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世界将会发生什么？世界——世界的中心——伊利岛？

哪个老人在三十岁零的经历中以前听说过这样的行为？

哪个当地诗人在《剑桥和伊利邮报》上发表了他最狂野的想象力，构想出了这样的事情？

体面肯定已经腐朽并被埋葬了。在这样的事件成为可能之前，谦逊一定已经展开了她的翅膀，飞向了天堂。

警察在哪里？章程细则会成为一纸空文吗？难道秩序、礼节、事物的永恒适宜性就该被流浪汉践踏在脚下吗？

在大教堂前面，在加利利前面，在圣埃塞尔德大教堂宏伟的西门廊前面，停着一辆便宜的杰克面包车。

距离主教宫殿二十码之内，每个房间里的每一个字都听得见，一个廉价杰克正在提供他的商品。

用纹章学的语言来说，厚颜无耻的行为是猖獗且令人尊敬的。

一群人聚集在货车周围。一群由各种各样、状况各异的人组成的人群，互相推挤，践踏草坪上的草地，爬上大教堂的雕刻作品，去听、去看、出价、购买。

神圣的仪式还没有结束。管风琴还在咕哝着、吹着笛子，这时一群唱诗班成员从西门进来，他们脱下法衣，跑进中殿，互相竞价，竞购廉价杰克提供的小刀。 。

教区执事法格斯先生正朝同一个方向大步走去，脸上的肌肉放松了，因为他们在神圣的崇拜中被吸引到了严肃的教会庄严的表情中。在唱国歌时，他突然想到廉价杰克正在出售各种各样的家用物品，对他来说，以较低的价格购买可能会更好。

首席执达员鲍尔斯先生从晚祷中走出来，心里充满了感激之情，因为他与其他人不同：他每天都去大教堂，他订阅了所有的慈善事业；他每天都去大教堂。现在他站在那里看着，屏住了呼吸，双脚牢牢地固定在地上，对这个廉价杰克的胆大妄为感到惊讶，他竟然敢在下午祈祷的时候在牧师面前停下来出售他的商品。

近郊修道院里的女仆们把头从狭窄的哥特式窗户里伸出来，以便让她们的短头颅骨通过，她们正在听着，忙着讨价还价。

不仅如此，主教本人也在楼上的房间里，窗扇升起，隐藏在窗帘后面，他的耳朵张开并竖起，他正在为他听到的声音而大笑，直到他的围裙荡漾起来，他的秃头变成了粉红色，他的小腿在颤抖。

货车的侧面几乎看不见，上面堆满了扫帚、刷子、门垫、锡制品和煤斗。在这些物品之间，可以看到车轮上的商店尸体的硫磺黄色的光芒。运输工具的前部是敞开的；房间里挂着深红色的毛绒窗帘，窗帘被拉开。在它的深处，可以看到一排排的架子，里面存放着各种各样、吸引人的商品。

货车的前部设计得向前倾倒，在倾倒过程中，一对支撑它的支撑物脱离了，暂时将其变成了一个平台。这个平台上站着廉价杰克，他是一个瘦削的男人，有着浓密的黑发和凹陷的脸颊。他说话的声音因吼叫而变得沙哑。他的胡子刮得干干净净。他穿着土褐色马裤和白色长筒袜，穿着一件印有花朵图案的背心，袖子里穿着衬衫。他头上戴着一顶毛绒帽子，帽子的盖子可以根据需要翻起或放下。当翻下来时，前面的那块变成了山峰，遮住了他的眼睛，两侧的那块保护了他的耳朵，后面的那块则防止雨水顺着他的颈背流下来。然而，当这四个挡板被翻起时，他们就把帽子变成了一顶王冠——一顶廉价杰克国王应该戴的王冠。那人面色苍白，面色蜡黄，额头上有汗珠，他努力保持着幽默感，吸引了听众的注意力，让最外圈的人也能听到他的声音。好奇和感兴趣的人聚集在货车周围。在交通工具的阴影深处，人们瞥见了一个女孩，她走来走去，时不时地走上前去，向廉价杰克递上他所要求的物品，或者从他那里接收那些未能命令购买者的物品。

当她出现时，我们看到她是一个身材苗条、身材健美的女孩，大约​​十七岁左右，有着成熟的橄榄色皮肤，一头浓密的栗色短发，一双淡褐色的眼睛。

显然，她对父亲的笑话无动于衷。她的嘴角没有露出笑容，因为她很熟悉它们。她在年轻人中引起的钦佩同样不为所动，她显然对此也很熟悉。

'现在这里！'小气杰克喊道。 “我到底得到了什么？——当然是一架望远镜，而且这样的望远镜以前没有，以后也不会再提供了。”当我从剑桥沿路过来，距离五英里时，“泪水和岁月！”我看到你们著名的大教堂矗立在阳光下，“泪水和岁月！”经济特区一号； “这真是世界奇观。”我拿起望远镜。现在看这里。你观察到西翼之一倒塌了。据说，当老人建造塔的顶层时，塔的左翼被推倒了。现在我透过这个透视镜，我发现两个翅膀都像以前一样站立着，而且它们应该是这样，但事实并非如此。我不能接受少于十七和六的这个美妙的望远镜——十七和六。什么！不要买玻璃杯，因为它会告诉你事情应该是什么样子，但不是吗？他从一边转向另一边，看向周围的圆圈。 “来吧，——比如说十先令。” “把透视镜从伊利身上拿走真是太可惜了。”停顿一下。 “没有人愿意出价十先令吗？把它收回来，齐塔。这里的伊利人太穷了，他们的生活费不能超过十便士。十先令的钱已经超出了他们的钱包。但留下来。齐塔，把那块玻璃再给我一次。它还有更美妙的地方。你仔细观察，就会发现什么对你有利，而这是每个人用肉眼都看不到的。来吧——说七先令！

没有出价。

“让我告诉女士们——她们只要看清楚，就会看到 他 他们已经开始了他们的“艺术，来吧”，来吧，——像玫瑰一样绽放，并“把结婚戒指老在”是“和”中。

教士府邸的侍女们的首领走了进来。

'我说！'一位唱诗班成员喊道，“这会向我们展示即将到来的打屁股吗？”

“当然会，”小气杰克回答道，“因为这对你有利。”

“那我们看看吧。”

小气杰克把望远镜递给了小伙子。他用眼睛盯着它，把玻璃拿出来，放低，喊道：“我什么也没看见。”

'当然不是。你真是个可爱的好孩子；你不会被打屁股的。

“让我看看，”站在旁边的一名女店员说道。

廉价杰克等待着。所有人都看了。

“我什么也没看见，”女孩说。

'当然不是。你没有情人，而且永远不会有情人。

一阵大笑声，年轻女子困惑地退了出去。

“而且，我说，”男孩在归还玻璃杯时说道，“倒下的耳堂周围都是塞满的东西。”我看了看，发现它倒下了。

“你当然这么做了，”小气杰克反驳道。 “我不是说过五英里之外吗？”沿着威斯比奇路走五英里，你一定会看到它，正如我所说的。就是——五先令。”

“我给你半克朗。”

“半克朗！”摊主嘲笑道。 “不过，你是个好奇者，看在你美丽的声音的份上，也因为你是个好孩子，不值得也不期待挨打，你就得花半个克朗。” '

主教的鼻子和一只眼睛从窗帘后面伸出来。

“哎呀，”右牧师自言自语道，“那是汤姆·散克，一个像唱诗班和文法学校里的淘气小流氓一样。他本周肯定会受到鞭打，就像——就像——

“谢谢，先生。”廉价杰克一边说，一边把半克朗装进口袋。 ‘齐塔，接下来怎么办？把那件深红色的毛绒卫衣递给我。

女孩从黑暗的室内走了出来，阳光照在她身上，照亮了她赤褐色的头发，像抛光的铜一样浓密。她戴着一条绿色、猩红色和黄色花朵的头巾，系在胸前，并在背后打结。她的腰间系着一条白色围裙。

她没有看一眼人群，而是一直盯着父亲的脸。

“你好点了吗，爸爸？”她低声问道。

“没什么，齐特。但我会完成它。

“我们现在到了！”杰克用左臂的袖子擦过额头和嘴唇，汗水浸透了他，喊道。然而天气却很冷；季节是十月底，面包车访问伊利的时机是陶德里（圣埃塞德雷达）集市。

挤在货车周围的年轻人之间传来窃窃私语和轻推之声。

“她不是一个尤物吗？”

“我说，我希望小气杰克能把这个女孩卖掉。不会有竞标吗？

“她是车队中最出色的人。”

这些评论从一个人传到另一个人。

'接着！'廉价商品的小贩吼叫着； ‘你又来了！一件红色天鹅绒卫衣，上面镶着华丽的金色——真正的金色——纽扣。你要判断；我会把它戴上的。

那人言出必行。然后他伸直双腿和手臂，左右转动身体，将法衣的各个部分都展现得淋漓尽致。

“你见过这样的事吗？”他喊道。 “但是我的这些马裤对短裤的美感有一定的破坏作用。”价格是三十先令。您应该看到它与黑色礼服外套和黑色裤子一起出现。那么就很光荣了！这是你可以随心所欲地搭配的东西。当你穿上这件衣服时，没有人会看破烂的衣服，所以他们会穿着湿衣服。先生你说的是什么？你的报价是二十五先令？它是你的——而且这一切都是因为我看到它会和你那像鸭子和青豆一样的黑色大胡须相配。这会对他们的忙碌产生某种柔和的效果，并“与他们和谐相处，并随着好奇者的吟唱而进行。”

杰克把匆忙从背上脱下的背心递给大教堂的一位外行职员。男人脸色涨红如马甲，双手背在身后。

“我从来没有竞标过，”他抗议道。

'请原谅，先生；我以为你向我点了点头，但那只是风吹过。那位留着黑色胡须的绅士不带短裤；它仍在出售。我花十五先令就给你，它会让你成为女性中的征服英雄。先生，你呢？给你。'

他向首席执达官鲍尔斯先生致辞，鲍尔斯先生是一位年老、白胡子的半神职人员，是礼仪的典范。

'不！' “廉价杰克”惊呼道，鲍尔斯先生举起手掌，扭过头，摇摇晃晃地向后退去。 “不——他的日子已经过去了。但我从他的眼神里就能看出，二十年前他就是万千少女中的恶魔。年轻的小伙子们必须争夺世界杯冠军。我会告诉你一些罕见的事情，”男人清了清喉咙，擦了擦额头和嘴唇后继续说道。 “当你穿上这件衣服时，没有人会想到你是领主还是大主教。”当我带着这件事来到伊利时，我对自己说，“我会表现出对这座古老而令人尊敬的城市的尊重。”所以我就在这个weskit上画了画；以及“如果我们见到了最庄严、最神圣的主教，即教区主教”，会发生什么。

“这波来得相当猛烈。”帘子后面的那个人说道，他的脸和头变得又热又湿。

“好吧，当右牧师大人看到我时，他抬起神圣的眼睛看着我的卫衣。然后他自言自语道：“Lawk-a-biddy，是王子！”他倒在我前面的泥土里，鼻子埋在泥潭里。他确实这么做了，按照我的话。”

“据我所知，这太可怕了！这是令人难以忍受的！笑话就是笑话！主教气喘吁吁地说道，他非常激动。 “凡事都有节制——即使夸张也要遵守限度。这两周我没有去过威斯比奇路。我从未见过那个人。我从来没有掉进泥土里。这实在是令人震惊！

他在房间里转了一圈，走到门铃前，然后考虑到，召唤男仆并表明他一直在听一个廉价杰克的胡言乱语是不明智的。于是，他又回到窗前，再次躲在窗帘后面，但他因兴奋和痛苦而浑身发抖，整个窗帘也随着他一起颤抖。

'九点和六点。给你。这件漂亮的衣服要花九块六块钱，而且很便宜——便宜得要命。先生，你是个幸运的人；难道你不会只用亲爱的来消灭你的对手吗？

廉价杰克把毛绒背心递给了一位来自沼泽地的年轻农民；然后他突然转过身来，看着他的货车，用沙哑的声音说道：

‘哎呀，我不能再去编织了。我已经用尽了我的力量；你继续吧。

'好的，父亲；我是公众心目中适合你的男孩。

男人走了进去。当他这样做时，女孩拉下其中一张窗帘以遮住他。他疲倦地倒在旁边的长凳上。她弯下腰，嘴唇颤抖，眼神充盈，吻了他，然后跳上前，站在外面的月台上，用一种笃定、夹杂着轻蔑的神情打量着人群。

“现在，这是一个你可能再也不会有的机会——一个机会，让我告诉你，你永远不会 将 再来一次。她双手递上一包包着银纸的茶叶。 “普通大众在茶中被欺骗了——确实如此——非常严重！它得到了黑刺李叶和各种垃圾，并为此付出了高昂的代价。父亲，他去中国买了一个种植园，并在上面放了一个真正的九尾柑橘，父亲保证这茶是我们种植园茶中最好的，他卖的价格是所有人都触手可及。看这里！'她翻转了一个包裹； “给你，上面盖有官府自己的印章，让每个人都知道这是正品，而且这是唯一送过来的正品茶。”

“种植园在哪儿，呃，女孩？”一个文法学校的男孩嘲笑道。

'它在哪里？'女孩回答道，猛地转向她的对话者。 “在Fumchoo。”你知道Fumchoo在哪里吗？你不这么认为吗？但你却立志要成为一名学者。沿公路距北京十五英里，穿过田野七英里半。去学校看看你的地图，告诉你的老师他应该为自己没有让你更好地了解你的地理而感到羞耻。那么现在，你的机会来了。最好的橙花白毫售价四先令。如果可以的话，打败它。没有优惠。 “我不会降低我的价格。别这么想；一毛钱也没有。四先令一磅；但我会尝试以另一种方式与你见面。我也把茶放在四分之一磅的小包里。也许这会符合你的观点——封面上有一张美丽的 Fumchoo 图片，中国人正在采摘茶叶。什么！没有投标人？

随后是一阵停顿。大家都料到女孩会降价。他们错了。她回到货车里，拿出一卷印花布。随后，许多人大声喊叫：“茶！”请给我们一些茶。十分钟之内，她就把所有的东西都处理掉了。

“你看，”齐塔说，“我们的供应短缺了。”在威斯比奇，市长和公司购买了它，在剑桥，所有学院都从我们这里获得了物资。这就是为什么我们现在已经用完了。先生们，退后一步。”

这一呼吁对急切的购买者和引诱围观的人来说是一种警告。

陶德里集市是为马和公牛举办的，一大批后者正从市场运往斯特尼。有一段时间，销售业务中断了。一头大胆的公牛甚至跳进加利利河，另一头则绕着货车猛冲。有人跑向主教宫殿，仿佛是为了寻求庇护。齐塔抓住这个机会溜进了货车。她父亲坐在矮凳子上，头疲倦地靠在手上，肘部撑在膝盖上。

“你现在怎么样，爸爸？”

“我很糟糕，兹特——糟糕——太糟糕了。”

“你最好不要去看医生吗？”

他摇了摇头。

“一切都会过去的，”他说。 “我认为医生不会为我做太多事情。他们就像我们这些廉价杰克一样——都是空谈和垃圾。

“这种情况已经发生了一段时间了，”女孩严肃地说道。 “我已经看到你两周来一直很糟糕了。”

然后，她从拉下的窗帘中往外看，发现公牛已经不见了，而一群感兴趣购买的人又重新聚集在她的小舞台周围。

“我说，”一个唱诗班歌手喊道，“你有小刀吗？”

“有很多小刀，还有剃须刀。”两周后你就会想要一双。

当齐塔正在给小伙子们提供刀具时，主教从楼上的窗户退到他的图书馆，他坐在安乐椅上，拿起一本小册子，像一个充满弹性气体的气球一样上升到神学云中，争论在他的头上闪现和雷鸣般，在他最喜欢的领域里，右神父忘记了所有关于廉价杰克的事情，并且不再担心他被歪曲为在一个有血统的王子面前卑躬屈膝。红色背心。

与此同时，一些年轻的芬曼人也正在策划一场关于齐塔的阴谋，他们来到陶德里集市自娱自乐，并被便宜杰克的货车的吸引力所逮捕。

无论这位男子在担任推销员期间的吸引力如何，当他的位置被他的女儿占据时，这些吸引力都增强了十倍。一些窃窃私语持续了五分钟，然后在一致同意的情况下，他们开始向前挤，直到在平台最里面形成一圈。但这种向心运动的实施并非没有困难和抗议。女人、男孩、魁梧的男人都被迫在年轻人肩膀向内的楔子般的推力面前屈服，他们抗议，女人尖声抗议，男孩大声喊叫，男人则咒骂和殴打。但各种阻力都被克服了，所有的抗议都被无视，齐塔突然发现自己被一圈强壮、高大的家伙包围着，他们抬起头来，脸上露出恶作剧的表情。

席塔突然意识到，这场运动的根本原因不仅仅是渴望购买，她一时失去了信心，在谈到她正在努力推销的某种被虫蛀的布料的卓越性时，她犹豫不决。

然后，一个圆脸、苹果色皮肤的年轻人在货车的方向盘旁站了起来，他把胳膊肘撑在站台上，喊道：“来吧，我的姑娘，你卖吻的价格是多少？”

“我们的普通库存中没有它们，”齐塔回答道。 “但我会问父亲是否愿意给你一个。”

一阵笑声。

“不，不，”红脸青年喊道，单膝跪在台上。 “我付给你六便士一个吻——把你樱桃色的嘴唇擦掉。”

“我不卖。”

“那我就买一个作为礼物。”

“我从不放弃任何东西。”

“那我就偷一个。”

年轻人在平台上跳了起来。听到信号，其余的年轻人开始争先恐后地爬起来，不一会儿，这个地方就被入侵、占领了，女孩也被包围了。观众席上爆发出阵阵欢呼声和笑声。

“现在，你这个小气的杰克女孩，”苹果脸的年轻人喊道。 “全场亲吻，每人三个，否则我们就在商店里扮演老哈利，然后自己拿走里面的东西。”

齐塔的父亲听到舞台上的骚动、威胁和靴子的踩踏声，踉踉跄跄地站了起来，拉开窗帘，站在那里，用迷惑的眼神看着前方。齐塔转身看到了他。

“坐下，父亲，”她说。 “这只是普通大众的嬉戏而已。”

她把手伸进去，抽出一把粗壮的灰白色连枷，在头上旋转，年轻人立刻像蚱蜢一样从舞台上跳下来，每个人都担心连枷会掉下来，割破自己的头。春天最后到来的是苹果脸的青年；他正努力寻找一些自由的空间来下降，这时连枷的挡板猛烈地击中了他的肩胛骨，他发出一声嚎叫，冲进人群中，可能会撞倒两个或两个人。第三，如果他们没有挤得太紧，不会感到不安。

随后，当他在他们身上挣扎时，那些因他的体重而受伤的人发出了哭声。 '现在，那么，你这是什么意思？你就不能自己守着吗？这是你的胡言乱语造成的。

席塔笔直地站着，靠在连枷的杖杆上，平静地环视着周围的混乱，等待着喧嚣停止，然后她才能继续工作。她这样站着，目光落在了一个身材高大、身材匀称的男人身上，宽阔的肩膀上披着一张虎皮，头上戴着一顶黑色毡帽。他的鼻子就像鹰嘴一样。他的眼睛漆黑、锐利、异常地靠得很近，眉毛在前额上笔直地相连。

这个男人的目光一看到齐塔，就举起了他的大帽子，在空中挥舞着，露出一头蓬乱的脑袋，长着长长的黑发，他喊道：“干得好，女孩！”我喜欢。给我一对灰白色的连枷，这是一顶王冠，供你勇气之用。”

“我没有一双，”女孩说。

“那我就拿那个，一个十六岁的小姑娘用它舔过我们的沼泽粗人。”我喜欢。'

“我会给你一顶王冠来换取那连枷，”人群另一边的另一个人喊道。 “给你——一顶王冠。”

这个男人皮肤白皙，留着浅色胡须——和另一个男人一样高个子，年龄也差不多。

“我会给你七先令和六先令——一克朗和半克朗，买那连枷。”黑衣人咆哮道。 “我先出价——我想要那个连枷。”

“两克朗——十先令，”金发男子喊道。 “我可以提出比溺水之地更好的报价——不是因为我想要连枷，而是因为溺水之地想要它，他不会拥有它。”

“十二加六，”黑衣男子咆哮道。 “黄金对我来说不成问题。我想要什么我就会得到。

围观的人互相推搡。一位年轻的农夫对他的同伴说：“鲁纳姆和淹地这两个小伙子就像两只老虎；当他们相遇时，他们必须战斗。我们会玩得很开心的。

“你是个傻瓜！”金发男子喊道：“我认为你就是个傻瓜，你竟然为了不值两先令的东西而付出十二块六块钱。”我就按这个价格给你，让你成为沼泽地的笑柄。”

连枷从货车里交给了一个名叫“Drownlands”的人，齐塔的手掌里收到了一块金子和半个王冠。她退回到马车里，并立即带着第二连枷再次出现。

“这毕竟是另一个，”她说。 “我不认为我拥有它。”

“我要用它来做一对，”溺水之地说道。 “但是既然你已经完成了第一个任务，我想你应该给我这个。”

“我干了你！”齐塔惊呼道； “你已经做到了。”

“她就在那里，”人群中的一名男子说道。 “这些老虎——朗纳姆和溺水之地——会为了一根稻草而打架。”

“你要把连枷交给我吗？”黑暗购买者问道。

齐塔一时间犹豫不决。她确实以第一个价格开出了前所未有的价格，并且她有点倾向于免费放弃第二个，但从廉价劫掠一开始，不给予和接受任何东西就违反了廉价杰克的道德准则。就在她犹豫着，悬疑地握着连枷，手指放在嘴唇上时，金发男子大声喊道——

“别让坏人得逞。我会用它来为他破坏这对情侣，没有其他原因。

“我会得到它，你这个恶棍！”黑衣人嚎叫道。 “我拥有的黄金和你拥有的一样多。我不在乎我花多少钱。在这里，女孩！首先是一顶王冠。

“七和六，”鲁纳姆喊道。

“十先令，”溺水之地喊道。

“十五先令！”公平男子惊呼道。然后，看到对手要叫价，他喊道：“一畿尼！”就在这时，另一个人喊道：“一磅！”

“这是你的，”女孩对鲁纳姆男人说，然后把连枷递给了他。她看到两个男人的激情被激发了，她认为最好结束这场戏，以免发生打斗，而她可能会失去所提供的钱。

朗纳姆将连枷高举过头顶，然后将连枷扔向溺水之地的方向，说道：“就是这里，现在！”谁能说我是两个人中最好的呢？我的那件花了我一个几尼，而他的连枷则不超过十二个和六个。我是两个人中比我八岁和六岁更好的人。

他摸索口袋，掏出一枚几尼。

“瞧，你这个小气的杰克女孩——这是你的钱，都是金子。”我是两个人中比八岁和六岁更好的人。我像一位绅士一样击败了Drownlands。”

人群中有人看着说：“他们最后是一对连枷和一对傻瓜，因为不知道他们的钱有多少。”自从创世以来，连枷从来没有以这个价格出售过，以后也不会再有。”

另一位说：“除了火虎之外，从来不会、也不可能出现在任何地方。”

“我会告诉你什么，”第一个说道。 “这不是故事的结局。”

“不——我想不是。这是一个伟大的奇怪故事的开始。

伊利是一座非常有趣的城市。沼泽大都市的独特之处在于它的风格。这绝对比远古时期的情况还要美妙，当时沼泽地是一片巨大的内陆海，间隔很远地布满了小岛，作为中央伊利岛周围的卫星。那一幕幕给我们的祖先留下了深刻的印象。达勒姆的情况很庄严，它占据了峡谷之间的一片土地。它有其独特的皇家辉煌。但伊利的情况虽然非常不同，但几乎不逊色。沼泽四面八方延伸至地平线，平坦如海，低于海平面。如果堤坝被冲破，或者蒸汽泵和风车停止工作，十二个月后，一切都会再次恢复到广阔内陆海的原始状态，伊利的泥灰岛将升起，岛上布满了建筑物在丛生的树木中，倒映在平静的水面上，就像在玻璃里一样。在屋顶之上，在树顶之上，矗立着那座辉煌的大教堂，它是英国最崇高的大教堂之一，当然也是英国最美丽的大教堂之一——不，大胆地说——在整个基督教世界。从整个沼泽地各个地方看去，它就像一座灯塔，是沼泽地的骄傲。

伊利的起源应归功于一位女性——圣伊利。埃塞尔德雷达——从粗鲁、放荡、醉酒的宫廷飞来。她首先是东安格利亚撒克逊王子汤姆伯特的妻子，然后是诺森布里亚的埃格弗里德的妻子。埃塞尔德雷达厌倦了撒克逊宫廷的粗俗狂欢和粗鲁举止，于是逃亡到伊利岛，在那里她将远离人类，独自与上帝和狂野而美丽的大自然相处。

无论我们如何看待妻子放弃丈夫身边的职位、女王放弃自己在王国中的地位的道德，我们或许都不会感到惊讶。一位温柔、温柔的女人，过了一段时间，厌倦了撒克逊宫廷的残酷行为、酗酒和野蛮，于是逃亡，以便在孤独中找到一个安息的地方，让她疲惫的灵魂和过度紧张的神经得到休息，而她在世上找不到这样的地方。诺森伯兰王宫。那是在公元673年。当时这个小岛无人居住。人们认为它的名字来源于周围盛产的鳗鱼。也许我们更正确的猜测是，它最初被称为精灵岛，岛上居住着神话中的精神生物，他们在月光下跳舞，在湖水中嬉戏。

这座可爱的岛屿被树林覆盖，周围环绕着金色和银色的睡莲，像花边一样漂浮在远处，成为一座伟大修道院的所在地。僧侣接替了精灵。

丹麦国王卡努特对伊利充满了钦佩，喜欢乘驳船参观，或者穿越冰面来到这里。据说，在圣烛节那天，卡努特国王一如往常来到伊利，发现河水溢出并结冰了。一位名叫 Brithmer 的“ceorl”为克努特的雪橇在冰面上引路，并用自己的重量证明了冰层的厚度。由于这项服务，他的土地被授予了选举权。

还有一次，国王乘着驳船经过小岛，平静如镜的水面上传来大教堂里的歌声。于是国王创作了一首歌曲，其中只有第一节被保留下来，可以这样现代化：——

伊利虽然是一座城市，但也只是一个村庄。房屋很少，人口只有七千人，有两三个教区教堂，还有基督教世界最长的大教堂。房屋是砖砌的或灰泥的；伊利有一种奇怪的习俗，用碎玻璃包裹灰泥，这样房子的正面在阳光下闪闪发光，就像结了霜一样。所有的屋顶都是瓦片。大教堂是用北安普敦郡开采的石头建造的，并用驳船运到岛上。

伊利没有制造业，几乎没有邻居，孤立而自给自足。在某些方面，它从沼泽中迅速上升，而在另一些方面，它很容易向下倾斜。当白雾笼罩着绵延数英里的沼泽地，阳光照射在这座岛城上时，会产生一种奇特的效果。然后，它就像一座永恒春天的迷人岛屿，消失在一片平坦的雪原中。或者，在一个夜晚，极光在天空上闪烁，这里是红色的，那里是银色的，在发光的天空的映衬下，这座小岛耸立着，上面有雄伟的大教堂，那么，真的，这就像某个场景中的场景。童话，一些东方奇幻的魔幻创作。

一个女孩正在伊利宽阔、长满青草的街道上漫步。集市期间，街道上挤满了人——不，不是“人满为患”这个词——或多或少分散在街道周围。这需要大量的人群，比如剑桥郡的沼泽地无法提供的人群， 填 这些宽阔的空间。

女孩身材高挑，英俊潇洒，颇有男子气概，脸上带着开朗的笑容。她的头发非常金黄，肤色明亮，眼睛是耀眼的蓝色——就像仲夏阳光下波光粼粼的大海一样的蓝色。她穿着朴素的深海军蓝色哔叽衣服，脖子上围着白色头巾，戴着一顶碎花帽，帽子上系着蓝色丝带。她的裙子有些短，露出整齐的脚踝，袜子洁白如雪，鞋子结实。沼泽女孩必须穿坚固的鞋子，脚上不能戴手套。

“吉米尼！”女孩边说边把口袋翻过来。 “一分钱都没有！可怜的凯妮是集市上唯一一个没有心上人的女孩，也是唯一一个没有整流罩的孩子。没有人来治疗我！没有什么是不劳而获的。吉米尼！我不在乎。然后她开始唱：——

然后她突然遇到了金发农民鲁纳姆，他从一家小酒馆里走出来，肩上扛着连枷。遇到他，她有点不知所措，她的歌停了下来，但很快又恢复了平静，又开始唱被打断的诗句：——

凯妮！你是否发狂，在空旷的街道上像民谣小贩一样唱歌？

凯妮说不上来，男人的脸涨得通红，究竟是喝醉了，还是看到女孩后他的脸色红了。他的呼吸里带着烈酒的味道，她转过头去。

“这都是无稽之谈，”她说。 “我的母亲死了——死了——而我孤身一人。我不知道，我不明白为什么我不应该唱歌；我想要一个整流罩，但没有钱。我会跟着唱，“我的父亲是一个套期保值者和挖沟者”，然后一些慈善人士会扔给我铜币，我会得到一点钱，给自己买一个整流罩。

“看在老天爷的份上，千万别做这种事。”这里——而不是那个——这里是一顶王冠。拿着它。如果委员们被告知您在伊利的 Tawdry Fair 街道上唱民谣，他们会怎么说？他们会把你赶出你的工厂。我相信他们会的。在这里，凯妮，举止得体，戴上王冠。”

他把那枚大银币塞到她手里，然后就匆匆离开了。

“真勇敢！”女孩打着响指，大声说道。 “现在我可以买我的整流罩了。现在，我想要的只是一个爱人。

吉米尼！我绝对不能这么做！我已经戴上皇冠当妈妈了。现在我是一个受人尊敬的年轻人了——我的口袋里有钱了。现在我必须看看自己，看看该买什么。我要去廉价杰克店。你好吗，叔叔？

她对着刚刚拐过街角、肩上扛着连枷的黑发男人说道。他皱着眉头看着女孩，想一言不发地从她身边走过，但她不同意。

'看！看！'她举起收到的王冠说道。 “我只是一边叹气一边哭泣，因为我没有钱，口袋里一分钱也没有，身边也没有爱人给我买任何东西。然后有人给了我这个——看，溺水叔叔！五先令！

“那么——走坏路了？”

'有什么坏处？我正在唱民谣。然后他来了，给了我一顶王冠。”

“你这个唱民谣的！”

'是的;我还能怎样得到钱？我是一个可怜的女孩，不属于任何人，也没有人关心她。”

“你会带来耻辱——给家族带来更深的耻辱——给名字带来耻辱。”

'不是我；我是诚实的。如果给我五先令，我可以不收吗？鲁纳姆大师给了我钱让我闭嘴。我在唱歌

“看在上帝的份上，保持安静！”溺水之地愤怒地说。 “如果你不说话，我就给你几先令。”

“几先令！”我是你的侄女，有你的名字。

“对你来说更丢脸——对你的母亲来说！”农夫痛苦地叫道。

少女猛然低下头，眉头绯红。

“没有提到我亲爱的母亲，也没有向她扔石头，”她低声说道。

'好吧，不唱民谣。你自己要当心。你既狂野又粗心。

'你太想我了！你很关心我！

走开！你对我来说是一种耻辱——你的存在就是一种耻辱。拿一顶王冠并正确地使用它。你不会再从我这里得到任何东西了。朗纳姆给了你五先令，但这不能说我给了你少了。”

他把硬币递给她，然后皱着眉头走了过去。

凯妮垂下眼睛，沉思了一会儿。然后她抬起头，摇了摇头，仿佛要摆脱因溺水之地的话语而降临在她身上的悲伤和羞辱，然后哼了一声——

'什么！凯妮！

这句话是一个年轻人说的，他眉毛浓密，脸色苍白，有些憔悴，手臂修长。

“噢，皮普！——皮普！——皮普！”

“怎么了，凯妮？”

“皮普，我是这里唯一一个没有她的年轻人的女孩。这太可怕了——太可怕了；你看，皮普，我有两克朗要花，但我不知道该花在什么地方。这里有太多钱可以买甜食；至于智能丝带和帽子之类的东西，我一年中只有一次可以离开工厂，进城展示自己。花几克朗买衣服确实有点浪费，因为没有人能看到我穿着它。我该怎么办，皮普？——你聪明，你明智，你亲爱的皮普。

年轻人埃弗莱姆·比米什想道：然后他说——

“凯妮，我不喜欢你一个人呆在红翼。”时代很奇怪。日子会更糟。沼泽地有麻烦摆在我们面前。事情不能再这样继续下去了——劳动者被压在农民的脚下，而农民却欣欣向荣，发福了。我不喜欢你一个人在风车里；你应该有一些保护者。现在，看这里。我去过那辆廉价杰克货车，那里有一只大狗，廉价杰克夫妇想要出售，但一直没有出价。听从我的建议，为那只伟大的狗献上两顶王冠，然后带它回家。那我就轻松了；现在我不是那样了。你太孤独了——而且像你这样漂亮的女孩——

“皮普，我要养狗了。”她把硬币抛向空中。 “在这里，皇冠们，你们鞠躬吧——哇。”

在整个英格兰——在世界上几乎没有——任何地方比现在的剑桥郡沼泽更令人精神压抑、更缺乏可爱的元素。

以前，当它们在水下时——野鸟出没的地方，泻湖的荒野，野花的天堂——当它们充满鱼儿和各种昆虫的时候——当 眼 斯图特尼岛、希佩岛、南科尼岛、韦尔尼岛等小岛是唯一突破地平线的物体，从沼泽中升起，树木繁茂——沼泽地充满了魅力，因为它完全交给了大自然。但人类的勤劳改变了沼泽地的特征和面貌。沼泽地已被抽干，沼泽地已被排干。以前捕鸟人划船捕野鸭，现在则锄萝卜；渔夫撒网的地方，是一片波涛汹涌的玉米地。

从前，在伊利以北五又二十英里的地方，有一个碧波荡漾的湖泊，人们乘船越过湖泊，到达将湖泊与大海分隔开的金斯林 (King's Lynn) 沙丘。向西有一个巨大的水域，从伊利一直延伸到彼得伯勒。东边是一片错综复杂的湖泊和河道、沼泽和小岛。

直到大约一百年前，人们还住在搭建在高于水面的桩基平台上的房屋中。这些住所的墙壁和屋顶都覆盖着茅草和芦苇。从门口有一个梯子通向一艘船。这些房子里有壁炉，但没有烟囱。烟雾尽可能地从茅草屋顶或山墙下逸出。冬天，沼泽民以捕鱼和捕鸟为生。夏天，他们耕种露出水面的泥炭土。没有道路；人们乘水、乘船或滑冰鞋从一个地方到另一个地方。

在詹姆斯一世统治时期，本·琼森写了他的戏剧《魔鬼是一头驴》。在这部剧中，他引入了一个投机者——一个虚假公司的创始人，名叫 Meercraft，这个人的计划之一就是排干沼泽地的水。

琼森介绍这个 Meercraft 是为了警告他那个时代的人们不要被诱导在这种冒险中投入资金，他认为这是不可能实现的。然而，琼森所不相信的事情已经实现了。这项工作于 1630 年开始，因内战而中断，后来又恢复，花费了相当大的费用，以极大的毅力进行，直到本世纪初，沼泽地的完全恢复已成为事实。

这项事业的成本很高，而那些投资它的人也厌倦了他们的钱包被掏空。土地，或者更确切地说是水，业主们灰心丧气，准备放弃每英亩几乎一先令都赚不到的权利和财产，而且这些权利和财产本身非但没有被耗尽，反而似乎在耗尽他们的口袋。长头的沼泽人看到了他们的优势，在业主热切出售的地方也热切购买。新的运河带走了水，投入运行的机器将排水排入主管道，几个世纪以来毫无价值的土壤变得含金。在英格兰再也找不到比这更壮丽的玉米种植地了。除了多瑙河三角洲和俄罗斯南部最富饶的冲积区之外，欧洲没有任何一个国家可以与之相比。沼泽人在学会如何利用他们所赚来的财富之前就已经发了财了。钱来得比他们找到花的方法还要快。

直到今天，许多最富有的业主都是半野生的沼泽地主人的儿子或孙子。除了分布在广泛分散的小岛上的村庄外，沼泽地区没有其他村庄。没有古老的风景如画的农舍和小屋。一切都是新的而且丑陋的。没有篱笆，没有围墙，因为这个国家没有石头。除了几棵柳树和偶尔出现的灰树外，没有任何树木，根部的土壤已经萎缩。陆地表面正在下沉。当沼泽地被排干时，松软的土壤就会收缩，并以每年两英寸的速度下沉。因此，五十年后，建造在桩上的房屋仍高出地面约八英尺，并且必须添加台阶才能使囚犯从门下下来。

河流与房屋顶层齐平，唯一突破地平线的物体是风车，它们将水从堤坝推入运河。

没有道路，因为没有可以建造道路的材料。道路被“车队”取代。车道是一条宽阔的道路，笔直如箭，通过它在一个农场和另一个农场之间进行交通，人们从一个村庄到另一个村庄。

这些群落有沟渠，每侧一条，夏季时长满了茂密的芦苇。除了在夏季进行耙地和碾压之外，没有任何尝试来巩固这些群体中的土壤。冬天它们是沼泽，夏天它们是灰尘——尘黑，难以捉摸。在冬季或潮湿的天气里，轮式运输工具几乎无法行驶，因为车轮会下沉到车轴上。

然而，运河岸是坚固的，由坚硬的粘土压实，而且由于它们很宽，可以抵抗它们之间的水的压力，它们的顶部形成了非常可以忍受的道路，并且是骑马者的道路。但轮式车辆不得使用河岸顶部，并且为了防止河岸变成马路，河岸上每隔一段距离就设置了障碍物，骑马的马匹很容易跳过这些障碍物。

在剑桥的一次巡回审判中，一位穷人，法庭上的证人，当被问及他的职业时，他回答说：“大人，我是一名银行家。”法官的脸涨得通红，说道：“先生，别开玩笑了。” '但是我 am 一名银行家，仅此而已。”证人抗议道。事实上，他是为修复运河河岸而保留的一伙人之一。

读者必须了解这个广阔的水平区域的排水方式。它被分割成大块的正方形，每个正方形都是一片被堤坝包围的田野。这些堤坝相互连通，并通向一条 排水 or 加载，也就是说，位于堤坝上方几英尺处的二级尺寸的水道。为了将水从沟渠输送到下水道，人们竖起了风车，这种工作机械将沟渠中的水抛到山上的负载中。这些负载或排水沟每隔两英里延伸至运河；当排水管到达运河岸时，强大的水泵将负载的水推至更高的水位，进入主动脉，通过主动脉流向大海。运河上有驳船，它们不是货车，而是用于将农产品运送到市场的。水是沼泽地的天然高速公路。

十月的短暂白天即将来临。沼泽地呈黑色，布满钢铁般的条纹——堤坝反射着灰色的天空。

右手边是一座高出道路约十四英尺的堤岸。这是一条名为云雀的河流或运河的堤坝。其上方，有一些苍白的星辰在闪烁。左边的沼泽延伸到无限远，地平线消失在雾气中。

便宜杰克的马在路堤下的车道上缓慢地爬行，货车跌入泥潭，摇摇晃晃地陷入车辙。马用尽每一块肌肉，向前拉了几码，然后叹了口气，低下了头，一动不动。他再一次鼓足勇气，努力奋斗，当货车启动时，里面的东西叮当作响，嘎嘎作响。这头野兽还不如把它拖过犁过的田地。他再次重重地叹了口气，最终放弃了努力。

小气杰克已经下了交通工具。他身体不舒服，太不舒服了，无法行走，但他无法想象自己的体重会加重这匹可怜的马被迫拖过的路，这不是道歉，而是对道路的嘲笑。

“我说，齐特，”他嘶哑地低声说道，“我希望现在就在伊利过夜。”

“我希望我们有，父亲。我们本可以负担得起；我们在伊利获得了可观的利润——巨大的。”

男人没有回应。他拖着沉重的脚步，跌跌撞撞地前行。

开车过去和开车一样令人难以忍受。

“嗯，我以前从来没有走过这样的路，”女孩说，“我希望我们很快就能走出沼泽地，再也不会陷入其中了。”

“我不知道我们什么时候才能出去，”那人说道，他像喝醉了酒一样摇摇晃晃。 “看起来我们正在下沉——下沉——黑色的泥浆将包围我们。”

“来吧，朱厄尔！”齐塔对老马说道。 “我本来想用鞭子抽你，但我不忍心这么做。”

“这一切进展得像蜗牛一样，”那人呻吟道。

“这比蜗牛还糟糕，”他的女儿反驳道。 “蜗牛会安全地搬运它们的房子，但我怀疑我们是否能把我们的货车运出这个陷入困境的地区，而不把它的所有内部都撞成碎片。”父亲，我们必须用大量的纱线来掩盖罐子上的凹痕和瓦罐上的裂缝。

男人停了下来。

“我想我不可能得到任何好处，”他说。 “我浑身发抖，浑身发冷。”

“好吧，父亲，我们就住在这里吧。我们住的地方对我们来说没有什么困难。

'但这是给主人的。宝石吃什么？除了泥土和灯心草，什么也没有。如果我们真的把他从竖井里救出来，他就会掉进沟里。”

“我想知道到利特波特的距离是多少？”女孩问道。 '但是，保佑我！在这些道路上，无需计算距离。在上面的河岸上，有一个人骑着我们经过。他的马镫上挂着灯笼。我希望我当时能走到路边，问他到利特波特还有多远。现在他已经领先了很远，追他也没有用。”

'我们必须继续前进。我对此表示怀疑，但如果我们留下来，我们就会陷入泥潭。

男人叹了口气，踉踉跄跄地向前走去。马也叹了口气，想把货车挪开，但没有成功。速度很快。

‘现在该怎么办？朱厄尔无法搅动商队。父亲，你有没有注意到，那个人骑马经过时，他的马是怎样跳跃的？有一条类似铁轨的东西穿过，否则我们会尝试把运输工具放到河岸上。马一跃，灯笼也随之升起。我想这附近有一个农场，他们会让我们把宝石安置在那里过夜。那么我们就不用麻烦了，因为我们有自己的带轮子的房子。但朱厄尔必须有他的食物和一个摊位。

就在这时，第二个骑手出现在路堤上，朝着与第一个骑手相同的方向小跑。他的一个马镫上系着一盏灯笼，而第一个经过并被齐塔注意到的人则有两个。女孩跑上岸边的斜坡，一边叫着。

骑手勒住了缰绳。 '你想要什么？'他问道。

“哦，你能告诉我我们晚上可以把马放在哪里并吃点干草吗？”

'你是谁？'

齐塔从语气中知道这个男人喝了酒，虽然没有醉，但他喝了太多酒——

“我们是廉价杰克和他的女儿。我们无法继续前行，情况太糟糕了——轮子陷在泥里了。我们想去利特尔波特，爸爸”——

“你们就是一群该死的流氓！”骑手打断道。 “我不会再和你有任何关系了；我想，你就是那个欺骗我的女孩——你是这群人中最糟糕的一个。他手里拿着连枷，他把它举过头顶。 “你们好好相处，你们这些小气的杰基们，否则我就用连枷打在你们的头、肩膀和腰上，让你们把我付的那几尼捞出来——而且我更傻。”他用脚后跟踩住马的侧腹，用缰绳圈割断马的脖子，沿着堤坝的顶部疾驰。

齐塔下降了。

货车静止不动。马朱厄尔低着头，噘着下唇，双腿在深深的泥沼中僵硬地站着，坚决不肯再挪动一寸。齐塔拿着货车灯笼朝他的头走去。朱厄尔脸上的表情表明他决心不再做出任何努力，无论是鞭子催促，还是爱抚哄骗。女孩提着灯笼来到父亲身边。他靠着路堤坐着，双手插在口袋里，头向前倾。

“父亲，你好吗？”

“糟糕——糟糕——太糟糕了。”

“父亲，我们继续前行，去找房子吧。”宝石不会动；他竖起鼻子、竖起耳朵，我知道这意味着什么。我想不会有人会来这里抢劫那辆货车。让我们一起走下去吧。你靠着我，我们会找到一个农场的。

“我起不来，兹特。”

“让我扶你起来。”

“我无法再迈出一步了，齐特。”

“努力吧，父亲。”

“我已经过去了，兹特。我要死了。催我也没用。我和朱厄尔一样坚持在这里。我不能动。我太糟糕了。主啊！我应该死在这片沼泽地里！

“我给你拿点白兰地吧。”

“这根本没有用，齐特。我快完蛋了。商品有时也是如此；当它们被打得鼓鼓的、破碎的、碎成碎片时，就必须把它们扔到一边。我不再是一个廉价杰克了。我已经被打得遍体鳞伤、肿胀、破碎、支离破碎，所以我会被扔到一边。”

齐塔考虑了一会儿。然后她把灯笼放在父亲身边，跑上路堤，沿着路堤朝骑手们走的方向跑，一个接一个，用尽全力喊道：“救命！”帮助！父亲快要死了。帮助！帮助！帮助！'

哈泽基亚（HEZEKIAH），或者他通常被简称为基（Ki），正在从伊利集市（Ely Fair）沿着云雀河（Lark）的河堤回家。他肩上扛着那把花了他十二先令六便士的连枷，心中燃起一股强烈的愤怒，因为他的对手和邻居——也许是对手，因为是邻居——耶利米或杰克·朗纳姆为这副连枷付了几尼，并且超过了他。

基·溺水之地并不是特别需要连枷，或者他已经获得的连枷，但他不能容忍反对，他的野心是成为他的沼泽中的第一人；他会通过出价超过唯一一个在财富和影响力上接近他的人来显示他的至高无上的地位，并且在一群认识他和他的对手的人面前。想到他的提议被超越了，他的优势被夺走了，而杰克·朗纳姆能够从他眼皮子底下夺走一些东西——不管是什么——他，基沉域，曾经觊觎过，也让人们看到过，他曾经觊觎过。

这两个地主的竞争在整个伊利沼泽地区都广为人知，每个酒馆里的谈话肯定会引起连枷的竞标，人们会说，“杰克比基好八先令六便士。”

溺水之地一直在喝酒，这一事实加剧了他的怨恨，但他能够直立、稳定地骑行，当野兽跳过岸边的障碍物时，他能够直立、稳定地坐他的马。正如已经提到的，他的双脚下方都挂着灯笼，灯笼固定在马镫上。它们照亮了道路，它们在障碍物上闪烁，它们在运河的水面上发出了光芒。在黑暗中——有时夜色漆黑，云遮住了星星的光芒——那么在没有灯的情况下在路堤上骑行是不安全的。马可能看不到障碍物，并冲向障碍物。它可能会滑下河岸，与骑手一起跌落，一侧落入河中，另一侧落入马群中。一方面，骑手可能会被淹死，另一方面，他的脖子也会被折断。但是，假设马有理智，眼睛睁着，骑手可能两者都没有，对跳跃或在油腻的泥灰中滑倒毫无准备。

如果骑手在堤岸上意识到危险，就开始驱车；然后他也不安全，因为那里一片漆黑，一侧被堤坝的高度遮蔽，而另一侧则有堤坝，水满溢，并被莎草和灯心草掩盖。一匹马可能会陷入其中，而且一旦陷入，如果没有几个人的无限努力就无法摆脱。因为沟渠的底部是松软的沼泽，而两侧是松软的泥炭。没有一粒坚固的物质可以让马立足，并获得从水中和泥沼中升起所需的支撑。因此，当农民在漫长而黑暗的冬夜从市场和集市回来时，他们会为自己准备灯笼。

Prickwillow 是 Ki Master Ki Drownlands 农场的名称。基的祖父拥有一座芦苇墙的小屋，三月份露出水面的几英亩土壤，七月份又被淹没了一段时间，然后随着雨季结束又重新出现。在这里，他习惯于扎柳枝，这些柳枝很快就会长成柳条床。在碧波荡漾的水面上的一个平台上，祖父修补了他的网并清理了他的捕鸟器，祖母则编织了篮子。现在一切都干了，原来湖边住所的地方矗立着一座房子，犁把世世代代从小屋里扔到水里的上千件零碎东西翻了出来，没想到它们会再次出现。

洪水退去，干燥的土地出现，方舟停泊在以前被淹没程度最低的地区，而祖先的泥沼人“溺水之地”或多或少地在这片土地上行使了或多或少值得怀疑的权利。然而，这些权利虽然值得怀疑，但却从未受到质疑。用工业界筹集的少量资金，以及从伊利银行借来的更多资金， 父亲 溺水之地扩大了他的领地，使他的主张变得绝对，他的权利不容侵犯。

现在，基·沉沦之地带着受伤的自尊心骑着马回家，白兰地的大脑也有些转动。他猛地勒住缰绳。他觉得他听到了一声哭声。当他停下来听时，哭声再次响起。他无法判断它是从哪里来的，只知道它是从后面传来的。在沼泽上，就像在水面上一样，声音可以传播很远的距离；越过沼泽，如同越过水面，没有任何障碍物，声波穿过，不易判断距离。溺水之地调转马头，面向伊利方向，据他判断，这就是召唤声传来的方向。

他看到一道光正在靠近。它是被拎着还是挂在马镫上？他说不出来。是提灯人召唤他的吗？如果是这样，为了什么目的？哭声又重复了一遍。

果然，这声音是个女声。如果上诉不是向他提出的，那么可以向谁提出上诉呢？

据他所知，这么晚了，路堤上已经没有其他人了。他记得没有经过任何人。

他确实坐过那辆面包车，但他没有看到。货车停在下面的车道上，他距离道路有十二或十四英尺。而且，他脚下的灯笼在他周围投下一层光环，尽管它们照亮了半径内的每一个物体，但它们却使半径之外的一切都变得更加模糊，无法区分。

而且，溺水之地一直沉浸在自己的思绪中，没有心情观察。

当他骑马经过时，齐塔没有和他说话，他也没有意识到有旅行者在较低的高度朝同一方向辛苦地前进。他没想到会在那里看到交通工具，也没有寻找任何交通工具。

他注意到河岸上的灯光正在逼近。它距离地面不远。它同样可以由步行者手持，或者从骑手的马镫上摆动。然而，骑手不可能满足于一盏灯。

溺水之地并没有向前行驶去迎接前进的光芒。他保持静止，右手握住连枷，因此杖的末端搁在他的大腿上，就像照片中的元帅拿着他的手一样。 棒.

