The Birthright

"I've got the tinder and the flint and steel," remarked Israel, "we must git to a lew plaace an' light the candle. Come over 'ere. Ther's a 'ollow behind the rocks, it'll do zackly."

I followed him without a word until we reached a spot that was sheltered from the sea, although we could still hear the waves surging and moaning, while flecks of foam often beat upon our faces.

Perhaps there is no more lonely place on God's earth than this. That night the genius of desolation seemed to reign, while the roaring sea told me of mad spirits playing with the angry waters. In the dim light I could see the long line of foam, while above the dark cliffs loomed; landward nothing was visible, save a suggestion of the outline of the hills.

"'Tes a gashly night and this es a gashly job to be done," said Israel. "By agor, 'ow the waaves do roar," he continued, after a minute.

"Yes, 'tis a wild night," I responded, and as if in confirmation of my words, a great wave broke on Bumble Rock with a mighty roar, while a shower of spray and flecks of foam fell upon us.

"Well, 'tes as lew 'ere as we can git it anywhere," he said; "ther now, you hould the lantern while I strick the light."

"No," I replied.

"Wot do 'ee main?" he queried.

"Simply this," I answered; "no false light shall shine on this cliff to-night." As I spoke I took the lantern and threw it over the cliffs. Then I sprang upon him and caught his hands in mine.

"Look you, Israel Barnicoat," I said, "I know what your plans are. I followed you as you went to the Preventive man to-night; but it is no use. The wreckers' light will not shine to-night, neither will I be off The Stags at twelve o'clock."

He struggled to be free, but I held him tight.

"You'll suffer for this," he screamed; "when Cap'n Jack knaws you'll die."

"I must take chance of that," I said. Then I threw him heavily on the sward. Taking some cord from my pocket, with which I had provided myself before starting, I bound his hands securely behind him. Then I bound his legs.

"Wot be 'ee goin' to do weth me now?" he shrieked.

"Nothing more."

"But you bean't goin' to laive me lie 'ere oal night, be 'ee? Why, I sh'll die ov the cowld."

"No, you won't," I said; "as you mentioned, this is a lew place, and you are not one who will die so easily. You may be a bit cramped by the morning, and perhaps you may get a twinge of rheumatics, but that'll be all. Besides, it's far better for you to suffer a bit than that yon vessel shall be wrecked. Now I'll leave you to your sins; I'm off."

"Off where?"

"Off where you'll never see me again. You'll have company to-night, perhaps. It's said that Peter Crowle's ghost comes here on windy nights. I wish you pleasant company."

"Oh, doan't 'ee go," he screamed; "I'm 'fraid of sperrits, I be. Let me free, Squire, 'n I'll never tell where you'm gone; I'll zay you'm drowned, or tumbled ovver the cleffs or anything, onnly do cut the ropes, and lev me be free."

"No," I said; "while you are here Cap'n Jack will think the false lights are showing, and perhaps the vessel will be safe. As for the spirits, you are the strongest, bravest man in the gang, and, of course, you are not afraid of spirits."

"But you bean't agoin' to take th'oull mare?"

"Yes; Smiler will come with me. Good luck to you, Israel Barnicoat."

I sprang upon Smiler's back and rode away, leaving him in the sheltered hollow. The night was cold and threatened rain, but I was sure that, hardy and used to exposure as he was, he would not be hurt. When morning came he would be searched for and found. Of course he would tell his story to Cap'n Jack, but by that time I hoped to be out of harm's way.

At first I rode slowly, especially until I got to Ruan Major. Arrived there, however, and having struck into the road over Goonhilly Downs, I went faster. I felt strangely happy, for it seemed as though a weight were rolled from my shoulders. Once more I was a free man, and I imagined that for some hours I should not be pursued. Besides, all the time I had been with Cap'n Jack's gang I felt that I was doing what was unworthy of a Pennington, and worse still, what was unworthy of my love for Naomi. But more than all, a wild scheme had come into my mind; I would that night go to Pennington and try to see Naomi. The thought acted upon me like some strange elixir; to hear Naomi's voice, to feel her hand in mine, were a joy beyond all words. How I was to do this I did not know; what difficulties I should meet I did not consider. The thought that I should see her was enough for me, and I shouted for very joy. The hour was not yet late, and I calculated that by hard riding I could get to Pennington by midnight. Thus at the very hour when Israel Barnicoat had planned for me to be taken by the Preventive men, I hoped to be speaking to my love.

