CHAPTER XXIX.

THE STORY OF THE DEAD-ALIVE.

“Mark, mark, Ulysses! how the gods preserve The men they love, even in their own despite! They guide us, and we travel in the dark! But when we most despair to hit the way And least expect, we find ourselves arrived!”

_Lansdowne._

Black Morris drew his chair to his mother’s side, took her hand lovingly in his own, and proceeded to tell his story:--

“When I met Bill Buckley,” said he, “in Thurston Wood, I was struggling with a terrible temptation to take my own life, and so put an end to my remorse for a wasted life and my fear of justice together. Since that strange meeting with Mr. Clayton on the Bexton highway I had lost all taste for the evil courses and companionships which had so long disgraced my life. The idea of going back to them filled me with a loathing that I can’t express, and I resolved to break with them for ever. The thought of Jesus dying for His enemies, of Mr. Clayton’s gentle kindness and forgiving love, with that ugly scar upon his cheek, of my mother’s weakness and the minister’s visit to her, upset me entirely, and I felt that I was too bad to live. I went about from one place to another like a man in a dream. I kept meeting with the fellows whose company I hated, and I could not get away from them without appearing, at any rate, to be the same as usual, though I believe they were led to suspect that I was not altogether to be depended on. Things were like that up to the evening of Kesterton Fair. I had been away to Gowthorp, to my Aunt Emma’s, to get out of the road of a lot of fellows that I knew would want me to go to the revels; but I felt so wretched that I could not stop anywhere, and so it was that I was on the Kesterton Road, when Bill Buckley, Dick Spink, and another chap, were on the look-out for Old Crabtree. I refused to join them, when Bill Buckley seized me like a vice, and with murder in his eyes declared that I should not leave them till they had ‘settled with Old Crabtree.’ Mother!” said Black Morris, “I had nothing to do with it, but the whole thing was done in a few minutes, and when Spink hit the old man a blow on the head which might have killed an ox, I managed to break away from Buckley, and ran to the poor old fellow’s help. He fixed his eyes on me, with a look such as I shall never forget, and said, ‘Black Morris! I know you!’ He fell senseless directly after, and I felt that I should be charged with highway robbery, and perhaps with murder. What happened after I hardly know. I roamed about from place to place, expecting every moment to be seized and punished for the crime. I said to myself it’s no use; you’ve sold yourself to the devil, and must submit to the bargain.” Here his voice faltered, and his hearers could not repress a murmur of sympathy. “I felt myself to be the most forlorn and hopeless wretch in the world. I found myself at last in Crib Corner, a dark, low, sheltered spot in Thurston Wood, where I used to hide my gun and other things. I heard a voice as plainly as I hear my own this minute, ‘It’s all up with you, Black Morris! You can’t repent, and you’re sure to be hanged. You had better shoot yourself like a man and balk them all.’ I believe I should have done it, but for God’s mercy. I went out with the gun in my hand, and walked rapidly up and down, saying, I will; I will! Then I heard the cracking of the brushwood, and I stood face to face with Bill Buckley! All the hate of a thousand devils seized me at once. I clutched my gun, and my hands shook with excitement as I heard the voice, as plain as ever, ‘Shoot him, Black Morris; it’s the man who has put the halter round your neck!’ He sneered at me and chuckled at the scrape he had brought me into. I answered him in a passion; one word led to another; at last I told him that the paper money had gone back to Old Crabtree. I was about to tell him that I had told him of my innocence. Before I could finish the sentence he yelled out, ‘Thoo black d----!’ and lifting his gun, he fired at me. I seemed to feel an awful blow on my head, sharp pains shot through my neck and face, everything reeled round me, and I fell senseless on the ground. When I came to my senses I found myself swimming, for you know I was always a good hand at that, swimming, as naturally as though I had had my reason all the time. I heard the roar and rush of water, and in a moment was floated along the cascade, and plunged fathoms down into the deep pit below. I remember its being awfully dark and cold. I had risen to the surface again on the further side of the pit, and having recovered my breath, found myself at the mouth of the shallow stream which feeds the fish-ponds. The rush of water helped me through the opening, and seizing the grass and bushes on the bank I managed to scramble out, to find myself laid on the grass in Waverdale Park. For a long time I lay motionless and helpless, though fully sensible, and I fancied I heard my father’s voice at some distance having high words with somebody.”

“Bless my soul!” said Piggy Morris, strangely stirred; “that must have been when I met with the young squire!”

“A severe and smarting pain in my head roused me,” said Black Morris, continuing his startling story, “and then I recollected all about it. I found that the skin, flesh, and hair had gone from near one temple, that part of my ear was shot away, and I could feel some grains of shot beneath the skin of my neck. My plunge into the cold and rapid waters of the beck had stopped the bleeding. I felt that Bill Buckley had missed his aim by an inch, and that, for good or evil, my life was spared. I do not know whether you believe me, but there and then, wounded and weak as I was, I fell upon my knees and thanked God. I prayed as I had never prayed since I was a child. ‘Lord have mercy on my poor soul!’ I said, ’and the life Thou hast spared shall be Thine for ever!’ Mr. Clayton’s words about Jesus praying for His enemies came into my mind, and I said, ‘Jesus! I have been Thy enemy, pray for me.’ Mother mine! there and then I felt and knew that I was forgiven; I seemed to hear a voice from the skies saying to me, ‘Go in peace and sin no more!’ I got up with a strange peace in my heart, such as I had never felt before.” Here Black Morris’s voice failed him, and he burst into tears. Mother and sister wept in tender and thankful joy. Mr. Clayton looked at Piggy Morris through his own tears, and saw two pearly drops falling unhindered down the father’s bearded and sunburnt face.

