Chapter XV Alive From the Dead
That evening Mrs. Power was walking along the road which bordered the Farncourt preserves, when her attention was arrested by the sound of groaning on the other side of the wall. For a moment her heart stood still with fear, but she was not naturally timid, and the thought that someone was in trouble urged her to make closer research.
She turned in the direction whence the moans came, and peeped over into the plantation. To her horror she saw a man lying on the ground, only a few steps away from her, his face pale as death and streaked with blood.
“I must go to him,” she said to herself, “he looks as if he were dying there, all alone in the wood.”
Climbing over the low wall, she soon reached his side.
“Why, it’s Ben Green!” she exclaimed in surprise. “How ever has he got into this plight? I’m afraid he is badly hurt, poor fellow. He seems quite unconscious, and I think his arm must be broken, it hangs so limply from the shoulder.”
She wetted her handkerchief in the rivulet which ran through the coppice, and wiped the stains from his face, then, binding the cool bandage round his forehead, she rose to her feet and started off towards the village.
“The sooner I get help, the better,” she decided. “I can’t do him any good by staying with him here.”
It was not long before the wounded man was carefully borne on a stretcher to his room at “The Bull,” and his injuries ascertained by the doctor.
“He has been badly shot,” was the report. “It is a marvel he was not killed on the spot. If one of the pellets had gone a quarter of an inch more to one side, it would have penetrated the brain. As it is, he is suffering from shock and loss of blood, besides the injury to the arm, which was evidently caused by a fall.”
Tongues were let loose that evening in the little hamlet, as conjectures and suggestions were freely bandied to and fro.
“I must say it looks queer,” remarked Jones, the keeper, as he discussed the situation with a knot of men at the public-house door. “The squire goes to that there wood in the morning with his gun, and refuses to let me come with him, as would only have been natural, for to pick up the birds. Mrs. Power she finds a man shot in that very wood a few hours later, and as all here know, there was no one whom Mr. Field would sooner see put out of the way than this same identical victim. He was in a fine temper when I met him, and it’s my belief he has had more to do with this affair than he would care to tell.”
It was in vain that Mr. Field disclaimed any knowledge of the matter when the constable went up to interview him next morning. The story of the grey cat was scoffed at by the village in general as being an entirely inadequate explanation of the accident, and public feeling waxed more and more indignant against him.
The condition of the patient had improved during the night, and a gradual return to consciousness was apparent as the hours went by. Mrs. Power had constituted herself his nurse for the present, there being no one else available who was competent to undertake such a task.
Meanwhile Mr. Field’s sensations were not enviable as he waited in feverish anxiety for tidings from the sick man’s room.
“If he dies, I’m done for,” he said, “for there are no witnesses, and I can’t deny that appearances are dead against me, however I may seek to disclaim the deed. Even if he lives, how do I know that he will speak the truth about it? He’s got an opportunity now of ruining me altogether, if he chooses only to say the word.”
It was not till late afternoon that Mrs. Power, on glancing up from her chair, noticed that the invalid had opened his eyes, and was gazing at her with a puzzled look. She went to him and administered a few spoonfuls of the beef-tea which she had ready on the hob.
“Just lie still and try to go to sleep,” she said. “You’ll get on all right now.”
For an hour or more he lay silent, and the watcher thought that he dozed, but she was suddenly startled by a voice from the bed.
“I’ve been down to the very gates of death, haven’t I?” was the unexpected question.
“Yes,” she replied, “but they are not going to open to you this time, I think. You have turned the corner now, and we expect to have you well again in no time.”
“I shouldn’t have been ready to go through if they had opened,” said Ben, ignoring her remark. “They would have been black gates to me, not the golden ones my poor old father saw.”
Afraid of exciting her patient, Mrs. Power did not answer, hoping that sleep would come to quiet the troubled brain, but after a few moments’ pause Ben began again—
“When the doctor came this afternoon I know you all thought I was unconscious, but I heard him say, ‘Field’s got a bad case against him,’ as he left the room. I was jolly glad at first, for I’d been wanting to have a handle against him for a long time past. However, when a man’s on the brink of the grave, he’s bound to think a bit, so I feel I ought to speak up. It certainly was Field who shot me, but he didn’t know I was there. I was putting down food for the pheasants, the plantation being a grand place for poaching, and I hid in the bushes as he came by. He fired at a cat, but he got me instead. I was stunned for a while, and then only managed to stagger to the wall, hoping someone would find me as they passed along the road. I thought I was done for when I fell again in the wood.”
“Do you want to make this known?” asked Mrs. Power. “Suspicions have been very rife in Mr. Field’s direction, everyone knowing that he had a grudge against you.”
“Yes,” answered Ben slowly, “I want to make it known. I’ve had a hard fight inside me this last hour, when you believed I was asleep. I felt I had him at my mercy, and at first I determined that I wouldn’t lift up my little finger to help him, knowing that if I died he would probably have to swing for me. It’s a solemn thing, though, to know for certain that God is just on the other side of those gates, and that if they open for you, you will have to face Him right there by yourself, and that His holy eyes will search you through and through. Well, somehow things look different when it comes to that, and if I should die I dare not meet Him with a black thought like that in my heart. So I shall be glad if you will tell them all that it was entirely my fault and not Mr. Field’s. I had no business to be there at all.”
In the presence of the landlord, Mrs. Power took down the statement, which, with much difficulty, Ben managed to sign, after which he sank back upon the pillow, wearied with the exertion, and soon fell into a calm and restful sleep.