沼泽里的马不穿鞋，在没有石头的路上，马儿小跑时几乎没有声音；但当移动的光越来越近时，溺水之地从路堤的震动中意识到一匹马正在靠近。

一分钟后，他看到杰克·朗纳姆在他面前骑上马。

这种认可是相互的。

'别挡我的路！'鲁纳姆喊道。 “别挡我的路，你这狗，不然我就骑倒你了！”

“我不会妨碍你的。”你为什么打电话来？

'我打电话？我打电话给你？这是一个可能的故事。像你这样一个两便士半便士的小伙子我想要什么呢？

“两便士半便士”？你是指我吗？

'是的，我愿意。'

'你醉了。有人打来电话。

“不是我。但我现在打电话了，而且声音足够大。”挡住我的路；从岸边下来；见鬼去吧。

“我不会给你让路，”溺水之地说道。然后他从牙缝里说道：“幸好我们相遇了。”

“嗯，很好。”

“现在我们可以算账了。现在”——他抬起头，向被云覆盖的天空挥动连枷——“现在没有眼睛从上面往下看，我们很确定没有眼睛从下面看着我们”——

然后，鲁纳姆大喊一声，用马刺刺进坐骑的侧翼，让他向前跳跃。他的意图是，借助动力，将对手和马赶下岸。事实上，他的马撞上了溺水之地的马，那是一头重型野兽，轻微地转向了。

“别走开，你这个醉酒的傻瓜！”基喊道。

‘我要阻止你吗？我？我不会。我会自己拥有银行。让我过去，不然我就骑在你身上，把你的脑子踩坏了。”

“你会让我们为过去的事情争吵吗？”

哎呀！哎呀！

杰克倒退马匹，喷着鼻息，一头扎进路边。

然后，当他退了大约二十码后，他发出了一声呼喊，将连枷在头顶上旋转，脚后跟踩到了战马的两侧，然后疾驰而来。

溺水之地举起并挥舞他的连枷，然后在他面前一扫将其击落。这惊动了他自己的马，它立起身来，惊动起来，但更惊动的是他的对手，它突然向一侧跳跃，差点把杰克·朗纳姆撞倒。然而，杰克抓住了鞍头，并发誓催促他的马再次上路。

溺水之地已经忘记了促使他掉转马头的呼唤。他的注意力完全集中在面前的男人身上。

在这种情况下，两个坚定的人，每个人都决心不屈服于对方，每个人都对对方充满愤怒，必须将他们的争论进行到底。岸上的道路不允许两人并排，因此，在没有相互让步的情况下，不可能有人通过另一人。一侧是十四英尺以下的车道，另一侧是运河。必须让路的人必须滚下路堤进入车道或跳入水中。

每个人都武装起来，并且每个人都拥有相似的武器。

马匹似乎理解骑手的感受，并分享这些感受。它们发出挑衅的鼻息，扬起鬃毛，抬起头，用爪子抓着空气。

鲁纳姆再次策马，野兽们互相冲突，当它们这样做时，连枷也互相冲突。

两人距离很近，连枷的挡板无法充分发挥作用。他们举起武器，猛烈地互相攻击，打伤了对方的皮肉，但没有折断骨头。呼啸的拍打声落在马鞍背上，落在马的两侧，而不是落在男人的头上和肩膀上。灯笼猛烈地跳动，马匹用爪子扑腾、扑腾、互相撕咬。

男人们咒骂着，用尽全身力气把对方逼离岸边，——朗纳姆把对手赶进河里，溺水之地则靠连枷的侧击，迫使对手的马匹沿着岸边进入马群。

斗争持续了几分钟。对于任何站在旁边的人来说，这似乎是一片舞动的灯光和倒影的混乱——也是誓言、打击、钢片碰撞和灰烬棍棒撞击声的混乱。

然后，两人都表示同意，但都没有表达出来，同样疲惫不堪地退了回去。他们后退，并没有屈服的念头，而是想恢复风势和力量，重新开始较量。两个对手仍然面对面地站着，气喘吁吁，兴奋地颤抖，他们的野兽在十月寒冷的夜晚空气中冒着热气。

“你竟然敢在众人面前用丑陋的名字来称呼我！”溺水之地喊道。

“敢吗？——我会再做一次。”

“不会给你这个机会。”

“我把你头上的连枷拿走了，因为你口袋里没有更多的先令了。”

“连枷？” ” 溺水之地回应道。 “现在这不是连枷的问题了。这不是现在沿河岸的问题。这是十九年忍耐的问题。十九年来我承受了最严重的错误。我不会再背负这个重担了。错误不会再持续一个小时而得不到报应。

“你承受了这么久，背部已经习惯了这个负担，”杰克嘲笑道。

“我已经忍受了十九年了。但今晚我们面对面，而且是孤独的。”他再次向天挥动连枷。 “没有人会瞧不起我们。就武器而言，我和你是旗鼓相当的。我们之间一切都是公平的，但如果正义至高无上，我的手臂就会沉重地把你打倒；而这里，”他用连枷末端碰触自己的胸口说道，“这里没有怜悯的火花，就像现在高处没有火花一样。如果我打你，我会打你直到流血，打你直到骨头被敲碎，打你直到骨髓渗出，打你——就像我们打麻一样。”

然后，黑衣人再也无法控制自己的愤怒，用马刺催动马匹前进，当他这样做时，灯笼撞在了野兽的侧腹上，当马刺刺痛它们时，它们被烧焦了。野兽愤怒而痛苦地哼了一声，跳到空中，向前猛冲，将全身的重量都扔到了朗纳姆的马身上。后者改变了策略，不再像以前那样发起冲锋，而是准备接受冲锋。与此同时，奇挥动连枷，将其打落。但他已经超出了目标，由于这一击的猛烈，他被拉到了朗纳姆的马的脖子上。杰克立刻看出了自己的优势，抓住了他的虎皮，并用力将对手从马鞍上拖了下来。但基站了起来，试图把皮肤扯下来。他的肉身力量是最强的。马匹跳跃、踢腿、踉踉跄跄，骑在马匹上的两个人紧紧地抓住，虎皮夹在他们中间。然后鲁纳姆在皮肤上扭动连枷并继续转动它。现在，基试图把它扭开，但徒劳无功。喉咙上的皮肤紧绷，而且被拉得越来越紧，有窒息的危险。杰克向后退了他的马，当他向后退的时候，他把对手拉到了后面。鲜血在溺水之地的耳中轰鸣。他太阳穴的青筋暴涨，快要爆裂。

马匹的猛冲，压力一瞬间放松，但下一秒又紧绷起来，变得难以忍受。基的舌头和眼睛都惊动了，嘴唇肿胀，上面冒出泡沫。他无法哭泣，无法说话，他抽鼻子、喘气。他用脚后跟将马向前推，以免自己从马鞍上被拖到朗纳姆的连枷上。

再过一会儿，溺水之地就会被击落，任由对手摆布。但就在这最重要的时刻，他抓住了自己的连枷，用双手将连枷举在低下的头上，将连枷的末端刺入了朗纳姆的马的耳朵里。他越被向前拉，连枷末端的杠杆作用就越大，马匹的痛苦也就越剧烈。这头野兽痛得发狂，全身痉挛，痉挛性地摇晃和跳跃，猛地一拉，虎皮就从杰克·朗纳姆的手中被扯了下来。

溺水之地在马镫上站了起来。他的眼睛里充满了血，失去了知觉，但他仍将连枷在头上旋转，并向各个方向猛烈地殴打。它摆动时发出口哨声，下降时发出尖叫声。然后一声巨响，一声叫喊，透过耳中脉搏的轰鸣，他隐隐约约地听到了河岸上的撞击声，透过他充血的眼睛，他隐约看到一团黑色的东西摇摇晃晃地掉进了河里。

当血液恢复正常循环时，他喘着粗气，每根神经都在颤抖，每根静脉都在刺痛，淹地让他的马一动不动，然后集中精神，看着前方。

天空中几乎没有一丝钢铁般的光芒。云彩已经蔓延到了天空。仅有的一点光亮，在地平线上像条带子一样，就像死人眼中的白色釉面。漆黑的水面什么也没反映出来。一时间，表面上，挂在朗纳姆马镫上的灯笼漂浮着，舞动着，而火焰则燃烧着，烧焦了角的一侧，然后被拉到下面并熄灭了。

溺水地向前倾身，将连枷伸向水面。然后将挡板拉过敌人沉没的表面，就像划出分数一样。

突然，他的脚被抓住了，耳边响起一个声音：“救命！”帮助！噢，请帮忙！

在他紧张兴奋的状态下，意外的触碰、呼唤让他尖叫起来。就好像一只粗鲁的手落在了裸露的神经上。

他的脚又被更紧地抱住，又发出更强烈的哀求声：“救命！”噢，求你了，求你了，救命啊！”

齐塔继续奔跑。她幼小的心灵充满了对父亲的悲痛。他是这个世界上唯一一个让她心生依恋的对象。她早年丧母，由父亲和母亲抚养长大。她没有兄弟，没有姐妹。他曾到过她的父亲、母亲、兄弟姐妹中一处。年轻的心充满了爱。它具有执着的性质。它可能不倾向于外露，但它爱，它执着；它爱，它执着。当它所依恋的对象、它所爱的人失败时，它就会感到绝望。

有一段时间，比齐塔所说的两周多，她观察到她父亲病了，他的力量正在衰退。

她一直在与自己将要失去他的可怕想法作斗争，每当这种恐惧闪过她的大脑，让她的心收缩时。

她的父亲！日常同事；一个她总是可以坦诚交谈的人，一个她只对他有一种兴趣的人；那个一直守护着她、关心着她、爱着她的人——他应该受苦，他可能会被带走！这个想法超出了她年轻的心所能承受的范围。 Cheap Jacks 也是人，他们和我们有同样的感觉，我们不是购买 Cheap Jacks 的产品，而是购买受人尊敬的商人的产品。廉价杰克斯的女儿们，虽然没有像我们那样享有道德和智力训练的特权，但她们仍然是人类。我们心照不宣地承认这一点，但没有想到这样的承认所包含的真相——他们的本性与我们一样具有混合的倾向，他们的内心也有着与我们一样的激情——就像我们自己的孩子一样。

现在这个可怜的孩子跑着，她的脉搏跳动；当她奔跑时，随着每一次血液在她的脉搏中涌动，她眼前都会闪烁着电光。她不断地呼喊：“救命啊！帮助！我的父亲！我爸爸！'

然后她就呼吸困难了。她试图逃跑，但被迫停下来，气喘吁吁。她无法保持步伐，也无法寻求帮助。

当潮水来袭时，酒吧上方传来大海般的咆哮声。那是她耳中雷鸣般的血液的咆哮。

她接过货车灯笼，放在父亲旁边的河边。当她被迫停下来时，她回头看了一眼。她浑身不寒而栗。她看不见光。难道它已经过期了，她父亲身上闪烁的生命之光也随之消失了吗？

然后她走下岸，现在她看到了光。由于坡度和运河方向的轻微弯曲，她从顶部看不到它。父亲身边燃烧的光芒依然存在。而在她面前，她可以看到她所追寻的方向上有火花。奇怪的灯光混合在一起——是有两盏还是三盏或者更多？她无法数数，因为她太兴奋了，泪水和汗水从她的眼睛里流出来。

她继续跑，剧烈的心跳渐渐平息，呼吸也恢复了。

突然——一声巨响，一道闪电般的闪光，齐塔不知道自己身在何处，也不知道自己处于半昏迷状态多久了。

这个可怜的孩子全速奔跑，撞上了路堤顶部为防止轮式车辆使用而设置的障碍物。

她的头和胸部撞到了栏杆上，被摔得向后仰去，这一击让她有些惊愕，又完全眩晕。她在河岸上躺了几分钟，感到困惑和痛苦。然后她站了起来，但无法理解发生了什么。她再次向前走去，现在感觉到了木条。她把手放在上面，然后爬了上去。她因痛苦和焦虑而抽泣。透过她的泪水，她可以看到她面前的灯光被放大，发出棱镜般的光线。到达屏障顶部时，她回头望去，再次看到父亲提灯发出的微弱光芒。

现在，她的知觉又恢复了，有一会儿，她的知觉因打击和跌倒而受到干扰。

她跑去寻求帮助，为她亲爱的父亲提供庇护。她从顶部栏杆上喊道：“救命！”帮助！我爸爸！我可怜的爸爸！帮助！帮助！'

她听着。她以为她听到了声音。她受伤、疲倦、气喘吁吁，希望她所求助的援助能帮到她。

她应该留在原地，等待前方的灯光靠近她吗？

然后她开始担心自己的声音可能不会被听到。她说话的那个男人——他的马镫上提着一盏灯笼——对她态度粗鲁，没有表现出任何好感，也没有提供帮助的意愿。莫非他改变了主意，要回来了？

她确信她逮捕的那个人脚上只拿着一盏灯笼。现在，随着她的脉搏变得更加均匀，她确信眼前的灯光比她还多。她看着身后。她父亲亮着一盏灯，那盏灯是静止的。在她之前有好几个；它们的动作很奇怪，忽隐忽现，变换位置，时隐时现，时而闪耀，时而低，时而高，时而在这边，时而在那边。

她从栏杆上的位置跳起来，继续跑。

然后，来到泥灰地里的一个油腻的地方，那里曾是一匹马的蹄子，也许它已经滑倒了，并且，无论她走到哪里，都沿着直线奔跑，不知道与直线的轻微偏离。沿着河岸，她顺着河岸走下去，一头扎进了冰冷的水中。

水中有一根木桩，一根柱子。她紧紧抓住那东西，紧紧抓住它，挣扎着想挣脱出来。在这样做的过程中，她注意到柱子上有一个眼睛，一个穿过它的榫眼，就在那一刻，一些云层散开了，她看到灰色的天空和一颗星星透过这个洞闪闪发光。借助这个柱子，体力几近耗尽的齐塔才从水中爬了出来。但她太累了，以至于当她到达岸边时，她不得不停下来喘气。

父亲，想到她正在受苦，也许快要死了，她仍然继续前行。她看到眼前舞动的灯光，她听到了声音。她感到脚下的路堤在颤抖。她面前肯定发生了一些剧烈的骚乱；但她既没有时间也没有能力去猜测到底是什么。

这时，一列大雁从头顶上空飞过，在黑暗中看不见，要南下过冬，它们飞翔时发出大声、狂野的叫声，就像云中猎犬的吠叫——一种可怕的、令人惊恐的声音。让那些不知道原因的人感到不安。

她一动不动地站了一会儿，听着空中幽灵般的声音。她屏住呼吸。然后她又跑了。

当齐塔奔跑时，她觉得自己确实只看到了两盏灯。肯定只有两个，而且它们是静止的。她想打电话，但发不出声音。她的喉咙很干。她只能跑。

下一刻，灯光在她身上闪耀，然后她抓住了一只脚。 '帮助！帮助！'

'你想要什么？你是谁？'当基·德隆兰兹完全恢复镇定后，发现有人紧贴着他，而那个人是一名女性，他问道。

'帮助！回来！父亲病了。

'我不在乎。松手。你伤害了我。'

她碰触他的靴子，伤到了他！他的神经颤抖着，她手指的压力让他全身的每一根纤维都兴奋得难以忍受。

哦，救命啊！帮助！'她不会松开手。

'我不能。我有自己的顾虑要参加。

溺水之地沉默了片刻。他浑身发抖，如同得了疟疾——浑身发抖，仿佛骨头里的骨髓都沾上了冰霜。随即他用一种拘谨的声音问道——

‘你来这里多久了？你看到了什么？

他弯下腰​​，站在马镫上，解开一盏灯笼，把它举到高处，高高地举在求救者的上方。

昏黄的光芒落在一头浓密的琥珀色头发和一张苍白而美丽的脸庞上，一双明亮的大眼睛正抬起头恳求地看着他。

他拿着灯笼的手不稳，灯火在颤抖。为了掩饰自己的激动，他把灯笼摇晃了一下，反光闪闪发光，然后熄灭了，在那双恳求的大眼睛里再次闪闪发光，在那铜金色的头发上闪闪发光，仿佛光辉的波浪在黑暗中闪现，然后定下来。再次陷入黑暗。

“你看到了什么？”他重复道。

“看到了吗？——我看到你了。”我需要帮助。你会帮我？'

“你来这里多久了？”

'多久？我只是这一刻来的。我跑了。'

她的胸部在色彩缤纷的头巾下起伏，她的呼吸变成一股股蒸汽，在灯笼的光环中化为金色的灰尘。

溺水之地将双手放在马鞍的鞍头上，连枷横亘在双手下方。他把灯笼的把手放进嘴里，向上的光芒照在他阴险的脸上。他正在考虑。他不认识这个女孩。他心烦意乱，根本无法思考自己以前是否见过她。她坚持——

'帮助我们！我一直在跑步。我气喘吁吁。我看见你在河岸上骑马经过。我在那里呼唤你，对你说话，但你却什么也不做。我亲爱的父亲更糟。他要死了。你必须——你应该帮忙。”

他仍然看着她。那张美丽的脸——黑暗中唯一闪耀的物体——让他着迷，尽管他感到惊慌、痛苦。

“我是小气的杰克·齐塔。我是可怜的廉价杰克的女儿。他病了——他无法继续生活。他在岸上——快死了。我的父亲！'

然后她泪流满面。在灯笼的灯光下，基看到闪闪发光的水滴从光滑的脸颊上流下来，看到它们在大眼睛里升起并溢出。他慢慢地将灯笼柄从牙齿上取下来，说道——

“我不能被你困扰。我还有其他事要关心。

起初他很惊慌，担心自己与朗纳姆的相遇被人目击，担心这个女孩能够作证指控他，如果他因他的情敌和对手的死亡而受到惩罚。

哦，来吧！噢，一定要来！齐塔抽泣着，把他的靴子抓得更紧了。

“是你打来的电话吗？”

“是的，是我。”

'你叫我？'

'是的。没有其他人可以打电话。

“哦，”他说，“你没看到其他人吗？”没有人陪我吗？

'不。当你经过时我跑上了岸。我跟你说过话，但你却咒骂我。

“我——我做到了？”

有一些错误。她以为他就是现在在水下的那个人。

“你不许走！”女孩拼命地抓着马镫喊道。 “你不能这么无情，让我可怜的父亲死去。”

‘你的父亲对我来说是什么？松手。'

'我不会放手。'

他把马扎了起来；但她抓住了缰绳，把它拦住了。

'小心！'溺水之地说道。 “我不会违背自己的意愿留下来。”

她紧紧抓住缰绳。

“你可以骑在我身上，也可以杀了我。我不会放手。'

'你是什么意思？'他喘着气问道。 “你说的‘也杀了我’是什么意思？”

“你可以骑在我身上，但我不会放手。”

“但是你为什么说‘也杀了我’？”他威胁地问道。

“我会和我的父亲一样死去。如果他死了我也不在乎活下去。你怎么能离开他呢？你怎么可以这么残忍？她突然爆发出剧烈的动作，整个身体都摇晃起来，她抓住的缰绳也跟着摇晃起来。

'那是什么？'当马绊倒时，沉地问道。

他举起了灯笼。

河堤上，马脚下，躺着那根扭在虎皮上的连枷。

“我认识你——我认识你，”女孩说。 “连枷是你买的。”又说：“我父亲病了。”他坐在岸边；他不能走路。如果你不帮忙，他就会冻死。”

“放手，”溺水之地喊道，“否则我就把连枷打到你手上。”

'你可能会打破它们。我会用我的牙齿咬住。

他愤怒地挥舞着连枷。

然后齐塔鞠了一躬，拿起第二根连枷，站到对面，说道——

‘你很坏，你很残忍。我无法让你来找我父亲询问。我会把你赶到他身边——用连枷赶你；我会强迫你走。

他试图从女孩身边经过，但她不肯让步。在旋转的马蹄和她威胁的态度面前，马向后退了一步，几乎把自己和他的骑手从路堤上扔进了马群中。

溺水之地咒骂一声，再次试图推过去，却再次被齐塔击退。

“小心点，不然我就骑倒你。”他威胁道。然后他颤抖起来，因为他回想起几分钟前杰克·朗纳姆是如何对他使用同样的威胁的。

他考虑了一会儿。

他不能让这个女孩保留她捡到的连枷。这是对他不利的证据。烧毁沼泽的每个人，韦尔登霍尔和索汉姆沼泽的每个人，都会在廉价杰克货车之前听说伊利的比赛。如果人们知道在路堤上发现了那根连枷，人们就会立即知道朗纳姆是在哪里掉进百灵鸟的。可以推测那里曾经发生过一场斗争，并且会寻找斗争的痕迹。

站在溺水之地前的那个女孩是唯一一个有可能出现作为对他不利的证人的人——可以证明他曾在朗纳姆遇难的地方；而且他也曾到过朗纳姆遇难的地方。而这个女孩现在正在向他求助。明智的做法是安抚她——让她对自己负起责任。

他没有再试图超越她。他并没有试图兑现他要骑倒她的威胁。

他压低声音问道：“你父亲在哪里？”

“就在后面一点，”齐塔回答道。 “我不能说多久以前。我跑了——我跑了。

'我会和你一起去。把连枷给我吧。

“不，”她回答道。 '我不相信你。当你拥有它时，你就会骑车离开。

“我向你发誓我不会那样做。”

她摇了摇头，保留连枷，把它挂在肩上，走在他身边。

她看过比赛吗？她见过他把他的对手打倒——打到河里吗？溺水之地反复问自己这些问题，很想质问她，但又不敢这么做，以免引起怀疑。他不必担心这一点。她的整个脑子里只有一个念头——她垂死的父亲。

溺水之地骑马，廉价杰克女孩步行，沿着小路向伊利方向走去。她一刻也没有松开缰绳，因为她无法相信骑手的诚意。河水悄悄地流过，水流缓慢得几乎一动不动。它没有在岸上激起涟漪，也没有拍打芦苇丛。它的脸上没有一丝笑容，胸前也没有起伏。这是一条陷入沉睡的河流，濒临死亡。奇发现自己在想，晚上进去的人和马会被冲下去多远。他想知道是否有可能有人成功逃脱。他没有听到任何声音。两人都几乎不可能逃脱。

不久，缰绳一拉，把他从沉思中唤醒，他感觉到他的马在女孩的引导下冲下河岸。黑暗中，他看见了一个更暗的物体，岸边灯笼的微光照亮了它的一部分，还有一匹一动不动的马，似乎很顽固地要变成木头。然而，当这头野兽听到女主人的脚步声时，它转过头来，冷漠地看着她，鼻子奇特地卷曲，下唇突出，这是一种坚决抵制向前迈进的宣言。齐塔没有注意那匹马。她叫了一声父亲，得到了微弱的回应。

‘你现在不会离开我了吗？你会帮忙吗？——你发誓？她转向骑手说道。

“不，”基回答说。 “既然我在这里，我愿意为您服务，尽我所能。”

他下了马，用缰绳把马拴在货车后面，然后拿起一盏灯笼，走到他听到齐塔和她父亲说话的地方。

“我很糟糕，兹特——糟糕——太糟糕了。” “我完蛋了。”小气杰克说。 “说‘相处’是没有用的。”我不能；这是事实。我被困住了——就像货车一样。我似乎别无愿望，只想独自一人，然后潇洒地死去。”

“你不可以那样做，父亲。这是给我们买连枷的一位先生。他会帮忙的。

然后，溺水之地来到病人身边，问道：“那是什么？”我能为你做什么？'

“我不知道我想要什么，”廉价杰克回答道。 '也不是只能孤零零地死去。别去让我担心，就这样。”

“我的农场距离不到一英里，”基说。 “钻进马车，继续前行。”

“我无法忍受这种扭动，”小气杰克回答道。 '我哪儿也不想去。但朱厄尔和吉特会变成什么样子呢？

他呻吟着，叹了口气，在岸上翻了个身，朝着覆盖着泥灰地的稀疏草丛和短苔藓，把脸埋在了那里。女孩握住他的手，跪在他身边。过了一会儿，他抬起头说道：“无论如何，兹特，我们干得不错，无论是茶还是连枷。”它们不花我们十八便士就卖到一双关语“十三加六——太棒了！”

“现在听我说，”溺水之地说道。 “你的这匹马永远无法带动货车行驶。我会骑回家并带一个团队，我们会立即将整套技巧传达给 Prickwillow。我会带人来帮忙，我们会帮你绑上羽毛领带。

“你不会欺骗我吧？”齐塔问道。

“不是我，”基回答道，同时拿起了第二根连枷。 '相信我。我半小时后回来。

他跨上马，策马而去。女孩看着他离开，心里有些不安。然后，当他消失在黑暗中时，齐塔坐在岸边，努力扶起父亲，让他的头靠在自己的怀里。他看着她，伸出手臂搂住她的脖子。

“你是一个好女孩，”他说。 “你已经对苍穹、奥斯和我做了你的功劳，我为此祝福你。”当我们在伦敦码头买来的扫帚时，我们会在那里泡茶，当我们摘下树篱并在旺顶上晒干时，我们会用黑刺李叶子泡茶——这是一个好主意，那。继续按照我教你的去做，Zit，你就会做出一款合适的廉价杰克。一语双关十三六六连枷！这大约是十二分之一的利润。我们来到这个世界除了赚钱还有什么目的？我已经尽我所能了。我已经盈利了。当我想到这一点时，我感到一种内心的光芒，就像我体内有一盏灯笼和蜡烛一样。一语双关——我说，Zit，那是百分之多少？我现在无法把它说清楚；它已经离我而去了。一语双关是三十二。三十二比一，再加上一个“arf”——他长长地叹了口气。 “我很糟糕——我不能再陷入困境了。”

齐塔俯身在病人的脸上，用她的彩色头巾的一角擦拭他的额头。他的思绪飘忽不定。他从沉默寡言、不耐烦、不得不费力说话，变成了说话，而且说得很多，语气漫无目的。

“父亲，我从车上给您带来了一些白兰地。滴一滴。它可能会让你复活。

她把一个瓶子放到他唇边。他发现吞咽困难，转过脸去。他费力地把头抬起来，靠近烧瓶。它又回到了他女儿的怀里。

“爸爸，你的头发多湿啊！”

“事情并不像他们想象的那样，”廉价杰克简洁地说。 “我经常在脑海中翻转世界，错误的一面占据上风。然后我确信我被任命为议会议员，但我从未有机会担任这一职位。我怎么能说服选民相信黑人就是白人！我怎么能让他们吞下任何东西并相信那是杏酱！我本可以对他们撒谎，足以让我以压倒性的多数票登上民意调查的榜首。全世界都是谎言造成的——至少对英国公众来说是这样。这是谎言，出售损坏的商品。这是谎言，让他们把口袋掏到你的腿上。这是带有选票的谎言。这是统治这片土地的谎言。普通大众喜欢他们。它爱他们。它们对公众来说就像蓟对驴子一样甜蜜和可爱。

然后他安静地躺着，只是他把头从一边转向另一边，好像在看什么。

“什么事，爸爸？”

“我所想的就像我看到的那样——一英里又一英里，很快就化为乌有。”

“什么，父亲？”

“山楂树篱盛开，洁白如雪——这是我们自己的茶园，Zit，你知道——用扫地机打扫过。花落了，叶子就会长，就会有利润。阿萨姆邦、刚果、凯索、大吉岭、小种——只要你喜欢——事实上，山楂叶和扫帚——都一样。利润是有的——利润是从叶子里来的，Zit。

一场小雨夹雪正在飘落，在垂死者头部附近的岸上插着的灯笼的光芒下闪闪发光。

“所以你看，齐特，”他指着天空说道，“荆棘叶子会掉落，成千上万，而绿叶将会到来并带来利润。”

“你看到的是正在下雪，父亲。”

“不，齐特。是荆棘脱落白花以获取利润。落下，落下，落下，白叶。”

他沉默了一会儿，然后开始用搂着女儿腰的手去拉扯女儿。

“什么事，父亲？”

“我并不容易。”

“我可以把你的头抬高一点吗？”

” “不是这样的。这在我心里，齐特。

“爸爸，你有什么烦恼吗？”

“那个有洞的锡水壶。​​”我从来没有停止过。在洞里放一点鞋匠蜡，然后在上面放一些镀银的东西，你就能很快把它卖掉。没有人会发现其中的胆汁水。

“我会这么做的，父亲。嘘！我听到马来了。

“我不想和他们一起去。”我听到歌声。

“风在呼啸。”

“不，齐特。是伊利的询问者在高喊。你听到他们的诗篇了吗？

“不，我们听不到他们的声音。他们晚上不唱歌，而且距离也太远。”

但我确实听到他们唱得优美，这就是他们唱的圣歌——“一语双关”十二——山楂茶售价四先令。有利润。”

他正在下沉。他压在她的胸口上很重。

她弯下腰，凑到他耳边低声问道：“父亲，你幸福吗？”

'快乐的？我当然是。一双关语十二在他们连枷上，四先令在荆棘叶和扫帚上——有利润——利润——巨大！

然后他就不再说话了。

在沼泽地里，没有什么比葬礼更庄严、更感人的了。沼泽中没有墓地。没有土地可以安放死者——只有泥炭，在干燥的天气里会变成灰尘，在雨天会变成泥潭。躺在里面的尸体会暴露在三月的风中，并被十一月的雨水浸湿。

因此，死者被运送到小岛，有时长达九英里——伊利、斯图特尼或利特波特，只要有墓地的地方；墓地只能是有蓝色粘土露头的地方。在葬礼上，会带来最大的玉米车，上面拴着一队华丽的拉车马，这些马都用黑色的饰物装饰着。

马车里放着棺材，棺材周围的墙板上坐着哀悼者。悲伤的旅程需要很长的时间。马匹缓慢地前行，没穿鞋的脚踩在尘土或泥沼中，因此脚步声无声无息。但他们的钟声叮当作响，其中一位哀悼者时不时地发出抽泣声。

两辆载着死者的马车驶向伊利。其中一间坐着一位哀悼者，齐塔；这辆马车先于另一辆马车。第二个已经满了，后面跟着一队曾为死者服务的工人，以及曾经吵闹或与他打过交道的熟人。

一阵冷风吹过地面，吹得堤坝里的灯芯草粗糙的暗褐色叶子沙沙作响。身穿紫貂色和白色衣服的罗伊斯顿乌鸦在田野里漫步，它们打扮得好像也是哀悼者，但它们是不请自来的，与火车保持着一定的距离。一排排黑色的风车从天空的四面八方辐射开来，仿佛它们是从最外围越过沼泽地来参加真正的沼泽之子的葬礼的哀悼者。

西南方矗立着伊利岛，岛上树木丛生。大教堂的巨大体量耸立在树林之上，时而在阴沉的云层衬托下显得苍白，而后又在明亮的天空衬托下变暗，矗立在这座大教堂的巨大体量上，它的大小与国家的平坦均匀度形成鲜明对比。

尽管不能说杰克·朗纳姆的死不存在谋杀嫌疑，但验尸官的调查中并没有发生任何可以让其有理由休息的事情；没有任何事情可以在最小程度上牵涉到溺水之地。

鲁纳姆在伊利的小酒馆里畅饮了一番，然后他“新鲜”地骑马离开了，正如目击者委婉的说法，暗示他喝醉了。他带着一盏灯笼开始了回家的旅程，这本身就很可能引发事故，因为它生动地照亮了路的一侧，而过度地使另一侧变暗了。酒馆院子里有人对此发表了评论，并建议熄灭一盏灯，因为这比根本不熄灭更容易产生误导。

人们在通往他的农场克伦布兰德的车道上方约一英里的水中发现了马和人。鲁纳姆被发现时双腿被马镫缠住。也许，如果他在坠落时能够脱离，他可能会逃到陆地上。当然，马会找到出路的。但骑手的体重阻止了这匹可怜的野兽到达岸边。据观察，鲁纳姆的右手进入了运河，灯笼挂在他的左脚上。

人们注意到，死者的头部和身体上有挫伤，但这些很容易解释，无需诉诸暴力假设。在百灵鸟的航程中，每隔一段时间，人们就会将木桩打入岸边，以保护它们免受打火机的伤害，马和人可能被溪流冲走，或者在他们的挣扎中，抵住了这些木桩，因此皮肤和皮肤受到擦伤。瘀伤可能是产生的。

事实上，最近死者和他的邻居沉地之间发生了一些争吵。但有人问，在过去的十九年里，他们什么时候见面时没有吵过架？据报道，这场争吵无关紧要，只不过是为了两人出价很高的连枷而已。此外，据确定，在到达尸体发现地点之前，Drownlands在前往Prickwillow的途中被拘留。他因为小气杰克的病而被小气杰克的女儿拘留。众所周知，溺水之地已经召集了他的手下，并用一队马将货车运到了他的堆垛场。他一直关心这个不幸的流浪汉，并一直陪伴在他身边，直到他去世。

没有具体说明朗纳姆落入水中的确切时间，但据判断，那一定是在“廉价杰克”号占领了“溺水之地”的时候。

确实有人怀疑基可能参与了杰克的死亡，但没有任何具体的指控可以作为依据。相反，有很多迹象表明他不在场。足以让他摆脱怀疑。

葬礼结束后——两场葬礼同时举行，坟墓相邻，由一名牧师为两场葬礼提供服务——然后马车又回来了。廉价杰克的棺材被运到最后安息地的地方是空的。齐塔宣布她打算步行。

那些走在朗纳姆马车后面的人都被带了进去，马匹开始小跑，两辆交通工具很快就远离了，在远处出现了一些斑点。

齐塔沿着路慢慢走着。她并不着急。她必须决定如何维持生活。

她应该从事与她父亲相同的行业吗？她这样做安全吗？有时候，货车里会有很多钱。如果她一个年轻女孩独自一人，她可能会被抢劫。她有丰富的机智，她有把握，她掌握了她父亲常用的老笑话，完全有能力出售商品并获取利润。但股票的购买是由她父亲管理的，她对这部分业务并不熟悉。她能独自管理货车、里面的物品和马吗？如果不是独自一人，那么她可以与谁合作呢？不是另一个女孩。一定是个男人；但是一个男人——出于其他原因，这是不行的。女孩一边走一边脸色涨红，思考着自己未来的困惑问题。

然后她考虑是否应该处理掉她的货车及其内容。但她发现这样做只会造成毁灭性的损失。她的处境会被利用。受损的货物根本卖不出去，没有任何夸张、谎言、公开拍卖的繁荣和混战的帮助。事实上，所有的物品都不像锡水壶和“自己种植园的茶”。有些真的很好。大多数都是好的，但收藏品中充满了软弱和有缺陷的物品。

如果她确实处理掉了货车和库存，她自己该怎么办？她不能去服役——这种束缚是无法忍受的。她无法进入一所学校——她没有受过教育。成为一名裁缝是不可能的——她不会剪裁。几乎不考虑进入任何类型的工厂。她不懂任何行业。她能愚弄大众——这是她唯一的成就。

当她一边走一边思考着自己的困难时，一个穿着深沉丧服的年轻人追上了她。起初他假装要从她身边经过，因为他走的速度比她快，但向前走了几步后，他停了下来，转过身来，用和善的语气说道——

“我们都是孤儿。你在我失去父亲的同一天晚上失去了你的父亲。他们在同一天被埋葬，并且为两人宣读了同样的仪式。我是马克·朗纳姆；你就是廉价杰克女孩。

“是的，我是廉价杰克·齐塔。”

“我无法用其他名字称呼你；我不知道你的真名。让我们一起走吧，除非你想一个人呆着。”

'不好了。'

“当我在马车里，我死去的父亲躺在我面前的棺材里时，我向前看，然后我看到了你——你，可怜的小东西，独自坐着，低着头坐在你父亲的棺材上。我想，无限悲伤。你孤身一人，而我却有很多人陪着我。”

齐塔把脸转向他。

“你很友善，”她说。

'一点也不。我的心很痛，因为我失去了父亲——但是有很多东西可以减轻我的痛苦；我的母亲还活着。你呢？'

“我母亲已经去世五年了。”

“我有很多亲戚，还有更多朋友。但是你？'

'我没有。我在世界上孤独一人。

“然后我就有了房子和土地。你呢？'

“我有货车。”

“一座流浪的房子——不是真正的房子。你打算怎么办？

“这正是我走路时所考虑的。”

“你能告诉我你的计划吗？”

'我没有。我还没有决定该怎么办。

“我很高兴能抓住你。我送上了马车。我必须留下来与殡仪馆和办事员做安排。我很高兴我留下来；它给了我与你交谈的机会。我们共同的损失使我们感到悲伤，而你在我看来是那么可怜的孤独。即使当我在车里时，我的目光也会转向你，我的思绪也随着我的目光而去。我不能不考虑你的悲凉比我的悲凉得多。

齐塔再次转身看向说话的年轻人。他有一头金色的头发，明亮的蓝眼睛，一张清新宜人的脸，坦率而友善。

“我认为你卖了一些东西给我父亲，”他说； “我听那些家伙谈论过这件事。你以中等价格卖掉了它。连枷——他为此付出了几尼的代价。

“是的，我用一几尼卖了一根连枷，又卖了十二几尼和六几尼。德朗兰兹先生买了其中一张。

'另一个是我父亲。那件事发生时我并不在场，但人们已经在谈论它了。我想，如果我在场，我就会阻止我父亲出价这么高。当他从河里被打捞出来时，并没有发现连枷。”

'不;它在银行里。

“它可能是被百灵鸟带下来的，”他说，没有注意到她的话，“然后在沃什河里出去了。”

连枷！齐塔很惊讶。当她遇见他时，她知道溺水之地拿着一根连枷，另一根是她自己拿起的，用来阻止他继续他的道路，并迫使他协助她的父亲。

她站着不动，思考着。不过，这件事并不重要，所以她就继续前进。如果她在普里克威洛找到连枷，她就会把它带到克拉姆兰。它理所当然地属于马克·朗纳姆。

'它是什么？'年轻人惊讶地看着她全神贯注的样子，问道。

“没什么特别的，”她回答道。 “我发生了一些事情——仅此而已。但这没有关系。

“我想知道你会怎么样，”年轻人说道。 “你们没有亲人吗？”

“据我所知，没有。”

“没有家吗？”

“没有，正如我所说，只有那辆货车。当它被卖掉时，我将一无所有。

“但是你有朋友吗？”

“一个朋友——是的——朱厄尔，那匹老马。嗯，他也没那么老。我称他为老，因为我爱他。

“我说，当你决定如何处理自己时，请来我们的农场，克拉姆布兰，然后告诉我。”

“这真是无礼，”齐塔说。 “如果你想知道，可以来问我。”

'我不能这样做。你不知道我的父亲和基·沉沦之地是不共戴天的敌人吗？我不能踏上他的土地，否则他会以非法侵入罪起诉我。如果我去他家门口，遇到的不仅仅是脏话。”

“为什么他们是敌人？”

'我不知道。从我记事起他们就一直是敌人。好吧，你会让我知道一些关于你的消息。我会在 Prickwillow 附近的路堤上出来，你也可以去那里。没有人照顾你，没有地方可以去，这太可怕了。如果我能以任何方式帮助你，请告诉我。我的妈妈是最善良的。碰巧我们都曾一度成为孤儿，而且我们的两位父亲被埋葬在一起，正如人们所说的那样，当我们一起走回家时，在我看来，如果我们这样做是错误的，也是无情的。我什么也不为你做。坐在我在克朗布兰德的家和舒适的家中，看着你荒凉而孤独地徘徊——法利赛人不可能对路边的穷人做那么坏的事，我也不会。我永远不应该原谅自己。我永远不会忘记那个可怜的黑衣小姑娘，独自一人，棺材放在大马车里的情景。

“你很友善，”齐塔说，他的语气所表达的诚实、真诚的感情让她感动。 “我谢谢你，但我不需要任何帮助。我有钱，我有货，我有一匹马，我还有一个车轮上的家。最重要的是，我拥有一种能够支撑我前进的精神。”

'是的;但一个小女孩是一个可怜而柔弱的东西，世界很广阔，很邪恶，但又非常坚强。我很遗憾你的这种大胆精神被它摧毁了。

“这是我住的地方，”齐塔说。

“是的，那是普里克威洛开的。我现在十八岁，但我从来没有经历过这场争吵——从来没有去过溺水农场。以及这一切是怎么回事，如果我或其他人知道的话，那就太幸运了！”

齐塔在路的岔路口逗留了一会儿。马克伸出手，她握住了它。

“我会告诉你什么，”她说。 “你对我很友善，善意，我会给你一个牛奶过滤器或一个黑色刷子，无论你选择哪个。”

马克·朗纳姆忍不住笑了。

“下次我们见面时我会告诉你；明天在堤岸上——就在这里。请记住，如果您除了牛奶过滤器或黑色刷子之外缺少任何东西，那么它就是您的。

葬礼当天之后是一个不眠之夜。齐塔需要休息，但没有得到休息。她的大脑被忧虑占据，心灵被悲伤削弱。她爱她的父亲，他是世界上唯一她可以依附的人，她唯一的依靠。她的漂泊生活阻碍了她建立友谊。自从她父亲去世后，她晚上就躺在货车里。这种交通工具的设计目的是为了实现多种目的。这是一家商店、一间厨房、一间客厅、一家餐馆、一辆马车、一家银行。货物包装得整整齐齐，而且排列得非常紧密，囚犯们可以非常宽敞地住在商店中间。里面有一个小炉灶。有床。确实，没有桌子，但有一些盒子可以作为座位和桌子，而膝上则是每个男人和女人都会配备的天然餐桌。

当货车的前部升起以便晚上关闭商店时，带有金色流苏和流苏的深红色毛绒窗帘遮住了白天进行大量贸易的展板。后面有一扇窗户可以透光。炉子生了热气，旅铺里的人各自算了账，然后就休息了。

账目不是在账本上计算的，而是在他们的手指上计算的，平衡不是在纸上而是在他们的头脑中的。

夜幕降临，一盏灯照亮了屋内，小屋里弥漫着炸洋葱、猪肝或烤羊排的香味，开胃又值得；公众那天为此付出了代价，而且是用鼻子付出的代价。马已经被照顾好，然后父亲坐在长凳上，嘴里叼着烟斗，腿伸直，偶尔移开烟斗，以便吸入女儿正在准备的晚餐的烟雾。廉价杰克的精神很好，他的好脾气从来没有被扰乱过。他是最仁慈的父亲；他永远不会因为不幸的事情而沮丧，永远不会因为糟糕的一天的交易而沮丧，永远不会没有他滑稽的故事、歌曲或笑话。但在他去世前的两周里，他的心情并不愉快，谈话也萎靡不振。一天的工作不再是一种乐趣，而是一种负担，让他疲惫不堪，常常无法吃晚饭，也无法品尝烟斗。

他与日益恶化的健康状况作斗争，并努力在齐塔的眼中掩盖疾病的进展。但爱的眼光很敏锐，她心痛地注意到他的精神和力量逐渐衰退。直到那时，她的脑子里还没有想过自己的未来。现在亲爱的父亲走了，齐塔没有人可以依靠。除了她自己的头脑之外，没有其他人会忙于自己的前景，没有人会除了她自己关心自己的明天之外，没有其他人的心会这样。

她在 Prickwillow 受到了友善的对待。货车被遮盖起来，马也被安置在马厩里。

女管家是基·荒地的远亲，她热心地提供帮助，而受圣维特之舞困扰的女仆则点头表示善意的祝福。溺水之地和管家都劝齐塔接受这座房子的住宿，里面有很多房间和床位，但她拒绝了邀请；她习惯了货车生活，可以在自己惯常的住处感到舒适。她需要的东西很少，而货车上提供了她需要的大部分东西。里面甚至还有足够的黑色杂物供她在父亲的葬礼上哀悼。车里没有什么东西？它是世界的缩影，是一个通用的集市，是升华为本质的诺夫哥罗德博览会。

“你在说什么？”溺水之地问道。

他来到农舍后面的院子里，看见齐塔正在套马。正面朝下，上面放着一个牛奶过滤器、一些黑色刷子和一把连枷。

'你在说什么？你要去哪里？

溺水者身材高大，长着一张像鹰一样的脸，浓密的深色眉毛在眼睛和鼻根上方突出。

“我要去，”齐塔回答。

'去？谁让你走的？

“我不会再成为麻烦了。”

“谁告诉你你给你带来不便了？”

“没有人，但我知道我不受欢迎。我感谢你所做的一切，并将付钱给你。”

'给我钱？谁说了关于付款的事？

“没有人，但我当然付钱。马克·朗纳姆——我想那是他的名字——对我很好——也就是说，他对我说得很客气——如果他说得好话，我就要用滤奶器来酬谢他。你为我做了好事，我会报答你的。坐进面包车，挑选你喜欢的东西，最多五磅。您想要门垫吗？有卷地毯，但我不推荐，还有罐头食品。

溺水之地盯着女孩。然后他的目光停留在连枷上。

'你拿它来做什么？它在我家里。

'是的。你把它拿走了。但它不是你的。它属于马克·朗纳姆。他父亲向我们买了它。他为此付出了几尼。我追上你时在岸边捡到的。你手里拿着连枷。你本可以继续骑行，让我和我父亲陷入困境，但我用那连枷挡住了去路。它不是我的。我的钱包里有我收到的几尼。现在老人死了，那肯定就是他儿子的了。这就是为什么我要把它带给他。

“他不会拥有它！他绝对不能拥有它！溺水之地惊呼道。 “你怎么认识马克·朗纳姆的？”

'这个年轻人从他父亲的葬礼上走出来。我也是，他走得最快，追上了我。他说话很友善，所以我会付给他一个牛奶过滤器，或者，如果他愿意的话，用黑色刷子。

“无论如何，把黑色刷子给他。”

“或者牛奶过滤器？”

'或者是牛奶过滤器；但不是连枷。

“这是他的，”齐塔说。 “老人已经付清了钱。”

“把钱还给他，而不是连枷。”这里'-

淹兰把手伸进口袋，从里面掏出一把钱，金银铜，混杂着，递给女孩。

'这里！你说过你会为我所做的事付钱给我。用连枷付钱给我。我什么都不想要了。然后我就有了这对；或者如果你想归还几内亚——就拿走吧。”

“连枷是买来的。它不再是我的了。

溺水之地跺着脚，伸出手，从木板上抓起了连枷。

'他不会拥有它。我不会接受其他任何东西。

“那么我必须给这个年轻人它的价值——价值一几尼的商品。”

“就这么做吧，然后从我这里拿走工资。”

“我会让他拥有你的垫子，我会告诉他你”——

‘什么也不告诉他。关于连枷，只字不提。这就是我对你的全部要求。没说什么。如果我为你父亲和你所做的一切让你欠我什么，那就用你的沉默来偿还吧。他沉思了一会儿，然后抓住女孩的手臂，把她拉到自己身后。 “过来看看我拥有的一切。”

他领着她穿过堆垛场，来到了他堆放小麦的地方——两堆小麦，每堆四十步长，中间有一条小巷。他领着她沿着这条小路走下去。 “瞧，”他说，“你见过这样的骗子吗？不，没有任何地方可以离开沼泽​​。你知道里面有多少面包吗？不，我也一样。你要花很多年才能吃完它们。每年都会有新鲜的小麦生长——和这个一样多。这些堆里有老鼠。他们坐在里面吃饱，在那里养家糊口。这对我来说有什么机会呢？家里再多几只老鼠——家里再多几张嘴——我不在乎。所有人都有足够的东西。然后他把齐塔拉到另一个院子里，院子里满是小牲畜、公牛和小母牛。

“看这里，”他说。 '你看到这一切了吗？他们身上有多少肉？你需要多长时间才能吃掉它们？当你在吃饭的时候，其他人就会来——这就是自然之道。自然超越了我们；它用双手铲进去，而我们则用一只手取出——无论如何，在沼泽地里也是如此。对于像我这样的人来说，另一块牛肉又是什么？

然后他大步走到马厩，打开门，说道：“这里有马厩，可以放马。”阁楼里有干草可以喂它们，粮仓里有燕麦可以滋养它们。如果马厩里多一匹马，对我来说有什么困难？这里！'他向他的一名手下喊道。 “再次将便宜的杰克马从货车竖井中取出，然后将其带到这个马厩。”

齐塔努力挣脱他的掌控。

“不，”溺水之地说。 '你还没有看到全部。我敢说，你已经走遍了世界；看过很多风景；但有一件事你以前从未见过，那就是沼泽农场，这是一个让你大开眼界的景象。跟我一起来。'

他用虎钳抓住她的手腕，然后把她拉向厨房的方向。

'看！'他说。 '那是什么？那是我们的燃料。那是草皮。冬天我们要付出什么来取暖？没有什么。我听说有人花一英镑甚至四十先令买一吨海煤。对于木材，他们愿意支付一几尼。我们不付任何费用。燃料就在我们脚下。我们取下一小块土，就可以挖了，大约有十——十五——二十英尺。我们花费的成本不比拾取的劳动力多。我想要一点黄铜吗？我去市场，说我有十英亩的草皮，要以每英亩六十英镑的价格出售。十几只手举了起来。我一下子就得到了六百英镑。这就是我所说的赚钱。快点。你还没有看到全部。

他把她拉得更远。他把她拉上台阶，走到门口，然后转身，指着一大片田野，田野上每隔一段距离就有一堆粘土，他说——

'你看到了吗？当土地饥饿并需要耕种时，其他地方会做什么？石灰被用来给耗尽的土壤施肥。我们沼泽地人从来不花一先令。如果我们想要修整，我们就在草皮下面挖，然后它就躺在那里——肥沃的粘土——然后将其铺在表面上。这就是拥有一个沼泽农场的意义。现在进来吧。

他带着齐塔走进门，打开了牛奶店。

“看，”他说。 “看看牛奶、搅拌物、黄油。一切都发生在沼泽地。黄油一先令一磅，现在有二十八磅。接下来还会有同样多的搅动，一切都会像完成的一样快。触摸那个搅动。每次你工作时，你都会赚到钱。跟我走远点吧。

他让女孩上了楼梯，当他沿着楼梯口的通道走时，他打开了一扇又一扇的门。

“往里看，有很多房间；其中不到一半已被占用，但全部都配备了家具。我为什么要限制家具？我有钱——有钱！看！'他把她拉进一间小公寓，里面有书桌、桌椅。这是他的办公室。他打开了墙上的一个保险箱。

'看！我这里有钱——都是金子。到窗口来吧。

溺水之地打开了窗扉。下面是院子，里面有小牛，踩着稻草，把它们踩进了泥沼。他把手伸进口袋，掏出一把硬币，看也不看手里拿着的是什么——无论是金子、银子还是铜子——就把它撒在了公牛和小母牛身上。有的硬币打在野兽的背上，从它们身上跳下来，掉在稻草里，有的掉进泥里，被它们的脚揉碎了。

‘钱对我来说是什么？它长大了，它把自己强加在我身上，而我不知道该如何处理它。我可以把它扔掉，让自己摆脱垃圾，然后还会有更多垃圾出现。它来得比我能用的还要快；比我扔掉它的速度还要快。现在，女孩——便宜的杰克女孩——现在你知道什么是沼泽农场了。现在你知道火虎能做什么了。你和我一起留在普里克威洛。我会为你提供庇护，给你食物，给你穿衣服，照顾你。吃、喝、睡、笑、玩。工作一点。一切都毫不吝惜地给了你。

他把连枷放在膝盖上，试图打破它，但失败了。然后他把它扔到房间的角落里，那里有一堆鞭子、棍棒和工具。

“好了，”他说，“我所要求的只是——不要说任何关于我曾在堤岸上的事。只字不提连枷——尤其是对鲁纳姆来说。我有我的理由，你不明白，也不需要知道。

齐塔犹豫了。她没想到会有这样的提议。她怀疑自己能否满意地适应农场生活。

“你正要离开，”溺水之地继续说道，“或者更确切地说是试图离开。但你的那匹马怎么能把货车拉出沼泽呢？你知道你来这里时的情况。车轮陷了下去，马无力了。我派了我的团队，只有这样我们才能把货车拉过去。如果没有帮助，你永远无法到达利特尔波特或伊利，无论如何，在冬天是不可能的。当你开车时，车轮会再次下沉，我应该派我的团队再次将货车拖回这里。你的脚已经踏入泥炭土和粘土中，并且被牢牢地固定住。听我说。假设你确实走了一段路，然后坚持了下来，而我对你的离开很生气，并且拒绝帮助你并把你带回普里克威洛，那么怎么办？让我告诉你，如果你整晚都没有受到保护，陷入沼泽中的车轴上，会发生什么。沼泽里有泥鳅；这里有老虎，正如他们在这里所说的那样——利特尔波特周围有很多老虎。出售连枷的故事被广泛传播和谈论。众所周知，你有钱。据了解，你的父亲已经去世。你以为没有人会为了你的钱财，不惜在黑暗中偷窃你，像老鼠从堤坝里出来，像狐狸从洞里出来，抢走你的钱财，咬住你那棕色的喉咙以防止桃色发生？如果你认为没有，那么你对沼泽和沼泽人的看法就与我这个一直生活在沼泽和老虎中间的人不同了。来'-

