing, who was in debt. 
 
 " Read," said Luxmore, and coughed a self-complacent, 
 important cough. 
 
 The settlement was simple. It provided that in the 
 event of Honor becoming a widow, in accordance with a 
 settlement made in the marriage of Moses Langford and 
 Blandina Hill, the father and mother of Taverner Lang- 
 ford, the property should be charged to the amount i of 
 seventy-five pounds to be levied annually, and that, in the 
 event of issue arising from the contemplated marriage, 
 in accordance with the afore-mentioned settlement the 
 property was to go to the eldest son, charged with the 
 seventy-five pounds for his mother, and that every ot'her 
 child was, on its coming of age, to receive one hundred 
 pounds, to be levied out of the estate. And it was further 
 agreed between Taverner Langford and Oliver Luxmore 
 that, in the event of the latter receiving the estates of the 
 Luxmore family, named Coombe Park, in the parish of 
 Bratton Clovelly and other, he, the said Oliver Luxmore, 
 should pay to Taverner Langford, the husband of his 
 daughter, the sum of five hundred pounds to be invested 
 in the three per cents for the benefit of the said Honor 
 Langford, alias Luxmore, during her lifetime, and to her 
 sole use, and with power of disposal by will. This was 
 the stipulation Oliver had made ; he insisted on this gen- 
 erous offer being accepted and inserted in the marriage 
 contract. Honor listened attentively to every word. She 
 was indifferent what provision was made for herself, but 
 she hoped against conviction that Langford would bind 
 himself to do something for her father. Instead of that, 
 her father had bound himself to pay five hundred pounds 
 in the improbable event of his getting Coombe Park. 
 Poor father ! poor father ! 
 
304 RED SPIDER. 
 
 "You have done nothing of what I asked," said 
 Honor. 
 
 " I have no wish to act ungenerously," answered Tav- 
 erner. "Your request was unreasonable; however, I 
 have acted fairly, I have promised to advance your father 
 a hundred pounds to assist him in the prosecuting of his. 
 claims." 
 
 "There," said Oliver Luxmore, "you see. Honor, that 
 your marriage is about to help the whole family. We shall 
 come by our rights at last. We shall recover Coombe 
 Park." 
 
 Then Taverner went to the door and called down the 
 passage, " Mrs. Veale ! Come here ! You are wanted to 
 witness some signatures." 
 
 The housekeeper came, paler, more trembling than 
 usual, with her eyes fluttering, but with Sharp malignant 
 gleams flashing out of them from under the white throb- 
 bing lashes. 
 
 " I be that nervous," she said, " and my hand shakes 
 so I can hardly write." 
 
 She stooped, and indeed her hand did tremble. " I'm 
 cooking the supper," she said, " you must excuse - the 
 apron." As she wrote she turned her head and looked at 
 her master. He was not observing her, and the lawyer 
 was indicating the place where she was to write and was 
 holding down the sheet, but Honor saw the look full of 
 deadly hate, a look that made her heart stand still, and 
 the thought to spring into her brain, " That woman ought 
 not to remain in the house another hour, she is dan- 
 gerous." 
 
 When Mrs. Veale had done, she rose, put her hands 
 under her apron, courtesied, and said, " May I make so 
 bold as to ask if that be the master's will ? " 
 
 " No, it is not," said Langford. 
 
A SETTLEMENT. 305 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said Mrs. Veale, courtesying again. 
 "You'll excuse the liberty, but if it had been, I'd have 
 said, remember I've served your honor these fifteen years 
 faithful as a dog, and now in my old age I'm kicked out, 
 though not past work." 
 
 She courtesied again, and went backward out of the 
 room into the passage. 
 
 Langford shut, slammed the door in her face. 
 
 " Is the woman a little touched here ? " asked the law- 
 yer, pointing to his forehead. 
 
 " Oh no, not a bit, only disappointed. She has spent 
 fifteen years in laying traps for me, and I have been wise 
 enough to avoid them all." Then he opened the door 
 suddenly and saw her there, in the dark passage, her face 
 distorted with passion and her fist raised. 
 
 " Mrs. Veale," said the yeoman, " lay the supper and 
 have done with this nonsense." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," she said, changing her look and 
 making another courtesy, " was it the marriage settlement 
 no-vr ? I suppose it was. I wish you every happiness, and 
 health to enjoy your new condition. Health and happi- 
 ness ! I'm to leave, and that young chick to take my place. 
 May she enjoy herself. And, Mr. Langford, may you 
 please; as long as you live, to remember me." 
 
