it had been lovey lee's part to keep guard during the operations beneath her cottage, and, on the morning of discovery, while knapps was underground and john lee lay in a heavy sleep, she stood at her door and scanned the morning. her mind was on money; within eight-and-forty hours she would receive her reward; and now every glittering dewdrop of the dawn shone beneath her eyes like a gold piece. then it was that another scintillation—that of steel—struck upon lovey's sight, and she saw the flash of bayonets and the gleam of red coats. they approached swiftly across the moor, and, divining their significance, the old woman instantly fled out at the rear of her cottage, and climbed and crept with amazing speed into the lonely fastnesses of north hisworthy tor above prince town. here, safe as a fox in earth, she remained close hidden until nightfall, and then started for her holt at hangman's hollow. the fate of the men she had deserted troubled her not at all. to have informed them of danger would have been to lessen her own chance of escape by a full minute, and she had felt no temptation to take such risk. now was all lost but her liberty; and as she stalked along the nocturnal moor, like a dark and gigantic bird, the miser swore aloud and cursed fortune at every step. a live thing in the path reminded her that she had not eaten food for six-and-thirty hours; stooping, therefore, she picked up a luckless frog, tore it asunder, and stayed her stomach with its quivering hind legs. never had lovey fallen into a temper more ferocious and brutal. months of patient fraud were thrown away, and she found herself actually out of pocket upon the venture. this reflection maddened her. in a delirium of disappointment she strode forward, and once, when an owl screeched out of the coppice at tor royal, she screeched back at it like a fury, and swung her long arms, and cursed the stars because they looked like good money scattered and wasted upon the sky. she sank into a calenture of crazy wrath; frantically she longed for some object upon which to vent her mania of disappointed hope; and every moment she hastened unconsciously nearer a victim.
grace malherb grew weary of the long hours that separated her from john lee's next visit. an eternity of time crawled by, and the very hands of her watch appeared to drag as she sat with it before her. only once a sound fell on her ears through that protracted day. then she heard a bell, the fall of many feet and the bleat of flocks. soon the grazing sheep wandered away and silence fell again. the tinkle of the dropping water and the throb of her own heart were all her company. the gloom and the chill of her hiding-place crept to her bosom and froze the hope there. she fell to weaving fearful fancies; she pictured failure in a thousand shapes. the rusty and glimmering gold of the moss upon the walls grew hateful to her eyes. yet it attracted them and held them, so that hour after hour she scanned the luminous cavern, and saw faces in it and read words scrawled in dull fire there, like the handwriting on the wall. she ate and drank a little, but her appetite failed her. all her emotions merged into intense longing for john lee. her watch told her that it was noon at last. then she fought with herself to escape forebodings and set about occupying time with a search for the amphora. that treasure possessed none of the old fascination now; yet, thinking upon her father, she much desired for his sake to discover it, and made a diligent search both high and low. her explorations revealed two other boxes tied with cords; and these she opened, only to find sheffield plate in them.
an eternity of twelve more hours crawled by; then, when midnight had passed, grace began to strain her ears for footsteps. it was a close, black night, with thunder in the air; but as yet no elemental murmur broke the stillness.
at three o'clock, worn out and full of foreboding, the girl crept to her fern bed and prayed long prayers. finally she slept, soothed by a determination to fly from this hated hole in the morning and hide elsewhere, if john lee did not come. her last waking thought turned to her father. "i will continue as firm as he is firm," she whispered to herself. "would i had been different—for his sake; but not for my own."
within an hour she slumbered, and when lovey lee sank silently down into her den, the girl heard nothing. grace was hidden within a deep alcove of the wall, and she slept without a light. the miser, once in safety, stood silent and listened. it was for a growl of thunder that she waited; nor did she expect another sound. heavy drops of rain began to fall, but as yet no storm awoke, though so inky was the east that dawn seemed delayed.
first lovey ate a loaf of bread from her mouldering stores; then she sat down by the stone table in the midst of the grotto, rested her head on her hand and considered the position. the future bristled with dangers and difficulties; turning from it, therefore, she rose, lighted a candle and drew forth her treasures. the money she had not fingered for three weeks, and now she counted it, and the steady stream, sliding through her fingers, served to soothe her. miser-like, she kept her supreme possession to the last, and before she brought it to the light, her mouth began to water and her eyes to glow. though now crushed by an uncontrollable weight of weariness and sleep, she prayed to her glass god and performed his familiar rite before she slumbered. from the ground at the foot of her granite altar, the old woman scratched the soil, then drew forth a metal box. it clashed as she picked it up, and grace waking at the sound, was just about to hasten forward when she heard the old woman's voice lifted to address her deity.
