The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1886-02-06 00:00:00

CHAPTER LVIL

A RETRIBUTION.
ItIDNIGHT ride ; a graceless sinner abroad, when God
tli)eokweindhis own language above the earth—spoke in
in
—spoke in the beating rain, and in the dark.
4eFs of that tempestuous sky. Could that man ride
out •
the aTia the voices of :that night and not listen to
r—live the life he had lived, and not hear it re-
corded by them ?—sin as he had sinned, and yet not
be awed by them?
prole Pulled his hat over his brows, but he had no
•ection for his bare chest. The rain had soaked
Z:e_wet clothes through and through, and his limbs
dniirabed with cold, still he did not know it; nor
Vol e think of anything but the voices—the accusing
thie3 abroad that night. Sorrow had not hardened
?nates heart Df late. A true and worthy love had
t7;orintied it from much evil; and now this nature of
g • (1"-ifest of ,PaSsiEmste reekieSS

s:-..

deeds, was melted to listen to the angel's trump sound-
ing above the wind.
When he mounted the horse his daughter held, he
had thought of Catherine as dead, and that thought
brought but one other. A pistol was concealed in his
breast, and he meant to die with her. He could not
live, and she no more; he could not walk the earth,
and know that she was beneath it. Self-inflicted
death was the dreadful thing he contemplated, when
heimplored his daughter's safety. _
But the love of a good woman had worked a change
in the old sinful nature of the man; the deed he con-
templated was seen in all its awful crime. Two miles
were scarcely passed before he flung the pistol far
from him, and said:

"God's' will be done! lan not afraid of death,
I fear P lonel y life much more; but I will do no
murder, and lose my soill for ever. I will try to share
heaven with Catherine."

And so he rode on, and the pistol lay in a field.

Two hours after he passed it again on his way home.
The wind had fallen, the rain had ceased, and the
white moon flashed out at intervals from behind the
wild, driving masses of cloud. His horse was lame,
and he walked at its side, gently leading it. By the
rare flashes of light shed on his face by the pale,
watery moon, you could see his countenance was
gentle and sad, too, for tears were quivering on the
eyelashes and resting on the furrows of the cheek.
Often he leaned his head upon the horse's neck,...and
his lips moved—it might have been in prayer.
They journeyed on through the heavy roads like
this, until the park was close at hand. Then the horse
became lamer than ever, and the master seemed more
and more tender of giving it pain. The shortest way
to the house lay through the park and past the little
church, and Ingestre, still leading the horse, guided it
carefully beneath the dark masses of trees. Chap 57
The graveyard was uninclosed, and the path wound
close under the wooden porch, which had a bench on
either side. Ingestre halted here to rest the horse
awhile, and, holding the reins, sat down on the seat to
watch the scudding clouds and the white wan moon.
Suddenly she burst forth with superb radiance,
flinging ly_.r beams over tree, and grass, and grave—
over the weary horse, the sorrowful man, and over—
yes, over a second figure, crouching in the farthest
corner of the porch, staring with all its wild eyes at
Ingestre as he leaned forward to watch the moon and
sky.
The horse turned its head and whinnied gently;
the master spoke an encouraging word, and rose to
go. The moon still lighted up the place, and at a
sound—a low, deep sigh —he started, turned, and met
those eyes.
" Catherine !" and he was kneeling at her feet,
embracing, kissing them and her stone cold hands.
She seemed to have been abroad all that dreadful
night, for she had no covering on her head, and her
long hair hung dripping with wet round her shoulders.
Her dress, too, was saturated, and her face white and
blue with exposure to the cold.
He asked how long she had been there. She tried
to answer, but her lips formed no words. He took her
in his arms, and warmed her chilled blood with the
heat of his own; he tenderly kissed the white lips, and
chafed her stone cold hands.
"Catherine, only speak to me, only say that you
forgive me the injury I have done you, and I will
humbly go away and never torment you with my
presence any more. Only forgive me!"
Her only reply was to dash his hands away—to
shrink from him, and cower farther into the corner.
"How dare he say those words?" she cried.
" Flow dare he hunt her thus—or speak to her,
when "

"Catherine, if you love me, I have every right.
Listen : She is deed ! "

"Dead! who is dead now?" she moaned, wringing
her hands woefully.
"My wife. She died to-niBht—a terrible death,
too, and I stood by the bedside unknown to her. I
did not hope for this release, Catherine; I did not pray
for it; I was not bad enough for that. I thought the
summons was to your deathbed, and inst Cad I found
my wife, a horrible sight (she had been run over in
Lowmoor), with not an hour to live. She is dead
now, Catherine, but I have no hope that you will
either love or marry me. It was George you loved,
not Edward, the thief, who stole your children's patri-
mony. No, you must hate me !"

Her bitter tears were the only reply to his words.
"If I had but known my brother was realfkmarried,
I would have cut off my hand before I consented to
do this thing. I only suspected it afterwards from a
threat the creole used. He died, and I could find no
proof of my suspicion ; but that was the secret of the
toleration I had for the creature I believed your son."
And here he shuddered, for he thought of that face
among the reeds, lying in the moonshine now, and
staring up at the stars.
"Catherine, can you believe me ? "
"Yes, I believe you,' was the husky reply.
"May I not lead you into your own house ? " he
said presently, for her strange state alarmed him.
"No ; let me die here. I have wandered all round
the place, but came back here to die ! "
"Not to die. Oh, Catherine, for my wretched sake,
not to die! Let me take you in my arms—let me put
you on my horse! Die here you must not, forlorn
creature that you are! God pardon me for making
such misery. What shall I ever do to atone ? "

He lifted her up, and placed her on the gentle horse
pawing at his side. She made no opposition; she
seemed too utterly exhausted to deny him anything.
And thus, one arm supporting her, the other guiding
the horse, they moved on towards the house. Neither
Cleland nor the blroness was astonished at the burden
he brought in and laid upon the sofa. She was quite
insensible, and an hour after was raving in the height
of delirium.