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staring very hard at his horseā€™s ears, as we jogged along the road. ā€œā€˜E were a-goinā€™ upstairs for it, anā€™ slipped, ā€˜e did. ā€˜Simon,ā€™ says he, as I lifted of ā€˜im in my arms, ā€˜Simon,ā€™ says ā€˜e, quiet like, ā€˜I be done for at last, ladā€”this poor old feyther oā€™ yournā€™ll never go a-climbinā€™ up these stairs no more,ā€™ says ā€˜eā€”ā€˜neverā€”noā€”more.ā€™ā€

After this Simon fell silent, and I likewise, until we reached the village. Before ā€œThe Bullā€ was a group who talked with hushed voices and grave faces; even Old Amos grinned no more.

The old man lay in his great four-post bed, propped up with pillows, and with Prue beside him, to smooth his silver hair with tender fingers, and Black George towering in the shade of the bed-curtains, like a grieving giant.

ā€œā€˜Ere I be, Peter,ā€ said the old man, beckoning me feebly with his hand, ā€œā€˜ere I beā€”at the partinā€™ oā€™ the ways, anā€™ wiā€™ summā€™at gone wrong wiā€™ my innards! When a man gets so old as I be, ā€˜is innards be like glass, Peter, like glassā€”anā€™ apt to fly all to pieces if ā€˜e goes a-slippinā€™ anā€™ a-slidinā€™ downstairs, like me.ā€

ā€œAre you in pain?ā€ I asked, clasping his shrivelled hand.

ā€œJest a twinge, now anā€™ then, Peterā€”butā€”Lord! that beanā€™t nothinā€™ to a man the likes oā€™ meā€”Peterā€”ā€

ā€œYou always were so hale and hearty,ā€ I nodded, giving him the usual opening he had waited for.

ā€œAy, so strong as a bull, that I were! like a lion in my youth ā€”Black Jarge were nought to meā€”a cart ā€˜orse I were.ā€

ā€œYes,ā€ said I, ā€œyes,ā€ and stooped my head lower over the feeble old hand.

ā€œBut arter all, Peter, bulls pass away, anā€™ lions, anā€™ cart ā€˜orses lose their teeth, anā€™ gets wore out, for ā€˜all flesh is grassā€™ā€”but ironā€™s iron, beanā€™t it, Peterā€”rusts it do, but ā€˜tis iron all the same, anā€™ lasts a man outā€”even such a ā€˜earty chap as I were?ā€

ā€œSometimes,ā€ said I, without looking up.

ā€œAnā€™ I be very old anā€™ tired, Peter; my ā€˜eart be all wore out wiā€™ beatinā€™ anā€™ beatinā€™ all these yearsā€”ā€˜tis a wonder as it didnā€™t stop afore nowā€”but aā€”a--stapil, Peter, donā€™t ā€˜ave no ā€˜eart to go a-beatinā€™ anā€™ a-wearinā€™ of itself away?ā€

ā€œNo, Ancient.ā€

ā€œSo ā€˜ere be I, a-standinā€™ in the Valley oā€™ the Shadow, anā€™ waitinā€™ for Godā€™s Angel to take my ā€˜and for to show me the way. ā€˜Tis a darksome road, Peter, but I beanā€™t afeared, anā€™ there be a light beyond Jordan-water. No, I arenā€™t afeared to meet the God as made me, for ā€˜the Lord is mercifulā€”and very kind,ā€™ anā€™ I donā€™t sā€™pose as ā€˜Eā€™ll be very ā€˜ard on a old, old man as did ā€˜is best, anā€™ wiā€™ a ā€˜eart all tired anā€™ wore away wiā€™ beatinā€™ā€”I be ready, Peter onlyā€”ā€

ā€œYes, Ancient?ā€

ā€œOh, Peter!ā€”it be that theer old stapilā€”asā€™ll go on rustinā€™ away anā€™ rustinā€™ away arter the old man as watched it so is laid in the earth, anā€™ forgot aboutā€”ā€

ā€œNo,ā€ said I, without looking up, but slipping my hand into my pocket; ā€œno, Ancientā€”ā€

ā€œPeterā€”Oh, Peter!ā€”do ā€˜ee meanā€”?ā€

ā€œI mean that, although it had no heart, the staple was tired and worn outā€”just as you are, and so I brought it to you,ā€ and I slipped the rusty bit of iron into the old manā€™s trembling palm.