 " Go along ! Lay the table, and bring in supper." 
 
 " What will you please to take, master .' " asked the 
 woman in an altered tone. 
 
 " Bring me some broth. I'll take no solids. I'm not 
 right yet. For the rest, the best you have in the house." 
 
 Mrs. Veale laid the table. The lawyer, Langford, 
 the carrier, and Honor were seated round the room, very 
 stifHy, silent, watching the preparations for the meal. 
 
 Presently, Honor started up. She was unaccustomed 
 
 to be waited upon, incapable of remaining idle. 
 20 
 
3o6 RED SPIDER. 
 
 " I will go help to prepare the supper," she said, and 
 went into the passage. 
 
 This passage led directly from the front door through 
 the house to the kitchen. It was dark ; all the light it 
 got was from the front door, or through the kitchen when 
 one or other door was left open. Originally the front 
 door had opened into a hall or reception-room with win- 
 dow and fireplace ; but Taverner had battened off the 
 passage, and converted the old hall into a room where he 
 kept saddles and bridles and other things connected with 
 the stables. By shutting off the window by the partition 
 he had darkened the passage, and consequently the kitch- 
 en door had invariably to be left open to light it. In 
 this dark passage stood Honor, looking down it to the 
 kitchen which was full of light, while she pinned up the 
 skirt of her best gown, so as not to soil it while engaged 
 in serving up the supper. As she stood thus she saw Mrs. 
 Veale at the fire stirring the broth for her master in an 
 iron saucepan. She put her hand to the mantel-shelf, took 
 down the china dog, and Honor saw her remove from its 
 inside a packet of yellow paper, empty the contents into 
 the pan, then burn the paper and pour the broth into a 
 bowl. In a moment Kate's story of the rat-poison in the 
 body of the dog recurred to Honor, and she stood para- 
 lyzed, unable to resolve what to do. ^ Then she recalled 
 the look cast at Taverner by Mrs. Veale as she was sign- 
 ing the settlement as witness. Honor reopened the parlor 
 door, went into the room again she had just left, and 
 seated herself, that she might collect her thoughts and de- 
 termine' what to do. Kate was not a reliable authority, 
 and it was not judicious to act on information given by 
 her sister without having proved it. Honor had seen Mrs. 
 Veale thrust the yellow paper into the flames under the 
 pot. She could not therefore be sure by examination that 
 
A BOWL OF BROTH. 307 
 
 it was the rat-poison packet. She remained half in a 
 dream while the supper was laid, and woke with a start 
 v/hen Taverner said, " Come to table all, and we will ask 
 a blessing." 
 
 Honor slowly drew toward the table ; she looked 
 round. Mrs. Veale was not there ; before Taverner stood 
 the steaming bowl of soup. 
 
 Langford murmured grace, then said : " Fall to. Oli- 
 ver Luxmore, you do the honors. I can't eat, I'm forced 
 to take slops. But I'm better, only I must be careful." 
 He put his spoon into the basin, and would have helped 
 himself, had not Honor snatched the bowl away and re- 
 moved it to the mantel-shelf. 
 
 "You must not touch it," she said. "I am not sure 
 — I am afraid — I would not accuse wrongfully — it is 
 poisoned ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 A BOWL OF BROTH. 
 
 The words were hardly out of Honor's mouth before 
 the party were surprised by a noise of voices and feet in 
 the kitchen, and a cry as of dismay or fear. A moment 
 after the tramp was in the passage the parlor door was 
 flung open, and Sam Voaden, Hillaiy Nanspian and his 
 father. Piper, Charles Luxmore, and Mrs. Veale came in, 
 the latter gripped firmly by Piper and Charles. 
 
 " Here I am," said young Luxmore, with his usUal 
 swagger, and with some elation in his tone, " here I am, 
 come to know what the deuce you mean, Mr. Langford, 
 charging me — a gentleman — not to the face but behind 
 the back, with- stealing your money? Look here, Sam, 
 
3o8 RED SPIDER. 
 
 produce the box. There is your cash — whether right or 
 not' I can not say. I have taken none of it. I did not 
 remove the case. Tell 'em where you found it, Sam." 
 
