the trumpet-major-第62部分

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enslaved　her　waist。　　Finding　the　struggle　a　futile　one；　owing　to　the
invisibility　of　her　antagonist；　and　her　wish　to　keep　its　nature
secret　from　the　other　two；　she　arose；　and　saying　that　she　did　not
care　to　see　any　more；　felt　her　way　downstairs。　　Bob　followed；
leaving　Loveday　and　his　wife　to　themselves。

'Dear　Anne；'　he　began；　when　he　had　got　down；　and　saw　her　in　the
candle…light　of　the　large　room。　　But　she　adroitly　passed　out　at　the
other　door；　at　which　he　took　a　candle　and　followed　her　to　the　small
room。　　'Dear　Anne；　do　let　me　speak；'　he　repeated；　as　soon　as　the
rays　revealed　her　figure。　　But　she　passed　into　the　bakehouse　before
he　could　say　more；　whereupon　he　perseveringly　did　the　same。　　Looking
round　for　her　here　he　perceived　her　at　the　end　of　the　room；　where
there　were　no　means　of　exit　whatever。

'Dear　Anne；'　he　began　again；　setting　down　the　candle；　'you　must　try
to　forgive　me；　really　you　must。　　I　love　you　the　best　of　anybody　in
the　wide；　wide　world。　　Try　to　forgive　me；　come！'　　And　he　imploringly
took　her　hand。

Anne's　bosom　began　to　surge　and　fall　like　a　small　tide；　her　eyes
remaining　fixed　upon　the　floor；　till；　when　Loveday　ventured　to　draw
her　slightly　towards　him；　she　burst　out　crying。　　'I　don't　like　you；
Bob；　I　don't！'　she　suddenly　exclaimed　between　her　sobs。　　'I　did
once；　but　I　don't　nowI　can't；　I　can't；　you　have　been　very　cruel　to
me！'　　She　violently　turned　away；　weeping。

'I　have；　I　have　been　terribly　bad；　I　know；'　answered　Bob；
conscience…stricken　by　her　grief。　　'Butif　you　could　only　forgive
meI　promise　that　I'll　never　do　anything　to　grieve　'ee　again。　　Do
you　forgive　me；　Anne？'

Anne's　only　reply　was　crying　and　shaking　her　head。

'Let's　make　it　up。　　Come；　say　we　have　made　it　up；　dear。'

She　withdrew　her　hand；　and　still　keeping　her　eyes　buried　in　her
handkerchief；　said　'No。'

'Very　well；　then！'　exclaimed　Bob；　with　sudden　determination。　　'Now　I
know　my　doom！　　And　whatever　you　hear　of　as　happening　to　me；　mind
this；　you　cruel　girl；　that　it　is　all　your　causing！'　　Saying　this　he
strode　with　a　hasty　tread　across　the　room　into　the　passage　and　out
at　the　door；　slamming　it　loudly　behind　him。

Anne　suddenly　looked　up　from　her　handkerchief；　and　stared　with　round
wet　eyes　and　parted　lips　at　the　door　by　which　he　had　gone。　　Having
remained　with　suspended　breath　in　this　attitude　for　a　few　seconds
she　turned　round；　bent　her　head　upon　the　table；　and　burst　out
weeping　anew　with　thrice　the　violence　of　the　former　time。　　It　really
seemed　now　as　if　her　grief　would　overwhelm　her；　all　the　emotions
which　had　been　suppressed；　bottled　up；　and　concealed　since　Bob's
return　having　made　themselves　a　sluice　at　last。

But　such　things　have　their　end；　and　left　to　herself　in　the　large；
vacant；　old　apartment；　she　grew　quieter；　and　at　last　calm。　　At
length　she　took　the　candle　and　ascended　to　her　bedroom；　where　she
bathed　her　eyes　and　looked　in　the　glass　to　see　if　she　had　made
herself　a　dreadful　object。　　It　was　not　so　bad　as　she　had　expected；
and　she　went　downstairs　again。

Nobody　was　there；　and；　sitting　down；　she　wondered　what　Bob　had
really　meant　by　his　words。　　It　was　too　dreadful　to　think　that　he
intended　to　go　straight　away　to　sea　without　seeing　her　again；　and
frightened　at　what　she　had　done　she　waited　anxiously　for　his　return。



XL。　　A　CALL　ON　BUSINESS

Her　suspense　was　interrupted　by　a　very　gentle　tapping　at　the　door；
and　then　the　rustle　of　a　hand　over　its　surface；　as　if　searching　for
the　latch　in　the　dark。　　The　door　opened　a　few　inches；　and　the
alabaster　face　of　Uncle　Benjy　appeared　in　the　slit。