In looking back I can see that my hopes were very unreasonable. How could I get Naomi to speak to me? At best she could only regard me as a landless outcast, whom she had once seen pilloried in Falmouth town and pelted by hooting boys. It is true I had told her my story in Granfer Fraddam's Cave, and she had shown a desire to shield me from Richard Tresidder, but she must probably have forgotten all about it. Besides, if she had not forgotten me, she would think me either dead or far away. The letter which I had written at Cap'n Jack's dictation would tell her that I was in his power. During my two months' stay at Kynance Cove, I had asked Cap'n Jack concerning Granfer Fraddam's Cave, but he always evaded my questions, and I did not know whether she had received the letter I had written.

At the same time my heart beat high with hope, and I was happy. For a true love, even although difficulties beset it, is always beautiful and joyous. As I rode along through the night, even the wild winds sang love songs to me, while I could see the light of Naomi's eyes shining in the darkness, revealing her face to me, pure and beautiful.

I am told that my days of romance are over, that I have reached that stage in life when the foolishness of young lovers is impossible to me. And yet even now I cannot see a boy and a maid together without my heart beating faster; for there is nothing more beautiful on God's green earth than the love of lovers, and I know that when a lad feels a girl's first kisses on his lips, he lives in heaven, if he loves her as I loved Naomi. There are those, even in this parish, who sneer at the bliss of boy and girl sweethearts, but I, who remember the night when I rode from Bumble Rock to Pennington, cannot sneer; nay, rather, the tears start to my eyes, and I find myself fighting my battles again and dreaming of love, even as I dreamed then.

Smiler was a better steed than I had hoped. Saddle I had none, nor bridle, but the halter which had been placed on her head was sufficient for me to guide her. Moreover, I had been used to horses all my life, and felt as much at ease on a horse's back as on my feet. Thus it came about that before midnight I had reached the parish of St. Eve, and was making my way toward Pennington. When within sight of the house, however, I was in a dilemma, and never until then did I realise how difficult was the task I had set myself. The whole family was a-bed, at least I imagined so, neither did I know the part of the house where Naomi Penryn was. Most likely, too, dogs would be prowling around, and I did not wish to place myself in the power of Richard Tresidder or his son Nick. At the same time I vowed that I would see Naomi, even though I waited there until morning.

So, tying Smiler to a tree, I crept quietly up to the house and looked anxiously around. At first all seemed to be in darkness, but presently I saw a light shining from one of the windows in the back part of the house. Wondering what it might mean, I went toward it and looked through the window. A blind had been drawn, but it did not fit the window well, and there was an inch of glass between the window-frame and the blind that was not covered. At first I could only see the room in a blurred sort of way, for the leaded panes of glass were small, but presently I saw more clearly. The room into which I looked was the kitchen, and by the table sat a man and a woman. The man was Ikey Trethewy, whom I had last seen in Granfer Fraddam's Cave, and who had promised to take my letter to Naomi; the woman was the Pennington cook. The latter was a sour and rather hard-featured woman of forty years of age. It had been a joke of the parish that Tryphena Rowse never had a sweetheart in her life, that she was too ugly, too cross-tempered. It was also rumoured, however, that this was not Tryphena's fault, and that her great desire was to get married and settle down. I soon saw that Ikey Trethewy was there as Tryphena's sweetheart. The table was covered with tempting eatables, of which Ikey partook freely, stopping between sups of ale and mouthfuls of chicken pie to salute the object of his affections. I saw, too, that these attentions were by no means disagreeable to the cook, although she gave Ikey several admonitory taps. It was evident, too, that Ikey's visit was clandestine. I knew that, except on special occasions, it was the rule for Pennington doors to be closed at ten o'clock, while it was now past midnight. Probably Ikey, who had the reputation of being a woman-hater, did not care for his courtship to be known, for I knew that he did not like being laughed at or joked in any way.

I had not waited long when Ikey began to make preparations for his departure, while Tryphena seemed to be trying to persuade him to stay a little longer. No sound reached me, however, and I imagined that all their conversation was carried on in whispers for fear the noise thereof might reach the master or mistress of the establishment. He succeeded at length, however, in breaking away from the embraces of the fair cook, while two huge dogs which lay by the kitchen fire watched them solemnly. Presently the door opened, and Ikey and Tryphena stood together outside. They were quite close to me, so that I could hear their every word.

