Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 37, Number 14, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 February 1905 — CRIPPS, THE CARRIER [ARTICLE]

CRIPPS, THE CARRIER

BY R. D. BLACKMORE

Author of “LORN A DOONE,” “ALICE LORR AI N E,” ETC., ETC.

CHAPTER IV.—(Continued.) “This here bend be as good as any •flier;” said Cripps. though himself afraid of if. “What ails you, girl? What hath ailed you, ever since out "f Oxford town you collie? Is it a jail thou' be coming home to? Oxford turns the lend of thee.'’ —— "Now. Z«k, you know better than that. I would liefer be at Berkley any day. But I have been that frightened- since I passed this road on Tuesday night, that scarce a morsel could I eat or drink, and never sleep for dreaming." ’•Frightened, child! You make me ereep by talking so. There, wait till we be in our own lane —can’t spare tiie time now to speak of it." “Oh. but Zalr, if you please, you" must. I have had it on my mind so long. And 1 kept it for you. till wb got to the place, that you might go and see to it." They had stopped with the off wheel •f the cart within a few yards of the gap in the "hedge, where Esther began her search that night. She knew the place *t a glance, although in the snow it looked so different, and she van ter the gap and | •coped* as- if she expected to see it all again. In all the beauty of fair earth, few things are more beautiful than snow on clustering ivy leaves. Wednesday’s fall kad been shaken off; for even in the coldest weather, jealous winds and evaporation soon clear foliage of snow. But a little powdery shed of flakes had come at noon that, very day. like the flitting of a fairy; and every delicate star shone crisply in its cupped or pillowed rest. The girl was afraid to shake a leaf, because she had Iter best bonnet on; therefore she drew back and called the reluctant Zaechary to . ize. “Nort but a sigiit of snow,” said he; “it hath almost tilled old quarry up. Ilarse have rested, and so have we. Shan't be home by candle light. Wugg *tbei\, Dobbin. Wugg then, wilt ’a?" “Stop, brother, stop. Don't be in such a hurry. Something I must tell you now, that I have been feared to tell anybody else. It was so dreadfully terrible. Do you see anything in the snow down there ?'’ “As I am a sinner, there be something moving. Jump up into the cart. girl. I shall never get round with my things tonight." “There is something there, Znk. that will never move again. There is the dead body of a woman there.” "No romantics! No romantics!" the carrier answered as he turned away; but iiis cheeks beneath a week’s growth of heard turned ns white as the snow in the buckthorn. No living man might scare him —but a woman; and a dead one ■ ('itme. Znk,” cried Esther, having seen much worse than she was likely mow to see: “you cannot be afraid of 'romantics.' Zak, Come here and I will show thee." Driven by shame and curiosity, the valiant Cripps came back to her, and even allowed himself to be led a little way through the gap into the deep untrodden and drifted snow. She took him as far as a corner, whence the nook of the quarry was visible; and there with trembling lingers pointed to a vast billow of pure white, piled by the driving east wind over the grave, as she thought, of tile murdered one. “Enough,” he said, having heard her tale, and becoming at once a man again in the face of something real; “my dear, what a .right thou must have had! How couldst thou have kept it all this lime? I would not tell thee our news at home, for fear of terrifying thee in the cold. Hath dp one to Oxford told thee?" “Told me what? Oh, Zak. dear Zak. I am so frightened, I can hardly stand." “Then run. girl. run. We must go home, fast as ever we can, for constable." He took her to the cart, and, reckless «f Dobbin’s indignation, lashed him up the hill, and made him trot the whole length of Beckley Lane, then threw a sack over his loins, and left his Christaias parcels in the frost and snow, while Re hurried to Squire Oglander.

CHAPTER V. Worth Oglander sat in his old oak aliair. weary, and very low of heart, but not altogether broken down. He had sot been in bed since last Monday night, and had slept, if at all. in the saddle. ®r on the roof of the Henley coach. For miles he had scoured the country road, antil his three horses quite broke down, with the weather so much agaiust them: and nil the bran to be got in the village was made away with in mashes. His daughter, his only child, in whom all the rest of his old life lived and loved, was gone and lost; not even leaving knowledge of where she lay. or surety of a better meeting. His faith in God was true and firm; for on the whole lie was a pious man. although no great professor: and if it had pleased the Lord to take his only joy from his old age, lie could have tried to bear it. But thus to lose her, without good-bye, without even knowing how the lcfes befell, and with the deep misery of doubting what she might herself have done—only a chilly Stoic, or a remarkably warm Christian, could have borne it with resignation. The Squire was neither of these; but only a simple, kind and loving hearted gentleman; with many faults and among them a habit of expecting the Lord to favor him perpetually. And of this he could not quit him Self, in the deepest*, tribulation; but still expected ail things to be tempered to his happiness, according to his own ideas of'what happiness should be. And now, in the dusk of this cold day. Squire Oglander sat gazing from the window of bis dining roym; with his head (alien back, and-his white chin up, and lard-worn hands clasped languidly.' "Hi*' ikeavy eyes dwelled on the dreary snow that buried his daughter’s handiwork .—-the dwarf plants not to be traced, and (to tall ones only as soft hillocks, like .(to tufts in a great white .counterpane. 'Aad more and more, as the twilight deepeasd and the curves of white grew dim, to kept repeating below his voice, “Her wkading sheet, her winding sheet; and Vruwtty eyes wide open, perhaps!’’ •Haw. air, if please, you must — j

