"But this is not all, Gertrude, dear, that I have to tell you.

I wish you to guess a little. I have seen our cousin, Mr.

Trevethlan, who was at your party, you know. There is the first chapter of my romance. You are coming here soon, and then you shall know more. Till then, and always, believe me, your most affectionate sister,

"MILDRED PENDARREL."

CHAPTER X.

Here, a bold, artful, surly, savage race-- Who, only skilled to take the finny tribe, The yearly dinner, or septennial bribe, Wait on the sh.o.r.e, and as the waves run high, On the lost vessel bend their eager eye, Which to their coast directs its venturous way-- Theirs, or the ocean's, miserable prey.

Crabbe.

"Did you hear what they're saying in the village yonder, Master Randolph?" old Jeffrey asked, as Trevethlan was pa.s.sing through the gate, on the day after the party. "All the grand doings at Pendar'l?"

Randolph started a little.

"I saw the light in the sky," the warder continued, "and was thinking whose stacks had been fired this time, only it didn't last long now. And they tell me 'twas the squibs and things that were let off to entertain the company like."

"Then there was a party at Pendarrel last night?" Randolph said, in an inquiring tone.

"A party! Indeed I should say there was," Jeffrey answered. "Why, sir, all the country was there from far and wide; all but ours from Trevethlan! And Squire Melcomb of Tolpeden, over the hill yonder, that the folks say is to marry Miss Mildred."

Randolph smiled. "What," said he; "is that so publicly known?"

"It seems like it," Jeffrey said. "But there's strife on foot between our people and Pendar'l. There's a deal of grumbling and threatening down there on the green. They do say as the wedding is fixed for quite soon."

Randolph asked no more, but proceeded on his way. He had not got far from the gates when he met the unrequited lover, Edward Owen. The rustic seemed desirous to say something, for he lingered after making his salute.

"What is it, Edward?" his master asked, "what is the matter?"

"Why, sir, then the folks are just wanting to know what this law-suit is about. You see, sir, we think Pendar'l ha' got quite enough as was ours, and we ought to have some back, rather than give up any more. And the country's a little unquiet just now, and there's no saying exactly what may happen."

"And I am sorry to hear, Edward," Randolph said, "that you have been concerned in the disquiet. It will lead to no good."

"Sir," answered Owen, colouring, "you do not know how I have been urged on. And, for the others, there's a deal wrong in the country at this time."

"But this is not the way to right it, Owen," his master observed. "No good will be done by these night-meetings, and threats, and violence. It is not the way to set things right. You cannot frighten people into doing what you wish. And if you are mixed up with these wrong-doers, you will get into mischief. You will be led further than you meant to go."

Owen muttered some words, either of contrition or of discontent, and pursued his way. It was true that the ferment in the country had considerably increased. The labouring population met almost every night on some point of the moorlands, and although no outrage of much consequence had yet been perpetrated by these mobs, they yet kept up a continual feeling of alarm.

Nor was the danger by any means chimerical. If hitherto no greater mischief had occurred, it was probably rather from the want of sufficient daring in a leader, than of any good will among the ma.s.s. And this requisite seemed now likely to be supplied, by an event which happened on the hill-side between Lelant and St. Ives.

A small river there expands into a creek, the sh.o.r.es of which rise rapidly from the water's edge, sometimes cultivated, and sometimes waste, frequently chequered with trees, occasionally broken by ma.s.ses of rock--always rugged and picturesque. High upon one of the untilled portions, under the shelter of a ledge of slate, stood a low, straggling cottage, constructed of _cob_, and thatched with fern, of which the whitewashed front by day, and a light in the window by night, were visible far out at sea. On the over-hanging rock was a spot showing signs of fire, that commonest and simplest of signals, in by-gone years too often used in these western districts to lure mariners to their destruction; when the skipper, navigating by the fallacious beacon, was startled by the cry of "breakers ahead!" confounded by the crash of his ship's striking, and overpowered by a horde of lawless depredators, unaccustomed in their thirst for plunder, to respect life. But the fierceness of the wreckers, if it still tainted the blood of the peasantry, quailed under the law; and their organ of acquisitiveness now led them to the milder occupation of smuggling. If, in these days, a fire ever burned on the rock in question, it was a friendly warning concerning the fate of some brandy or Hollands, supposed to lurk under the broad lug-sails which the telescope had detected in the offing, and coveted with much zest in many a dwelling on the sh.o.r.e.

