Chapter 90
"Five thousand pounds!"
The rumour of it was repeated from mouth to mouth. In a small provincial bank, such a sum seemed unlimited. It gave universal confidence. Many who had been scrambling, swearing, almost fighting, to reach the counter and receive gold for their notes, put them again into their pockets, uncashed. Others, chiefly women, got them cashed with a trembling hand--nay, with tears of joy. A few who had come to close accounts, changed their minds, and even paid money in. All were satisfied--the run upon the bank ceased.
Mr. Halifax stood aside, looking on. After the first murmur of surprise and pleasure no one seemed to take any notice of him, or of what he had done. Only one old widow woman, as she slipped three bright guineas under the lid of her market-basket, dropped him a curtsey in pa.s.sing by.
"It's your doing, Mr. Halifax. The Lord reward you, sir."
"Thank you," he said, and shook her by the hand. I thought to myself, watching the many that came and went, unmindful, "ONLY THIS SAMARITAN!"
No--one person more, standing by, addressed him by name. "This is indeed your doing, and an act of benevolence which I believe no man alive would have done, except Mr. Halifax."
And the gentleman who spoke--the same I had seen outside in his curricle--held out a friendly hand.
"I see you do not remember me. My name is Ravenel."
"Lord Ravenel!"
John uttered this exclamation--and no more. I saw that this sudden meeting had brought back, with a cruel tide of memory, the last time they met--by the small nursery bed, in that upper chamber at Enderley.
However, this feeling shortly pa.s.sed away, as must needs be; and we all three began to converse together.
While he talked, something of the old "Anselmo" came back into Lord Ravenel's face: especially when John asked him if he would drive over with us to Enderley.
"Enderley--how strange the word sounds!--yet I should like to see the place again. Poor old Enderley!"
Irresolutely--all his gestures seemed dreamy and irresolute--he drew his hand across his eyes--the same white long-fingered, womanish hand which had used to guide Muriel's over the organ keys.
"Yes--I think I will go back with you to Enderley. But first I must speak to Mr. Jessop here."
It was about some poor Catholic families, who, as we had before learnt, had long been his pensioners.
"You are a Catholic still then?" I asked. "We heard the contrary."
"Did you?--Oh, of course. One hears such wonderful
"But are you of your old faith?" John said. "Still a sincere Catholic?"
"If you take Catholic in its original sense, certainly. I am a Universalist. I believe everything--and nothing. Let us change the subject." The contemptuous scepticism of his manner altered, as he inquired after Mrs. Halifax and the children. "No longer children now, I suppose?"
"Scarcely. Guy and Walter are as tall as yourself; and my daughter--"
"Your daughter?"--with a start--"oh yes, I recollect. Baby Maud. Is she at all like--like--"
"No."
Neither said more than this; but it seemed as if their hearts warmed to one another, knitted by the same tender remembrance.
We drove home. Lord Ravenel m.u.f.fled himself up in his furs, complaining bitterly of the snow and sleet.
"Yes, the winter is setting in sharply," John replied, as he reined in his horses at the turnpike gate. "This will be a hard Christmas for many."
"Ay, indeed, sir," said the gate-keeper, touching his hat.
"And if I might make so bold--it's a dark night and the road's lonely--" he added, in a mysterious whisper.
"Thank you, my friend. I am aware of all that." But as John drove on, he remained for some time very silent.
On, across the bleak country, with the snow pelting in our faces--along roads so deserted, that our carriage-wheels made the only sound audible, and that might have been heard distinctly for miles.
All of a sudden, the horses were pulled up. Three or four ill-looking figures had started out of a ditch-bank, and caught hold of the reins.
"Holloa there!--What do you want?"
"Money."
"Let go my horses! They're spirited beasts. You'll get trampled on."
"Who cares?"
This brief colloquy pa.s.sed in less than a minute. It showed at once our position--miles away from any house--on this desolate moor; showed plainly our danger--John's danger.
He himself did not seem to recognize it. He stood upright on the box seat, the whip in his hand.
"Get away, you fellows, or I must drive over you!"
"Thee'd better!" With a yell, one of the men leaped up and clung to the neck of the plunging mare--then was dashed to the ground between her feet. The poor wretch uttered one groan and no more. John sprang out of his carriage, caught the mare's head, and backed her.
"Hold off!--the poor fellow is killed, or may be in a minute. Hold off, I say."
If ever these men, planning perhaps their first ill deed, were struck dumb with astonishment, it was to see the gentleman they were intending to rob take up their comrade in his arms, drag him towards the carriage-lamps, rub snow on his face, and chafe his heavy hands. But all in vain. The blood trickled down from a wound in the temples--the head, with its open mouth dropping, fell back upon John's knee.
"He is quite dead."
The others gathered round in silence, watching Mr. Halifax, as he still knelt, with the dead man's head leaning against him, mournfully regarding it.
"I think I know him. Where does his wife live?"
Some one pointed across the moor, to a light, faint as a glow-worm.
"Take that rug out of my carriage--wrap him in it." The order was at once obeyed. "Now carry him home. I will follow presently."
"Surely not," expostulated Lord Ravenel, who had got out of the carriage and stood, s.h.i.+vering and much shocked, beside Mr. Halifax.
"You would not surely put yourself in the power of these scoundrels?
What brutes they are--the lower orders!"
"Not altogether--when you know them. Phineas, will you drive Lord Ravenel on to Beechwood?"
"Excuse me--certainly not," said Lord Ravenel, with dignity. "We will stay to see the result of the affair. What a singular man Mr. Halifax is, and always was," he added, thoughtfully, as he m.u.f.fled himself up again in his furs, and relapsed into silence.