Chapter 7

This was blow number two for George Fielding. The third stroke on that day was the arrest of Mr. Robinson who had been staying at The Grove as a lodger. Mr. Robinson dressed well, too well, perhaps, but somehow the rustics wouldn't accept him for a gentleman. George had taken a great liking to his lodger, and Mr. Robinson was equally sincere in his friendship for Fielding. And now it turned out that the fools who had disparaged Robinson were right, and he, George Fielding, wrong. Before his eyes, and amidst the grins of a score of gaping yokels, Thomas Robinson, alias Scott, a professional thief, was handcuffed and carried off to the county gaol.

This finished George. An invitation to go out to Australia with the younger son of a neighbouring landowner, hitherto disregarded, was now accepted.

Old Merton approved the decision, and when his daughter implored him not to let George go, he replied plainly, to both of them:

"Susan! Mayhap the lad thinks me his enemy, but I'm not. My daughter shall not marry a bankrupt farmer, but you bring home a thousand pounds--just one thousand pounds--to show me you are not a fool, and you shall have my daughter, and she shall have my blessing." And the old farmer gave George his hand upon it.

Meadows exulted, thinking, with George in Australia, he could secure his own way with Susan and old Merton. He had forgotten one man; old Isaac Levi, of whom he had made an implacable enemy, by insisting on his turning out of the house where he lived. Meadows, having bought the house, intended to live in it himself, and treated the prayers and entreaties of the old Jew with contempt. Only the interference of George Fielding, on the day of his own ruin, had saved old Levi from personal violence at the hands of Meadows; and so while George was sinking under the blows of fortune, he had made a friend in Isaac Levi.

Before George sailed William promised that he would think no more of Susan as a sweetheart.

"She's my sister from this hour--no more, no less," he declared. "And may the red blight fall on my arm and my heart if I or any man takes her from you--any man! Sooner than a hundred men should take her from you while I am here I'd die at their feet a hundred times."

William kept his eye on Meadows, but Meadows soon had William in his clutches. For John Meadows lent money upon ricks, waggons, leases, and such things, to farmers in difficulties, employing as his agent in these transactions a middle-aged, disreputable lawyer named Peter Crawley--a cunning fool and a sot.

First William Fielding, and then old Merton were heavy debtors to Peter Crawley, that is to John Meadows; for Merton, a solid enough farmer, was beguiled into rash and ruinous speculations by a friend of Meadows'.

And now George Fielding is gone to Australia to make a thousand pounds by farming and cattle-feeding, so that he may marry Susan. Susan, at home, is often pensive and always anxious, but not despondent. Meadows is falling deeper and deeper in love, but keeping it jealously secret; on his guard against Isaac Levi, and on his guard against William; hoping everything from time and accidents, and from George's incapacity to make money; and watching with keen eye and working with subtle threads to draw everybody into his power who could assist or thwart him in his object. William Fielding is going down the hill, Meadows was mounting; getting the better of his passion, and gradually substituting a brother-in-law's regard. Within eighteen months William was happily married to another farmer's daughter in the neighbourhood.

_II.--In Gaol_

Under Governor Hawes the separate and silent system flourished in ---- gaol, and the local justices entirely approved the system. In the view of Hawes and the justices severe punishment of mind and body was the essential object of a gaol.

Now Tom Robinson had not been in gaol these four years, and though he had heard much of the changes in gaol treatment, they had not yet come home to him. When, therefore, instead of being greeted with the boisterous acclamations of other spirits as bad as himself, he was ushered into a cell white as driven snow, and his duties explained to him, the heavy penalty he was under should a speck of dirt ever be discovered on the walls or floor, Thomas looked blank and had a misgiving. To his dismay he found that the silent cellular system was even carried out in the chapel, where each prisoner had a sort of sentry-box to himself, and that the hour's promenade for exercise conversation was equally impossible.

The turnkeys were surly and forbidding, and the hours dragged wearily to this active-minded prisoner. Robinson was driven to appeal to the governor to put him on hard labour.