他把手放在她的喉咙上，掐了一下。

“这个，还有你的尸体，是早上在排水沟里发现的，被沼泽水熏黑了。”一方面是这样；另一方面，我提供一个家、保护——一切。

齐塔颤抖着从他的怀抱中挣脱出来。

“我接受你的提议，”她说； '我别无选择。在这件事上别无选择。

“你就在那里，”他笑着说。 “对你来说别无选择。”

几天过去了；齐塔在普里克威洛定居下来。她得到了自己的房间，然后她把车里的东西搬进了房间。墙壁上摆满了交易中的货物，深红色和金色的窗帘挂在窗户上。

在齐塔看来，农舍里的一个房间空荡荡的，不舒服，因为车上的商店内部覆盖得很严实。她无法休息，直到她把裸露的墙壁隐藏起来，让她的房间与她住了这么多年的滚动房屋的内部有些相似。但她在自己的公寓里堆放这些商店还有更多的理由。货车位于室外厕所，暴露在潮湿的环境中，随之而来的是虫蛀、生锈和发霉等问题，如果暴露在这些条件下，会对她的财产造成严重破坏。

齐塔让自己在家里变得有用。她认为，如果不考虑实际问题，她就无法接受为她提供的住所和食物，而且由于她精力充沛、聪明才智，她很快就适应了农舍的工作。她发现需要她的手。管家没有系统，打算把那些不立即引起注意的事情留到明天。跳圣维特舞的女仆是一名工人，但需要指导。齐塔在货车生活中被迫保持整洁。在旅行商店里，大量各种各样的商品必须装进一个小指南针里，而贸易的要求迫使她把每件物品都保持在最明亮的状态，这样它们看起来就最好了，然后出售——如果可能的话——超越其内在价值。因此，齐塔不仅看到一切都在它的位置上，而且一切都被装饰得最明亮。她用手指灵活地穿针，拿起家用亚麻布，给床单缝边，系上纽扣，缝补破洞，把以前被忽视的一切都整理好，由于疏忽而变得破烂不堪，正在摔倒。过早分解。

女孩注意到溺水之地在看着她工作，但她也发现，当她表示她察觉到他的观察时，他就移开了目光；她知道，他不仅对她感兴趣，而且在某种程度上，他也害怕她。

她和女管家李哈娜·通基斯 (Lehanna Tunkiss) 的相处很艰难，她收到消息称齐塔将在这所房子里住上一段时间，即使不是不赞成，也是心存疑虑。此外，这位女士还对女孩所取得的进步感到不满，因为她受到了如此多的侮辱。给那些破破烂烂的东西包边，就是向溺水之地和颤抖的女仆宣告，莉哈娜玩忽职守了；为主人缝上一颗已经脱下一周的纽扣，是为了表现出对主人利益的考虑高于对她自己的考虑。

一开始，在葬礼之前，这位女士一直很客气，认为齐塔只是一个临时房客。当她发现自己有可能成为永久居民时，她对她的态度完全改变了。

一天下午，齐塔没有什么特别的事情可以吸引她，她沿着车道闲逛，然后从车道漫步穿过田野。

她父亲葬礼那天下了一场霜冻，从那时起，大地就被束缚住了。这是十一月经常出现的严重霜冻之一，它扫走了夏天最后的痕迹，清除了树木上残存的叶子，然后让仍然翠绿的草枯萎。

这是早霜之一，通常与新年期间的任何一场霜冻一样严重。土块和车辙坚硬如铁。当道路是泥泞的时候，货车很难移动，现在道路已经结冰了，就更不可能了。凹凸不平，无泉可立，无物耐久。锅子会被震得粉碎，锅子也会被打得变形。无论齐塔有什么愿望，也许是希望，她认识到在现有情况下不可能离开现在的住所。解冻必须使土壤松弛，必须将耙子和压路机移到道路上，然后轮式运输工具才能通过。齐塔发现在马群中行走很困难，甚至很痛苦，因为那里没有平坦的地面可以让脚踩在上面，齐塔把它遗弃在一块田野上，然后穿越乡村走向一家磨坊，磨坊的帆，赭红色，正在快速旋转。田野被水道一分为二。沼泽人都会跳跃，从一个田野跳跃到另一个田野——有时会使用跳竿。有了后者，他们不仅可以清理沟渠，还可以清理宽阔的排水沟或负载。

齐塔很想看看磨坊。从一个点开始，她数到了三十六，一直延伸到地平线。迄今为止，她所知道的风车仅用于研磨玉米。对于这样的目的来说，这里的数量太大了，而它们的尺寸又太小了。

她轻轻地越过堤坝，朝红翅磨坊走去。当她走近时，她看到磨坊比其他磨坊都大，旁边长着一丛柳树，在种植磨坊的一个高高的砖台上，矗立着一座小房子，建造得像磨坊、木板和柏油。这个住宅只有一层高，显然只有一个房间。

当齐塔走近时，一只黑狗站在平台上，头伸出来，开始威胁性地吠叫。尽管如此，齐塔还是靠近了，因为这头野兽并没有向她跑去，而是满足于保护平台，准备争夺平台的访问权。

然后齐塔惊呼道：“什么，狼！你不认识我吗？自从父亲把你从那个吞刀人手中带走后，你这几个月不是一直在跟我们讨价还价吗？我们本想留下你，老伙计，但不想为你纳税，所以把你卖了，沃尔夫。”

这只狗一开始并没有认出穿着黑色连衣裙的齐塔。现在，一听到她的声音，它就跳到她身边，向她阿谀奉承。

一个女孩从住处走了出来，喊道：“怎么了，狼？”她站在通向她住处的台阶顶端，等待着齐塔。

'你是谁？'站台上的女孩问道。她是一位身材魁梧、英俊的年轻女子，一头金发，在强劲的东风中拂过额头。她的后脑勺上系着一条蓝色头巾，绑在下巴下面，束住了她大部分的头发，但前面的几缕头发却被微风吹拂着。事实上，她就是我们已经认识的那个凯妮。

“我相信我知道你是谁，”她说。

她抱起双臂，站在支撑着磨坊和婴儿床的砖砌基座上，注视着她的访客。 “我想你就是那个廉价杰克女孩吧？”

'是的。我是廉价杰克·齐塔。你是谁？

“我——我被命名为 Kerenhappuch，但有些人叫我 Kainie 和 Kenappuch。我回答了所有三个名字。使用它对我来说没有任何可能性。你想在这里做什么？

“我是来看磨坊的。它的目的是什么？你不磨玉米吗？

‘磨玉米？你真是个滑稽的人。不;我们将堤坝中的水排入排水沟。来看看。为什么，心还活着！你去哪儿了？你一定是个傻瓜，不知道磨坊的用途！加紧。狼既然认出了你，就不会咬人了。如果你是其他人，并试图走到这里，而我没有得到命令安静地躺着，他就会把你变成丝带。她向低矮的木屋挥动双臂。 “我住在那里，确实如此，在我之前我的母亲也是如此。必须有人照看工厂，而女人比男人便宜。此外，对于一个男人来说，工作还不够，当一个男人没有足够的工作时，他就会抽烟喝酒。我们女人不一样；我们做针织和洗涤。从这方面来说，我们是更优秀的动物，确实如此。在这里，我是一个呆在家里的人。我哪儿也不去。我得照管磨坊。你是一个漫步者和一个滚来滚去的人——从来不在一个地方。我们互相认识很奇怪。你说你叫什么名字？

“齐塔——廉价的杰克·齐塔。”

‘齐塔？这够短的了难怪有了这样的名字，你就会感到轻如鸿毛。需要一阵雷鸣般的大风才能让克伦哈普奇飞过地面。她的名字足以让她有分量。现在，你想看什么？你的无知从哪里开始？

'它从一片空白开始。我对工厂一无所知。

“我的工厂是红翼工厂。如果你沿着米尔登霍尔的路线看并数到十，那么你就会看到黑翼。再数八个，你就有了白色翅膀。

女孩推开一扇门，跨过一块边缘设置的木板，走进工厂的布料里。齐塔紧随其后。

没有什么比磨坊的机械装置更简单、更实用的了。风帆带动一根强大的车轴运转，它沿着织物的高度运行，这根横梁在旋转时转动底部的一个轮子，使磨坊外的桨旋转。这个桨被装在一个木板盒子里，起初齐塔无法理解这个装置的用途，因为没有看到桨。

“你想爬上去吗？”凯妮问道。 '看！我像松鼠一样向上走。你最好不要尝试。如果你的裙子卡在齿轮里，狼的晚餐就会是切碎的廉价杰克。我不害怕。我的裙子似乎知道不要靠近轮子，但你的裙子却没有同样的智能。女人的衣服会了解她的风格。我敢说，我的车如果在你的那辆货车里，一定会感到非常困惑。

“你别跟我谈论衬裙，”齐塔说。 “衬裙之于女人，就像胡须之于猫。他们有感觉。猫永远不会用胡须打翻任何东西，女人用裙子也不会打翻任何东西，只要她不是比猫弱的傻瓜。”

然后凯妮跑到磨坊内部，以惊人的敏捷性在框架中玩耍，同时巨大的车轴转动，橡树的尖牙威胁着要抓住或将她拖入机器中。

“下来吧，”齐塔说。 “我不喜欢在那里看到你。”

但她的呼唤是徒劳的；她的声音淹没在船帆的急促声、齿轮的摩擦声和木楼的吱吱声中。

不久，凯妮就下降了，速度就像她爬上磨坊的肋骨一样快。

“母亲在世时不让我这么做，”磨坊女孩说。 '但我还是这么做了。现在，接下来怎么办？来看看这个。

她把齐塔领到外面，带到桨箱前，猛地打开一扇门，露出了轮子，轮子将水从“堤坝”推上斜坡，进入更高水平的“负载”。

“它像狼一样舔水，只是它不吞下水。”这是有区别的。沃尔夫吃了一点，吃饱了就停下来；但这种情况持续下去，它的舌头永远不会干燥。

“工厂日夜运转吗？”

'那要看。当没有风时，它白天白天都不工作，而是进入睡眠状态。但是，当下了很多雨，沼泽湿漉漉的时候——那么，为什么老红翼队不能走得足够快或足够长来取悦委员们呢？看这里;自今天早上以来，堤坝内的水位已经下降了十八英寸。红翼已经做到了。他不是一个坏人。他不需要太多照顾。工厂之间存在很大差异；有些人脾气暴躁、烦躁，有些人狡猾而懒惰。有些人诚实正直地工作，不需要太多照顾，而另一些人则永远不会做他们的工作，除非你站在他们身边并给他们下巴。基督徒也是如此。

“那根长杆子是做什么用的？”齐塔问道。

“无知小姐，那是木屐。”如果我处理好它，我就可以阻止翅膀旋转，或者当我抬起木屐时，我就可以让帆飞扬。过来。我会教你如何管理它。她指导齐塔如何使用木鞋。 '那里！'她说； “现在你可以像我一样启动磨坊，或者你也可以同样停止它。今天你从我身上学到了一些东西。我希望你不会忘记它。

'不;我永远不会忘记我所受的教育。

“并不是说它对你有任何用处，”凯妮说。 “你永远不想让工厂运转。”

'也许不是；但我知道该怎么做，而且这很重要。不知道我是否想要它。

“这就像打拉车的主人一样简单，”凯尼说。

“现在，”凯尼停顿了一下后说道，“我这里的这匹马也有缰绳了。你看到那两根长杆了吗？两边各一根，直抵他的头？他们是缰绳；我和他们一起转动他的头，以便他可以迎风。这是我的主人唯一能走的路。现在来看看我住的地方。

她带路前往她的住所，那里位于机翼的范围之外。

“它虽小，但很舒适，”克伦哈普奇说。 “没有人能干涉我，因为沃尔夫在守卫。”但是，天哪，谁会来麻烦我呢？我没有钱。然而，在发生了这样的事情之后，人们确实会感到奇怪。”

'什么东西？'

'啊！我很奇怪你或任何人怎么能和他住在同一所房子里。

'和谁一起？'

'为什么，和基·荒地一起。虽然他是我叔叔，但我还是这么说。女孩的脸色沉了下来。 “他从来没有和我的母亲、他的妹妹说过话；他从来没有用他的金子帮助过她，他富有而我们贫穷。是委员们给了我们位置，而不是溺水叔叔。”

“委员们是谁？”

‘你真是个傻子，竟然不知道。每个在沼泽地拥有几英亩土地的人都是专员。专员负责管理排水并征收费用。他们有他们的帮派、他们的银行家、他们的磨坊主——我是他们的磨坊主之一。不，”凯妮激烈地说。 “这不用感谢基·荒地。”她抓住齐塔的肩膀，把嘴凑到耳边，低声说道：“是基叔叔杀了杰克·朗纳姆。”

齐塔退后一步，盯着她。

“我确信这一点，”凯妮说。 ”还有其他人也这么认为，但不敢说出来。但没有什么隐藏的事不会被揭露。总有一天，人们会公开说，并且所有人都知道，这是基·荒地干的。”

齐塔朝普里克威洛的方向走回去，心情沉重，心情不安。一些观察到的事件在她的记忆中浮现，并需要考虑——就像池子里凹陷的叶子在一段时间后会升起并浮在水面上一样。那些曾经被模糊地看到和很少被重视的事实，现在已经有了形状和意义。

她回忆起父亲去世当晚发生的事情，并以她在货车上摆放货物的方式，一丝不苟、精确地把它们按顺序排列起来。她记得她看到两个男人一个接一个地沿着河岸骑行，他们之间间隔了几分钟，当时他们经过了她和父亲乘坐的货车所在的地方。第一个骑手的脚边放着两个灯笼。她让他过去了，没有试图逮捕他。她现在认识的那个人就是希泽家·溺水之地。然后，过了几分钟，第二个骑手经过了，朝同一方向走去。他的左马镫上挂着一盏灯笼。她向他奔跑，她让他停滞不前，她请求他的帮助，却遭到拒绝。那个人就是耶利米·鲁纳姆。

齐塔接下来回忆起她在第二个骑手之后沿着河岸奔跑的每一个细节。她现在清楚地记得，她的面前有数道光芒闪烁，一簇光芒跳跃着落下，闪烁着，又消失了。她记不清有多少了。他们改变了位置，并不是一下子就全部可见。当时，她心烦意乱，没有数过。但她现在确信，她所看到的，以及在一个星座中看到的光，已经不止两个了。一颗星星代表朗纳姆。两颗星表示溺水之地。超过两个——这表明这些人在一起了。此外，她还听到喊叫声和哭声。当时，当她奔跑时，她以为这些是对她请求援助的回应；但事实并非如此。但当她到达溺水之地时，她在岸上遇到了唯一的男人，然后，正如她现在回忆的那样，他对她的出现感到惊讶，仿佛这完全出乎意料。因此，他无法回应她的呼喊。但第三道光在哪里呢？鲁纳姆现在怎么样了？

当她到达溺水之地时，看不到第三道光，而一分钟前，她面前肯定有两道以上的光。第二个骑手怎么样了？

当然，可以想象，当时第三盏灯已经熄灭，第二个骑手正沿着河岸朝着他想去的方向全力以赴。但当得知这名骑手已经死了，并被淹死在河里时，这样的解释就不再被接受了。当齐塔想到这个骑手，鲁纳姆，被发现在水中时，生命之光和他的灯笼都熄灭了，当她想起她在她所在的地方捡起了他随身携带的连枷时，想到了《溺水之地》，她似乎确信，如果不是他造成的，溺水之地一定目睹了朗纳姆的死亡。有可能，鲁纳姆从市场回来时喝得醉醺醺的，他可能把马催到一侧，以便超越前面的人，从而跳进河里；溺水之地很可能选择对此事保持沉默，以免他的任何承认都可能被解释为导致对手死亡的指控。

当齐塔到达堤岸时，她的脑海里不断地想着这些想法。她开始沿着它走。她有信心能够修复掉入水中的地方，而那地方距离她找到溺水之地的地方只有一百步左右。她记得曾在水中观察过一根柱子，柱子上有一个榫眼，就像一只眼睛，柱子的头部凹凸不平，一度让她以为那是一张人脸。

正如已经说过的，有足够的霜冻使泥土硬化成岩石。扭打的痕迹——如果发生过扭打的话——对于知道去哪里寻找它们的眼睛来说仍然可以辨认出来。

齐塔迈着敏捷的脚步、忙碌的大脑和颤动的心走向货车在泥泞中被拦住的地方，她决定沿着那个多事之夜沿着河岸走的路线。这次她小心翼翼地走到刚才跑的地方，过了一会儿，就来到了根据她的计算，她滑进运河的地方。在那里，她发现她抓住的那根柱子立在水面上，靠近岸边，柱子上有一个榫眼，看起来很像人的眼睛。这是她遇到的唯一的那种柱子，距离她抓住溺水之地的脚、抱住他、听到他因她的触摸而尖叫的地方不到一百码。

此时，距离有洞的柱子几百码远，她小心翼翼地探索着土壤。堤坝顶部有凹凸不平的蹄痕，但这可能是帮派的马匹在堤坝上不断赶来赶去的。但有件事让女孩感到满意，因为在这个地方发生了一场斗争，因为在路堤的陆地一侧，草丛和粘土块被撕掉并扔进了马群，而在水一侧，蹄子——油腻的泥灰岩上的痕迹和滑梯被霜封住了，作为一匹马掉进水里的证据。这些没有被其他人观察到，因为除了齐塔之外没有人知道在哪里可以找到它们，尽管在寻找时足够明显，但它们并不明显。

齐塔不仅有一个井然有序的头脑，而且她能够珍视摆在她面前的任何事实的真正价值。

现在，当她离开河流朝普里克威洛走去时，她意识到有强有力的推定证据表明溺水之地曾与他的敌人发生过争斗，而且他知道朗纳姆是如何死去的，即使他是绝对不是他的凶手。

当齐塔走进屋子时，她听到主人愤怒的声音。他正在向管家图基斯夫人讲话。

“这都是无聊的借口——你不想惹麻烦。我知道你的方式。

“我没有针可以穿过它，”李哈娜回答。

然后溺水之地从厨房里出来了。他手中挥舞着通常在寒冷或潮湿的天气里挂在肩上的虎皮。他的目光落在齐塔身上，脸色立刻亮了起来。

“看这里，你这个小气的杰克女孩，”他说。 “两个仆人都是游手好闲的混蛋。我想要 Leehanna Tunkiss 来修复我的皮肤。我把它撕了。几根线就足够了，她声称她没有可以穿过皮革的针。这都是懒惰和借口。

“我会做到的，”齐塔说。 “我们有各种尺寸和种类的针库存——适合鞋匠、裁缝等。”

她从他手中夺走了虎皮。

“那是我的大衣——白天是我的斗篷，晚上是我的地毯和被单，”淹地说道。 “我没穿别的衣服。我们生于沼泽，长于沼泽，人们很高兴地称他们为“沼泽虎”。这就是我得到这款皮肤的原因。十、十五年前，它在伊利出售，我买它是出于看中，并且开始认为我离不开它。人们现在已经通过它认识了我，并称我为火虎王。你能修好吗？

齐塔把皮肤翻转过来，说道：“它被用了扳手——非常厉害。”

“嗯，确实如此，而且还有裂缝。”如果现在不团结起来，情况会变得更糟。我不想穿破烂的衣服，我也不会，更重要的是——尽管李哈娜会拥有我，为了省事。找借口比用针穿线更容易。”

“我会做到的，”齐塔说。 “但是你必须允许我把它带到我的房间，这样我才能找到合适的针和粗线。”

“是的，拿着吧，”淹地说，他的眉毛皱在一起，眼睛从下面盯着她。 “是的，栗色头发！你可以做一切。在你的商店里，除了借口之外，你什么都保留。

“我们不能卖掉它们，”齐塔说。

“李哈娜为我服务都是有借口的，”他回答道，并愤怒地斜视着他的管家，管家嘀咕着退进了厨房。

然后Drownlands出去了，Zita回到自己的房间去完成她所承担的任务。当她翻转兽皮时，她惊讶地发现它所提供的证据表明它曾被猛烈的暴力扭动和扭曲。这把扳手不是普通的扳手，是通过卡住钉子或门上的皮肤而制成的。兽皮有一处因受力而变形；不仅如此，而且还被扭曲了。再一次，经过仔细观察，发现一些毛发似乎被连根拔掉，从而暴露了裸露的皮革。

当齐塔进行修复工作时，她忙碌的大脑全神贯注于这种张力和租金的原因：它们是如何产生的，为什么张力如此过度。

溺水之地并没有在公平的日子骑行到伊利，他的皮肤被撕破了，她确信他要求现在修补它；然而，如果在比赛之前它就处于这种状态，他会要求在骑马进入伊利之前将其修复。溺水之地的着装很古怪，但他对衣服的整洁也很挑剔。虎皮上的伤一定是从俗丽集市那天就造成的。齐塔突然丢下针和麻线，站了起来，离开了自己的房间，来到了溺水之地用作他办公室的地方，也就是他在给她看钱时带她进去的公寓。

当她正要离开他的农场并将其归还给马克·朗纳姆时，他把从她手中夺走的连枷扔到了这个房间的角落里。她在银行捡到的连枷是老鲁纳姆用几尼从她那里买来的。

齐塔知道溺水之地已经出局了，她看到他去了院子对面的马厩。他还没有回来。从那以后，她再也没有听到过他的声音，也没有踏进过房子。她闯进办公室是有道理的，因为主人吩咐她帮他保持整洁。李汉娜·图基斯没有理睬它，理由是她担心弄乱他的文件和书籍。齐塔知道两把连枷都在这个房间里；溺水之地买的那个被挂在钉子上，另一个则在他投掷它的角落里。

齐塔拿起两连枷并检查它们。她看到它们受到了粗暴的使用。两者的木头都被碰伤了。当他们在俗丽博览会的下午离开她的手时，情况并非如此。挡板上有凹痕，其中一个的“手铐”上有一道深深的瘀伤。两人都被派去罢工，并且互相发生冲突。

齐塔把溺水之地的连枷重新装在钉子上，她是从钉子上解开它的，然后又仔细看了看那本来属于鲁纳姆的东西。

她现在观察到，将挡板固定在手扣上的皮条被扭曲、拉伸和拉紧，扭曲中有一簇毛发，与虎皮的毛发完全相同。

她取下了一些头发，把它带到了她的房间，并将其与皮革上仍然存在的头发进行了比较。毫无疑问，这两个人之间发生了一场斗争，他们用连枷打斗，在比赛过程中，朗纳姆的连枷缠在了溺水之地所穿的兽皮中，而连枷已经扭曲，因此拉伤并撕裂了皮肤。

在这种情况下，溺水之地肯定知道他的对手的死，并且参与其中。

齐塔知道得够多了，一想到自己正在享受凶手的款待，她就不寒而栗。

'嗨！廉价的杰克女孩！

齐塔出去享受着清新、寒冷的空气，冰冻的土壤在冬日的阳光下闪闪发光。

十一月的霜冻仍在继续，运河和河流以及堤坝和排水沟都结冰了。上帝的犁在土壤里——这是乡下人在霜冻深入大地时所说的。上帝的犁所到过的地方，就会有金色的收成，使各种条件的人们都感到高兴，而金色的收成会变成农民口袋里的金属黄金。

每个芬恩男人、女人和孩子都会滑冰。一旦孩子找到了自己的腿，他就会尝试滑行，当他可以滑行时，他就会尝试滑冰。芬式滑冰是不优雅的。只考虑速度，腿和手臂向各个方向飞来飞去。沼泽人轻蔑地注视着冰上这位优雅绅士的身影。

冬天，滑冰比赛和其他地方的足球比赛一样密集。教区与教区、沼泽与沼泽、小岛与小岛竞争；甚至一家酒馆的常客也会与另一家酒馆的常客进行匹配。

在严霜期间，沼泽地的运动第一次变得轻松快捷。男人和女人滑冰去市场，孩子们去学校，走私者从金斯林经营他们的货物。

齐塔去河边看到了对她来说很新奇的景象。当她站着看着滑冰者时，马克·朗纳姆来到了岸边，他的脸颊闪闪发亮，金色的头发披散在耳边，他的眼睛闪闪发光，仿佛里面有霜晶。

“我说，小气杰克，快点来吧。”溜冰鞋被称为 冰鞋 在沼泽地。

“如果你指的是溜冰鞋，我没有。”此外，我不知道如何使用它们。

“没有帕丁斯吗？”不知道如何使用它们？然后乘坐我的雪橇。我会带你一起去的在这里呆几分钟，直到我把它带来。

他走了，像一只燕子一样顺河而下，十分钟后他又回来了，拖着一个小雪橇，在齐塔前面的云雀冰冻的水面上保持航线。

“这很有趣，”他说，声音和笑容一样愉快。 “我会带你去你想去的地方；如果你愿意的话，可以去罗索尔皮茨——去利特波特——去海边——去剑桥——去世界的尽头——任何你想去的地方。

“只带我走一小段路。”

“然后坐在雪橇上。我们将如风般前行。

齐塔沿着河岸走下冰面。

'看！'他说； “你看到我的雪橇是怎么做的吗？它安装在马的腿骨上。它以优质的风格运行在它们身上。它们像钢一样耐磨，并且滑动得更好。

齐塔脸上洋溢着幸福的光芒，坐进了小雪橇。

然后伴随着一声快乐的“哎呀！”他出发，顺河而下。风吹在齐塔的脸上，锋利而清新，把血吹到了她的脸颊上。

他们经过了许多“帕蒂纳”，男人和男孩。外面很少有女人。后来，当太阳落山时，他们会沿着结冰的地面滑行到小酒馆。酒馆是沼泽地里比其他地方更常光顾的机构，而且毫无顾忌地经常光顾，不仅有男人，也有女人。有一个原因。汾水是不能饮用的。沼泽地里没有泉水。那些住在河边的人，他们的茶水就是从这里取来的。河水煮沸后可饮用且无害，但从泥炭中提取的水则不然。因此，沼泽地的居民被迫喝水以外的东西，并本能地在酒馆里寻找其他东西。当女人一天的工作结束后，她会穿上衣服，去“鱼和鸭”、“铲子和贝克特”、“梭子鱼和鳗鱼”或“莎草捆”，以润湿她的灰尘。 -干粘土。

当齐塔沿着冰面飞行时，她开心地笑了。她从来没有走得这么快过。她惯常的步伐就像蜗牛一样，因为她是在一辆满载重物的货车上前进的，一匹沮丧而麻木的马拉着她。她被旋转经过一个主泵，用于将装载的水倒入河中，在她想到这可能之前，她已经过了第二个。正如马克告诉她的那样，这些引擎相距两英里。朱厄尔的旅行方式与马克非常不同。沿着他习惯的最平坦、最平坦的道路爬行，然后在脉搏跳动、汗流浃背之后，低着头站着，让自己恢复活力。然后，没有什么会促使他继续前进，直到他觉得自己精神焕发，然后他会跌跌撞撞地继续前进几英里，然后再次停下来。但马克飞快地飞翔，仿佛他永远不会感到疲惫，也没有让他停下来。

在多次尝试逮捕他但徒劳后，齐塔成功了。他站在她的雪橇旁边，脸上挂着笑容，鼻孔里冒着蒸汽。

“你不能走得太远，”齐塔说。 “我们已经从 Prickwillow 走了很长一段路了。”

'什么！你累了吗？你没有在草图上跳舞吗？

“我不明白你的意思。”

“草图”？——这个词是否像帕廷斯一样让你感到困惑？它们就是一些民间所说的高跷。我可以像起重机一样在它们上面奔跑。但草图很麻烦，而且，当沼泽柔软时，很快就会感到厌倦。”

“我们现在就回去吧。”

'确实不。你没有什么可以给你回电话的。那个溺水之地的家伙，老恶棍，——请原谅，——我想，他不会生你的气，打你吧？

'他不在家。他今天出国了。

'那就一起来吧。我们将访问纽波特。

“请不要带我走得太远。”

'为什么不？你不喜欢跑步吗？

'我喜欢它。'

'然后我们就走吧。有我当马，你就不怕旅行吗？

她直视着他明亮而诚实的脸，笑了。 “不——你太优秀了，没有人会害怕你。”

'你怎么知道？'

“你的眼睛里充满了诚实，你的额头上写着‘好孩子’。”

“我该跑了，”马克笑着说，“不然我的头就会转过来。”

他全身心地投入到工作中，从一边蹦到另一边，把小雪橇左右摇摆，轻松愉快地嬉戏，然后他就出发了，载着齐塔的雪橇沿着运河笔直行驶。

沼泽地的平坦、单调、缺乏无拘无束的自然环境、该地区没有树木、缺乏任何可以阻止变幻的光线和掠过的阴影的东西，这些结合在一起，使这个地区成为一个让人们心生寒意的地区。游客。它像大海一样平坦，缺乏色彩的多样性和汹涌或玻璃般的美感。然而，沼泽对心灵有一种魅力，并用咒语牢牢地抓住当地人的心。他不能住在其他地方。他不会移民。他觉得自己注定要在沼泽地里度过一生。只有当生命的火花熄灭时，他的身体才会离开草皮，安息在小岛墓地的粘土中。农民和地主热爱沼泽并不奇怪，因为这里的土壤肥沃，而且他们可以从中获利。但为什么劳动者要紧贴松软的草皮，却没有那么解释清楚。他可能会不满，并且会发牢骚，但他对自己的命运不满，嫉妒沼泽地的酒馆老板或走私者，抱怨他的工作辛苦或工资低下；他对自己的命运感到不满。但他并不因为沼泽如此平坦而感到不满，他也没有反对它的丑陋，或者至少是它的整齐划一。

沼泽地的劳动者不考虑离开的原因之一可能是，他在那里使用的工具与其他地方使用的工具不同，他必须重新学习自己的手艺，使用不熟悉的工具，并且在使用它们时笨拙地受到嘲笑。 。奇怪的是，但事实是，那些居住在山区的人比居住在平地的人更自然地倾向于离开家园。

马克要走多远？齐塔如何一闪而过风车，其中一些风车还在转动！出现了一点高地，上面簇拥着一些树木——那一定是利特尔波特。

“马克，”齐塔突然说道，“我想问你一个问题。”

“说吧，”他说，然后放松了旋转她的速度，最后停了下来。她是多么美丽啊，容光焕发的脸颊，樱桃般的嘴唇，冬日阳光照在她柔和的淡褐色眼睛里，还有她浓密、光泽的栗色头发！那头发现在多么漂亮，有些混乱，蓬松得乱七八糟，古铜色的发丝长在她的额头上，一根发丝垂到脸颊上！她那被风吹得乱七八糟的野性使她比以往任何时候都更加迷人。

马克用一双看不厌的眼睛看着。

但令他震惊的不仅仅是她的美貌。那是一种旺盛的幸福感，似乎从她的眼睛里迸发出来，从她的小脑袋里流淌到每一根闪亮的头发中，在那些明亮的脸颊上发光，在那些康乃馨红色的嘴唇上燃烧。

“嗯，我亲爱的小齐塔，这是什么？”

“马克，这是我一直在思考和困惑的事情。现在谈论这件事似乎很奇怪——现在我如此快乐——而且它与对我和你来说如此悲伤的事情联系在一起。

“可是，小坏蛋，这是什么？”

“马克，你父亲和我父亲去世的那个可怕的夜晚”——。她停了下来。

“怎么样，齐塔？”

“然后——我是说，在他去世之前——在我亲爱的爸爸去世之前，我不能说是在你的爸爸被淹死之前还是之后——我听到了如此奇怪、如此可怕的声音。”

'在哪里？'

'在天空中——上面；像狗的叫声。就好像一个猎人带着他的狼群经过。我要告诉你我的想法吗？就好像狗闻到了狐狸的味道，并伸出了舌头。这不可怕吗？我什么也看不见；我能听到——仅此而已。

“我不这么认为，”马克说。 “我知道我们沼泽人说这是魔鬼在追赶人类的灵魂。他们把它从无底坑里吸了出来，然后伟大的灵魂猎手打开了狗舍的门，他们冲了出去，尖叫着，喘着粗气，气喘吁吁地追赶着它。

“哦，马克！”

但如果灵魂非常敏捷，它就会跑在它们前面，乘风而行，快如箭，溜进天堂之门，然后邪灵就会在外面尖叫、咆哮和吠叫。但这全是胡言乱语。我相信这声音来自大雁。

“我永远都会想到这一点。哦，我希望我再也不会听到那种可怕的声音了。我亲爱的父亲——不——他一定会逃离那些猎犬的。他们永远不会抓住他。金门将为他打开，狗将被关在门外。他是那么的温柔，那么的善良，那么的真诚。哦，我非常爱他！于是，那张阳光明媚的小脸上失去了光彩，沾满了泪水。

'把这一切都放在一边。别再想了。

“当我听到他们的声音时，他们正在全力追击。”

'鹅们？如果你想得更多，你就太傻了。

“马克，愿我再也听不到那个声音！”

“或者，如果你愿意，齐塔，我可以在你身边，一笑消除你的恐惧吗？”不，不要笑——把它们吻走，就像我现在做的那样。

'标记！你 ，那恭喜你， 一个顽皮的男孩！我没想到你。

玫瑰花又回来了，光彩也回来了，而且一侧脸颊比另一侧脸颊更深。

“继续走吧，别打扰我，”齐塔说。

然后，年轻人又踩着溜冰鞋，驾着雪橇全速前进。他的脸颊上流露出一种超越健康的光芒——不仅仅是清新的风所产生的反应。

“这是一个笑话！”马克停下来喊道。 “我看到比米什的工厂周围围满了人。”

他又继续说下去。齐塔顺着他指的方向望去，发现已经聚集了相当多的人，有的在岸边，有的在冰面上，还有风车的砖砌平台上能容纳的人。

马克没有停下来，说道：“由于霜冻，船桨无法划动，但皮普·比米什的舌头会摆动，而它摆动的时候是为了恶作剧。”他是一个不安分、不满的流氓。我们去听听他要说什么。

当马克到达聚集在磨坊周围的人群的外圈时，他停住了雪橇。

那天是周日，所以没有做任何工作。到处都是闲人，尤其是在冰面上。如今，沼泽地区很少有人去教堂，而以前则没有。教堂很少而且相隔很远。在中世纪，伊利的僧侣们在每个比湖高出几英尺的小岛上都设有教堂，他们从一个小岛划船到另一个小岛，聚集在周围的沼泽水生居民进行神圣服务和道德教育。随着宗教改革，这些教堂被毁掉了，对沼泽居民灵魂的照顾也停止了。大教堂的教士们既富有又游手好闲，他们昏昏欲睡、停滞不前的良心从来没有想到，他们有义务对他们从中获取收入的地区的居民履行职责。

当沼泽干涸，定居者占领了干涸的土地时，教区神职人员就无法应对事态的变化。道路无法通行，距离遥远，他们的收入并没有随着广大教区土地价值的变化而增加。因此，沼泽民开始很少考虑他们的宗教义务。教堂的塔楼可以作为地标，但教堂牧师并不是精神向导。唯一受到两栖人口欢迎的宗教形式是再洗礼派，这主要是因为它由沼水中的优质汤组成。一些严厉的人定居在该教派中，但大多数当地人在成长和生活中根本没有任何宗教信仰。或者，如果他们自称是基督徒，他们就会小心翼翼地不让它以任何方式干扰他们的利益或快乐。

磨坊周围聚集着劳动者和他们的妻子。有些人穿着周日的衣服，但其他人则没有费力去“清洁”自己。这些人就是这样的人，他们在假期里闲逛，口袋里装着弹簧和网，左袖上插着枪管。

磨坊附近摆着一张凳子，凳子上站着一个年轻人，高颧骨，长发乌黑，浓密的眉毛下，一双眼睛闪闪发亮。他的手臂异常修长，手臂末端有一双异常宽阔、平坦的手。他因这些而蓬勃发展。他将肘部向两侧收拢，突然伸出双臂并伸出手指，以强调恳求。他背对着用木板建造的磨坊，他所说的话在很远的地方都能听到。这些板充当混响器。

“我说这是一种罪过，”演说家喊道。 “这里的农民把土地变成了玉米，把玉米变成了金几尼，而帮助他们做这件事的人却没有得到足够的报酬来维持身体和灵魂。不久前四分之一的小麦是多少？这是一百二十先令六便士。现在是九十六先令。工资是多少？七到十先令。七先令和九十六先令有什么区别？八十九，不是吗？这些钱都进了农民的口袋。谁做所有的工作？而所有的收益都归谁所有呢？看看每个堆场，看看有什么小麦可以给老鼠吃，——它们并不吝惜，让它们吃——但你和你的孩子一定会挨饿。为什么这些堆栈没有被脱粒？因为农民们正在等待小麦价格再次涨到一百二十六先令。你可能会饿死——这对他们来说不算什么。你的孩子可能会裸奔——这对他们来说没什么。你可能喝芬水，因为你没有两便士买半品脱啤酒——这对他们来说不算什么。在这么冷的天气里，你可能没有毯子可以盖在床上——他们不在乎。你的婴儿床的墙壁可能布满了裂缝，风呼啸着穿过它们——他们不在乎。你的手犁过犁，你的手播种过玉米，你的妻子和孩子锄了三遍，你收割了它，你堆放了它——那就代表老鼠吃，直到价格上涨到一百二十六先令。九十六对他们来说还不够好——这些吸血鬼——而你却满足于让事情保持这样。我坚持的是，你有权对农民说：“趁我们饿了，现在就去打谷吧；我们饿了，就去打谷吧！”即使现在对我们来说价格也太高了，为什么对我们来说悲伤的日子对你来说就是黄金日子呢？”

他的讲话赢得了热烈的掌声。

马克转向齐塔，低声说道：“他有点赶时髦。”明天我就开始工作并打谷。我会让我农场里的工人得到这百分之十的玉米。根据市场价格。我不能表现得比这更公平了。

“磨坊主们怎么样了？”演说家追问。 “你送给他们磨碎的每一袋玉米，他们不会都吃掉吗？”他们的猪和牛不是靠磨坊主的拳头从你的面粉中打出的东西来养肥的吗？好像你被农民欺骗还不够，你还必须被磨坊主欺骗一样。遭受各种掠夺，四面楚歌，被所有人践踏——这就是你的命运。

他的话赢得了掌声。

“我们一直抱有希望，但我们却感到失望。议会给我们带来什么好处？一个都没有。我们能从法律中得到什么帮助？法律是为了农民的利益而制定的，而不是为了穷人。治安法官——治安法官对我们有什么好处？他们被任命来压制我们、罚款和监禁我们。他们是农民的朋友，而不是穷人的朋友。我们被告知老骨头是我们国家的敌人。人们被召唤离开犁地，离开他们的妻子和孩子，去为国王服务，对抗这个波拿巴。爱国主义是什么意思？它意味着爱我们遭受虐待和饥饿的国家，爱从不关心我们的国王，爱压迫我们的法律，爱监禁我们的地方官，爱那些从我们骨头里吸取骨髓的农民。我不是爱国者。就像要求一个可怜的囚犯热爱他的监狱一样，为保卫监狱而流血。我来告诉你这是什么，朋友们，自助者天堂。等待不会给我们带来任何好处。只要我们袖手旁观，上天就会保持沉默，但当我们自己动手时，上天就会发出闪电和冰雹。基遍打仗的日子就是这样。然后耶和华从天上把大石头扔到压迫以色列的人身上，使太阳和月亮静止不动，直到他们被切成碎片，打碎臀部和大腿。如果约书亚和以色列没有武装起来去战斗——纠正自己的错误，那么大石头就会留在云中，太阳和月亮也会按照平常的路线运行。再次如此，曾经如此，直到最后也如此。我们必须举起手来战斗，举起手来对抗压迫者，否则上天不会帮助我们。如果你仍然抱有希望而无所作为，那么，正如我之前所说的那样——被践踏成泥——那就是你的命运。

“挨打、被开除——这就是为你准备的，你这个流氓！”一个威严的声音喊道。

齐塔和马克环顾四周，看到身后骑马的溺水之地。

“我会照顾你的，皮普·比米什，就像我是专员一样，”普里克威洛的主人继续说道。 “你不适合照料一家磨坊，因为你可能会绊倒它并煽动怨恨。我将在下次委员会会议上报告你所说的话，并让你随波逐流。然后，溺水者转向观众，挥舞着鞭子，喊道：“至于其他人，立即散开，否则我就骑在你们中间，用我的鞭子抽打你们，然后把你们送回家。”

人群分成了几团，然后又进一步散开。

“我会知道你的名字，然后确保你被解雇。”赶紧回家吧，趁着鞭子还没打到你的屁股上。”

那人傲慢而居高临下的语气，以及知道他已经准备好执行威胁的人，似乎让那些犹豫不决的人认为勇敢的最大部分是谨慎，于是他们四散奔逃。

溺水之地在他的马镫上直立着，环顾四周，标记着那些似乎不愿服从他命令的人。然后他的目光落在齐塔身上。他的脸色立刻就变了。

'你在这里？'

“马克用他的雪橇把我追上来。”

'标记？标记？什么马克？没有经过我的允许，你怎么敢来这里？

'我不是你的仆人。我不是你的囚犯。我去我选择的地方。我会做我想做的事，”齐塔回答道，对他的语气很恼火。

“你好！”溺水之地嘲笑道。 '什么！以法莲·比米什的疯狂愚蠢行为感染了你的小脑袋吗？

“我的大脑足够健全。是你，溺水大师，忘记了你的位置是什么，以及我的位置。你不是我的主人。我不是你的仆人。我付钱。我只是 Prickwillow 的房客，仅此而已。如果我愿意和马克一起去冰上跑步，我也不会闲着。我已经在你家里完成了我的工作，可以随心所欲地享受生活了。

“别跟我胡言乱语。”

“和他争论是没有用的，”年轻的自耕农低声说道。 “当他的行为和言论不合理时，他正沉浸在自己的激情之中。别理他。

‘你们在窃窃私语什么？嘲笑我？溺水之地咆哮道。

“来吧，小气杰克，”马克说，“再跳上雪橇吧！”还有你，溺水大师，”他笑着看着骑手，“让我们比赛吧——你在河岸上，我在运河上——而奖品是齐塔。”

齐塔（ZITA）早在大师之前就回到了普里克威洛（Prickwillow）。

她期待着与他的一场戏，并做好了准备。他习惯于在家里和农场里专横跋扈，而她刚刚亲眼目睹了他如何专横跋扈，并将自己的意志强加于一群不服从他的男人身上。

她意识到他逐渐对自己呈现出一种权威的气息，但迄今为止他还没有用如此明显的独裁语气来激起反抗。然而，她意识到必须就她的立场和他们的相互关系达成某种谅解的时刻即将到来。她不是家里的女仆，不能受人命令，也不能限制自由。她接受了他的款待，但没有为他服务。

齐塔清楚地意识到，房子里和农场里的每一个人——太太。图基斯、浑身颤抖的女佣、牛群、工人、马童——所有人都对他充满敬畏。管家在他的训斥下就像一只羔羊。圣维特舞蹈中对女孩说的一句话让她抽搐起来。向这些人发出的命令激发了他们瞬间的敏捷性，让男孩像跳蚤一样跳跃。齐塔鄙视他们的卑躬屈膝。她并不害怕溺水之地。她知道，关于他，这足以让他在她面前颤抖。

齐塔已经习惯了面对形形色色的男人。她的父亲挡在她和粗俗的侮辱之间，但她不得不面对粗鲁、喧闹的男人，并倾向于利用她的弱点，并已做好应对他们的准备，并且有勇气不表现出胆怯。

当她看到那些受到溺水之地威胁的人们的畏缩和畏缩时，她摇摇头，表现出不耐烦的样子。

溺水之地注意到了这一点，齐塔也从他变黑的眉毛中看出了这一点，他对这种轻蔑的举动感到惊讶和冒犯。距离他与她较量的时刻已经不远了。

“越快越好，”齐塔自言自语道。当他骑着马沿着车道走时，她没有避开他，而是穿过院子去迎接他。她拉住他的马缰绳，说道：“我会牵着他去马厩；”男人们在教堂或啤酒屋，男孩则和奶牛在一起。”

“这样做不会讨好你，”溺水之地说道。

‘讨好？我什么也不咖喱。亲自给你的马梳毛！

“我想和你说句话，小气杰克。”

“我和你在一起，火虎——我们必须达成协议。”

'条款？什么条件？

“我的住宿价格。”

'我不理解你。'

“我有一个大铜加热锅，”齐塔说，“盖子上画着乔治和龙。一个尤物。我已经计算过我吃了什么肉，喝了多少酒，以及刀子、亚麻布、盘子等的磨损情况，我想铜暖锅可以涵盖所有这些。

溺水之地从马背上跳了下来。

他盯着齐塔。他根本没有领会她的意思。

“如果你不喜欢暖锅，”她说，“那么这里有六件红色毛绒短裙，上面有镀金纽扣和狗头——你不能穿六件，但可以选择我会用刷子、淀粉和蓝色来弥补。我认为虎皮和里面的红色短裙，还有像现在这样打成一个结的浓密眉毛，会让你的身材让婴儿和女孩感到不舒服。

'你在嘲笑我！你敢这么做吗？

“我不是在嘲笑你，虽然我并不是说当你像公牛一样跺脚、吼叫时，我不愿意在你面前甩动红色的湿裙——你知道，是为了好玩。”我喜欢热闹，但我不是在嘲笑你。我非常感谢你接受我这样做。

“我会把你——你和你的货车——赶到冬天的霜冻里。”

'什么时候？明天？我准备走了。'

“你不许走！”溺水之地惊呼道，绕过马头来到她身边，抓住她的手腕。 ‘你不许走；我知道你为什么要离开我。我知道你想去哪里。

“去哪儿？”

“去克拉姆兰德。”

“我没有被邀请去那里；但如果你把我赶出去，我就会在某个地方安顿下来。磨坊里有个女孩凯纳普奇。她肯定会娶我，我也会付钱给她；没有暖锅那么高，但有醋栗、无花果和一卷印花布。住宿条件不会像你们那么好，饮食也不会那么宽松。”

“你也一定认识她吧？”

'是。'

“马克·朗纳姆呢？”

'是的;他一定认识我。就是这样说的。

“你决心在我不赞成的地方——在我的敌人中——寻找朋友吗？”

“我什么都不知道，也不在乎你们的争吵。这两个人我都认识，他们是沼泽地里我唯一关心的人”——

“哦，你只关心他们。”

“普里克威洛外面。我话还没说完，你就打断了我的话。这是不礼貌的行为。如果我们有库存礼仪，我会卖给你一便士。

“啊，”溺水之地说道，暂时放松了他的铁拳，“你能向我表达一下你的敬意吗？”

“我总是关心每一个对我友善的人，你对我和我可怜的父亲都很好。”一提到她的父亲，齐塔的嘴唇和声音都在颤抖，眼里充满了泪水。 ‘你对他很好。我不会忘记这一点，只要我有你喜欢的东西，我都会付钱给你。你对烟熏珍珠母纽扣有何看法？

“你能安静点吗？”溺水之地咆哮着，并发誓道。

“或者，”齐塔继续说道，“有几磅强力鱼胶。它在货车里变软并发霉了，但我在厨房把它弄干并擦掉了霉菌。现在一切都好了；力量并没有被剥夺。在伊利，每磅的花费是一先令，但当我向你提供时，我会减少两便士。你将以每磅十便士的价格得到它——所以你知道我确实关心你，一先令两便士。

溺水之地的脸色阴沉下来；他按住女孩的手腕，让她发出痛苦的叫声。

“你伤害了我，”她说； “那是你账户上的东西。”

“你在跟我开玩笑！”男人喘着气说。 ” “你还敢这么做？你不害怕吗？

“我应该害怕什么？”

“我会伤害你——比咬你的手腕更严重。”

“我可以保护自己，”她回答道。 'I 害怕 您？不;我们第一次见面的那天晚上，当我在河岸上碰触你时，你像个女人一样颤抖着尖叫。这是 您 谁有理由害怕 me“。

他的脸色全变了。

“不，我不怕你，”齐塔继续说道。 “我记得，当你想要继续前行时，我拦住了你的路，把你带到我想让你去的地方——用连枷把你赶走。”

他松开了她的手臂。她感觉他的手在颤抖。他知道它在震动，他担心她会看到它。

他低着头，沉默地走向马厩。齐塔紧随其后。她已经取得了先发优势。她先一步阻止了他的攻击，现在他不但没有被她吓倒，反而被她制服了。

当他们都在马厩里时——因为她跟着他是为了向他展示她是多么不害怕——然后他用一种不同的语气对她说话。

“你不打算离开我吗？”

'不;如果你希望我留下来，我就会留下来。

'我确实渴望它。我无法忍受你的离开。

'是的；但你为什么要威胁我？我会留下来。我不能把老朱厄尔放进风车里，而且马克·朗纳姆也没有邀请我去克鲁姆兰。”

他不耐烦地跺着脚，咬紧牙关。

“你为什么又提起他？”

“在这里，在货车里，在国王的宫殿里，除了监狱以外的任何地方，言论都是自由的。我会在任何时间、在任何人之前、在任何我喜欢的地方谈论我选择的任何人。

“你今天为什么和他一起去？”

“因为我可以自由地去我选择的地方，和我选择的人一起。今天是周日，也是假期。”

'是的;但如果你还尊重我，就别跟他走。”他长长地吸了一口气，摘下宽边帽，又戴上。 “你为什么要对我说要为我为你做的这些小事付出代价呢？”是用暖锅、红背心和鱼胶来支付的吗？

“我很高兴我们又回到了这一点，”齐塔说，“因为我必须谈论这一点。不能指望任何人会无缘无故地做一件事。如果你安置我和朱厄尔，并养活我们俩”——

“你已经工作了——你所做的事情比李汉娜女士和那个女孩在二十年内所做的还要多。”

'我已经考虑到了这一点。我知道我在五便士三法新（包括针和线）上工作了多少小时。然而，天平对我不利。有加热盘，或硬刷，或鱼胶”——

他用拳头敲击马厩的门，以淹没她的话。

齐塔把手放在他的手臂上。

“你装傻是没有好处的，”她说。 '正确的就是正确的。如果账户不平衡，我的内心就不应该感到平静。我亲爱的父亲在这一点上非常挑剔。每天晚上，我们都像任何银行家一样真实地平衡我们的账户，用一根铅笔残端，他吮吸着。如果我不保持平衡，我就睡不着。我会把我为你设置的一些密码记入我的帐户，这一切都是因为你给我的手腕的挤压。如果我明天离开你的家，溺水大师，你会在我房间的架子上发现一排我认为应该属于你的物品，用来平衡我们的账户。

他没有回答。他把马塞进马厩，并在马头上套上缰绳。

然后齐塔走到玉米箱前，拿出了饲料。马闻燕麦时发出嘶鸣声。溺水之地正在马厩里拉紧缰绳末端的结。当齐塔转身离开时，他把燕麦扔进了马槽，他跟着她出来，抓住了米量的一侧，说道——

'你要去吗？'

