Chapter X A Flash of Lightning
When Robin awoke next morning he found that the weather had completely changed during the night. Gusts of wind howled round the little cottage and rattled the casement, as if angry foes sought admittance to his room. From his bed he could hear the hollow boom of the waves upon the shore, and the old apple-tree outside his window creaked and groaned as it was forced to bend its aged limbs before the gale.
His first thought was of the house in the wood and its mysterious occupant.
“I’ll run up at once and see how the man has got on,” he decided. “I don’t think it looks as if it had rained yet, and it’s pretty sheltered in the coppice, so I hope he has had a good night. I wonder if he is still there, or if he went at break of day as he said he would.”
It was not long before he was peeping through the doorway of the little hut, his hair blown like an aureole about his forehead and his cheeks flushed by the buffeting of the wind.
“Of such is the kingdom of heaven,” were the words that rose spontaneously to the stranger’s lips as he glanced up at the fair vision before him.
“I’m not gone yet, Robin,” he said as he held out his hand to the boy. “I am afraid I must ask you to put up with me for a few hours longer. I didn’t feel quite up to an early start this morning.”
Robin flew to his side and took the thin fingers in his.
“Of course you may stay here as long as you like,” he replied. “I’m only afraid there’s a storm coming on, and if it’s very bad the roof might perhaps let in a little rain, supposing, you know, it came down in torrents.”
The stranger smiled. “It’s worth feeling ill to get another glimpse of you, my boy,” he said. “I must confess that the longing for it rather weighed with me when I debated about my departure in the early dawn. I shall have to start soon, however, so as to be sure to catch the evening train to London, as it is hopeless to think of getting there on foot after this attack. It is six miles to the station, isn’t it, Robin?”
“Six and a quarter,” answered the lad, “and there are two hills on the way.”
“I shall be lucky if I arrive there before midnight,” was the reply, “but I’ll have a try, anyhow. Meanwhile, I’ve still got some of the bread and butter you brought me last night, and a little milk in the bottom of the jug, so I shall do very well. Don’t you bother about me, little chap. I’m used to roughing it a bit.”
“I will bring you my lunch again at eleven o’clock,” said Robin, “but I do wish you would let me tell mother about you, as she would know so much better than I do what you ought to have. I promise you, honour bright, that I wouldn’t tell anyone else.”
“Not even mother,” answered the stranger, “though I am sure she must be a true and good woman who owns you as her son. God bless you both—if a prayer from such as I can bring you a benediction.”
He watched the boy disappear among the trees, and then, turning over with his face to the earth, he groaned aloud.
“Oh, my God!” he exclaimed. “What might not have been! Truly the way of transgressors is hard.”
There were traces of tears in his eyes when he at length rose and proceeded languidly to finish the provisions lying beside him.
“Julius, I want you to come with me to Westmarket to-day,” said Mr. Field as he sat at the breakfast-table that morning. “Be ready at eleven o’clock sharp. A grand bazaar is being held there in aid of the Town Hall, and no end of swells are to be present. The Countess of Monfort is taking a great interest in the cause, and I must certainly put in an appearance, or they might think it rude. Money is not a bad thing, after all, and I have no doubt they will be glad enough to see me, even though neither her ladyship nor the earl have taken the trouble to return my call.”
“I don’t want to go,” was the sulky reply. “I hate bazaars, and swells, and countesses, and it’s beastly rot driving in the motor, with nothing to do but to sit still.”
“Don’t let me hear you speak like that again, Julius,” said his father sternly. “Those are my orders and it is your part to obey.”
“Couldn’t you go a little later?” pleaded the boy. “Eleven o’clock is so very early.”
It certainly was a little hard upon him, for he had set his heart on going down to the wood immediately after breakfast. The tramp, as he still called him, fascinated the lad strangely and he longed to find out more about the lonely stranger.
“The countess herself opens the bazaar at noon,” replied his father, “and we shall need all our time to get there before the ceremony. So not a moment later shall I start. If you are not standing on the doorstep waiting for me, it will be the worse for you.”
As Mr. Field left the apartment, Julius stamped his foot in impotent anger.
