He considered how this apotheosis of his elder daughter might have hurt him once, though little likely to surprise him. But now it lacked all power to hurt and left him indifferent. She was gone in spirit long ago; and John Henry was gone; and Peter thought more of George Middleweek's opinions than of his. Yet how trivial were these losses and dismemberments now. For life, like the sleight of sun and shadow on hills and valleys, had cast down and lifted up, had transformed the shifting scenery of his existence, so that things before invisible stared out upon him and the old landmarks and comfortable places, the nook and dingle, the blue hill and music-making waters, were obliterated and blotted from the theatre in which he moved. Light glared pitiless where shadows had mercifully spread; gloom threw a pall over what had seemed most stable, most gracious and assured. Did the dogs look at him with the old adoration in their eyes? Was it possible that the miasma he trailed could miss their sensitive nostrils? He often hungered for Huntingdon and the white, squab house under the sycamores; but he put the thought from him as a weakness. Not there homed reality; not there could he perform his penance, or justify the undying hope that still burned up and, with its flickering promise, faintly revived the old images and fought the new darkness that hung heavy upon them.
CHAPTER V
REVENGE
Now opportunity thrust another into the affairs of Jacob Bullstone—one who never occupied a moment of his own thoughts, but who, none the less, was deeply concerned with him.
Unknown and unguessed by his brother, or his aunt, Samuel Winter's weak brain was suffering a stormy assault and gradually reaching a very dangerous decision on the subject of his brother's wrongs. Affairs that leapt instantly to the zenith in a normal intellect, mounted by slow degrees for him; thus his purpose only matured long after the summits of emotion in other men and women were passed. He had taken the matter of Adam's affront very much to heart, and while scarcely able to appreciate the details or understand their significance, none the less grasped that the master of Red House had done Adam an injury beyond any atonement. He had listened to his aunt's furious comments on the disaster and shared her indignation; he had perceived that, while unspeakable evil resulted from Bullstone's errors, the criminal went unrestrained and apparently unpunished. This he resented. Samuel's theory of justice embraced active retaliation for wrong done, and he held it a grievance that Jacob should be none the worse after his offences. He found the matter fasten on his waking thoughts; and he harboured dreams of a great revenge that should be worthy of the occasion. While the rest of the world had cooled its anger; while even a shadow of regret for both sufferers appeared here and there, doubtfully uttered by a seeing woman or sentimental man, Samuel reached gradually to the climax of his private hate. Bullstone must be struck hard, and from this conviction, all unknown and unguessed, Sammy's faulty wits led him to a still more tremendous conclusion. Long brooding, and a gathering weight of indignation at the injustice of Jacob's escape, decided the crazy creature to destroy him and rid the world of an evil thing. He would kill the enemy as he killed vermin. Thus a grave, physical peril now hung over Bullstone, and there was none to warn him, since Samuel took care that not a whisper of his project should be heard. He had the wit to guess that his brother might condemn it; but believed notwithstanding that, after the event, Adam must be the first to praise.
At this stage in his remorseless progress, chance lent itself to Samuel's purpose and he accepted an opportunity. For once the muddy currents of his intelligence flowed swiftly and he struck, after a fashion more worthy of a knave than a fool.
Jacob Bullstone, exploring every channel and considering each human figure that might be regarded as a link between himself and his wife, had thought of late upon her brother. He had observed that Jeremy now avoided him and, until the present, had not thought to challenge the younger man, or thrust any needless difficulty upon his life; but there came a sudden conviction that through his brother-in-law a possible approach to Margery might be obtained. He yearned to put circumstances before her and had endeavoured to do so by letter; but the letters were returned by the hand of Auna, and when the girl once more visited her mother with messages, she was told very plainly that she must obey former commands and not mention her father again. Failure to keep this order would mean denial of her mother to her.
Bullstone, considering ways and means, desired to furnish Margery with money, and his lawyer assured him that there existed no objection to so doing. He was impoverished himself and knew well enough that his wife would take nothing from him, yet the thought persisted, among other thoughts, and he strove to create from it, if possible, some sort of tie between himself and his partner. He told himself that if once the slenderest thread of communication might be established and recognised, upon that he would build and build, until something vital were accomplished.
Therefore he turned to Jeremy. He did not go to the green-grocer's, but waited a chance meeting, and when that fell out, in a manner very convenient to the purpose, he stopped the other and, to Jeremy's discomfort, insisted on having speech with him. Huxam had been to see some apples with a view to purchasing them on the trees, and he was returning from an orchard in the valley above Brent, when he met Jacob face to face, in a lane, and found it impossible to avoid him. He was hastening past, with his face turned to the ground, when his brother-in-law blocked the way.
"Well met," he said. "I've been wanting half a dozen words with you, Jeremy. I won't keep you. I'll walk along with you."