'是的。我已经喂过佩珀了。

他摇晃着量尺，用愤怒沮丧的语气说道：“你不会咬一口我的面包，也不会躺在我的羊毛上，也不会用我屋顶的一块瓦片盖住你的金头，但你必须称量。”每一个都奖励并支付给我它的价值，毫发无伤。

“不完全是这样；”当然，我留有余量。

“什么余量？”

“利润！”

'给谁？'

“当然是对我自己。我们决不能在没有利润的世界里生存。当我们像你我一样在朋友之间进行交易时，利润是合理的。但当涉及到公众时——那位父亲总是称其为“傻瓜将军”——那么你就要把它放在厚重的位置上。正如父亲所说，没有某种利润，一个人就无法安然入睡。但与蠢驴将军打交道是一回事，与朋友打交道又是另一回事。我希望你明白我们处理问题的基础是后者。

“那么——买卖的基础是什么？”

'是的。我拿走我的微薄利润。当裁缝为你做连衣裙时，她会向你收取一包针的费用，然后使用一根针——剩下的就是利润。她向你收取一结胶带的费用，并使用两码半——剩下的就是利润。她剪出了八码的衬里，放了十二码——四码是利润；她会在你的脖子和袖口上加一些褶边，收费三码，然后她用了一个——又有利可图了。我也对你做同样的事。如果我不这样做我就睡不着。对我来说，这就是羽毛床、枕头和靠垫——利润。”

'你想拿什么就拿什么吧。随你喜欢。

“不，”齐塔说。 “我们之间的公平贸易。我们像朋友一样相处。我非常尊重和尊重你，不会像对待傻瓜将军一样对待你。

然后她把空的米量留在他手里，走开了，肩膀一摇，头一摇，脚步充满弹性，这是胜利者的风格，而不是失败者的风格。溺水之地站着看着她，手里拿着空的米量器，他自己都觉得奇怪，自己在每一点上都被这个女孩打败了——他愤怒地飞奔回家，决心让她屈服于他的意志。 。

一阵风吹过沼泽，就像一声长长的叹息。所有听到的人都默默地听着。这句话被重复了一遍，然后普遍的评论是：“滑冰结束了。”

该评论也没有被该事件篡改。风突然毫无预兆地转向西南方向。风吹了一整夜，温暖的雨打在面向那个区域的窗户上。木头和墙壁上都沾满了露水。河里的冰融化了，堤坝里的冰也融化了。磨坊的风帆又开始转动，它们快乐地、快乐地旋转。

齐塔来到堤岸上，看到碎冰沿着缓慢的河流漂流，它们是被风而不是水流冲走的。在那里她遇到了马克·鲁纳姆。

“什么，你在这儿吗，廉价杰基？不行，挂吧！我不会那样称呼你。看起来很无礼；但你可以肯定，我不是这个意思。

“我知道这一点，而且我并不生气。”

“你的名字——我不断地忘记了。”

“齐塔。”

“这个名字有点奇怪。”

“你很少能遇到廉价杰克女孩。它们并不像公寓里的风车那样厚重。所以我很适合取一个奇怪的名字。”

“一个奇怪的名字就会变成一个奇怪的女孩。”

'谢谢。我有东西给你——半磅鸟眼。

'做什么的？'

“作为我在冰上跑步的报酬。”

“我不想付款。”

“它给你带来了麻烦，让你感到炎热，但这对我来说是一种极大的快乐。”

“我不会接受的。”年轻人笑得开心，嘴唇也清新。你能明白这一点吗，它给我带来的快乐是你旋转你的五倍，看到红玫瑰在你的脸颊上绽放，你的黑眼睛闪烁，仿佛有杰克灯笼在其中跳舞？齐塔，小伙子不是每天都有机会在冰上追赶漂亮女孩的。就是我欠你的情。不管怎样，我们会算账的。他双手捧住她的头，在她的红唇上落下一吻。 “这个账户已经记完，一个新的账户开始了。”

'这不公平！'齐塔惊呼道，向后退了一步。

'什么！没有解决？那么，再来一次。他再次吻了她。 “就这样——直到一切顺利，平衡达到平衡为止。”

然后他笑了，松开她的头，说道——

“你知道我们参加了比赛——那个古老的溺水之地和我——而你将成为奖品。我赢了你。然后，看到她看起来很不安，他就继续说道：“现在，廉价的杰基，告诉我，开着那辆滑稽的货车环游世界，这不是一种滑稽的生活吗？”

“那是非常幸福的生活，面包车一点也不滑稽。太棒了。

'我没看见过它。'

“那你为什么给它起不合适的名字呢？”

“生活很快乐，是吗？”

” 确实如此。我对此感到非常高兴——尤其是当我们积累了利润时。

“当你以几尼的价格卖给我父亲一根连枷时，你赚了一大笔钱。”

'我们做到了；但如果你知道这一点能让你感到满意的话，那就是这个想法让他如此幸福地去世了。”

“一畿尼对我父亲来说根本不算什么；他很富有。现在我很有钱了。然后，他像跳舞一样在河岸上一踏，‘齐塔，夏天我们要是开着那辆旧货车和那辆老货去兜风，那真是个笑话啊。你对这些货物做了什么？

“他们很安全。”

“我们将一起拜访斯瓦弗姆、利特尔波特和伊利，然后像火焰一样卖掉。”我会照顾马，而你则负责人们想要的一切谈话。那将会多么有趣啊！

“不，”齐塔脸红地说。 “那是不对的。”

'为什么不？'

'不。我和父亲一切都很好。但我不会再去了。

“你必须——你应该——和我在一起！”

“我不会——确实不会。”她转身走开。

“好吧，无论如何，你能带我看看那辆货车吗？”

'是的。当你喜欢的时候。

“我不能深入普里克威洛，因为我们和溺水之地之间存在着一些问题——并不是我对他怀有恶意，而是他对我的态度像螃蟹一样尖酸刻薄。我们会在某个时候以某种方式管理它。但我不禁想，如果我们两个人一起走遍世界各地，卖锅碗瓢盆，该多有趣啊。我希望我生来就是一个廉价杰克。齐塔，你现在要去哪里？

“我要去红翼队见凯妮。”

'我会和你一起去。我也想见见她。我非常喜欢凯妮，是的。”带着调皮的笑声说道。

“我敢说你是，但我要一个人去。”

'废话！我和你一起去。我一定要见凯妮。我有事要交给她。

“谁派你来的？”

马克犹豫了一下，然后说：“好吧，没有人。”但这是生意。我必须去。'

'那就走吧。我会留在这里。

齐塔看到一艘驳船停泊在河岸上。她朝它走去。 “我要进驳船。你愿意和我一起去踢我吗？

'我不能。我必须去找凯妮。

“你想和我一起坐面包车，让我和你一起去。现在我请你跟我一起上船，但你不肯。”

“我还钱给你。”马克和善地说。 “你不会和我一起乘坐货车，所以我也不会和你一起乘坐驳船。”但是，说真的，我不能。我必须继续去找凯妮。跟我来吧，”马克催促道。 “凯妮很高兴见到你。”

'哦！你可以替她回答吗？

'在某些事情上；当然是在这方面。

'我不会去。'

齐塔撅起嘴，背对着马克。年轻人并没有催促她改变主意。她脸上的决定，她眼睛里的表情，让他相信，如果他尝试这样做，他的努力就会白费。他没有带她就朝红翼队的方向走去，一边走一边吹着口哨。齐塔的眉头忧郁。她是一个冲动、没有自制力、脾气多变、热情奔放的女孩。

她没有理由怨恨马克去红翼队，但她确实怨恨它。如果他必须走，而她拒绝陪他，他就必须独自走。这是显而易见的事，但她却非常愤怒。她在心里将溺水之地与马克进行了对比。她只要向前者表达一个愿望，就得到了满足。如果她对他说她希望他在运河上划船，他一定会热切地乐意为她服务。但这个心不在焉的马克根本没有屈服于她意愿的想法。他曾渴望在岸边与她交往；当她拒绝时，他就没有了，而且心情轻松地没有了——他吹着口哨走了。

齐塔走进驳船，坐在一边。她托着下巴，阴沉地看着满是破碎、半溶解的冰块的水。

她浑身发热，愤怒的血液在血管里奔流。以她的方式，她就像溺水之地一样浮躁。她在少女时代就被父亲折磨得只能随心所欲，做自己喜欢做的​​事。但事实上，他没有机会惹怒她，他们的兴趣是一致的。齐塔虽然心地善良，但她却很专横。她有理智，但理智有时会被激情所掩盖。

她坐着咬指甲。她的脸颊像火一样，泪水不时地涌进她灼热的眼睛里。

马克有什么办法把他召唤到红翼队呢？

他和凯妮能有什么生意呢？

红翼队不在他的土地上；磨坊没有排干他的堤坝。

齐塔很想知道马克会和克伦哈普奇待多久。他会和她一起坐在她的小屋里吗？他们的谈话会转向她自己——齐塔吗？马克会说她生闷气吗？克伦哈普奇会怎么回答？难道她不会说：‘你对一个流浪女孩还能指望什么呢？我们这些在工厂和农舍里过着安定生活的人知道如何做人。从烟囱里除了烟灰还能得到什么？沼泽除了牛虻还能滋生什么？

如果一个聪明的头脑决心放任幻想，它会激起一团痛苦的云彩，这真是太奇妙了。也许女性比男性更容易出现这种情况。她设想与自己相关的对话；她向说话者嘴里吐出对自己来说最无礼的言论。她用轻蔑的微笑对着他们的脸，用侮辱性的语调对待他们，最后认为她溃烂的大脑中所有的想法都是真实的事实，而不是海市蜃楼。

现在齐塔也是如此。

她被船上的震动从自我折磨的遐想中吓了一跳。她惊讶地抬起头，看到面前有一个男人，手臂长，手大，黑发黑眼。他长得英俊，但脸上却带着酸酸不满的表情。薄薄的嘴唇显示出尖锐而爱发牢骚的脾气，而脸上的皱纹似乎无法笑出酒窝。

“你在打火机里做什么？”齐塔认出他是演说家埃法莲·比米什（Ephraim Beamish）。

“我想我和你一样有权利上船，”女孩生气地回答。

'毫无疑问。我们在任何地方都没有任何权利。我们都很穷。我知道你是谁——廉价杰克女孩。我听说你被带进了 Prickwillow。祝你幸福。这不是我应该去的地方。溺水之地不是一个为穷人提供衣服、为流浪者提供住房、为饥饿者提供食物而不期待回报的地方——而且在这里。他除了为自己的目的服务之外，不会对任何人做任何好事。他刚刚把我赶了出去。

“变成了什么？”

“被我的工厂、工作、生计抛弃了。”我现在必须在冰天雪地的沼泽地里奔跑。我没有家。然而，我是一位绅士，因为我没有工作。老鼠可以躲在谷仓里，老鼠可以在草堆里筑巢，但我一定没有屋顶遮住我的头，没有工作可以让我的双手工作，也没有面包可以放进我的嘴里。而这一切都是为什么？因为我一直敢于说真话。真理就像光。男人讨厌它，并且对它视而不见。说实话，他们受到迫害，我就是其中之一。”

“你可以在别处找到工作，”齐塔说道，她很不高兴自己的想象中的麻烦被一个真正心存不满的人打断。

“不，我不能，”比米什回答道。 “财产所有者像蜂拥而至的蜜蜂一样团结在一起。如果你惊扰了一只蜂巢，整个蜂巢都会攻击你，将你蜇死。”

“好吧，”齐塔烦躁地说，“你不必告诉我这一切。我无法帮助你。

'我不认为你能做到。但是——财产已经融入你的血液了吗？你对我说话如此尖刻吗？也许，就像一只蝙蝠，你用爪子抓住它。就像一只小昆虫一样，你把嘴唇贴在上面，吮吸着。我不请求你的帮助。我自己照顾自己。但我喜欢说话。不讲恶，就无法纠正恶。你必须绕过耶利哥，吹响号角七次，再吹七次，然后城墙才会倒塌，我们才能上前占领这座城市。让物业注意一下。劳动人民再也不能忍受被抢劫和虐待了。”

比米什松开了将船固定在岸上的绳子，拿起一根竿子，开始慢慢地迫使船逆流而上，一边划船一边说话。

“你可以告诉溺水之地我的诅咒落在了他身上；这会腐烂他的木材，让他的玉米生锈。

“我不会向他传达这样的信息，”齐塔说。 “但是你要带我去哪里？”

'沿河而上。我马上就要离开你了；但我会回来并再次把你踢回来。

'你要去哪里？'

“去红翼。”

“你想要什么？”

“我有事，”比米什回答。

“在你之前有一个人带着他自己的差事去了那里——那就是马克·朗纳姆。”

“他在那儿！”皮普·比米什靠在撑杆上，俯视着水面，惊呼道。 “财产无处不在。”财产毁掉一切。我是一个可怜的家伙。我被解雇了；但我确实认为我有我的母羊羔。现在财产横亘在我和她之间。财产对我说：“去吧——我不能消费的东西我会毁掉，免得你拥有它。”你这个廉价杰克女孩，你认为马克·朗纳姆会娶凯妮吗？他是一个拥有财产的人，而财产渴望财产。她就像我一样。她什么都没有。她是一个磨坊主，不顾一切地磨水。

他把船推向岸边。

“我不会去看她，”比米什说。 '我无法忍受。我要去伊斯勒姆的鸭子店。我将在那里遇到一些热爱劳动人民的人，他们将联合起来教导这些把沼泽地握在手中的人公正而仁慈地对待他们的劳动者。

他跳上岸，爬上岸，站在那里，伸出长臂，张开大手，喊道：“我看到这一天即将到来！”我看到光即将破裂！号角将会吹响，死去的、被压垮的工人将会站起来。那将是复仇的一天！——充满火焰和酷热的一天！然后，沼泽农夫将呼唤大地吞噬他们，呼唤岛屿覆盖他们，以对抗那些起来审判他们的死者的愤怒。

“马克来了，”齐塔说。 “我想我必须让他把我踢回家。但我不会一路跟他说话。

AT the time of our tale, the Duck at Isleham—a solitary inn on slightly rising ground—was notorious as a place of resort for poachers, a centre to which smuggled goods were brought from the Wash, and whence they were distributed, and a general rendezvous for the dissatisfied. Not a bad trade was done at the Duck. Thither came the poachers as to a mart for the disposal of their game, and the dealers to take the spoil of the poachers; thither came not only those who brought, up the dark path from the sea, spirits which had not paid duty, but also the farmers who desired to lay in supplies. As the fen-water was not potable unmixed, it was a matter of necessity for the fen-dwellers to temper it with something that would neutralise its unpleasant savour as well as kill its unwholesome elements. Moreover, such being the case, those who desired to lay in a stock of this counteracting agent went for it, by a law of nature, to the cheapest shop, and the cheapest shop was that where the traffic was in spirits that were contraband. Lastly, at the Duck assembled the great company of grumblers, large everywhere, but especially large in the Fens.

As the Duck afforded space for a good many grumblers in bar and kitchen and parlour, and as grumblers like to grumble into the ears of men of their own kidney, the Duck drew to it the discontented of all classes—farmers dissatisfied with their rent, yeomen dissatisfied at their rates, artisans out of humour because trade was slack, gangers, clayers, bankers, gaulters, slodgers, millers, molers, gozzards—everyone whom the depressing atmosphere of the Fens made dispirited, and who thought the cause of his depression was due to the oppression of some one else.

The kitchen of the Duck was full. A great fire of turf was heaped up, and glowed red, diffusing heat, but giving out no flame, and, notwithstanding the tobacco smoke, filling the place with its penetrating, peculiar odour. The men present—on this occasion they were all men—were drinking; they were mostly men of the class of agricultural labourer. Among them were two or three with dazed eyes, men silent, pallid, who looked at the speakers and acquiesced in every sentiment or opinion expressed, however contradictory they might be. These were opium-eaters.

In the Fens, almost every cottage grows its crop of white poppy in the small garden. Of the poppy heads a tea is brewed. The mothers are accustomed to work in the fields, hoeing between the ranks of wheat. The rich soil that produces the corn produces also weeds that have to be kept under. That the babe may not interfere with the mother earning a small wage, it is given poppy tea, and that sends it to sleep for the day. But the drops of opium thus administered in infancy affect the tender brains, bewilder them, and subject the child to nervous pains. As it grows up to man or womanhood, it has recourse to the drug to which it was brought up in infancy. A large business in laudanum is done in the Fens, and much of the distraught mind and tortured nerve is due to this cause. The poppy tea dispels trouble as surely as whisky, and opium dulls pain at a cheaper and surer rate than the surgeon who boggles over its removal.

‘I tell you,’ said Pip Beamish, ‘it is due to the farmers and yeomen. Look at them, up to the eyes in gold, and gold that is squeezed out of the fen by your hands. Till they have been taught a lesson, and that a sharp and stinging one, they will go on in the same way. No Acts of Parliament will help us. You may send up whom you will, Whig or Tory, to Westminster, it is the same. No party will do aught for you. No judges and no jury are of any avail, for law can’t come in and right us. We must do that with our own hands. When a boy won’t do the right thing, you put a stick across his back and make him; you don’t ask for an Act of Parliament, you don’t elect a member to teach him his duty. We must teach our farmers as you teach idle and thievish boys. Teach them in such a way as they won’t forget. Teach them to fear the rod. Set the stackyards blazing throughout the Fens, and by the light of those fires they’ll begin to see what is the way of justice and equity.’

‘I don’t see how that’s going to lower the price of wheat,’ said a ganger, named Silas Gotobed. ‘You sez that the cost of bread is too high. If you burn the wheatstacks, there will be less corn, and up the price will go.’

‘You’re right there. That’s reason, Silas,’ said a third, Thomas Goat, a gaulter. ‘The mischief don’t lie with the farmers. They grow the corn—some one must do that. The wickedness is in the eaters.’

‘Why, we’re all eaters.’

‘Ay!’ said Goat sententiously. ‘But we’ve a right to eat; there be a lot eats as hasn’t a right to do so.’

‘You mean rats and mice.’

‘No, I don’t—leastways not four-legged ones.’

‘What do you mean, then?’

‘It is them collegers,’ said Goat. ‘I’ve been to Cambridge. I’ve seen them there, a thousand of them. They come up in swarms from every part of England, and there they do nought but eat and drink and row on the river, and play cricket on Parker’s Piece. Rowin’ and playin’ cricket ain’t qualifications for eatin’. What would you say if a thousand rats, big as bullocks, was to come on to the Fens and attack our stacks? There’d be a pretty outcry. Every man would take down his gun. The terriers would be called for. Traps, poison would be laid, and none quiet till every rat was exterminated. Very well, up from every part of England come these darned collegers to the Univarsity, and spend their time there, eatin’—eatin’—eatin’. Mates, I axes, what are they eatin’? It is the wheat we grow on our fens. I calculate that one-half of what we grow goes down into their stomicks. If there were no collegers, then there’d be twice as much corn, and corn would be at forty-eight instead of ninety-six. It is that Univarsity and them collegers does it. I have shown you that as clear as these five fingers of mine. If that ain’t reason, show me where it is to be found.’

‘I don’t hold with you,’ said Gotobed, impatient at having his say snapped out of his mouth. ‘I suppose collegers must eat somewhere.’

‘Let them stay and eat at home.’

‘Well, but what about the price of wheat at their homes? Won’t they diminish the supply there?’

‘That don’t concern us,’ shouted a clayer named Gathercole. ‘It is no odds to us what the supply and what the price is elsewhere. All that concerns us is the supply and the price here in the Fens. Goat, you’ve hit the wrong nail on the head! I know better than you; it’s the bankers does it.’

‘What have you to say against the bankers?’ asked Goat. ‘I’d like to know where the corn would be if the bankers did not keep the rivers from overflow.’

‘I mean those who have banks in towns,’ explained Gathercole. ‘I’ve been to Mortlock’s in Ely. I’ve seen what the clerks do there. They have drawers full of gold. They don’t trouble to put their fingers to it, they shovel it in and shovel it out like muck. Whence does Mortlock get all that gold, I ask. It comes out of the Fens. The farmers are such dizzy-fools that they put their money there for Mortlock to take care of, and Mortlock sends the money out of the country to America. What’s the advantage of the farmers growing corn, and of the labourers helping to grow it, what’s the pleasure to reap and sow and plough and mow and be a farmer’s boy, if all the money earned and addled goes into Mortlock’s bank, and Mortlock sends it to America? I wish I was in Parliament one week, and I’d hang every banker in the country, and burn every ship as takes the money out of England and carries it to America.’

‘I say it is the millers,’ said Isaac Harley, a clayer. ‘You send a sack of corn to the soak-mill, and you get back half a sack of flour. How is that? There should be as much flour come back as corn went, but there does not. I have proved it scores of times. I’ve sent a sack so full of wheat that I could scarce bind the mouth, and when it came back as flour it was but half full. That is what makes corn so dear—the millers steal it. If I were king for half a day, I’d drown every miller in England in his own dam.’

‘You are all of you out,’ said a small landowner, named Abraham Cutman. ‘But it is like your ignorance. You feel that the shoe pinches, but you don’t know where it pinches, and why it pinches. I will tell you. I have education, and you have not. It is the rates. We are paying from six to seven shillings an acre for the drainage of the Fens. The rate has been up to ten shillings and sixpence. Why should we pay that? We can’t afford to pay seven shillings an acre in rates, and pay our workmen well also. All the profits are consumed in rates. The Commissioners stick it on, and they can’t help it; they must have the banks kept up and the mills in working order.’

‘Of course they must,’ threw in the gaulter.

‘They must have their mills,’ said Beamish. ‘But why am I thrown out of employ, that did no wrong, and never neglected my duty?’

‘Silence all round. Listen to me,’ said Cutman. ‘The wrong lies here. Take off the rate, and the price of corn will go down, and the price of labour will go up.’

‘That’s it. Cutman has it!’ exclaimed several.

But Goat dissented. ‘There must be a rate,’ said he, ‘or how should I be paid for my gaulting? and without gaulting there can be no banking.’

‘Of course there must be a rate. I’d have it permanently fixed by Act of Parliament at fifteen shillings an acre.’

'你会？'

‘Yes, I would; so that gaulters and bankers should have double wages. They work hard and deserve it.’

‘Right you are, master,’ said Goat; but others murmured.

‘Why should gaulters and bankers only have double pay? Why not molers and gozzards also?’ others again asked. ‘How about the price of wheat then?’

‘I said I’d have the rate fixed at fifteen shillings an acre,’ pursued Cutman, looking about him with an air of superiority. ‘Fifteen shillings an acre—not a penny less. But I’d have the rate shifted from fen-land as wants draining to all other land in Great Britain as doesn’t want draining. The rate should be laid on all other shoulders except ours. Stick a rate on to Mortlock’s and all bankers. Stick it on to the colleges and the universities. Stick it on to all high and dry lands, where there is no call for banking and draining. Stick it on where you like, only take it off from the Fens. Why should we pay rates for draining our land when the farmers on high ground pay nothing? They have their land six or seven shillings an acre cheaper than do we. If I were in the Ministry, the first thing I would do would be to impose a compulsory rate of fifteen shillings an acre on all land that didn’t want draining, to pay for the draining of land that did want it. Then we’d have high times of it here in the Fens—farmers, bankers, slodgers, all round. If that is not reason, and you don’t see it, so much the worse for your intelligences.’

‘I don’t call that reason at all,’ said Goat. ‘Don’t tell me the Commissioners would pay us double wages when the rate was at fifteen. It is six now, and I get eleven shillings a week. Twelve years ago it was half a guinea rate, and then my wage was ten shillings. If the rate were up to fifteen I should be wuss off. Every four shillings the rate goes up my wage goes down a shilling. With the rate at fifteen, I’d be worse off—with a wage of five and sixpence, or six shillings at most. I hold to it that the mischief lies in the Univarsity, with them collegers a-eatin’—eatin’—eatin’. I’ll fight at flap-chap any man as disputes my argiment.’

‘I dispute it,’ said Silas Gotobed, starting up.

‘Very well. We’ll find out which has the best of the argiment and reason on his side with flap-chaps.’

‘My argiment is this,’ said Gotobed. ‘Rivers ought to run uphill. If they don’t choose to, they should be made to, by Act of Parliament. Then we’d be dry, and them on high grounds would be wet. Then they’d have the rates and the bother, and we’d be free. That is my contention, and it’s all gammon about them collegers.’

He placed himself opposite Goat.

‘I don’t care what you may call yourself,’ said he to his opponent, ‘Goat or sheep; but you’re an ass, and every one knows it.’

Then Ephraim Beamish ran between the men, who stood facing each other with threatening looks.

‘Be reasonable,’ he said, thrusting them apart with his long arms. ‘Why do you fly at each other, instead of at the common foe?’

‘I don’t know what be the common foe,’ retorted Goat, ‘if it bain’t the collegers. If I was in Parliament’—

‘It’s the bankers,’ said Jonas Gathercole. ‘If I was in Parliament’—

‘It’s the millers!’ shouted Harley. ‘If I was in Parliament’—

‘It’s the rates!’ exclaimed Cutman; ‘and a law should be made, and shall be when I’m in Parliament’—

‘You’re every one out!’ roared Silas Gotobed; ‘it’s Providence, as don’t do what it should be made to do, and force the rivers to run uphill.’

‘Sit down! you’re drunk,’ cried Cutman.

‘I’m not going to be ordered about by you,’ retorted the ganger; ‘we’re all equal here. I haven’t been bankrupt and sold my stacks twice over.’

Cutman fell into the rear. He had been guilty of fraudulent conduct at his bankruptcy.

‘I say it is the Univarsity, and I maintains my argiment,’ said Goat. ‘I’ll prove it on your chaps.’

‘I sez it is the rivers ought to run uphill. I’ll box your donkey ears if you denies it. That’s my argiment.’

Gotobed made a lunge at this opponent and missed him. Flap-chaps is a pastime affected in the Fens, more so in former times than at present, but not out of favour now. It consists in this. Two men face each other and endeavour to slap each other’s cheeks, right or left, as best they can, and as best they can to ward off with the same open palm the blows aimed at their own chaps. Those who play this game acquire great dexterity at it, but when much ale or spirits has been drunk, then the eye has lost its quickness of perception, the hand its steadiness, the brain its coolness, and the contest rapidly degenerates into a drunken brawl and a roll on the floor, with fisticuffs and head-bumping.

It promised to so degenerate on the present occasion. Gotobed was the most intoxicated and least able to parry the blows levelled at him, and every time Goat’s hand made his cheek sting, it roused him to a further access of fury that blinded him to what he was about; he withdrew his left hand from behind his back. This provoked an outcry from the lookers-on of, ‘Not fair play! Hand back! hand back!’

Beamish again endeavoured to interpose, but came off with both his ears tingling; he had received a blow on one cheek from Goat, and on the other from Gotobed. The strife recommenced after this futile attempt to separate the men. Slap, slap, on the chaps of Gotobed, followed by a blow from his fist in the face of his adversary. This occasioned a yell from all in the room of ‘Cheat—not fair! a fine! a fine, Silas! Fair game or none at all.’

‘I’ll pay a fine indeed!’ roared Gotobed. Then, springing at his opponent, who staggered stupefied under the blow he had received, he snatched his hat from his head, and, thrusting it into the fire, shouted, ‘Caps! Caps!’ Then he dashed at Cutman, who wore a white beaver.

‘Your hat!’ he demanded.

‘You shall not have it. It is as good as new.’

‘I will have it,’ answered Gotobed. ‘Ain’t we all equal? Isn’t it the rule? What are you better than me? One cap—all caps. That’s the rule.’

He tore the white beaver out of the yeoman’s hands, and rammed it with his ironshod boot into the glowing turf fire.

‘Mates! Mates! Show up your caps!’

Then ensued wild confusion. Some snatched the caps and hats from those who were near them, some endeavoured to protect their own headgear from confiscation, and fought for them. Some thrust their own caps into the flames, and in ten minutes there was not one in the company but was without a cover for his crown.[1]

Beamish had made angry resistance. Three men assailed him, tripped him up, and sent him sprawling on the alehouse floor. A fourth wrenched his hat away and thrust it into the flames, shouting, ‘You’re a fine chap to say all men are equal, and want to keep your own hat when the rest are bareheaded.’

The landlord stepped outside, to see that the fiery tinder did not fall on and ignite the thatch. He returned and said, ‘It is snowing.’

‘Snowing, is it?’ said Gotobed, staggering to the door. ‘Then we shall all wear white night-caps to cool our heads.’ Standing in the doorway, sustaining himself by a hand on each of the jambs, looking in, he shouted to his comrades, ‘I am right. You are all wrong. At next election I ain’t going to vote for no candidate as won’t promise to make the rivers run uphill. Nothing will be as it ought to be—price of corn won’t be low, and wages won’t be high, and farmers cease to oppress, and bankers to send the money out of this country, and millers to fill their fists with flour, and Commissioners to pocket money that ought to have gone to the gangers, and collegians to cease to eat—till Providence has been forced to do what it ort—and make the rivers run uphill.’

脚注

[1] Burnt caps is a curious and inexplicable custom in the Fens. It is one that terminates many a brawl. If one man burns the hat of another, it is 德严格 that all the rest of the company should surrender their headgear to complete the holocaust.

NO country in the world is so subject to variations in the climate as England, and in no part of England are the variations so felt as in the Fens. No hills, no belts of trees there break the force of the wind. The gales rush over the plains unresisted from every quarter. Elsewhere there are hedgerows, on the sunny side of which appear the celandine and primrose in early spring, then the red-robin, the bluebell, our lady’s smock, and the gorgeous spires of foxglove later still. There are no hedgeflowers in the Fens, for there are no hedges. Elsewhere the landscape is variegated with coppice that is brown in autumn and pine woods that are dark green all the year. It is not so in the Fens. There are no trees. When the snow falls, it envelops the entire surface in white.

The frost had passed away, and the waters had been released. With the thaw the mills had been set again in motion, and the sails flew fast to make up for lost time. Now again a single night had altered the complexion of the fen-land. All was white that had been black. The snow had filled the ruts, and, consolidating, had formed a comparatively smooth surface. Rivers and dykes were not frozen, only a little cat ice had formed among the reeds.

Zita was in the farmyard. She had gone there to put her van to rights. The van demanded her attention. The fowls had taken to roosting on the top, and had made it untidy. There was no keeping them away. They could be, and they were, excluded from the interior of the van, but not from the shed in which the van stood. Formerly, they had been satisfied with rafters and manger; now, whether out of perversity or love of variety, or because the van satisfied their ideal, they deserted their ancient roosting-places and crowded the van roof.

This was a source of incessant annoyance to Zita, who could not endure the degradation to which the van was subjected. Every few days she visited the shed, pail and scrubbing-brush in hand, and thoroughly cleansed the conveyance.

She had been thus engaged, and had flung the dirty water at a clucking hen that sauntered up with purpose to resume its perch on the van top, when a pair of hands was laid on her shoulders, and, looking round, she saw Mark.

‘What has brought you here?’ she asked in surprise.

‘What but your own sweet self. I have not seen you for some days. As you were not outside the farmyard, I have come into it to seek you.’

‘You ought not to have done so. The master will be angry.’

‘He is from home. I saw him ride to Ely.’

‘But if he hears that you have been here?’

‘You need not tell him.’

‘I will not tell him, but others may—mischief-makers. Then I shall suffer.’

‘You can take care of yourself, I warrant.’

‘You are right, I can protect myself. I am not a servant, but a lodger. I pay for everything I receive and consume here—even for this soap and the use of this pail.’

‘And this is the van?’

‘Yes, that is my old home. I was born in it. I have lived in it all my life. Whatever I know I have learned in it. It is a fine thing to crawl over the world like a snail, with one’s house on one’s back.’

‘The snail-crawling is over with you now. You refused to let me go with you.’

‘Yes; it is over for the winter. What I may do when the spring comes, I cannot say. My blood runs, my feet tingle. When the white butterflies are about, I daresay I shall spread my wings also. I mean my red and gold curtains.’

‘And I may go with you?’ mischievously.

‘No; if I go, I go alone.’

‘Let me walk round and admire your house on wheels.’

‘You do not see it to advantage,’ said Zita regretfully. ‘It is not dressed out. The pans and brushes and mats are stowed away, that make it glitter just like a lifeguardsman. The inside is taken out. The curtains are unhung. And then those dratted fowls are a nuisance. They have taken a fancy to the van. If Master Drownlands and I were on better terms, I’d ax him to have the fowls killed, or the shed boarded up, that they might not come in.’

‘What? you are not on good terms with old Ki?’

‘Only middling. I have had to teach him to keep his distance.’

‘Oh! he wanted to come to too close quarters—small blame to him,’ said Mark, laughing.

‘He and I could not agree about terms—that was it,’ said Zita, with an impatient and annoyed toss of her head.

‘Let the van come to my place,’ said Runham. ‘Then I will stow it away out of reach of all fowls.’

Zita shook her head. ‘I like to look at my van every day.’

‘Well, that is no reason against sending it to Crumbland. If you come to look at it twice a day, so much the better pleased I shall be.’

‘I cannot send the van anywhere where I am not living, and this is my lodging for the winter,’ said Zita.

‘And how goes the horse?’ asked Mark.

‘He don’t go at all,’ replied the girl. ‘He eats and thinks and gets bloated. He hasn’t enough to do. I’m afraid he’ll be out of health.’

‘Let us have him into the shafts and trot him out a bit.’

‘What? in the van?’

‘Of course, in the van.’

Zita flushed with pleasure. ‘I shall love it above all things—but trot he won’t. He never trotted in his life but once, and that was on the fifth of November. A gipsy had tied a Roman candle to his tail. He trotted then. After every flare and pop he went on at a run, then he stopped and looked behind him for an explanation. Then away went the Roman candle again, and a great globe of fire shot away high over the roof of the van. At that Jewel trembled and trotted on once more. Father was away. I was younger then by some years, and it frightened me. I did not dare to touch the Roman candle. Jewel ran about two miles, and when the firework was exhausted, he stood still, and, with thinking about it, and trying to understand and unable, fell asleep in the middle of the road. Father found us there, and he tried to persuade Jewel to return the two miles, but he was obstinate—tremenjous—and wouldn’t move. At last father was forced to tie a Roman candle to his nose, and that drove him backwards the two miles. But I don’t think Jewel ever quite got over the surprise of that fifth of November.’

When Mark had done laughing at Zita’s story,—and Zita laughed as she told it, and laughed when it was over, because Mark’s laugh was irresistible,—then the young fellow said, ‘It will be fun for me, pleasure to you, it will exercise the horse, and freshen and sweeten the van. We will go a drive, in preparation for the grand tour in the spring. Where is the harness? I’ll rig the grey up.’

‘You do not know how to set about it,’ said Zita.

‘What? not know how to harness a horse?’

‘You do not know Jewel. He has to be talked to, and his reason convinced. He has his fancies, and they must be humoured. He knows my voice and the touch of my hand, whereas you are a stranger.’

Zita went to find Jewel and put the horse in the shafts. Whilst thus engaged, she talked to Mark.

‘The master had him out one day, and put him in the plough. It offended Jewel, who was not accustomed to that sort of thing. He set his feet straight down, stiffened his legs, back went his ears, he curled his under lip, and looked out at the corners of his eyes. Not a step would he take; it hurt his self-respect. Now, wait here by Jewel’s head whilst I go indoors after the crimson curtains and gold tassels. I could not drive without them; it would not be showing proper regard for the van, and it might hurt Jewel’s feelings. It won’t take five minutes to rig up the curtains, and whilst I am after them, you can make friends with the horse. Go in front of him and speak flattering words; say how shapely are his legs, and how silken is his hair; but, whatever you do, not a word about the Roman candles, or he’ll never take kindly to you.’

‘All right, Zita. Where is the whip?’

‘Whip? bless you! he don’t want a whip. Why, the crack of a whip would so frighten him that he would sit down. He’d suppose it was fifth of November again. He’d curl his tail under him, and lay his nose between his legs, and set back his ears, but keep an eye open, watching you and winking.’

Eventually, the van was considered by Zita to be sufficiently decorated to be got under way, and Jewel was induced, by flattery and caresses, to start along the drove.

The van was lighter than Jewel had ever known it to be, and he might have been expected to take this into consideration, and accelerate his pace; but, under the supposition that by so doing he would be establishing a precedent that might be quoted on a future occasion, he adopted his wonted pace, as when drawing the van laden with its many and multifarious contents.

‘The thing jolts—rather,’ said Mark, laughing. ‘What would become of the goods, were they here?’

‘They would be thrown all over the shop,’ answered Zita. ‘That is why I am at Prickwillow. I cannot get away. Jewel could not pull the laden van along the drove; and if other horses were attached to it, everything would be shaken to pieces.’

Presently Jewel came to a halt.

‘Shall I jump out and urge him on?’ asked Mark.

‘No; he is breathing. He will go on again presently.’

‘And whilst he is breathing, we will talk. Conversation is impossible when we are bumping into ruts and bouncing over clods. If this be travelling when there is snow half-choking the wheelruts and levelling the clods, what must it be at other times?’

‘You see I am a prisoner at Prickwillow. I cannot get away without the loss of all my possessions.’

‘I see that now.’

Presently Mark said, ‘Zita, why were you on the river with Pip Beamish the other day?’

‘I hired him with half a pound of bird’s eye to punt me up stream. He behaved unfair; he went off and left me.’

‘And I had to bring you back—and mighty cross you were. Was that because Beamish had left you?’

‘I had cause to be cross when Beamish took the bird’s eye and did not half do the job. Now cling hard; Jewel is moving forward, and we must hold to our seats to save being tumbled about and broken to bits.’

Mark was on one side of the van, Zita on the other. He put out his hand to the curtains at one lurch, and roused Zita to remonstrance.

‘The curtains are for ornament, and are not to be touched. They are of velvet plush. I don’t want to have your great hand marking them. Lay hold of a rail. No! not a gold tassel; you would pull that down, and maybe bring away the whole concern. Oh!’

This exclamation was provoked by the off wheel sinking into a rut, the depth of which seemed unfathomable. The movement of the van was like that of the mail steamer that runs from Dover to Calais, in a chopping sea. At one bound Zita was propelled forward, and, had she not clung to the ribs of the vehicle, would have been shot head foremost against the opposite side of the van, with the result of either perforating that side or of flattening her skull against it.

Then, at the recoil lurch, Mark was projected in the opposite direction, and was nearly cast into Zita’s lap.

‘I say, Zita, the exertion is prodigious!’ exclaimed the lad. ‘I think I should prefer to walk.’

‘But the honour is so great,’ gasped Zita. ‘It is not every day you can ride in such a conveyance as this, and have velvet curtains flapping, and gold tassels bobbing about your head.’

‘I’ll try to think of it in that light.’

‘Besides,’ pursued Zita, ‘a shake up is as good as medicine to the insides. It puts them on their good behaviour. They are so tremenjous afraid of having it again.’

‘But surely progress in this affair is not always like this.’

‘Of course not. It is only in the Fens there are droves. It was bad at times where a highway had been new stoned. Then father and I clung to the perishables.’

'你是什么意思？'

‘We took them in our arms, or held them. If we were bruised, it did not matter; we mend up according to nature; but pots and pans don’t. We always lost something, though. There was that tea-kettle that troubled father’s last hours—it got a hole in it going over a bit of new road.’

This conversation took place in fits and starts, between the joltings of the van. Presently Jewel thought he had sufficiently exerted himself; he heaved a long sigh, looked back over his shoulder, and stood still.

‘There, now,’ said Runham, pulling a large red, white-spotted kerchief from his pocket and mopping his brow, ‘Jewel is breathing, and so may we. This is agonies.’

‘I call it pleasure,’ said Zita. ‘It must be, because it isn’t business.’

‘What did the horse mean by looking back at us, as he did just now when he sighed?’

‘Oh, he thinks it is his duty, now father’s gone, to keep an eye on us.’

‘I suppose, if I were to square accounts, as the other day’—

‘He’d have an apoplexy. For goodness’ sake don’t.’

‘I say, why did you go with Pip Beamish when you would not go with me?’

‘I did not go with Beamish. He came with me because I hired him. Tell me what took you to Red Wings? Had you an account to serve there?’

Mark became grave. He fidgeted on his seat. He was an honest, open-hearted fellow, and disliked prevarication, but there was hesitation, there was evasion in his reply.

‘I have business of all sorts with all kinds of people.’

‘That is no answer. I want to know why you went to the mill to see Kainie.’

Mark rested his chin in his hand and considered.

‘I don’t mind saying so much,’ he answered, ‘but let it be between us alone. There is a sort of a tie between her and me—a sort of a tie, you know.’

‘I know nothing.’

‘I can’t give you particulars. It’s all right,—if you knew, you would say so too,—but I can’t tell you more about it; and it’s a tie can’t be got rid of.’

Further explanation was interrupted, for a head and pair of shoulders appeared in front between the curtains.

‘Oh! you, Runham—and that Cheap Jack girl! Which is it to be—she or Kainie? It shall not be both.’

Pip Beamish was there, glowering at Mark from under his bushy eyebrows.

‘Take care!’ said Beamish, thrusting a long arm into the van. ‘Take care what you are about. If you hurt one hair of the head of Kainie, I’ll shoot you through the heart. I’ve time on my hands now. I’m turned out of my mill by the Commissioners, and can choose my occasion. I shall watch you. One or other—leave my Kainie alone and stick to 这里.’ He indicated Zita with one hand.

‘Pip,’ said Mark, flushing very red, ‘do not talk nonsense!’

‘Nonsense?’ repeated Beamish; ‘that is how you rich men treat these matters—sport and nonsense; but to us it is heartbreak and despair. What have I but my one ewe lamb? I have been expelled my mill because you Commissioners think I’m a dangerous chap. You ain’t far wrong there. I’m dangerous to such as you who are evil-doers. Take care, you Cheap Jack girl, and make not yourself cheap to such as Runham. He is free in his wealth to do as he pleases. If he be the ruin of you, trusting in him, will he lose his Commissioner’s place? If he destroy my happiness by bringing harm on my Kainie, will the laws touch him? I may not take a straw from his stables, but he may rob me of my Kainie. He is rich—I am poor.’

‘Pip! you are the man I desire to see. I will speak to you of this matter. Judge nothing before you hear me; and you, Zita, do not you place any weight on his words—they are bitter and false.’

‘Bitter,’ repeated Pip, ‘but not false. Nothing that you can say will change my mind. Nothing will alter my purpose. I warn you against an injury to Kainie. You rich men of the Fens do not seek a poor girl to raise her head and set her up on high among yourselves, but to humble her in the dust.’

He laughed a fierce, scornful laugh.

‘I cannot say—you Cheap Jack Zita. They report that you have money and goods. Have you told him how much? If it be worth his while, he will be honourable towards you. It is all a matter of calculation. If you ain’t worth much, he’ll throw you over, as he would throw over Kainie when tired of her. Best take care! If you dare!’

The man’s eyes glared with white heat, and he thrust his long arm towards Mark with clenched fist.

‘Pip,’ exclaimed Mark, ‘you are the man I have been wanting to see. I will come out to you.’

He jumped out of the van. ‘Your words are folly.’ Then, ‘You drive home without me, Zita. I told you I had business with all sorts of persons; now I have business with Ephraim—business of much consequence. May you get safe back in that rattletrap, and not be shaken to bits!’

‘Rattletrap? Oh, if Jewel heard you!’ She spoke as laughing, to disguise her inward trouble.

No sooner, however, was Mark gone than she broke down and cried.

But her tears did not last long.

‘He’s venomous. He don’t know all. I do trust Mark. Besides—I’ve the van and money.’

WHAT did Mark Runham mean by his conduct?

He had left Zita to go after that fellow, Pip Beamish, and they were together on the embankment in close confabulation. The girl looked after them from between the red curtains, and could see Beamish gesticulating with his long arms. He was excited, he was speaking with vehemence, and at intervals Mark interrupted him.

Something that Mark had said seemed to have struck the orator with surprise. He dropped his arms and stood like a figure of wood. He let Mark lay his hand on his shoulder and draw him along, speaking rapidly into his ear.

What this meant was plain to Zita. The two men were rivals for Kainie of Red Wings. They had been disputing; Beamish hot and impatient, and unwilling to listen to the other. What was Kainie? A she-miller, as Zita put it, and ineligible as a wife to such as Runham. Among fen-farmers no one marries for mere love; money or land is the substance for which they crave. If a little love be sprinkled on the morsel, so much the better, but it is no essential—it is a condiment. Zita tossed her head. She was not a beggarly miller! She had the van and its contents, red curtains and gold tassels. She had money as well—the profits of fair-days at Swaffham, Huntingdon, Wisbeach, Cambridge, and Ely. She had a good deal of money in her box—none suspected how much. Of course her wealth would not compare with that of a fen-farmer, but it was enough to place her immeasurably above Kainie, and within reach of Mark if he chose to stoop a little—just a little.

Zita turned the head of Jewel homewards. Mark did not follow her to say farewell. He had given her no thanks for the jolting and jumbling in the conveyance to which she had treated him, though ‘good as medicine to his insides.’

Zita was angry with the young man. She did not relish the thought that he came to see her one day and went to Kainie the next—nay, that he visited both in the same afternoon.

It was true that he had made no overtures to Zita—said nothing definite relative to his condition of heart; but he had kissed her, and would have done so again had she not warned him that it would give the horse an apoplectic fit. He had shown her plainly that he liked her company, and that he was unhappy if he did not see her daily.

His attentions had been noticed. Mrs. Tunkiss had commented on them, and the girl with St. Vitus’ dance had made a joke about them.

His visit that day to Prickwillow would inevitably have been seen. The unusual sight of the van out on an airing must have attracted attention. And if the van had been seen, those who saw it were certain to speak of it to those who did not. That expedition would come to the ears of Drownlands.

Knowing what she did, Zita was able to account for the dislike Drownlands showed to the presence of Mark Runham. The sight of the young man was a sting to his conscience. He would be afraid lest Zita, in conversation with him, might let drop something about the events of the night on which Jake Runham died.

But Zita was woman enough to see that there was another reason why the master of Prickwillow eyed the young fellow with dislike. He was jealous of him. Zita perceived that Drownlands liked her, at the same time that he feared her. She could discern in the expression of his eye, read in his consideration for her comfort, decipher in the quiver of his lips when Mark’s name was mentioned, that his regard for her was deep, and that his dislike of Mark was due to jealousy.

Zita was accustomed to admiration; she had received a good deal of it in her public life, and regarded it with contemptuous indifference; but the admiration she had met with in market and fair had been outspoken; this of Drownlands was covert. Hitherto she had accepted it from her vantage-ground—the platform of her own habitation; now she was at a disadvantage—the inmate of the house of the man who looked on her with admiration.

She turned her thoughts again in the direction of Mark. What were the ties binding him to Kainie, of which he spoke?

On consideration, she thought she could understand. Mark had fallen in love with the girl at the mill when in hobbledehoydom, and had stupidly plunged into an engagement. Boys are fools; and he was but just emerged from boyhood. His father’s death had knocked the nonsense out of his head, and brought him to the consciousness that he had made a blunder. He was now a rich farmer; Kainie had nothing of her own but the clothes she stood up in. Moreover, he had since seen Zita, and had become sincerely attached to her. So long as he was tied to that miller-girl, he could not speak of his wishes and purposes to Zita. He was in a dilemma; he was an honourable fellow, and could not break his word to Kainie. Mark was laying the case before Pip Beamish, and was inviting Pip to take Kainie off his hands, and set him free to speak out to Zita.

‘Well,’ thought the girl, as she put up Jewel in his stable, ‘we all do foolish things; some of us do wrong things at times in our life. I have done both in one—I sold a box of paste-cutters at one and nine that cost father two shillings. I’ve had that threepence as hot coppers on my soul ever since. Well! I hope Pip Beamish will take Kainie. He loves her, and he’s suited to her—both are millers; one has nothing and the other nought—so they are fitted for a match. I’ll help matters on, or try to do so. I’ll see Kainie, and have a deal with her—she is but one of the general public after all. I daresay she likes Pip quite as much as Mark, and is doubting in her mind which to have. I know what I can throw in to turn the scale.’

Accordingly, when the van had been consigned to its shed and the curtains removed to her room, Zita knitted her fingers behind her back and surveyed her goods, moving from one group of wares to another.

After some consideration, she descended the stairs and prepared to leave the house.

Mrs. Tunkiss peered out of the kitchen as she heard her step, and said—

‘Going to meet the master—be you?’

A malevolent smile was on her face.

‘No, Mrs. Tunkiss. I do not know in which direction he has ridden.’

‘You’d like to know, would you? You’d go and meet him, and he’d jump off his horse and walk alongside of you, and say soft things. Oh my! The master! Ki Drownlands say soft things!’

The woman burst into a cackling laugh.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Zita, reddening with anger at the insult implied in the woman’s words.

‘Oh, miss, I mean nothing to offend. But I’d like to know what the master will say to your carawaning about with Mark Runham—what the master will say to your receiving visits from young men in the poultry-house.’

‘That is no concern of yours; and for the matter of that, I care nothing what he thinks.’

‘Oh dear no! But folks can’t carry on with two at once. Two strings to a bow may be all very well in some things. I don’t mean to say that you shouldn’t sow clover with your corn, and so have both a harvest of wheat and one of hay; but with us poor women that don’t do. If it be a saying that we should have two strings to one bow, there is another, that there’s many a slip between the cup and the lip.’

Zita pushed past the insolent woman.

Mrs. Tunkiss shouted after her, ‘Strange goings on—so folks say. There’s Mark Runham running after two girls, sweethearting both; and there’s one girl—I names no names—running after two men, and I bet she catches neither.’

Then she slammed the kitchen door.

THE insolence of the housekeeper made Zita for a while very angry. It followed so speedily on the scene in the van with Ephraim Beamish.

Her cheek burned as though it had been struck, and her pulses throbbed. She would like to have beaten Mrs. Tunkiss with one of the flails; but with creatures of that sort it is best not to bandy words, certainly not to give them the advantage by losing temper and acting with violence.

Zita did not long harbour her resentment. She had other matters to occupy her mind beside Mrs. Tunkiss.

The air was fresh and bracing to the spirits as well as to the body. Zita walked on with elastic tread, for she had recovered her good humour. She wore a neat white straw bonnet trimmed with black, and a white kerchief was drawn over her shoulders and bosom. Her gown was black. She looked remarkably handsome. She had been accustomed to wear her gowns short, and her neat ankles were in white stockings. She was strongly shod; the snow brushed all the gloss off her shoes, but it was not whiter than her stockings. She walked along with a swing of the shoulders and a toss of the head that were peculiar to her, and characteristic of her self-confidence. The winter sun was setting, and sent its red fire into her face; it made her hair blaze, and brought out the apricot richness of her complexion.

When she reached the brick platform of Red Wings, Wolf did not bark, but ran to her, wagging his tail. She had not forgotten him. From her pocket she produced some bread. Then, in acknowledgment, he uttered a couple of sharp barks, and thrust his head against her hand for a caress.

Kerenhappuch, hearing the barks, came out and saluted Zita cordially.

‘That’s fine,’ said she. ‘Step inside. I was just going to brew some tea.’

‘I’m here on business,’ answered Zita. ‘Let me sit down on one side of the fire and we’ll talk about it. Let’s deal.’

‘Deal? What do you mean?’

