# Joan, The Curate/Chapter 20

What if one of Ann's friends, her poor lover Tom for instance, had stolen the key of the vault, in order to be able to pass an hour by the coffin which held the remains of one who had been so dear to him?
This seemed so likely, that Tregenna was resolved to put his notion to the test. But he found the door of the vault safely locked, and no signs about of any recent visitor.
As, however, on the following day, the vicar confessed that the key had not yet been discovered, Tregenna made up his mind to keep an eye on the church; and he regularly, for the next ten days, paid a visit to the spot before returning to the cutter after his call at the Parsonage.
And on the tenth evening, just as he was entering the churchyard by the little wooden gate ​on the north side, he caught sight of a human head disappearing rapidly, apparently into the bowels of the earth, behind the east end of the church.
Going rapidly and noiselessly in that direction, Tregenna reached the steps which led down to the vault, and saw that the door was open some inches. Descending cautiously, he could distinguish certain sounds within the vault, which betrayed the presence of live human beings; the mutterings and shufflings of feet grew louder, until he was able to distinguish the voice of Jack Price the smuggler, and another which he did not recognize.
After the lapse of a few seconds they began to make such a noise, as they pushed certain heavy loads about, to the accompaniment of much scraping of the stone floor, that Tregenna ventured to open the door a little farther, and to peep in.
A weird sight met his eyes. By the light of a torch, which smoked and flared, throwing a red light on the faces and figures of the men, and making a great patch of sooty blackness upon the green slime on the roof, Jack Price, long, lean, and woebegone of face, and Bill ​Plunder, short, crooked, and evil-looking, were busily engaged in piling up against the walls of the vault a huge quantity of kegs and bales of goods, in order to make them occupy the least possible space, and so make room for more.
Tregenna, hardened as he was to the smugglers and their villainies, could scarcely believe his eyes. Not a sign of a coffin was to be seen. Apparently the dead had been turned out of their resting-place, to make way for the merchandise of the "free-traders."
As he thought of the callousness which could thus make an opportunity out of the death of an old comrade like Ann, to find a new nest for their contraband wares, the lieutenant felt that he could restrain himself no longer. Casting all prudence to the winds, and unmindful of the fact that these two might have comrades within call, he dashed open the door of the vault, and seizing the tall Jack Price, by a clever movement flung him sprawling on the stone floor.
Bill Plunder, though taken aback for the moment, recovered himself, and planting himself behind a breastwork of contraband merchandise, leveled his pistol at Tregenna.
​The lieutenant whipped out his own weapon at the same moment, received a bullet in his right shoulder, and answered by firing with his left a shot which made Bill leap up in the air with a loud cry. The next moment Tregenna found himself grappling with Jack, who had risen from the ground and seized a broken piece of metal which was lying on the stone floor.
Jack fought like a madman, slashing and plunging at his opponent with a vigor and ferocity which seemed to render the combat a hopeless one for the lieutenant, whose wound was bleeding freely, when, just as Tregenna felt his head growing dizzy and his eyes becoming dim, the smuggler, in making a desperate lunge at him, tripped in some ropes which were lying on the floor, and stumbled headlong over a couple of the smuggled kegs of spirit.
Quick as thought Tregenna seized one of the kegs, sprang to the door, got outside, and wedged the door tightly with the barrel, which he had rolled out in front of him.
The space at the bottom of the steps was just wide enough to allow of this being done; ​and then, without waiting to see whether the men would make any attempt to escape from their imprisonment, he started for the Parsonage.
Before he got there, however, he found himself staggering, and knew that he would not have strength left to reach the house. As he stood swaying to and fro for a few seconds on the footpath, he caught the sound of a wagon going along slowly at the foot of the hill. There was a man walking beside the horses, cracking his whip and urging them on. It was too dark for Tregenna to see either wagon or man; but the frosty air carried the sounds to him clearly, and carried back his fainting cry—
"Help, help!"
Then he fell down on the grass beside the footpath.
When he came to himself, after a curious experience of being in the sea, swimming for life, with a dozen faces he knew around him, he found that he was still lying on the grass, but that there was at least one face he knew bending over him, looking very weird and strange by the light of a heavy lantern, which ​had been placed on the ground beside him. And the face was that of Gardener Tom!
"Tom?" cried he faintly.
The great boorish fellow watching over him burst into a great blubbering and sobbing like an overgrown child.
"Ay, 'tis me, sir, and glad am I to see you look at me again. For oons, sir, I thought you'd shut your eyes forever! You're hurt, sir—badly hurt. And for sure 'tis one of them rascally smugglers that's done it!"
Ill as he was, Tregenna smiled and raised his eyebrows.
"Smugglers, Tom! Nay, sure you mean 'free-traders.'"
"I means smugglers, domn 'em!" roared Tom, energetically. "And if ever I carry a keg again, or help 'em in their wicked ways, may I be riddled through and through, loike as if I was a target!"
"Since—when have you—become so virtuous?" panted out Tregenna feebly.