"We'll choose the time for that," said the governor, with a knowing smile. "You'll be worse before you are better, my man."

On the tenth day Robinson tried to exchange a word with a prisoner in chapel, and for this he was taken to the black-hole.

Now Robinson was a man of rare capacity, full of talent and the courage and energy that show in action, but not rich in the fortitude that bears much. When they took him out of the black-hole, after six hours' confinement, he was observed to be white as a sheet, and to tremble violently all over.

The day after this the doctor reported No. 19--this was Robinson--to be sinking, and on this Hawes put him to garden work. The man's life and reason were saved by that little bit of labour. Then for a day or two he was employed in washing the corridors, and in making brushes; after that, came the crank. This was a machine consisting of a vertical post with an iron handle, and it was worked as villagers draw a bucket up from a well.

"Eighteen hundred revolutions per hour, and two hours before dinner," was the order given to No. 19, a touch of fever a few days later made it impossible for him to get through his task, and Hawes brutally had the unfortunate prisoner placed in the jacket.

This horrible form of torture consisted of a stout waistcoat, with a rough-edged collar. Robinson knew resistance was useless. He was jammed in the jacket, pinned tight to the collar, and throttled in the collar. Weakened by fever, he succumbed sooner than the torturers had calculated upon, and a few minutes later No. 19 would have been a corpse if he had not been released.

Water was dashed over him, and then Hawes shouted: "I never was beat by a prisoner yet, and I never will be," and had him put back again. Every time he fainted, water was thrown over him.

The plan pursued by the governor with Robinson was to keep him low so that he failed at the crank, and then torture him in the jacket. "He will break out before long," said Hawes to himself, "and then--"

Robinson saw the game, and a deep hatred of his enemy fought on the side of his prudence. This bitter struggle in the thief's heart harmed his soul more than all the years of burglary and petty larceny. All the vices of the old gaol system were nothing compared with the diabolical effect of solitude on a heart smarting with daily wrongs. He made a desperate appeal to the chaplain: "We have no friends here, sir, but you--not one. Have pity on us."

But Mr. Jones, the chaplain, was a weak man--unequal to the task of standing between the prisoners and their torturers, the justices and governor, and he held out no hope to No. 19.

Robinson now became a far worse man. He hated the human race, and said to himself, "From this hour I speak no more to any of these beasts!"

It was then that Mr. Jones, unequal to his task, resigned his office, and a new chaplain, the Rev. Francis Eden, took his place.

Mr. Eden, having ascertained the effects of both the black-hole and the punishment jacket, at once began a strenuous battle for the prisoners, and in the end triumphed handsomely. Hawes, in the face of an official inquiry by the Home Office, threw up the governorship, and a more humane regime was instituted in the gaol.

For a time Robinson resisted all the advances of the new chaplain, but when Mr. Eden came to him in the black-hole, and cheered him through the darkness and solitude by talking to him, not only was Robinson's sanity preserved,--the man's heart was touched, and from that hour he was sworn to honesty.

Then came the time for Robinson to be transported to Australia, with the promise of an early ticket-of-leave. Mr. Eden, anxious for the man's future, thought of George Fielding. Taking Sunday duty in the parish where Merton and his neighbours lived, Mr. Eden had become acquainted with Susan, and had learnt her story. He now wrote to her: "Thomas Robinson goes to Australia next week; he will get a ticket-of-leave almost immediately. I have thought of George Fielding, and am sure that poor Robinson with such a companion would be as honest as the day, and a useful friend, for he is full of resources. So I want you to do a Christian act, and write a note to Mr. Fielding, and let this poor fellow take it to him."

Susan's letter came by return of post. Robinson sailed in the convict ship for Australia, and in due time was released. He found George Fielding at Bathurst recovering from fever, and the letter from Susan, and his own readiness to help, soon revived the old good feeling between the two men.

