the old parsonage house, with its sombre atmosphere and its silence broken only by the ticking of the great dutch clock in the parlor, seemed to bess a secluded hermitage where she would be safe from her kinsfolk and from the savagery of her forest lover. the kitchen was in the wing at the back of the house, shut off from the fields by dr. sugg’s orchard and a holly hedge, and parted on the west from the church-yard by the garden and a high stone-wall. the very consciousness of her nearness to jeffray filled her with contentment. she flitted about the brick-paved kitchen singing to herself at times, and thinking of jeffray as she did her work. there was the cow to be called in from the parsonage meadow and milked at dawn and sunset. mary sugg herself answered the kitchen door so that bess’s presence should be kept as secret as possible. dr. sugg alone went into rodenham village, for since the breaking out of the small-pox his daughter had kept to the house and garden, leaving such business as lay outside the rectory to her father. bess served her new friends with all the ardor of her nature. she brushed dr. sugg’s coat for him, buckled on his shoes, and warmed his slippers. as for miss mary, she had fallen coyly in love with their handsome handmaid, and treated her more as a friend than as a servant.
each day dr. sugg would trudge up to the priory and make inquiries after richard jeffray’s health. for bess it was the culminating moment in the day when she unlocked the front-door for the rector—for they kept the door locked—saw him hang his hat in the hall, and heard him remark with a twinkle that “mr. jeffray was doing very well.” bess would turn back, in her red petticoat, white cap and apron, into the kitchen and sing softly to herself as she turned the joint on the spit, polished the pewter, or peeled apples for a tart. as yet she knew nothing of jeffray’s betrothal to miss hardacre, and in her simple and passionate way she let her imagination roam at will. it was more a rare and sensuous dream with the girl, a passing and repassing of mysterious and alluring visions. practical as she was in the trivialities of life, she became a desirous-eyed child of nature when love opened the gates of the sunset and of the dawn.
as for miss mary sugg, she was a very modest creature, and had grown to regard the passionate intoxications of life as bordering on indecency. like many inevitable spinsters, she had become ashamed, as it were, of her own sex, and the very reading of the banns in church made her mouth straighten primly and her hands clasp each other more chastely in her lap. the parson’s daughter appeared sincerely disturbed when bess spoke to her of her life in pevensel. prudence and propriety! the very thought of such savagery as dan’s sent a pious shiver through miss sugg’s frame. she admired bess for her courage, and even looked up to her with some sort of awe as to one who had survived terrible temptings of the devil. bess grew to trust the prim, kindly little creature in the course of a few days. she felt greatly moved to pet miss sugg, to stroke her gentle face, and caress her as a child might caress some smiling and delightful grandmother. poor mary took bess’s attentions with blushes and a secret sense of pleasure. it had been her lot to be one of the odd women in the world, slighted by every one with the exception of richard jeffray and her father.
it has been said that mary sugg regarded matrimony with suspicion, and though miss sugg had not the remotest hope of marrying richard jeffray herself, she had no liking for his betrothal to jilian hardacre. mary, like all women of sense, was something of a gossip, and it was at rodenham parsonage that bess learned at last of jeffray’s entanglement at hardacre. mary was helping bess to clean the silver and the pewter in the pantry when she let the truth slip casually into the girl’s ears.
bess started, reddened, and went on polishing dr. sugg’s tankard as though the news had no concern for her heart.
“i did not know mr. jeffray was to be married,” she said, frowning a little, and staring out of the narrow window.
miss sugg, lost in her own reflections for the moment, noticed nothing strained or unnatural in bess’s manner.
“yes, i suppose it will soon be quite an old affair,” she said, with a sigh.
“and is miss hardacre very handsome?”
“a matter of opinion, my dear.”
“mr. jeffray is very much in love with her?”
miss sugg’s mouth tightened primly.