"You wa'ant be long afore you come again, Ikey?" asked Tryphena.

"Not long, my buty. P'raps you c'n git a bit a pigin pie next time."

"That I will, Ikey. But doan't 'ee think, Ikey, 'tes time for 'ee to be puttin' in th' baans? We've bin a-courtin' like this now for more'n vive yer."

"Well, tha's nothin', Tryphena. Jim Jory ded court Mary Hicks thirteen yer afore they wur spliced."

"Iss; but I ca'ant kip comp'ny weth 'ee like other maids. An' ted'n vitty fur we to be mittin' every week like this 'ere."

"Well, Tryphena, my buty, you do knaw I do love 'ee deerly. An' you be a clain off cook, too. I niver taasted sich a vowl pie in my life, ther now. An' yer zay 't shell be a pigin pie next week."

"Iss, Ikey; but 'twud be purty to 'ave a 'ome of our oan."

"Mawther wa'ant 'eer of et it, nor Cap'n Jack nuther. 'Nother yer or two, Tryphena, and then I'll go to the passen. Ther, I mus' be goin'."

Another sounding kiss, and Ikey crept away very quietly, while Tryphena began to put away the supper things. In a minute my mind was made up. I had heard enough to settle me on my plan of action. I thought I saw the means whereby I could see Naomi.

I waited until Tryphena had cleared away the remains of Ikey's repast, and was evidently preparing to go to her room, and then I gave the kitchen door a slight knock, and, imitating Ikey's voice as well as I could, I said, "Tryphena, my buty, laive me in a minait."

She came and opened the door quickly.

"'Ave 'ee forgot summin', Ikey, deear?" she said; and then before she recognised me I slipped in.

The dogs rose up with a low, suppressed growl, as though they were in doubt what to do; but Tryphena, who was as anxious as I that the household might not be disturbed, quieted them.

"Maaster Jasper Pennington!" she gasped as she looked into my face.

"That's right, Tryphena," I said. "Sit down, I want to talk with you, and I want you to do something for me."

"No, I mustn't, I daren't. They do oal hate 'ee 'ere, Maaster Jasper. Ef they wos to knaw you was 'ere, I dunnaw wot wud 'appen."

For a moment a great bitterness came into my heart, for I remembered that this was the first time I had ever entered the home of my fathers. And it galled me beyond measure that I should have to enter at midnight at the kitchen door like a servant who came courting the servant maids. I quickly realised my position, however, and acted accordingly.

"Yes, you must do what I ask you, Tryphena," I said.

"I tell 'ee I ca'ant."

"Then Ikey Trethewy will be in the hands of the Preventive men by to-morrow," I replied, "and Richard Tresidder will know that a man has come to his house for years at midnight on the sly."

I did not want to frighten the poor woman, but it had to be done. I saw, too, that I had said sufficient to make Tryphena afraid to thwart me.

"What do 'ee want me to do?" she asked.

"I suppose no one can hear us?" I said.

"No, oal the family, 'ciptin' Miss Naomi, do slaip in another paart ov the 'ouse."

I listened intently, but could hear no sound; evidently all the family was asleep.

"You remember about two months ago that Ikey brought a letter to Miss Naomi Penryn?" I said.

"Iss."

"Well, I wrote that letter."

"I knaw; Ikey tould me."

"Well, I want to see Miss Naomi."

"When?"

"To-night. I want you to go to her room now, and tell her that I want to see her."

CHAPTER XI

I SEE NAOMI PENRYN, AND AM GREATLY ENCOURAGED, BUT SOON AFTER AM TAKEN PRISONER

Tryphena looked at me like one dazed. "No, Maaster Jasper," she replied, "it caan't be done."

"It must be done."

"And what if I do?"

"I will leave the house in an hour," I replied, "and no one shall know of what you have done, not even Ikey."

"No, Ikey musn't knaw you've been 'ere."

"Why?"

"Why, e'ed be jillus as cud be. E'ed be afraid you'd come to try and cut un out. You zee, you be a 'andsome young man, Master Jasper."