Zita drew a stool to the fireside. The turf glowed red. The stool was low; when she seated herself, her knees were as high as her bosom. She folded her arms round them and closed her hands, lacing her fingers together and looking smilingly over her knees at Kainie, with a gleam in her face of expectant triumph. Kainie knelt at the hearth and put on the kettle. She turned her head and watched Zita, whose features were illumined by the fire glow, as they had been shortly before by that of the setting sun. Kerenhappuch could not refrain from saying, ‘What an uncommon good-looking girl you are!’

‘Yes, so most folks say,’ responded Zita, with indifference; ‘and I suppose I am that.’

Kainie was somewhat startled at this frank acceptance of homage. She pursed up her lips and offered no further compliments.

‘I suppose Pip Beamish is sweet on you,’ said Zita,—’tremenjous?’

‘Poor fellow!’ sighed the girl of the mill. ‘Perhaps he is, but it is no good. He has not got even a mill to look after now, and I have barely enough wage to keep me alive. What is more, the Commissioners are against him, and won’t let him get any work in the fen any more.’

‘Then let him go out of the fen?’

‘Out of the fen?’ exclaimed Kainie. ‘How you talk! As if a fen-man could do that! You don’t find frogs on top of mountains, nor grow bulrushes in London streets. That ain’t possible.’

‘But there are fens elsewhere.’

'在哪里？'

‘I do not know. In America, I suppose. There is all sorts of country there, to suit all sorts of people. I’d go there if I were he.’

‘If there are fens in America, that’s another matter. But what is it you want with me, now, partick’ler?’

Zita settled herself in her seat.

‘I’ve come to have a deal with you,’ she said chirpily. ‘That is what I have come about.’

‘But—what do you want of me?’

‘We will come to that presently,’ said the Cheap Jack girl, and with her usual craft or experience she added, ‘I will let you know what my goods are before I name the price.’

‘Price—money? I have no money.’

‘It is not money I want.’

‘I do not fancy there’s anything I require,’ said Kerenhappuch. ‘And that is fortunate, for I have not only no money to buy with, but no place where I could stow away a purchase.’

‘Nobody knows what they wants till they see things or hear about them,’ said Zita. ‘Bless you! if you were as well acquainted with the British public as father and me, you’d say that. Take it as a rule, folks always set their heads on having what they never saw before, didn’t know the use of, and don’t know where to put ’em when they have ’em. I’m telling you this, though it is not to my advantage. Now, what do you say to a ream of black-edged paper and mourning envelopes to match?—that’s twenty quires, you know.’

‘I write to nobody. I have no relations but my Uncle Drownlands, and he never speaks to me—won’t notice me. I am not likely to write letters to him.’

‘Then what do you say to a garden syringe? If you have a pail of soapsuds, it is first-rate for green-fly. Father sold several to gentlefolks with conservatories.’

‘But I don’t belong to the gentlefolks, nor have I got a conservatory.’

‘No,’ said Zita, rearranging herself on her seat. ‘But if you wanted to keep folks off your platform, you could squirt dirty water over them.’

‘I have Wolf. He is sufficient.’

‘Well,’ said Zita, with a slight diminution of buoyancy in her spirits and of confidence in her tone, ‘then I’ll offer you what I would not give every one the chance of having. I offer it to you as a particular friend. It’s an epergne.’

‘An epergne? What’s that?’

‘It is a sort of an ornament for a dinner-table. I will not tell you any lies about it. Father got it in a job lot, and cheap considering how splendid it is. It is not the sort of goods we go in for. It lies rather outside our line of business; and yet there’s no saying whether it might not hit the fancy of General Jackass—I mean the public—that was father’s way of talking of it. You really can’t tell what won’t go down with him. Will you have the epergne?’

‘I’m not General Jackass, and I won’t have it.’

‘But consider—if you was to give a dinner-party, and’—

‘What? in the mill?’

‘No; When you marry a rich man.’

‘If I have any man, it will be a poor one.’

‘Then,’ said Zita in a caressing tone, ‘I know what you really must have, and what there is no resisting. It is the beautifullest little lot of perfumes. They’re all in a glass box, with cotton wool, and blue ribbons round their necks. There’s Jockey Club—there’s Bergamot—there’s Frangipani—there’s New-mown Hay—there’s White Heliotrope, and there’s Lavender too. I am sure there is yet another; yes, Mignonette. One for every day of the week. Think of that! You can scent yourself up tremenjous, and a different scent every day of the week. You cannot refuse that.’

‘But,’ said Kainie, with a wavering in her tone, a token of relaxation in resistance to the allurements presented to her imagination, ‘what do you want for this?’

‘One thing only.’

'那是什么？'

‘Give up Mark.’

‘Mark Runham?’

‘Yes. Mark Runham. Is it a deal between us? Now listen.’ Zita held up one hand, and began again with the catalogue of perfumes. ‘There is Jockey Club for Sunday;’ she touched her thumb. ‘There is Bergamot for Monday;’ she touched the first finger. ‘There is Frangipani for Tuesday, and New-mown Hay for Wednesday’—

‘Give up Mark?’ Kainie interrupted the list. ‘What do you mean?’

‘What I mean is this,’ said Zita: ‘Mark told me that he was tied to you somehow.’

‘He did? It is true.’

‘But I want you to throw him up. Let him go free. Say that there is no bond between you. Think how you will smell, if you do! White Heliotrope on Thursday, then Lavender on Friday, and Mignonette on Saturday.’

‘Did Mark say how we were tied—bound?’

‘No; he only told me there was such a tie.’

‘And Mark—did he set you to ask this?’

‘No, not exactly. It is my idea. Now do. You shall have all the perfumes. Consider how on Sunday you will make the Baptist Chapel smell of Jockey Club!’

‘Give up Mark? Break the bond? I can’t. I could not, even if I would.’

WHEN Zita returned to Prickwillow, Leehanna Tunkiss, with a malicious leer, said, ‘The master is upstairs, and would like to speak with you;’ then, with a sidelong look at the maid-of-all-work and a giggle, she curtseyed and added ‘Miss.’

Zita ascended leisurely to her room, removed her bonnet and changed her shoes, put on an apron, and then proceeded to Drownlands’ office. She did not hurry herself. She sauntered along the passage and hummed a folk-melody—’High Germany.’ She stayed to shut a bedroom door that was ajar and swinging in the draught. She trifled with a canary that hung in a window.

The office door was open. She knew that Drownlands had heard her come in, had heard Mrs. Tunkiss inform her that she was wanted, heard her ascend the stairs. She knew that he was waiting with impatience whilst she removed bonnet and shoes, that he was chafing at the leisurely manner in which she approached his den.

After a while she tapped at the half-open door in careless fashion, threw it open and stood in the doorway, and shrugged her shoulders, then rubbed her hands as though they were cold.

‘Mrs. Tunkiss said you required my presence.’

‘You have taken your time in coming.’ Drownlands was at his table; he had been biting his fingers. There was a sheet of blotting paper on the board; he had scratched it, torn four strips out of it with his nails. His face was troubled and was working. ‘Why did you not come at once?’

‘I had to remove my shoes; they were wet. I did not suppose you were in much of a hurry.’

‘Come inside. Why do you stand in the doorway?’

她服从了。

‘Well, is it necessary to leave the door wide open behind you?’

她关上了门。

‘Shut it, I say.’

She obeyed, and leaned her back against the valve, crossed her feet, and put her hands behind her on the handle.

‘Where have you been?’ asked Drownlands imperiously.

‘To Red Wings, to see your niece. You don’t know her. It is a pity. You should look after her; she is your own relation. She is not bad in her way, but awfully poor—and pig-headed too, which poor people oughtn’t to be, because they can’t afford it. I went to have a deal with her, but it was of no use. She would do no business with me.’

‘Oh, you have gone back to your old profession of Cheap Jack, have you?’

‘I never left it off. I Cheap Jack in my sleep and make thundering profits. It is disappointing to wake in the morning and see all the goods—and damaged ones too—on the shelves where they were the night before, after I had sold them off in my dreams at twenty-five and thirty per cent. profits. There’s an epergne has been the nightmare to father and me. I wanted Kainie to take it, but she wouldn’t. Suppose you buy it and present it to her, and so make peace and love between you?’

‘Have done. I told you I did not wish you to know her.’

‘But I went on business, and my time was wasted.’

‘You have also been with that—that fellow.’

‘Yes, with Mark. I took him out for a drive.’

‘In the road, in the van?’

‘Yes; the van wanted sweetening. The fowls have been roosting on it, and have treated it shamefully.’

‘Be silent. What are you playing with behind your back?’

‘I am playing with nothing. I am always at work or doing business. I never play.’

‘And what work or business are you engaged on now?’

‘I am polishing the handle of the door.’

‘You not play? You never play?’ exclaimed Drownlands, starting to his feet. ‘You are always at play, and I am your sport. You play me as a fish, you dagg me like a pike. Look at this.’

He went to the corner of his room, and from the collection there thrown together produced a singular weapon or tool, locally termed a gleve.

‘Do you know the use of this?’

'不。'

‘It is for playing,’ said Drownlands bitterly. ‘See, there are six knives tied together by the handles at the head, and all the blades have been jagged like saws, the teeth set backwards. Can you guess its purpose?’

‘No; it’s not a woman’s tool.’

‘It is for playing—playing with pike. You take this and dagg into the water; you dagg and dagg, and bring up a pike or an eel wedged between these blades, cut into by these fangs. He cannot free himself; the more he twists and turns, the deeper into his flesh bite these teeth, and the greater is his anguish of heart. That is play—play for him who does the dagging, not for the poor fish that is speared. And, Zita, such is your play. With your fingers, with your tongue, with your brown eyes, you dagg for me, and I am the miserable wretch whom you torture. It may be fun to you.’

‘I do not make sport with you, master,’ said Zita, with placidity of feature and evenness of tone in strong contrast with his working face and quivering voice.

‘You are at that handle again. Polishing it! Leave off, or you will drive me mad. Can you not for one moment desist from tormenting me? You seek out occasion, means, to twang my every nerve, and give me pain.’

‘Master Drownlands, listen to me,’ said Zita. ‘You are quite in the wrong when you say that I dagg for you. Lawk-a-biddy! I dagg for you? On the contrary, it is you who are dagging for me, and I have to dodge to this side, then to that, from your gleve, and as I happen to be sharp of eye and nimble in movement, you do not catch me. That is how the matter stands, and not at all as you represent it.’

‘Who suffers?’ asked Drownlands fiercely. ‘Is it you, or is it I? You stand there, composed and complacent, rubbing up my door-handle behind your back, and all the while I am in torture. You cannot speak to me but you stick a dart; you cannot look at me but I feel the knife cutting; your very laugh causes a wound, and your weapons are all poisoned, and the gashes fester. Here am I’ (he flung the gleve back into the corner with an oath), ‘your victim, your sport—in suffering.’

He returned to the table.

‘Sit down,’ said the girl. ‘Do not work yourself into a passion. There’s no occasion for that. Let us come to business.’

‘Yes,’ said Drownlands; ‘that is the only way to deal with you. You have a sorry, commercial mind. Everything to you must be a matter of pounds, shillings, and pence.’

‘That is the only way with me,’ said Zita. ‘I was brought up to trade, and I love to drive a bargain. That, if you like it, is sport; it is sport and business squeezed into one.’

‘I will stand here,’ said the man. ‘You stand there by the door, if you will; only, I beseech you, leave off polishing that cursed handle, and reckoning, as I suppose you are, how many farthings to charge me for it. As you say that you love business, to business we will go. As nothing affects you but what is presented to your mind in a monetary light, to moneys we will proceed. We also will have a deal.’

‘By all means,’ said Zita, with a sigh of relief. ‘Now I am on my own ground. Do you want to buy, sell, or barter?’

He did not answer immediately. He folded his arms and stood by the window jamb, looking over his shoulder at her.

The dusk had set in after the set of sun, but a silvery grey light suffused the room, the reflection of the snow on the ground. In this light he could see Zita. She had withdrawn her hands from the knob, and had them raised to her bosom, and was rubbing one palm against the other leisurely. A fine, clean-built girl. He also was a fine man, with strongly-cut features, picturesque, with his long black hair, his swarthy complexion, his sturdy frame, and the tiger-skin slung across his shoulders.

‘Now I am ready,’ said Zita.

He did not speak. He felt that much, everything, depended on what he said, and how he said it. His breath came quick, and his brow was beaded with perspiration.

‘You are slow about it,’ said Zita. ‘Father took an agency once for an Illustrated History of the War. It was to be in twenty parts, at half a crown a part, and four beautiful steel engravings in each, of battles, and generals, and towns. That Illustrated War was such a long time in progress that some of the subscribers died, and others moved away, and some went bankrupt, and there was no getting their money out of some of the others. Father never would have anything more to do with concerns that did not go off smart like the snap of a percussion cap. It seems to me that this business of yours is going to be as long and tiresome as that of the Illustrated War.’

‘You are dagging at me again,’ said Drownlands sullenly.

‘I cannot speak a word but it takes you contrariways,’ observed the girl.

He left the window and came to the table, leaned his hand on it, and stood with his back to the light. Still unable to make up his mind to speak, or how to speak, he began to tear up the blotting-paper into little pieces and to throw them about, some on the floor, some on the board. When the last fragment had left his fingers—

‘Zita,’ he said in loud and vehement tones, ‘I suppose I am twice your age.’

‘I should fancy more than that—a good deal.’

‘Be silent and listen to me.’ He raised his voice. ‘I am rich. I have a large tract of land—fen-land. I have turned over every turf, and under each found gold. But it has not made me happy. I have had many contradictions, many sorrows, and some shame. My life has been blistered and full of running sores. I have ever been seeking and never finding, till I saw you. When you came into my house, then I knew at once that it was you I had craved for and longed after, and that you, and you alone, could give me what I can find nowhere else—happiness.’

‘Give?’ said Zita. ‘I thought this was a business matter.’

‘Let me buy my happiness, then, at what price you desire. I have told you what I am worth. When I see you, I feel the fire kindles in my heart; when I do not see you, it smoulders; and now—now I speak, it breaks out into raging flames.’

‘I must leave this place, or you will go clean crazy.’

‘No, you must not—you shall not leave it! I could not live without you, having once seen you. Zita, I must have you!’

‘Me?’ said Zita. ‘With me go the van and the goods.’

‘Curse the van!’

‘You must not say that. The van is very fine, if the poultry would but leave it alone; and with the curtains and tassels is fit for a king.’

‘Zita, it is you only that I want.’

‘There are a lot of goods goes with me—scrubbing-brushes, mops, brooms, door-mats, pots and pans. Then there’s Jewel—who is not bad when he does go.’

‘You are trifling with me again. Listen to me. Hear me to the end.’

‘I want to hear the end and have done with it,’ said the girl. ‘I was reckoning up the articles. Here’s Cheap Jack Zita for one; there are all these promiscuous goods, that’s two; here’s the van, that’s three; and there’s Jewel, that’s four—a job lot.’

‘You are mocking me.’

‘No indeed, I am not. We are after business, are we not?’

But Zita was purposely protracting the scene. She was in difficulties, and was searching to find a way out of them.

‘Yes, business. You are mercantile. Listen to what I offer. I am rich, a man of consequence, and a Commissioner. Here is the house, here is the land. I have money in the bank—thousands of pounds; all—all I have is yours; give me but your own self in return.’

Zita was far from being unfeeling. She was stirred by the earnestness, the devotion of the man, but she was not for a moment doubtful as to what her answer must be. Commercial though her mind was, she could not accept him at his price. Her scruple was how to word her refusal so as least to wound him. In her peculiar fashion—one inveterate to her—she twisted the matter about so as to give it a comical aspect. She saw no other loophole for escape from a difficult and painful situation.

‘I am sorry,’ she said, ‘that number one in the job lot is not to be parted with. That is withdrawn from the sale, or bought in. But if it is any consolation to you to have the van and a share of the goods’—

‘That is no consolation to me.’

‘A queer state of mind to be in—an unwholesome one, and looks like derangement of intellects. The van ought to comfort any man with his faculties about him.’

‘Zita!’ exclaimed Drownlands, striking the table with his fist, ‘you persist in fooling with me! I will not endure this. I am in deadly earnest. I know the reason of this trifling. Mark Runham’—he choked with passion—’Mark has stepped in, and you have given him that heart which you deny me—a heart I would give worlds—worlds’—. He turned to the window. It was starlight now, starlight over snowfields. ‘Look out, Zita, at the stars. It is said that they are worlds. If all these were mine, and filled with unimaginable masses of treasure, the homes of unexampled happiness, I would give all for you—all for you—listen to me—merely that I might call you mine, and then die.’

‘I cannot be yours,’ said Zita in a firm voice. ‘And now that you have said this, I shall leave the house.’

‘You shall not leave this house!’ he cried fiercely. ‘If you attempt it,—if I see that you are about to attempt it—and I know whither you would go,—then I will shoot you first, and myself afterwards.’

‘I have to do, then, with a madman?’

‘Be it so—with a madman; mad on one matter only, mad for one thing only—you. I make no empty threat. I swear by these stars I will do what I threaten. I cannot and I will not live without you. I will kill you rather than that you should belong to another.’

Zita came forward from the door, came to the table.

‘I can never be yours,’ she said in a tone as earnest, as grave as his. ‘There is that between us which makes it for ever impossible.’

'是什么 这—Mark Runham?’

‘No—not Mark Runham.’

‘Who is it, then?’

‘There is no 谁。 有一个 东西. Must I tell you what it is? I would gladly spare you.’

‘Tell me, and torment me no more.’

She stepped to the corner of the room, took the flail up, and cast it on the table between them.

“” 东西 is that flail.’

Suddenly through the window smote a red flare; it kindled the room, it turned Zita’s hair into a ruddy aureole, it streamed over the table, and dyed the flail blood-red.

And Drownlands cast himself on his knees, with a cry of anguish and remorse, and buried his face in his hands.

Then through the house sounded a hubbub of voices, and cries for the master.

SEVERAL and various causes had combined to produce discontent in the Fens.

Those who lived by fishing and fowling were angry because the improved drainage had destroyed their sporting grounds. Those who had been left behind in the scramble for land were discontented because others had seized the advantageous moment for purchasing which they had let slip.

The labourers were discontented because of the lowness of the wage and the high price of corn. How was it possible for a man on ten or eleven shillings a week to maintain a family, when wheat was at four to five shillings a stone?

It is proverbial that such as have risen from poverty prove the harshest masters. Such was the case in the Fens. The landowners were related by blood and marriage to the labourers they employed, but, nevertheless, they ground them under their own heels. A specimen of their brutality may be instanced. Twice or thrice the wheat had to be hoed, and the hoers were women. Over them the farmers set a ganger armed with an ox goad, who thrust on the lagging women with a prod between the shoulder-blades.

The men were paid partly in money, partly in corn, and were given the refuse wheat that would not sell, wheat that had been badly harvested, and had sprouted in the ear, wheat that made heavy and unwholesome bread.

Labour in the Fens was of a specially trying nature. The clayer was underground all day in pits throwing up the marl that was to serve as manure to the surface earth, and was half stifled by the noxious exhalations from the decomposing vegetable matter, and was immersed half-way up his calves in fetid, phosphorescent ooze.

The cleaning out and deepening of the dykes was trying work, for the workman was plunged to his waist in stagnant water and slime, tormented by mosquitos, and poisoned by the stings of the terrible gadfly that threw him into fever for a fortnight. Everything was poisonous. The fen-water entering a cut produced gangrene. If the hand or foot were wounded by a reed, a sore was the result that resisted healing.

The expenses of the fen-labourer were heavy. He could not do the tasks set him without a pair of well-tanned leather boots reaching to the hips, that cost him from thirty-six shillings to two pounds the pair.

His comforts were small, and were disregarded by the landowners. His cottage, though quite modern, was supremely wretched. It had been run up at the least possible expense, one brick thick, and one room deep, on piles. But ‘the moor’ beneath the surface had shrunk through the drainage, and the walls gaped, letting wind and rain drive through the rents, and frost enter, impossible to expel by the largest fire.

There was then, as there is now, and always will be, a body of social failures—fraudulent dealers detected and exposed, but not shamed, men who, through their sourness of temper, or indolence, or dishonesty, had failed in whatever they took in hand. These were ready-made demagogues, all talkers, all dissatisfied with every person and thing save themselves, accusing every institution of corruption, and every person of injustice, because of their own incompetence. They were in their element when real discontent prevailed on account of real wrongs. They rose into influence as agitators; they worked on the minds of the ignorant peasantry, dazzling them with expectations impossible to be realised, and exciting them to a frenzy of anger against all who were in any way their superiors. These men were rarely sincere in their convictions. They were for the most part unscrupulous fishers in troubled waters. Of the few that were sincere, Ephraim Beamish was one.

All the elements of dissatisfaction were combined at the period of our tale, and the high price of wheat produced an explosion; but it was Ephraim Beamish who applied the match.

He had been expelled his office as keeper of a mill by the Commissioners, and his enforced idleness gave him leisure to pass from one centre of discontent to another, to stir up the embers, fan them to a white heat, and organise a general outbreak. On a preconcerted day, the labourers rose, and with them was combined a large body of men of no particular calling, who had no particular grievance, and no particular end in view.

No suspicion of danger was entertained by the employers, and when the dissatisfied broke out in open riot, they were taken by surprise and were unprepared to offer resistance.

Bodies of men assembled at Mildenhall, Soham, Isleham, Downham, and Littleport, and the order was given that they were to march upon Ely, and on their way were to extort from the farmers promise of higher wage and cheaper corn. In Ely contributions were to be exacted from the Bishop, the canons, and all the wealthy and well-to-do citizens. The mills were to be wrecked and the banks plundered.

At the head of the whole movement was Beamish, but he was more especially to act as commander over the Littleport detachment.

Having got the men together,—the poachers and wild-duck fowlers armed with their guns, the labourers with cudgels,—he endeavoured to marshal them into some sort of discipline and subjection to orders. But this he found more difficult than to bring the men together. He found the men were not amenable to command, and were indisposed to confine themselves to exacting contributions. Fortified by their numbers, they attacked the grocer’s shop, the vicarage, and the home of a retired farmer in Littleport, broke in the doors and pillaged them.

Having tasted the pleasures of plunder, they were prepared to sack and wreck any house whence they thought liquor or money was to be got.

It was in vain that Ephraim Beamish endeavoured to control the unwieldy body of men. Quot homines, tot sententiæ. And as each man in the disorderly love-feasts at Corinth had his prophecy, his psalm, and his interpretation, so in this assemblage of peasants, each had his opinion as to where lay the blame for the distress or discomfort under which he laboured, each had his private grudge to avenge, each his special need which he sought to satisfy, and all were united in equal determination not to submit to dictation from Beamish or any other man.

The tavern at Littleport could hardly escape, although it had been a rendezvous of the dissatisfied. The mob rushed towards it to break in and seize on the contents of the cellar. In vain did Beamish protest that they were injuring a good cause by their disorderly conduct; all desired drink, and none paid heed to his remonstrance.

The taverner barely averted having his house looted by rolling a hogshead of ale out of his doors, and bidding the rioters help themselves.

Then Beamish sprang on a bench and entreated the men to attend to what he had to say.

‘We want no words,’ said one of the rioters. ‘We are dry, we want drink. We’ve empty pockets, and want to fill them. Our ears have been stuffed with words. Keep them for chapel on Sundays.’

‘I will speak,’ cried Beamish. ‘I am your leader. You have sworn to follow and obey me. You elected me yourselves.’

‘Lead us to liquor and sovereigns, and we’ll follow sharp enough.’

‘You are wasting time. You are damaging a righteous cause. Have we not to march to Ely? Have we not to visit the farmers on the way, and impose our terms there?’

‘There’s plenty of time for that, Pip.’

‘There is not plenty of time. The Mildenhall men are on their way under Cutman, five hundred strong.’

'你怎么知道？'

‘It was so planned. The Isleham men are marching under Goat, the Soham men under Gotobed. Who will be first in Ely? Is Littleport, that should lead the way, to come in at the tail?’

‘There is something in that, mates,’ shouted one of the rioters. ‘Stand in order, you chaps. To Ely! Bring along the waggon.’

The idea that, if looting were to be done, they of Littleport might come in merely to glean where others had reaped, and the consciousness that a far richer harvest was awaiting them in Ely than could be garnered in Littleport, acted as a stimulus, and the mob desisted from further violence, and roughly organised itself into marching order. All were armed after a fashion, with guns, pitchforks, cudgels, leaping-poles, and cleavers; and as the day was declining, there was a cry for torches.

‘We shan’t want them,’ called one of the men. ‘We’ll light bonfires on our way.’

Then a waggon was drawn out. In it were stationed some fowlers with duck-guns. The object of the waggon was to serve as a sort of fortress. Those in it were above the heads of the rest, and, in the event of resistance or an attack, could fire over their heads. Moreover, the waggon would be serviceable to carry the spoil taken on the way, or gathered in Ely.

Then the mob rolled along the great drove or highway to the city, with shouts, and oaths, and laughter, and trampled the snow as it advanced, leaving a black slush behind it.

Many of the men were half intoxicated with the ale and spirits they had already imbibed, and all were wholly drunk with lust of gain and love of destruction.

Then one in the waggon shouted, ‘To Crumbland!’ Another shouted, ‘No, no! Young Runham is not bad. He has sold his wheat cheap and thrashed out all his stacks. And the old woman is a widow.’

‘That’s nought,’ exclaimed a third, ‘if there’s any liquor to be had there!’

‘To Gaultrip’s!’ was the cry.

‘Gaultrip is my cousin!’ shouted another.

‘That’s nought,’ called one of the mob. ‘I suppose he has money.’

‘Ely way!’ roared Beamish, scrambling into the waggon. ‘Drive ahead. What’s the use of being the commander, if nobody listens to the word of command, and nobody thinks of obeying it, if he does hear it?’

THE shrill voice of Mrs. Tunkiss was heard, as she ran screaming up the stairs, calling for ‘the master.’ Then she burst into his room, followed by the maid-of-all-work, who was in convulsive jerks.

‘Oh, master! there is a riot. Some of our men have joined, and there is a stack on fire at Gaultrip’s. The mob is coming here, and threatens to burn us.’

‘Who are coming?’ asked Drownlands, looking up. He staggered to his feet, but was as one dazed. He did not observe the glare in the room. He did not hear distinctly the words spoken.

‘Look, master! look at the blaze. It is at Gaultrip’s. You can hear them coming on. They are swearing horrible, and say they will have our lives.’

‘What is this all about?’

‘I don’t know for certain. Tom Easy has run here afore to tell us what he has gathered. But lawk! poor lad, he’s frightened; and me—my poor head won’t hold it. He says the mob be armed with bombs and cannons, and all sorts of engines of war, and they’ll blow us up into the skies.’

Drownlands passed his hand over his eyes, then went to the window and looked out.

He saw in the distance the red blaze of a burning rick, the flames dancing and leaping in the air, and carrying with them wisps of ignited straw, which were borne on the wind as firebrands, to carry destruction elsewhere. He could see the mob advancing as a ripple of fire running along the drove before a dark wave. The rioters had, in fact, twisted up bands of straw, had lighted them, and were waving them as torches as they advanced, and the flames were reflected in the dykes on each side of the road. Drownlands was surprised. He threw up the sash, and the roar of voices was carried into the room.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ asked he. ‘Who are these that are coming this way?’

‘It is the rioters,’ answered Mrs. Tunkiss.

‘Rioters? What rioters?’

‘Lawk! how can I tell? Tom Easy said they want advance of wages, and cheap flour. And he said, they ask for money to help on the cause.’

‘Cause? What cause?’

‘Lawk, sir! how can I say? Tom Easy said it was the Union of Fen Labourers, and they will have blood or money. They will make you swear to pay them two shillings a-day more wage, and pull the price of flour down to half a crown.’

‘They demand money of me, do they? Let them venture to require it of me.’

‘Here they are!’ screamed Mrs. Tunkiss, as a blow was levelled at the door, and the strokes resounded through the house.

‘Who was that?’ shouted Drownlands from the window, with a curse. He was not a man to spare oaths when he was angry. ‘Who struck my door? I will have the law of him.’

The mob was pouring into the yard.

‘Make a blaze, and let us see the old tiger!’ shouted one of the rioters, and bunches of straw and corn were snatched from a rick, a blaze was made, and fire tossed about, illumining the face of the house and the figures of the men in the waggon.

‘By heaven, I know you!’ shouted Drownlands from the window. ‘That is Aaron Chevell in the waggon, and by him Isaac Harley and Harry Tansley with guns. I’ll not forget you. I have a memory. I have five ash trees on the drove side, and I shall have a rioter slung to every branch of every tree, and shall begin with my own workmen.’

‘Hold a civil tongue in your head!’ shouted Chevell from the waggon. ‘Don’t threaten what you can’t perform. We have guns here, as you see, and can silence you; and we shan’t think twice about doing so, if you do not come to our terms.’

‘Master Drownlands!’ called Ephraim Beamish, working his way forward in the waggon with his long arms, and leaning his elbows on the front board when he had thrust himself into the middle position, ‘you will gain nothing by abuse and threats. We have a good cause, and are a thousand strong to support it. You have had everything in the Fens your own way too long, and have trampled the working men under foot. You have coined their sweat into silver’—

Some one shouted as a correction, ‘Into gold.’

‘Yes,’ said Beamish; ‘you have coined the sweat of your men into heavy gold, and have left the men to hunger, and toil, and nakedness; to cramp, and ague, and fever. They have their rights as well as you. They have borne their wrongs long enough. Now they have risen to demand what in equity is theirs—some share of the profits, some just proportion out of your gains, so that they may live in comfort, and not barely live.’

‘Shut your mouth!’ roared one of the crowd; ‘we want no preaching now. We knows our rights, and we’ll maintain them with our fists, and not with your tongue. Pip thinks he’ll convert Tiger Ki, he does! Words won’t do that. Send a shot at him, Tansley. That’s the only argument for him.’

Tansley, the man addressed, thrust Beamish back with the butt-end of his fowling-piece, and laid his barrel on the front board.

‘Listen, Master Drownlands,’ shouted Beamish, again making an effort to shoulder his way to the front of the waggon. ‘What we ask of you is twenty pounds for the cause of the United Fen Labourers. Give us twenty pounds, and swear to the conditions—a fair wage and cheap corn. Then we will do you no harm whatever. We will take your money, and move along our way. We are bound for Ely.’

‘I pay you twenty pounds?’ yelled Drownlands. ‘I have a gun as well as you have, and will contribute lead to the cause—lead only.’

He ran to the corner of the room and took down his gun from the rack.

‘I’ll shoot,’ threatened Tansley.

‘Ay—and so will I,’ said Drownlands, ‘and let us see who can take the best aim. I think my eye is pretty well known to be sharp and my hand steady. By the Lord, I’ll not spare you!’ He paused and put on a hat. ‘I can see finely with all those wisps of fire. Hold up your torches, boys, higher, that I may send my bullet into Tansley’s heart. He will leap, and then down he goes.’

Fallen pieces of ignited straw had kindled the half-kneaded straw on the ground, and there ran flames and half-flames to and fro on the soil. The cart-horses in the waggon started and shifted position to escape these flashes and flickers.

‘Drownlands!’ shouted a young voice, and Mark Runham thrust his way through the crowd. ‘I pray you be reasonable. You will provoke bloodshed.’

‘What, you there? You a ringleader in riots?’ exclaimed Drownlands, lowering his fowling-piece.

‘I am not that. Let me come within.’

Then Mark stood on the waggon-shafts and called to the crowd—

‘Refrain from violence! Leave me to manage Master Drownlands. I will engage him to let you have the money you require.’

Then he jumped down from the shafts and ran up the steps.

The door had been bolted and chained by the housekeeper, but Zita, hearing what Mark said, without waiting for orders, descended to the ground floor, and unbarred the door, and admitted him. He ran upstairs, for no time was to be lost. The mob was restless and irritated. It was impatient to be on its way to Ely, and yet was reluctant to leave Prickwillow without having drawn money from it, or done some mischief.

Drownlands was too angry to listen to advice. He would not hear of coming to terms with the rabble. He had been too long accustomed to domineer over the labourers to fear them now. He in no way realised how much courage is given by association in numbers.

‘What are you here for? How dare you enter uninvited?’ he exclaimed, as Mark came into the office, followed by Zita.

‘I admitted him,’ said the girl. ‘He has come in your interest.’

‘He is one of the rioters! He is a leader! A Runham of Crumbland, with a tail of dirty scoundrels after him, burning, pillaging, and getting drunk.’

‘I beseech you,’ said Mark—’I entreat you to listen to reason. The men are, as you say, drunk—drunk with folly. I am no leader.’

‘You are acting for them.’

‘I am an intermediary. They have spared me. They came to Crumbland, but we humoured them, brought out cake and ale, and they went their way without molestation. Gaultrip resisted, and they set fire to a stack, and so frightened him that he yielded, and paid fifteen pounds. Now he is engaged in saving his other stacks. Do not provoke these fellows further.’

‘I will not listen to you. You ought to be ashamed to take the part of these scurvy ragamuffins.’

‘I am not taking their part, but yours. Hark!’

There was a cry from the yard of, ‘Drownlands! Tiger Ki! We will break in the house door unless you give us money.’

Then a brick was thrown. It crashed through the double panes of the window with raised sash, and fell in the room, accompanied by a shower of glass splinters.

‘I will shoot one of them!’ exclaimed the yeoman, and he ran with his gun to the window.

Mark had just time to strike up the barrel, and the contents were discharged in the air, hurting nobody.

Drownlands turned on him with an oath.

‘I will punish you,’ he said, stamping with fury, and he rushed upon Mark with his gun raised over his head, grasping it by the barrel.

Then Zita sprang between them, holding the flail in both her hands, as a ward against the stock.

‘Stand back, Mark!’ she cried. ‘He dare not touch you across this flail.’

It was as she said.

The man stood as one paralysed, the uplifted gun in his hands, his eyes glaring at young Runham, and the red reflections of the fire flashing on his face and turning it to blood. But the blow did not fall. His muscles remained immovable, the gun suspended in the air, till Zita lowered the flail, and put it behind her back. Then the spell was off him. He let the gun fall on the ground, and his head sank on his bosom.

The discharge of the fowling-piece had produced a hush in the voices outside.

None knew whether, in the darkness, some one had been hit. But when, after a pause, it was found that no harm had been done, then there broke forth loud cries and execrations; the courage of the rabble rose with a sense of its immunity, and a rain of brickbats beat against the windows of the house, shivering the panes. The kitchen-maid fell on the floor in a fit. Mrs. Tunkiss went into a series of shrieks. Renewed blows were raised against the house door, and they were accompanied with cries of, ‘Smash it in! Tear the tiger’s house down! He has hundreds of pounds put away somewhere. If he will not pay twenty sovereigns when we ask civil, we will take two hundred.’

Then one shrill voice cried, ‘Make a bonfire of the wheat ricks.’

‘Ki Drownlands! will you do nothing?’ asked Mark; ‘will you not give up a few pounds to save those long ranges of stacks?’

‘Let them do their worst,’ answered the master of Prickwillow doggedly. ‘By the light of the fire I will note every face, and mark them all down, man by man, and then woe betide them.’

Then a burst of cheers, and cries of, ‘That will do famously. We will have that out. Get horses, harness, and we will drive to Ely.’

Zita ran to the window, and returned hastily with a blank face.

‘They have found my van! They have got inside. They are clambering on the roof. They are treating it worse than poultry! Oh, Mark! Mark!’

Then through the window she pleaded, ‘Spare my van. Here are ten gold sovereigns.’ Then to Mark, ‘Take my money, go to the men, and get them to leave my darling, precious van alone.’

‘Stay,’ said Drownlands. ‘I have changed my mind.’ He went to the door and summoned the domestics who had fled when the brickbat crashed into the room. ‘Come here, Leehanna. Sarah, get out of your fits and come at once. Come here, Tom Easy.’

The frightened servants obeyed.

‘Bring a candle,’ he said.

The scared housekeeper did as required.

When Drownlands had received the light, he went into the passage, and, holding it before the face of Mark, said to the domestics, ‘Do you know who this is? Is not this Mark Runham? Can you swear to it?’ He paused for an answer to each question.

‘He has come here, pushed his way into my house, against my wishes, to force me to contribute twenty pounds towards the cause of the rioters. He threatens me with the burning of my ricks if I do not comply. Is it not so?’

‘I have come,’ said Mark, ‘because I am desirous to save you, as well as others in your house, from injury; and also to intervene and protect these misguided men against committing a crime.’

‘They touched nothing at Crumbland.’

‘No; we gave them food and drink.’

‘Yes, you are hand and glove with them. And now you are acting as their spokesman and their leader. Take my money—twenty pounds, and take Zita’s ten pounds—thirty pounds in all, the plunder of this house. Mind you, I give it on compulsion. I do not find meat and liquor for the rioters; I do this to save my ricks of corn. And I give it to you, Mark Runham, acting for the rioters.’

Drownlands turned to those present.

‘I call upon you all to witness, you, Leehanna Tunkiss, you, Sarah, you, Tom Easy, and you, Zita, that I pay over my twenty pounds against my will. Open your hand, Mark Runham. Let them see that you have there my twenty pounds and Zita’s ten pounds. There are the sovereigns all in gold. They are well spent—well spent—they rid me of you.’

A few moments later a shout rang from the crowd without—’Tiger Ki has shelled out. For the Union, for the Cause! for the fen-labourers! Twenty pounds! Twenty pounds for liberty and right! The cheap loaf and the big wage! Hurrah! hurrah, boys! Forward to Ely! On to the banks. On to the mills!’

Drownlands looked after the retreating mob from his window, and said, with a sneer, ‘Go on—to the gallows, Mark Runham; I am clear of you now. Cheap at twenty pounds.’

NOTWITHSTANDING the call of ‘On to Ely!’ the mob was not at once in motion. Something delayed it.

Zita went to the window and looked out. She saw that which excited and angered her, and, turning her head to Drownlands, said—

‘It is a shame! It is disgraceful! They have taken my ten pounds, and yet they are carrying off my van. They have put Jewel into the shafts. They might as well have harnessed the Archbishop! He’s stiffening his legs and setting back his ears. Look how he’s cocking his tail. They will have to drag on van and Jewel together. What a thing the general public is! I never knew it in this mood before, and yet I thought I knew it pretty well. I’ll clear the public out of my van. There are a dozen inside, and a score on the roof. They have no right to do this after accepting my money.’

She left the window.

‘Zita, where are you going?’ asked Drownlands.

‘Going to send the general public skipping,’ she answered.

‘You cannot do it. It is not safe to leave the house.’

‘Trust me. I’ve swept the poultry off, and I’m not afraid of the public. I know how to deal with them as I do with fowls.’

Before Drownlands had time to offer further remonstrance, she had darted out of the office, run to her own room, taken a pair of fencing foils from the stores, had descended the stairs two steps at a time, had unbarred the door and was out in the yard, making for the van.

‘Stand still—don’t move,’ she said to Jewel, as she passed his head; and he turned one of his eyes at her and winked.

‘Clear away at once,’ she shouted to those around the van. ‘You have taken my money, and must let the conveyance alone.’

‘Who are you? We’ve no money of yours.’

‘Yes, you have. I sent out ten pounds to you. Go, ask your commander, secretary, treasurer, or whatever you call him. He has pocketed my ten pounds, and you are bound to leave my van alone. I am the Cheap Jack girl.’

‘Are you the daughter of the Cheap Jack who died here?’

‘Yes, I am; and this is my van. Hands off. You have no quarrel against me. What have I done to make bread dear and keep wages low? I do not belong to these parts. Stand aside.’

She thrust her way to the back of the van where was the glass door. This had been opened, and several men had ensconced themselves inside on the benches.

Zita entered, a foil in each hand. Within it was dark, but she nevertheless knew that the interior was packed full of men.

‘This is my conveyance,’ she said imperiously; ‘you have no more right to enter it than you have to occupy the house of the Lord Mayor. I have got a sword in each hand. I cannot see any one in the dark, but I will dagg with each hand, as you dagg for eels, and I will go on dagging till I have got a man wriggling at the end of each.’

Down went the front of the van, and out tumbled a dozen lusty men, one over another, stumbling, falling, sprawling, in the trampled snow and straw.

Zita went through the van from aft to fore, and satisfied herself that it was cleared of its human occupants. Then, standing on the platform, which had been thrown forward by those who burst away from her foils, she looked up at the roof. A score of men and youths was on it, their legs pendent.

‘Down with you at once,’ she said. ‘Do you see these rapiers? Do you think I can’t run a man through as easy as stick a needle in a pin-cushion? It’s not the running in—it’s the pulling out is the trouble. There’s a button at the end of each blade. I have got only two—so I can pin but two of you, and that shall be the last two that leave the roof.’

She made as though about to scramble on to the top of the van, and away went the men seated there, dropping like ripe pears from a tree.

Zita leisurely reclosed the front of the van, and went out at the back and shut that door also.

‘That’s a good job done, Jewel,’ said she. ‘Now run the van backwards into the shed, and you shall return to the stable. Roman candles, Jewel—pop-bang! Roman candles at your nose.’

‘Hold there, you Cheap Jack girl!’ shouted a broad-shouldered man, coming up and laying his hand on the bit. ‘We have taken this conveyance for the Union. It is confiscated.’

‘Whether taken and confiscated I cannot say,’ said Zita. ‘But I know I have paid ten pounds to have it untaken and set at liberty. Return my ten sovereigns if you take from me my van.’

‘We have no ten sovereigns of yours.’

‘Yes, you have. And a shame it is that you should rob a poor Cheap Jack girl. Not that she belongs to the general public, save and deliver us!—but she is a working girl, and poor.’

‘We have had no money of yours, and we requisition the van. We want to load it in Ely. It will serve our purpose better than a waggon.’

‘You shall not have it,’ replied Zita. ‘Fair trade is fair trade, and he that will not deal honourably I will run through, and leave the button sticking between his shoulders, and that will spoil a good weskit.’

The man sprang back as she threatened him with one of the foils.

‘I will tell you what it is,’ said Zita; ‘you will not believe me till I have made an example of one of you.’

‘Where is your ten pounds?’ asked Pip Beamish, who had descended from the waggon.

‘Ay,’ said several of those who stood round; ‘that is what we should uncommon like to know.’

‘Where are my ten pounds?’ repeated Zita. ‘That is a fine question for you to put to me, when I’ll be bound you have them in your pocket.’

‘Bring them out, Pip!’ called one of the men.

‘I have not got her money. I have not touched it,’ protested the commander.

‘I gave it to Mark Runham along with the master’s twenty pounds.’

‘The twenty pounds has been put into the Union box—I never touched your ten.’

‘Come, come, Pip,’ said a cluster of men, ‘no shuffling. Mark wouldn’t have held back the money. You have had it, sure enough.’

‘I have not had one farthing of it.’

‘I paid ten pounds to have my van set at liberty. I did not wish to have it sat upon, and the sides kicked, and the varnish scratched. I gave ten pounds to save it from that.’

‘What did you get, Beamish?’ asked Aaron Chevell.

‘I got just twenty pounds and no more—the twenty pounds that Drownlands contributed, and that I put into the box with the rest.’

‘And not my ten?’ exclaimed Zita. ‘That is a falsehood. My ten was with his twenty. Thirty pounds in all, in gold.’

‘There has been cheating,’ shouted two or three.

‘That is what comes of jaw and preaching.’

‘Mates,’ said Aaron Chevell, ‘we must not let this pass. Let us have judge and jury There has been robbery of the common fund. Mates, I vote that we arrest Pip Beamish, and try him at once.’

‘Have him up in the cart,’ said Tansley. ‘Comrades all! light some more straw wisps. There has been a case of roguery. There has been our chief officer taking the money that was contributed to the Union, and pocketing it for his private use. I charge Ephraim Beamish, and vote that he be deposed from his command, and be tried for felony.’

‘I second it,’ shouted Isaac Harley. ‘And what I say is—like enough. He who wants most has taken it. A chap as hasn’t a house to call his home, nor an honest employ in which to earn his living.’

‘It is not what I calls respectable,’ said one man, ‘that we should march under such a rascal.’

Then ensued a chorus of voices.

‘Up into the waggon with him, and try him there.’

In vain did Beamish protest that he had not defrauded the Union, that he had received no more than twenty pounds. The rest suspected him, and were jealous of his assumption of authority.

‘You Cheap Jack girl,’ called Chevell, ‘we want your evidence. Ay, bring the swords along with you, if you’re afraid of us, but we do not hurt women.’

Zita allowed herself to be conducted to the waggon, and assisted into it with rough courtesy.

A fen-farm waggon is a very massive structure, more massive, perhaps, than one in other parts of England. It has its peculiarity, which consists in the front board being unusually high and arched at top. Often may women be seen going to market in the waggons, crouching against this high board, which screens them from the wind.

There is much vermilion paint employed on the waggons, and the front board usually blazes with colour. It was so on this occasion. The waggon carried off by the rioters had recently been painted, and the vermilion was of the brightest.

Isaac Harley cried from his place in the waggon, ‘Mates, who is to be judge?’

‘We will have no judge but ourselves,’ was the ready response.

‘Then,’ cried Tansley, ‘choose your jury.’

‘We will all be jury!’ shouted the mob.

Then Aaron Chevell, standing forward, said, ‘Comrades, the case is this. This young gal—she is the Cheap Jack’s lass, staying here—says she gave ten sovereigns in gold to the labourers’ cause, to have her van let alone. And she gave it along with the twenty pounds of Tiger Ki. Now we want to know what has become of this contribution of hers. Ephraim Beamish swears he never received it.’

‘I had the twenty pounds of Mark Runham,’ said Beamish, ‘but not ten besides.’

‘You stand by the front board,’ said Chevell to Zita, ‘and tell your story. We will hold Beamish, and every one shall judge.’

‘What? the general public?’ asked Zita, looking round at the crowd of upturned faces.

‘Yes; it shall give judgment.’

‘Then you’ll have rare judgment,’ said Zita. She went forward to the place pointed out to her, and stood there, with her back to the scarlet board, and leaned on her foils. Blazing straw wisps were held up, brilliantly illumining the whole scene.

‘I call to silence,’ said Chevell, ‘and let us hear what the Cheap Jack gal has to say.’

‘What I have to say is this,’ said Zita. ‘I saw that you had drawn out my van, the house in which I was born and reared, the shop whence all our profits came, and were treating it worse than did the poultry. So I gave my savings to Mark Runham, ten pounds, all I had on me in gold, at the same time that the master gave twenty pounds to save his corn-stacks. Mark Runham took it to the man, Pip Beamish, who is your captain.’

‘No, he ain’t! we have deposed him!’ was shouted on all sides.

Then voices were raised for Runham, but Mark was not to be found.

‘We want another witness,’ said Chevell.

‘There is one,’ said Zita, pointing with a foil to Drownlands at the window of his office. ‘There are more if you desire them—Leehanna Tunkiss, the girl Sarah, and Tom Easy. They all saw me give Mark the money.’

Aaron called to Drownlands if it was so. Drownlands answered in assent.

‘Summon the other witnesses,’ commanded the self-constituted judge.

Whilst the men knocked at the house door and demanded the presence of Mrs. Tunkiss and the girl Sarah, Beamish raised his voice in protest.

‘I say, mates and comrades all, this is strange and unwarranted proceedings. Am not I your leader?’

A shout of, ‘You was—but you’re a thief—we’ll have none of you. I vote for Aaron Chevell. Duck him; he’s a turncoat. He’s a cheat and robs the poor men.’

‘It is false!’ shouted Beamish, between rage and disappointment. ‘How can I have acted as you say, when I am the man who urged you on,—I, who have the cause at heart more than any of you?’

‘Oh yes! that’s how Judas talked!’ shouted some one in the crowd. Then there came yells of, ‘Judas! Judas! Let him hang like Judas!’

The door of the house was not opened to allow the witnesses to issue at the dictate of the mob.

‘We must have more witnesses,’ said Chevell. ‘We don’t lay much store on Drownlands. He ain’t taken the oath.’

Then Zita appealed to the master of Prickwillow to suffer the maids to come forth. After some hesitation he agreed.

‘I’ll let ’em out if you’ll hang Beamish,’ shouted he from the window.

Presently the door of the house was cautiously opened, and Drownlands, who stood at it, thrust forth the two women. Mrs. Tunkiss was white and quaking; Sarah nigh upon a fit.

‘Now, then,’ demanded the judge, ‘up into the waggon wi’ you. And, lads, hold up the torches that I may see if they looks honest and truthful. You—Leehanna Tunkiss—did this Cheap Jack girl give ten pounds for us into the hands of Beamish?’

‘Oh yes! forty!’ exclaimed the woman, who did not understand what was being done, and thought she might be incriminating Zita, or doing her some harm by the admission.

‘She don’t quite agree about the figure,—she says forty,—but she establishes the fact,’ said Chevell, addressing the crowd. ‘You swear to it?’

‘Oh, I swear!’ exclaimed Mrs. Tunkiss. ‘Oh, gentlemen, let me down! I shall faint.’

‘Pass her down,’ ordered Aaron. ‘Now you other—Sarah Gathercole—did she give him money? She shakes her head—I mean she nods.’

‘She has the Vitus’ dance,’ protested the accused.

‘She understands what’s she’s axed—eh?’

The poor girl nodded in her nervous fit.

‘And you swear to it—the Cheap Jack girl gave ten pounds?’

Again she went into fits of jerking and nodding.

‘She’s mighty sure of it, that she be,’ said Aaron. ‘What say you, mates and chums? Is it proved?’

A roar in response, in the affirmative.

‘Now then,’ said Chevell, ‘it is for Pip Beamish to answer in his defence.’

‘I never had more than twenty pounds. Search me if you will.’

‘You may have been too sharp for that,’ said Isaac Harley. ‘Mates, he ain’t got a defence. I vote for condemnation. This Pip Beamish has been terribly stuck up, and has given himself the airs of a dook, and has been ordering us about. I vote that he is a thieving rascal. What say you?’

‘Hear! hear! We say the same!’ Then ensued shouts of, ‘Kick him down! Duck him! Chuck him into the Lark!’

In a moment Beamish was plucked out of the waggon, flapping his long arms in protest and entreaty, was jostled, beaten, kicked, and finally thrown into the dyke—the one honest and sincere man among the leaders of the rabble.

‘Now then, mates,’ called Chevell, ‘it is right and proper that we should elect another commander.’

‘We want no commanders!’ shouted the mob. ‘We know what we want! We will all be commanders! Are we not the general public?’

‘Then I vote,’ cried Harley, ‘that we lose no more time, but move on to Ely.’

Zita was helped out of the cart. The improvised torches were set in motion, forming a line of fire as the whole mob of rioters left the farm, and marched along the dark embankment, whilst the waggon bounced below on the drove.

As Zita stood by the van, which she had thrust back with the aid of Jewel into the shed, a hand was laid on hers.

‘Zita!’

The voice was that of Mark.

“哦，马克！”

‘Zita, here are your ten pounds. I did not give them to Beamish.’

‘Mark! and he has been deposed, and cuffed and beaten, for having stolen it.’

‘He has been thrown into the dyke, and I have helped him out of the water. Do not be disconcerted. I could not have done him a better turn than this, to get him out of association with men who are running their heads into hangmen’s nooses.’

‘MARK, how was it that you did not give them my ten pounds?’

‘Why, my dear Zita, I thought I could get them off without it. I gave them Drownlands’ twenty. He escaped cheap at that price, and twenty pounds is nothing to him. I made sure I could induce them to leave your van alone without payment to do so, and when I saw them harness Jewel to it, then I was quite certain they would have to leave it; you do not suppose I would have suffered those rascals to take your money except in an extremity? To rob you was to rob me, Zit—for I never would have suffered you to lose those ten pounds. If I had been constrained to give them up, I would have refunded this sum to you out of my own pocket.’

