Joel Returns to the Dale
Joel Hart returned to the dale on the day of the Shepherds' Meet. The coach set him down at an inn, twenty miles from High Fold, in the small hours of the morning; and, having hired a horse for the rest of the journey, he rode through Cringel Forest soon after day-break.
Mally Ray had cleaned the old house from cellar to garret, arranged the furniture to the best advantage, and put fires in those rooms which she considered most suitable for a young man who had made his fortune, but was still a bachelor.
She was preparing the breakfast when she heard the sound of hoofs on the road. Austere and dignified, she yet flung a shawl over her shoulders, and went out to meet him.
Yonder he came, a dusky figure on a dusky horse, riding under the bare boughs. He alighted as soon as he saw her.
"You're welcome home, Master Joel," she said, and though he had been her nursling, she shook hands with him after the fashion of her country. But her hand-shake was sincere.
"Still the same old Mally," he exclaimed with a laugh, and bending down he kissed her cheek. With the horse's bridle over his arm, and his free hand on her shoulder, they went up the path to the house. Joel gave a swift glance round at the rank vegetation.
"There's some need of a pruning knife here," he remarked.
"Aye, Master Joel, you'll find plenty to do now you've come back. I hope you mean to stay and settle down."
He shook his head gaily.
"I'll make no promises," he replied.
He stabled his horse, wandered once round the moss-grown walk under the windows, then entered the parlour and flung himself down in a chair. Breakfast was ready, and he ate it in a strange mood. Five years in the wilderness had greatly changed him. He had lived through wider experiences, tasted fresh pleasures and disappointments, thought other thoughts. But now he had come back to the old life, and already those days were slipping away, and bygone habits reasserting themselves.
"And how are all my friends, Mally?" he asked. "Mistress Lynn is still living, I hear. She must be a tough old stick."
"She's near a hundred."
"Good heavens! Think of living for a hundred years! Fewer will satisfy me!"
"Fewer satisfy most folk."
"Life isn't such a joyous game, is it, Mally, that you'd like to play it for ever?"
"I've no call to complain," she replied.
Joel took his pipe from his pocket and lit it.
"Neither have I," he said. "Fate kicked me badly once, but she's made up for it since. I'm a rich man, Mally."
"I'm glad to hear it. I hope you'll use your wealth wisely."
"I shall not tie it up in a napkin like great-granny Lynn. By-the-bye, I must go and see her this morning. Barbara, I suppose, still manages the farm?"
"She's a fine lass!" said the old woman warmly.
"Handsome—eh?"
"I'm no judge."
"And Lucy—is she as pretty as ever? But now I come to think of it you didn't consider her pretty. Well, I hope she's living in the seventh heaven of happiness with her big booby of a husband. I never thought that Peter Fleming would marry her—Barbara was more in his line."
Mally made no reply.
"You're no hand at gossiping," he said. "I'll have to go to Greystones to hear the news. But tell me this—there's a good heart—does Lucy ever ask after me?"
"Whiles."
"Whiles! as a Christian sister asks after a Christian brother, anxious for the state of his soul! What sort of a man is Peter?"
"He's a good man."
"Oh, I heard he had brought his father's grey hairs with sorrow to the grave! You see I've not been kept in darkness all these years, though you told me very little, Mally. I fear Peter won't have much good-will for me, since we baited his pet bear that night. Did it live or die?"
"He keeps it at the mill-house. It was poor sport to set the dogs on a gently creature like yon."
"A low trick, Mally, I've thought so ever since. I'm glad it lived. But it never cared much for me."
"It never had much cause to. You'd better keep out of its way, Master Joel."
"I'll not meddle with it, don't fear."
He got up, wandered through the house, whistled carelessly, then went out.
He stood on the road looking first north, then south. North led up to Greystones, south through the forest to the village and the old mill. He could not decide which way to take. He looked at his watch. The hour was just nine, too early for a visit to Mistress Lynn, so he went in the other direction. He had no intention of seeking Lucy, but he wanted to look at the place where she lived. He left the road, and followed a by-path which would lead him to the banks of the beck opposite to the mill, and thus he would escape having to pass through the village. He had seen the house in the early morning when it looked little more than a blot through the twilight.
Smoke was now rising from the chimneys, waving over the roof like an azure veil. The parlour window stood open, and the dimity curtains fluttered out and in with the draught.
So this was Lucy's home—grey weather-beaten walls, an old wooden wheel, a cottage garden, and the rippling beck. There were flowers in pots upon the sill, and the curtains were gaily coloured. He thought that he would have given her a statelier house, silken window-hangings, rarer flowers. But she had not waited.
For some minutes he stood, hidden by the trees, while his eyes roved over the irregular outlines, and fixed themselves upon the window. He wished that Lucy would look out. He wanted to see her again, to learn if he would still care for her, if her fair face would still have power to charm him.
