Mrs. Gillison was delighted. She was at heart as determined a gambler as ever punted at Monaco. She had now discovered in her Paragon the only virtue in which she had considered her wanting. So they continued their game—only playing for sixpences. When Mrs. Gillison retired that night her last observation was,—
“’Ow that gurl do improve in her card playin’ to be sure.”
And indeed Mrs. Gillison did not do her protégée more than justice. She did improve with rapid strides. The same faculty which enabled her to take away the village school prizes from all comers, now gave her the power of acquiring the mysteries of the pack. In time she began to consider cribbage a somewhat slow amusement, and her mistress, nothing loath, undertook to open up for her the beauties of écarté. This Susan considered an altogether more agreeable pastime. And after she had played it a week her mistress on going to bed made this remark,—
“The way that gurl turns up the King is astonishin’.”
It was astonishing. In fact, Susan turned the King up with such success that at the end of twelve months her mistress owed her five hundred pounds which she could not pay. Then it was that Susan discovered the sinfulness of cards. It consisted in playing and not paying. She told her mistress so, and considered that she was only doing her duty as a religious and well brought-up young woman in warning that abandoned person of the danger of giving way to habits of dishonesty. This little monetary difficulty occasioned unpleasantness between mistress and maid. Relations between them became strained. Mrs. Gillison was—to use her own expression—dying for a game of cards, and Susan Copeland refused to play except for ready money. Eventually it became so apparent that the unscrupulous old woman either would not or could not pay what she had lost, that Susan in the defence of her just rights was obliged to call in her legal adviser.
Thomas Ash, still true to his Susan, and pining at a separation so lengthened, had obtained a situation in the London police, and although he had not succeeded in getting put upon the Thornton Heath district he felt that he was near his sweetheart, and could occasionally have an interview with her when off duty. One evening Susan told her mistress that her friend had called, and the old lady, now looking worn and faded, followed her maid to the kitchen, where, to her great surprise and terror, she beheld a policeman of formidable size and severe aspect. She burst out crying and begged Susan to spare her—not to arrest her and she would pay all—she would indeed. Thomas Ash reassured the lady, informing her that he was present in his private capacity to advise, not in his public capacity to arrest. He was present to assist, not to alarm. The advice which he gave was simple and direct. He advised her to sell her house and furniture, and so settle Susan’s demand. The defaulting gambler at first refused, but Thomas Ash put the heinousness of her crime in such a very strong light that she at last consented, and Lambird Cottage with its contents became the property of strangers.
Ash left the police and took a beer house called the “Spotted Cow,” and in due course married Susan. They are greatly respected by their customers, and have shown unexampled kindness to the wretched woman, who tried to rob the gentle Susan. They have, for a consideration paid quarterly, given Mrs. Gillison a home, and she endeavours to prove her gratitude by doing all the kitchen work, mending the socks of the only child, and preparing the linen, for another which is daily expected. Sometimes Susan will lend her six pennies of an evening with which to play cribbage, and they play quite happily till the Paragon has won the pennies all back again.
XXI.
LOVE AND A DIARY.
You will find recorded in a hundred places the history of the flirt, who, carrying her affectation of coldness too far, is misunderstood at last by her lover. He, devoted man, leaves her presence to wander about the world, while she atones for her indiscretion by a life-long repentance. This capricious maiden figures in comedy, tragedy, and farce. She is the heroine of innumerable novels, and her folly and fidelity form the theme of at least one popular song. In this Tale she figures once again; and the only excuse for presenting her is that she appears in connection with a circumstance or coincidence so strange as to appear incredible. It is nevertheless absolutely true.
Those who have followed the red deer on Exmoor need not be told that Dulverton is a hunting centre, situated on the border of Somerset. Such readers will recall, not unpleasantly, the morning bustle in the yard of the “Lion” when there has been a meet in the neighbourhood. The rubbing down of nags, the excitement of grooms, the greetings of red-coated sportsmen. Among those who most enthusiastically supported the Devon and Somerset Stag hounds at the date of this story’s commencement were Squire Arbery and his daughter Kate. She was an excellent horsewoman, and understood the long, precipitous coombes, and knew how to take the deceptive moor-bog, which showed as solid ground to the uninitiated, and was generally in at the death, when the stag, with glassy eye, outstretched tongue, and quivering flank, fell beneath the fangs of the pack.