‘You are very good.’

‘Not at all. I have more money than I know how to spend.’

‘You are good all round. You pulled Pip Beamish out of the water, and I know you do not love him.’

‘You see I help one I love, and one I do not love.’

Zita coloured. ‘I did not mean that.’

‘Then I do,’said Mark roguishly. ‘You are in the right in this, that I do not love Beamish,—for one thing, because I think him a perverse, meddlesome, mischievous, discontented donkey, and for another, because of Kainie.’

‘Kainie again?’ exclaimed Zita, drawing back.

‘Yes, because I do not choose to have him running after her.’

‘Why should he not run after her as well as you?’

‘Because he can never make her happy.’

‘And you can?’

‘I can try,’ said Mark.

‘Well, that is frank!’ said Zita, huffed. ‘You called me “Dear Zita,” just now—I suppose it is “Dear Kainie” as well.’

‘My dear Zita’—

‘Perhaps you will keep your “dears” for her, or any one else who cares to have them and share them with others. I do not wish to be so termed. I refuse to be so called.’

She turned to leave. He caught her by the arm.

‘Do not be cross. I cannot explain matters now. It is all right. I did not mean to offend you.’

But Zita would not speak. She hastened to the house with pouting lips, burning cheeks, and sunken eyes. As she entered, she encountered Drownlands, in his slouched hat, and wearing a long great-coat in place of his usual tiger-skin. He held a whip in his hand, and had a pistol sticking out of his breast pocket.

‘Are you going out?’ asked the girl.

‘Yes. You are in no further danger. The rabble will not return. I shall follow them.’

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‘To bring all I can to the gallows. I shall watch every man I know, and see what his proceedings are. I shall take account of every act of lawlessness. They have not had my twenty pounds for nothing. I shall get some satisfaction in return. In Ely folks will be too much alarmed, the faces will be too strange for there to be recognition of offenders. That is my work. I shall witness against them, man by man, beginning with my own labourers who have revolted against me. I have purchased the right with my twenty pounds—a life for every pound—ha! ha!’

Then, looking steadily into Zita’s eyes, he said in a low, bitter tone, ‘I shall begin with Mark Runham.’

‘Mark?’ echoed the girl. ‘He has done no harm.’

‘Has he not? He entered my house uninvited. He acted for the rioters. He was their mouthpiece. He extorted money from me for them.’

He struck his boot with his whip, strode faster, then turned on the doorstep and said, ‘If not the gallows for Mark, then transportation. I am well rid of him. See what it is for a man to venture himself in my way.’

Zita was startled. What had Mark done to incur the penalties of the law? Was it conceivable that Drownlands was in earnest? He made idle menaces. He had threatened to string the rioters to every bough of his five ash trees. He had not done it, and he could not do it. His present menace was as empty.

She watched the master ride forth from the stable when he had saddled his horse himself. No man was left on the premises to attend on him. The boy, Tom Easy, was too frightened to be of service, and Drownlands was impatient to be off.

As the farmer rode past the door, he turned his face towards Zita, but in the darkness she could not see its expression.

He pointed in the direction of Ely with his whip, and at that moment Zita heard a roar of voices, followed by an explosion of firearms borne upon the wind. In fact, the rioters had reached the metropolis of the Fens. They had let the waggon precede the marching body. The front board had been notched to receive the fowling-pieces, and the insurgent labourers, on reaching the main street, had announced their entry by a discharge of firearms and a ringing shout, calculated to strike terror into the hearts of the citizens.

Zita did not remain long inactive, listening to the sounds of uproar in the distance.

‘Sharp! a pail!’ she called to the quaking kitchen-maid. ‘There is no reason why you should be idle, or I either, because a parcel of men are making fools of themselves.’

‘A pail? What can you want a pail for at such a time as this?’ asked Mrs. Tunkiss. ‘You ought to be down on your knees praying.’

‘You would want a pail, and soap, and water, and a scrubbing-brush, Leehanna, if you had been drawn out into the yard, and had had a score of bumpkins sitting on your back and kicking your sides with their dirty boots. I am not going to let my van remain all night in its present condition, to have the clay caked over it in the morning, just because wheat is up and wages down, and folks don’t like to have it so. I will clean the van before I go to bed.’

Mrs. Tunkiss and Sarah were too much overcome to render assistance. Sarah was shaking and jerking in every limb, and Leehanna had got down her Bible to read about the fire and brimstone rained on the cities of the plain, and the escape of Lot, and to conceive herself to be a female Lot. Zita furnished herself with what she required, and set vigorously to work, commenting as she went on upon the bruises and scratches in the varnish and paint, which the sides of the van had received from the boots of those who invaded it that evening.

She was engaged on the roof of the van, when, all at once, her thoughts took a different direction, and, kneeling upright, scrubbing-brush in one hand and a piece of soap in the other, she exclaimed—

‘That was impudence, if you please! to tell me he did not approve of Pip going after Kainie, and that he will do his utmost to make her happy! Does he think he can have us both? That may be fen ways, it isn’t caravan morals. Hark!—what is that?’

She could hear the alarm bell of Ely Minster pealing.

‘There was a song of father’s that I mind,’ said Zita, still kneeling upright, ‘and if Mark had only been brought up in a van instead of desultory-like on the Fens, he’d have learned the things he ought to do, and the things he ought to leave alone, taught him by songs and other ways.’ She sang—

‘Young men, be advised, if love gets in your sconce,
Don’t ever go courting two maidens at once;
With one you may work along safely and sound,
‘Twixt two stools you’re certain to come to the ground.’

A lurid glare was in the sky over Ely, and the bell continued to peal its note of distress.

The thoughts of Zita reverted to the threat of Drownlands. He had said he would bring Mark to the gallows, or, at all events, send him into transportation.

This had seemed to her at the time an idle threat, as the empty explosion of anger, that could do no harm, whilst it relieved the master’s chafed feelings. But as she turned the matter over in her head, it appeared to her no longer as trifling a concern as she had at first supposed it to be.

Mark had entered the house, and had induced the master to part with his money to save his ricks from being burnt down, and his house from being broken into. This fact was capable of two interpretations. Mark’s purpose had been obvious enough to her; but it was quite possible for his action to be misrepresented as one of sympathy with the rioters, and his interposition as being due to his having been appointed by them to act in their behalf.

Zita was now able to comprehend the purport of Drownlands calling up the servants to look at Mark, and to witness the payment of the money. And at the same time she realised the force of his words when he said that he had paid the money to be rid of Mark. She could penetrate to the inner chambers of Drownlands’ heart, and read there his thoughts and intentions.

If Mark were removed, it was likely that Zita would prove more pliable. She would feel her loneliness, her isolation, and be driven to accept him as her protector. Zita was very angry when these ideas rose in her mind. She thought it incumbent on her to seek Runham and warn him to be on his guard, especially to avoid having any more connection with the rioters. Drownlands had gone in the wake of the mob; so, possibly, had Mark, out of curiosity—out of a wish to intervene, as he had intervened at Prickwillow.

Zita put down the pail, and, instead of returning to the house, walked down the road that led from the farm into the main drove by the side of the Lark embankment.

ZITA was now seriously alarmed. She knew that Drownlands was one who was without scruple in carrying out the ends at which he aimed.

He had not let drop these ominous words at random. He hated Mark with deadly animosity, and Zita knew very well the reason. He loved her, and considered that Mark stood in his way. He hoped, she did not question, that by removing Mark there would remain no other serious obstacle in the way of his suit. Drownlands would not have recourse to violence. The remembrance of what he had done to the young man’s father precluded that; but he would not hesitate to adopt any other means that promised to relieve him of his rival.

Zita had formed no plan as to what she would do. She walked in the direction of Ely, on the chance of catching Mark up, or of finding some one who could inform her whether he had returned home to Crumbland, or had gone on after the army of the discontented. She had not walked a quarter of a mile before she saw two figures standing on the embankment against the illumined sky.

Zita was below, in the drove, and in shadow. The roadway that had been snowy was now trampled black, and a person walking or standing on it would be invisible to those on the bank, whereas the latter were in full view to such as were on the drove, and their every movement was made distinct by the reflection in the sky of the fires kindled by the rioters in Ely.

Zita hardly, if at all, considered this. She did not at first know who these persons were who were pencilled against the red light behind them. She had no reason for remaining concealed, but she walked on a dark surface, and was therefore invisible, and trod in springy peat, so that her step was inaudible.

Before she could distinguish by their faces who the two were upon the embankment, she had discovered their personalities by their voices. One was Mark Runham and the other was Kainie.

Stung by jealousy, and instinctively, Zita stood still. She heard Kainie say, ‘I wish you would go after him, Mark.’

Then she heard Runham answer, ‘I cannot, and I will not. I picked him out of the dyke, streaming with fen-water—out of the dyke into which his own comrades had flung him—and in spite of all this he follows them. Such a fellow as that is past helping. No one but Pip, after being head, would consent to draggle at the end of the body as its tail. What is more, Kainie, I do not like your interesting yourself in him. He is not for you. He has too many maggots in his brain. There is no place will suit him. Wherever he goes he will be in opposition. Kainie, do you know the old country-dance tune of “The Clean Contrary Way”? Well, that is the only strain to which Pip will caper.’

‘Poor Pip! He is not a bad fellow at heart.’

‘Maybe; but he is terribly perverse. Possibly he would be satisfied if he were translated to what they call the Antipodes, for there his head would be pointing where our feet run, and his toes would be aiming in the direction of our heads. Once for all, I am not going into Ely after Pip. It is of no use, and my mother is in alarm. I must return to appease her fears. Now, Kainie, a word to you about yourself.’

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‘Why, this: How long do you intend to remain at Red Wings?’

‘As long as I must. I suppose my uncle Drownlands will do nothing for me.’

‘But I will. You can have any money you want from me.’

‘I do not require it. I am happy at the mill. I shall not leave it yet a while. I certainly expect nothing from Uncle Ki. He never casts me even a good-day. It is hard for me to suffer because he quarrelled with my mother. I do not suppose I shall ever be the better for my relationship to him. Folks say he is going to marry the Cheap Jack girl.’

Zita heard Mark’s laugh, and then his answer. ‘She will never take him.’

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‘He is too old for her.’

‘That will not trouble her much,’ answered Kainie; ‘she calculates the value of everything, and holds a thing to be worth just what money it will bring in. I believe she has no thoughts, no care for anything but money. She knows that Uncle Ki has got land and stock, has a good house and a balance at the bank; she will say “There’s profits,” and take him—snap at him eagerly.’

‘I do not believe you,’ said Mark, and laughed. ‘But about yourself, not Zita. My mother still objects to my bringing you home to Crumbland and acknowledging you. I do not feel comfortable and happy to be in a good house, and to have you in that hovel at that mill.’

‘I cannot go to you so long as your mother is opposed.’

‘Perhaps not; but, after all, Kainie, she cannot hold out against you for ever. She loves me too sincerely. She has too right a mind. She will see how it frets me; and then—when all is said and done—I am master of Crumbland, and not she. If I be driven to assert my will, she will submit. She is certain to like, to love you, when she comes to know you. It is but for a little while waiting. I do not wish to have recourse to strong measures if delay will make all go smooth of itself. You understand that, Kainie?’

‘I will wait. I am content at the mill. But—oh, Mark! I must tell you a joke. That Cheap Jack girl was at Red Wings the other day, and she wanted to buy you of me—actually purchase you.’

‘At what price was I estimated?’

‘At a ream of black-edged notepaper and envelopes to match.’

Mark burst into laughter.

‘That is not all,’ continued Kainie. ‘When I did not prove eager for the paper, she made another bid.’

‘And that—?’

‘Was a garden syringe to kill green-fly with soapy water.’

Zita heard both laugh merrily.

‘I have not done yet,’ continued Kainie. ‘She finally produced her most splendid offer.’

‘And that was—?’

‘It was one that almost made me surrender you, Mark. A box of all kinds of scents. And she said’—Kainie could hardly speak for laughing—’I should smell of Jockey Club in chapel—tremenjous—that’s her word—tremenjous!’

Zita’s anger was flaming hot, waves of boiling blood swept through her veins, swept before her eyes and blinded her.

Gasping for breath, she rushed up the bank, and, reaching them, struck Kainie on the cheek with her open palm before she or Mark knew she was there.

‘It is a shame!’ exclaimed Zita, sobbing with emotion. ‘It is mean to tell of me—to make sport of me!’

Then, turning on Mark, she said, ‘And I will tell you what is preparing for you—you who laugh and jeer at the ignorant, silly Cheap Jack girl. It is the gallows or Botany Bay. And’—she snapped her fingers in his face—’if you hang or are transported, I don’t care that!’

THE Isle of Ely, with the city in its midst, and the cathedral in the midst of the city, is more ecclesiastical than Rome itself. Until comparatively recent times the Bishop was a petty prince therein, exercising powers of life and death. He did not indeed sit in the courts himself, and himself sentence to the block and the gallows, any more than did the Pope himself consign offenders to the flames. The secular power was committed to a ‘Temporal Steward,’ who held his office for life, and discharged the functions of High Sheriff, and the Bishop washed his hands of all blood-guiltiness.

The courts of justice were, however, held in the Bishop’s name, and the gaols were institutions under his jurisdiction. The Bishop appointed the municipal authorities and the justices of peace. From the High Sheriff to the town-crier, all derived their authority by commission from the Bishop.

As every acre of land in the isle and far away into the fen belonged to either Bishop or Dean and Chapter, there were no county magnates near, and no country gentry at all. Nay, even in the city itself there was no gentry of independent position. In Rome there are princes who have their territories. In Ely there were not even squires.

Accordingly, the ecclesiastical dignitaries lived very high up in roseate clouds and in an ethereal atmosphere, far above the clay land where grubbed and wriggled the professional men and the shopkeepers.

Perhaps the fact of being so completely under ecclesiastical government paralysed all initiative in Ely, and rendered the inhabitants helpless in cases of emergency. The citizens were but overgrown babies. The lawyer, the surgeon, the M.D., the surveyor, the architect, were accustomed to be swaddled and given suck by the Right Reverend Father the Bishop, or the Very Reverend the Dean, or the Venerable the Archdeacon; and all the officials, the temporal steward, and the justices, and the chief constable, were wont to go in leading-strings.

And they were such good babies. They always thought as the reverend fathers thought; they never cried and kicked; and the air of the Fens must have been salubrious, for they had all ravenous appetites for the fat of the land, which fell from the ecclesiastical tables. At the time of our tale, co-operative stores had not been so much as thought of. The Bishop, the Dean, and the canons got their groceries, their drugs, their wines, and their stationery from the Ely tradesmen. In return for their custom, these tradesmen professed the strictest churchmanship and the staunchest Toryism.

The system of appointment to offices in Ely was distinctively ecclesiastical. The magistrates were bespectacled and bewigged officials connected by marriage with some of the members of the Chapter. The constables were nominated for their general piety, or because they were burdened with large families. The watchmen were pensioned cripples or asthmatic incapables, whose utmost achievement was to crawl about at night and proclaim the hour. Everything in the city was managed for the residents by a benevolent and beneficent ecclesiastical authority, which exhibited its benevolence and beneficence by conferring offices, not on such as showed efficiency, but on such men as were incompetent to earn a livelihood in any profession or business that demanded the exercise of brain or of muscle.

When the turbulent crew from Littleport arrived in Ely, and the rumour circulated that other Fen centres were sending their contingents of the disaffected to the capital of the Fens, neither magistrates nor constables were prepared to take prompt action to protect the town and stop the spread of disturbance. Orders were indeed issued to have the minster bell rung, to summon all sober, law-abiding citizens to unite for the common defence, but, although the bell pealed its summons, no one obeyed it, for no one knew where the rallying-point was, or what was to be done by those summoned.

The temporal steward was in bed with a mustard poultice on his chest and a dose of sweet nitre in his stomach. Consequently, when a messenger from the Deanery came to request that he would do something, the wife of the temporal steward was able to point out that he was perspiring freely and the poultice drawing vigorously. To leave his bed and the house was, therefore, out of the question.

There was no deputy sheriff to fill the place which the sheriff was incapacitated from filling. The vacancy had not been filled up, because the Bishop was hesitating, balancing the claims of one who was stone-blind against one who was stone-deaf. The prelate himself was absent on a confirmation tour, and he had taken his chaplains with him, and, what was more to the point, his butler—a man who did most of the thinking in sublunary matters for his master. The constables then in Ely were few. The chief constable, Mr. Edwards, was the manager of Mortlock’s bank, and in the interests of the bank he had come to the resolution to keep in the background so as in no way to excite the angry passions of the mob. Another constable had swallowed a fish-bone, and this was being extracted by a fellow constable. A fourth was at the moment incapacitated for work by one of his constitutional and chronic fits of the hiccups. It was precisely because he suffered from this affliction that the benevolent and beneficent ecclesiastical authority had nominated him to, and invested him with, the office of constable.

As the combined municipal and collegiate forces of watchmen were unprepared or unable to cope with the approaching masses of men, the Dean sent off his coachman on a carriage horse to Bury St. Edmund’s, to invoke the aid of the military stationed there. The mob from Littleport entered the town, as already said, preceded by the waggon, in which were placed heavy wash guns loaded with slugs. To announce its arrival a volley was fired, and the slugs rattled on the tiles and broke a few windows.

No sooner had the Littleport body entered Ely, than it learned to its disappointment that nothing had been heard of the Isleham and Swaffham contingents.

In fact, discouragement had dissolved these at the onset. The small landowner, Cutman, who had undertaken to lead the detachment from Isleham, had reconsidered the matter, and resolved that heading a riot could do him no possible good, and might do him very considerable harm. The men assembled at the Duck at the appointed hour, waited, and, as he did not appear, became uneasy, supposing that he had been alarmed; they also reconsidered the matter, and, coming to much the same conclusion as Cutman, dispersed quietly to their several homes.

The Swaffham men were also defaulters. The tidings of what was meditated had been communicated to a large farmer there, and when the rabble approached, he met them dauntlessly, along with his stalwart sons and some trusty serving-men, all armed with blunderbusses. He addressed the mob, and, by his bold front and resolute bearing, not only prevented them from attacking his house, but persuaded them to break up and abandon their undertaking.

The Littleport body, swelled by stragglers, and also by men who had lived in the suburbs of Ely, formed a considerable host, and had they been under efficient discipline, and had they known exactly what demands to make, and how to enforce their demands, might have produced serious results.

As it was, they did a certain amount of mischief, and took a certain amount of loot, but all in an aimless manner; and in looting or wrecking forgot the ostensible reasons for their assembly and purpose of marching upon Ely.

No sooner were they in the town than the mob resolved itself, without order given, into two detachments, whereof one attacked the flour-mills, and the other broke into the victuallers’ shops to seize on their stores of ham, bacon, and sausages.

There was a large soak-mill in the lower part of the town, managed by a man named Rickwood. This was the first assailed.

By this time the magistrates, at the advice and exhortation of their wives, had plucked up sufficient courage to venture to parley with the rioters. There were but three or four of these in the place; one was a retired steward who was almost stone-deaf, the other two were clergymen. These magistrates inquired of the fen-men what were their demands, and were answered with confused cries for higher wages, cheaper bread, and for money to be scattered among them.

Terrified by the shouts and the menacing attitude of the mob, they entered into negotiations with them, and offered to raise a certain sum of money from the inhabitants to satisfy their illegal demands. But the rioters could not agree as to the price at which they would desist from violence, nor could they wait with patience till the magistrates had collected the sum offered.

Accordingly, the conference was broken up, and the mob proceeded to smash Rickwood’s windows and to beat open his doors.

The miller was not, as it chanced, at home himself, and his wife entered into parley with the rabble from a window. They demanded fifty pounds, and threatened, unless it were paid, to proceed to set fire to the mill, and the miller’s habitation adjoining.

Mrs. Rickwood, in terror, promised the sum, but said that she had not so much coin in the house. She would send her son for the money to the bank.

‘No! no! Come yourself!’ shouted the men, and proceeded to demolish the windows.

Accordingly, Mrs. Rickwood descended, and in deadly fear issued forth into the street, after having committed the mill to the care of her son.

The banker was also, as already said, chief constable, and in the interest of Messrs. Mortlock was remaining at home, and sitting in his back parlour.

When the mob reached his house, which was one with the bank, loud cries were raised for him, and Mrs. Rickwood knocked at the front door. After long waiting, he appeared in the doorway, as white as chalk. Mrs. Rickwood then entreated him to furnish her with fifty sovereigns in gold, in order that she might purchase immunity for her mill from the insurgent peasantry.

‘Nothing in the world will induce me to do this!’ exclaimed the chief constable heroically. Whereupon a stone was thrown at him, and struck his head, so that a little blood flowed.

‘That is to say,’ said Edwards, ‘nothing save compulsion;’ and he hastened within to find the money.

The second body of rioters in the meantime was engaged in sacking the grocery-shops and provision-stores. One of the magistrates, the Rev. Mr. Metcalf, endeavoured to calm the mob by an assurance that he would induce the owners of the shops to purchase their immunity. But he was successful in two instances only. In some the rabble took the money, and, notwithstanding, plundered the shops. Then a second mill was attacked, but, on ten pounds being produced, no further violence was done to it.

The night was dark. The rioters went round requisitioning faggots and coals, and soon an immense bonfire was kindled before the cathedral west front, and a second in face of St. Mary’s church. The first lighted up the splendid pile, bringing out every detail of sculpture, and twinkling in the glass that filled the Norman windows.

Round this fire the young men and girls danced. Some of the men had carried provisions to the Galilee, and prepared for a carouse. The taverns had been attacked very early, and the publicans had been constrained to allow the rioters free use of their liquor.

As Mark had assured Kerenhappuch, Ephraim Beamish had pushed his way after the rabble, undeterred by the treatment he had received at its hands, his enthusiasm unquenched by his plunge in the icy water. As there was no organisation in the mob, he was suffered to rejoin it with an occasional protest only, but Chevell, Harley, and Tansley would not allow him to remount the waggon.

No sooner did Beamish find that a great body of the insurgents were setting themselves to eat, drink, and revel about the great fire in front of the cathedral, than he got a chair, and endeavoured to harangue them, to point out to them that they were throwing away their occasion, neglecting to enforce their grievances on the employers of labour, and that they were making enemies among all the well-disposed by their capricious and lawless proceedings. But directly his face was discerned by the flicker of the fire, and his voice recognised, beaten back by the cathedral walls, than shouts were raised of, ‘That’s the fellow who stole the Cheap Jack girl’s money. We want no preaching here.’

His chair was tripped up, and he was sent sprawling in the dirt.

He rose angry and disconcerted. The movement of which he was the instigator, and of which he had been appointed director by vote of the men, had rejected his direction, and was taking its own suicidal course.

The fens immediately surrounding the isle on which Ely stood were farmed by men whose homesteads were on the gault excrescence that formed the isle. According to the preconcerted scheme, the Union of Fen Labourers was to proceed to these farmsteads one by one, to exact of the farmers a contribution to the cause, and an oath to raise the wage.

It was true enough that two or three farms had been visited which lay to right and left of the road from Littleport to Ely, but no sooner had the men reached the Fen capital, than they forgot their purpose, directed their attention to the provision-shops, waylaid and blackmailed passengers, broke into the taverns, and thought only of eating, drinking, and making money. They entirely neglected the scheme that had been agreed to. Not a single farm in the isle was molested, not a single farmer coerced.

AFTER a night of revelry, the winter morning broke on men lying tipsy or asleep about the smouldering embers of their fire, against the walls of houses, or crowded on the benches and on the stone floor of the Galilee. Every tavern was packed, and many private houses as well. The rioters had demanded admission, and had threatened violence if opposed. Doors had accordingly been opened to them, and they had received reluctant admission.

On the whole, little serious mischief had been done. A few shops had been invaded, a few well-to-do persons blackmailed, some windows broken, all the ale and spirits in the public-houses drunk out, and all the hams in the licensed victuallers’ consumed; but with the sole exception of the cutting open of the head of the chief constable, no personal violence had been done to any one.

The demonstration had been absolutely resultless, so far as concerned the purpose for which it had been organised. The only fruit that would come of it would be that the bakers, millers, and provision-dealers would raise their prices, so as to recoup themselves for what they had lost, and that certain of the rioters would suffer penalties out of all proportion to the injury done.

Some consciousness that a mistake had been made stole over the dull brains of the men as they awoke, chilled and headachy, on the morning after the entry into Ely. Those men who had promoted the movement, but had not been suffered to direct it, were certainly alive to the fact that a great blunder had been made, and that their safety was at stake. And when the rumour spread that the dragoons from Bury were about to arrive, the pot-valiant fen-men rapidly dispersed.

Droves and roads radiating from Ely were thronged with fugitives, flying at their utmost speed towards their homes, and none speeding more rapidly than those men who were guardians of the money collected from the farmers and shopmen and millers for the cause, and who sought not only to secure their persons, but also the money they carried with them, for their own advantage. The sum collected might enable them to escape from the neighbourhood, and it would form a comfortable little capital on which to start business where they were unknown.

When, about noon, the military arrived, the streets of Ely were almost as silent and unoccupied as on any day in the week save market day.

They were met by the magistrates, preceded by Sir Bates Dudley, Bart., an old canon of Ely; the chief constable showed with his head bandaged, and the high sheriff looked approval from his bedroom window, in nightcap and dressing-gown.

Orders were issued for the pursuit of the rioters to Littleport, their headquarters. As it was necessary that a magistrate should accompany them, Sir Bates Dudley was lifted into a saddle. He was a small, very globular man, with a red face and a wig of sandy hair.

‘You won’t go very fast with me?’ inquired the baronet of the officer in charge. ‘Be—be—cause, though I was a horseman oo—oo—once, I haven’t ridden these forty years.’

Then, turning to his footman, he said, ‘Tut—Tut—Thomas, you’ll please to run at my s—s—ide, and hold my leg, lest I tut—tut—tumble off. If you see me getting at all out of the per—per—per—pendicular, just run round and give a pull to the other leg.’

Presently Sir Bates Dudley addressed Drownlands, who was standing near him, holding his own horse.

‘You will cuc—come too—so important a witness; and you will indicate who are the persons to be arrested, and who are na—na—named in the warrants I signed. You will oblige me if you will ri—ride at my side, and as Tut—Tut—Thomas is negligent, and his at—at—tention may be distracted, and he may forget his doo—doo—dooty to me, if you see me at all out of the per—per—perpendicular, just give a thrust, will you, with your riding-whip, and set me up—pup—right again. I haven’t ridden for forty years. I hope the saddle won’t ga—ga—gall the horse.’

‘I’ll keep at your side, sir,’ said Drownlands.

‘That wo—wo—won’t be quite enough,’ said the baronet. ‘If you wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on my left leg, and if you see it go—go—going up the side of the saddle, just tut—trot round the ba—ba—back and give me a thrust with the end of your whip, and set me per—per—perpendicular again. I can’t trust Tut—Tut—Thomas entirely.’

‘I’ll do what I can for you, sir,’ said Drownlands.

Then Sir Bates turned to his man Thomas and said—

‘Ki—ki—keep an even habit of mind, Tut—Thomas, and don’t let your thoughts ramble to Mary. Don’t pup—pup—pull my right leg too hard, nor let it go too lax.’

Then, addressing Drownlands—

‘I am shush—shush—sure the Government and all law-abiding citizens owe a debt of gratitude to you, Mr. Dud—Dud—Drownlands.’ The baronet gasped at the name, opening his mouth and jerking his face forward, as though endeavouring to catch a bluebottle and swallow it. ‘I con—con—congratulate you on your activity, observation, and spirit. You will be the primary means of convicting the ri—ri—rioters.’

The canon rode along, balancing himself uncertainly in his saddle. The dragoons trotted after.

When, however, the clay land of the Isle of Ely was left, trotting was out of the question. The horses made their way painfully through the slough, and military order was not to be maintained.

Sir Bates’s horse tossed his head, and endeavoured to keep up a trot. There is pride in brutes as well as in men, and the baronet’s steed was elate at the idea of preceding the splendid dragoon chargers, so well groomed, so gorgeously accoutred, and bearing such radiant beings on their backs. Let the fen cart-horses see that he, Sir Bates Dudley’s cob, took precedence of, was on gracious terms with, these war chargers. Every now and then, when a horse was visible in a stubble field, he neighed to him a challenge to observe who went by and in what company.

‘I don’t quite like this mo—mo—motion,’ gasped the canon, who was bouncing like a pea on a drum. ‘I am afraid the saddle will terribly ga—ga—gall my horse’s back.’

At that moment Drownlands uttered an exclamation, and, turning to the colonel of the dragoons, cried, as he pointed with his whip at a figure in a field separated from the drove by a lane of water—

‘There is Ephraim Beamish, a ringleader. A warrant against him is signed. He has the audacity to look on as though this did not concern him.’

The colonel gave orders to two of his soldiers to ride in pursuit. The men detailed for the purpose at once leaped their horses across the dyke. The road bank was sufficiently firm to enable the beasts to spring.

Then they started in pursuit.

‘Shoot! Shoot!’ cried Drownlands. ‘You will never take a prisoner like that.’

The dragoons were careering over the field, one of fifteen to twenty acres, but it was hard work for the horses, so spongy was the soil; and Pip Beamish ran before them without greatly exerting himself.

The dragoons on the drove, at the command of the colonel, drew up in line, and watched the chase.

‘They will never catch him,’ repeated Drownlands; ‘they never can. Give orders that he be shot.’

‘I cannot do that,’ said the officer in command. ‘They will outstrip and head him shortly.’

‘They never will. You do not know the Fens.’

In another moment Beamish was seen to plant a long pole he was carrying, swing himself aloft easily and gracefully, and fall lightly on his feet on the farther side of the dyke limiting the field.

One of the dragoon’s horses floundered and rolled over in the soft soil, but the other was close behind Beamish. It rose, and in a moment vanished along with its rider in the dyke. The hind feet had found nothing substantial on which to obtain the necessary purchase for a leap across the water, and the beast and rider had fallen into the stagnant, slimy liquid that filled the ditch.

In spite of discipline, oaths and curses broke from the dragoons who were looking on.

‘I knew it,’ said Drownlands. ‘Why did you not shoot? If that horse hasn’t broke his back it is a lucky job. Now Pip Beamish is beyond reach, beyond gunshot, and it will take a day to get the horse dug out.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked the colonel angrily.

‘Mean? Why, that no horse that falls into a dyke can get himself out, or be got out save by spade-work. There he must remain; every struggle makes him sink deeper. There is no bottom to the dykes till you reach the clay, and for that you must go down twenty feet. He will never do it again, if that is any consolation to you. But ten to one his back is broke, and you may as well send a bullet through his head.’

‘Here,’ shouted the colonel, ‘dismount and go help Standish out.’ He beckoned to three men.

‘Help him out?’ mocked Drownlands. ‘They can’t do it. They must have workmen that understand the business. They must have the proper tools. You don’t happen to have brought any “beckets” with you, I suppose?’

The man who had been precipitated into the water, was now seen on the bank. He had scrambled out by means of the reeds that grew rankly in the ooze. He was stamping, his splendid accoutrements were tarnished, and the foul fen-water was streaming from him. Holding the reins, by coaxing words he endeavoured to encourage his horse to struggle out of the water. The poor brute made efforts to escape, churning up the sludgy mud and peat in the dyke, but was incapable of doing anything to extricate himself. The more he struggled the deeper he sank.

When the situation was thoroughly realised—and the colonel would not for some time believe the assertion of Drownlands that the horse could be extricated by no other means than the formation of an incline by spade labour—then he consented grudgingly to negotiate with some loafers who had followed the troop, and by promises of liberal payment to engage them to undertake the rescue of the charger.

When this was settled,—and it took some time to settle,—the body of soldiers advanced towards Littleport. Tidings had come that the rioters were making a rally there, and intended to contest the way with the military. That they were armed was known, as also that the fowlers of the Fens were crack shots. If they held to their resolution, Littleport would not be occupied without effusion of blood.

It was indeed true that a rally had been made at Littleport. The men living there, fearing that they would be arrested for the part they had taken in the disturbance, spoke of defending themselves—better die with guns in their hands, they said, than swing on the scaffold. But now, as before, there was neither discipline nor cohesion among the men. The colonel knew that they had no leaders, and did not greatly concern himself at the menace. He was impatient to reach Littleport, not lest the rioters should gather force, but to get finished with an unpleasant and inglorious affair. Moreover, at Littleport most of the arrests would have to be made, and it was as well to reach it as speedily as possible, before every rioter had hidden under a bed, or in a rabbit-hole.

In the meantime, a considerable number of persons assembled on the drove, partly to stare at the unprecedented sight of the glittering military parade, but partly also as a means of exhibiting their own peaceful demeanour, and showing that they had no sympathy with the disturbers of tranquillity. As it happened, some of the men who had been instigators to violence thought this a happy way of throwing a veil over their past proceedings. By putting on a look of sheep-like innocence, and thrusting themselves forward, they hoped to escape. But they had miscalculated. They might have escaped, but for the presence of Drownlands, who had followed the mob, watched its proceedings, had taken note of everything done, and of the doers, and had denounced some forty men to the magistrates, and was now accompanying the military and Sir Bates Dudley, to point out those of whom it was advisable to make an example, and who were already down on his ‘information,’ and against whom warrants had been issued.

‘I think,’ said Sir Bates, ‘that if I am not absolutely nec—cess—cessary, I would rather return to Ely. The saddle somehow does not fit the horse.’

‘We must have a magistrate with us,’ said the officer in command of the dragoons.

The canon looked piteously about him, drew out a silk pocket-handkerchief, and wiped his brow.

‘It is of the horse I am thinking. A gall is so painful, so very pup—pup—painful to the horse. I will do my dud—dud—duty, however painful it may be to the horse.’

The soldiery trotted on to Littleport. There the rioters had overthrown a waggon across the road, and by means of bundles of straw had composed a rude barricade. The resistance offered by them was feeble and half-hearted. The sight of the dragoons overawed the men, and several, after firing from behind the bundles, slunk away.

The soldiers speedily passed the barricade and dashed among the men who remained. A shot from behind a garden paling broke a dragoon’s arm, another brought down one of the chargers. This encouraged the men for a moment, and they sprang at the heads of the horses, whilst others assailed the riders with pitchforks. There ensued a brief hand-to-hand scuffle. But when one of the rioters was shot through the head, and the men saw that the soldiers were determined no longer to trifle with them, they fled in all directions.

Numerous arrests were made, and then the dragoons returned towards Ely, Sir Bates jogging before them, and their captives well guarded in their midst.

THE tidings that the dragoons were on their way to Littleport had hardly spread sufficiently in the forenoon to draw together great quantities of spectators, but after they had gone by it was otherwise. The news flew like wildfire over the Fens, and the inhabitants of the district came in troops and lined the road, so that they might have the satisfaction of seeing the military, and taking account of the number of prisoners they had taken.

The fen-folk are all more or less closely connected by marriage, forming a people to themselves, separate in interests, customs, and character from those who live on the high grounds. They have been wont for generations to seek their mates among themselves, with the result that a close family connection binds the whole population together. The number of cases in the Fens in which a woman, on marriage, retains her maiden name is quite unequalled elsewhere. Whoever might be taken up by the military was certain to be akin to some of the lookers-on, and therefore the spectacle anticipated on the return of the dragoons was calculated to engage their interest and excite their sympathies.

Among the yeomen there is intermarriage with cousins for the sake of adding acre to acre and barn to barn, but among the labouring population no such inducement prevails. They choose their wives from among their blood relatives, because the idea never crosses their minds to go elsewhere to find mates. They must marry cousins or not marry at all, and the question resolves itself in one of degrees of consanguinity.

As nearly, if not all, the wealthy landowners are grandsons or great-grandsons of half-wild fen-slodgers, it follows that they are knitted by blood ties to the labourers they employ. This does not necessarily increase good fellowship, nor promote forbearance. The purse-proud yeoman is the harshest master. He draws the line of sympathy at the mark of the class to which he belongs, a class of recent creation. He holds fast to his brother yeoman, and both together grind down their brother labourer.

This condition of affairs was of course more noticeable formerly than at present. Each generation separates the well-to-do a step farther from their poor relations. Our story refers to events and conditions some decades ago.

On account of the tyranny exercised by the masters, little consideration was felt for them by the men when they broke out in revolt, although allied to them by blood; and the stacks that had been fired were in several instances set in flames by the blood relatives of the owners of the stacks.

As the dragoons trotted along the road towards Ely, exclamations and lamentations broke out as the men they had taken were recognised by those who lined the highway.

‘There is Robert Cheesewright! Oh dear! what will the old Robert do without him?’

‘Be still. They have not taken Robert. He is going as a witness against Pip Beamish. That’s why he is there.’

‘Well, they have handcuffed James Cammel, anyhow, and he was going to marry my Beulah. If they hang him, Beulah will have to take Aaron Layton instead, that’s all.’

‘There is Joseph Lavender. He is my wife’s son by her first husband. She will take on dreadful, and I shan’t have my shirt properly washed, nor my pasty full baked—that’s what it means to me.’

‘They have taken Flanders Hopkins and Richard Rutter.’

‘Yes; and look you there. That’s Isaac Harley, as was in the waggon. I wish I had Isaac’s gun, I’d shoot the chap that has charge of him. How ever came Isaac to be taken?’

‘Ay; and he is cuffed to Joseph Stibbard.’

‘Stibbard broke into the parson’s house at Littleport, and took his silver spoons and money.’

‘He needed them more than did the parson.’

‘Of course he did, and had a right to take them. Joseph Stibbard’s sister married my nephew, Philip Easy. I hope he handed on the spoons to her before the soldiers took him.’

Such were the comments passed. Some of those looking on endeavoured to push between the soldiers, and get at their relatives who were being conveyed to prison, but were repelled by their guards. Comments of another sort were expressed less loudly, though not less frankly.

‘There rides Drownlands. He has been along with the dragoons all the day. He has been pointing out whom they are to take; and if there is hanging to be done, i’ fecks! it is he who has twisted the rope for their necks, poor fellows.’

‘I knew he was out and about all last night.’

‘Yes, and has been all this morning with the magistrates. But they haven’t taken Pip Beamish yet.’

‘I am sure they would be put to it for witnesses, if it were not for Tiger Ki. Which of us would peach? Wouldn’t we do the other thing, and swear ’em off?’

‘You are right there. I suppose Ki Drownlands knows what he is doing. But I reckon that this will be remembered against him, and he will be paid out for it some day or other.’

‘Trust our chaps for that, and the day will not be distant.’

Drownlands observed the sullen looks, the scowls with which he was greeted, and noticed the whispers that passed as he rode by, but treated all with indifference or contempt.

‘They do not love me. I scoff at them,’ said he to Sir Bates Dudley. ‘They have done their worst. We are clearing the Fens of the only lads with any spirit in them to do mischief. Those that remain are arrant cowards.’

Then he turned his horse’s head down the drove to Prickwillow. ‘I am not needed till to-morrow. Here is my home.’

His eye lighted on Zita, who had come forth to see the soldiers pass with their prisoners. Near her were Mrs. Tunkiss, Sarah, and the farm serving-men.

Zita uttered an exclamation and ran forward, caught Drownlands’ horse by the bridle, and exclaimed—

‘What is the meaning of this? Why is Mark Runham taken? This is your doing.’

‘Why not? He headed the rioters.’

‘He did not head them. It is false. You know it is so. Set him at liberty at once.’

‘I cannot do that. He has been arrested. He will appear before the magistrates to-morrow.’

‘Very well, so will I. I can bear witness as well as you.’

Then Zita darted nimbly between the soldiers, in spite of their protests, which were not roughly enforced, for the quick eyes of the dragoons saw that she was pretty. She made her way to Mark, who was handcuffed.

‘Mark,’ said she, ‘I will help you.’

‘You?’ he answered. ‘You said it was all one to you whether I were hanged or transported. I am innocent, and will be discharged without your help.’

‘Back!’ ordered the dragoon on the right, and Zita was forced to retreat.

As she did so, she saw Kainie by Drownlands. The girl had seized his bridle, and was gesticulating with vehemence.

‘It is your doing,’ said Kerenhappuch. ‘You hate him. You try to destroy him. You are heaping to yourself wrath against the day of wrath.’

‘Let go my bridle,’ ordered Drownlands.

‘You are my uncle,’ insisted the girl, her fair hair blown over her face. With one hand she brushed it back, but did not release her hold on the bridle. ‘Although you have not treated me as of like flesh and blood with yourself, yet you cannot undo it; I am your niece, and speak to you I will, now.’

‘Let go, I say. I will hold no communication with you.’ He struck his spurs into the sides of his horse, which reared. But Kainie would not let go. The plunging of the horse made the curb nip and cut Kainie’s hand, and some blood came over it. She changed hands on the bridle.

‘Look!’ said she. ‘You cannot help it. This is Drownlands blood. It is Drownlands blood appeals to you now.’

Then Zita laid her hand on the bridle, on the farther side of the beast.

‘We are two girls,’ she said, ‘and we will stay you, man though you be. Kainie and I are enemies, we do not love each other, but we unite in beseeching you to do justice to one man.’

‘Ay,’ said the mill-girl. ‘Uncle Ki, you are bent on evil, and we will hold you back against plunging farther into the slough.’

‘Mark never intended to injure you,’ said the Cheap Jack girl. ‘He sought to save your property for you. Why should you work for his destruction?’

‘You shall withdraw your charge against him before all the world,’ said Kainie.

‘You shall break the shackles off his hands yourself,’ said Zita.

Drownlands dug his spurs wrathfully into the flanks of the horse, and clenched his teeth and hands. But though the beast was wounded and bounded, his head was held too firmly for him to break away.

‘Shall I grip your foot till you scream,’ exclaimed Zita, ‘as I did on the night when I stayed you before?’

‘Will you kill Mark, as you killed his father?’ asked Kainie.

Her words were random words. She spoke in the vehemence of her wrath against Drownlands, and anxiety for Runham. She knew nothing definite against her uncle, but she had heard the whispered gossip of the Fens.

‘I will have justice on all who have wronged me,’ muttered Drownlands.

‘Take care!’ exclaimed Kainie, raising the disengaged hand, down which ran a trickle of blood. ‘Do not think that because some of the poor lads have been taken, because ten out of one hundred are handcuffed, that every heart that is full of bitterness is beating behind prison walls, and every hand that can be raised against you is fettered. There are ninety pairs for every ten you put in iron cuffs, and they will be clenched in rage and resolve of revenge the day that you send the poor fellows to the gallows.’

‘I fear them not,’ said Drownlands scornfully.

‘You may not fear, but that is because, like Pharaoh, your heart is hardened and your eyes are blinded, and the Lord is driving you to your destruction. I am here to stand between you—I, as your niece—between you and what threatens.’

‘What threatens?’

‘You are threatened.’

‘Who threatens me?’

‘Pip Beamish for one.’

‘Ha! he will be arrested speedily.’

‘No, not speedily. He is not taken yet, and till he is taken you are not safe.’

‘I will see that he be not at large for long. Before this week is out he will be in prison.’

‘That may be a few days too many for you.’

‘I fear not your Pip Beamish; your braggarts do nothing.’

‘No, braggarts do nothing; but Pip is no braggart.’

‘It is my turn now,’ said Zita. ‘You, Kainie, have tried and have failed. Leave him to me. I can employ reasons that are stronger than yours. Let go your hold of the horse’s head. You have said your say. Now I will say mine. But none must hear us.’

Kainie reluctantly released the bit. Then Zita, still with her hand on the bridle, strode in the direction of Prickwillow, leading the horse, and some of the people congregated on the drove looked after her and the master, and laughed.

‘He has found his mistress,’ said one man, nudging his fellow.

‘Ay, and is following her lead like a lamb,’ replied the man who had been nudged.

‘Who leads today will drive to-morrow,’ said a third.

‘Is he going to marry her?’ asked the first.

The man addressed shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘No money. Drownlands is not such a fool as that.’

None of this was heard by Zita, who did not relax her hold, nor turn to look at those who were left in the road. The master suffered her to conduct him towards the house without making remonstrance.

WHEN Zita was beyond earshot, she looked over her shoulder, and said to Drownlands, ‘I call that mean.’

She walked on, then halted, changed her hand on the bridle, and, gazing about, said, ‘You could free yourself of him in no other fashion, so you swear his life away. But you have to reckon with me before it comes to that. I will go into court and swear against you. What I shall swear to will be the truth; your oath will bind you to lies.’

‘I refuse to strive with you in words,’ retorted Drownlands. ‘A woman is always victor with such weapons.’

‘What? you prefer flails?—those are your weapons,’ exclaimed Zita, clenching her fist and holding her arm extended before her. ‘I know well why you are set against Mark Runham. You think that he is something in some way to me, and that I am much to him. It is because of this that you pursue him. It is because of me that you twist the rope round his throat. But you are wrong altogether. I will not say that Mark is nothing to me. He was kind to me once; kind when my heart was tender, because my father was just buried. But I am nothing to Mark. He mocks at me. He sneers and laughs at the Cheap Jack girl. He does not love me; and, moreover, he is bound to another.’

‘Mark bound to another? Who is that?’

‘Nay, it is his affair, and he has not given me leave to tell his secrets. But you may guess.’

Drownlands’ face testified his surprise.

‘I cannot guess,’ he said, after a long pause.

‘Well,’ said Zita, ‘father’s word was true, that in such matters men are blind. We girls see—and I ought to see, for Mark has not played me fair. He did let me think he fancied me; but I think so no more. He has made me angry with him, and I am angry with him still. But there is a step beyond which I will not go. If I could punish him I would—but not with the rope or Botany Bay. You know that he came into your house in a friendly mind, and with kind intent. You know that he was not in league with that topsy-turvy general public. I shall hate and despise you, as I thought I could hate and despise no man, if you swear falsely against him.’

‘He has stood between us,’ said Drownlands.

‘He has not done so,’ retorted Zita. ‘Your own deeds lie between us, not Mark Runham. The events of that night lie between us as a wall of ice reaching up to heaven, that can neither be climbed nor undermined. Listen to me, master. I hate to be mean; but if you drive me to desperation, if I see no other way to save Mark’s life, I will do even that which is mean.’

‘What is that? I do not understand.’

‘I have no wish to do it. I shall hate myself if I do it. You were good to my poor father, and to me. When all was dark and cold about me, you opened to me your house and fireside. You have harboured me, my horse, and the van. I would not speak a word to mortal man of what I know. They might tear the flesh off my bones with fiery pincers, and my mouth would remain shut. I owe you an infinite debt of gratitude, and I would repay it. But there is one thing I cannot do—I cannot suffer you to send Mark to the gallows. Rather than do that, I will speak, and tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, about the two flails.’

Drownlands was silent. His face had changed to a clay colour, and his lips were tightly drawn on his teeth.

‘And if it be any comfort to you to know this,’ pursued Zita, as she opened the hand extended before her: ‘if you will drop this charge against Mark, retract every word you have said in his disfavour, I will swear to you to have nothing more to do with Mark all your days upon earth. He shall be to me no other than a stranger. I will stop my ears against him if he should try to speak to me flattering words. I will turn my head away if the fancy takes him to look at me with kindly eyes. There, Ki Drownlands, I have made you an offer now. I threw a menace at you just now.’

She had stayed the horse. She stood in the midst of the drove, upright, her foot planted before her, her head raised, one arm lifted to the horse’s head, the other extended before her with hand outspread. She had nothing on her head save her chestnut hair flying in the cold north wind. Her side-turned face was colourless and sallow.

‘Come, Ki Drownlands. When I make an offer, I mean it. When I make a threat, I mean that too. Will you take my offer? It is not Cheap Jack Zita who will go back from her word.’

‘Be it so, then.’

‘It is a deal?’

‘Yes—a bargain.’

‘Here is my hand,’ said Zita, dropping the bridle. ‘A deal is a deal.’

A FEW days were allowed to pass to obtain fresh captures. On a keen, frosty morning, those taken by the constable and the military, to the number of nearly forty persons, were brought before the magistrates for the preliminary examination. It had been resolved that a Special Commission should be appointed to try the prisoners on the capital charges of burglary, arson, robbery, and tumultuous assembling to the disturbance of the peace, and the commission of acts of violence. The object of the magistrates on the present occasion was to sift the cases, and deal at once with those of a light nature, and remand such as were serious.

The magistrates were in force at the courthouse, and proceedings had begun before Ki Drownlands arrived in a light gig, with Zita at his side.

On reaching the court, the girl was surprised to see a constable issue from the door, and in loud tones call the name of Ephraim Beamish.

‘Well,’ said she, ‘those magistrates must be a set of innocents if they order Pip to be summoned in the streets of Ely. Do they suppose he would come here to be caught? Pip will put his distance between himself and the magistrates, as he did t’other day when the dragoons were on the drove. He did not stay for them then, and he won’t come for the calling now.’

On entering the court Zita looked about her. She was affected with a qualm of nervousness, and her colour was heightened. She had never been in a court of justice before; but when she discovered that the hall was crowded, she held up her head, breathed freely, and her spirits recovered their elasticity.

‘It’s my own general public again,’ said she; ‘I am not afraid any more.’

‘Ephraim Beamish makes no answer to his name,’ said the clerk of the court.

‘We will proceed with the case against Ephraim Beamish,’ said the chairman; ‘and the Bench hopes that the constables will not be remiss in their duty, nor relax their efforts to obtain possession of his body, and lodge him in prison—that is, should his case be proved.’

The evidence produced did satisfy the Bench that Beamish should be remitted to the hands of the Special Commission.

Then Mark Runham was called, and at once placed in the dock.

Zita looked at him. She could see that he was not altogether confident that his innocence would be acknowledged. He strove to disguise his anxiety, but ineffectually. He was bewildered at the charge laid against him, and troubled at finding himself in a novel and unpleasant situation.

The depositions having been read over, Hezekiah Drownlands, of Prickwillow, was ordered to stand in the witness-box, for it was he who had lodged information against Mark.

Zita immediately elbowed her way to the front, and, resting her elbow on the rail that limited the portion of the court accessible to the public, looked steadily into the face of the master. She was resolved to check and correct his statements, so that they should not tell unfavourably against the prisoner. Drownlands noticed her, but refrained from meeting her eye. He gave his evidence with hesitation and confusedly, for he had laid information against Mark Runham, and was now seeking to minimise the charge and weaken the force of his own accusations.

‘I was in my office,’ said Drownlands, ‘on that same evening, and was talking with—with Zita there,’—he pointed with his thumb towards the girl, but without looking at her,—’when I heard the voices of the rioters.’

‘Stay a moment,’ said the chairman, interposing. ‘Who may this Zita be?’

The chairman was a merry, red-faced man, a gentleman who had been brother to a former Dean, and had obtained from that Dean a lease of a large tract of ecclesiastical property for ninety-nine years at a nominal rent, and who resided and had become wealthy in Ely.

‘I refer,’ said Drownlands, ‘to that young woman. She lives in my house.’

The eyes of the Bench and of the audience were directed towards the girl.

‘Oh!’ said the chairman. ‘Rather young for a housekeeper, eh?’

‘She is not my housekeeper.’

‘In what capacity, then, may we regard her as residing with you?’

Drownlands hesitated.

‘Come, come! Don’t be reticent, Mr. Drownlands.’

‘I really cannot say.’

‘Shall we say she is a sort of—ahem—companion?’

A titter ran through the court.

‘I am a lodger,’ said Zita. ‘I pay my way.’

‘Silence!’ ordered the chief constable.

