CHAPTER III.

ON THE BARE PLAIN.

"In vain I look from height and tower, No wished-for form I see; In vain I seek the woodbine bower-- He comes no more to me."

So sang Rosaline Bell in the beams of the morning sun. They came glinting between the hyacinths in the window, and fell on the cups and saucers. Rosaline stood at the kitchen-table, washing up the breakfast-things. She wore a light print gown, with a white linen collar fastened by a small silver brooch.

An expression of intense happiness sat on her beautiful face. This old song, that she was singing to herself in a sweet undertone, was one that her mother used to sing to her when she was a child. The words came from the girl half unconsciously; for, while she sang, she was living over again in thought last night's meeting with Frank Raynor on the Bare Plain.

"Rosie!"

The fond name, called in her mother's voice, interrupted her. Putting down the saucer she was drying, she advanced to the staircase-door, which opened from the kitchen, and stood there.

"Yes, mother! Did you want me?"

"Has your father gone out, Rose?"

"Yes. He said he should not be long."

"Oh no, I dare say not!" crossly responded Mrs. Bell; her tone plainly implying that she put no faith whatever in any promise of the sort. "They'll make a day of it again, as they did yesterday. Bring me a little warm water in half-an-hour, Rose, and I'll get up."

"Very well, mother."

Rose returned to her tea-cups, and resumed her song; resumed it in very gladness of heart. Ah, could she only have known what this day was designed to bring forth for her before it should finally close, she had sunk down in the blankness of despair! But there was no foreshadowing on her spirit.

"'Twas at the dawn of a summer morn, My false love hied away; O'er his shoulder hung the hunter's horn, And his looks were blithe and gay.

"'Ere the evening dew-drops fall, my love,' He thus to me, did say, 'I'll be at the garden-gate, my love'-- And gaily he rode away."

Another interruption. Some one tried the door--of which Rosaline had a habit of slipping the bolt--and then knocked sharply. Rosaline opened it. A rough-looking woman, miserably attired, stood there: an inhabitant of one of the poorest dwellings in this quarter.

"I wants to know," cried this woman, in a voice as uncouth as her speech, and with a dialect that needs translation for the uninitiated reader, "whether they vools o' men be at work to-day."

"I think not," replied Rosaline.

"There's that man o' mine gone off again to the Golden Shaaft, and he'll come hoam as he did yesternight! What tha plague does they father go and fill all they vools up weth lies about they Whistlers for? That's what I'd like to know. If Bell had heered they Whistlers, others 'ud hev heered they."

"I can't tell you anything at all about it, Mrs. Janes," returned Rosaline, civilly but very distantly; for she knew these people to be immeasurably her inferiors, and held them at arm's-length. "You can ask my father about it yourself; he'll be here by-and-by. I can't let you in now; mother's just as poorly as ever to-day, and she cannot bear a noise."

Closing the door as she spoke, and slipping the bolt, lest rude Mrs. Janes should choose to enter by force, Rosaline took up her song again.

"I watched from the topmost, topmost height, Till the sun's bright beams were o'er, And the pale moon shed her vestal light-- But my lover returned no more."

Whether the men were still incited by a dread of the Seven Whistlers, and were really afraid to descend into the mines, or whether they used the pretext as an excuse for a second day's holiday, certain it was that not a single man had gone to work. Ross, the overseer, reiterated his threats of punishment again and again; and reiterated in vain.

As a general rule, there exists not a more sober race of men than that of the Cornish miners; and the miners in question had once been no exception to the rule. But some few years before this, on the occasion of a prolonged dispute between masters and men, many fresh workmen had been imported from distant parts of England, and they had brought their drinking habits with them. The Cornish men caught them up in a degree: but it was only on occasions like the present that they indulged them to any extent, and therefore, when they did so, it was the more noticeable.

Mr. John Float at the Golden Shaft was doing a great stroke of business these idle days. As many men as could find seats in his hospitable house took possession of it. Amongst them was Josiah Bell. Few had ever seen Bell absolutely intoxicated; but he now and then took enough to render him more sullen than usual; and at such times he was sure to be quarrelsome.

Turning out of the Golden Shaft on this second day between twelve and one o'clock, Bell went down the street towards his home, with some more men who lived in that direction. Dr. Raynor chanced to be standing outside his house, and accosted Bell. The other men walked on.

"Not at work yet, Bell!"

"Not at work yet," echoed Bell, as doggedly as he dared, and standing to face the doctor.

"How long do you mean to let this fancy about the Seven Whistlers hinder you? When is it to end?"