_III.--Between Australia and Berkshire_

Meadows, having the postmaster at Farnborough under his thumb, read all George's letters to Susan before they were delivered. As long as George was in difficulties--and the thousand pounds seemed as far off as ever until Tom Robinson struck gold and shared the luck with his partner--the letters gave Meadows no uneasiness. With the discovery of gold he decided Susan must hear no more from her lover, and that Fielding must not return. By this time, old Merton was heavily in debt to Meadows, and saw escape from bankruptcy only in Meadows becoming his son-in-law, while Susan was kindly disposed to Meadows because he said nothing of love, and was willing to talk about Australia.

Meadows confided his plan to Peter Crawley.

"My plan has two hands; I must be one, you the other. _I_ work thus: I stop all letters from him to her. Presently comes a letter from Australia telling how George Fielding has made his fortune and married a girl out there. She won't believe it at first, perhaps, but when she gets no more letters from him she will. Of course, I shall never mention his name, but I make one of my tools hang gaol over old Merton. Susan thinks George married. I strike upon her pique and her father's distress. I ask him for his daughter; offer to pay my father-in-law's debts and start him afresh. Susan likes me already. She will say no, perhaps, three or four times, but the fifth she will say yes. Crawley, the day that John and Susan Meadows walk out of church man and wife I put a thousand pounds into your hand and set you up in any business you like; in any honest business, that is. But suppose, Crawley, while I am working, this George Fielding were to come home with money in both pockets?"

"He would kick it all down in a moment."

"Crawley, George Fielding must not come back this year with a thousand pounds. That paper will prevent him; it is a paper of instructions. My very brains lie in that paper; put it in your pocket. You are going a journey, and you will draw on me for one hundred pounds per month."

"When am I to start, sir? Where am I to go to?"

"To-morrow morning. To Australia."

A dead silence on both sides followed these words, as the two colourless faces looked into one another's eyes across the table.

To Australia Peter Crawley went, and with half-a-dozen of the most villainous ruffians on earth in his pay, it seemed impossible for Fielding and Robinson to escape. But here the ex-thief's alertness came to George Fielding's aid, and the two men managed to get the better of all the robbers and assassins who attacked their tent. Robinson, in fact, not only saved his own and his partner's lives, by common consent he was elected captain at the gold-diggings, and by his authority some sort of law and order were established throughout the camp, and all thefts were heavily punished.

The finding of a large nugget by Robinson ended gold-digging for these two men. The nugget was taken to Sydney and fetched £3,800, and when Crawley, who had pursued them from the camp, reached the city, he found they had already sailed for England.

George Fielding went to Australia to make £1,000, and by industry, sobriety, and cattle, he did not make £1,000; but, with the help of a converted thief, he did by gold-digging, industry, and sobriety, make several thousand pounds, and take them safe away home, spite of many wicked devices and wicked men.

Mr. Meadows flung out Peter Crawley, his left hand, into Australia to keep George from coming back to Susan with £1,000, and his left hand failed, and failed completely. But his right hand?

_IV.--George Fielding's Return_

One market day a whisper passed through Farnborough that George Fielding had met with wonderful luck. That he had made his fortune by gold, and was going to marry a young lady out in Australia. Farmer Merton brought the whisper home; Meadows was sure he would.

When eight months had elapsed without a letter from George, Susan could no longer deceive herself with hopes. George was either false to her or dead. She said as much to Meadows, and this inspired him with the idea of setting about a report that George was dead. Susan's mind had long been prepared for bitter tidings, and when old Merton tried in a clumsy way to prepare her for sad news, she fixed her eyes on him, and said, "Father, George is dead."

Old Merton hung his head, and made no reply. Susan crept from the room pale as ashes.

Then Meadows contradicted this report, and showed a letter he had received, saying that "George Fielding was married yesterday to one of the prettiest girls in Sydney. I met them walking in the street to-day."

"He is alive!" Susan said. "Thank God he is alive. I will not cry for another woman's husband."