“It’s too bad!” he exclaimed. “Why should I have to dress up like a doll in my best clothes, and waste the day like that, when Robin is allowed to run about in the wood just as he likes. I wonder if there would be time for me to slip down before I have to get ready for the car. There is just an hour. If I ran all the way I think I could do it. I should like to see if the man is still there.”
Eleven o’clock came, and the motor was at the door. So was Mr. Field, but no Julius. For five minutes there was ominous silence, as butler and chauffeur stood motionless, awaiting their master’s pleasure.
“Drive on,” said Mr. Field at length, as he flung himself into the car, and the look on his face was not agreeable as he passed out of sight.
“I’m sorry for the little fellow, even though he is such a spoilt puppy,” volunteered the footman who had come in Jenkins’ place. “I expect he’ll catch it hot before the day is out.”
It was difficult for Mr. Field to regain his composure before he arrived at the end of the drive. To be openly defied by his son in the presence of his servants was an offence not to be lightly passed over. The unctuous smile which illumined his features was forced and unnatural as he officiously went up to the countess to congratulate her on the success of her undertaking.
“What an impossible man he is,” she remarked later to a friend. “He seems to have ‘money’ written all over him, and nothing else apparently to recommend him to the world. I really am honestly grateful to him for the way he is showering sovereigns about, but it doesn’t make me any more anxious to have him as my next-door neighbour. I shouldn’t mind his being uneducated or plain, some of the best of nature’s gentlemen are that—it’s the pretentious vulgarity of the man I can’t stand.”
Mr. Field fared no better with the earl. A few cold words of welcome in response to the effusive greeting bestowed upon him by the millionaire, and Lord Monfort turned away to escort a new-comer to his wife’s stall. It was pleasant, however, to feel that in spite of it all, he was undoubtedly considered a person of importance at the sale. Fair ladies crowded round to persuade him to buy absolutely useless things at utterly exorbitant prices, and his circuit of the hall was a sort of triumphal progress, delightful while it lasted, but leaving him somewhat exhausted at the close.
He had other business in Westmarket besides his social duties, which detained him there some hours, but he returned to the bazaar to have a cup of tea before leaving the town. He was resting comfortably in the refreshment marquee, enjoying the band, when a sudden drop in the music caused the voice of someone sitting at a distant table to resound distinctly across the room. Mr. Field would not have noticed his companions, had he not happened to look up hastily and so caught the eye of a young man, one of the group, who was facing him. He recognized him as the countess’s nephew, and saw him give a quick sign to his friend to cease speaking, but not before a few isolated remarks had reached the listener’s ear. He could not follow the whole sentence, but he was sure he heard the name of Judge Simmons mentioned in connection with a certain money affair. There was no doubt about the concluding words—“distinctly shady”—for the band stopped suddenly as they were uttered, and there was nothing to veil the unpleasant insinuation of the phrase.
“What possible reason could that young fellow have had in checking his companion when he saw me, unless it was because I was the subject of their conversation, and they did not want me to hear?” So he mused as he absently stirred his tea.
The band struck up once more, but to Mr. Field the music this time sounded intolerably harsh and grating. The jingle of the tune set his teeth on edge, and he felt he could endure it no longer. It was a relief when the crowded hall was left behind, and he felt the cool air again upon his brow.
It was nearly four o’clock now and the day was closing in. Heavy clouds were massed over the sea, looking black and thundery, and the dust blew in fitful eddies around.
“I think we’re driving into a storm, sir,” said the chauffeur.
The simple words jarred strangely on Mr. Field.
“Don’t speak till you’re spoken to,” he snapped. “What you have got to do is to attend to your business and not make remarks about the weather.”
At that moment the motor reached a steep part of the last hill, necessitating dropping into a lower gear. The chauffeur, irritated by the uncourteous taunt, plied pedal and lever with quite uncalled-for vehemence. There was a harsh grinding sound and the car stopped with a sudden jerk.
“It’s no use, sir,” he said, after a few moments tinkering at the machinery. “The gears are jambed and she won’t move an inch. I’m afraid I’ll have to get her towed home.”
“Not here a fortnight, and you’ve broken the car already,” exclaimed Mr. Field, his fury rising to boiling-point as he realized that he should have to yield to the inevitable and walk ignominiously back to Farncourt. “I give you warning on the spot, and no character; so you may leave when you choose.”