As he watched and waited, he thought of the other women who had crossed his path in the last five years. When he had heard of Lucy's marriage, he had been overwhelmed, cast down from his high hopes into a gulf of darkness. Self-reproach and resentment had fought with each other, and had at last proclaimed a truce, for though he owned that he had done amiss, and had no right to expect that she would wait for him, seeing that he had not asked her to; yet he bitterly resented the fact that she had so soon filled his place with another. But he was young, and having recovered somewhat from the blow, he had plunged into all the excitements that his wild life provided, and they were many, enough to drown regret—if regret can be drowned. He had amused himself with other women, but he had not loved them—they had soon wearied him, they had been stale, too ready to be won. After every fresh experience he had turned longing eyes back to the idyll of the dell in Cringel Forest. It became to him like the memory of a happy dream, a vision of Paradise, a revelation of the true meaning of love. And so he had been drawn back to the dale by the beauty and pathos of a vanished ideal. He cast longing eyes upon that part of his life; he regarded it as the best part. For the future he hoped and expected nothing, yet found a fascination in wondering what it would bring.
But at last a movement roused him. Lucy had come into the garden, and stood looking at the sky as though wondering what the weather would be. Then she opened the gate and passed into the village street, turning in the direction of the road through the forest.
Joel's first impulse was to stay where he was, but he quickly changed his mind. Why should he hesitate to meet her? If he remained for any time at home they were bound to cross each other's path continually. Besides, he felt a great longing to look upon her face again. He retraced his steps, and came on to the road, just as she was passing over the bridge in his direction.
She did not see him at first, and he thought that she looked older and thinner. But when he moved out from among the undergrowth, a swift change passed over her features. The cheeks took on a deeper colour, the eyes, half frightened, half joyous, were raised to his. They were blue as blue skies.
Lucy had been wondering if she would meet him this morning. She had heard his horse's feet pass at day-break, and had peeped under the curtains, but been unable to see anything save a moving shadow. She had dressed herself with greater care, pausing often to still the fluttering of her heart. After the first thrill of excitement, she became self-possessed, for she had often schooled herself to such a meeting.
She came towards him with outstretched hand.
"How are you, Joel?" she asked.
"I'm well," he replied; "and you? But I needn't enquire—you look blooming."
Thus they crossed that difficult bridge of five years.
They walked on together, and he told her about his journey, and the life he had been living since they last met.
But soon there befell a pause.
Lucy found it disconcerting.
"I'm going up to Greystones to spend the day with great-granny," she said. "Barbara and Peter have both gone to the Shepherds' Meet in Girdlestone Pass. You remember it, don't you?"
"Peter and I have wrestled there many a time," he replied. "I think I'll go and look him up for the sake of old times."
They walked on in silence. Lucy wished that Joel would talk more. She half wished he would treat the love they had once had for each other as a forgotten dream. But, stealing a glance at him, she became aware of his rising emotion; she seemed to hear it like the filling of a well with water. It frightened her.
She hurried her steps. She wanted to be out of the forest, and away from scenes that wakened sleeping memories. She knew that his eyes were upon her now, and she wondered, with that attention to trifles which the mind sometimes affects in times of great stress, whether or not he liked the new way that she dressed her hair.
"You came very early this morning," she said. "You must be tired."
"How do you know I came early? Were you watching for me?"
"Of course. It's natural I should want to see you again—such old friends as we are."
He laughed, glanced up and down the road, and seeing no one, took her hand.
"It's pleasant to meet again after so many years. I came home to see you."
"That was foolishness, Joel," she replied kindly.
"Perhaps! Through folly we get wisdom! Ah, here we are near our trysting-place. Come and look at it, Lucy, for old time's sake."
They were passing the little track, almost effaced now by ferns and moss, which led to the dell, where they had spent so many joyous hours. He took her arm, and with a movement that was more of will than muscle, drew her in that direction.
His face and eyes were waking with the old love. He had wondered if it would stir again when he saw her. Now he knew that the intervening years had only fallen like dead leaves upon it; that underneath, it lay green and ready to burst into leaf, when they should be swept away.
The knowledge that she was Peter's wife angered him, but did not make him pause to restrain his feelings.
Joel's was an illogical mind—illogical by nature as well as training. He had never been able to see the true relation of events to one another, or follow a straight course without deviating from it down some byway. He strayed from the path, led by fancies instead of principles; rarely did he consult reason, or entertain reflection, or employ himself by taking a survey of the land through which he was travelling. He fell into morasses, which foresight would have shown him; he came to barriers which he could not climb, though the experience of wise men had set up a sign-post, pointing out the way, but he would not stop to read it; he reached a desert, where no water was, because he got tired of following the pilgrim's track. Yet he had always meant to do right; his failures had caused him regret.