'O；　Squire　Derriman；　you　frighten　me！'

'All　alone？'　he　asked　in　a　whisper。

'My　mother　and　Mr。　Loveday　are　somewhere　about　the　house。'

'That　will　do；'　he　said；　coming　forward。　　'I　be　wherrited　out　of　my
life；　and　I　have　thought　of　you　againyou　yourself；　dear　Anne；　and
not　the　miller。　　If　you　will　only　take　this　and　lock　it　up　for　a　few
days　till　I　can　find　another　good　place　for　itif　you　only　would！'
And　he　breathlessly　deposited　the　tin　box　on　the　table。

'What；　obliged　to　dig　it　up　from　the　cellar？'

'Ay；　my　nephew　hath　a　scent　of　the　placehow；　I　don't　know！　but　he
and　a　young　woman　he's　met　with　are　searching　everywhere。　　I　worked
like　a　wire…drawer　to　get　it　up　and　away　while　they　were　scraping　in
the　next　cellar。　　Now　where　could　ye　put　it；　dear？　　'Tis　only　a　few
documents；　and　my　will；　and　such　like；　you　know。　　Poor　soul　o'　me；
I'm　worn　out　with　running　and　fright！'

'I'll　put　it　here　till　I　can　think　of　a　better　place；'　said　Anne；
lifting　the　box。　　'Dear　me；　how　heavy　it　is！'

'Yes；　yes；'　said　Uncle　Benjy　hastily；　'the　box　is　iron；　you　see。
However；　take　care　of　it；　because　I　am　going　to　make　it　worth　your
while。　　Ah；　you　are　a　good　girl；　Anne。　　I　wish　you　was　mine！'

Anne　looked　at　Uncle　Benjy。　　She　had　known　for　some　time　that　she
possessed　all　the　affection　he　had　to　bestow。

'Why　do　you　wish　that？'　she　said　simply。

'Now　don't　ye　argue　with　me。　　Where　d'ye　put　the　coffer？'

'Here；'　said　Anne；　going　to　the　window…seat；　which　rose　as　a　flap；
disclosing　a　boxed　receptacle　beneath；　as　in　many　old　houses。

''Tis　very　well　for　the　present；'　he　said　dubiously；　and　they
dropped　the　coffer　in；　Anne　locking　down　the　seat；　and　giving　him
the　key。　　'Now　I　don't　want　ye　to　be　on　my　side　for　nothing；'　he
went　on。　　'I　never　did　now；　did　I？　　This　is　for　you。'　　He　handed　her
a　little　packet　of　paper；　which　Anne　turned　over　and　looked　at
curiously。　　'I　always　meant　to　do　it；'　continued　Uncle　Benjy；　gazing
at　the　packet　as　it　lay　in　her　hand；　and　sighing。　　'Come；　open　it；
my　dear；　I　always　meant　to　do　it！'

She　opened　it　and　found　twenty　new　guineas　snugly　packed　within。

'Yes；　they　are　for　you。　　I　always　meant　to　do　it！'　he　said；　sighing
again。

'But　you　owe　me　nothing！'　returned　Anne；　holding　them　out。

'Don't　say　it！'　cried　Uncle　Benjy；　covering　his　eyes。　　'Put　'em
away。　。　。　。　　Well；　if　you　DON'T　want　'emBut　put　'em　away；　dear
Anne；　they　are　for　you；　because　you　have　kept　my　counsel。
Good…night　t'ye。　　Yes；　they　are　for　you。'

He　went　a　few　steps；　and　turning　back　added　anxiously；　'You　won't
spend　'em　in　clothes；　or　waste　'em　in　fairings；　or　ornaments　of　any
kind；　my　dear　girl？'

'I　will　not；'　said　Anne。　　'I　wish　you　would　have　them。'

'No；　no；'　said　Uncle　Benjy；　rushing　off　to　escape　their　shine。　　But
he　had　got　no　further　than　the　passage　when　he　returned　again。

'And　you　won't　lend　'em　to　anybody；　or　put　'em　into　the　bankfor　no
bank　is　safe　in　these　troublous　times？。　。　。　　If　I　was　you　I'd　keep
them　EXACTLY　as　they　be；　and　not　spend　'em　on　any　account。　　Shall　I
lock　them　into　my　box　for　ye？'

'Certainly；'　said　she；　and　the　farmer　rapidly　unlocked　the
window…bench；　opened　the　box；　and　locked　them　in。

