"As for letting Simon give in his notice as we'd fixed, I don't know as it'll make that much differ, after all. There's my eyes, for one thing, as I mentioned before. Blind folk is only a nuisance wherever they be, but they're a real, right-down nuisance on a farm. And Geordie'll want more nor a farm, I reckon, wi' all yon bra.s.s to splash. He'll want summat wi' stables and gardens and happen fishing an' all,--a grand gentleman's spot, likely, same as the Hall itself."

Mrs. Will felt the world wheeling rapidly about her, and tried to clutch at it as it went. Her temples throbbed and her throat worked, and her staring eyes went blind. She groped her way to the window, and flung up the stiff sash; and, as she stood there, drawing panting breaths, Simon and Will came sauntering through the yard. Her eyes, clearing again in the rush of air, caught the incipient smile on Simon's face, the new signs of interest and life in his whole look. He could know nothing about the great news, if what Sarah said was true; the utmost that he could do was to sense it in the air. But his look of subtle contentment was a sufficient annoyance in itself. It was the last straw, indeed, which broke the back of Eliza's self-control. When she turned again her words and her breath came with the leap of a mountain stream.

"I wonder you're not afraid, Sarah Thornthet, to be setting there reeling off lies like hanks o' cotton off a bobbin! Happen you're just thinking you'll get a rise out o' me and mine, but if that's the best you can do by way of a joke, well, I think nowt on't, and so I tell you!

Geordie coming home wi' bra.s.s! Geordie wanting the Hall and suchlike!

Nay, Sarah, I might ha' believed the rest wi' a bit o' pulling and pushing, but yon last's taking it over far. Why, I'd as lief believe he was going to get the King's Crown right out, wi' mappen Witham Town Hall for a spot to live in! As for thinking o' me and my feelings and suchlike stuff, you've never troubled that much about 'em to start bothering now. There's only two ways about it, Sarah, and I reckon I know which it is. It's either a smart lie you've been telling from end to end, or else it's never Geordie that's coming, but our Jim!"

She choked when she came to the last words, both from sudden nervousness, and lack of breath, and again Sarah gave her well-bred laugh.

"I wouldn't be as hard o' faith as you, Eliza," she said placidly,--"not for a deal! It's you, not me, would have heard if Jim was coming home.

What's Jim to do wi' me?"

"He'd a deal to do wi' you when he was in England, as everybody knows!

Nay, you hated the sight o' him,--that's true enough,--but you were right keen on trying to set him agen me, all the same. What, the last letter I had from him,--and terble saucy an' all,--was blacking me over summat I'd said of you as his lordship didn't like! Nay, if he come home, Sarah, he'd come to you, not me, and right glad you'd be to have him while he'd a penny before his teeth! Ay, and why shouldn't our lad ha' done as well as yours, and happen better, come to that? He was the smarter lad o' the two, and come o' smarter folk,--ay, but he did now, Sarah, so you'll kindly shut your mouth! You've only to look at the way we've done at Blindbeck, me and Will, and then at the mess o' things you've made at yon pig-hull on the marsh! It stands to reason our lad would be the likely one to make out, just as it isn't in reason to expect owt from yours!"

She came a step nearer as she finished, twisting her plump hands, her voice, as it mounted higher, full of bewilderment and angry tears.

"Will you swear to it Jim isn't coming, Sarah?" she demanded,--"will you swear? Will you swear as it isn't my lad that's coming and not yours?"

Sarah said, "Ay, I will that!" in a hearty tone, and with such absolute readiness that Eliza bit her lip. "If you've a Bible anywhere handy,"

she went on tranquilly, "I'll swear to it right off."

But already Eliza had drawn back in order to follow a fresh trail.

Quite suddenly she had perceived the only means of getting at the truth.

"Nay, I'll not trouble you," she sneered. "'Tisn't worth it, after all.

I shouldn't like our grand Family Bible to turn yeller wi' false swearing! Geordie's letter'll be proof enough, Sarah, now I come to think on. I'll believe owt about Halls and suchlike, if you'll show me that!"

She came a step nearer still, holding out her hand, and instantly Sarah's lips tightened and her eyes narrowed. She might have had a dozen sacred letters about her, from the look of her, at that moment.

It might have been Geordie's face itself that she guarded from the touch of Eliza's hands.

"Ay, I'd be like to show you his letter, wouldn't I?" she answered, with a wicked smile. "You and me have been such terble friends all these years,--I'd be like to show you owt from my bonny lad! Nay, Eliza, you know I'd shove it in t'fire unread, afore I'd let you as much as clap eyes on a single word!"