'you must." cried Mary Hookham, his best maid. (Tolling in with her thumbs turned back from a right hot dish, anil her lips tip as if she were longing to kiss him, to let our her feelings. "lime bo a duster, by nn\ of h t'Jttt lr* not TO stotcli the table, against Miss Grace coines' Initno again. Sir, if you idoase, you must ate a hit. Not a bit hiivo you aten sin' Tuesday, and it is enough to kill a carrier's horse.” The oid matt did his host to eat; for lie knew that lie must keep his strength ii)i. to abide tin* end of it. And Mary, without asking iettve. lit four good candles, and drew the .curtains* and made the tire cheerful. "All of its have our troubles." said Maty; '.'biijtthesg ■ here pickles is wonderful." “You are a good girl," answered theSquire; “and you deservo a good husband. Now. if either the man from Oxford. or voting Mr. (teers-liitte should come, show them in directly: but I can see no other person. No more, thank you. Take till away. Mary." Ilussel Oversliute, the heir of the O'vor--slmles at -Shotover, was a-.voting man who could sneak for himself, and did it sometimes too strongly. Ho had iong been taken prisoner by the sweet spoil oi (trace Oglander: and. being of a bold and fearless order, he had so avowed himself. But her father had always been against him; not from ''personal' disiike, hut simply because lie could not Lear his "wild political sentiments,” Worth Oglander was as staunch an old Tory as ever stood in buckram, although in social and domestic matters, perhaps, almost too gentle. Radical and rascal were upon his tongue the self-same word: and lie passed the salt with the back of his hand to even a mild Reformer. And now the door of the room was thrown open strongly, and in strode Russel Over sliute. “Will you kindly leave the room," he said to the sedulous Mary. “I wish to say a few words to the Squire of a private nature.” The young gentleman was a favorite with maid servants everywhere, because' lie always spoke to them "just the same as if they was ladies.” Mary made a bob of the order still taught at the village school and simpered, and departed. “Shake hands with me. Squire." said Oversliute. as Mr. Oglander arose, with cold dignity, and bowed to him. “You have sent for me; I rode over at once, the moment I heard of it. I returned from London this afternoon, having been there for a fortnight. When I hoard the news I was thunderstruck. What can I do to help you?" “I will not shake hands with you," answered the Squire, "until you have solemnly pledged your honor that you know nothing of this —of this—there, I have no word for it.!" Mr. Oglander trembled, though his eyes were stern. llis last hope of iiis daughter's lift* lay in the young man before him; and bitterly as lie would have felt the treachery of his only child, and deeply as ho despised himself for harboring such a suspicion—yet even that blow would be better thtm the alternative—the only alternative — her death. "I should have thought it quite needless,” young Oversliute answered, with some disdain, until he observed the filth er's face, so broken down with misery, “from any one bitt you, sir, it would have been an insult. If you do not know the Overshittes, you ought to knot? your own daughter.” "But against her will —against Iter will. Say that you took her against Iter will. You have been from home. For what else was it? Tell me the truth. Russel Overshot* —only the truth, and I will forgive you.” “You haven't anything to forgive, sir. Upon the word of an Englishman, I hadn't even heard of it.” The old man watched Ids clear, keen eye. with deep tears gathering in his own. Then Russel took his hand and led him tenderly to his hard oak chair. For a minute or two not a word eyas said; ljte young man doubting what to say, and the old one really not earing whether lie ever spoke again. At last lie looked lip and spread both hands, ns iT he groped forth from a heavy dream; and the rheumatism from so much nightwork caught him in both shoulder blades. “What is it? —what is it?” he cried. “I have lived a long time in this wicked world, and 1 have not found it painful.” "My dear sir,” liis visitor answered, pitying him sincerely, and hiding his own deep heartburn of anxiety, "may 1 say. without your being in the least degree offended, what I fancy—or of least. 1 mean, a thing that litis occurred to nte? You will take it for its worth. Most likely you will laugh at it; but taking my chnuce of that, may I say it? Will \ou promise not to be angry?” "I wish I could be angry. Russel. What have I to be angry for?” “A terrible wrong, if 1 am right, but not a purely hopeless one. I have not had time to think it out. because I have been hurried so. But. right or wrong, what I think is this —the whole is a foul scheme of Luke Sharprs." "Luke Sharp! My own solicitor! The most respectable man in Oxford! Overshute, you have made me hope, and then you dash me with balderdash!”