"Since one of 'em, nay two of 'em served me a dirty trick, sir," answered Tom, fiercely. "Ask me no more, sir; for sure I don't want for to let out what I've in my moind!"
​"How long—have I lain here?"
"Not more'n the space of half a minute, sir. And no more you mustn't. I be going for to call them at the Parsonage."
"Nay, nay, Tom, I should alarm them, in this plight."
"Never fear for that, sir. It would alarm 'em more for you to die!"
And Tom hobbled away in the direction of the vicar's house at a great rate.
As he lay there in the cold air, Tregenna was vaguely conscious of a feeling of satisfaction that Gardener Tom had turned to honest ways. And then his mind began to wander again. He was recalled to full consciousness by a delicious sense of ease and peace, and by feeling the touch of the hand he loved the best in the world on his forehead.
A few minutes afterwards he was lying on a hastily made bed in the vicarage parlor.
Tregenna lay ill for some weeks; for the wound inflicted by Bill's bullet was a serious one, and he had lost so much blood before he was discovered by Tom, that there was a fear lest he might not be able to stand the drain.
​Thanks to the tender nursing he received, however, at Joan's loving hands, he presently began to mend. And it was when all danger was past that he learnt the fate of the two smugglers whom he had imprisoned in the vault beneath the church.
Jack Price had managed to escape, but had had the misfortune to run straight into the arms of the brigadier and his soldiers, who now patrolled the country round Hurst with more assiduity than before. Being recognized as one of the most prominent of the smugglers, he was seized, carried to Rye, and hanged within a fortnight; for such offenders as he had scant shrift in those times.
Bill Plunder was found dead in the vault, having been killed by the shot Tregenna had fired at him in exchange for his own.
An enormous quantity of smuggled goods which had been secreted in the vault, were confiscated by the authorities: for even Squire Waldron had begun to see that his reign of laxity was over.
Not a sign of the coffins was to be found, however; and a thrill of horror ran through every one at the thought that the smugglers ​had even got rid of these in order to make way for more plunder.
A deep peace seemed to fall over the whole neighborhood after the death of Jack Price and Bill Plunder. The brigadier flattered himself that he should get promotion for his energy, and Tregenna felt that his task was done, and that the time was convenient for the retirement he had promised the vicar.
So fully satisfied were the authorities in London that the mission of soldiers and revenue men had been thoroughly and effectively accomplished, that the brigade was shortly withdrawn from the neighborhood, and the cutter was sent to another part of the coast.
It was not until after his withdrawal from the service, when the snowdrops were peeping above the ground, that Tregenna came down to Hurst, and put up at the best inn, ready for his marriage with Joan on the morrow. It was to have been a very quiet wedding; but Joan had made herself so much beloved in the countryside that, long before the time for the ceremony had arrived, the whole churchyard and the grass round were thick with a dense throng of people.
​Gardener Tom was there with a huge nosegay of hothouse flowers, speaking loudly his hatred and detestation of the whole sex, with the exception of Miss Joan.
Squire Waldron and Bertram were there, in smart hunt colors, waiting to welcome the bride.
The ladies from Hurst Court were there, simpering and wondering how the vicar's daughter could be so selfish as to leave her father! They wouldn't have done it, not they!
Men, women, and children from Hurst and the villages round were there with their snowdrops, to strew on the path before sweet Mistress Joan.
All was peace, and brightness, and happiness; and the winter sun came out in her honor as blushing Joan, tall and handsome, in her plain white dress and veil, came from the Parsonage, leaning on her father's arm.
The service was over; the blessing had been spoken on the young people, and Tregenna was leading his bride down the little aisle, when a sound reached the ears of all present which froze the blood of some of them.
​It was a peal of loud, mocking laughter, in a well-known voice.
It came into the church from the wide porch, and echoed through the building.
"Ann!" cried Tregenna, under his breath.
"No, no, not Ann; but Jem Bax!" cried the well-known voice, in clear and ringing tones.
And into the bright light of the doorway strode Ann, in her lad's dress, with a keg slung in front and one behind, in approved smuggler fashion.
"Heaven bless you both, for a pair of innocent lambs," she cried, raising one hand as if in benediction. "See, Ben, do not they make a monstrous pretty pair? Prettier than you and me, when they made us one!"
And the burly form of Ben the Blast, with his kegs slung over his shoulder, came into view behind her.
Everybody was too much taken aback, too much amazed at the deception Ann had practised, and at her unflagging audacity, to attempt to touch either her or the smuggler at her side. With another laugh and a wave of the hand, they both left the church porch, ​sprang on the back of a stout horse which was waiting at the gate, and were away over the marsh to the new haunt they had made, before Tregenna had had time to recover his wits.
He had done with her, forever; but there was still trouble in store for the representatives of law and order, while the daring, wicked spirit walked the earth in the flesh.
"Are you jealous still, Joan?" whispered Tregenna, in his bride's ear.
"No. But—I'm thankful she's married, Harry," was the fervent answer.
"And I," returned Tregenna with equal fervor, "am thankful 'tis no longer my duty to cope with her and her tricks. For, faith, I believe she's in league with the very powers of darkness!"
THE END.