When the police had departed with their prisoner, Bradly went to the wounded man and asked him if he thought he could walk home with help; but the only reply was a groan. “He’s badly hurt, I can see,” said Thomas; “we must make a stretcher out of any suitable stuff we can find, and carry him home between us. The Lord’s been very gracious to us so far in this business, and I don’t doubt but he’ll bring good out of this evil.” So they made a litter of boughs and stray pieces of plank, and set out across the fields for Crossbourne.
“Stay a bit, Jim,” whispered Bradly to James Barnes; “lend me your lantern. Go forward now, and I’ll join you in a minute.” He was soon back again, having brought the jar of tar from the vault, about which and its purpose he had heard from Foster while the police were searching the place. “I must keep this,” he said, “in my Surgery; it’ll do capitally to give an edge to a lesson.” And it may be here said that the jar was in due time placed on a bracket in Bradly’s private room, and labelled in large red letters, “Drunkards’ Ointment,”—giving Thomas many an opportunity of speaking a forcible word against evil companionship to those who sought his help and counsel.
But to return to the party at the old Hall. Long and weary seemed that walk home, specially to the wounded man. At last they reached the town, and carried the sufferer to his miserable dwelling, with cheery words to his poor wife, and a promise from Bradly to send the doctor at once, and that he would call himself next day and see how he was going on.
Then the three friends hastened at once to Foster’s house, that they might be the first to acquaint his wife with her husband’s peril and deliverance. Never was thanksgiving prayer uttered or joined in with more fervour than that which was offered by Thomas Bradly after he had given to Kate Foster a full account of the evening’s adventure. Then all sat down to a simple supper, at which Foster was asked by Thomas Bradly to tell him how he came to be taken in by such a man as Levi Sharples.
“I don’t wonder,” began Foster, “that you should think it weak and strange in me; but you shall judge. Levi Sharples and myself used to be great friends—or rather, perhaps, I ought to say frequent companions, for I don’t think there was ever anything worth calling friendship between us. He used to profess a great respect for my opinion. He regularly attended the meetings of our club, and made smart speeches, and would come out with the vilest sentiments expressed in the vilest and foulest language, such as disgusted me even then, and makes me shudder now when I think of it. He had a ready way with him, and could trip a man up in an argument and get the laugh against him. Not that he had really read or studied much; but he had gathered a smattering on many subjects, and knew how to make a little knowledge go a great way. Most of the other members of the club were afraid of him, for he had no mercy when he chose to come down on a fellow; and if any one tried to make a stand against him for a bit, he would soon talk him down with his biting sarcasms and loud sneering voice.
“I told you that he professed to have a high opinion of myself as a debater and free-thinker. He seldom crossed me in argument, and when he did he was sure to give in in the end. I was vain enough at the time to set this down to my own superior wit and knowledge; but I am now fully persuaded that he was only pretending to have this good opinion of me that he might make use of me for his own purposes. He knew that I was a skilful workman, and earned more than average wages, and so he would often borrow a few shillings from me, which he never remembered to pay back again. But he managed to get these loans very dexterously, always mixing up a little flattery when he came to borrow.
“Often and often, I’m ashamed to say, I have wandered out with him and other members of our club in the summer, on Sunday afternoons, to Cricketty Hall; and there, down in the old vault, we have been playing cards and drinking till it was time to return. I could see plainly enough on these occasions that Levi would have been only too glad to win largely from me; but I had sense enough to keep out of his clutches, as I had noticed him managing the cards unfairly when playing with others.
“I can’t say that I felt any particular regret when he had to take himself off out of the neighbourhood. There were no ties that could really bind us together; for, indeed, how can there be any real union where the closest bond is a common hatred of that gospel which is so truly, as I am thankful to say I have myself found it, the religion of love? I scarcely missed him, and seldom thought of him, and was rather startled when, a few days ago, he made himself known to me in the twilight.
“We were alone, and I was going to pass on with a civil word; but he begged me to stop, and in such a tone of voice as rather touched me. He then reminded me that we had been companions in evil, and said that he had heard of the change that had taken place in me. He added that he was very unhappy, that he hated himself for his past wicked life, and that as I used to stand his friend formerly when he needed a helping hand, he hoped I would show that my change was a real one by my willingness to give an old mate a lift over the stile and into the same way of peace in which I professed to be walking myself. He had much to tell me and ask of me, he said; but he was afraid of being discovered by the police, spite of his disguise. Would I meet him at Cricketty Hall, he should feel safe there.
“I did not know what to say. I could not get rid of my suspicions, notwithstanding his changed tone and manner. He saw it, and said: ‘You doubt my sincerity. Well, I suppose you’ll agree that when a man’s sincerity gets into his pocket it’s pretty sure to be genuine. Now, you’ve lent me money at different times, and I never paid any of it back. I’ve reckoned it up, and it comes altogether to three pounds ten shillings. Here it is; and many thanks to you for lending it me. I’m only sorry that I was not an honest man before.’