"come to me, my purty blessing! to think as i haven't had a sight of 'e for nigh a month! an' the devil's luck fallen to me since i seed 'e!"
the girl shrank back and watched, breathless, while lovey drew a mass of cotton wool from her box, and then, revealing the malherb amphora, placed it reverently on her granite table and lighted other candles around it. now she squatted down before the vase and remained motionless, like a toad watching a fly. here was her support and power, the spring of her existence, her sustenance, and the foundation-stone of her life. she gazed and gazed with greedy eyes; she licked her lips and nodded slowly, like a china image. the amphora, against its gloomy background, flashed in the candle-glow. its azure splendours shone in the cavern's darkness; the acanthus leaves were touched with flickering gold, and the cupids seemed to move and peep about behind the foliage.
"dance! dance, my naked boys!" said lovey. "though there's nought to dance about to-night. all lost—an' me a runaway! where shall us go to next? us can't live underground like a badger for ever. but i sold my cows a fortnight agone—that's something. dance, you little devils; dance—dance!"
she gloated upon her treasure and trembled with joy of possession. presently she put out her hand gently, like a cat touching a dazed mouse. then the fit grew upon her. with each hand in turn she stroked the amphora and twisted it round and round. anon she lifted it and brought it close to her face; she kissed it and cuddled it against her breast, and rubbed her cheeks upon it and slavered it, as might a fond mother lust over her child. grace malherb heard a harsh vibration, like a tiger purring.
"i've got you, my heart an' liver an' reins! i've got you, come what may, my lovely joanie! and the day i die, you'll die too; for i'll grind you to powder an' eat you—fat babbies an' all!"
she laughed and nuzzled the glass, crooned to it and licked it. then her frenzy waned; she set the treasure gently down and fell back exhausted. her passion cooled; her eyes went out, like extinguished lamps; she shrank as she sat there; and soon she began to whine again before the thought of her losses.
"christ! what a cursed day! what——"
a sudden sound struck her silent. grace had moved and loosened a fragment of stone. the noise, though slight enough, reached lovey's ear. she snatched up a candle and, hastening into the recesses of the cavern, came face to face with her visitor.
amazement so absolute overwhelmed the miser at this discovery, that for a space it smothered every other emotion. she glared speechless, then fell back and at last spoke.
"god's word! be i drunk or dreaming? are you alive, or dead an' prying here a ghost from the grave? if you'm dead i don't care a button for 'e! an' if you'm alive——"
"i'm quite alive, lovey lee," said grace without flinching before the ancient's terrific face.
"alive, be you? then 'tis the last minute you shall live to say you'm alive! how did you get here? tell me, or i'll kill you by inches—a finger to a time!"
"i've done you no harm, lovey. and i'll thank you to speak more quietly. there are men hunting for me on the moor, and i've no wish for them to find me," said grace firmly. as yet no fear had touched her heart.
"find you! they'll not find you! god a'mighty won't find you. you'm dead a'ready!"
"i'm not dead at all; and i'm not going to die. if you'd listen, instead of screaming at me, i might tell you why i am here, and how i came here."
lovey put the candle on a ledge above their heads; then she sat upon the fern couch that her grandson had spread for grace.
"get you up on your feet and stand afore me!" she said. "i'm mistress here—not you. death! to think as ever i should allow any human but myself in this pit. tell me truth how you found it—else i'll strangle you."
"the truth is easily told: and you shall pay dearly for these insults yet, you wicked woman! it was meant to marry me to peter norcot; and your grandson helped me to escape from that fate. john is always on the side of the weak. i owe my salvation to him. i am waiting for him now."
"jack lee found out then! blast—but i needn't waste no words there. his thread's spun. so you runned from your faither an' that man? you might so soon think to trick satan as norcot. but i'll trick him. he can't marry dead bones. an' yet—there's money to it. only i be so tight placed myself."
"that candle-flame will crack the malherb amphora, lovey lee, if you don't move it," said grace.
the woman sprang up and extinguished a dip that flamed too near her treasure.
"there's the answer to my doubts. you know too much now. i'll never sleep in peace no more while you are alive. there's a dead dog in yon corner—shrivelled to bones an' leather. he'd lost hisself 'pon the moor and followed me here. i carried it down the steps, for it stood and barked outside. but i never carried it up again. none leaves this web but me, come in who may. you ran choose how you'll go out o' life—an' that's all the mercy i'll show 'e, grace malherb. you can starve, or you can kill yourself, or i can do it for 'e; but die you shall—sure as i'm a woman."
the girl regarded her steadily, and measured her huge body, long arms and broad chest. she knew that in a physical struggle she must quickly have the life crushed out of her, and for the first time she feared. then she wondered if lovey's heart was inflexible, and whether a way to bend her will might not exist.
"is there no humanity in you—you who have been a mother?"
"no more than a mother wolf—not for you. i was a grandmother, too, wasn't i? i brought jack up from childhood—an' he spied upon me. he'd have robbed me next—maybe he has."
"not of a farthing."
"you've met me in a black hour. all's lost to the prison. some judas have told the secret; an' as for me, i dare not show myself to the daylight. so there's nought to be made out of you."
"you might trust me."
"not since you've seen that."
lovey pointed to the amphora.