Discarding his fur coat as too heavy, he turned his back on the damaged vehicle and set out upon the way home.
“Driving into a storm!” he repeated to himself as he plodded along the road. “I only hope not. If I was superstitious I should call it a horribly bad omen. Curious how nervous I feel to-day! It surely must be something in the air. But bad gales have been weathered before now, and I think I’m pretty safe, considering all things. I confess it was a nasty shock when Ben Green first turned up, but he evidently knows very little, or he would have had me in a hole long ago. There is no one else I need fear. I fancied Simmons had a queer look in his eye that day I saw him at the Abbey, but he’s powerless to do any real harm. Even if he raked up unpleasant questions about the papers, not a soul was witness of what led up to it all. That is a secret known to no one in the wide world but myself. The past is too deeply buried by this time for any spectres to rise from the grave now.”
As he spoke, a peal of thunder reverberated forth, so unexpectedly that it caused him to give an involuntary start.
“I shall take the short cut through the wood,” he said, “and I must be quick about it, for it’s looking rather bad all round.”
The sky was becoming more and more threatening every moment, and darkness seemed to descend almost at once upon the land. Mr. Field shivered as the air grew chill, and regretted the warm garment he had left behind in the car.
“I’m feeling out of sorts,” he added. “Those silly remarks at the bazaar upset me a good deal, though there is really no need for me to mind. I wish, however, I hadn’t come by the wood, especially as I seem to have lost the right path, and wandered rather out of my way. It is eerie all by myself in the gloom, with such a tempest brewing too. Bother! There’s the rain!” he exclaimed, as two or three big drops splashed against his face.
A flash of lightning lit up the sky, revealing to his anxious gaze the rough hut which the boys had constructed with so much care, and which stood only a few paces from the narrow track.
“A woodman’s shed, I suppose,” he said. “I may as well take refuge inside, for it looks as if there was going to be a regular deluge.”
He was right. Down came the rain, pattering loudly on the crisp autumn leaves, first with a sort of measured beat, then more rapidly, as if driven fiercely by an ever-compelling force from behind. Suddenly with a mighty rush, it seemed as though the cloud had burst overhead, and hissing torrents poured in straight unbroken lines from the clouds.
The little house was empty, and Mr. Field stood looking out of the door, while the lightning played about the tops of the trees, illuminating the depths of the dark copse as with the brightness of day. His was not a brave nature at the best, and the scene was terrific enough to strike awe into the heart of a bolder man than he claimed to be. He withdrew further into the shed, as the thunder continued to roll above him in long deafening crashes.
“Who is it says that thunder is the voice of the Almighty?” he muttered. “It is in the Bible, I believe. It sounds awful enough for anything.”
Just then a flash of more than usually vivid character lit up the interior of the shelter, and to Mr. Field’s consternation, words of fire appeared to blaze out before his eyes. For a moment, to his excited imagination it seemed like the writing on the wall at Belshazzar’s feast. Could this be the Hand as well as the Voice of God?
It was the text which Robin had pinned up inside the hut—
“THE EYES OF THE LORD ARE IN EVERY PLACE, BEHOLDING THE EVIL AND THE GOOD.”
It came like a message from an unseen Power, an answer to the thoughts which had so lately filled his mind, and the words burnt into his very soul.
“In every place—in every place. Beholding the evil—beholding the evil.”
The sentence echoed through his brain until he could bear it no longer.
“Will that verse never cease to haunt me?” he exclaimed. “Is there truly a Witness in Heaven Who sees all—all—and Who can, when He wills, bring even our hidden sins into the light?”
He made as though he would leave the hut, when suddenly to his horrified gaze, a second flash revealed a pale emaciated face peering in through the door.
With a loud cry, Mr. Field rushed at the opening, and with superhuman strength hurled the apparition from him as he dashed past.
A dark form fell heavily into the bushes, but he stayed not to see. Scrambling, falling in the inky blackness, he at last gained the edge of the wood—how, he never knew. Drenched to the skin and with his eyes staring wildly before him, he reached his home. Speechless and trembling, he passed his astonished butler on the stairs, and paused not till he had locked himself into the safety of his own room.
There, at length, he was able to regain his composure, and think more calmly of the events of the preceding hour.