"Well, you must do as I ask you, or Ikey will know," I said, for I saw that Tryphena needed a good deal of pressure. At the same time I could not help smiling at the thought of Ikey being jealous, for surely one look at her face were enough to dispel such a thought. "You see," I went on, "a fine-looking woman like you must be careful, if you wish to keep such a man as Ikey. However, you do as I ask you, and some day you'll be glad."

I believe my flattery had more to do with making Tryphena my friend than any threats I might offer, for a smile of satisfaction came on her lips, and she asked me how she was to do what I asked her.

"What I want," I said, "is for you to go quietly to Miss Naomi, and tell her that Jasper Pennington is in great danger, and that he must see her before he leaves this part of the world."

"Wot, be 'ee goin' away, then?" cried Tryphena.

"I must," I said; "now go quickly."

When she had gone I saw how unreasonable my request was. Would not Naomi be justified in arousing the house, and would she not at the least refuse to come and see me? And yet all the while I waited with a great hope in my heart, for love gives hope, and I loved Naomi like my own life. For all this, I worried myself by thinking that I did not tell Tryphena anything whereby she could induce Naomi to come to me. For what should she care about my danger, save as she might care about the danger of a thousand more for whom she could do nothing?

And so I waited with an anxious heart, and when at length I heard footsteps my bosom seemed too small for the mighty beating of my heart. But it was not my love's footsteps that I heard, but Tryphena's. Perhaps fellow-feeling had made her kind, for she told me in a kind, sympathetic way that "Miss Naomi would be down d'reckly."

Now this was more than I had seriously dared to hope. No sooner did I hear her telling me this joyful news than I felt amazed that I had ever dreamed of asking for such a thing, while my heart grew heavy at the thought that I had no sufficient reason for asking to see Naomi.

In less than five minutes later Naomi came into the kitchen. She looked pale, and thin, I thought, but she was beauteous beyond all words. I am not going to try and describe her. I am not gifted in writing fine things, for the pen was nearly a stranger to my hands until I began to write this history, besides I doubt if any man, great as he may be, could do justice to Naomi's beauty. I think my heart ceased to beat for a while, and I know that I stood looking at her stupidly, my tongue refusing to move.

As for Tryphena, I am sure she understood my feelings, for she went into the dairy, for the which I determined even then that I would some day reward her.

"You said you were in danger," said Naomi, speaking first, "and that you wanted to see me. You have asked a hard thing, but I have come."

"Miss Naomi," I said, in a low, hoarse voice, "forgive my forwardness, for truly I am unworthy this honour, yet believe me I could not help it. Will you sit down, so that I may try and tell you what is in my heart?"

She sat down on the old kitchen settle, and I could not help noticing how beautifully her dark dress fitted her graceful form. At the same time I knew not what to say. I had come because my heart hungered for her, and because love knows no laws. Yet no words came to me, except to say, "Naomi Penryn, I love you more than life," and those I dared not utter, so much was I afraid of her as she sat there.

"Are you in great danger?" she asked. "I have breathed no word about that cave, no word to any one. What did it mean?"

This gave me an opening, and then I rapidly told her what I have written in these pages.

"And will they try and find you?" she asked when I had told my story.

"They will hunt me like dogs hunt a fox!" I replied, "so I must find my way to Falmouth, and try and get to sea."

Her face was full of sympathy, and my heart rejoiced because she did not seem to think it strange that I should come to her.

"And will you have to go soon?"

"I must go now," I replied, and then my sorrow and despair, at the thought, dragged my confession from my tongue.

"But before I go," I said, "I must tell you that I love you, Naomi Penryn. It is madness, I know; but I loved you when I was in the pillory at Falmouth, and I have loved you ever since, and my love has been growing stronger each day. That is why I have come here, to-night. My heart is hungry for you, and my eyes have been aching for a sight of your face, and I felt I could not go away without telling you, even though I shall never see you again."

Her face seemed to grow paler than ever as I spoke, but her eyes grew soft.

"I know I am wrong, I ought not to have come in this way," I went on, for my tongue was unloosed now, "but I could not help it; and I am glad I have come, for your eyes will nerve me, and the thought that you do not scorn me will be a help to me in the unknown paths which I have to tread. For you do not scorn me, do you?"

"Scorn you?" she asked. "Why should I scorn you?"

And then a great hope came into my heart, greater than I had ever dared to dream of before, the hope that she might care for me! Wild I know it was, but my own love filled me with the hope. If I loved her, might she not, even although I were unworthy, love me? Yet I dared not ask her if it was so; only I longed with a longing which cannot be uttered that she should tell me, by word or look.