Eliza wheeled away from her with an angry oath, and began to walk to and fro, setting the loose planks jumping and creaking under her feet, and the china rattling and clinking on the shelves. Her hands worked in and out of each other with convulsive movements, and now and then she flung out her heavy arms. She was working herself into one of those storms which the folk at the farm knew only too well, but Sarah, who was the cause of it, did not seem to care. She, too, however, was breathing faster than before, and a faint colour had stayed in her waxen cheek.

She still felt as if, in that last bout, she had protected something vital from Eliza's hands.

"I'll be bound it's Jim!" Eliza was saying senselessly, over and over again. "I'll swear it's Jim!" ... It was like a giant's voice, Sarah thought to herself, the voice of a cruel, clumsy giant-child. "You're telling a lie, Sarah,--a nasty lie! You're jealous, that's what it is,--jealous and mean! _Geordie_ wi' bra.s.s? Not likely! ... Nay, it's Jim!"

"It's plain enough it's the bra.s.s you're after and nowt else," Sarah said in her cool tones. "You'd have no use for the poor lad if he come back without a cent!"

But even while the words were on her lips, Eliza, creaking to and fro, was brought to a sudden halt. The thing that held her was a photograph of Jim, catching her eye in its frame of crimson plush. If he had been older when it was taken, it would have been banished long ago, but here he was only a mischievous baby, struggling in his mother's arms. Eliza stared at it as she stood in front of the mantelpiece, and quite suddenly she began to cry. The tears poured down her face, and her hands trembled and her body shook. Into the brutal voice came a note at which Sarah, unable to trace the cause, yet quivered in every nerve.

"Nay, then, Sarah, you're wrong, Sarah, you're dead wrong! I'd be glad to see him just for himself, I would that! He's been nowt but a trouble and disappointment all his life, but I'd be glad to see him, all the same." She put out the plump fingers which Sarah loathed, and drew them caressingly over the baby face. "I can't do wi' failures," she added brokenly; "they make me wild; and Jim was the only failure Blindbeck ever hatched. But for all that he was the bonniest baby of the lot, and there's times I never remember nowt but that. There's days I just ache for the sound of his voice, and fair break my heart to think he'll never come back."

There was no doubting the sincerity of her grief, and the big sobs shaking their way through her shook Sarah, too. Her own lips trembled, and her eyes filled; her hands quivered on the arms of the chair. She could not see the pitiful fingers stroking the child's face, but she who had offered that worship herself needed little help to guess. She had her revenge in full as she sat and listened to the pa.s.sion that never dies, forcing its way upward even through Eliza's leathern soul; but the revenge was a two-edged sword that wounded herself as well. All the generosity in her that was still alive and kind would have sprung to the surface instantly if the story had been true. She would have groped her way to Eliza's side in an effort to console, and perhaps the lifelong enemies might have drawn together for once. But the story was not true, and she had nothing to offer and no right of any sort to speak. She could only sit where she was and suffer and shake, hating herself more in this moment of absolute conquest than she had ever hated Eliza in her darkest hour.

But, as a matter of fact, Eliza's grief would have pa.s.sed before she could even have tottered to her feet. Her own lips were still shaking when Eliza's had hardened again; her own eyes were still wet when Eliza's were dry with hate. The pa.s.sion which for a brief moment had been selfless and sincere was turned once again into the channel of jealous rage. She swung round so swiftly that her sleeve caught the little frame, and it fell forward unnoticed with a sharp tinkle of broken gla.s.s.

"There's summat wrong about it all," she cried venomously, "and I'll not rest till I find out what it is! What's Geordie mean by landing up so smart, and leaving our Jim a thousand mile behind? It's a nasty sort o'

trick, if it's nothing worse, seeing how they were thick as thieves as lads. I'll tell you what it is, Sarah, and you may swallow it as you can,--if Geordie's gitten bra.s.s, it's because he's robbed it off our Jim! Like enough he's put an end to him for it, the poor, honest lad--knifed him ... finished him ... put him out o' the road...!"

The fierce malice of the voice penetrated into the pa.s.sage, and carried its message into the kitchen and the yard. Will and Simon heard it at the stable door and looked at each other and turned instantly towards the house. Pa.s.sing the parlour window, they saw the women rigid on their feet, and felt the current of hate sweep strongly across their path. They had a glimpse of Sarah's face, white, blind and quiet: and Eliza's, vindictive, purple, and bathed with furious tears. Her heavy tone beat at the other's immobility as if with actual blows, and the gla.s.s in the cabinet rang and rang in sweet reply. Will quickened his pace as he neared the house, for he knew that Eliza did not always stop at words. Indeed, her hands were reaching out towards Sarah's throat at the very moment he stepped inside.