It was not pique that made Susan accept John Meadows, it was to save her father from ruin. She said plainly that she could not pretend affection, and that it was only her indifference that made her consent. She tried to give happiness, and to avoid giving pain, but her heart of hearts was inaccessible.

The return of Crawley with the news that Fielding and Robinson were at hand, drove Meadows to persuade Susan to hasten the marriage. The following Monday had been fixed, Susan agreed to let it take place the preceding Thursday.

The next thing was Meadows himself recognised Fielding and Robinson; they were staying the night at the King's Head, in Farnborough, where Meadows was taking a glass of ale. He promptly decided on his game. The travellers called for hot brandy-and-water, and while the waiter left it for a moment, Meadows dropped the contents of a certain white paper into the liquor. In the dead of night he left his bedroom, and crept to the room where Robinson slept. The drug had done its work. Meadows found £7,000 under the sleeper's pillow, and carried the notes off undetected.

He returned in the early morning to his own house, he explained to Crawley why he had done this. "Don't you see that I have made George Fielding penniless, and that now old Merton won't let him have his daughter. He can't marry her at all now, and when the writ is served on old Merton he will be as strong as fire for me and against George Fielding. I am not a thief, and the day I marry Susan £7,000 will be put in George Fielding's hand; he won't know by whom, but you and I shall know. I am a sinner, but not a villain."

He lit a candle and placed it in the grate. "Come now," Meadows said coolly, "burn them; then they will tell no tale."

Crawley shrieked: "No, no, sir! Don't think of it, give them to me, and in twelve hours I will be in France!"

Meadows hesitated, and then agreed to give him the notes on condition Crawley went to France that very day.

Crawley kept faith. He hugged his treasure to his bosom, and sat down at the railway-station waiting for the train.

Old Isaac Levi was there, and a police officer whom Crawley knew.

"You have £7,000 about you, Mr. Crawley," whispered Isaac in his ear. "Stolen! Give it up to the police officer. Stolen by him, received by you. Give it up unless you prefer a public search. Here is a search warrant from the mayor."

"I won't without Mr. Meadows' authority. Send for Mr. Meadows, if you dare!"

"Well, we will take you to Mr. Meadows. Keep the money till you see him, but we must secure you. Let us go in a carriage."

Meantime, Mr. Meadows had gone to the bank, and had made over the sum of £7,000 to George Fielding and Thomas Robinson. Then he hastened to the church, for it was his wedding-day, and every delay was dangerous.

The parson was late, and while Meadows stood waiting outside the church, along with old Merton and his daughter, and a crowd of neighbours, George Fielding and Robinson came up.

"Susan!" cried a well-known voice behind her. The bride turned, and forgot everything at the sight of George's handsome, honest face, and threw herself into his arms. George kissed the bride.

"What have you done?" cried Susan. "You are false to me! You never wrote me a letter for twelve months, and you are married to a lady in Bathurst! Oh, George!"

"Who has been telling her I have ever had a thought of any girl but her?" said George sternly. "Here is the ring you gave me, Susan."

"Miss Merton and I are to be married to-day," said Meadows.

"I was there before you, Mr. Meadows, but I won't stand upon that, and I wouldn't give a snap of the finger to have her if her will was toward another. So please yourself, Susan, my lass; only this must end. Choose between John Meadows and George Fielding."

Susan looked up in astonishment.

"What choice can there be? The moment I saw your face I forgot there was a John Meadows in the world!" With that she bolted off home.

George turned to old Merton.

"I crossed the seas on the faith of your promise, and I have brought back the thousand pounds."

"John," said old Merton, "I must stand to my word, and I will--it is justice."

It was then that Robinson, producing his pocket-book, found they had been robbed. Despair fell upon George. But Meadows was promptly hindered from pursuing any advantage by the arrival of Isaac Levi, with a magistrate and police officers. Presently Crawley was produced. The game was up. Levi had overheard all that had passed between Meadows and Crawley. Crawley turned upon Meadows, and the magistrate had no choice but to commit Meadows for trial, while the notes were returned to their rightful owners.