This cottage was the abode of Gabriel Denis, a man whose stalwart form and firm step showed that fifty years sat light upon him; while his swarthy, weather-beaten visage, grizzled hair, and resolute eye, told of a life, which hardship and peril had familiarised with endurance and boldness. Some few years before the opening of this narrative, on a dark and stormy night, when a rich landing of spirits and tobacco repaid the country-folks about Zennor for the want of sleep, Denis was found in the morning to have been left behind by the smart schooner which had run boldly under the cliffs in the gloom, and which was then almost beyond the range of gla.s.ses. His desertion did not, however, seem to be unexpected by himself, for there were several chests left with him, and also an olive-complexioned woman, whom it appeared he called wife, and a girl about ten years old, whom he styled daughter.

Denis knew very well that there was no danger of a smuggler's being betrayed by the people, yet for some time he lived with great privacy, and thereby attracted the attention which he wished to avoid. In the dusk of evening he used to wander far over the country, and was known not unfrequently to cross the isthmus from St. Ives to Marazion, and stroll along the beach, or over the cliffs, in the direction of Trevethlan Castle. He seemed to listen attentively to the gossip of all the folks about him, and sometimes let fall a remark which indicated a previous acquaintance with the locality. And at such times he would glance round the company as if in search of a recognition.

At length, a.s.sured perhaps of his situation, he obtained possession of the cottage we have described, and retired thither with his wife and child. He was evidently deeply attached to the dark-featured woman, and watched all who approached her with extreme jealousy. She was still very handsome, but pa.s.sionate in temper to excess, and also quick to take affront, partly, perhaps, because she was but imperfectly acquainted with the English language. It required all her husband's watchfulness to avoid perpetual quarrels.

For it was soon discovered that the whitewashed cottage contained a store of those liquors which seem to lead mankind into temptation, universal and irresistible. Now a man, known _sub rosa_ to retail smuggled spirits, was not likely to enjoy a perfectly quiet life; a drinking-bout often ends in a battle; Bacchus is the herald of Mars. And whenever such a tumult arose, Gabriel's wife was sure to be vocal in the fray. But Denis possessed a right powerful arm, and knew how to use it: and his customers learned to listen patiently to the strange jargon of Felipa, in wholesome fear of the iron hand of her spouse.

Gabriel's house had become a rendezvous for some of the agitators of the district, who were wont to a.s.semble there at nightfall, and discuss their schemes of outrage under the inspiration of Nantz and Schiedam.

Hitherto, these had proved almost wholly abortive; but, as Owen vaguely intimated to the owner of Trevethlan, they now a.s.sumed a more threatening aspect, and some inhabitants of that hamlet were foremost among the violent. There had been much question concerning the law-suit between their master and the squire of Pendarrel. Its existence had become generally known, not only by the service of numerous summonses to attend the trial, but also by placards, offering liberal rewards for any information respecting the supposed murder of Mr. Ashton, and the disappearance of Wyley, the missing witness to Margaret Ba.s.set's marriage. The rumours regarding that mysterious union, already revived, were stimulated anew by these demonstrations: and the agitation and discontent of the surrounding population were quickened by an indistinct apprehension of some new calamity impending over the family, to which, in spite of everything, they were still strongly attached.