 " I found it in Wellon's Mound," said the young man 
 appealed to. " I've been to Plymouth after Charles. I 
 didn't believe he was a thief, but I'd hard matter to find 
 him. Howsomedever, I did in the end, and here he be. 
 He came along ready enough. He was out of money — 
 wanted to go to America, but had not the means of pay- 
 ing his passage, and not inclined to work it." 
 
 " I've lost a finger," exclaimed Charles. " How could 
 I work, maimed as I am .'—a wounded soldier without a 
 pension ! That is shameful of an ungrateful country." 
 
 " He took on badly," continued Sam, " when I told 
 him that Mr. Langford said he had stolen his cash-box 
 with a thousand pounds." 
 
 " I'm a Luxmore of Coombe Park," said Charles, 
 drawing himself up. " I'm not one of your vulgar thieves, 
 not I. Mrs. Veale did her best to tempt me to take it, 
 but I resisted it manfully. At last I ran away, afraid lest 
 she should over-persuade me and get me into trouble, 
 when I saw she had actually got the box. I ran away 
 from Mrs. Veale, and because ninepence a day wasn't 
 sufficient to detain me. I wasn't oversure neither that I 
 hadn't, against my intention, broke the neck of Larry 
 Nanspian. Now you know ray reasons, and they're good 
 in their way. Mrs. Veale, there, is a regular bad 'un." 
 
 " As soon as Sam returned with Charles,'' said Larry, 
 "they came on direct to Chimsworthy, and then Charles 
 told us the whole tale, how Mrs. Veale had shown him 
 where Mr. Langford kept his money, then how she'd en- 
 ticed him out on the moor to Wellon's Cairn, and had let 
 him see that she had carried off the box and concealed it 
 there. Charles told us that it was then that he ran away. 
 
A BOWL OF BROTH. 
 
 309 
 
 and frightened my horse so that I was thrown and in- 
 jured." 
 
 " There was nothing ungentlemanly or unsoldierlike 
 in my cutting away," exclaimed Charles. " Adam was 
 beguiled by Eve, and I didn't set myself up to be a better 
 man than my great forefather. I'd like to know which of 
 the company would like to be fondled by Mrs. Veale, and 
 made much of, and coaxed to run away with her ? She's 
 a bad 'un. It wasn't like I should reciprocate." 
 
 " When we had heard the story," continued Larry, " I 
 persuaded my father and Mr. Piper, who was at our house, 
 to come along with us and see the whole matter cleared 
 up. We went immediately to Wellon's Cairn, and found, 
 as Charles Luxmore said we should, a stone box or coffin, 
 hidden in the hill, with bushes of heather and peat over 
 the hole. That we cleared away, and were able to put 
 our hands in, and extracted from the inside this iron case. 
 It is yours, is it not, Mr. Langford ? " 
 
 He put the cash-box on the table, taking it into his left 
 hand from hi? father. 
 
 Taverner went to it and examined it. " Yes," he said 
 slowly, " this is the stolen box.'' 
 
 " The lock is uninjured, it is fast,'' said Charles ; "but 
 I can tell you how to open it. ' Ebal ' is the word this 
 year, and ' Onam ' was last year's word. Try the letters 
 of the lock and the box will fly open. I know ; Mrs. 
 Veale told me. A reg'lar bad 'un she be, and how she 
 has worreted me the time I've been here ! — at ninepence, 
 and Mrs. Veale not even good-looking." 
 
 " How about the five-pound note ? " asked Langford, 
 looking hard at Charles from under his contracted heavy 
 brows. " You can't deny you had that." 
 
 " What five-pound note ? — what five-pound note have 
 Ihad from you } " 
 
3IO 
 
 RED SPIDER. 
 
 " The note you gave us, Charles," explained his father. 
 
 " Oh, that ! Did it come from your box ? I did not 
 know it ; Mrs. Veale gave it me. Now, don't you glow'r 
 at me that way ! " ■ This was to the housekeeper, wljo 
 had turned her white, quivering face toward him. " Now 
 don't you try to wriggle or shiver yourself out of my hold, 
 for go you don't ; as you couldn't catch me, I've caught 
 you, and to justice I'll bring you ; a designing, harassing, 
 sweethearting old female, you be ! " He gripped her so 
 hard that she exclaimed with pain. " And to lay it on me 
 when I was gone ! To make out I — that am innocent as 
 the angels in heaven — was a thief ! And I, a Luxmore of 
 Coombe Park, and a hero of the Afghan War! — I, that 
 carried off the sandal-wood gates of Somnath ! I, a thief ! 
 I, indeed ! Mrs. Veale gave me, off and on, money when 
 I was short — I wasn't very flush on ninepence a day. A 
 man of my position and bringing up and military tastes 
 can't put up well with ninepence. I only accepted her 
 money as a loan ; and when she let me have a five-pound 
 note, I gave her a promise to pay for it when I came into 
 my property. How was I to know that five pound was 
 not -hers ? I suppose, by the way you ask, it was not ? " 
 
 "No," said Langford, "it was not ; it was taken from 
 my box." 
 