ā€œO Lordā€”!ā€ he began in a fervent voice, ā€œO dear Lord!ā€”I got it, Lordā€”thā€™ owd stapilā€”I be ready to come to Thee, anā€™ jā€™yful ā€”jā€™yful! anā€™ for this mercy, anā€™ benefit receivedā€”blessed be Thy name. Amen!ā€

He lay very quiet for a while, with the broken staple clasped to his breast, and his eyes closed.

ā€œPeter,ā€ said he suddenly, ā€œyou wonā€™t ā€˜ave no one to bring you noos no moreā€”why, Peter! be ā€˜ee cryinā€™ā€”for me? ā€˜Tis true ā€˜t were me as found ye, but I didnā€™t think as youā€™d go to cry tears for meā€”I be goinā€™ to takā€™ tā€™ owd stapil wiā€™ me, Peter, all along the roadā€”anā€™, Peterā€”ā€

ā€œYes, Ancient?ā€

ā€œBe you quite sure as you arenā€™t a dook?ā€

ā€œQuite sure.ā€

ā€œNor a earl?ā€

ā€œNo, Ancient.ā€

ā€œNot even aā€”barrynet?ā€

ā€œNo, Ancient.ā€

ā€œAh, well!ā€”you be a man, Peter, anā€™ ā€˜tis summā€™at to haā€™ found a manā€”that it be.ā€

And now he feebly beckoned us all nearer.

ā€œChildren,ā€ said he, ā€œI be a old anā€™ ancient man I be goinā€™ on ā€”across the river to wait for youā€”my blessinā€™ on ye. It be a dark, dark road, but Iā€™ve got tā€™ owd stapil, anā€™ thereā€”be a light beyondā€”the river.ā€

So, the Ancient sighed, and crossed the dark River into the Land of Light Eternal.

CHAPTER XLII

HOW SIR MAURICE KEPT HIS WORD

Night, with a rising moon, and over all things a great quietude, a deep, deep silence. Air, close and heavy, without a breath to wake the slumbering trees; an oppressive stillness, in which small sounds magnified themselves, and seemed disproportionately loud.

And presently, as I went upon my way, I forgot the old man sleeping so peacefully with the rusty staple clasped to his shrunken breast, and thought only of the proud woman who had given her life into my keeping, and who, henceforth, would walk with me, hand in hand, upon this Broad Highway, over rough places, and smoothā€”even unto the end. So I strode on, full of a deep and abiding joy, and with heart that throbbed and hands that trembled because I knew that she watched and waited for my coming.

A sound broke upon the stillnessā€”sudden and sharpā€”like the snapping of a stick. I stopped and glanced about meā€”but it had come and goneā€”lost in the all-pervading calm.

And presently, reaching the leafy path that led steeply down into the Hollow, I paused a moment to look about me and to listen again; but the deep silence was all unbroken, save for the slumberous song of the brook, that stole up to me from the shadows, and I wondered idly what that sudden sound might have been. So I began to descend this leafy path, and went on to meet that which lay waiting for me in the shadows.

It was dark here among the trees, for the moon was low as yet, but, every now and then, she sent a kindly ray through some opening amid the leaves, so that as I descended the path I seemed to be wading through small, limpid pools of radiance.

But all at once I stoppedā€”staring at something which lay at the edge of one of these poolsā€”a white clawā€”a hand whose fingers, talon-like, had sunk deep and embedded themselves in the turf. And, beyond this gleaming hand, was an arm, and beyond that again, something that bulked across my path, darker than the shadows.

Running forward, I stood looking down at that which lay at my feetā€”so very still; and stooped suddenly, and turned it over that I might see the face; and, seeing it, started back in shuddering horror. For, in those featuresā€”hideous with blood, stained and blackened with powder, I recognized my cousinā€”Sir Maurice Vibart. Then, remembering the stick that had snapped, I wondered no more, but a sudden deadly faintness came upon me so, that I leaned weakly against a tree near by.

A rustling of leavesā€”a shuddering breath, and, though I did not raise my head, I knew that Charmian was there.