“New strength was given me,” continued Black Morris, “I bound my head with my handkerchief, and was preparing to move away, when I heard voices in the park. The remembrance of Old Crabtree’s murder, for as such my fears had painted it, came back upon me like a thunderbolt. I knew that I should now be in danger of a more successful attack from Buckley, so silently stealing off under the shadow of the hedge, I gained the shelter of Thurston Wood.”

“What a pity,” said Mr. Clayton, “that you did not follow the voices, or go straight home to Midden Harbour!”

“I know it now,” said Morris, “but I could not get rid of my horror of the gallows and of Bill Buckley’s hate. I had a new and passionate love for life, and longed to get to some distant place, where, unknown, unnoted, I could begin a new and better career. I struck across the country, and found myself at last by a little solitary inn on the turnpike road to Hull. The landlady regarded me with a good deal of suspicion, but as I paid for some refreshment, and told her I had fallen into some water, and should pass on after I had dried my clothes, she did not further interfere. At last I found myself in Hull, and got a job at some oil mills, and both there and at my lodgings, in a quiet street, I felt that I was comparatively safe from observation and pursuit; but, somehow or other, my peace of mind was gone; all my new hatred of self and sin was as great as ever, but still I had lost the joy and comfort which came to me in Waverdale Park. Then I thought about my mother, and I began to feel that I had done wrong to go away. Somebody seemed to say, ‘What doest thou here?’ I tried to pray, but could not, until one night after I had got to bed, I tossed and sighed and grew so wretched that I got out of bed, and falling on my knees, I said, ‘Oh! my God! tell me what to do?’ ‘Go home!’ was the instant and powerful impression on my mind. ‘That’s God’s orders,’ I said, and went to bed again with the settled resolve to start for Nestleton as soon as Saturday came. As I was returning to work after the dinner hour next day, I was walking along Silver-street when I heard a well-known voice shout, ‘Black Morris!’ and I saw Old Adam Olliver standing with his hands uplifted and both eyes and mouth open, in unmistakable surprise. He stared and looked so thoroughly thunderstricken as to attract the attention of the passers-by. When I advanced to meet him, the old man drew back a few paces, but said never a word.

“‘Hallo! Adam Olliver!’ said I. ’Is that you?’

“‘The Lord hae massy on us! Black Morris! are ye alive?’ and again the old man started back in undisguised astonishment. ‘Why, all Nestleton thinks ’at you’er layd at t’ bottom o’ Thurston Beck!’

“I felt half inclined to be thankful that this was so, because it put any search for me on Old Crabtree’s account out of the question, and with that feeling came one of sorrow that he had found me out. The thought of my mother’s bitter grief, however, soon dissipated that idea, and I felt how wrong it had been of me to go away. All this passed through my mind in a moment. I said, ‘How is my mother, Adam?’

“The old man smiled, as he answered,--

“‘Just middlin’. Ah’s glad ’at you’ve ax’d efther hor. Ye’r heart’s somewhere’s i’ t’ right spot; an’ t’ best thing yo can deea is te gan streyt away yam an’ see ’er. Bud, bless my sowl, Black Morris! are yo’ alive?’

“He told me he had come to Hull, a greater journey than he had ever taken in his life, to see an aged and dying sister; that he had closed her eyes in peace, and was returning the next day.

“‘An’ you’ll gan wi’ ma’, weean’t yo’?’ said he.

“I replied, ‘I will. But tell me where you are staying, and I’ll come and see you.’

“From him I learnt the pleasing news that Old Crabtree had survived his injuries; that he was in all respects an altered man; and that he had expressed his opinion that I was innocent of the outrage that nearly took his life.

“‘Bud,’ said Adam, ‘there’s a pratty peck o’ trubble aboot you. They say ’at t’ yung squire was fun’ i’ t’ spot wheer yo’ were kill’d, wi’ your gun iv his hand, an’ your blood on his clooas; an’ ’at he murder’d yo’ iv a quarrel aboot Lucy Blyth. Ah nivver beleeaved it, though ah did think ’at somebody ’ad shutten yo’. Maister Philip’s a good lad, an’ wadn’t ho’t a worm. It’s throan ’im intiv a brain feeaver, an’ t’ poor aud squire’s varry near fit for Bedlam wi’ sorro’. Gan yer ways yam, Morris, as fast as ye’r legs’ll carry yo’, an’ put t’ poor aud man oot ov ’is misery.’

“I reached Waverdale Hall late at night, and told the squire all about it. He insisted, in his gratitude, that I should stay all night, and so it happened that when Bill Buckley, the housebreaker, saw me, he fell on the stairs like a dead man, shrieking, ‘Black Morris’s ghost!’ And now, mother,” said he, as he concluded his stirring recital, “I’m back again to be a comfort and a help to you; and never again, by God’s help, to cause you a sigh or a tear.”

The proud and happy mother, like the parent of the prodigal in the unmatched Gospel story, “fell upon his neck and kissed him.”

“Father,” said Black Morris, “I’ve been a bad and reckless son; forgive _me_, once for all.”

Piggy Morris rose from his chair, took the two hands of his son in his, and said,--

“Son Jack, a greater brute of a feyther never made a lad go wrong. Forgive _me_, once for all.”

Mary was utterly overcome at this, and flinging her arms around her father’s neck, kissed him on either cheek, which was in itself a deed unknown from childhood until now.

“Let us pray,” said Mr. Clayton. That good man lifted up his voice in praise and prayer; and no happier, holier scene took place on that cold December day, and no more sweetly solemn spot was looked upon by angels than that which was sheltered by the roof-tree of Piggy Morris.