"my father rates me higher than a bit of old glass."
"you'm daft to think so! why for should he care a cuss for you? more like he hates you, for you'm no daughter worth naming to him—a froward, man-loving minx, as plays fast an' loose with them he hates, an' defies him. love the likes of you better'n fifteen thousand pound! he'm not all fool."
thunder suddenly broke overhead, and subterranean echoes in the grotto answered it. the noise punctuated lovey's speech and appeared to affirm her purpose.
"die you shall," she said. "god do so to me if i don't mean it."
"i know you mean it now," answered the girl. "and, since everything is lost at the prison, i care not very much about living. yet, after all, 'tis only a passing reverse; therefore, i plead to live. life is life. somehow this choking hole makes me long to live. i hate your money and your treasures. i hate the gold in your bags as much as i hate the moss on these walls that mocks it. i want to breathe sweet air and see the sky again. i'll keep your secret. don't kill me, lovey. 'twill ruin your own life if you do."
"life's worth living, as you say. for all my cares and years and cruel disappointments, i like it. but you hearken to the thunder—i knowed 'twas brewing—you know too much. let it rage! i wish 'twould drown short's cottage, an' him in it, an' the prison, an' the prisoners, an' the sojers, an' every living thing. you know too much an' i won't take your word."
"you're worn out and frantic. sleep upon it."
the old woman reflected.
"so i will, then," she said. "never heard better counsel. but you—you must sleep too——"
she came forward slowly, like some feline thing that stalks its living food; then she lifted her hands to grace's throat.
the girl did not flinch, and lovey dropped her great fingers again.
"you'm malherb, i see—but i lay your heart's beating to a merry tune! let it beat—its beating be near done. them steady brown eyes too! i'll blind them, if you please, afore i put my little god there to bed again. no, i won't kill you this minute. i'll sleep on it. if you don't mean money from your wool-stapler, i never counted money. an' norcot wouldn't give a poor, old, harmless granny up to the soldiers. too much of the milk o' human kindness in him for that. what's his figure, i wonder? i must have a big one, an' my safety along with it."
she hunted her stores, found the boxes, removed their cords from them and approached grace. "here's a rope's end for 'e! no, not for your neck—for your heels. i must sleep—my senses are all addled—i can't think clear. an' you must watch—so no harm befalls me. ha-ha-ha! us'll bind they neat limbs an' little ankles a thought tight, just to keep you from slumbering. 'twas a pretty young yankee's arms you counted to have round 'e, not a bit o' biting oakum!"
she made grace fast with unnecessary severity. then, tearing a strip from the girl's dress, she bandaged her prisoner's eyes. next lovey extinguished all lights and, in the blank darkness that followed, restored the amphora to its wrappings, placed it within the metal box and put the box underground. then soil and stones were heaped over it, after which the woman threw herself down on the earth above her treasure and quickly fell into heavy sleep.
the thunder roared, and through her bandages grace was conscious of lightning. the glare of the sky penetrated some chance chinks above and found her. close at hand she heard lovey snoring. the ropes began to burn as though red hot, and each minute the torment grew. the storm died slowly, and she missed its companionship when it was gone. she envied the cattle that roamed free above her; she prayed fervently; but physical pain continually distracted her devotion. after two hours the agony became sharper than she could endure, and at the risk of angering her conqueror, grace cried out sharply and woke lovey from slumber.
the miser was up in an instant, her senses alert and her frame refreshed. she struck flint on steel and turned to the prisoner.
"morning light," she said. "and how be you fairing, my pretty maid?"
"i am suffering very terribly, lovey. i could endure no more without crying out. these ropes are gnawing into me as though they were alive and had teeth."
"bah! you'm more fretted for your raw wrists and ankles than for them poor, brave fools to prison as meant to save 'e! bide as you be an' smart on a while. your good time be coming—when you go to church with peter norcot. now i shall set out to get a bellyful o' fresh air an' see to the weather. no human foot will tread hangman's hollow for a week after the flood us had last night. but don't you fear. you chose sure hiding! i shall soon be back. an' if the rope hurts, just think if 'twas round your neck instead of your leg!"
the old savage sought her stores; and then she discovered the bread and meat and eggs that lee had brought for grace.
"my jimmery! this was what made jack so hungry of late! well, us will have bit an' sup when i come back. i must keep you fat and plump for mr. peter now. afore sun's up i'll be here again. me an' the sun ban't like to be friends no more this many a day. for that matter moon's always more kindly to me."
"will you, at least, loose my eyes? i promise you faithfully i'll make no attempt to escape while you are away."
lovey laughed and took the bandage from grace's face.
"since there's nought to see but the gold moss you hate, look about so much as you please; an' as for escaping—i'll give 'e full leave to do it if you can. a horse couldn't break that rope, let alone a slip of a girl."
lovey now climbed carefully out of her treasure house and grace saw one blessed gleam of blue daylight before the great stone above was swung back into its place and mrs. lee tramped away.