 " That is like her — a bad 'un down to the soles of her 
 feet. Wanted to mix me up with it and have evidence 
 against me. I reckon I've turned the tables on the old 
 woman — considerably." 
 
 " What do you say to this ? " asked Tavemer, direct- 
 ing his keen eyes on her face. She was flickering so that 
 it was impossible to catch her eyes. Her face was as, 
 though seen through the hot air over a kiln. 
 
 " I've been in your service fifteen years," she said, in a 
 voice as vibrating as the muscles of her countenance. 
 
A BOWL OF BROTH. 311 
 
 " I've been treated by you ho better than a dog, and I've 
 followed you, and been true to you as a dog. Whenever 
 did I take anything from you before ? I've watched for 
 you against the mice that eat the corn, watched like an 
 owl ! " 
 
 " You acknowledge this ? " 
 
 "What is the good of denying it? Let me go, for my 
 fifteen years' faithful duty." 
 
 " No, no," said Taverner with a hard voice. " Not 
 yet ; I've something more to ask. Honor Luxmore, what 
 did you say when you took my bowl of broth from me ? " 
 Honor drew back. 
 
 "I spoke too hastily," she said. "I spoke without 
 knowing." 
 
 " You said that the bowl contained poison. Why did 
 you say that .'' " 
 
 " It was fancy. Let me throw the broth away. I am 
 sure of nothing." Unlike her usual decision, Honor was 
 now doubtful what to say and dp. 
 
 " I insist on knowing. I made a charge against your 
 brother, and it has proved false, because it has been gone 
 into. You have made a charge — " 
 
 " I have charged no one.'' 
 
 " You have said that this bowl " — he took it from the 
 shelf — "is poisoned. Why did you say that.' No one 
 touched it, no one mixed it, but Mrs. Veale. Therefore, 
 when you said it was poisoned, you charged her with a 
 dreadful crime ; you charged her, that is, with an at- 
 tempted crime." 
 
 " I heard my sister say that she saw a yellow packet of 
 rat-poison in the china dog on the shelf in the kitchen," 
 said Honor nervously, " which — I do not mean the dog — 
 I mean the poison, which Mrs. Veale had bought at the 
 Revel, and when I was in the passage just now I saw Mrs. 
 
312 RED SPIDER. 
 
 Veale put the contents of this packet into the broth she 
 was stirring on the fire, before pouring it out into the 
 basin, in which it now is. But," continued Honor, draw- 
 ing a long breath, " but Kate is not very accurate ; she 
 sometimes thinks she sees a thing when she has only im- 
 agined it, and she talks at random at times, just because 
 she likes to talk." 
 
 " It was mace," said Mrs. Veale. 
 
 " Follow me," ordered Taverner Langford, taking the 
 basin between his hands, and going to the door. " Let 
 her go. She will follow me." 
 
 "I've followed at your heel as a dog these fifteen 
 years," muttered Mrs. Veale, " and now you know I must 
 follow till you kick me away." 
 
 Charles, however, would not relinquish his hold. 
 
 " Don't let her escape,'' entreated Charles ; " she's a 
 bad 'un, and ought to be brought to justice for falsely 
 charging me." 
 
 " Open the door, will you .' " said Taverner roughly. 
 " Mrs. Veale, follow me into the harness-room " — this was 
 the room on the other side of the passage, the room made 
 out of the entrance-hall. 
 
 Charles drew the woman through the door, and did 
 not relax his hold till he had thrust her into the apart- 
 ment where Langford wished to speak to her alone. 
 