‘You shall speak in your turn,’ said the chairman, ‘and no doubt you will be able to give us valuable evidence, but you must not interrupt, you understand.’ Then, turning to the witness, and chuckling and becoming purple with his suppressed laughter, the chairman said, ‘Very well, Mr. Drownlands, go on. We commend your taste. You were talking with your pretty companion, or lodger.’

A laugh ran through the court, in which all joined save the clerical members of the bench, who looked grave and shook their heads.

Zita coloured, and looked about her angrily. Mark’s face was pale, and his eyes were lowered.

‘I was talking with her in my office,’ continued Drownlands, ‘when the mob entered my stackyard with torches, and threatened to burn my ricks and break into my house. Mark Runham was with them.’

‘Did he threaten you?’

‘A great many voices were raised. I could not distinguish one from another. There was a waggon, and Aaron Chevell, Harry Tansley, and Isaac Harley were in it, and Tansley held a gun.’

‘Never mind about Tansley now. I see in your deposition that Mark Runham entered your house. Was it so?’

‘Yes. He came to my door and knocked. Then Zita let him in.’

‘But,’ interrupted the chairman, ‘what you say now, witness, is not in agreement with your information. You deposed that he had feloniously entered your house.’

‘He came to ask for money.’

‘Yes, that may be; but if he knocked and was admitted, he cannot be said to have feloniously entered your premises.’

‘I don’t know about that. I gave no orders that he should be let in. She took it on herself, and went down and unbarred the door, and brought him up to the office. When there he asked for money—for twenty pounds.’

‘No, gentlemen,’exclaimed Zita, ‘it was not so. He told the master that he advised him to pay the money lest the men should do mischief. He asked for nothing.’

‘Silence, if you please,’ said the chairman; ‘your turn will come presently, and then we will listen to your story. Proceed, Mr. Drownlands. You say now that Mark Runham, the accused, was let into your house by the pretty companion—or lodger. He did not break in. The information is incorrect.’

‘I don’t understand lawyers’ jargon,’ said Drownlands sullenly. ‘All I know is that Mark Runham came in and asked for twenty pounds, and said that if I did not pay it, the men would burn my ricks as they had those of Gaultrip. I know that blows were struck at my door, and I heard threats that the men would break in, and a brick was thrown at me through the window.’

‘That took place whilst Mark was in the room,’ said Zita.

‘Silence there!’ shouted the constable.

‘If that girl will intervene, and will not be quiet, let her be put out of the court,’ said Sir Bates Dudley, who was on the bench.

‘I’ll be quiet,’ said Zita; ‘but when one hears lies, it is hard not to contradict—it is hard—tremenjous.’

‘Go on, Mr. Drownlands,’ said the chairman.

‘They threatened, if I would not pay the twenty pounds, that they would burst in at the door, or by the windows, and take two hundred.’

‘Who? The accused?’

‘No, not the accused; the others. He was in my office, speaking with me.’

‘But we do not want to hear what the others said—at least not now. We are considering the case of Mark Runham. He is a farmer—a landowner, I believe?’

‘Yes, he is.’

‘And you think it likely that such an one would put himself at the head of a lawless rabble, to wreck farms and extort money from his fellow-landowners?’

‘He demanded twenty pounds of me.’

‘Well, go on with your story. You refused the money?’

‘I did so at first, but in the end I was forced to pay it.’

‘Forced? Did the prisoner employ violence?’

‘No; the rabble outside threatened to burn all down unless I paid. I put the money into the prisoner’s hand.’

‘After that he left your house?’

‘He took ten pounds also from Zita.’

‘No; I offered them to him to save my van!’ exclaimed the girl.

‘Another word of interruption, and you are turned out of court,’ said the chairman. ‘Constable, stand by her, and if she opens her mouth again, clap your hand over it, or stuff your pocket-handkerchief down her throat.’

‘I will do so, your worship.’

‘That is all you have to say, witness?’

‘Yes. I have nothing more, except that Runham gave cake and ale to the rioters.’

‘You saw him do so?’

‘No. I heard he had regaled them.’

‘That is no evidence.’ Then the chairman turned to Mark Runham and said, ‘Has the accused any questions he would like to put to witness?’

‘Yes,’ said Mark. ‘I inquire of him whether I did not protest that I came merely as a neighbour and a friend.’

‘A friend?’ exclaimed Drownlands. ‘No Runham can be a friend to me, nor I a friend to him.’

‘That is no answer to his question,’ said the chairman.

‘He said something of the sort,’ Drownlands admitted.

‘Did I not say,’ pursued Mark, ‘that Gaultrip had refused at the outset to pay blackmail, and that in the end, when his rick was blazing, he gave way, and that I had run on ahead to advise you as a neighbour not to provoke to outrage an irritated and unreasonable rabble?’

‘Yes, you said that; but how was I to know you were not acting for the rioters? You gave them cake.’

‘Come,’ said the magistrate occupying the chair, ‘we will hear now what that lively young woman has to say. She clearly is bursting with desire to tell us all she knows. Put her in the witness-box.’

As Drownlands left the place he had occupied, Zita stepped into his room at the instigation of the constable. She looked up at the Bench with a cheery countenance, and then round at the public that crammed every available space.

'你的名字？'

“齐塔。”

‘Yes, that is well enough as far as it goes, but we want your surname also.’

‘Father said we were Greenways. But nobody never called him nothing but “Cheap Jack.”‘

‘And your profession or calling? A companion?’

The court tittered. A clown in the public portion of the hall guffawed.

Zita raised herself erect and said, ‘A Cheap Jack.’

‘A Cheap Jill, I should say,’ observed the red-faced chairman, laughing at his own feeble joke, whereupon the Bench smiled, the clerk of the court and the constables laughed, and the public roared.

The magistrate went on, ‘If you are a Cheap Jack or Jill, how come you to be at Mr. Drownlands’ house? Is your father with you?’

‘My father is dead,’ replied Zita. ‘That is just why I am at Prickwillow.’

‘Then I presume you are a roving Jill in quest of a Jack?’

‘It is the place of the Jacks to run after the Jills,’ said Zita; ‘not that I want one, thank you.’

‘Hush! Hush! No impertinence to the Bench.’

‘Beg pardon, I thought the impertinence came from the Bench to me.’

The sally produced some merriment. When it was subdued, the magistrate in the chair assumed a grave manner, and inquired in a different tone—

‘So you are staying at Mr. Drownlands’ house? In what capacity?’

‘I am a Cheap Jack,’ said Zita. ‘I have my van there, and horse, and all my goods. We got stuck in the mud of the droves, when on our way to Littleport, the night of Tawdry Fair. Father was took ill and died. So I am lodging at Prickwillow, and I pay for my lodging in blacking-brushes and slop-pails.’

‘You are not, then, in any menial capacity—not receiving wages?’

‘I am a Cheap Jack, laid by the heels through mud and frost,’ answered Zita. ‘It is true I have sewn on some buttons for Master Drownlands, and have hemmed the linen, and he gives me house-room for my van and me and the horse, till the dry weather comes and we can move away.’

‘Well, enough of that. Tell us what you know about the events of the sixteenth.’

‘First of aw—aw—all,’ interposed Sir Bates Dudley, who sat on the right of the chairman. ‘She has been put on her oath. Had we not bet—tet—tet—er ascertain if she is aware of the nature of an oath?’

‘Ah, to be sure! I suppose you were brought up as a Cheap Jack?’

‘Always—since I was a baby.’

‘And not in the most virtuous and godly manner, I fear?’

‘I beg pardon, sir?’

Here the constable interposed. He stooped and said in Zita’s ear, ‘Address the Bench as “your worships.”‘

‘I beg pardon, your worships. My father brought me up. There was not a better man anywhere.’

‘Then—do you understand the nature of an oath?’

‘Father didn’t swear but very little—off an’ on like—and mostly at Jewel, who was sometimes very provoking. But nothing like the man with the merry-go-round—he swore awful.’

‘I do not mean that. Do you comprehend that you have solemnly promised to speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and that you have called Heaven to witness that it is so?’

‘Yes,’ said Zita, with a sigh; ‘but it is hard—tremenjous.’

‘What?—hard to speak the truth?’

‘Yes, your worship—because of the general public. You never was a Cheap Jack, was you, your worship?’

‘No. Oh dear no, never—never!’

‘I thought so. I never saw you at any of the fairs, but there was a man who swallowed knives like that gentleman at your side.’

‘Never mind about that.’

‘I was going to say, sir, that as you never was a Cheap Jack, you can’t understand what the feelings of one is, when she sees the general public afore her eyes. There comes a sort of swelling of the heart, and a desire of the mind to launch out into wonderful tales, and a longing to make the General Jackass believe that black is white, and chalk is cheese, that what is broken is sound, and what is old is new. But I will do my best. I’ll shut my eyes and try to forget the general public, and fancy I’m with father in the van, for then I always said straight out what was true.’

The winter sun streamed in at the south window over against Zita and flooded her as she stood in the witness-box. She had a scarlet and yellow flowered kerchief round her neck and over her shoulders, the white chip bonnet with black ribbons hardly contained her luxuriant, shining hair. The sun blazed in her face, flushing her ripe cheeks, making very June cherries of her lips, and adding a solar twinkle to the sparkle of intelligence and wit indwelling in her honest but roguish eyes. She stood as upright as a wand, her hands resting on the rail before her, and her head thrown back.

The chairman bent to Sir Bates Dudley and whispered—

‘What a good-looking wench it is!’

‘Is she, indeed?’ said the canon. ‘You don’t mean to say so.’

It did not comport with ecclesiastical, certainly not with canonical, decorum and dignity to know whether a girl were good-looking or not.

The chairman turned to the magistrate on his left and made the same remark. This magistrate was a layman, a retired admiral, who had come to live in Ely because his daughter was married to an official there. His name was Abbott. There was no etiquette in Her Majesty’s Navy against observing good looks. He replied, ‘Thunderingly so, Christian.’

Christian was the chairman’s name.

‘I’ll speak the truth,’ said Zita; ‘though it is against nature—just as it was against nature for that little fat gentleman to ride yesterday; but he did it, because he ought.’

A roar of laughter at the expense of Sir Bates Dudley.

‘Go on,’ said the chairman, hardly controlling himself—the lay members of the Bench loved to have a joke at the expense of the clerical members. ‘Tell your story, and tell it truthfully, or you’ll get yourself into difficulties.’

‘I mean to,’ said Zita.

Then she gave the narrative of the events of the evening of the riot in their order, with such lucidity and simplicity, and so frankly, that the truth of her story was stamped on every sentence. Now and then some odd remark, some allusion to her van or goods, or to the horse, provoked a laugh, and she kept Bench and public in good humour.

‘I really think,’ said Mr. Christian, ‘that we may dismiss the case against young Runham. If my brother magistrates agree with me’—He looked round and met with nods of approval. ‘The charge against Mark Runham seems to be a mistake. There is actually nothing in it, and the Bench sincerely regrets that, through a misunderstanding, and possibly through an excess of zeal on the part of Mr. Drownlands, you, Mark Runham, should have been placed in the position you have. Constable, discharge him.’

‘Thank you, gents,’ said Zita. ‘You’ve done right, and I’m glad of it. As I came here, I heard that you had given orders for Pip to be called. I did think you then a set of ninnies—but now’—

‘That will do. You can leave the witness-box.’

‘No, sir—your worship, not yet. I have not quite said all I want to say. I am very much obliged that you have listened to reason and have let Mark go. And, your worships, there are six of you on the bench. I have got just six toasting-forks in stock—the beautifullest toasting-forks that ever you saw. They have red japanned handles and brass mounts, and fold up small, like telescopes, into the handle. And if your worships will do me the favour of coming to Prickwillow, I’ll furnish every one of you with a toasting-fork.’

‘That will do; leave the witness-box.’

‘And, your worships, if you will pass over poor Pip Beamish,—he’s not right in his head,—I’ll let you have a real epergne to raffle for between you.’

‘Constable, remove that girl. Turn her out of the court,’ ordered the chairman, red with laughter.

‘I pity the man she chooses as her husband,’ said Christian behind his hand to Abbott, when his order was being carried out.

‘Or Drownlands, whose companion she is,’ whispered the admiral. ‘No—hang it!’ said Mr. Christian. ‘No more of that. I am sure that girl is as straight as a whistle. You cannot look in her honest face and hear her cheery voice and not swear she is as good and clean as gold. ‘Pon my life, Abbott, I have a mind to go for my toasting-fork. What say you? You are an old acquaintance, as you heard,—swallowed knives at the fair,—will you go?’

ZITA was standing in the room Drownlands called his office, in conversation with the master.

‘What did you mean by that which you said to the magistrates—that you were tied here by frost, held by mud, and that when frost went and mud dried you would be free to go?’

“是这样的。”

‘You will leave me?’

‘I would go as soon as the van could roll along the drove,’ replied Zita, ‘but that there are other difficulties than frost and mud, and how to get out of these I do not as yet see. I work at them in my head, but cannot find a way of escape.’ She considered a while, with her hands folded and her eyes on the floor. ‘You see, there is the stock. It seems sinful to let it lie idle—if it don’t breed money, it will breed moths and rust. Father always said money was made to jump—just the same as frogs were so created. Here is all this store of goods doing nothing. Here is myself—born a Cheap Jack, and a Cheap Jack to my fingers’ ends. I am not in my right place if not going about in my van to fairs and markets, selling my goods, and making the money jump, as it was ordained to.’ Zita pursed her lips. ‘That is on one side. On the other there are considerations also. In the first place, it is awkward for a young girl to be cheap-jacking over the country—it’s awkward, and it’s not respectable. She cannot manage by herself. As the gentleman said, a Jill must have a Jack. That was true, though I did not like to hear him say it. I could not manage the van and Jewel and the selling alone. I must have some man with me. And if I were to take a servant, he might set his head to make himself Jack and make me Jill. And to take a proper Jack,’ pursued Zita,—’I mean, to have a husband,—why, I don’t fancy it. I don’t like the notion of it at all. There is my great difficulty.’

‘Then stay at Prickwillow.’

‘I don’t know. If I were here, you would not leave me in peace and quietness. I do not desire to remain here, but I do not know where else to go. Now, you see, I am in a cleft stick.’

‘Take me, and remain.’

‘That, I have told you, can never be. If you ask that again, I will go. If you say nought about it, I will make shift to stay till something turns up.’

‘Till you find a Jack?’

‘I do not want a Jack. I said so. I want to remain free—Jack and Jill all in one.’ Her expression suddenly changed as she asked, ‘Have they taken Pip Beamish yet?’

‘No; he has been seen, but he eluded capture. He is in the Fens. He has some hiding-place, but where it is we have not yet discovered. The constables are out and watching. He cannot leave the Fens.’

‘Cannot? He escaped the dragoons. He has escaped the constables, as you tell me now.’

‘Ah! the dragoons were not accustomed to fen ways. The constables will take him. They will form a ring and close in. There is a reward for whoever takes him, and I have added five guineas.’

‘And I will give ten to any constable who lets him slip through his fingers. Publish that.’

‘We have had enough of Ephraim Beamish,’ said the master. ‘We were speaking about ourselves. You have your difficulties and troubles, but I also have mine.’

Drownlands seated himself at the table, placed his arms on the board, and for a moment rested his head on his folded arms. Then he looked up and said—

‘I have my distresses, but they are of other nature to yours, and different in degree. Do you know Scripture? Did your father ever read the Bible to you?’

‘My father was a God-fearing man,’ answered Zita, with warmth and pride. ‘He made me learn passages by heart, and there was one tale he read over every Sunday, and never tired of it. It was how the Israelites borrowed of the Egyptians jewels of silver and gold, and spoiled the Egyptians, then went off and got the Egyptians drowned, and so were able to keep their borrowings. Father said there was the making of Cheap Jacks in them Israelites.’

‘Did you ever read of Moses, how he went up the mountain to view the Promised Land,—the land flowing with milk and honey,—and he looked on it from afar, but was never allowed to set foot thereon? And he died there, in the mount. The wind came to him sweet with thyme, and he saw the green cattle pastures by the waters of comfort, but he might not drink of its milk or eat its honey. And he died there, looking at the land that was so near and yet so far, a land he might see, but never set foot on. He died there, for it broke his heart.’

Drownlands laid his head again on his folded arms. Zita remained in the same position. She had an inkling of his drift, and was uneasy, and cast about for some means of relief from a painful scene.

‘I suppose,’ she said, ‘there were fine bargains to be driven in the Promised Land, and that the Canaanites were as soft-headed as the Egyptians. To a man of proper feeling it was vexing.’

Drownlands paid no attention to the remark. He continued—

‘Do you remember why Moses was not suffered to go in and possess the Good Land? There was something betwixt him and it. He had done that which was against the law, therefore the Lord showed him the fields of Canaan, but said he must never lay his head in the dewy grass, never smell its upturned earth, never touch its fair flowers.’

‘Yes, I remember something about it,’ said Zita.

‘What killed Moses was the seeing the land, and being told it never might be his,’ continued Drownlands. ‘But he could not go back from Pisgah into the wilderness. He could not turn his back on Canaan. He must sit among the rocks, and look on the pleasant land, till his heart broke, and he died.’

The girl fixed her eyes on the quivering face of Drownlands. She saw that he was in terrible earnest, and she did not see her way out of an embarrassing situation. He spoke again.

‘Zita, do you think it would have been wise for Joshua to have come up into Pisgah when Moses was there? Would not Moses have sprung up and cried out, “This man will enter on what is denied me!” and have held him by the throat?’ Drownlands was now on his feet, his hands extended before him, suiting his action to his words. ‘He would have held him by the throat, have thrown him on a rock, put his knee to his chest, and bent his back so—and have broken his back.’

As he spoke, he hit and split and crushed down half the table. Then he drew a long inhalation, reseated himself, wiped his brow, and said—

‘There is no Joshua. You swore to me there was none.’

‘I think I can comprehend this roundabout talk,’ said Zita. ‘But if you mean that I am your Promised Land, you are mistaken. I never was promised to you.’

‘No, that is true; you are the Loved Land, the Desired Land. No, you never were promised.’

‘And it is quite certain that I am not for you.’

'我知道。'

‘And I will trouble you to keep your Pisgah at a distance, and stick to it,’ said Zita.

‘You have told me that you never can be mine, and you have told me also why. My sin stands between us, as a sin stood between Moses and Canaan. And yet—I would do it again if I met him. You do not know how Runham wronged me; you have never learned what was my provocation. I pay the penalty of my sin, as did Moses. That very night I killed him—that very same night, not two minutes after the last bubbles came from his lips—I first saw you. The punishment followed on the crime faster than the thunder-clap after the lightning-flash. Well, then, so long as you remain before my eyes, that I can see your golden hair, and hear your lark-like voice, I am content. I have all I can expect. I will try to be content. But I could not endure to have a Joshua near me.’

‘There is none—if you mean a Jack.’

‘I trust your word. Mark Runham is nothing to you?’

‘I am nothing to Mark,’ said Zita, with slight evasion. ‘He would not even look at me in court.’

‘So long as you remain here, I will bear my burden, though it break my heart, bit by bit. But that is better than to lose you altogether. No’—he stood up again, went to the window, leaned his arm and head against the shattered casement, and let the wind blow in on him through the broken glass—’no, that I can bear—to have you here. But to lose you—to see you no more—I cannot even endure to think of that.’

Zita made a movement to escape. He heard her, and, without turning his head, made a sign to her with his hand to stay.

‘Do not leave me. I have still something I must say. I want to strike a bargain with you.’

‘A deal? I am ready.’

Zita resumed her place. Drownlands came slowly back to the table.

‘Listen to me,’ he said, with a thrill in his deep tones. ‘I have made up my mind to this—that 他的 blood lies between me and you, as a Dead Sea I may never cross. I must sit on my Pisgah and look at you as unapproachable. That is all I can hope for; that is all I demand; and in order to secure this, I am ready to make you an offer. I shall never marry—never. All the land round Prickwillow is mine, and I have money in the bank—many thousands of pounds. You know what money is worth. You can judge what this land brings in every year to heap the pile. It shall all be yours if you will stay with me till I die. I ask for nothing else but to have you here in this house, that I may hear you laugh, that I may see your smiling face. That is all. I will not open my mouth to ask for anything but that—just to see you and hear you every day; now and then to touch your hand; happy, if as you pass me your skirts brush me; glad for a day if you condescend to cast a word at me. That is all—the full, the sum of all. And for that I will pay away everything I have. Command me. Do with me what you please, only do not banish me. My money is at your disposal, and when I die everything that I have becomes yours. See here.’ He went to his desk, unlocked it, and drew forth a paper. ‘I have made my will, but it is not yet signed and attested. It could not be so till we had come to an arrangement together. If you will undertake to remain with me on the terms I propose, then you will be a wealthy woman some day when I am gone. And whilst I am here cumbering the place,’—his tone was bitter,—’you have but to ask and I will give you what you require. Agree with me, and this document shall be signed and attested forthwith. For a very slight concession on your part you will receive a rich repayment. As you said, you could not go about the country in your van, and you have no settled home to which you can go. Surely you will concede this to me.’

He placed the paper on the table before Zita.

She took up the will and read it through.

In few words, and to the point, Drownlands had constituted her sole heir and legatee to everything he possessed, on the one condition that she remained in his house through the rest of his life.

She put the paper down on the table again, without, however, releasing it from her hand, and stood considering.

‘There is one thing,’ she said, after a long pause, ‘one thing I must stick out for whether I stay here for a short time or for long.’

'那是什么？'

‘That you board up the shed where my van is kept, so that the fowls may not roost on it.’

Then in at the door came Mrs. Tunkiss.

‘There’s Mark Runham come,’ she said to the master, after looking suspiciously first at Zita, then at him. ‘And he says he must speak with you on business.’

‘Mark?—Mark again? Bring him here. I am not afraid of him now. Come, Zita, what say you to my offer?’

For a few moments she remained with her hand to her head, breathing hard, her eyes dim.

‘Come, Zita—what answer?’

She looked at him with glazed eyes. She was in pain and sorrow. She would in one moment see Mark,—Mark, whom she loved,—and see him with the knowledge that she never could be his. But the demand made of her to surrender was not so great as it might have been had Mark loved and respected her. He liked, or had once liked her. Now he loved another. He despised her for some reason she could not understand. He held by Kainie, to whom he was bound by promise, and to whom, after a short wavering of his affections, he had returned.

‘Come, Zita, what say you to my offer?’

In a whisper, with sunk head, her chin in her bosom, and with folded hands—

'我接受。'

‘SHALL I go?’ asked Zita.

‘No, stay. There can nothing pass betwixt us but what you may hear. And now that he is come, he shall witness the signature to the will.’

‘I would rather leave.’

Further discussion of this point was prevented by the entrance of Mark.

The young man noticed that Zita was in the room, but he did not look at her or address her. He directed his eyes steadily at Drownlands, who remained seated at the table.

‘I have come on business,’ said Mark.

‘Say what it is.’

Mark demurred. ‘Let us speak together in private.’

‘No; what has to be said may be said before her.’

‘If you wish it. I have come concerning Kainie.’

‘What about Kainie?’

‘She is your niece.’

‘To my sorrow.’

‘You should not say that. She is a good girl. Not to your sorrow, but to your shame.’

Drownlands stamped.

‘Spare me words. My patience will not stretch far.’

‘Kainie is your sister’s only child. She is your nearest relative. I have come to you in her interest. It is no longer possible for her to remain at Red Wings.’

'为什么不？'

‘It is not seemly. It is not just. The Fens are in commotion; wild men are about, lawless deeds are being done. She is but a girl, and is unprotected, and away from help, if she needed it.’

‘She has her dog.’

‘That is not sufficient. Dogs have been silenced before now. Consider to what dangers a girl is exposed in such a solitary spot.’

‘Pshaw! the men are cowed.’

‘Several are about in hiding, and are not yet captured. You do a great wrong to Kainie.’

‘I do her no wrong. I leave her alone.’

‘That in itself is a grievous wrong. Whose duty is it to guard her, but yours? She bears your name.’

‘To my disgrace!’ exclaimed Drownlands, glaring up with wrath. ‘No more of that.’

‘Well, it is no pleasant topic.’

‘Did Kainie send you to me?’

‘No; I came because I felt concerned for her, and convinced that she must not be allowed—no, not for another night—to remain under the sails of Red Wings. Will you receive her at Prickwillow?’

‘Not I.’

‘She must be removed from the mill. If you will not take charge of her, then I must.’

‘You are welcome. I will have nothing to do with her.’

‘Well, then, so be it. It is your duty to see to her security. You refuse to do your duty, so I shall take her. That is settled. Now, one thing further. Will you make Kainie an allowance,—something to support her,—even if you refuse her shelter?’

‘Not a penny. I washed my hands of her mother, and I wash my hands of her.’

‘I feared this would be your answer,’ said Mark, and drew a long breath. ‘I feared my application to you would be in vain. Nevertheless, I considered myself bound to make it; I could not act till you had refused to act; much as did Boaz when troubled concerning Ruth. You finally refuse to give protection to Kainie in her loneliness, and at this season of danger?’

‘Ay, I do.’

‘And refuse to furnish her with even a pittance out of your abundance?’

‘Ay, I do.’

‘You should blush to deny her what she needs.’

‘I blush for her being in the world at all.’

Mark turned to go. Then Drownlands spoke out in strong tones—

‘Stay! Now that you are here, I ask you to do me a favour. It is not much—merely to witness a document, to attest my signature to my will. I desire you to see me sign that, and it will be the best answer I can make to your application on behalf of Kainie. Zita, call up Leehanna Tunkiss.’

Mrs. Tunkiss was behind the door. She had been listening in the passage, and now appeared in the doorway, after a short scuffle of feet, to give a semblance of her having come from a distance.

‘Do you want me, master?’ she asked. ‘I was in the midst of baking.’

‘Stand there,’ ordered Drownlands. Then, rising to his feet, he held up the will and said, ‘I have been making my last testament, and I desire that you, Mark Runham, and you, Leehanna Tunkiss, should see me sign it. But that will not suffice. I wish you to know its contents, and then there can be no question relative to its genuineness; and, above all, no delusions, no hopes, no schemes can be based on relationship, fancied or real, that are doomed to disappointment.’

Drownlands looked round him. He saw a flicker in Leehanna’s eye. She was akin to him distantly, yet really.

‘Zita and I have come to an understanding together,’ said the yeoman, in articulate words spoken slowly. ‘Zita has promised that she will remain with me, and will look after my house, rule over my servants, attend to my comforts as long as I live. If you, Leehanna, choose to remain with this understanding’—

‘I shall do no such thing,’ said the housekeeper, tossing her head. ‘I thought matters would come to this very quickly. I knew what the minx was aiming at.’

‘That is your affair,’ said the master. ‘Zita stays here, and her word is to be law in my house. I have made my will, and leave to her everything I possess—every brick of my house, every clod of my soil, every guinea of my hoard.’ He paused, and looked from one to another. Mark and Leehanna remained mute with astonishment. ‘Now go, Mark Runham, as soon as you have attested my signature, and tell Kainie she has nothing to expect from me at present, nor in times to come—nothing from Drownlands living, or Drownlands dead. Let this be known throughout the Fens. Mark Runham, stand here and witness me sign my name. This is my true act and deed.’

‘I will not do this,’ said the young man, turning white. ‘Get some one else to see this done—this that stamps her infamy and your baseness.’ He turned sharply about and went through the door. Then he halted for a moment, hesitated, holding the jamb with one hand, and, looking back with a face devoid of colour, said, ‘To-night I shall fetch Kainie away, and she shall find her home with me.’

‘Mark!’ exclaimed Zita, running to him.

‘Stand back!’ said he roughly. ‘Do not come near me; you, who sell yourself body and soul for what you call profits.’

Then he turned and staggered down the stairs.

‘And I give notice that I leave this house at once,’ said Mrs. Tunkiss. ‘Fine goings on these be. I have ever kept myself respectable. I’ve been the only respectable woman here besides Sarah. I’m not going to stay in this house, which will be avoided by every decent woman, with a man that will be pointed at by every decent man, with her in it as missus—as missus’—

The woman laughed bitterly, tauntingly, and threw a foul name in the face of Zita, and then backed, with a sneer on her lips and hate in her eyes.

SUDDENLY, and for the first time, did the thought flare through Zita’s brain and scorch it—that she had compromised her character.

Now only did she see why Mark had refused to look at her; now only understand what he meant when he said that she had sold herself body and soul; now only comprehended what the laughter signified when the chairman in court had suggested that she was the ‘companion’ of Drownlands, a suggestion which had been received with titters. She remembered how then her brow had become hot, her heart had beat fast; she was sensible that something had been said that hurt her maiden pride, something that lowered her in the esteem of those assembled in the court. But she had not sounded the meaning of the insinuation, and had not thought what was really the sting in the words which wounded her.

Zita possessed a considerable amount of pride—a different sort of pride, maybe, from any that we can conceive in our stations in life. It was not vanity. She concerned herself little about her personal appearance, and made no effort by dress to display her beauty. She knew she was a good-looking girl, and was indifferent to the fact. She had no education of the sort which we prize; but she had stood on platforms, her feet level with the shoulders of the general public, and she had come, instinctively, without being able to account to herself for it, to regard herself as possessing a character, a dignity of her own above that which belonged to the members of the general public. She who stood above it actually must live up to her level, and stand above it in moral strength and integrity.

Zita had a simple and innocent mind. She had been reared in a van, had led a rambling life, her sole associate had been a father—a kindly man, gentle, good after his lights, and very careful of her welfare. The fact of her having been shifted perpetually from place to place had prevented her forming associates, making fast friendships, so that she had really had none to affect her mind save her father, and had grown to womanhood a singular combination of shrewdness and simplicity. Thus her heart was fresh and childlike, whilst her brain was keen in all that concerned commerce. She had been carefully screened by the Cheap Jack father from everything that could taint the sweetness of her innocence and sully the crystalline purity of her mind.

There was one thing she had never learned from her father, one thing of which till this moment she had no conception—the power of public opinion. She had acquired in her vagrant life an idea that the general public was a something to be laughed at and laughed with, that was to be humoured, cajoled, befooled; but it had never been suspected by her that the public could utter its voice and make the heart quake, breathe on and blast a reputation, could bite and poison the blood.

Now, suddenly, a veil was lifted, and she saw the general public in a new light, and felt the terrible power over her life and happiness that it exercised.

No man is so free as the man without a home. If he has committed an indiscretion, he pulls up his tent-pegs, moves away, and is forgotten. But a man who remains on the scene of his indiscretion is haunted by it ever after. The remembrance clings to him as the shirt of Nessus. It is never forgotten, never forgiven. As long as the van crawled over the face of the country, changing the atmosphere that surrounded it, it eluded the force of public opinion. Its inmates paid no tax to it; were not registered on its books. But hardly had Zita become settled before its burden fell upon her.

‘Unsay what you have said!’ cried Zita, grasping Mrs. Tunkiss by the arm.

‘It is true. It is what every one has been saying; and, as you see, Mark Runham won’t have anything to do with you. You thought to catch him, did you? You’ve been angling for him and the master, and taken the one as bids highest. ‘Tis like a Cheap Jack that. You’re young, but bold as brass and cankered as iron.’

‘Silence, you false-mouthed woman!’

‘Can you silence all the tongues in the Fen? There’s not a man over his pipe and ale in the tavern ain’t jeering at you. There’s not a woman over her soapsuds and scrubbing-brush ain’t crying shame on you. But what can you expect of a vagabond but vice? I spit at you.’

Zita cast the woman from her, and turned and threw herself on her knees at the broken table, buried her face in her hands, and burst into tears.

Drownlands waved imperiously to the housekeeper to leave, and the woman withdrew, muttering and casting malignant glances at the broken, prostrate girl.

The table was between the master of Prickwillow and Zita. His knuckles rested on the will. He leaned on them, and looked down on the shining head that was laid low before him. Zita’s hair was cut short, and her neck showed as well as her rounded cheek.

He did not speak. He breathed heavily through his distended nostrils. He waited, not knowing what direction her thoughts might take, what resolve her mind would form.

There were but few alternatives among which she might choose. She could not resume her life as Cheap Jack without taking an assistant, and from that course she shrank with maidenly repugnance, rightly estimating its dangers. If she were to throw herself among the wanderers who frequented fairs, it would be to court ruin. Was it not probable that she would maintain her resolution to remain at Prickwillow, with this difference, that she would accept his first offer, and become his wife, to save her fair name from reproach? So far as Drownlands could see, this was the only means whereby she could extricate herself from her difficulties, and his heart swelled within him at the hope that opened before him. But he saw clearly that he must allow her to work to this solution by herself unassisted. A word from him would mar everything.

He accordingly stood with bent brows and pale face, the furrows deeply graven on his forehead and seaming his cheek, his lips set, looking steadily at the chestnut-gold head and the delicate bowed neck.

There is no agony more terrible than the agony of the soul, and among the many anguishes with which that can be affected none equals in intensity and poignancy that which is caused by the sense of the loss of the respect of men.

There was an ineffable humiliation in the thought of the light in which she—Zita—had come to be regarded, if what Mrs. Tunkiss said was true. The girl who errs through over-trust in a lover, who has believed his word, his oath, is looked down on, but deserves some pity. But Zita did not occupy such a position, had not the same claim to be dealt by lightly. She had—so men thought, so men said—deliberately and calculatingly sold herself to Drownlands. Her degradation had been a piece of sordid merchandise, with haggling over terms.

That was true which Leehanna said. She was the subject-matter of talk in the taverns, of coarse and ribald jokes, of calculation of the chances she had of retaining the affections of Drownlands, of remark on her craft, her dexterity in laying hold of and managing this intractable tyrant of the Fens.

But perhaps the intensest anguish-point lay in the thought that Mark, who had loved her, or liked her—Mark, whom she had loved, whom she loved still, regarded her with disgust, held himself aloof from her, as one unworthy even of his pity, as a cold, calculating wanton.

As all these thoughts passed through the mind of Zita, the pain was so excessive that she could have shrieked, and felt relief in shrieking; that she worked with her feet on the planks of the floor, as though to bore with them a hole down which she might disappear and hide her shame.

The drops ran off her brow like the drops on a window after rain—long-gathering trickles of moisture, then a great drop, immediately succeeded by another accumulation, and again another drop. Save for the working of her feet on the floor and the movement of her fingers, she was motionless. Drownlands contemplated her steadily. He saw her, in her anguish of mind, twine and untwine her long fingers, then pluck at and strip off chips of the table where he had broken it, put them between her teeth and bite them, but still with lowered brow and eyes that she could not raise for shame. He could see flushes pass over her, succeeded by deadly pallor. It was as though flames were flickering about her head, shooting up and enveloping throat and cheek and brow, then dying down and leaving a deathly cold behind. A soul in this present life was prematurely suffering its purgatory.

Then she laid her hands flat on the table before her, then folded them, as children fold their hands in prayer, and she was still, as though her pulses had ceased to beat and her lungs to play. Then again ensued a paroxysm of distress, in which the fingers writhed and became knotted, and tears broke from her eyes and sobs from her heart.

How long would this last?

What resolutions were forming and unforming under that crown of shining locks, in that heavily-charged heart?

The door was thrust open, and in came Sarah, the maid with St. Vitus’ dance.

‘Please,’ she said, ‘there be three gem’men from Ely downstairs. They say they be come after their toastin’-forks.’

ZITA rose from her knees.

‘Tell them to wait, and I will be down directly,’ she said. ‘I made them a promise, and I must keep it. I am glad they are here; they can witness the will, now that Mark Runham and Leehanna Tunkiss are gone.’

Drownlands was surprised. The girl had regained her composure; and from the look of her face he was assured that she had formed her resolution.

‘That is right,’ said he; ‘things remain as arranged.’

‘I cannot go away,’ said Zita in a low voice. ‘Here I am, and here I must remain. If I have done wrong to stay here, the wrong is done. If I have been foolish to accept your hospitality, the folly is past recall.’ She looked over her shoulder to see that Sarah had withdrawn.

‘Yes; I promised you I would remain here, and here I will remain, on a condition.’

He held up the will.

‘Yes, on condition that you leave everything you have as I shall direct.’

‘I leave it all to you.’

‘The will must be written afresh,’ said Zita; ‘a change must be made in it. You have bequeathed everything to me, and because of that, evil thoughts will rise up in folks’ minds, and evil words will pass over their lips. Even Mark thinks ill of me. I did not think Mark could have done that.’ She heaved a sigh, and drew her hand across her eyes.

‘Master,’ said she, after a pause, ‘you had no right to make that will and leave me all. I am not your niece. I shall never stand nearer to you than I do now. I have no claim on your house or lands. But Kainie has. She is your own sister’s child. You must alter your will and leave everything to her.’

‘I said I would give her nought.’

‘And that made Mark believe me to be bad. I will not have anything of yours. I will have you make the writing out anew, and bequeath everything to Kainie—on the same condition, if you will, that I remain here all your days. I do not say, Give Kainie everything now. I have no right to say that. I do not say, Give me nothing at any time. I shall have a right to some payment, or some acknowledgment of my services. But what I do say is that I will not be your heir hereafter. Kainie has a claim on you that I have not. If I were to be enriched with house and lands by you, then the evil that is thought of me would be confirmed. But folks may say what they will, when, some day, after you are gone, the property changes hands and falls to Kainie; they cannot think I have been so wicked as was supposed. And I shall have repaid you for your kindness to me, in that I have saved you from committing a great injustice. Mark said I would do anything—sell body and soul—for profit. He will come to see that he was wrong there.’

Drownlands gazed on the girl with incredulity. She had hit on an arrangement that had not suggested itself to his mind. He could not believe that she was serious in her purpose.

‘I will remain with you,’ continued Zita, ‘on the clear understanding that Kainie is to be your heir, and I would wish this understanding to be generally made known. Some day, when I am old and ugly, and you are dead and gone, then, when the new folks come into Prickwillow, I’ll harness the horse and start as a Cheap Jack once more. Then I can take a man to mind the horse, when I do the business of a Cheap Jack. No one can say wrong of me then. When Mark Runham comes into this place’—

‘Mark Runham will never be here.’

‘He must be here, if this falls some day to Kainie.’

‘That does not follow.’

‘Of course it follows, if he marries Kainie.’

‘Mark—marry Kainie? What do you mean?’

‘I told you that Mark would have nothing more to say to me, because he was bound to another. I would not say to whom, for that was his secret. But now he has let it out himself. He is going to take Kainie home to Crumbland this evening.’

Drownlands started and threw over a chair.

‘You are mistaken. You do not know.’ He paced the room in agitation.

‘I do know,’ answered Zita. ‘It is because he was bound to Kainie that he gave me up. Now he is going to take her to him for better for worse. Lawk! how dull men are in these matters—where girls see clear.’

‘You are greatly mistaken.’

‘No, I am not mistaken. How can you fail to understand when he speaks so plain?’

Drownlands folded his arms and walked hurriedly up and down the room. Presently he turned to Zita and said, ‘You are serious when you say you will not have me make you my heir?’

‘I am truly resolved,’ answered the girl. ‘Then he can no more say that I have sold myself body and soul for profits.’

‘Let no will be made.’

‘That will not do. You must rewrite it, and it must make Kainie your heir. Only on that condition will I remain in this house with you.’

‘And you believe her to be your rival, who has snatched Mark from your arms?’

‘I know it is so. He could not help himself. He was tied to her.’

‘Mark is a Runham. A Runham may betray a woman, but never marry one who has no fortune.’

‘More is the reason why you should give one to Kainie.’

‘Were I to make you my heir,—there is no saying,—he might take you for the sake of this place and my savings; and, by Heaven, I will have no Runham own acres of mine, if I can prevent it!’

‘He would not do that—he could not take me. He is too just and true to throw over Kainie. He may think ill of me, but I do not think so badly of him. I tried to buy of her the rights she had in him, but she would not sell them. Then I saw it was all up between Mark and me.’

‘This is strange—this is very strange!’ said Drownlands, turning a perplexed face on the girl as he paced the room. ‘I know what is in a Runham better than you. The Runhams marry for money, not for love. Come here, Zita. What would you say were you to discover that you were mistaken about Mark and Kainie?’

‘I am not mistaken.’

‘Suppose, some day, that you found that he was free?’

她保持沉默。

‘And yet he would never marry you without money. He would not be a Runham to do that. If, however, he thought you were to be my heir, he might do so, or wait till I am gone and then take you; but he will never think of you if you are poor. Be it as you propose. I will rewrite my will. I will leave to you nothing, bequeath to Kainie all.’

‘Then I will remain with you.’

‘As long as I live?’

她点了点头。

‘You will swear to this?’

Her eyes were full, her bosom heaving; she held out both hands, and he clasped them.

‘I must go downstairs,’ she said, after a struggle to gain composure. ‘The justices will want their toasting-forks.’

‘Keep them amused for a while. They shall witness my new will.’

Zita proceeded to her room, found the articles that she had promised, and descended to the sitting-room, where she found three of the magistrates, all laymen; the clerical members of the Bench thinking it unecclesiastical to come after toasting-forks. The red-faced chairman, Mr. Christian, was there; Admiral Abbott; and another, named Wilkins. They were all merry; they had been drinking, and they felt sensible relief that they were not cumbered by the presence of the ecclesiastical magistrates. They were also conscious of great buoyancy of spirits, due to the fact that they were beyond the shadow of the towers of Ely, and no longer within the numbing circle of cathedral decorum. Zita’s arrival was hailed uproariously, with laughter and loud words. The gentlemen jumped from their chairs, and with effusion insisted on shaking hands.

‘We’ve rode over,’ said Mr. Christian, ‘but couldn’t persuade Sir Bates to mount a horse again. The very looks of one makes his colour fade. Nothing would induce him—not the prospect of a toasting-fork. I say, Abbott, if we could have promised the canon a kiss of those ruby lips, eh? Would that have drawn him? How now, you comical Jill?—you who upset the dignity of the Court! And to venture on bribery and corruption—you pretty little rogue! We might have had you up. What say you, Abbott? Shall we indict her for the attempt to poison the springs of justice? It is a case under common law. Fine or imprisonment? Which shall it be, Wilkins?’

‘Now, come,’ said the magistrate addressed, ‘no law here; we have had enough of that today. Here are weapons. Arm thee, arm thee, Sir Christian, knight of the blazing countenance and the purple nose. Queen of Cheap Jacks, let your gay red-flowered kerchief be the prize. I defy thee to the death, Christian. Up with you on to the table, Queen of Cheap Jacks, or upon the mantelshelf—anywhere away from the clash of blades and the soil of battle. Come on, Christian! And after thee, Old Salt the Admiral; but, Lord! he will swash about with his toasting-fork as if ’twere a cutlass. Come on, Christian, and he who wins rides home wearing her favour.’

Justice Wilkins brandished one of the toasting-forks, and, putting himself in a posture of attack, shouted again for his opponent.

Mr. Christian at once snatched and flourished his weapon, and the two half-tipsy men began to make passes at each other.

‘Bright eyes looking on! A fair maid’s favour as the prize! Ah, Christian, you’re off your guard; you are using your foil wildly. The man is drunk! Heigh! To the heart! I have run you through! Down with your blade, sir!’ Wilkins shouted as he charged home, and drove the toasting-fork up into the handle against the breast of his adversary. ‘Abbott! gallop off for Sir Bates! Make him come to shrive Christian. Rest his soul! he was a jolly dog, but too fond of lasses and the bottle. Admiral, help me; we will compose his epitaph. No, no, Christian, that is a breach of rules. You’re dead, man; dead as a stone, with a stroke through your heart. Didn’t you feel the toasting-fork tickle your ribs? Stand aside, or lie dead on the hearthrug. You are out of the game now. Come on, Admiral Abbott. It lies between you and me; Christian, you dog, you are dead, and must not interfere. That stroke will let some of the port wine out of your gizzard. Keep in the rear—you are a dead man. If you walk, it is your ghost. It is Abbott’s turn with me now.’

‘Wilkins, your tongue runs away with you. I’ll cut it off and wear it in my hat. I’m your man.’

Thereupon Admiral Abbott, armed with his toasting-fork, strutted into the place lately occupied by Christian.

‘No,’ said he; ‘Wilkins, you cheat; you took a scurvy advantage over my dear deceased brother Christian. You shall not play me the same trick. You have the window behind you.’

‘I did not consider it. Change sides.’

‘No, I will not have the advantage over you either. We will fight with the daylight athwart our blades.’

‘Then the Queen of Cheap Jacks must shift quarters, to see that all is fair.’

‘Let her shift,’ said Abbott. ‘I am not going to be killed or to kill you at a disadvantage. Ready!’

The passage of arms between Wilkins and Abbott was as brief as that between him and Christian. A stroke from the admiral, who used his tool as a cutlass, bent the soft metal of the toasting-fork of his opponent.

‘Weapon broken. Surrender!’ shouted Abbott. ‘Now, Wilkins, stand aside. I am conqueror, and claim the red rag.’

‘That’s a way to ask! Like the bear you are, Abbott. Down on one knee—I won’t say gracefully, for you can’t do that—and ask in courteous tone. Red rag indeed!—a crimson favour.’

‘He can’t kneel,’ said Christian. ‘He’d never get up if he were once down.’

‘Admiral! I could swear the Cheap Jack Queen has been crying. There are tears on her cheek and a drench of rain in her brown eyes. It is for you, Christian, you lucky dog; you caused them to fall, because I ran you through, and Her Royal Highness weeps for her knight bleeding his life-tide away.’

At this moment Drownlands entered the room, and was saluted by the three magistrates.

‘We have been fighting,’ said the admiral, ‘and I am the conqueror. If you are disposed to part with the pretty housekeeper, I will carry her off 合唱团 on my horse.’

Drownlands disdained an answer.

‘Gentlemen,’ said he, ‘now that you are here, let me ask a favour of you. Pray put your hands to this paper and witness my signature to this my last will and testament.’

‘I hope you have put the Queen of Cheap Jacks down for something handsome. If you have done that, we will sign cheerfully.’

‘Not for a penny,’ answered Drownlands. ‘Everything I have goes to my niece. Here is ink and here a pen. Gentlemen, this is my true act and deed.’

‘My hand shakes,’ said Christian; ‘I have been laughing, and cannot hold a pen.’

‘And mine is jarred,’ said Wilkins, ‘with the thundering blows of that swashbuckler, Abbott.’

Jesting, laughing, the three men complied with the request of Drownlands, hardly regarding what they were about.

‘I say, Abbott,’ said Wilkins, ‘what was that promise that fell from ruby lips relative to an epergne?’

‘We were to raffle for one,’ said the admiral.

‘Can’t do it,’ said Christian. ‘We have not got the others here. We’ll hoist Bates on to a horse and make him come another day, when this confounded business of the riots is over.’

‘You have got the favour, Abbott,’ said Wilkins, ‘but not by fair swordsmanship. Whether you carry it to Ely is another matter. Christian, shall he hoist it at the end of his toasting-fork and ride? We’ll give him a hundred yards, and then pursue, and he who overtakes, captures the favour and carries it into the city.’

‘Done—we’ll race the admiral for it.’ Then, turning to Zita, ‘We’ll come another day and raffle for the epergne at a guinea a-piece. The pool goes to you. Now then, brother justices, away we go!’

‘TAKE it, and keep it,’ said Drownlands, handing the will to Zita. ‘You can read. It is as you desired, and on the same condition as before. That is as you promised.’

‘Yes,’ said the girl; ‘with that I am content.’ She put the will in her bosom.

‘Then,’ said Drownlands in a tone of sad bitterness, ‘for life and till death we are united.’

‘After a fashion, to keep apart.’

‘Yes, united to be separate.’

‘Like a pair of wheels,’ said Zita. ‘They keep the concern going, but have it always between them.’

The day had closed in, and Zita retired to her room to sit at the window and look out at the dead uniformity of the fen, and the white line of horizon between it and the darkness above, like a white fringe to a pall. She desired solitude, that she might review what was past.

The weather was cold. There had been frost, hard and biting, and the ice clad the water. The snow that had been spread over the land had in part disappeared, licked up by the dry wind that scaled the waters, and the land from whiteness had turned to blackness.

The lakes of frozen water would have attracted many skaters during the day, had not the engrossing excitement relative to the trial of the rioters engaged the public attention.

The frost had set in with redoubled hardness on the morrow of the riot, and in four days even the Lark was turned to stone within its embankments.

As Zita looked out into the night, she could see the heavy sky, burdened with black clouds, that were ragged as a torn fringe, or a moth-eaten pall, about the black hard bank of the river, that stood up sharply against the sky.

The cold was so biting in the fireless room that Zita drew the velvet curtains about her, which were suspended over her window, covered her shoulders, and wrapped them about her bosom. There was no light in the room save the wan reflection from the horizon. Had there been, she would have formed a pretty picture, folded in crimson velvet, with her oval face and dark amber hair peeping out of the folds.

She looked dreamily through the window.

A wave of regret had come over her after the exaltation caused by the sense of self-sacrifice.

She considered how that she had loved Mark, had valued his regard for herself, had delighted in his society. He had never said to her that he loved her, yet there had been a look in his blue eyes, a pressure of his fingers when he took her hand, a softness of intonation in his voice when he spoke to her, that had said more than words, that had assured her heart that she was dear to him. And how happy she had been when she believed that! A solitary child, with no belongings and belonging to none, a waif thrown upon the desolate fens, she had found herself lifted into a new region of brightness. Then Mark had become cool, and had held aloof from her. She had discovered that he was engaged to Kainie, and could not become disentangled from this tie. He had been constrained to resign himself to it. Now his interest, his sympathies, were enlisted on behalf of that girl, because she was treated with injustice and was exposed to danger. Now he was about to take Kainie to his house—now, this very evening.

A feeling of resentment against the girl who stood between herself and happiness swelled in Zita’s heart; Kainie threw down the palace of delight she had built up in the cloudland of hope and fancy. Kainie snatched Mark from her; and it was for Kainie that she—Zita—had given up the inheritance offered her by Drownlands.

In the darkness Zita’s brow darkened. Angry feelings surged in her bosom and sent waves of fire through her pulses. She would defy the world. What need she care for the chatter of slanderous tongues? Conscious of her own integrity, she would brave public opinion.

She snatched the will from her bosom, that she might tear it in pieces, and then she would run to the master and bid him make another in her own favour, as first proposed. Why should she not be his heir?

If Kainie robbed her of Mark, might not she retaliate and take from her the inheritance of Drownlands?

If she were struck, might she not strike back? Did Kainie need lands and houses? As Mark’s wife, she would be rich without her uncle’s estate added to Crumbland, whereas she—Zita—had not a particle of soil on which to set her foot and say it was her own. Had not the master of Prickwillow a right to do what he would with his own? Kainie had done nothing for him, and she—Zita—was devoting her life to his service.

As she looked out of the window, musing on these things, she saw that the light on the horizon had faded, or that the great curtain of cloud had set over it and had obscured it. Something, where she believed that the embankment ran, now attracted, without greatly engaging, her attention.

A minute flash of light travelled a little distance, and was then extinguished. Presently another wavering speck appeared, and then again all was dark.

‘The Jack o’Lanterns are about,’ said Zita.

Her thoughts recurred to her troubles.

A recoil of better feeling set in and washed over her heart.

‘No,’ said she, ‘I could not have borne it. It would have killed me to have Mark believe that I was sold body and soul. Let him take Kainie, and with Kainie let him have Prickwillow when it falls;—but let him not think ill of me.’

She started up. She replaced the will in her bosom.

‘I will go to Red Wings,’ she said. ‘He is there with Kainie. He said he would take her away this night. I will go and tell him all. I will show him what I have here;’ she touched her bosom where lay the will. ‘When he has heard my story and has seen that, he will think better of me.’