ā€œOh, Peter!ā€ she whispered, ā€œoh, Peter!ā€ and that was all, but, moved by something in her tone, I glanced up. Her eyes were wide and staringā€”not at me, but at that which lay between usā€”her face was pallid; even her lips had lost their color, and she clasped one hand upon her bosomā€”the other was hidden in the folds of her gown hidden as I remembered to have seen it once before, but now it struck me with a horrible significance. Wherefore I reached out and caught that hidden hand, and drew the weapon from her nerveless fingers, holding it where the light could play upon it. She started, shivered violently, and covered her eyes, while I, looking down at the pistol in my hand, saw that it had lately been discharged.

ā€œHe has kept his word!ā€ she whispered; ā€œhe has kept his word!ā€

ā€œYes, Charmianā€”he has kept his word!ā€

ā€œOh, Peter!ā€ she moaned, and stretched out her hands towards me, yet she kept her face turned from that which lay across the path between us, and her hands were shaking pitifully. ā€œPeter?ā€ she cried with a sudden break in her voice; but I went on wiping the soot from the pistol-barrel with the end of my neckerchief. Then, all at once, she was beside me, clasping my arm, and she was pleading with me, her words coming in a flood.

ā€œNo, Peter, noā€”oh, God!ā€”you do not think itā€”you canā€™tā€”you mustnā€™t. I was aloneā€”waiting for you, and the hours passedā€”and you didnā€™t comeā€”and I was nervous and frightened, and full of awful fancies. I thought I heard some oneā€”creeping round the cottage. Once I thought some one peered in at the lattice, and once I thought some one tried the door. And soā€”because I was frightened, Peter, I took thatā€”that, and held it in my hand, Peter. And while I sat thereā€”it seemed more than everā€”that somebody was breathing softlyā€”outside the door. And so, Peter, I couldnā€™t bear it any moreā€”and opened the latticeā€”and fired ā€”in the airā€”I swear it was in the air. And I stood thereā€”at the open casementā€”sick with fear, and trying to pray for you ā€”because I knew he had come backā€”to kill you, Peter, and, while I prayed, I heard another shotā€”not close, but faintā€”like the snapping of a twig, Peterā€”and I ran outā€”andā€”oh, Peter!ā€”that is allā€”but you believeā€”oh!ā€”you believe, donā€™t you, Peter?ā€

While she spoke, I had slipped the pistol into my pocket, and now I held out my hands to her, and drew her near, and gazed into the troubled depths of her eyes.

ā€œCharmian!ā€ said I, ā€œCharmianā€”I love you! and God forbid that I should ever doubt you any more.ā€

So, with a sigh, she sank in my embrace, her arms crept about my neck, and our lips met, and clung together. But even thenā€”while I looked upon her beauty, while the contact of her lips thrilled through meā€”even then, in any mind, I saw the murderous pistol in her handā€”as I had seen it months ago. Indeed, it almost seemed that she divined my thought, for she drew swiftly back, and looked up at me with haggard eyes.

ā€œPeter?ā€ she whispered, ā€œwhat is itā€”what is it?ā€

ā€œOh, Charmian!ā€ said I, over and over again, ā€œI love youā€”I love you.ā€ And I kissed her appealing eyes, and stayed her questioning lips with my kisses. ā€œI love you more than my lifeā€”more than honorā€”more than my soul; and, because I so love youā€”to-night you must leave meā€”ā€

ā€œLeave you?ā€”ah no, Peterā€”noā€”no, I am your wifeā€”I must stay with youā€”to suffer and share your troubles and dangersā€”it is my rightā€”my privilege. Let us go away together, nowā€”anywhere ā€”anywhere, only let us be togetherā€”myā€”husband.ā€

ā€œDonā€™t!ā€ I cried, ā€œdonā€™t! Do you think it is so easy to remain here without youā€”to lose you so soonā€”so very soon? If I only loved you a little less! Ah! donā€™t you seeā€”before the week is out, my description will be all over England; we should be caught, and you would have to stand beside me in a court of justice, and face the shame of itā€”ā€

ā€œDear love!ā€”it would be my prideā€”my pride, Peter, to face them allā€”to clasp this dear hand in

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