 "Taverner and she were now face to face without wit- 
 nesses. The soft warm mist had changed to rain, that 
 now pattered against the window. The room was wholly 
 unfurnished. There was not a chair in it nor a table. 
 Taverner had originally intended it as an office, but as he 
 received few visitors he had come to use the parlor as 
 reception-room and office, and had made this apartment, 
 cut from the hall, into a receptacle for lumber. A range 
 of pegs on the wall supported old saddles and the gear of 
 
A BOWL OF BROTH. 313 
 
 cart-horses, and branches of bean-stalks, that had been 
 hung there to dry for the preservation of seed. An un- 
 pleasant, stale odor hung about the room. The grate had 
 not been used for many years, and was rusty ; rain had 
 brought the soot down the chimney, and, as there was no 
 fender, had spluttered it over the floor. The window 
 panes were dirty, and cobwebs hung in the corners of the 
 room from the ceiling — old cobwebs thick with dust. 
 Moths had eaten into the stuffing of the saddles, and, dis- 
 turbed by the current of air from the door, fluttered 
 about. In the corner was a heap of sacks, with nothing 
 in them, smelling of earth and tar. 
 
 " I've served you faithful as a dog," said Mrs. Veale. 
 " Faithful as a dog," she repeated ; " watched for you, 
 wakeful as an owl." 
 
 " And like a dog snarl and snap at me with poisoned 
 fangs," retorted Mr. Langford. " Stand there ! " He 
 pointed to a place opposite him, so that the light from the 
 window fell on her, and his own face was in darkness. 
 " Tell me the truth ; what have you done to this broth ? " 
 
 " If you think there's harm in it, throw it away," said 
 Mrs. Veale. 
 
 " No, I will not. I will send it to Okehampton and 
 have it analyzed. Do you know what that means ? Ex- 
 amined whether there be anything in it but good juice of 
 meat and water and toast.'' 
 
 "There's mace," said the woman ; "I put in mace to 
 spice it, and pepper and salt." 
 
 ~ " Anything else ? What do you keep in yellow paper, 
 and in the china dog ? " 
 
 " Mace — every cook puts mace in soup. If you-don't 
 like it throw it away, and I will make you some without." 
 
 " Mrs. Veale, so there's nothing further in the soup ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 21 
 
314 RED SPIDER. 
 
 " You warned me that a corpse-candle was coming to 
 the door^-nay, you said you had seen it travel up the 
 road and dance on the step, and that same night I was 
 taken ill." 
 
 "Well, did I Iwing the corpse-light? It came of 
 itself." 
 
 " Mrs. Veale, I am not generally accounted a generous 
 man, but I pride myself on being a just man. You have 
 told me over and over again that you have served me 
 faithfully for fifteen years. Well, you have had your way. 
 You served me in your own fashion, with your head full 
 of your own plans. You wanted to catch me, but the 
 wary bird don't hop on the limed twig, to use your own 
 expressions. I don't see that I'm much in your debt ; 
 if you_are disappointed in the failure of your plans, that's 
 your lookout ; you should have seen earlier that nothing 
 was to be made out of me. Now I am ready to stretch a 
 point with you. You have robbed me. Fortunately for 
 me, I've got my money and box back before you have 
 been able to make off with it. What were you waiting 
 for .' For my death ? For ray marriage ? Were you go- 
 ing to finish me because I had not been snared by your 
 blandishments ? I believe you intended to poison me." 
 
 " It's a lie ! " said Mrs. Veale hoarsely, trembling 
 in every limb, and with flickering lips and eyes and nos- 
 trils, and fluttering hair. 
 
 " Very well. I am content to believe so. I can, if I 
 choose, proceed against you at once — have you locked up 
 this very night for your theft. But I am willing to deal 
 even generously with you. It may be I have overlooked 
 your many services ; I may have repaid them scantily. 
 You may be bitterly disappointed because I have not 
 made you mistress of this house, and I will allow that I 
 didn't keep you at arm's length as I should, finding you 
 
A BOIVL OF broth: 315 
 
 useful. Very well. The door is open. You shall go 
 away and none shall follow, on one condition." 
 
 He looked fixedly at her, and her quivering became 
 more violent. She did not ask what his condition was. 
 She knew. 
 
 "Finish this bowl, and convince me you were not bent 
 on my murder." 
 
 She put out her hands to cover her face, but they 
 trembled so that she could not hold them over her eyes. 
 
 " If you refuse, I shall know the whole depth of your 
 wickedness, and you shall only leave this room under ar- 
 rest. If you accept, the moor is before you ; go over it 
 where you will." 
 
 He held the bowl to her. Then her trembling ceased 
 — ceased as by a sudden spasm. She was still, set in face 
 as if frozen ; and her eyes, that glared on her master, were 
 like pieces of ice. She said nothing, but took the bowl 
 and put it to her lips, and, with her eyes on him, she 
 drained it to the dregs. 
 
