The Splendid Spur<br />Being Memoirs of the Adventures of Mr. John Marvel, a Servant of His Late Maj by Arthur Quiller-Couch (the giving tree read aloud .txt) 📖

Now this was just what I could not tell. So, standing before him, I gave him my name and a history of all my adventures in my dear comrade's company, from the hour when I saw her first in the inn at Hungerford. Still keeping his finger on the page, he heard me to the end attentively, but with a curling of the lips toward the close, such as I did not like. And when I had done, to my amaze he spoke out sharply, and as if to a whipp'd schoolboy.

“'Tis a cock-and-bull story, sir, of which I could hope to make you ashamed. Six weeks in your company? and in boy's habit? Surely 'twas enough the pure unhappy maid should be dead—without such vile slander on her fame, and from you, that were known, sir, to have been at that inn, and on that night, with her murderers. Boy, I have evidence that, taken with your confession, would weave you a halter; and am a Justice of the Peace. Be thankful, then, that I am a merciful man; yet be abash'd.”

Abash'd, indeed, I was; or at least taken aback, to see his holy indignation and the flush on his waxen cheek. Like a fool I stood staggered, and wondered dimly where I had heard that thin voice before. In the confusion of my senses I heard it say solemnly—-

“The sins of her fathers have overtaken her, as the Book of Exodus proclaim'd: therefore is her inheritance wasted, and given to the satyr and the wild ass.”

{Illustration: “What did you in Oxford last November?”—Page 219.}

“And which of the twain be you, sir?”

I cannot tell what forced this violent rudeness from me, for he seem'd an honest, good man; but my heart was boiling that any should put so ill a construction on my Delia. As for him, he had risen, and was moving with dignity to the door—to show me out, as I guess. When suddenly I, that had been staring stupidly, leap'd upon him and hurled him back into his chair.

For I had marked his left foot trailing, and, by the token, knew him for the white hair'd man of the bowling-green.

“Master Hannibal Tingcomb,” I spoke in his ear, “—dog and murderer! What did you in Oxford last November? And how of Captain Lucius Higgs, otherwise Captain Luke Settle, otherwise Mr. X.? Speak, before I serve you as the dog was served that night!”

I dream yet, in my sick nights, of the change that came over the vile, hypocritical knave at these words of mine. To see his pale venerable face turn green and livid, his eyeball start, his hands clutch at air—it frighten'd me.

“Brandy!” he gasped. “Brandy! there—quick—for God's sake!”

And the next moment he had slipp'd from my grasp, and was wallowing in a fit on the floor. I ran to the cupboard at which he had pointed, and finding there a bottle of strong waters, forced some drops between his teeth; and hard work it was, he gnashing at me all the time and foaming at the mouth.

Presently he ceased to writhe and bite: and lifting, I set him in his chair, where he lay, a mere limp bundle, staring and blinking. So I sat down facing him, and waited his recovery.

“Dear young sir,” he began at length feebly, his fingers searching the Bible before him, from force of habit. “Kind young sir—I am an old, dying man, and my sins have found me out. Only yesterday, the physician at Bodmin told me that my days are numbered. This is the second attack, and the third will kill me.”

“Well?” said I. — “If—if Mistress Delia be alive (as indeed I did not think), I will make restitution—I will confess—only tell me what to do, that I may die in peace.”

Indeed, he look'd pitiable, sitting there and stammering: but I harden'd my heart to say—-

“I must have a confession, then, written before I leave the room.”

“But, dear young friend, you will not use it if I give up all? You will not seek my life? that already is worthless, as you see.”

“Why, 'tis what you deserve. But Delia shall say when I find her—as I shall go straight to seek her. If she be lost, I shall use it—never fear: if she be found, it shall be hers to say what mercy she can discover in her heart; but I promise you I shall advise none.”

The tears by this were coursing down his shrunken cheeks, but I observ'd him watch me narrowly, as though to find out how much I knew. So I pull'd out my pistol, and setting pen and paper before him, obtained at the end of an hour a very pretty confession of his sins, which lies among my papers to this day. When 'twas written and sign'd, in a weak, rambling hand, I read it through, folded it, placed it inside my coat, and prepared to take my leave.

But he called out an order to the old servant to saddle my mare, and stood softly praying and beseeching me in the courtyard till the last moment. Nor when I was mounted would anything serve but he must follow at my stirrup to the gate. But when I had briefly taken leave, and the heavy doors had creaked behind me, I heard a voice calling after me down the road—-

“Dear young sir! Dear friend!—I had forgotten somewhat.”

Returning, I found the gate fastened, and the iron shutter slipp'd back.

“Well?” I asked, leaning toward it.

“Dear young friend, I pity thee, for thy paper is worthless. To-day, by my advices, the army of our most Christian Parliament, more than twenty thousand strong, under the Earl of Stamford, have overtaken thy friends, the malignant gentry, near Stratton Heath, in the northeast. They are more than two to one. By this hour to-morrow, the Papists all will be running like conies to their burrows, and little chance wilt thou have to seek Delia Killigrew, much less to find her. And remember, I know enough of thy late services to hang thee: mercy then will lie in my friends' hands; but be sure I shall advise none.”

And with a mocking laugh he clapp'd—to the grating in my face.