Urith: A Tale of Dartmoor

by S. Baring-Gould

Nothing, perhaps, so galled the thoughts of Fox as the consciousness that he had been over-reached—he who had deemed himself incomparably the shrewdest and keenest man in the district; who had despised and laughed at old Cleverdon—never more than when luring him on with the hopes of winning Julian. He had done this out of pure malice, with the desire of making the old man ridiculous, and of enjoying the disappointment that was inevitable. He had played his trick upon his father-in-law; but the tables had been turned on him in compound degree.

His father-in-law was right—he was a Cleverdon, and his fortunes were bound up with Hall. If Hall were lost, he had lost all but the trifle he was likely to receive from his father. If Hall was to be saved, it must be saved by him; and, had he known that it was likely to be sold, he would never have encumbered himself with a wife—with Bessie—and degraded himself to take the name of Cleverdon instead of his own ancient and honourable patronymic. He would have waited a fortnight; and, if he could get the money together, would have bought Hall, and enjoyed the satisfaction of turning the Cleverdons out of it.

It was now too late. He must decide on his course of conduct. He did not think of doing what Mr. French supposed he would—ride in quest of his father. He would not venture himself near the quarters of Monmouth, and run the risk of being supposed to have any sympathy or connection with the rebellion. Moreover, he very much doubted whether his father could, if he would, assist in this matter.

Presently he stood up, went to the grey, saddled her, and rode to Kilworthy.

On reaching that place he put up the horse himself, and stole up the steps to the first terrace, on which grew a range of century-old yews, passed behind the yews to the end of the terrace, where was an abandoned pigeon-house, a circular stone building, with conical roof. The door was open, and Fox went in. The wooden door had long disappeared, for the pigeon-house had been given up. Within were holes in tiers all round the building, in which pigeons had formerly built and laid. But the owls and rats had so repeatedly and determinedly invaded this house, and had wrought such havoc among the pigeons, that at last it had been abandoned wholly, and the pigeons were accommodated in the adjoining farm-yard, on casks erected on the top of poles, where, if not out of reach of owls, they were secure from rats. The neglected pigeonry was too strongly built to fall to ruin, but the woodwork was rotted away, and had not been replaced. It was a dark chamber, receiving its light from the door, and was not used for any purpose.

Into this, after looking about him cautiously, Fox entered. A short ladder was laid against the wall, and this he took, and after carefully counting the pigeon-holes, set the ladder, and after ascending it, thrust his hand into one of the old resting-places, and drew out a canvas bag. It had been sealed, but the seal was broken. It had been opened and then tied up again. Then Fox went to the next pigeon-hole, and felt in that, and again drew forth a bag similar to the first.

"Here is the money," muttered he. "Enough to save Hall, but whether I shall risk doing it is another matter."

Suddenly the place was darkened—the light entering by the door was intercepted.

Fox's heart stood still. For a moment only he was in darkness. He fell rather than climbed down the ladder, hastily put it back where he found it, and ran outside.

At the further end of the terrace was Julian. As he caught sight of her he attempted to withdraw, but she had seen him, and she beckoned, and came to him with quick steps.