 Then the shivering, like a palsy, came over her again. 
 " Let me go," she said huskily. " Let none follow. 
 Leave me in peace." Langford opened the door and went 
 back into the parlor. Mrs. Veale stole out after him, and 
 those in the sitting-room heard her going down the pas- 
 sage like a bird, flapping against the walls on each side. 
 
 "Where is she going?" asked Charles. "She is not 
 to escape us. She's such a bad 'un, trying to involve me." 
 
 "I've forgiven her," answered Langford in a surly 
 tone. "I mayn't be over-generous, but I'm just." 
 
 "And now, Taverner, one word wi' you," said old 
 Nanspian; " I reckon you thought to sloke away this Red 
 Spider, as you did the first ; but there you are mistaken. 
 As I've heard, you have tried to force her to accept you 
 — who are old enough to be her father — shame be to you ! 
 
3i6 RED SPIDER. 
 
 But this is your own house, and I'll say no more on what 
 I think. Now, Taverner, I venture to declare you have 
 no more hold on the girl. Her brother never took your 
 money; you were robbed by your own housekeeper. 
 You say you've forgiven her because you are just. What 
 the justice is, in that, I don't see, but I do see one thing 
 clear as daylight, and that is, you've no right any more to 
 insist on Honor coming here as your wife, not unless by 
 her free will and consent, and that, I reckon, you won't 
 have, as Larry, my boy, has secured her heart." 
 
 Langford looked at Nanspian, then at Honor and 
 Larry ; at the latter he looked long. 
 
 " I suppose it is so," he said. " Give me the settle-^ 
 ment." He tore it to pieces. " I'll have nothing more 
 to do with women, old or young. They're all vexatious." 
 
 " Hark ! " They heard a wailing cry. 
 
 " Go and see what is the matter," said Langford to 
 Piper ; then, turning to Oliver, he said, " I tear up the 
 settlement but I'll not lend the hundred pounds." 
 
 " Larry ! " said old Nanspian, '' she sha'n't be sloked 
 away any more. Take the maid's hand, and may the 
 Lord bless and unite you." Then to Langford : " Now 
 look y' here, Taverner. Us have been quarreling long 
 enough, I reckon. You've tried your worst against us, 
 and you've failed. I've made the first advance on my 
 side, and uninvited come over your doorstep, a thing I 
 swore I never would do. Give me your hand, brother-in- 
 law, and let us forget the past, or rather let us go back to 
 a past before we squabbled over a little Red Spider. 
 You can't help it now ; Langford and Chimsworthy will 
 be united, but not while we old folk are alive, and Honor 
 will be a queen o' managers. She'll rake the maidens out 
 of their beds at five o'clock in the morning to make the 
 butter, and — " 
 
THE LOOK-OUT STOT^E. 317 
 
 Piper burst into the roora. " Mrs. Veale ! " he ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " Well, what of Mrs. Veale ? " asked Langf ord sharply. 
 
 " She has run out, crying like an owl and flapping her 
 arms^ over the moor, till she came to Wellon's Hill." 
 
 " Let her go," said Langford. 
 
 "She went right into the mound," continued Piper 
 breathlessly, " and when I came up she had crawled into 
 the stone coffin inside, and had only her arni out, and she 
 was tearing and scraping at the earth and drawing it down 
 over the hole by which she'd gone in — burying herself 
 alive, and wailing like an owl." 
 
 " Is there any money still hid there .' " asked Langford. 
 
 " She screamed at me when I came up, ' Will you not 
 leave me alone ? I be poisoned ! I be dying ! Let me 
 die in peace ! ' Whatever shall us do ? " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVin. 
 
 THE LOOK-OUT STONE. 
 
 One Sunday evening, a year after the events just re- 
 lated, Taverner Langford and Hillary Nanspian, senior, 
 were seated in the sun on the Look-out stone, in friendly 
 conversation. Nanspian was looking happier, more hale, 
 and prosperous than he had appeared since his stroke. 
 He wore the bsdger-skin waistcoat, and his shirt-sleeves. 
 The waistcoat had been relined with brilliant crimson 
 stuff; bright was the hue of the lining displayed by the 
 lappets. Taverner Langford had not a cheerful expres- 
 sion ; his hair was more grizzled than it was twelve 
 months ago, and his face more livid. There was, how- 
 ever, a gentler light in his eyes. 
 