Denis himself had kept aloof from the deliberations, usually held on the turf in front of his dwelling. All he desired was to maintain his wife and child as quietly as he might, on the proceeds of his illicit traffic. But at last, on the very eve of the a.s.sizes which were to develope the plot against Trevethlan Castle, the smuggler was doomed to lose his occupation, under circ.u.mstances which might have well nigh maddened any man, and much more, one whose life had been like that of Gabriel Denis. Long suspicious, the revenue officers had become at length certain, and swooped upon their prey. The victim blockaded his abode, as best he could, and opposed a gallant resistance to the oppressors. But they were sure of their game, and the defence was fruitless. Yet Denis struggled with them still, when they had effected an entrance: and then, overpowered by numbers, he had the mortification to see the officers, acting evidently on some traitor's information, immediately detect the secret door which led to a natural cave in the rock behind the cottage, and haul forth from that receptacle divers kegs of the precious fluids intended to recreate the lieges of the neighbourhood, but destined for their sovereign's storehouse at Lelant.

Gabriel, in sulky silence, had given up all resistance. But not so his wife. Enraged beyond control, and heedless of her husband's remonstrances, she threw herself furiously upon the captors. It is always difficult to struggle with a woman. Felipa had s.n.a.t.c.hed a pistol from the belt of one of the officers, and in the effort to disarm her, the weapon exploded, and laid her lifeless on the ground. A moment's pause of sorrow and surprise followed, during which Gabriel's little girl threw herself, with loud cries, upon her mother's body, and he himself, after one wild look of despair, flew up the hill-side like the wind.

The officers recovered, and gave chase, but to no effect. The smuggler got clear off. There was nothing to be done but to secure the seizure, and remove the body of the unfortunate victim. The little girl accompanied the train.

The news of the transaction flew far and fast. But it did not prevent the conspirators--if the word is not above their deserts--from resorting to their usual haunt the same evening. They lay, six or seven in number, in various att.i.tudes on the turf in front of the ruined cottage, in the irresolute and objectless mood of which many a plot has perished.

Agreeing in a desire, either for wanton mischief or for their neighbours' goods, they could not make up their minds how to begin. The cowardice, which always attends the doing of wrong, lay heavy on their hearts, and made their hands powerless.

But Gabriel Denis came down the hill and joined the criminal divan.

Trained in a lawless life, burning with the desire for revenge, heedless of the manner, he brought into the a.s.sembly the pa.s.sion and energy for which it had before sought in vain. He listened awhile to the incoherent gabble of the agitators, and then startled their indecision by a direct proposition of his own. His speech was cold, and his words were few; yet there was not a man who heard him, but knew that he meant what he said.

And when the little party dispersed, it was with a confident feeling, that the next meeting of their adherents at Castle Dinas would not terminate in the same inoffensive manner as previous musters of the same nature.

CHAPTER XI.

Peace, brother, be not over-exquisite To cast the fashion of uncertain evils; For grant they be so, while they rest unknown, What need a man forestall his date of grief, And run to meet what he would most avoid?

Milton.

The summonses referred to in the last chapter had been very widely distributed among all those of the tenantry of Trevethian, who had been cotemporaries of poor Margaret Ba.s.set. They were, in fact, issued almost at random, in order that the defendant in the trial might have at hand every possible means of reb.u.t.ting his adversary's case. But they were not confined to the dependents of the castle: old Maud Ba.s.set and her daughter, Cecily, also received subpoenas, and Michael Sinson was greatly startled by being served with one himself.

Mr. Winter had offered some early opposition to Randolph's desire to hurry on the matter without delay. His experience taught him to look with hope to the discovery of a clue to the plaintiff's intentions, and he would gladly have avoided the risk even of a temporary defeat. There was, too, ample reason for postponement, in the chance, however slight it might be, of finding the missing witness, Wyley; and in the short s.p.a.ce, there would otherwise intervene, for ascertaining as much as possible of the clergyman, Mr. Ashton. All these considerations, however, gave way to the urgency with which Randolph insisted on despatch. And as there is a way, even in law, where there is a will, and the other side were at least as anxious for an issue, the cause was brought to a condition, for trying at the a.s.sizes which were now commencing.