When he brought Lucy to the dell, he stood for a moment gazing at her with a searching look. She was beautiful and desirable. But she seemed to be cold. He would stir her heart's depths and bring forgotten things to the surface. He would make tumult where there was calm.
"Lucy," he said, "why didn't you wait for me?"
"Don't let us rake up the past," she replied, her limbs beginning to tremble, for she remembered that she was Peter's wife. "There's nought to be got but ashes."
He did not heed her.
"Listen," he said, bringing his head to a level with hers; "listen and I'll tell you what life has been to me since we last met in this place. When I went into the wilderness I took with me the thought of you. I knew that I had done you wrong, but it was done without intention, and I said to myself, she will forgive, for she loves me. So I worked hard—men have to work hard out yonder, when they go seeking their fortunes. I suffered hunger and thirst, but counted it sweet for your sake. I sweated in the sun and shivered in the snow for your sake. There's nothing a man can do for the woman he loves, save die for her, that I haven't done for you."
He drew her nearer to him, and she did not resist. She had never been able to resist the fascination of this man, who looked at her with his handsome face aglow with a passion, that Peter had never shown.
"The first bit of gold I found," he continued, "I kept to make your wedding-ring. I tied it up in a handkerchief, and wore it over my heart day and night. I kept it even when I was down in my luck. But it reminded me of you, you, among the fells and dales of the home-country, waiting and longing for me. It was a foolish dream, I know. Then fortune smiled. Life looked all rose-colour, till one day I got your letter. If ever a man had climbed high with hopes, Lucy, I was that man, and if ever a man came sliding down at one blow, I was that man."
Lucy's self-possession began to give way. She might have justified her own actions, might have poured resentment and wrath upon him. She did none of these things.
"Oh, Joel," she cried, "life is very hard and bitter. But we must make the best of it."
She made an effort to go away, before her feelings betrayed her into any deeper revelations than she had a right to make. But he caught and kissed her. She struggled to free herself, but his arms were like steel bands. If Peter had ever kissed her thus she might have become his as truly in heart as she was in name. But Peter's kisses, though kind, did not thrill her. He never swept her off her feet in the flood of an overmastering emotion. He was always quiet and self-controlled, while she loved to feel as though a stormy sea were beating upon her bosom. She did not think that his love might be more enduring than that which could rise like a tempest, but as suddenly fall again.
For Joel and Lucy, just now, five years were blotted out, five years of separation and misunderstanding. Duty, too, was swept into oblivion by their reckless hands. Heedlessly they set out in an unsound boat upon a dangerous sea, and forgot the depths below, the yawning lips of the gulf which would suck them down sooner or later to everlasting regret.
"You are mine, Lucy," whispered Joel, "you are mine. I always knew you were."
For a few minutes she lay soothed within the shelter of his arms. Then she tore herself away. Without a word, but with a scared face, she fled back through the forest to her home. There she flung herself down by a chair and wept.
She remembered that her great-grandmother would be expecting her, but she dared not confront those eagle eyes in her present state of mind.
The world had taken on a darker hue since she had gone out but a little while ago. Yesterday was grey, but it had passed serenely. To-day clouds were rolling up, and she heard the mutter of approaching thunder.
Where was peace, that she might find it? Only in resignation. Where was happiness, that she might snatch at it? Only in devotion to duty. Where could she turn for safety? She felt that she was swinging over an abyss. There was safety with Peter. But resignation was a hard bed. Duty had lost its savour. And she was afraid of Peter now, for she knew that she had wronged him.
Joel remained in the dell for a while after Lucy had left him. His idyll had become a tragedy. His vision was defiled. He wondered if he should go away now, and never return. He wanted to keep Lucy as he had always thought of her—sweet, pure, dream-like. He could not do that and have her. He meant to have her. He would sacrifice his ideals to have her. How he would bring it to pass he did not know, but some time the way would open out. Had she not said that she loved him?
He burned with hatred towards Peter, towards the man who had circumvented him. What use was his wealth to him if he must live alone, deprived of the one thing he most wanted to have?
He might have remained there for a long time, struggling with his good and evil natures, but he was disturbed by the sudden entrance of the bear and Jake into his solitude. The beast had a particular affection for the pool in the dell, and preferred it to all others for its daily bath.
But no sooner did it set eyes on Joel, than it began to growl and bristle up with anger.
"Hulloa, Master Joel, back again to the dale," cried Jake.
"Back again," he replied with assumed cheerfulness. "But it seems as though I've found an enemy waiting for me."
The rat-catcher tightened his hand on the chain.
"Big Ben doesn't often show his teeth. Maybe you'd better hook it, master; seems as though he'd got a memory, eh?"
Joel laughed, but took the wiser part of withdrawing before the creature had strung up its ponderous limbs to deal him a blow, which would have ended his temptations for that day and many days to follow.