"Whisht, can't ye, Eliza!" he ordered roughly, his voice harsh with the swift reaction from the little s.p.a.ce of content through which he and his brother had just pa.s.sed. "What's taken you, missis, to be going on like yon?"

He was now in the parlour, with Simon at his heels, while the company from the kitchen cl.u.s.tered round the door. Peering into the tiny arena round each other's heads, they giggled and whispered, curious and alarmed. Sarah could hear them stirring and gurgling just beyond her sight, and felt their rapacious glances fastened upon her face. Sally tried to push her way through to her aunt's side, but was stopped by the solid figure of Elliman, set in the very front. The lads had forsaken the milking to run to the window and peep in, and a dog lifted its bright head and planted its forefeet on the sill. All the life of the place seemed drawn to this little room, where at last the women were fighting things out to the very death.

"What's amiss, d'ye say?" Eliza echoed his speech. "Nay, what isn't amiss! Here's Sarah has it her Geordie's a-coming home, but never a word as I can hear about our Jim!"

The eyes of the brothers met in a startled glance, and the red came painfully into Simon's face. Before they could speak, however, Eliza swept their intention from them like a western gale.

"What's come to Jim, I want to know? Why isn't it our Jim? Geordie's made his pile, so Sarah says, but I can't hear of a pile for Jim. He's dead, that's what it is! ... Geordie's finished him, I'll swear! He's robbed him! ... knifed him! ... given him a shove in t'beck...!"

Again she made that threatening movement towards Sarah's throat, but Will put out his hand and caught her by the wrist. Both the giggles and whispers had died a sudden death, and the lads at the window pressed nearer and looked scared. Sally succeeded at last in forcing her way through, careless that Elliman suffered severely as she pa.s.sed.

"For goodness' sake, stop it, mother!" she cried sharply. "You're fair daft! Can't you wait to make a stir till Geordie's landed back? He'll tell us right enough then what's happened to our Jim."

"He'll tell us nowt--nowt----!" Eliza began again on a high note, but Simon threw up his hand with a sudden snarl.

"Whisht, can't ye! You fair deafen a body, Eliza!" he flung out.

"What's all this stir about Geordie coming back?"

"It's a lie, that's what it is!" Eliza exploded again, and again he silenced her with an angry "Whisht!" He kept his eyes on her a moment longer, as if daring her to speak, and then let them travel slowly and almost reluctantly to his wife's face. He opened his lips to address her and then changed his mind, turning instead to the crew beyond the door.

"Tell me about it, can't you?" he demanded angrily. "One o' you speak up! Emily Marion--Addison--you wi' the fat face!" He jerked a contemptuous thumb at Elliman, who went crimson with extreme disgust.

"One o' you tell me the meaning o' this precious hullaballoo!"

Elliman looked across to Sally for help, but did not get it. Instead, she turned her eyes away, ignoring his appeal.

"It's hardly my place to enlighten you, sir," he said, with an offended shrug, "but I don't mind telling you the little I know. Apparently your son Geordie is expected soon, and with a fat purse in his pocket to buy him a welcome home."

"Geordie's coming back, d'ye say?" Simon stared at him with bewildered eyes.

"So Mrs. Thornthwaite has given us to understand."

"And wi' bra.s.s? Plenty o' bra.s.s? _Geordie_ wi' bra.s.s?"

"Enough and to spare, if all we're told is true."

"Ay, but that's just what it isn't!" Eliza broke out on a peac.o.c.k scream, and this time Will actually shook her into silence. The poignancy of the moment had hushed the rest of the audience into complete quiet. There was no sound in the room but Eliza's breathing as Simon turned again to look at his wife.

"What's it all about, Sarah?" he asked quietly, though his voice shook.

"You never said nowt about Geordie coming to me."

In the pause that followed Sally drew away from her aunt's side, as if conscious that this moment was for the two of them alone. The silence waited for Sarah's answer, but she could not bring herself to speak. In the heat of her victory she had forgotten that Simon also would hear the lying tale. It was the only hitch in the splendid machinery of the lie, but it was enough in itself to bring the whole of it to the ground.

Here was Simon in front of her, asking for the truth, and if a hundred Elizas had been present she could still have given him nothing but the truth. But indeed, at that moment, Eliza, and all that Eliza stood for, was swept away. In that hush and sudden confronting of souls Sarah and Simon were indeed alone.

"Geordie's never coming, is he, Sarah?" he asked anxiously. "Nay, you've dreamed it, my la.s.s! And he's rich, d'ye say?--why, that settles it right out! Why, it was n.o.bbut the other day he was writing home for bra.s.s!"