"And must you go soon, go now to Falmouth?" she said like one dazed.

"Yes; I must e'en go now," I said. "It is like heaven to be near you, better than any heaven preached about by parsons, but I must go. Can you give me no word of encouragement before I leave?"

But she made no reply, and then my heart became heavy again, so I held out my hand, trying to appear brave.

Without hesitation, she put her hand in mine, and I felt it tremble, just as I have felt little chicks not a week old tremble when I have caught them. I fancied that she was afraid of me, so I said, "Thank you for speaking to me. This meeting will help me for many a long day, and I am afraid I have a dreary future before me."

"I hope you will come to no harm," she said, "and I hope you will obtain what is justly yours."

"Can you say nothing else?" I cried, "not just one word?"

But just then Tryphena came in from the dairy. "Ther's a noise in Maaster Nick's bedroom," she cried. "Git out, Maaster Jasper. Miss Naomi, we must go up by the back stairs. Maake 'aaste, Maaster Jasper!" And then she blew out the light, leaving us in darkness.

And then I could contain my feelings no longer, and I caught Naomi's fingers to my mouth, and kissed them. She drew her hand away, but not as I thought then, angrily.

"You'll be careful to let no one hurt you, will you?" she said, and I heard a tremor in her voice, and then, before I could answer, she had gone.

And that was all we said to each other at Pennington, and although I hungered to keep her near me longer, and although the night into which I went was black and stormy, my heart thumped aloud for joy. Her words rung in my ears as I found my way among the trees, and they were sweeter to me than the singing of birds on a summer morning. The winds blew wildly, while in the near distance I heard the roar of the waves. The rain fell heavily, too, but I did not care. What heeded I wind and weather! Neither did I fear danger. I knew that I could play with men even as others play with children, for hope stirred in my heart, hope made the black sky as beautiful as a rainbow.

There be many joys that come into a man's life, the joy of possession, the joy of fame, the joy of victory in battle; but I know of no joy as great as that which comes because of the hope that his love loves him, unless it be that which never comes to us but once, the joy of the first kiss of love. And this to me seems the will of God, and thus love should always be regarded as sacred, and never be spoken of save with reverence. For I know that, although Naomi had spoken but few words to me, and that I had only a hope of her loving me in some far-off time, yet the thought that she cared for me ever so little made me rich in spite of my poverty, and caused the wailing winds to sing glad songs to me. No man is poor while his love loves him, and even a hope of that love is the life of God surging in the heart of a man.

And so I came up to the spot where I had fastened my horse, glad at heart, although I knew not where to go or what to do. I rode a mile or two, and then I remembered that if I were discovered with Cap'n Jack's mare I should be in danger of being hanged for horse stealing. So I jumped from her back, tied the halter around her neck, and told her to go home. She sniffed around for two or three minutes, and then started to trot steadily along the road toward Kynance, and over which I had rode her hours before.

This done, I started to walk to Falmouth; as I trudged along I had to pass close to Elmwater Barton, but my heart felt no bitterness, for it was filled with love. When I came to Betsey Fraddam's cottage I stopped, intending to go in; but thinking better of it I made no sound, and a few minutes later was on the main road to Falmouth Town.

I did not walk rapidly, for a great peace was in my heart. I did not fear Cap'n Jack's gang, although I felt sure they would follow me, and I knew that Israel Barnicoat would do all in his power to embitter Cap'n Jack against me. I felt strong enough to overcome everything, so great is the power of hope.

So slowly did I walk that I did not get near Falmouth Harbour until the gray morning began to dawn. I looked eagerly among the vessels, thinking of the fate of the craft Cap'n Jack's gang had intended to wreck. I wondered, too, whether Israel Barnicoat had been discovered, and if Cap'n Jack knew of what I had done. As I drew nearer I determined that I would speak to the first person I should meet, and ask what vessels had arrived, but scarcely had the thought formed itself in my mind when I felt my arms pinioned.

I struggled like a mad man for my liberty, because I saw that two Preventive men had attacked me, and I believe I should have freed myself from them had not a third come to the help of the other two.

"What is the meaning of this?" I said, when they had tied my hands.

"Hanging," was the reply.

"What for?"