“Well, sir, I hay£,, no evidence at all; but I go by sometliTiTg I heard in London. which supplies the strongest motive, and 1 know, from my own family affairs, what Luke Sharp will do when he lias strong motive. I beg you to keep my guess quite secret. Not that I fear a score of such fellows, but that he would be times craftier if he thought we suspected him;- and he is crafty enough without that/ 1 "I will not speak of it,” the Squire answered; “such a crotchet is not worth speaking of, and it might get you into great trouble. With one thing and another now, I am ho knocked about that I cannot put two and two together.” The old man, in spite of fierce anxiety, long suspense and keen excitement, began to be so overpowered with downright bodily weariness that now he could scarcely keep his head from nodding, and his eyes from closing. The hope which had roused him, when Overshute entered, gone, and. despair took place of it;

tired body ond sad miud ltad lint a-very low heart to work them. Russel, with a strong man's pity, anil the love which must arise between one man anil another, wJLeu mall vanity vanishes, watched the i roejiing shades of slumber soften tin* lines of the harrowed face. As evening steals along a hillside where the sun has tyrannized, and spreads the withering and the wearying of the day with gentleness, and brings relief to rugged points, ami breadth of calm to every-r, tiling, so -the Squire's fine old face relaxed in slumber’s halo, and tranquil case began to settle on each yielding lineament; when open flew the door of the room, and Mary, at the top of her voice, exclaimed: “Plaize, sir, .Maister Cripps be .here.” CHARTER VI. “Confound that Cripps!” young Overshiito cried, with irritation getting the better ~f his larger elements; while the Squire slowly awoke and stared, and rubbed his gray eyelashes, and said that he really, was almost falling off, and he ought to be quite ashamed of himself. Then lie begged his visitor's pardon and asked what the matter was. “Sir, it is only that fool Cripps,” said the young man. "Some trumpery parcel, of course. They might have. let you rest for a minute or two." "No. sir, no! if you plaize. sir. nb!” (vied Mary, advancing with lier hands up. “Maister Cripps have seen something terrible, and he hath come straight to his Worship. lie be that out of 1 reath that lie was u forced-to lay hold of .me, before lie could stand—u’most! lie must have met them sheep stealers!” "Sheep. stealing again!” said Mr. OgInnger, who was an active magistrate. "M ell, let him come ;iii. I have troubles of my own; but I must attend to my duty." "Let nte attend to it." interposed the other, I icing also one of the “Great Unpaid. ' "You must not be pestered wish such things now.” "I am much obliged to you,” answered the Squire, rising, an i looking wide awake; "lint I will hear what he has to say myself. Of course, I shall be too glad of y e.tr aid, if you arc not in a hurry.” Mr. Oversliute knew that this fine old Justice, although so good in the main, was not entirely free from foibles, of which there was none more conspicuous than a keen and resolute jealousy if any brother magistrate dared to meddle with’ Beckley matters. At last the signal was passed that Cripps might now come on, and tell his tale; and lie felt as if lie should have served tl(em right by refusing to say anything. But when lie saw the Squire's jovial face-drawn thin with misery, and his sturdy form unlike itself, and the soft, puzzled manner in lieu of the old distinct demand to know everything, Zaccliary Cripps came forward gently, and thought of what ..e had to tell, with fear. "What is it. my good fellow?” askeJ the Squire. "Nothing amiss with your household, I sincerely hope? You are a fortunat.c titan, in one tiling—you kav« had no children yet." "Ay, a;y; your Worship is right enough there. The Lord lends they, and Hs takes them away. And the taking bd worse than- the giving was good," "Now, Master Cripps, we must not ta 1 k so. AU is meant for the best, J doubt.” “Her may be. Her tuny be," Crippf replied. "The Lord is the one to pronounce upon that, knowing liis own mailing best. But He do give very hard measure some time to them as have never desarvoil it. Now there be your poor Mi<s Grace, for Instance. As nice a young lady as ever lived; that humble, too, and gracious always, that ‘Cripps,’ she would : -■’v 'Master Cripps;’ she always give . ,iy proper title—‘Master Cripps,’ her always said, ‘let me mark it off. in your hat. for .votin’ —no matter whether it was my best hat. or the one with the grease eotne through.” "Very well, Cripps. I know all that. It is nothing to what my Grace was. And I hope, with God’s blessing, she will do it again. But what is it you are so full of, Cripps?” The carrier felt in the crown of his hat, and then inside the lining; as if he 1 1 ml something entered there."to help him in his predicament; and after that he could not help himself, but out with everything. (To be continued.)