Bell's eyes went out straight before him, as if trying to foresee what and where the end would be, and his tones lost their fierceness. This fancy in regard to the Seven Whistlers--as the doctor styled it--had evidently taken a serious, nay, a solemn hold upon him. Whether or not the other men anticipated ill-fortune from it, most indisputably Bell did so.

"I don't know, sir," he said, quite humbly. "I should like to see the end."

"Are you feeling well, Bell?" continued Dr. Raynor, in a tone of sympathy--for the strange grey pallor was on the man's face still.

"I'm well enough, doctor. What should ail me?"

"You don't look well."

Bell shifted his stick from one hand to the other. "The Whistlers gave me a turn, I suppose," he said.

"Nonsense, man! You should not be so superstitious."

"See here, Dr. Raynor," was the reply--and the tone was lowered in what sounded very like fear. "You know of the hurt I got in the pit in Staffordshire--which lamed me for good? Well, the night before it I heard the Seven Whistlers. They warned me of ill-luck then; and now they've warned me again, and I know it will come. I won't go down the mine till three days have passed. The other men may do as they like."

He walked on with the last words. Mr. Blase Pellet, who had been looking on at the interview from over the way, gazed idly after Bell until he had turned the corner and was out of sight. All in a moment, as though some recollection came suddenly to him, Blase tore off his white apron, darted in for his hat, and ran after Bell; coming up with him just beyond the parsonage.

What Mr. Blase Pellet communicated to him, to put Bell's temper up as it did, and what particular language he used, was best known to himself. If the young man had any conscience, one would think that remorse, for what that communication led to, must lie on it to his dying day. Its substance was connected with Rosaline and Frank Raynor. He was telling tales of them, giving his own colouring to what he said, and representing the latter gentleman and matters in general in a very unfavourable light indeed.

"If he dares to molest her again, I'll knock his head off," threatened Bell to himself and the Bare Plain, as he parted with Pellet, and made his way across it, muttering and brandishing his stick. The other men had disappeared, each within his home. Bell was about to enter his, when Mrs. Janes came out of her one room, her hair hanging, her gown in tatters, her voice shrill. She placed herself before Bell.

"I've been asking about my man. They tells me he es in a-drinking at the Golden Shaaft. I'll twist hes ears for he when he comes out on't And now I'm a-going to have it out with you about they Whistlers! Ef the----"

Mrs. Janes's eloquence was summarily arrested. With an unceremonious push, Josiah Bell put her out of his way, strode on to his own door, and closed it against her.

Rosaline was alone, laying the cloth for dinner. Bell, excited by drink, abused his daughter roundly, accusing her of "lightness" and all sorts of unorthodox things. Rosaline stared at him in simple astonishment.

"Why, father, what can you be thinking of?" she exclaimed. "Who has been putting this into your head?"

"Blase Pellet," answered Bell, scorning to equivocate. "And I'd a mind to knock him down for his pains--whether it's true or whether it's not."

"True!--that I could be guilty of light conduct!" returned Rosaline. "Father, I thought you knew me better. As to Mr. Raynor, I don't believe he is capable of an unworthy thought. He would rather do good in the world than evil."

And her tone was so truthful, her demeanour so consciously dignified, that Bell felt his gloomy thoughts melt away as if by magic; and he wished he _had_ knocked Mr. Pellet down.

The day went on to evening, and tea was being taken at Dr. Raynor's. Five o'clock was the usual hour for the meal, and it was now nearly seven: but the doctor had been some miles into the country to see a wealthy patient, and Edina waited for him. They sat round the table in the best parlour; the one of which the bow-window looked on to the street; the other room was chiefly used for breakfast and dinner.

Its warm curtains were drawn before the window now, behind the small table that held the stand of beautiful white coral, brought home years ago by Major Raynor; the fire burned brightly; two candles stood near the tea-tray. Behind the doctor, who sat facing the window, was a handsome cabinet, a few choice books on its shelves. Frank, reading a newspaper and sipping his tea, sat between his uncle and Edina.

This was the night of the ball at The Mount. Edina was going to it. A most unusual dissipation for her; one she was quite unaccustomed to. Trennach afforded no opportunity for this sort of visiting, and it would have been all the same to Miss Raynor if it had. As she truly said, she had not been to a dance for years and years. Frank was making merry over it, asking her whether she could remember her "steps."

"I am sorry you accepted for me, papa," she suddenly said. "I have regretted it ever since."

"Why, Edina?"

"It is not in my way, you know, papa. And I have had the trouble of altering a dress.

"Mrs. St. Clare was good enough to press your going, Edina--she candidly told me she wanted more ladies--and I did not like to refuse. She wanted _me_ to go," added Dr. Raynor, with a broad smile.

"I'm sure, papa, you would be as much of an ornament at a ball as I shall be--and would be far more welcome to Mrs. St. Clare," said Edina.