“it is not my business,” she said, quietly, “to inquire into the warmth and nature of a gentleman’s affections.”
poor bess, her forecastings of the future were greatly changed by those few words of mary sugg’s. she woke no longer in the morning with a rush of joy to hear the thrushes singing in the parsonage garden. all her quaint imaginings were past and gone, for she was woman enough to feel the significance of this new truth. a kind of hopelessness took possession of her, a conviction that jeffray had given her nothing but pity, and that all her dreams had been made of mist. miss hardacre was a great lady, and of course mr. jeffray was right in wishing to marry her. bess went about her work with a dull ache at her heart. she no longer dreamed of the day when she should see jeffray face to face again; rather, she dreaded the very thought of it, and grew full of a bitter humbleness that softened her whole nature. her one yearning was to be saved from dan and isaac, to be left in peace awhile, unquestioned and alone.
it was the seventh evening of bess’s sojourn at the parsonage. dr. sugg had gone down into the village to visit certain of the villagers who were sick to death of the fever, and miss sugg was sitting in her bedroom, sewing. bess had been sweeping the kitchen and polishing the pewter and the plate. the evening was full of the splendor of spring, birds singing in every tree, and the sky a great sheet of gold in the west. the garden looked so green and fair with the sunlight shimmering through upon the grass, and daffodils asleep in the shade, that bess had opened the garden door and looked up at the blue zenith and the golden west. the broad beds would soon be ablaze with tulips, red and white. anemones and primroses were flowering in the shrubbery, and the gorse on the heath above rodenham was gilding the purple of the hills.
halting suddenly as she crossed the grass, she fancied that she caught the sound of footsteps close by in the church-yard. the stone-wall that divided the burial-ground, with its gray headstones and its yews, from the parsonage garden, stood some seven feet high, and was tufted along the summit with gilliflower and grass. bess ran her eyes suspiciously along the edge that cut the gold of the western sky. suddenly, just above her, she saw a pair of hairy hands come over the wall, the fingers clawing at the stone-work to gain a surer hold. a fur cap jerked up above the wall; a face followed it, the mouth agape, the eyes straining right and left into the dusk.
bess, standing stone-still, recognized dan, her cousin. he had a red handkerchief knotted about his forehead, and a pad of lamb’s-wool over his wounded ear. her fear of him made her like lot’s wife for the moment, as she stood discovered on the open lawn. she was conscious only of the grin on the man’s face, as he stared at her, and of the great, hairy hands still gripping the wall.
her pistol! she felt in her bosom for it, and found with a shock of horror that she had left it in the attic. dan, who had scrambled astride the wall, gave a hoarse shout and waved his hand. bess had turned and was racing for the house. she heard dan leap down from the wall and come padding after her across the grass. mary sugg’s white and terrified face showed for a moment at one of the upper windows. the parson’s daughter saw two more men leap down from the church-yard into the garden.
bess stumbled over the step at the kitchen door, and half fell across the threshold. she struggled up and in, and clapped to the door, only to find dan’s weight heaving against it before she could put up the bar. the latch and bolt gave way like brittle wood, and bess herself was sent staggering against the wall. before she could recover, dan’s great arms were round her, his face thrust close to hers, his breath beating on her cheek.
bess struggled fiercely, beating one fist in his face, and striving to untwine herself from his arms. he was too strong for her, however, and she read the savage delight of it in his eyes. crushing bess to him, and lifting her off her feet, he carried her out into the garden, mocking her as she pleaded, fought, and threatened.
isaac, and solomon, his brother, were waiting under the holly hedge closing the orchard. they ran forward to meet dan, and set to to bind bess’s wrists and ankles, while dan held her down upon the grass. isaac was mocking her the while with an exultation that made his smooth face seem diabolical under its white hair. bess, desperate, and struggling still, cursed him as he held her left arm pinned against the ground while solomon knotted the cord about her wrist.
“old man,” she said, “be sure that i shall kill you some day.”
isaac, thrusting his hand into her hair, and twisting a mass of it about his fingers, wrenched at the strands till bess cried out with pain.
“you would run away from us, eh! we’ll cure you of your tricks, my lady. this is the last time you’ll laugh at us, i guess.”
“devil—”
“that’s as it may be, my dear. quick, lad, tie up her feet. i’ll shove this rag in her mouth and tie the cloth over it. that’s the trick. up with her, dan, she’s yours now, i reckon.”
dan took bess in his arms, hugging her tight to his broad chest, and carried her through the orchard and out into the meadow. isaac and solomon followed, keeping a keen watch behind them to see whether they were to be meddled with from the house. on the road over rodenham heath old isaac’s wagon was waiting, with three stout horses in the team. one of solomon’s sons, enoch, held the ropes. there was a pile of loose straw in the wagon, and dan, half throwing bess in over the tail-board, climbed in after her and covered her with the straw. isaac and solomon clambered in after him, and, whipping up the horses, they went at a trot for the wooded slopes of pevensel.
