Eve

Eve could not speak. She put her arms round her sister’s neck, and clung to her, and the tears flowed from both their eyes, and fell upon the tiny Eve lying on the knees of the elder Eve.

But though they were clasped over the child, no shadow fell on its little face. The baby laughed.

…

Some years ago – the author cannot at the moment say how many, nor does it matter – he paid a visit to Morwell, and saw the sad havoc that had been wrought to the venerable hunting-lodge of the Abbots of Tavistock. The old hall had disappeared, a floor had been put across it, and it had been converted into an upper and lower story of rooms. One wing had been transformed into a range of model cottages for labourers. The house of the Jordans was now a farm.

The author asked if he might see the remains of antiquity within the house.

An old woman who had answered his knock and ring, replied, ‘There are none – all have been swept away.’

‘But,’ said he, ‘in my childhood I remember that the place was full of interest; and by the way, what has become of the good people who lived here? I have been in another part of the country, and indeed a great deal abroad.’

‘Do you mean Mr. Jasper?’

‘No: Jasper, no – the name began with J.’

‘The old Squire Jordan your honour means, no doubt. He be dead ages ago. Mr. Jasper married Miss Jordan – Miss Barbara we called her. When Miss Eve died, they went away to Buckfastleigh, where they had a house and a factory. There was a queer matter about the old squire’s death – did you never hear of that, sir?’

‘I heard something; but I was very young then.’

‘My Joseph could tell you all about it better than I.’

‘Who is your Joseph?’

‘Well, sir, I’m ashamed to say it, but he’s my sweetheart, who’s been a-courting of me these fifty years.’

‘Not married yet?’

‘He’s a slow man is Joseph. I reckon he’d ‘a’ spoken out if he’d been able at last, but the paralysis took ‘m in the legs. He put off and off – and I encouraged him all I could; but he always was a slow man.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘Oh, he’s with his married sister. He sits in a chair, and when I can I run to ‘m and take him some backy or barley-sugar. He’s vastly fond o’ sucking sticks o’ barley-sugar. Gentlefolks as come here sometimes give me a shilling, and I lay that out on getting Joseph what he likes. He always had a sweet tooth.’

‘Then you love him still?’

The old woman looked at me with surprise. Her hand and head shook.

‘Of course I does: love is eternal – every fool knows that.’

THE END

1

The author has allowed himself a slight anachronism. The prison was not a convict establishment at the period of this tale.

2

Whisht = uncanny.