A month later George and Susan were married, and Farmer Merton's debts paid.

Robinson wisely went back to Australia, and more wisely married an honest serving-maid. He is respected for his intelligence and good nature, and is industrious and punctilious in business.

When the assizes came on neither Robinson nor George was present to prosecute, and their recognisances were forfeited. Meadows and Crawley were released, and Meadows went to Australia. His mother, who hated her son's sins, left her native land at seventy to comfort him and win him to repentance.

"Even now his heart is softening," she said to herself. "Three times he has said to me 'That George Fielding is a better man than I am.' He will repent; he bears no malice, he blames none but himself. It is never too late to mend."

* * * * *

The Cloister and the Hearth

"The Cloister and the Hearth" a Tale of the Middle Ages, is by common consent the greatest of all Charles Reade's stories. A portion of it originally appeared in 1859 in "Once a Week," under the title of "A Good Fight," and such was its success in this guise that it increased the circulation of that periodical by twenty thousand. During the next two years Reade, recognising its romantic possibilities, expanded it to its present length. As a picture of the manners and customs of the times it is almost unsurpassable; yet pervading the whole is the strong, clear atmosphere of romantic drama never allowing the somewhat ample descriptions to predominate the thrilling interest with which the story is charged. Sir Walter Besant regarded it as the "greatest historical novel in the language." Swinburne remarked of it that "a story better conceived, better constructed, or better related, it would be difficult to find anywhere."

_I.--Gerard Falls in Love_

It was past the middle of the fifteenth century when our tale begins.

Elias, and Catherine his wife, lived in the little town of Tergon in Holland. He traded, wholesale and retail, in cloth and curried leather, and the couple were well to do. Nine children were born to them; four of these were set up in trade, one, Giles, was a dwarf, another, little Catherine, was a cripple. Cornelis, the eldest, and Sybrandt, the youngest, lived at home, too lazy to work, waiting for dead men's shoes.

There remained young Gerard, a son apart and distinct, destined for the Church. The monks taught him penmanship, and continued to teach him, until one day, in the middle of a lesson, they discovered he was teaching them. Then Gerard took to illuminating on vellum, and in this he was helped by an old lady, Margaret Van Eyck, sister of the famous brothers Van Eyck, who had come to end her days near Tergon. When Philip the Good, Count of Flanders, for the encouragement of the arts, offered prizes for the best specimens of painting on glass and illumination on vellum, Gerard decided to compete. He sent in his specimens, and his mother furnished him with a crown to go to Rotterdam and see the work of his competitors and the prize distribution. Gerard would soon be a priest, she argued; it seemed hard if he might not enjoy the world a little before separating himself from it for life.

It was on the road to Rotterdam, within a league of the city, that Gerard found an old man sitting by the roadside quite worn out, and a comely young woman holding his hand. The old man wore a gown, and a fur tippet, and a velvet cap--sure signs of dignity; but the gown was rusty, and the fur old--sure signs of poverty. The young woman was dressed in plain russet cloth, yet snow-white lawn covered her neck.

"Father, I fear you are tired," said Gerard bashfully.

"Indeed, my son, I am," replied the old man; "and faint for lack of food."

The girl whispered, "Father, a stranger--a young man!" But Gerard, with simplicity, and as a matter of course, was already gathering sticks for a fire. This done, he took down his wallet, and brought his tinder-box and an iron flask his careful mother had put in.

Ghysbrecht Van Swikten, the burgomaster of Tergon, an old man redolent of wealth, came riding by while Gerard was preparing a meal of soup and bread by the roadside. He reined in his steed and spoke uneasily: "Why, Peter--Margaret--what mummery is this?" Then, seeing Gerard, he cast a look of suspicion on Margaret, and rode on. The wayfarers did not know that more than half the wealth of the burgomaster belonged to old Peter Brandt, now dependent on Gerard for his soup; but Ghysbrecht knew it, and carried it in his heart, a scorpion of remorse that was not penitence.