"Ornament? Oh, I leave that to Frank."

"I dare say you could dance, even now, as well as I can, papa."

Something like a flash of pain crossed his face. _He_ dance now! Edina little thought how near--if matters with regard to himself were as he suspected--how very near he was to the end of all things.

"You looked tired, papa," she said.

"I am tired, child. That horse of mine does not seem to carry me as easily as he did. Or perhaps it is I who feel his action more. What do you say, Frank?"

"About the horse, uncle? I think he is just as easy to ride as he always was."

Dr. Raynor suppressed a sigh, and quitted the room. Frank rose, put his elbow on the mantelpiece, and glanced at his good-looking face in the glass.

"What time do you mean to start, Edina?"

"At half-past eight. _I_ don't wish to go in later than the card says--nine o'clock. It is a shame to invite people for so late an hour!"

"It is late for Trennach," acknowledged Frank; "but would be early for some places. Mrs. St. Clare has brought her fashionable hours with her."

At that moment, the entrance-door was pushed violently open, and an applicant was heard to clatter in, in a desperate hurry. Frank went out to see.

Mrs. Molly Janes was lying at home, half killed, in immediate need of the services of either Dr. or Mr. Raynor. Mr. Janes had just staggered home from his day's enjoyment at the Golden Shaft: his wife was unwise enough to attack him in that state; he had retaliated and nearly "done" for her. Such was the substance of the report brought by the messenger--a lad with wild eyes and panting breath.

"You will have to go, Frank," said the doctor. "I am sorry for it, but I am really not able to walk there to-night. My ride shook me fearfully."

"Of course I will go, sir," replied Frank, in his ready way. "I shall be back long before Edina wants me. What are Mrs. Janes's chief injuries?" he asked, turning to the boy.

"He heve faaled on her like a fiend, master," answered the alarmed lad. "He've broke aal her bones to lerrups, he heve."

A bad account. Frank prepared to start without delay. He had left his hat in the parlour; and whilst getting it he said a hasty word to Edina--he had to go off to the cottages on the Bare Plain. Edina caught up the idea that it was Mrs. Bell who needed him: she knew of no other patient in that quarter.

"Come back as quickly as you can, Frank," she said. "You have to dress, you know. Don't stay chattering with Rosaline."

"With Rosaline!" he exclaimed, in surprise. "Oh, I see. It is not Mrs. Bell who wants me; it is Molly Janes. She and her husband have been at issue again."

With a gay laugh at Edina's advice touching Rosaline, and the rather serious and meaning tone she gave it in, Frank hastened away. The fact was, some odds and ends of joking had been heard in the village lately, coupling Frank's name with the girl's, and they had reached the ears of Edina. She intended to talk to Frank warningly about it on the first opportunity.

When about half-way across the Bare Plain, Frank saw some man before him, in the moonlight, who was not very steady on his legs. The lad had gone rushing forward, thinking to come in at the end of the fight; should it, haply, still be going on.

"What, is it you, Bell!" exclaimed Frank, recognizing the staggerer as he overtook and passed him. "You've had nearly as much as you can carry, have you not?" he added, in light good-nature.

It was Bell. Stumbling homewards from the Golden Shaft. A very early hour indeed, considering the state he was in, for him to quit the seductions of that hostelry. He had been unwise enough to go back to it after his dinner, and there he had sat until now. Had he chosen to keep sober, the matter whispered by Blase Pellet would not have returned to rankle in his mind: as he did not, it had soon begun to do so ominously. With every cup he took, the matter grew in his imagination, until it assumed an ugly look, and became a very black picture. And he had now come blundering forth with the intention of "looking out for himself," as ingeniously suggested by Blase Pellet that day when they were parting. In short, to track the steps and movements of the two suspected people; to watch whether they met, and all about it.

"Perhaps other folks will have as much as they can carry soon," was his insolent retort to Frank, lifting the heavy stick in his hand menacingly. At which Frank only laughed, and sped onwards.

A terribly savage mood rushed over Josiah Bell. Seeing Frank strike off towards Bleak Row, he concluded that it was to his dwelling-house he was bent, and to see Rosaline. And he gnashed his teeth in fury, and gave vent to a fierce oath because he could not overtake the steps of the younger man.

Bursting in at his own door when he at length reached it, he sent his eyes round the room in search of the offenders. But all the living inmates that met his view consisted of his wife in her mob-cap and white apron, knitting, as usual, in her own chair, and the cat sleeping upon the hearth.

"Where's Rosaline?"

Mrs. Bell put down her knitting--a grey worsted stocking for Bell himself--and sighed deeply as she gazed at him. He had not been very sober at dinnertime: he was worse now. Nevertheless she felt thankful that he had come home so soon.