During the days which followed, many a long talk had Ben with his kind and patient nurse. The man’s heart was softened by the danger which he had so lately passed through, and his ears were attentive as she sought to lead him to the One his father had known and trusted so well.
“I should like to make my peace with God,” was his cry, “but I’ve sinned against Him all my life and I’m ashamed to come to Him now.”
“Nevertheless you may be quite sure of a welcome,” replied Mrs. Power. “The wonder is that it is He Who invites us to make peace with Him—not we who have to wring forgiveness from an unwilling God. He actually pleads with us to come to Him. Listen to what St. Paul says, Ben, ‘Now then we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God did beseech you by us: we pray you in Christ’s stead, be ye reconciled to God.’”
“To think of God beseeching us to come to Him,” said Ben, “when we have neglected Him so long! It seems too good to be true!”
“It is only through our Lord Jesus Christ that we can come to Him,” answered Mrs. Power. “It is He Who has made it possible for God to forgive. ‘He hath made Him to be sin for us, Who knew no sin, that we might be made the righteousness of God in Him.’ You remember the old hymn—
“I lay my sins on Jesus,
The spotless Lamb of God;
He bears them all, and frees us
From the accursed load.”
“But the choice must be made,” added Mrs. Power solemnly. “If we keep our sins we lose our souls.”
“I would choose Christ,” said Ben. “Isn’t there a verse that says, ‘What shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?’ I see it all clear now, and I thank Him for having opened up the way for me to come to God. I should like to serve Him, with His help, during what remains to me of my life, if He’ll spare me for a little while yet.”
“‘Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered,’” was Mrs. Power’s rejoinder. “There are no regrets for those who enter the service of God.”
It was after this conversation, as Madelaine was walking back to Sea View Cottage in the evening light, that she began to turn her thoughts to the prospects which lay before her and her boy. She had not intended staying so long at Sunbury, having purposed only to remain for the autumn months. Julius’ illness, however, had delayed her for a few weeks, and Ben’s accident had caused her to postpone her departure still further. Both invalids being now well on the road to recovery, she felt the time had come to bring the quiet country visit to a close.
“If I could only get a few pupils and set up a small school, I might be able to put aside something towards Robin’s future,” she said. “He ought to go eventually to some sort of college, whatever profession he takes up, and where the fees are to come from, I don’t know.”
As she walked up the garden path, she saw that the lamp had been lit in the parlour, and that Robin was already busily engaged at tea. The blind had not been drawn down, so that she could distinguish everything plainly.
“Why, he’s got a visitor, the monkey!” she exclaimed. “I wonder who it is that he has invited to keep him company during my absence. ‘When the cat’s away, the mice do play,’ I suppose.”
A man was sitting with his back to the window, so that it was impossible for Mrs. Power to recognize him from where she stood, but whoever it was, she noticed that Robin was carrying on a most animated conversation with his guest. It appeared also of an amusing character, for presently the stranger threw himself back in his chair, and a merry laugh rang through the room.
Madelaine started and the posts of the porch seemed to sway backwards and forwards in front of her, as a film came suddenly before her eyes. She pulled herself together and put up her hand as if to thrust the dizzy feeling from her, then with knees trembling and palpitating heart, she walked into the little passage and threw open the parlour door.
The visitor rose with an embarrassed air, and stood grasping the back of a chair as he turned to meet her.
“It’s only a tramp I’ve made friends with, mother,” said Robin. “He has come to say good-bye, and I knew you wouldn’t mind me asking him to stay to tea as you were out.”
“Madelaine!—my own Madelaine!” ejaculated the stranger with a dazed look upon his pale face. “Is it possible—or am I dreaming?”
“Gerald!—my husband!” was the answering cry, as Madelaine threw herself into his outstretched arms. “Oh, thank God that I have got you again!”
In mute astonishment Robin watched the reunited pair, till the first ecstasy of the unexpected meeting was past, and they could turn to him with explanations of the strange scene.
“Come and welcome your father, Robin,” was Madelaine’s joyful exclamation, as she put out her hand to the boy. “This is indeed a wonderful day for us. Our lost one has been given back to us as from the dead. How, I do not know. It is enough to feel that he is here.”
She raised her eyes, brimming with love and tenderness, to feast her gaze once more upon her husband’s countenance, clinging closely to him the while, as if she feared some unseen power would spirit him away.
She was startled to see the spasm of pain which passed over his features at her words, while a deep groan escaped his lips.
“Gerald!” she exclaimed, “what is wrong? You look so ill, and as if something dreadful had happened. What can anything matter so long as we are together again?”
“My darling,” said Gerald, with lips that trembled in spite of the effort he made to obtain command over himself, “how can I spoil the joy of this blessed reunion by bringing fresh pain to your dear true heart? And yet I must speak, and tell you all. Madelaine, it had been better for us if we had never met again. Far happier for you would it be if I were really dead, for we must part again, beloved, and that at once. I must still remain to you as one whose name is blotted out of the book of life. To recall me to the world would only mean anguish untold both to you and the boy.”
“If you think I am going to let you go, Gerald, now that I have got you again, you are very much mistaken,” said Madelaine resolutely. “‘Where thou goest I will go,’ and no arguments will ever shake my determination. Surely my right place is at my husband’s side?”
“You were always braver than I, Madelaine,” replied Gerald, “but when you hear all, you may not feel the same towards me as you once did. Let the boy go while I make a clean breast of the past, and then you will be more able to judge of how you will behave in regard to me in the future.”