''Tis　much　the　best　plan；'　he　said　with　great　satisfaction　as　he
returned　the　keys　to　his　pocket。　　'There　they　will　always　be　safe；
you　see；　and　you　won't　be　exposed　to　temptation。'

When　the　old　man　had　been　gone　a　few　minutes；　the　miller　and　his
wife　came　in；　quite　unconscious　of　all　that　had　passed。　　Anne's
anxiety　about　Bob　was　again　uppermost　now；　and　she　spoke　but
meagrely　of　old　Derriman's　visit；　and　nothing　of　what　he　had　left。
She　would　fain　have　asked　them　if　they　knew　where　Bob　was；　but　that
she　did　not　wish　to　inform　them　of　the　rupture。　　She　was　forced　to
admit　to　herself　that　she　had　somewhat　tried　his　patience；　and　that
impulsive　men　had　been　known　to　do　dark　things　with　themselves　at
such　times。

They　sat　down　to　supper；　the　clock　ticked　rapidly　on；　and　at　length
the　miller　said；　'Bob　is　later　than　usual。　　Where　can　he　be？'

As　they　both　looked　at　her；　she　could　no　longer　keep　the　secret。

'It　is　my　fault；'　she　cried；　'I　have　driven　him　away！　　What　shall　I
do？'

The　nature　of　the　quarrel　was　at　once　guessed；　and　her　two　elders
said　no　more。　　Anne　rose　and　went　to　the　front　door；　where　she
listened　for　every　sound　with　a　palpitating　heart。　　Then　she　went
in；　then　she　went　out：　　and　on　one　occasion　she　heard　the　miller
say；　'I　wonder　what　hath　passed　between　Bob　and　Anne。　　I　hope　the
chap　will　come　home。'

Just　about　this　time　light　footsteps　were　heard　without；　and　Bob
bounced　into　the　passage。　　Anne；　who　stood　back　in　the　dark　while　he
passed；　followed　him　into　the　room；　where　her　mother　and　the　miller
were　on　the　point　of　retiring　to　bed；　candle　in　hand。

'I　have　kept　ye　up；　I　fear；'　began　Bob　cheerily；　and　apparently
without　the　faintest　recollection　of　his　tragic　exit　from　the　house。
'But　the　truth　on't　is；　I　met　with　Fess　Derriman　at　the　〃Duke　of
York〃　as　I　went　from　here；　and　there　we　have　been　playing　Put　ever
since；　not　noticing　how　the　time　was　going。　　I　haven't　had　a　good
chat　with　the　fellow　for　years　and　years；　and　really　he　is　an　out
and　out　good　comradea　regular　hearty！　　Poor　fellow；　he's　been　very
badly　used。　　I　never　heard　the　rights　of　the　story　till　now；　but　it
seems　that　old　uncle　of　his　treats　him　shamefully。　　He　has　been
hiding　away　his　money；　so　that　poor　Fess　might　not　have　a　farthing；
till　at　last　the　young　man　has　turned；　like　any　other　worm；　and　is
now　determined　to　ferret　out　what　he　has　done　with　it。　　The　poor
young　chap　hadn't　a　farthing　of　ready　money　till　I　lent　him　a　couple
of　guineasa　thing　I　never　did　more　willingly　in　my　life。　　But　the
man　was　very　honourable。　　〃No；　no；〃　says　he；　〃don't　let　me　deprive
ye。〃　　He's　going　to　marry；　and　what　may　you　think　he　is　going　to　do
it　for？'

'For　love；　I　hope；'　said　Anne's　mother。

'For　money；　I　suppose；　since　he's　so　short；'　said　the　miller。

'No；'　said　Bob；　'for　SPITE。　　He　has　been　badly　serveddeuced　badly
servedby　a　woman。　　I　never　heard　of　a　more　heartless　case　in　my
life。　　The　poor　chap　wouldn't　mention　names；　but　it　seems　this　young
woman　has　trifled　with　him　in　all　manner　of　cruel　wayspushed　him
into　the　river；　tried　to　steal　his　horse　when　he　was　called　out　to
defend　his　countryin　short；　served　him　rascally。　　So　I　gave　him
the　two　guineas　and　said；　〃Now　let's　drink　to　the　hussy's
downfall！〃'

'O！'　said　Anne；　having　approached　behind　him。

Bob　turned　and　saw　her；　and　at　the　same　moment　Mr。　and　Mrs。　Loveday
discreetly　retired　by　the　other　door。

'Is　it　peace？'　he　as