"She's gone out!" he continued, before Mrs. Bell had spoken: and it was evident that the fact of Rosaline's being out was putting him into a furious passion. "Who is she with?"

"Rose went over after tea to sit a bit with Granny Sandon. Granny's worse to-day, poor thing. I'm expecting her back every minute."

Bell staggered to the fireplace and stood there grasping his stick. His wife went on with her knitting in silence. To reproach him now would do harm instead of good. It must be owned that his exceeding to this extent was quite an exceptional case: not many times had his wife known him do it.

"Where's Raynor?" he broke out.

"Raynor!" she echoed, in surprise. "Do you mean Mr. Frank Raynor? I don't know where he is."

"He came in here a few minutes ago."

"Bless you, no, not he," returned the wife, in an easy tone, thinking it the best tone to assume just then.

"I tell ye I saw him come here."

"The moonlight must have misled you, Josiah. Mr. Raynor has not been here to-day. Put down your stick and take off your hat: and sit down and be comfortable."

To this persuasive invitation, Bell made no reply. Yet a minute or two he stood in silence, gazing at the fire; then, grasping his stick more firmly, and ramming his hat upon his head, he staggered out again, banging the door after him. Mrs. Bell sighed audibly; she supposed he was returning to the Golden Shaft.

Meanwhile Frank Raynor was with Mrs. Molly Janes. Her damages were not so bad as had been represented, and he proceeded to treat them: which took some little time. Leaving her a model of artistically-applied sticking-plaster, Frank started homewards again. The night was most beautiful; the sky clear, except for a few fleecy clouds that now and then passed across it, the silvery moon riding grandly above them. Just as Frank came opposite the Bottomless Shaft, he met Rosaline, on her way home from Granny Sandon's.

They stopped to speak--as a matter of course. Frank told her of the affray that had taken place, and the punishment of Molly Janes. While Rosaline listened, she kept her face turned in the direction she had come from, as though she were watching for some one: and her quick eyes discerned a figure approaching in the moonlight.

"Good-night--you pass on, Mr. Frank," she suddenly and hurriedly exclaimed. "I am going to hide here for a minute."

Darting towards the Bottomless Shaft, she took refuge amongst the surrounding mounds: mounds which looked like great earth batteries, thrown up in time of war. Instead of passing on his way, Frank followed her, in sheer astonishment: and found her behind the furthest mound at the back of the Shaft.

"Are you hiding from _me?_" he demanded. "What is it, Rosaline? I don't understand."

"Not from you," she whispered. "Why didn't you go on? Hush! Some one is going to pass that I don't want to see.

"Who is it? Your father? I think he has gone home."

"It is Blase Pellet," she answered. "I saw him at the shop-door as I came by, and I think he is following me. He talks nonsense, and I would rather walk home alone. Listen! Can we hear his footsteps, do you think, sir? He must be going by now."

Frank humoured her: he did not particularly like Blase Pellet himself, but he had no motive in remaining still, except that it was her wish. On the contrary, he would have preferred to be going homewards, for he had not much time to lose. Whistling softly, leaning against the nearest mound, he watched the white clouds coursing in the sky.

"He must have passed now, Rosaline."

She stole cautiously away, to reconnoitre; and came back with a beaming face.

"Yes," she said, "and he has gone quickly, for he is out of sight. He must have run, thinking to catch me up."

"I wonder you were not afraid to go through the mounds alone and pass close to the Bottomless Shaft!" cried Frank, in a tone of raillery, no longer deeming it necessary to lower his voice. "Old Sandon's ghost might have come up, you know, and carried you off.

"I am not afraid of old Sandon's ghost," said Rosaline.

"I dare say not!" laughed Frank.

In a spirit of bravado, or perhaps in very lightness of heart, Rosaline suddenly ran through the zigzag turnings, until she stood close to the mouth of the Shaft. Frank followed her, quickly also, for in truth he was impatient to be gone.

"I am listening for the ghost," said she, her head bent over the yawning pit. It was a dangerous position: the least slip, one incautious step nearer, might have been irredeemable: and Frank put his arm round her waist to protect her.

Another half-moment passed, when---- They hardly knew what occurred. A howl of rage, a heavy stick brandished over them in the air, and Rosaline started back, to see her father. Old Bell must have been hiding amongst the mounds on his own score, looking out for what might be seen.

Down came the stick heavily on Frank's shoulders. An instant's tussle ensued: a shout from a despairing, falling man; a momentary glimpse of an upturned face; a cry of horror from a woman's voice; an agonized word from her companion; and all was over. Francis Raynor and the unhappy Rosaline stood alone under the pitiless moonlight.