Who is this? asked Ezekiel.
My Barbara, answered Ignatius in a low tone; I was married before, and my wife died, leaving me this little one.
The child, stooping over the cradle, lifted the babe carefully out. The infant crowed and made no resistance, for the arms that held it, though young, were strong. Then Barbara seated herself on a stool, and laid the infant on her lap, and chirped and snapped her fingers and laughed to it, and snuggled her face into the neck of the babe. The latter quivered with excitement, the tiny arms were held up, the little hands clutched in the childs long hair and tore at it, and the feet kicked with delight. Father! father! cried Barbara, see little Eve; she is dancing and singing.
Dancing and singing! echoed Ezekiel Babb, that is all she ever will do. She comes dancing and singing into the world, and she will go dancing and singing out of it and then then, he brushed his hand through the air, as though drawing back a veil. The girl-nurse looked at the threatening old man with alarm.
Keep the creature quiet, he said impatiently; I cannot sit here and see the ugly, evil sight. Dancing and singing! she begins like her mother, and her mothers mother. Take her away, the sight of her stirs my bile.
At a sign from the father Barbara rose, and carried the child out of the room, talking to it fondly, and a joyous chirp from the little one was the last sound that reached Babbs ears as the door shut behind them.
Naught but evil has the foreign blood, the tossing fever-blood, brought me. First it came without a dower, and that was like original sin. Then it prevented me from marrying Tamsine Bovey and getting Buncombe. That was like sin of malice. Now Tamsine is dead and her husband, Joseph Warmington, wants to sell. I did not want Tamsine, but I wanted Buncombe; at one time I could not see how Buncombe was to be had without Tamsine. Now the property is to be sold, and it joins on to mine as if it belonged to it. What Heaven has joined together let not man put asunder. It was wicked witchcraft stood in the way of my getting my rightful own.
How could it be your rightful own? asked Ignatius; was Tamsine Bovey your kinswoman?
No, she was not, but she ought to have been my wife, and so Buncombe have come to me. I seem as if I could see into the book of the Lords ordinance that so it was written. Theres some wonderful good soil in Buncombe. But the Devil allured me with his Eve, and I was bewitched by her beautiful eyes and little hands and feet. Cursed be the day that shut me out of Buncombe. Cursed be the strange blood that ran as a dividing river between Owlacombe and Buncombe, and cut asunder what Providence ordained to be one. I tell you, he went on fiercely, that so long as all that land remains anothers and not mine, so long shall I feel only gall, and no pity nor love, for Eve, and all who have issued from her for all who inherit her name and blood. I curse his voice rose to a roar, and his grey hair bristled like the fell of a wolf, I curse them all with
The pale man, Jordan, rushed at him and thrust his hand over his mouth.
Curse not, he said vehemently; then in a subdued tone, Listen to reason, and you will feel pity and love for my little one who inherits the name and blood of your Eve. I have laid by money: I am in no want. It shall be the portion of my little Eve, and I will lend it you for seventeen years. This day, the 24th of June, seventeen years hence, you shall repay me the whole sum without interest. I am not a Jew to lend on usury. I shall want the money then for my Eve, as her dower. She he held up his head for a moment she shall not be portionless. In the meantime take and use the money, and when you walk over the fields you have purchased with it, bless the name.
A flush came in the sallow face of Ezekiel Babb. He rose to his feet and held out his hand.
You will lend me the money, two thousand pounds?
I will lend you fifteen hundred.
I will swear to repay the sum in seventeen years. You shall have a mortgage.
On this day.
This 24th day of June, so help me God.
A ray of orange light, smiting through the window, was falling high up the wall. The hands of the men met in the beam, and the reflection was cast on their faces, on the dark hard face of Ezekiel, on the white quivering face of Ignatius.
And you bless, said the latter, you bless the name of Eve, and the blood that follows it.
I bless. Peace be to the restless blood.
CHAPTER III.
THE WHISH-HUNT
On a wild and blustering evening, seventeen years after the events related in the two preceding chapters, two girls were out, in spite of the fierce wind and gathering darkness, in a little gig that accommodated only two, the body perched on very large and elastic springs. At every jolt of the wheels the body bounced and swayed in a manner likely to trouble a bad sailor. But the girls were used to the motion of the vehicle, and to the badness of the road. They drove a very sober cob, who went at his leisure, picking his way, seeing ruts in spite of the darkness.
The moor stretched in unbroken desolation far away on all sides but one, where it dropped to the gorge of the Tamar, but the presence of this dividing valley could only be guessed, not perceived by the crescent moon. The distant Cornish moorland range of Hingston and the dome of Kit Hill seemed to belong to the tract over which the girls were driving. These girls were Barbara and Eve Jordan. They had been out on a visit to some neighbours, if those can be called neighbours who lived at a distance of five miles, and were divided from Morwell by a range of desolate moor. They had spent the day with their friends, and were returning home later than they had intended.
I do not know what father would say to our being abroad so late, and in the dark, unattended, said Eve, were he at home. It is well he is away.
He would rebuke me, not you, said Barbara.
Of course he would; you are the elder, and responsible.
But I yielded to your persuasion.
Yes, I like to enjoy myself when I may. It is vastly dull at Morwell, Tell me, Bab, did I look well in my figured dress?
Charming, darling; you always are that.
You are a sweet sister, said Eve, and she put her arm round Barbara, who was driving.
Mr. Jordan, their father, was tenant of the Duke of Bedford. The Jordans were the oldest tenants on the estate which had come to the Russells on the sequestration of the abbey. The Jordans had been tenants under the abbot, and they remained on after the change of religion and owners, without abandoning their religion or losing their position. The Jordans were not accounted squires, but were reckoned as gentry. They held Morwell on long leases of ninety-nine years, regularly renewed when the leases lapsed. They regarded Morwell House almost as their freehold; it was bound up with all their family traditions and associations.
As a vast tract of country round belonged to the duke, it was void of landed gentry residing on their estates, and the only families of education and birth in the district were those of the parsons, but the difference in religion formed a barrier against intimacy with these. Mr. Jordan, moreover, was living under a cloud. It was well-known throughout the country that he had not been married to Eves mother, and this had caused a cessation of visits to Morwell. Moreover, since the disappearance of Eves mother, Mr. Jordan had become morose, reserved, and so peculiar in his manner, that it was doubted whether he were in his right mind.