She descended the staircase. At the foot she found the master.

‘There are Jack o’Lanterns in the fens,’ she said.

‘Folks say that they have seen them,’ he replied. ‘I never have. They were plentiful before so much marsh was reclaimed.’

‘I have seen them,’ said Zita.

‘Pshaw!’ laughed he. ‘There are no Jack of Lanterns in winter. Whither are you going?’

‘On the embankment; perhaps on the ice. I wish to be alone.’

She drew a shawl over her head and opened the door. Drownlands followed her to the doorstep.

At that moment he also for a moment saw a twinkle on the embankment.

‘That is what you call Jack o’ Lanterns,’ said he. ‘It is some ganger going home. Shall I attend you?’

‘I desire to be alone.’

Then Drownlands went within, and Zita walked on till she reached the highway that ran below the embankment. It was so dark there that she mounted the steep slope, so as to have the advantage of what little light still hung in the sky and was reflected by the frozen surface of the river.

As she ascended, an uneasy sensation came over her—a feeling that she was in the presence of human beings whom she neither saw nor heard. She stood still, listening. Then, stepping forward, she was again conscious that she was close upon some invisible person. Feeling alarmed, Zita was about to retrace her steps, when a light was flashed in her eyes and a hand grasped her shoulder. Thereupon a voice said in a low tone, ‘It is that wench of Drownlands’.’ Then she was aware that several men surrounded her. They had been crouching on the ground for concealment, at the sound of her approaching foot. Now they rose and pressed about her. She could distinguish that these were all men, and that they had black kerchiefs over their faces with holes cut in them, through which their eyes peered. One alone was not so disguised, and he it was who spoke to her.

‘Unhappy girl! You do not return. Go your ways along the bank, and no harm will be done to you. We have no quarrel with you, but we have with your master. This night we strike off a score, pay a debt.’

The voice was that of Ephraim Beamish.

‘Throw her in. Send her under the ice. She’s a bad lot,’ said one of the men.

‘Make an end of all that belongs to Tiger Ki,’ said another.

‘We do not fight with women,’ said Beamish. ‘She shall go, but not return to Prickwillow.’

‘What are you about? What harm are you doing?’ asked Zita.

‘We are serving out chastisement to your master for what he has done to our lads,’ answered Pip.

‘You will not hurt him?’

‘Not in person.’

‘What, then, will you do?’

‘Go your way. We are letting the water out over his land.’

Ephraim conducted Zita a little way along the tow-path on the bank.

‘Attend to me,’ said he. ‘Go anywhere you will except back to Prickwillow. We have our men drawn across the way. You cannot pass, it is in vain for you to attempt it. Keep to the bank, and keep at a distance from us.’

‘Where is Mark Runham?’

'我还没有见过他。'

‘He is not in this affair with you?’

‘Mark? of course he is not. He knows nothing of our purpose.’

Zita advanced along the path. She was uneasy; desirous, if possible, to warn Drownlands.

Presently she heard a rush of water.

She turned, and was caught almost immediately by one of the men.

‘It is of no use your attempting to go home,’ he said. ‘It is of no use your thinking of telling Tiger Ki to be on his guard. It is now too late.’ The man took her wrist and said, ‘Go your way, but take care not to step on the ice—not as you value your life.’

‘The ice?—why so?’

‘Listen.’

A shrill whine—then a crash. The icy surface of the Lark had split, then gone down in fragments under its own weight, as the water that had sustained it was withdrawn.

ZITA hurried along the tow-path. Her mind was in a tumult. The full force of the words of Ephraim she could not understand. He and his comrades were letting the waters of the river Lark over Drownlands’ farm, that she knew; but to what an extent they would overflow, and what amount of injury they might do, that was what she was incapable of judging. It was a relief to her mind that no personal violence was contemplated. The water that was let out could be pumped back again. The Fens were wont to be flooded at times, and the mills could always throw the flood from off them.

It was natural that her thoughts should revert to certain words that had been dropped by the men—words that had fallen on her ears like drops of fire. Why had Pip Beamish spoken to her as an ‘unhappy girl’? Why had she been referred to as ‘belonging to Drownlands,’ as ‘Tiger Ki’s wench’? The tone in which these words had been used had conveyed more insult than the words themselves. They implied that she was sold, as Mark had said, body and soul, to the master of Prickwillow. Mark was not alone in his ill opinion of her.

How had this opinion come to be formed? Surely not from the fact that she was staying on in the house where she had been sheltered when her father died? Every one must know that it was impossible for her to leave it, unless she deserted her van and her wares.

There had been nothing in Drownlands’ conduct towards her in public to breed this opinion. The spring of the scandal must have been in Leehanna Tunkiss. That woman had viewed the presence of Zita at Prickwillow with jealousy, and had come to hate her.

In the first gush of womanly sympathy with a forlorn child, left solitary, bereaved of her only parent, the housekeeper had urged Zita to accept the hospitality offered her, and had welcomed her when she transferred herself from the van in the outhouse into a room in the farm dwelling. But no sooner did the keen eye of Leehanna observe that Drownlands watched Zita with interest, and that the girl was acquiring an extraordinary influence over him, than her envy was roused, and she was filled with alarm lest her own position should be undermined, and she should have to make way for the girl whom she had so readily taken under the shelter of Prickwillow roof.

Zita had not failed to notice the growing malevolence exhibited towards her by this woman. She had endeavoured to keep out of her way, but had not laid much store on her ill-humour. Now she saw, or suspected, that Leehanna had been poisoning the minds of the neighbourhood against her, and she had little doubt that the alienation of Mark was due in a measure to the slanders of Mrs. Tunkiss.

Presently Zita saw the light that shone from Kainie’s window. The girl had not as yet deserted her habitation. A little muslin blind was drawn across the casement, and the candlelight shone hazily through that. During the frost, when the waters were chained down, the windmills were not worked, so that there was no immediate necessity for a successor to take the place of the girl-miller. No doubt that Mark would inform the Commissioners that Kainie’s charge of the mill was at an end, and that it was incumbent on them to immediately look out for a successor. But Kainie had not as yet departed, though it might be she was preparing for her ‘flitting.’

Had Mark come for her? Was he with her now? Or was she sitting in her cottage with throbbing heart, waiting for him to arrive?

Was it a fact that Mark Runham grasped at money? It was not true. Drownlands had charged him falsely in that. He was taking Kainie, who had nothing. With a twinge, Zita thought how that she herself was enriching her rival with what might, had she willed it, become her own. With a sickness at heart, Zita looked forward to the day when Kainie would join the acres of Prickwillow to those of Crumbland, and bid Zita go forth a wanderer and destitute—and it was her own doing.

Was she one who sold body and soul for profits? She might have been Drownlands’ wife; she had refused this. She might have been his heir; she had refused that: and Kainie reaped all the advantages that sprang out of her refusals.

No! There was something that was dearer to Zita even than profits.

As Zita approached Red Wings, the dog, standing on the brick platform, began to bark. Zita called to him, and he came to her bounding. On her former visits she had brought Wolf something in her pocket. Now that he reached her, he thrust his nose into her hand beseechingly.

She halted at the tuft of thorn-bushes and flags below the platform, and seated herself there, throwing her arm round the dog. She would not present herself at the door of the hut, and receive a rough greeting from Kainie. She would wait and see whether Mark were there before she made her presence known. The explanation she had to make, the story to tell, she would in preference make and tell to Mark. She did not forget that she had struck Kainie, and she knew that her chances of placing her conduct in a favourable light were greater with a man than with a woman.

A dark figure of a man issued from the cottage door and stood on the platform, looking round. After a moment he went back to the door, saying—

‘There is no one that I can see, but the night is dark, Kainie.’

The voice was that of Mark.

He did not re-enter the cottage, but, standing where he was, he said—

‘Come, Kainie, it is time for us to be off. My mother is expecting you.’

The girl issued from the hovel.

‘Mark,’ said she, ‘has she really consented to receive me?’

‘Yes, she has.’

‘Yet I know that she has refused to see me, and even to hear about me.’

‘That is true, but now she has given way. I could not allow you to remain here. I took a firm stand with my mother, and she admitted that I was right, and yielded. Now, have you got all ready for the sledge?’

‘I have packed everything.’

‘Then jump on to the sleigh, and I will run you along upon the ice, which is in prime condition.’

Zita’s arm convulsively nipped the dog.

How happy she had been on that day when Mark had run her along on the ice on the same bones that were now to bear her successful rival!

Wolf protested against the pressure of her arm by a growl.

‘Where are you, Wolf?’ called Mark.

Zita released the dog, and he sprang upon the platform.

‘I wonder what the old fellow means,’ said the young man. ‘He does not usually give false alarms. I daresay he’s puzzled at our proceedings. Something affecting his interests is in view, Kainie, and he can’t understand it. It is so dark one can’t see far; but had any one been coming, he would have given tongue lustily.’

‘Perhaps it may be Pip.’

‘Pip will have to be careful for the next day or two. If he be caught, ’twill go hard with him for certain.’

‘But you will get him away from the Fens?’

‘Yes. I am making arrangements. If he can keep hidden for a few more days and nights, I shall have managed matters, and be able to clear him off; to clear him not only from the Fens, but out of England. Now, however, we must think of you. Take with you only such traps as you need immediately, and which you can carry in your arms or on your lap. I’ll return for the rest to-morrow.’

‘I shall leave the fire burning and the light on the table.’

‘Yes, for Pip when he comes. Folk will think nothing of seeing the light, making sure it is yours. He can hide here till I am ready to send him away; and Wolf shall remain to give him notice if any one approaches. I’ll tie him up.’

Kainie re-entered the cottage, and Mark proceeded to tie Wolf by a piece of twine that he had in his pocket.

Whilst he was thus engaged, Kainie came out with her little package, and stood watching the proceedings of the young man.

The dog was restless, and objected to being fastened.

‘Don’t be angry with me, Mark,’ said Kainie, ‘if I ask you a question.’

‘No; what may it be?’

‘It concerns that wretched creature—that Cheap Jack girl. You were rather taken with her at first, Mark, till you found out what she was. You are quite sure you don’t fancy her no longer?’

The young fellow had been stooping over the dog. He stood up and said gravely—

‘Kainie! I regard her now no more than I do the dirt under my soles.’

‘Hark! what is that?’

The sound was that of a gasp or sob.

‘There is certainly some one here,’ said Mark. ‘Bring a light.’

‘You need not,’ said Zita, rising from behind the thorns. ‘It is I.’

‘You here, Zita?’

‘Yes. I heard what you said of me.’

‘I am sorry for that.’

‘It is cruelly false.’

‘I cannot go into that matter. What has brought you here at this time o’ night?’

‘What has brought her here?’ repeated Kainie. ‘There is no need to ask that, Mark; the wretched creature is running after you.’

‘You must go back,’ said the young man.

‘Yes, go back—to your dear master,’ sneered Kainie.

‘I must speak. I must justify myself,’ said Zita, with vehemence. ‘You wrong me in your thoughts; you wrong me in your words. I am not what you suppose. I am not a bold, bad girl. I do not sell myself for profits. I am in Drownlands’ house because I cannot help myself. I have nowhere else whither to go. Why should you and Kainie believe evil of me? Why should’—

‘I cannot argue with you,’ said Mark. ‘This is not the place; this is not the time. I am sorry for you. I can say no more. I thought better of you once.’

‘Go, you Cheap Jackess,’ said Kainie. ‘Unless you had a heart lost to shame, you’d not have come here after Mark at night.’

‘You misjudge me in this as in other things,’ said Zita, bursting into tears. ‘I came here for your good.’

‘That’s a fine tale,’ sneered Kainie. ‘We want no good from you, nor do we expect figs of thistles or grapes of thorns.’

Mark said nothing, but stepped from the platform.

‘I entreat you to listen to me,’ said Zita, catching his arm. ‘It is not true that Drownlands has left me everything.’

‘I cannot attend to this now,’ said he, disengaging himself from her grasp. But she again seized him.

‘Unsay what you said!’ she exclaimed. Her anger was rising and overmastering her grief. ‘Unsay those ugly words—that I am the dirt under your feet.’

‘I said—but never mind. I regret that you overheard me use such an expression.’

‘That is not unsaying it.’

Kainie came up and struck Zita with the full force of her heavy hand across the face.

‘Take that,’ she said; ‘I have owed it you. Now the debt is repaid.’

Then she stepped on the ice with a ‘Mark, I am ready.’

‘Go!’ cried Zita in towering wrath, stung with pain, maddened with humiliation. ‘Go—go under the ice, both of you! I care not! I care not!’

THE words were hardly out of Zita’s mouth before they were repented. The anger, the desire for revenge, which had spurted up in her heart, was abated as rapidly as it had risen.

Once before she had spoken in violence of anger, and had speedily contradicted her words by her acts. She had bidden Mark go and be hanged or transported for aught she cared; yet no sooner did she learn that he was in actual danger, than she had interfered to deliver him. She had fought for him with Drownlands, and had thrust herself into the witness-box to exculpate him.

Stinging now under the moral pain of the sense of wrong done to her, that wounded her in her honour, stinging also under the physical pain caused by the blow of Kainie, a girl for whom she had made the greatest sacrifices, in a blind and inconsiderate explosion of resentment, she had allowed Mark and Kainie, unwarned of their danger, to commit themselves to the treacherous ice.

Repentance came too late. The words had been spoken which hinted danger, but the hint was too vague to be regarded, even to be understood. Mark had started, running Kainie on his sledge over the polished surface of the channel, before Zita had recovered herself and realised what would be the consequences of her neglect.

Then, with a cry, the girl ran along the bank. She called to Mark, imploring him to return. She called, telling him that the ice was broken. Then she stayed, out of breath, her pulses bounding, the sweat streaming off her brow, and the tears racing down her cheeks.

She found that it was not possible for her to catch up the sledge, that flew like a swallow over the glassy ice, and which was invisible in the darkness. She found that the wind was blowing in her face, and carrying her voice behind her, away from those whose attention she desired to arrest.

In her despair, she threw herself on her knees and beat her head and breast.

‘I am worse than what they thought of me! I am worse than that murderer Drownlands. He killed one, and I kill two. Oh that I had died in their place!’

Again she sprang to her feet, and again she cried to those who were speeding far away, and bade them return. She was sensible, as she called, that she could do nothing to arrest them in their course. The horror of the situation was insupportable, and in a wave of despair that swept over her, Zita was ready to fling herself into the canal.

There are moments of life when instantaneously a whole prospect opens before the inner eye—call that eye what you will. In a second of time Zita saw the consequences of her neglect mirrored before her with intense and terrible vividness. It was as though the whole sequence of events that must follow was unrolled before her eye, and, clear as in broadest day, she saw the sledge, propelled by Mark, approach the dangerous spot where the arch of ice stood unsupported, and when the additional weight was thrown on it, must come crashing down. She heard the whine of the cracking surface, as the sleigh reached it. She saw the whole mass of ice, together with sleigh, Mark, and Kainie, go down with a crash, impelled by the velocity of the pace at which they had been going—saw them shoot under the water, and the sheets of fractured ice that encumbered the surface of the shrunken river. She heard the cry of Mark, the scream of Kainie. She saw them battling with their hands beneath the surface. It was to her as though she were looking from above on the glassy sheet that lay broken, but yet encasing the water. She could see through it, and watch the expiring efforts of Mark and Kainie, behold them struggling with their hands to break through or push aside the ice-plate that lay between their mouths and air. She could see their straining eyes fixed reproachfully on her through the transparent screen. In her fancy she was now running and beckoning to the only patch of open water through which escape was possible. And yet they would not attend; either they misunderstood her signals, or they mistrusted her motives.

She beheld how their efforts relaxed, their palms patted listlessly against the ice, their fingers picked with feeble effort at the cracks, how the light of intelligence died out of their eyes, how their lips gasped and drew in water.

Then to her fancy they went down, Kainie first, Mark next.

After that there rose about her, as a cloud, a mass of black figures, pointing at her with their fingers, and from every finger-point flashed an electric spark.

‘Murderess—double murderess! Thou who didst judge Drownlands, judge thine own self. Thou who didst condemn, condemn thyself.’

Then Wolf came to her. He had gnawed through the cord that had bound him.

Zita clasped him round the neck.

‘Oh, Wolf! Wolf!’ she cried. ‘Go after them—fly—stay them. Snap at Mark’s clothes. Bite Kainie. Hold them back!’

She indicated the direction that the sledge had taken, and the dog ran out on the ice.

Zita looked after him. Would he be able to track them on the frozen sheet? Would the scent lie on the congealed water?

If Wolf did come up with his mistress and Mark, would he be able to arrest their course? Did he understand the message, the order given him? Would he, bounding forward in advance of the sledge, discover for himself the danger that lay ahead, and come back and warn them?

Should this attempt to stay the sleigh fail, were there no other means available?

Then an idea flashed through the brain of Zita. There remained one chance of staying their career.

Instantly Zita ran to the hut, burst open the door, and, seizing the mattress of Kainie’s bed, dragged it forth across the platform, and threw it under the stationary sails of the mill.

Then she went back to the cottage, and, gathering up the red embers of the fire in a shovel, ran with them forth again, and threw them upon the straw mattress.

Next she stood, shovel in hand, waiting the result, watching as the fire burnt its way through the ticking and buried itself in the straw.

For a moment there ensued a red glare—an eating outward of the ticking by fiery teeth—then a ghost-like flame leaped up, and wavered above the incandescent mass. It threw itself high into the air, as though it were independent of the fire below, then returned and dipped its feet in the red ashes. With the shovel Zita stirred the ignited mass. Then the mattress broke into flame, and the flame reared itself in many tongues, swayed with the wind, curled over, broke into a multitude of orange fire-flashes that capered and pirouetted about the glowing heart of fire, as though the fabled Salamanders had manifested themselves, and rejoiced in being able to dance in their proper element. In another moment the flames had ignited the sail that hung above them, and were racing each other up the canvas.

Zita sped to the clog. She had learned from Kainie how a windmill was to be set in motion, and how the revolution of the sails was to be arrested, on the first visit she had paid to Red Wings. She now raised the clog, and with a sigh and creak the arms began to turn. As they did so, the sail which was on fire swept from the bed of flames that had kindled it, and was replaced by another. Instantly Zita stopped the revolution, to allow it also to be kindled. In like manner she treated the remaining sails, and when all blazed, she allowed them to spin unhampered in the breeze.

A wondrous sight in the black night! The mill sails whirling in the freezing blast sent forth streamers of flame and a rain of sparks. Every now and then there dropped from them incandescent tears. They roared as they went round, forming, as they rotated on the axle, a mighty wheel of dazzling light. Zita stood looking up at her work, and for a moment forgot the occasion of the setting fire to the wheel in the overwhelming effect produced by the brilliancy of the spectacle. The wind not only made the canvas glare, but kindled as well the stretchers of lath to which it was fastened, and the mainbeams likewise. The ties by which the sail-cloth was fastened were of tarred cord. As the fire consumed a portion, the rest slipped forth, and flew away in lurid lines of light.

The platform was illumined, as though a blaze of July sun had fallen on it. The window-panes of the cottage were transmuted into flakes of gold-leaf. The dykes reflected the flashing sails, and shot the light along in streaks through the dark fen into the outer darkness beyond.

A number of bats that had been harboured by the old mill, and were sleeping through the winter, were roused by the light, quickened by the heat, and came forth in flights, dazed, to flit on leather wings about the platform, to dart into the wheel of fire, and to fly back scorched, and to fall crippled at Zita’s feet.

Wolf came up cowering. He had been unable to trace the course of his mistress on the ice, and he crouched moaning at Zita’s feet, his eyes watching the fiery revolutions, but ever and anon starting back with a snap and a whine as some disabled bat clawed at him, and endeavoured to scramble up his side.

Would the whole mill fall a prey to the flames?

Ignited, molten tar was flung off as fire dross by the whirling sails, masses of burning canvas were carried off on the wind. The sails for a while moved more slowly. The canvas was in part consumed, but the flame itself seemed to form a sheet over the ribs, and incite the wind to act with redoubled force; for again, with renewed activity, the great arms continued their rotation.

Every rush in the dyke was made visible, standing out as a rod of burnished gold, and the withered tassels of seed glowed scarlet, against a background of night made doubly sombre by the dazzling splendour of the burning mill sails.

The boarded and tarred body of the mill was changed in the lurid glare into a structure of red copper. In the heat given off by the wings, the tar dissolved and ran down from the movable cap, as though the great bulk of the mill were sweating in an agony of fear lest the fire should reach and consume it also.

A barn-owl hovered aloft, and the glare smote on its white breast and under-wings. It to-whooed in its terror, and its cry could be heard above the rush of the sails and the roar of the flames.

There were other sounds that combined with the hooting of the owl, the rush of the sails and of the fire. The mechanism of the mill was in motion; the huge axle revolved and throbbed like a great pulse running through the body of the structure, the wheels creaked and groaned, the paddles laboured to drive the water up the incline, and the water when it came produced strange sounds beneath the ice, gasps and gulps. It was as though the dykes were sobbing at the combustion and destruction of the engine which had so long and so steadily laboured to drain them.

When the fire reached iron and copper nails and bands, and heated the metals to white heat, they became incandescent, and gave forth streams of green and blue flame, that glowed with the marigold yellow and tiger-lily red of the blazing wood and tar, forming of the fiery circle a rainbow complete in its prismatic tints. The clouds that passed overhead were flushed and palpitated, reflecting the fire below.

Notwithstanding the anguish of mind that possessed Zita, her anxiety for the fate of Mark and Kainie, and her self-reproach, she was carried away, out of all such thoughts, by the transcendent splendour of the spectacle. She stood looking up at the wheel of light, with hands clasped to her bosom, hardly breathing, her face illumined as though she had been looking into the sun.

Then, suddenly, a hand was laid roughly on her shoulder, and an agitated voice said in her ear, ‘Good heavens! what have you done?—wicked, malignant girl!’

Zita dropped on her knees, with a cry of mingled joy and pain.

‘Thank God! they are saved!’

She stooped and hid her face in her skirt about her knees. The revulsion of feeling was more than she could bear. She gasped for breath. She came to a full stop in sensation and thought. She could not rise, speak, nor look up. Then relief from acute tension of the mind found itself a way in a flood of tears, and broken words of no meaning and without connection were sobbed forth, and muffled in her gown.

When, finally, she did raise her head, and gather her dazed faculties, and wipe the water from her eyes, she saw that Mark and Kainie were forcing the head of the mill round, so as no longer to present the sails to the wind, but make them face away from it, so as to lessen the danger to the body of the mill, which might at any moment ignite when flame and sparks were swept over it.

They then put on the clog and stopped the movement of the charred arms.

This was almost all that could be done. They trusted that the arms would burn themselves out without the axle catching fire.

‘Kainie,’ said Mark, ‘I’ll run a rope up and throw it over the axle, and you can pass me up buckets of water.’

Then he came to where Zita knelt. Kainie was at his side.

‘You infamous creature!’ said Kainie. ‘Why did you do it?’

‘To save you and Mark.’

‘To save us? That is a fine story.’

‘They had let out the water, and the ice is broken up.’

‘Let out what water?’ asked Mark.

‘The water of the river.’

‘Who have done this?’

‘Why, Pip and some other men.’

‘Zita,’ said Mark, ‘what do you mean? Is there any truth in this?’

‘It is true, indeed,’ she answered. ‘They have done it to revenge themselves on Mr. Drownlands, because he gave evidence against some of their comrades.’

‘This is very serious,’ said Mark.

‘It is quite true. They would not allow me to go back to Prickwillow. I tried, but they stopped me, and forced me to come on this way. I could not warn the master. And they told me to keep off the ice. As I came along, I heard it scream and crack, and go down in a mass together.’

‘Why did you not tell me this before?’

‘You would not listen to me. You said cruel things of me, and Kainie struck me in the face.’

‘And why did you set the mill on fire?’

‘To force you to come back. I did not care about your danger till too late. I ran after you, you could not hear me. I knew that if you saw fire at the mill you would return. Nothing but that could bring you back.’

Mark was silent for a moment. Then, with emotion in his voice, he said—

‘Zita, I believe we have wronged you grievously.’

‘No,’ answered the girl, ‘it was I who wronged you. I let you go, and said, Go under the ice and be drowned, I did not care.’

“我没听见。”

‘I said it—instead of telling you of your danger. I was angry—very angry, and I was hurt by Kainie—but’—she hesitated, her voice faltered—’at the bottom of all was this—I was jealous.’

‘Jealous? Jealous of whom?’

‘Mark, you had been so kind to me. I had been so happy with you. I even thought you liked me. Then you turned away from me for Kainie.’

‘For Kainie?’

There was surprise in his face.

‘Yes, you like her best. You are right—she is good, and I am bad—but it made me jealous.’

‘Good heavens! You do not understand. There is now no need for further concealment. Kainie is my sister!’

IT was even as Mark said, but the particulars relative to Kerenhappuch did not come to the knowledge of Zita till some time later.

Jake Runham, the father of Mark, had made the acquaintance of Drownlands’ sister, and had betrayed her. Instead of marrying her, he suddenly took a woman who was an heiress, married her for her money, and left Leah Drownlands to her shame.

The secret of Leah’s disgrace was well kept. She was sent away to a distance, and when she returned after five years with a child, she would say nothing relative to the parentage of Kainie, nor did her brother proclaim it. Ki never forgave his sister, and would never hold communication with her or receive her child. Jake Runham naturally enough was reserved on the matter, and no one suspected who the father of Kainie was. The public believed that, to use their own terms, Leah had ‘met with a misfortune’ whilst away from the Fens.

On her return to the neighbourhood of Prickwillow, the unfortunate woman obtained from the Commissioners the use of the cottage and a small allowance, on consideration of her attending to the mill. This pittance she eked out with needlework. Mark had entertained no suspicion of the relationship so long as his father lived, but on his death there was that provision made in the will which revealed the long-hidden secret. Jake acknowledged his paternity to Kainie, and solemnly required his son to provide for and watch over his half-sister. It seemed probable that he had in the past secretly contributed something towards the maintenance of Leah Drownlands and her daughter.

These facts were not as yet generally known, but now that Kainie was to be removed to Crumbland, it was inevitable that they should be made public.

The reason why Mark was so resolved to take Kainie away from Red Wings was that she was harbouring and screening Ephraim Beamish, to whom she was attached and engaged. Mark saw that this could not be suffered to continue. He urged the case with his mother, who had strenuously opposed the reception of the girl into the farm, but who now, as a good woman, yielded when she considered the gravity of the circumstances.

Ever since the death of Jake Runham, Kerenhappuch had known the truth. It had been necessary for Mark to tell her of their relationship, and of the obligation that had been laid upon him. At the same time, to save his father’s memory, he urged her to keep the matter secret. This it was which made her reticent with Zita.

‘Come,’ said Mark. ‘Now is not the time for an explanation—nor can I speak of such matters to you without pain, for my father did a great wrong. The question at this moment is—What is to be done? Here is the mill running a risk of being burnt down; on the other hand, there is the water which has been let out, pouring over the Fens. The latter is the most serious concern. If the mill be consumed, it can be rebuilt speedily; but if the fen be flooded, it will take years before it recovers.’

He took Zita’s hand in his.

‘I do believe I have been unjust. So has Kainie. We owe our lives to you. Kainie, ask her to forgive you the blow you dealt her.’

‘No,’ said Zita. ‘I struck Kainie first, and she gave me the blow back again—harder than I struck her, but that was her profits.’

It seemed probable that the fire smouldering in the ribs of the sails would become extinct. There were matters more urgent, calling Mark elsewhere.

‘Pip knew better than advise me of his intent,’ said Mark. ‘We must have a light.’

He tore one of the stakes from the sails of the mill.

‘It will serve as a torch,’ said he. ‘Run, Kainie, to the bridge, give the alarm to the bankers there. Tell them to bring tools and all needful down the embankment.’

‘But they must not take Pip.’

‘Pip will have sheered off long before they reach the place. Run, Kainie. Come on, Zita, and show me where the bank has been cut through.’

They walked on together, and their shadows were cast before them by the still glowing mill, which now and then shot up into flame, and then became a smouldering mass.

They walked fast, but not very fast; that was hardly possible on the bank.

For a while Mark said nothing, but he put out his hand, and took that of Zita.

‘There has been great misunderstanding,’ he said meditatively.

‘Yes,’she replied, ‘indeed there has. I was jealous because I thought you liked Kainie best.’

‘And I—I do not know what I thought; evil things were said, and I was a fool, a cursed fool, to believe them. So—you were jealous?’

‘Yes, Mark.’

‘You could not have been jealous if you had not cared for me.’

她没有回答。

‘And I believe the Reason why I gave ear to evil words was because I loved you—loved you so dearly that I was jealous through every thread of my being. I was jealous of that fellow Drownlands. I was an ass to think those things could be possible that were said of you. I ought to have known you better.’

‘Yes, Mark, you ought to have known me better.’

‘But it is not now too late. Zita, we will be to each other as we were before—that is, if you can forgive me.’

‘Indeed I can forgive you.’

‘And I will let all know that we understand each other. And, Zita,’ he laughed, ‘we’ll have the old van and Dobbin’—

‘He is Jewel, not Dobbin.’

‘And Jewel, brought over to Crumbland.’

‘That cannot be, Mark, now.’

'为什么不？'

“太晚了。”

‘How too late?’

‘I have promised Drownlands to remain with him at Prickwillow, and take care of his house as long as he lives.’

‘That won’t hold. If I make you my wife’—

‘That cannot be.’

‘Cannot be?—it shall be.’

‘No, Mark, I gave you up. I gave up my thoughts of you as a husband in order to get Ki Drownlands to desist from appearing against you in court.’

‘He could have done nothing.’

‘Whether he could or could not, matters nought now. I made a promise.’

‘You must break it.’

她摇了摇头。

‘A deal is a deal.’

Then, as both remained silent, suddenly strange sounds were heard high up in the dark sky, a sound as of barking dogs in full career.

Zita shivered and caught hold of Mark.

‘Oh!’ she said in a whisper, full of fear. ‘They scent a soul—they hunt a soul! Oh, poor soul! God help it! Poor soul—run—run—swift—in at heaven’s door!’

‘Nonsense, little frightened creature! It is the brent-geese!’

‘Mark, last time I heard them it betokened death. Then it was two souls—two flying—flying—and the dogs in full career after them.’

‘You, Zita,’ laughed Mark, ‘do you remember when we spoke of this on the ice, I said when next you heard the brent-geese I hoped I might stand by you. Zita, please God, when the hell-hounds, if such they be,—and I don’t believe a word of it,—be let loose, scenting my soul or yours, that I may be by you, or you by me, to cheer each other in the final and dreadful race.’

Zita shuddered.

‘Mark, it may not be. I shall stand by Drownlands. I have promised—a deal is a deal.’

DROWNLANDS had been for some time in the upstairs room that served as his office. He had brought out his account-books, lighted his lamp, and was endeavouring to engage his thoughts on his expenditure in wages, and to go over the names of his workmen, and strike out such as had taken part in the recent riot. But it was in vain. After a few futile attempts, he leaned his head on his palm, and gave himself over to thoughts of Zita.

It was poor comfort to him to know that she would remain in his house, but it was a comfort. He felt confidence in her—that, having passed her word to remain, remain she would, whatever might happen. Whatever animadversions might be made on her presence in his house, however deeply her reputation might suffer, she would stay with him. She had passed her word. It was not unlikely, he thought, that some swain might become enamoured of her, and ask her to join her lot with his, but she would refuse him. She would remain an old maid at Prickwillow, because she had passed her word. Not for a moment did Drownlands’ faith in Zita give way. She had impressed the man indelibly with a conviction of her sincerity. Zita as a Cheap Jack was one thing, Zita in private life was another. She had one conscience for her dealings with the general public, another conscience for her dealings with individuals face to face. The sun might rise in the west and go down in the Orient sky, but Zita could not fail to keep her word.

Drownlands was startled from his reverie by the maid Sarah, who rushed in at the door, exclaiming—

‘Master, the water be out!’

‘What water?’

‘The boy says the fen is flooded.’

‘Flooded?’

‘He says the bank be broke.’

‘The Lark embankment?’

Drownlands realised instantly the significance of the announcement.

‘Quick!’ said he; ‘light me the lantern. Sharp! No time is to be lost.’

He ran to the corner to snatch up a stick, and, without observing what he did, laid hold of the flail. He did not perceive his mistake till he had reached the foot of the staircase. Then he could not delay to return and exchange it for a staff. He caught the lantern from the hand of Sarah and went out into the yard. His feet at once splashed into water.

‘What has happened?’ he exclaimed, with an oath. ‘It cannot be that they have cut the embankment.’

He splashed on. Over the frozen surface of the soil a ripple of water was running, followed by another ripple, and with each the film of water covering the yard was sensibly deepened.

‘The bank must have broken. The frost has done it. They would never have dared to cut it.’

Swaying his lantern, Drownlands strode through the water, out of the stackyard and into the drove that led from his farm to the highway. This had been much cut up that day by his waggons carting roots. The heavy vehicles with broad wheels had crushed through the icy crust, and the hoofs of the horses had assisted in breaking up the frost case. Thus in places the water was able to act on the unfrozen peat, and undermine the surface that was hard frozen. The peat was dry, and when the water reached it, it swelled as a sponge.

A tide was flowing down the drove. On both sides were the frozen dykes; the water covered the ice, running along it, and but for the sedge and rushes that rose out of the ditches, their presence would have been undefined.

The brow of Drownlands darkened, and his cheeks glowed. Was this the meaning of the threats launched against him? He had never conceived it possible that the men would have recourse to such means as this to pay off their grudge against him, for to inundate the farm was to destroy their field of labour.

‘I wish I had brought my gun,’ said he. ‘And then, should I see one of the scoundrels, I’d shoot him with no more scruple than I would a dotterel. As it is, let me come upon one,’—he raised and flourished his flail,—’and I will beat out his brains.’

Drownlands walked with difficulty. Where the surface under the water was frozen, there it was slippery. Where it was broken through and broken up by the wain wheels and horse hoofs, there it was slough.

Ruts, still frozen, were in places two or three feet in depth, and they were filled. Invisible under the water, he was liable to sink into them. He stumbled along, angry, swearing, advancing with labour, forced to hold his lantern, first to one side, then to the other, to make sure that he was not turning from his road, his sole guide being the sedge lines, one on each side.

The roads in the Fens are not made of stone, for stone is not to be found in the Fens. The soil hardens with drought and frost. In rainy weather it is a slough. The draining-machines, being almost constantly at work, suck all the moisture out of the soil, and as it dries it shrinks. Now that the water from the canal was overflowing the fen, it rippled on innocuously over the icy case, but wherever it could penetrate through that case, at every crack, at every dint, it was drunk in in heavy draughts by the thirsty soil, that immediately heaved and swelled as it imbibed the moisture, and in so doing dissolved into slough.

The tide continued to flow. In the yard the water had been hardly as high as the instep. It now flowed over the boot tops.

The water was intensely cold.

Drownlands had on his boots, such as he wore ordinarily, but not his wading boots that reached to the thighs. He had not thought it necessary to wear such protectors in frosty weather. Those he wore did not extend higher than his calves. Already, in one of his plunges into a rut filled with water, he had soaked his feet, his boots, so far from serving as a protection, being an encumbrance. The flail, moreover, was of small service; the handfast was not of length sufficient for him to probe the water before him and sound his way. Would that he had drawn on his wading-boots—would that he had brought a leaping-pole!

Drownlands turned his head over his shoulder and looked back at the house. He could see the light from the kitchen and that from his office—the latter partially, as, owing to the broken glass in the window, he had closed the shutters. He had left his lamp burning, and he could distinguish its light in a line where the shutters closed imperfectly.

It seemed to the man that the distance he had come was greater than it really was.

The difficulty of advancing must increase with every few minutes. In a quarter of an hour it would not be possible to traverse the distance between Prickwillow and the embankment save by boat.

He must reach the tow-path, and hasten along it to the nearest station, where a gang of workmen was quartered, with implements and material ready on an emergency.

There was no time to be lost. Every minute was of importance. Drownlands knew but too well that if his farm were inundated, it would be rendered valueless for several years. It would not be utter ruin, as he had the savings of the past to eat into, but it would prevent his reaping advantage from his land till it had been completely recovered of the effects of the flood.

Struggling with the rising tide, he succeeded in getting upon the highway. But now his difficulties were the greater, for he had entered into the current that poured from the Lark. The water rushed over his knees. The cold was almost insupportable. With body bent, step by step, helping himself onwards with the flail, but unable always to trust it, owing to the pits in the submerged surface, he advanced slowly.

He held up the lantern and looked round. The tallow candle through the horn sides but feebly illumined the night. It showed the gurgling water in which he was wading, but it showed nothing beside. He did not any longer know his direction. He must stem the current, but was unable to judge where the edge and where the centre of the current were that poured against him.

When he lowered his lantern, he was aware of a lurid light in the sky above the embankment, and saw now and then a brilliant spark thrown up. That there was a fire somewhere he could not doubt, and concluded that the rioters who had cut the embankment were continuing their incendiary work as before. He could not see the wheel of fire; he was too low down for that, but he saw the illumination caused by it. Suddenly his feet gave way, and he fell in the water. He had gone into one of the deepest cart-ruts. As he fell, his lantern was extinguished.

It was now impossible for him to return. He could not, if he wished it, have retraced his steps. His only possible course was to scramble up the bank, and to do this he now devoted all his energies. But unhappily he had reached precisely that point where the bank had been cut through, and was therefore exposed to the full force of the outrush of the river. As, by a desperate effort, he recovered his feet, he could see the lip of water curling over, reddened by the reflection of the fire beyond. He was drenched in the ice-cold water, but that was nothing to the anguish in his feet; they were turning dead, numbed by the water in which they had been immersed so long without proper protection.

But this was not all. No sooner had Drownlands reached the slope of the embankment than he became aware that the little assistance rendered him by the frost was at an end. The rush of water had broken up the gault of which the bank was formed, was eating at every moment farther into it, and widening the mouth by which it poured from the bed of the river upon the low reclaimed land. The moistened marl was greasy under his feet. When he slipped and endeavoured to catch at the bank, his hands sank into the sodden clay, and the tenacious matter held his fingers like glue. His feet, moreover, went deep into the clay, and to extract them was difficult.

It became apparent to Drownlands that he must battle for his life against the current.

He endeavoured to assist himself in his ascent by the staff of the flail, but this proved of no help to him, as it sank with the pressure applied to it in the glutinous mass. He strove to heave himself up, and could not; his feet, dead with cold, and, through their loss of sensation, no longer able to feel the bottom, slipped from under him. He could not extract his staff from the marl. All he was able to do was to cling to it, and pant and recover breath, and then make another desperate effort forward.

The water, tearing through the fissure in the bank, broke off masses of the clay, half frozen, and whirled them down, and along with them blocks of river ice that had broken up. It was sometimes difficult to ascend the embankment, the slope of which was steep, in the face of a strong wind; it was a hundred times more difficult now, when it had to be done against a rushing torrent, and that of water which curdled the blood in the veins, knotted the muscles with cramp, and paralysed the sinews.

No thought of revenge on those who had cut the bank now occupied the mind of Drownlands—no thought of having the leak stopped. The one absorbing consideration was how to escape from the deadly-cold raging current.

Then a sharp cant of ice whirled down, cut his knuckles and jarred his fingers, so that he let go the flail with one hand, but seized it in time with the other to save himself from being swept away. He was carried off his feet, and in trying to right himself drove one foot so deeply into the marl, that, when he endeavoured to pluck it forth, the tenacious matter held his boot and tore it off his foot. The intensity of the cold was, however, so great, that he was not sensible of the loss. He looked up. The red auroral light was still illumining the sky behind the bank. He held to the flail that was planted in the clay. If that gave way, his hold on life would be gone.

Now he saw above him a dark figure on the bank, and he cried, ‘Help! help!’

‘Who calls there?’

‘It is I—Ki Drownlands.’

The man made no effort to descend. He folded his arms, and said slowly in harsh tones—

‘I cannot help you. I am Ephraim Beamish. You are prepared to testify against some twenty of my comrades, and to send them to the gallows. Which is of most worth, your life, you Judas, or theirs?’

‘Help! I will say nothing.’

‘I cannot trust you,’ said Beamish. ‘Wretched man, water was created of God to cleanse away transgression. Go, wash thee and be clean—wash thee and be free from thy sins.’

Then a torch flared above the bank. Mark was there with Zita.

‘Who is there? What is this?’ Mark asked, with an agitated voice. The blazing tarred wood, sending up a golden burst of flame, illumined the upturned countenance of Drownlands. The struggling man raised his arm to wipe the water and sweat from his eyes and screen them from the brilliant light.

‘It is the master,’ said Zita. ‘Save him, Mark! Oh, do save him!’

Instantly, but with caution, Mark descended, digging his heels deep into the marl at each step, and held the torch aloft, wavering, guttering, throwing out sparks in the wind. ‘Give me your hand,’ said the young man.

The exhausted, desperate Drownlands withdrew his arm from before his eyes.

In the burning wood was a copper nail, and this now sent forth a lambent, grass-green flame, in the light of which Drownlands’ face was like that of a corpse. The man, in his extreme peril and desire for help, stretched forth his hand.

Then the wind blew the flame so that the face of Mark was illumined. Suddenly Tiger Ki snatched his hand back again.

‘A Runham—no!’

He endeavoured by a frantic effort to ascend the bank by his own efforts. There ensued a terrible scene—the struggle of a well-nigh spent man with the adverse elements to deliver himself from his position. He fought with the water and the clay, tossing a spray about him, pounding with his feet, one shod, the other bare, churning clay and water around him.

Failing to mount one step above where the flail was rooted, he discontinued his profitless effort, and, clinging with both hands to the stay, cried—

‘Zita, I will owe life to you, or to none!’

Without a thought for herself, the girl leaped to his aid.

In a moment his disengaged arm was round her.

‘We may die—if we cannot live—together.’

‘Let go!’ shouted Mark, and laid hold of Zita by the arm. ‘Let go!’

‘To you—never!’

Without consideration Mark drove the burning torch against his hand that clasped the girl.

With a shriek Drownlands relaxed his hold.

At that moment, Ephraim, who had descended carefully, had laid hold of the flail above where Drownlands’ hand had clutched it. He stooped, and, exerting his full force from above, drew it forth from the clay in which it was fast.

At once Drownlands slid away in the stream. Still clinging to the flail, he was carried off his feet, out of the range of light cast by the torch, and under water.

‘Go!’ said Beamish, waving his hand over the torrent. ‘Go! thou accuser of thy brethren! Go, wash away thy sins in the water that drowns thee!’

He saw the flood before him glittering like gold. He looked round. The gangers had come—summoned by Kainie.

‘Save him! save him!’ cried Zita.

‘Where is he?—who can say? Carried forth into the outer darkness; rolled away in the baptismal flood—who can say whither?’ answered Ephraim.

‘No,’ said one of the gangers. ‘No help is possible.’

‘God have mercy on a sinful soul!’ said Ephraim.

THE trial of the rioters came on before a Special Commission, that sat a few weeks after the arrest of the men. The cutting of the embankment after the arrest had greatly exasperated minds against the unfortunate men who were to take their trial, although they themselves were guiltless in this matter. It probably served to sharpen the sentences pronounced upon them, as their judges shared the general feeling that an example should be made that would overawe the fen-men, and deter them from future acts of lawlessness.

Judgment of death was passed on thirty-four men, but only five were actually executed. The sentence on nine was mitigated into transportation for life, and that on the rest was commuted to imprisonment for a term of years.

Ephraim Beamish was not taken. Mark succeeded in effecting his escape from the Fens. He supplied him with money, and Beamish took ship at Liverpool for the United States, where he bought a farm, then turned backwoods Baptist preacher, tired of that, returned to farm life, and married Kainie, who went out to him. She was a rich woman, and might have had her pick of the young fen-farmers. She had inherited everything that had belonged to her uncle. But Kainie would have no one save Pip, and as Pip could not come to her, she sold Prickwillow to Mark, and went out to the man of her choice in the New World.

Mark gave his half-sister a fair price for the farm. The land had been seriously injured by the inundation, and would have been more seriously affected had not the bankers, summoned by Kainie, been able rapidly and effectually to stop the breach.

Mark was now a man of substance. When he purchased Prickwillow, he united that estate to Crumbland, and became one of the largest landed proprietors in that portion of the Fens; nevertheless, like his fellow-yeomen, he did not affect to be a squire, but lived in sober fashion, worked with his men, and worked harder than any one of them. A popular man he was with the labourer as with the farmer, for he was just and kindly, and possessed unflagging good spirits. He amassed money. Let his sons or grandsons style themselves gentlemen, said he; for his part, he was content to be plain Mark Runham, farmer.

What is to be told concerning Zita?

The ill opinion formed of her had been due mainly to the malicious and slanderous tongue of Leehanna Tunkiss. Whatever had been said against Zita was traceable to this source.

When it was discovered that Ki Drownlands had made and executed his will on the very day on which he died, and that in it he had constituted his niece sole heiress of all he possessed, and had not even mentioned the Cheap Jack girl, the trust of the fen-folk in the word of Mrs. Tunkiss failed. The housekeeper was discredited and her stories disbelieved.

It was not long before Mark Runham made Zita his wife, and the van, with all its goods, was moved by a team of his horses to Crumbland.

There was one secret Zita retained locked in her heart, and which she never revealed to Mark—the events of the night when Ki Drownlands and Jake Runham met on the embankment and fought with the flails till Mark’s father was cast into the canal—there to perish. There was no necessity for her to tell it. The guilty man had died as had his foe—in the same water.

For many years recourse was had to the stores of the van whenever the household was in need of some article there in stock.

In the Fens, when a man requires to traverse a considerable distance, he provides himself with a leaping-pole, and makes for his destination in a bee-line, clearing every watery obstruction in his way.

The author now uses this privilege—takes pole in hand, and, seeing the end before him, makes for it. What does he first see after having put down the pole and leaped?

A van. Surely the familiar Cheap Jack conveyance, crawling along the drove on a summer’s day, drawn by an old horse that takes a few steps, then pauses, breathes hard, looks behind him with a peculiarly resolute expression in his eye, and ignores absolutely every appeal, entreaty, objurgation addressed to him, till he has recovered his wind, when he goes on once more.

From within the van issue cheery children’s voices. Then some little heads appear, some with auburn hair and brown eyes, others very fair, and with eyes the colour of the sky.

‘What the dickens is that there concern?’ asks a stranger, standing on the tow-path by the Lark, who from his vantage-ground watches the slow and intermittent progress of the van on the drove.

‘Lor’ bless you!’ answers a ganger going by. ‘It’s only them little Cheap Jackies taking a drive.’

Again. What is the meaning of the noise that issues from the coach-house? A shrill voice is haranguing, then is broken in on by a clamour of other voices.

Let us look within.

The van is there, in a house so boxed in as to be inaccessible to poultry.

The front of the van is down. The red velvet curtains, much faded, and the gold fringe, much tarnished, are suspended in their proper places, decorating the front. One boy is on the platform, and is exhibiting his toys to his brothers and sisters, and offering them for sale at extravagant prices; then, abating his demands, he assures them that he offers these articles for absolutely the last time, and at the lowest price which he will consent to receive.

Mark Runham returns from the farm.

‘Zita,’ says he, ‘I want to see my little ones. Where are they?’

‘At their favourite amusement on a rainy day.’

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‘Playing at being Cheap Jacks. Mark, it is in their blood.’

‘Who is doing the selling today?’

‘Our eldest—James,’ answers Zita; ‘and, Mark, when James marries, we’ll have out that there epergne for the wedding breakfast.’

‘That’s a long way ahead,’ answers Mark.

So it seemed to him. But again the novelist uses his privilege, puts down the pole, and away he goes with one great bound over a period of several years, and finds himself suddenly alight in the parlour of Crumbland. He sees before him Mark, now a middle-aged man, broad in shoulders and in beam, with ruddy cheeks that are pretty full; and Zita, now a comely matron.

Facing his father and mother, with some shyness in his face, stands Jim, the hope of the family, twirling his hat, and looking furtively in his father’s face, as he says—

‘Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me, and let me go.’

‘Go? Go, Jim? Good gracious! what do you mean? Whither do you want to go?’

‘That is just it; nowhere in particular, and yet somewhere.’

‘But—leave home?’

‘Yes, father, I want to be off and about.’

‘Why, Jim, this is sheer delirium—tremenjous, as your mother would say. There is Prickwillow empty, waiting for you, whenever you marry.’

‘And the epergne for the breakfast-table,’ added Zita.

‘I do not want to marry, father! The epergne must wait, mother dear! I haven’t found the right one yet,’ answered James, hanging his head.

‘But, good gracious! why should you go? Have not I been kind to you? Have not you been allowed your own way in all that is right?’

‘Never was there a better father,’ answered the young man, with emotion, ‘and never, never a dearer, better mother! It is not that. I love home. I love my parents and my brothers and sisters. I dote on the baby. I love the Fens. I cannot believe that any other portion of God’s world can be worth living in. I am sure none will be more beautiful in my eyes than the fens of Ely. Nevertheless, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me, and let me go.’

‘But for what do you want to be off?’

‘Why, father, mother,’ says the young man, ‘I want to be a Cheap Jack. Ever since I was a child I have loved to drive bargains.’

‘Let him go,’ says Zita. ‘There are some things we have never found a use for here. There’s that box of scents; there’s the garden syringe. It is a sad pity so much capital should lie idle.’

‘Father,’ says the young man, ‘I feel as though I must go. I do not say I shall be a Cheap Jack all my days.’

‘Why, I had such grand views for you, Jim; I thought I would send you to college, and I hoped some day you might even try and get into Parliament.’

‘Mark,’—it is Zita who speaks,—’I was a rambling girl once, a sort of a vagabond, going over the country selling my goods; but I have become stationary, like the van, stuck in the fen peat. I have not stirred for many a year, and have never desired to rove out of the Fens any more. It will be the same with Jim. He has it in his bones. It will do him an amazing lot of good. He’ll get to know the General Public.’

‘That is it, father,’ says James. ‘I seems as if I never could be happy and easy in my mind till I’ve done a stroke of business with that there Public. And I sees my way to it. There’s abundance of thistles growing about the edges of the drains. I wants to cut ’em down.’

‘Well, cut ’em. That need not take you away.’

‘Father, I wants to make the General Public eat ’em, and pay for the privilege. I’ve heard in my sleep a voice in my ear that I do believe comes from the General Public, saying, “Jim! Jim! give us thistles!” And the wind always whistles to the same tune. And the thunder rolling seems to be the voice of the General Public, braying, “Give us thistles!” And, father, even the very bees when they hum about the flowers seem to convey to me in a whisper the message, as from a lover, but it comes from the General Public, “Give us thistles. We are sick for thistledown. ‘Tisn’t bread we wants—’tisn’t meat—’tis thistledown.” I can’t say exactly how I’ll dispose of it to them,—whether rolled up in pills, or stuffed in feather beds,—but I know the Public will buy thistles in any disguise. And then, father, think of the profits.’

‘Mark,’ said Zita, ‘let him go. Cheap-jacking is an edication. It teaches a chap to know the General Public, what to lay on his back, how to tickle his ears, what you can make him swallow. If you think of making Jim a mimber of Parliament, there is no school, no college more suitable than the Cheap Jack’s van. Let him go, Mark. He’s a good boy—he’ll come to no harm. He’ll settle down the better after it, and he’ll enjoy himself—”tremenjous.”‘