CONFESSIONS.

As the bell clanged Mr. Jordan came out of his door. He had been ordered to remain quiet and take no exercise; but now, leaning on his stick and holding the door jamb, he came forth.

‘What is this?’ he asked, and Jasper put his hand to the rope to arrest the upward cast. ‘Why are you ringing, Barbara? Who told you to do so?’

‘I bade her ring,’ said Jasper, ‘to call these,’ he pointed to the door.

Several constables were visible; foremost came Joseph and a prison warder.

‘Take him!’ cried Mr. Jordan: ‘arrest the fellow. Here he is—he is unarmed.’

‘What! Mr. Jasper!’ asked Joseph. Among the servants and labourers the young steward was only known as Mr. Jasper. ‘Why, sir, this is—this is—Mr. Jasper!’

‘This is the man,’ said Ignatius Jordan, clinging to the door-jamb and pointing excitedly with his stick,—’this is the man who robbed his own father of money that was mine. This is the man who was locked up in jail and broke out, and, by the mercy and justice of Heaven, was cast at my door.’

‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said Joseph, ‘I don’t understand. This is your steward, Mr. Jasper.’

‘Take him, handcuff him before my eyes. This is the fellow you have been in search of; I deliver him up.’

‘But, sir,’ said the warder, ‘you are wrong. This is not our escaped convict.’

‘He is, I tell you I know he is.’

‘I am sorry to differ from you, sir, but this is not he. I know which is which. Why, this chap’s hair have never been cut. If he’d been with us he’d have a head like a mole’s back.’

‘Not he!’ cried Mr. Jordan frantically. ‘I say to you this is Jasper Babb.’

‘Well, sir,’ said the warder, ‘sorry to differ, sir, but our man ain’t Jasper at all—he’s Martin.’

Then Joseph turned his light blue eyes round in quest of Jane. ‘I’ll roast her! I’ll eat her,’ he muttered, ‘at the next Love Feast.’

The men went away much disappointed, grumbling, swearing, ill-appeased by a glass of cider each; Jane sulked in the kitchen, and said to Barbara, ‘This day month, please, miss.’

Mr. Jordan, confounded, disappointed, crept back to his room and cast himself on his bed.

The only person in the house who could have helped them out of their disappointment was Eve, who knew something of the story of Martin, and knew, moreover, or strongly suspected, that he was not very far off. But no one thought of consulting Eve.

When all the party of constables was gone, Barbara stood in the garden, and Jasper came to her.

‘You will tell me all now?’ she said, looking at him with eyes full of thankfulness and trust.

‘Yes, Miss Jordan, everything. It is due to you. May I sit here by you on the garden seat?’

She seated herself, with a smile, and made room for him, drawing her skirts to her.

The ten-week stocks, purple and white, in a bed under the window filled the air with perfume; but a sweeter perfume than ten-week stocks, to Barbara, charged the atmosphere—the perfume of perfect confidence. Was Barbara plain? Who could think that must have no love for beauty of expression. She had none of her sister’s loveliness, but then Eve had none of hers. Each had a charm of her own,—Eve the charm of exquisite physical perfection, Barbara that of intelligence and sweet faith and complete self-devotion streaming out of eye and mouth—indeed, out of every feature. Which is lovelier—the lantern, or the light within? There was little of soul and character in frivolous Eve.

When Jasper seated himself beside Miss Jordan neither spoke for full ten minutes. She folded her hands on her lap. Perhaps their souls were, like the ten-week stocks, exhaling sweetness.

‘Dear Miss Jordan,’ said Jasper, ‘how pleasantly the thrushes are singing!’

‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘but I want to hear your story—I can always listen to the thrushes.’

He was silent after this for several minutes. She did not further press him. She knew he would tell her all when he had rallied his courage to do so. They heard Eve upstairs in her room lightly singing a favourite air from ‘Don Giovanni.’

‘It is due to you,’ said Jasper at last. ‘I will hide nothing from you, and I know your kind heart will bear with me if I am somewhat long.’

She looked round, smiled, just raised her fingers on her lap and let them fall again.

When Jasper saw that smile he thought he had never seen a sweeter sight. And yet people said that Barbara was plain!

‘Miss Jordan, as you have heard, my brother Martin took the money. Poor Martin! Poor, dear Martin! His is a broken life, and it was so full of promise!’

‘Did you love Martin very dearly?’

‘I do love him dearly. I have pitied him so deeply. He has had a hard childhood. I will tell you all, and your good kind soul will pity, not condemn him. You have no conception what a bright handsome lad he was. I love to think of him as he was—guileless, brimming with spirits. Unfortunately for us, our father had the idea that he could mould his children’s character into whatever shape he desired, and he had resolved to make of Martin a Baptist minister, so he began to write on his tender heart the hard tenets of Calvinism, with an iron pen dipped in gall. When my brother and I played together we were happy—happy as butterflies in the sun. When we heard our father’s voice or saw him, we ran away and hid behind bushes. He interfered with our pursuits, he sneered at our musical tastes, he tried to stop our practising on the violin. We were overburdened with religion, had texts rammed into us as they ram groats down the throats of Strasburg geese. Our livers became diseased like these same geese—our moral livers. Poor Martin could least endure this education: it drove him desperate. He did what was wrong through sheer provocation. By nature he is good. He has a high spirit, and that led him into revolt.’

‘I have seen your brother Martin,’ said Barbara. ‘When you were brought insensible to this house he was with you.’

‘What did you think of him?’ asked Jasper, with pride in his tone.

‘I did not see his face, he never removed his hat.’