It may not be uninteresting to the reader, to see the exact position, stripped of technicalities, in which the parties stood at going into court. The question between them was one of inheritance merely, and of a very simple kind. Randolph's great grandfather left two sons by different marriages, Arthur, the eldest, and Philip, the present claimant of the property at stake. Arthur was the father of only one son, Henry. It will be seen, therefore, that in default of any will, and of Henry's dying without family, the estates would revert to Philip.

There was no will to interfere, for Henry, in his, merely appointed guardians of his children, and made no bequests. He considered it a matter of course that the children would inherit. And so they would, if the marriage of which they were the offspring, were legal. But if this marriage were not duly performed, or the children supposit.i.tious, Philip would become heir to the property.

It was, therefore, almost self-evident, that the claimant's case would rest upon the insufficiency of Randolph's father's marriage. So to this point was directed the main attention of his legal advisers. But every presumption was in favour of its perfect legality. All the dark suggestions which subtilty could imagine, vanished one after another, in the light thrown upon them by Henry Trevethlan's own conduct. If there were a fraud, it must have been without his cognizance, for it would have defeated his supposed object. But if he were not privy, what motive could be ascribed to any other party? It was impossible, for obvious reasons, to impute anything of the kind to the friends of the bride.

Baffled in every conjecture, Mr. Winter could only take means for procuring the presence of everybody, who, by any remote contingency, might be able to contribute to the overthrow of the claimant's case.

For in this sort of action the parties meet at the trial totally ignorant of each other's intentions. For instance, in this case the claim might be made, either under an alleged will, or a sale and conveyance of the property, or on the ground that the holder was not the legitimate heir. And supposing the first case, the defendant might say, either that the will was forged, or was made when the testator was of unsound mind, or was revoked by a later. So wide is the field for surprise. And consequently it frequently happens, that the t.i.tle to a disputed estate is very far from established by a single verdict; but that in a series of trials, the parties alternately upset one another's successive positions, until the ground is exhausted, and the matter finally set at rest.

We have seen that the approach of the contest caused great excitement in the hamlet of Trevethlan. It was an agitation not unmixed with shadowy dread. The presentiments and forebodings which had long afforded a theme for the village guidance, were discussed more anxiously than ever. The old people recollected every little coincidence attending a death in the family, or the severance of an estate, and detected something parallel at the present time. Some aged folks listened at night for the wailing cries which ought to echo around the old grey towers on the eve of a calamity; and when none such mingled with the gentle sighing of the west wind, they interpreted this very softness into a sign, declared the unnatural warmth of the season was a certain token of ill, and remembered some similar year when disaster visited the castle. Of course, this state of feeling reacted within its walls, and revived the terrors of the domestics. In spite of Helen's contradiction to Mercy Page, the wiseacres of the hamlet insisted on peopling the gloomy galleries with visitors from another world, and some of the more eager occasionally watched the windows at night, in the hope of being terrified and having a story to tell.

It had been well if these night-fancies were all that disturbed the people. But not a few of them were speculating already on what should be done, in case the forebodings were verified by the result. And here, had it been known, was a veritable cause for alarm. Randolph himself would, perhaps, have trembled, if he had been aware what his dependents were meditating, as they supposed for his advantage, but at all events for their own satisfaction.

For some time after his interview with Mildred, the gloom and moroseness which beset him previously, had vanished. Strong in the hope and trust inspired by that meeting, he became frank and unreserved in his intercourse with the villagers, lively and agreeable in his circle at home. Helen and Polydore rejoiced at the change, without knowing its origin. It showed itself in the smile with which he heard Jeffrey's announcement of Miss Pendarrel's approaching marriage. "Simple people!"