3l8 RED SPIDER. 
 
 "It is a great change in Larry," said Nanspian. 
 " Though I say it, there never was a steadier and better 
 son. He is at work from morning to night, and is getting 
 the farm into first-rate order — ^you'U allow that ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Langford, " I'll allow he begins well ; 
 I hope it will last. As for first-rate order, that I will not 
 admit. ' One year's seeds, three years' weeds,' as Mrs. 
 Veale — " He checked himself. 
 
 "That were a queer creature," observed Nanspian, 
 taking the pipe from his mouth, and blowing a long puff. 
 " That was the queerest thing of all, her burying herself, 
 when she felt she was dying, in old Wellon's Grave." 
 
 " It was not his grave. It was a grave of the old an- 
 cient Britons." 
 
 "Well, it don't matter exactly whose the grave was. 
 Mrs. Veale seemed mighty set on making it her own." 
 He continued puffing, looking before him. " I'm not sure 
 you acted right about her," he said after a while. " I sup- 
 pose you didn't really suppose there was any poison in the 
 broth." 
 
 "I'm a just man," said Langford. "To do as you 
 were to be done by is my maxim. And — ^it's Gospel." 
 
 "But you didn't think it would kill her?" 
 
 " I don't know what I thought. I wasn't sure." 
 
 Another pause. 
 
 " Swaddledown ain't coming to the hammer after all," 
 said Nanspian. 
 
 " No, I'm glad the Voadens remain on." 
 
 " Ah ! and Sam is a good lad. I reckon before 
 Michaelmas he and Kate will make a pair. They'd have 
 done that afore if it had been settled whether Swaddle- 
 down would be sold, and they have to leave." 
 
 " Kate is too giddy to be any use in a farm." 
 
 " Oh, wait till she has responsibilities. See how well 
 
THE LOOK-OUT STONE. 
 
 3^9 
 
 she has managed since Honor has been here — how she has 
 kept the children, and made her father comfortable." 
 
 " The children are half their time at Chimsworthy. " 
 
 "Well, well, I like to hear their voices." 
 
 "And you see more than you like of Luxmore." 
 
 " Oh, no, I like to see a neighbor. I allow I'm a bit 
 weary of Coombe Park ; but bless you, now you and I 
 let him have a trifle, he spends most of his time when 
 not in the van rambling about from one parish to another 
 looking at the registers, and trying to find whether his 
 grandfather were James, or John, or Joseph, or Jonah. 
 It amuses him, and it don't cost much." 
 
 " He'll never establish his claim." 
 
 " I reckon he won't. But it's an occupation, and the 
 carrying don't bring him much money — just enough to 
 keep the children alive on." 
 
 " Have you heard of Charles lately } " 
 
 " Oh, he is on the road. That was a fine idea, mak- 
 ing a carrier of him between Exeter and Launceston. 
 There are so many stations on the way — there's Tap 
 House, and Crockernwell, and Sticklepath, and Okehamp- 
 ton, and Sourton Down Inn, and Bridestowe, and Lew 
 Down, and Lifton ; and he can talk to his heart's content 
 at each about what he did in Afghanistan, and what he 
 might be if his father could prove his claim to Coombe 
 Park. Then he's so occupied with his horses on Sundays 
 at Launceston that he can't possibly get over here to see 
 his relations, which is a mercy." 
 
 "I've been thinking," said Langford, "as we've got 
 Larry in for third feoffee in Coryndon's Charity, couldn't 
 we get the baby in for the fourth now there's a va- 
 cancy ? " 
 
 " But the baby ain't come yet, and I don't know 
 whether it'll be a boy or a maid." 
 
320 RED^ SPIDER. 
 
 " It would be a satisfaction, and a further bond of 
 union," argued Langford. " The Coryndon trust land 
 comes in very fitting with Langford and Chimsworthy, 
 and I thought that when you and I are gone, Larry 
 might absorb our feoffeeships into himself, as a snail 
 draws in his horns, and then there'd be only he and his 
 son, and when he himself goes, his son would be sole fe- 
 offee and responsible to no one. Coryndon's land comes 
 in very fitly." 
 
 " I- don't think it can be done," said Nanspian, shak- 
 ing his head. " There's such a lot of ramping and roar- 
 ing radicalism about. I thought we'd better put in Sam 
 Voaden. Thus it will be in the family." 
 
