For the past three months this idea had been in his head: to obtain the order for Sage to see her husband; but he had had great difficulty in obtaining that he sought, and now that he had achieved his end, what had it brought? Sorrow and despair--a horror such as must cling even to her dying day.
The driver respected his companion"s silence for a time, but finding at last that there was no prospect of Luke speaking, he ventured upon a remark--
"Very horrid, zir, warn"t it?"
"Terrible, my man, terrible," said Luke, starting from his reverie.
"I shall be called at the inquest, I s"pose. This makes the third as I"ve been had up to, and all for convicts zhot when trying to escape, I don"t think it ought to be "lowed."
Luke was silent, and the man made no further attempts at conversation on their way to the hotel.
The inquest followed in due course, and in accordance with the previous examinations of the kind. The convict who attempted to escape did it at his own risk, his life being, so to say, forfeit to the laws, and after the stereotyped examinations of witnesses, the regular verdict in such cases was returned, the chaplain improving his discourse on the following Sunday by an allusion to the escaped man"s awful fate, and the necessity for all present bearing their punishment with patience and meekness to the end.
The warning had such a terrible effect upon the men that not a single attempt to escape occurred afterwards for forty-eight hours, that is to say, until the next sea-fog came over the land, when three men from as many working parties darted off, and of these only one was recaptured, so that the lesson taught by Cyril Mallow"s death was without effect.
There was some talk of a prosecution of Luke for striking the warder, but on the governor arriving at a knowledge of the facts, he concluded that it would be better not to attack one so learned in the law; besides which, the authorities were always glad to have anything connected with one of their judicial murders put out of sight as soon as possible, lest people of Radical instincts should make a stir in Parliament, and there should be a great call for statistics, a Committee of Inquiry, and other troublesome affairs. Consequently no more was said, and Luke Ross, after seeing Sage and her uncle to the station, returned to his solitary chambers, and laboured hard at the knotty cases that were thrust constantly into his hands.
For work was the opiate taken by Luke Ross to ease the mental pain he so often suffered when he allowed his thoughts to dwell upon the past. He found in it relief, and, unconsciously, it brought him position and wealth.
He had not revisited Lawford, but from time to time the solicitor there who had the settlement of his father"s affairs sent him statements, accompanying them always with a little business-like chat, that he said he thought his eminent fellow-townsman would like to have.
Luke used to smile at that constantly-recurring term, "eminent fellow-townsman," which the old solicitor seemed very fond of using; but he often used to sigh as well when he read of the changes that took place as time glided on. How that Fullerton had ceased to carp at church matters, and raise up strife against church rates, being called to his fathers, and lying very peacefully in his coffin when the man he had so often denounced read the solemn service of the church, and stood by as he was laid in that churchyard.
The Rector, too, Luke learned, had grown very old and broken of late, and it was expected, people said, that poor Mrs Mallow could not last much longer, for she had been smitten more sorely at the news of the death of her erring son, the paralysis having taken a greater hold, and weakened terribly her brain.
"Old Mr Mallow goes a good deal to Kilby Farm," the solicitor said in one of his letters, "and the little grandchildren go about with him in the woods. Portlock talks of giving up his farm and retiring, but he"ll never do it as long as he lives, and so I tell him.
"If there"s any farther news I will save it, and send it with my next," he continued. "But I should advise you to take Warton"s offer for the house in the marketplace on a lease of seven (7), fourteen (14), or twenty-one (21) years, determinable on either side. He will put in a new plate-gla.s.s front, and do all repairs himself. He is a substantial man, Warton, and you could not do better with the property.--I am, dear sir, your obedient servant,
"James Littler.
"P.S.--I have directed this letter to your chambers in King"s Bench Walk. I little thought when I drew up the minutes of meeting deciding on your appointment as Master of Lawford School--an arrangement opposed, as you may remember, in meeting, by late Fullerton--I should ever have the honour of addressing you as an eminent counsel."
Luke wrote back by return:--
"Dear Mr Littler,--Thank you for your kind management of my property.
I hold Mr Warton in the greatest respect, and there is no man in Lawford I would sooner have for my tenant. But there are certain reasons, which you may consider sentimental, against the arrangement.
I wish the old house and its furniture to remain quite untouched, and widow Lane to stay there as long as she will. She was very kind to my father in his last illness, and she has had her share of trouble. I am sure he would have wished her to stay.
"Very glad to hear of any little bits of news. Yes, certainly, put my name down for what you think right for the coal fund and the other charity.--Very truly yours,
"Luke Ross."
PART THREE, CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
AFTER FOUR YEARS.
Four years in the life of a busy man soon glide away, and after that lapse there were certain little matters in connection with his late father"s property, that Luke seized upon as an excuse for going down to Lawford once again.
He had one primary object for going, one that he had nursed now for these four years, and had dwelt upon in the intervals of his busy toil.
In spite of all bitterness of heart, he had from time to time awakened to the fact that the old love was not dead. There had always been a tiny spark hidden deeply, but waiting for a kindly breath to make it kindle into a vivid flame.
His positionhad led him into good society, and he had been frequently introduced to what people who enjoyed such matters termed eligible matches, but it soon became evident to all the matchmakers that the successful barrister, the next man spoken of for silk, was not a marrying man; in short, that he had no heart.
No heart!
Luke Ross knew that he had, and from time to time he would take out his old love, and think over it and wonder.
"Four years since," he said, one evening, as he sat alone in his solitary chambers. "Why not?"
Then he fell into a fit of self-examination.
"Cyril Mallow seemed to ask me to be protector to his wife and children, and I would have done anything I could, but Portlock and Cyril"s father have always met Littler with the same excuse. "There is plenty for them, and the offer would only give Mrs Cyril pain.""
But why not now?
He sat thinking, gazing up at the bronzed busts of great legal luminaries pa.s.sed away, and at the dark shadows they cast upon the walls.
"Do I love her? Heaven knows how truly and how well."
He smiled then--a pleasant smile, which seemed to take away the hardness from his thoughtful face.
But it was not of Sage he was thinking, but of her two little girls and his meeting with them in the Kilby lane.
"G.o.d bless them!" he said, half aloud, "I love them with all my heart."
The next day he was on his way down to Lawford, a calm, stern, middle-aged man, thinking of how the time had fled since, full of aspirations, he had come up to fight the battle for success. Sixteen years ago now, and success was won; but he was not happy. There was an empty void in his breast that he had never filled, and as he lay back in his corner of the carriage, he fell into a train of pleasanter thoughts.
The time had gone by for young and ardent love; but why should not he and Sage be happy still for the remainder of their days?
And then, in imagination, he saw them both going hand in hand down-hill, happy in the love of those two girls, whom he meant it to be his end and aim to win more and more to himself.
"G.o.d bless them!" he said again, as he thought of the flowers the younger one had offered him, of the kiss the other had imprinted upon his hand; and at last, happier and brighter than he had felt for years, he leaped out of the carriage and ordered a fly and pair to take him to Kilby Farm.
His joyous feelings seemed even on the increase as he neared the place, in spite of the tedious rate at which they moved, and turning at last after the long ride into the Kilby lane, he came in sight of the snug old farm just as the setting sun was gilding the windows.
The Churchwarden was at the door with a smile of welcome as Luke leaped from the fly and warmly grasped his hand.
"I knew you would come," he said; "but how quick you have been. When did you get my letter?"
"Your letter?"
"Yes; asking you to come. She begged me to write."
"Then it was inspiration that brought me here. She will welcome me as I wish," he cried. "I have not had your letter. Take me to her at once, I have wasted too much time as it is."