‘Has he not a pleasant voice! and he is so grand and generous in his demeanour!’

Barbara said nothing. Jasper waited, expecting some word of praise.

‘Tell me candidly what you thought of him,’ said Jasper.

‘I do not like to do so. I did form an opinion of him, but—it was not favourable.’

‘You saw him for too short a time to be able to judge,’ said the young man. ‘It never does to condemn a man off-hand without knowing his circumstances. Do you know, Miss Jordan, that saying of St. Paul about premature judgments? He bids us not judge men, for the Great Day will reveal the secrets of all hearts, and then—what is his conclusion? “All men will be covered with confusion and be condemned of men and angels”? Not so—”Then shall every man have praise of the Lord.” Their motives will show better than their deeds.’

‘How sweetly the thrushes are singing!’ said Barbara now; then—’So also Eve may be misunderstood.’

‘Oh, Miss Jordan! when I consider what Martin might have become in better hands, with more gentle and sympathetic treatment, it makes my heart bleed. I assure you my boyhood was spent in battling with the fatal influences that surrounded him. At last matters came to a head. Our father wanted to send Martin away to be trained for a preacher, and Martin took the journey money provided him, and joined a company of players. He had a good voice, and had been fairly taught to sing. Whether he had any dramatic talent I can hardly say. After an absence of a twelvemonth or more he returned. He was out of his place, and professed penitence. I dare say he really was sorry. He remained a while at home, but could not get on with our father, who was determined to have his way with Martin, and Martin was equally resolved not to become a Dissenting minister. To me it was amazing that my father should persevere, because it was obvious that Martin had no vocation for the pastorate; but my father is a determined man. Having made up his mind that Martin was to be a preacher, he would not be moved from it. In our village a couple of young men resolved to go to America. They were friends of Martin, and persuaded him to join them. He asked my father to give him a fit-out and let him go. But no—the old gentleman was not to be turned from his purpose. Then a temptation came in poor Martin’s way, and he yielded to it in a thoughtless moment, or, perhaps, when greatly excited by an altercation with his father. He took the money and ran away.’

‘He did not go to America?’

‘No, Miss Jordan. He rejoined the same dramatic company with which he had been connected before. That was how he was caught.’

‘And the money?’

‘Some of it was recovered, but what he had done with most of it no one knows; the poor thriftless lad least of all. I dare say he gave away pounds right and left to all who made out a case of need to him.’

Then these two, sitting in the garden perfumed with stocks, heard Eve calling Barbara.

‘It is nothing,’ said Barbara; ‘Eve is tired of polishing her spangles, and so wants me. I cannot go to her now: I must hear the end of your story.’

‘I was on my way to this place,’ Jasper continued, ‘when I had to pass through Prince’s Town. I found my other brother there, Walter, who is also devoted to our poor Martin; Walter had found means of communicating with his brother, and had contrived plans of escape. He had a horse in readiness, and one day, when the prisoners were cutting turf on the moor, his comrades built a turf-stack round Martin, and the warders did not discover that he was missing till he had made off. Walter persuaded me to remain a day or two in the place to assist in carrying out the escape, which was successfully executed. We got away off Dartmoor, avoided Tavistock, and lost ourselves on these downs, but were making for the Tamar, that we might cross into Cornwall by bridge or ferry, or by swimming our horses; and then we thought to reach Polperro and send Martin out of the kingdom in any ship that sailed.’

‘Why did you not tell me this at once, when you came to our house?’ asked Barbara, with a little of her old sharpness.

‘Because I did not know you then, Miss Jordan; I could not be sure that you might be trusted.’

She shook her head. ‘Oh, Mr. Jasper! I am not trustworthy. I did betray what I believed to be your secret.’

‘Your very trustiness made you a traitor,’ he answered courteously. ‘Your first duty was to your sister.’

‘Why did you allow me to suppose that you were the criminal?’

‘You had found the prison clothes, and at first I sought to screen my brother. I did not know where Martin was; I wished to give him ample time for escape by diverting suspicion to myself.’

‘But afterwards? You ought, later, to have undeceived me,’ she said, with a shake in her voice, and a little accent of reproach.

‘I shrank from doing that. I thought when you visited Buckfastleigh you would have found out the whole story; but my father was reticent, and you came away without having learned the truth. Perhaps it was pride, perhaps a lingering uneasiness about Martin, perhaps I felt that I could not tell of my dear brother’s fall and disgrace. You were cold, and kept me at a distance——’

Then, greatly agitated, Barbara started up.

‘Oh, Mr. Jasper!’ she said with quivering voice, ‘what cruel words I have spoken to you—to you so generous, so true, so self-sacrificing! You never can forgive me; and yet from the depth of my heart I desire your pardon. Oh, Jasper! Mr.’—a sob broke the thread of her words—’Mr. Jasper, when you were ill and unconscious, I studied your face hour after hour, trying to read the evil story of your life there, and all I read was pure, and noble, and true. How can I make you amends for the wrong I have done you!’

As she stood, humbled, with heaving bosom and throat choking—Eve came with skips and laugh along the gravel walk. ‘I have found you!’ she exclaimed, and clapped her hands.

‘And I—and I——’ gasped Barbara—’I have found how I may reward the best of men. There! there!’ she said, clasping Eve’s hand and drawing her towards Jasper. ‘Take her! I have stood between you too long; but, on my honour, only because I thought you unworthy of her.’

She put Eve’s hand in that of Jasper, then before either had recovered from the surprise occasioned by her words and action, she walked back into the house, gravely, with erect head, dignified as ever.