 " In the Luxmore, not in ours." 
 
 " We can't have everything," argued Nanspian, Then 
 both were silent again. Langford sighed. Presently he 
 said, " I'm a just man, and do like to see the property 
 rounded shapely on all sides. That is why I proposed it." 
 
 Then another pause. 
 
 Presently Hillary Nanspian drew a long pull at his 
 pipe, and sent two little shoots of smoke through his nos- 
 trils. " Taverner," said he, when all the smoke was ex- 
 pended, " going back to that woman, Mrs. Veale, I don't 
 think you ought to have taken me up so mighty sharp 
 about her. After all this is sifted and said, you must al- 
 low you stood afraid of her, and I allow that you had , a 
 right to be so. A woman as would steal your cash-box, 
 and make attempts on your heart, and poison your gruel, 
 no man need blush and hang his head to admit that he 
 was a bit afraid of." 
 
 "And, Nanspian," said Langford with solemnity, 
 " you will excuse my remarking that I think you took me 
 up far too testily when I said you was a long-tailed 
 orang-outang, for it so happens that the orang-outang is 
 
THE LOOK-aUT STONtl. 32 1 
 
 a tailless ape. Consequently, no offense could have been 
 meant, and should not ha' been taken." 
 
 " You don't mean to say so ? " 
 
 " It is true. I have it in print in a Nature History, 
 and, what is more, I've got a picture of an orang-outang, 
 holding a torn-off bough in his hand, and showing just ^ 
 enough of his back to let folks understand he's very like a 
 man. Well, I've a mind, as the expression I used about 
 you was repeated in the long room of the ' Ring of Bells,' 
 to have that picture framed and hung up there. Besides, 
 under it stands in print, 'The orang-outang, or tailless 
 ape. 
 
 " You will 'i Well, I always said you were a just man ; 
 now I will add you're generous." The brothers-in-law 
 shook hands. After a moment's consideration Nanspian 
 said, " I don't like to be outdone in generosity by you, 
 rfiuch as I respect you.' If it would be any satisfaction to 
 the parish of Bratton Clovelly, the weather being warm, 
 and for the quieting of minds and setting at rest all dis- 
 putes, I don't object to bathing once in the river Thrustle 
 before the feoffees of Coryndon's Charity, excepting Larry, 
 whom from motives of delicacy I exclude." 
 
 ."Well," said Langford, "I won't deny you're a lib- 
 eral-minded man." 
 
 Taverner sprang to his feet, and Nanspian also rose. 
 Over the stile from the lane came Honor, in her red 
 stockings and scarlet cloak, the latter drawn closely round 
 her. 
 
 " Why didn't you call us ? " said Nanspian. " We'd 
 have come and helped you over." 
 
 " You shouldn't be climbing about now," said Tav- 
 erner. 
 
 " Come and 'Sit between us on the Look-out stone," 
 said Nanspian. 
 
322 RED SPIDER. 
 
 So the two old men reseated themselves on the granite 
 slab with Honor between them. 
 
 " You tried hard to sloke her away," remarked Nan- 
 spian, shaking his head. 
 
 " Let bygones be bygones," said Langford. " She may 
 be here at Chimsworthy now, but she'll be at Langford 
 some day, I'm proud and happy to think." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Nanspian, " she's made a mighty change 
 in Larry, and, faith, in me also. I'm a happier man than 
 I was." He put his arm round behind Honor. 
 
 " I may say that of myself," said Langford. " I can 
 know that Langford will be made the most of after I'm 
 gone." He put his arm round her, and clasped that of 
 Nanspian. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Nanspian, in his old soft, furry, pleasant 
 voice, " if I'd a many score of faces in front of me, and I 
 were addressing a political meeting. I'd say the same as I 
 says now. Never you argue that what we was taught as 
 children is gammon and superstition, it's no such thing. 
 It has always been said that he who lays hold of a red 
 spider secures good luck, and we've proved it, Tavemer 
 and I, we've proved it. Us have got hold of the very 
 best and biggest and reddest of money-spinners between 
 us — us don't try to sloke her away to this side or to that. 
 Her belongs ekally to Chimsworthy and to Langford, to 
 myself and to Taverner, and blessed if there be a chance 
 for any man all over England of getting such another 
 ' treasure as this Red Spider which Taverner and I be hold- 
 ing atween us — ekally belonging to each." 
 
 THE END. 
 
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