from that day forward john aggett exhibited a spectacle of reckless indifference to circumstances and a manner of life lightened only by occasional returns to sobriety and self-command. as to how it fared with timothy and sarah he cared not. others ceased to speak of the matter in his presence, and thus it happened that he went in ignorance of events for the space of five weeks. during that period he loafed at the “green man” inn until his money was spent, then returned to dwell with his mother.
meantime timothy chave’s romance was prospering ill, despite his rival’s endeavour to make the way easy. other obstacles now confronted him, and though sarah was happy and well content to live in the delight of each hour with her lover, tim found delay less easily borne and struggled to change mr. chave’s attitude toward his desires. but it proved useless, and the young man chafed in vain. he assured sarah that his father was merely an obstinate elder and would surely be won to reason in good time; but the full significance of her engagement with timothy, as his father viewed it, she did p. 74not know and never would have heard from tim’s lips. there happened, however, an accidental meeting between sarah and farmer chave himself, and this brushed all mystery or doubt from the girl’s mind, opened her eyes to the gravity of tim’s actions and left her face to face with the truth.
one day sarah, on foot, with her face set homeward, observed farmer chave riding back from widecombe to postbridge on a big bay horse. he saw her, too, eyed her narrowly and slackened speed, while she wished the road might open and swallow her from his sight. but there was no escape, so she curtseyed and wished mr. chave a very good evening. he returned the salute and seeing, as he believed, a possibility of setting all right on the spot by one great master-stroke, attempted the same.
“ah, my girl, belworthy’s darter, ban’t ’e? a peart maid an’ well thought on, i doubt not. be you gwaine home-along?”
sarah’s heart fluttered at this genial salutation. “ess, maister,” she said.
“then i’ll lighten your journey. i haven’t got the double saddle, but you’m awnly a featherweight an’ can ride pillion behind me an’ save your shoes.”
the mode of travel he suggested was common enough in those days, but such a proposal from tim’s father frightened sarah not a little. her first thought was for herself, her second for her p. 75sweetheart, and she nerved herself to refuse the farmer’s offer.
“i’m sure you’m very kind, sir, but—”
“no ‘buts.’ here’s a stone will make a splendid upping stock, an’ `sharky’ can carry the pair of us without knowing his load be increased. up you get! theer’s plenty of room for my fardels in front o’ the pommel. us won’t bate our pace for you, i promise. now jump! whoa, bwoy! theer we are. just put your arms around my flannel waistcoat an’ doan’t be shy. ’tis well i met ’e, come to think on’t, for i wanted a matter o’ few words.”
soon they jogged forward, the big horse taking little account of sarah’s extra weight. at length they crossed riddon ridge and passed dart at a ford, where sarah had to hold up her toes out of the reach of the river. then, as they rode along the foothills of bellever, the farmer spoke suddenly.
“my life’s been wisht of late days along wi’ taking thought for my son tim. you’ve heard tell of un? you see, ’tis my wish to have un mated wi’ his cousin. but i’m led to onderstand as theer’s a maiden up-long he thinks he likes better; an’ her name’s same as yours, sarah belworthy.”
“oh, maister chave, i do love un very dear, i do.”
“so you done to that yellow man, jan aggett.”
“’tweern’t the same. when maister timothy comed, i seed differ’nt.”
p. 76“doan’t shake an’ tremble. you’ll never have no reason to fear me. tell me how ’twas. jan gived ’e up—eh?”
“ess, he did.”
“why for?”
“for love of me.”
“ah! now that was a brave fashion deed. i allus thought a lot of the man, an’ i’m sorry you’ve sent un to the devil, wheer they tell me he’s bound of late days.”
“he’m a gude man, an’ i wish to god as something could be done to bring him back in the right road.”
“ess fay! an’ you’m the one as would have to look the shortest distance to find a way to do it, sarah. a gude example that man, for all his foolishness since. loved ’e well enough to leave ’e—for your own gude, he did—eh?”
“god bless him for doin’ it.”
“why doan’t ’e go back to him?”
“i cannot, i cannot now.”
“well, man’s love be greater than woman’s by the look of it. what girl would have done same as that man done? what girl would give up a man for love of him, an’ even leave un for his gude? not one as ever i heard tell of.”
“many an’ many would for that matter. what’s a sacrifice if your love be big enough?”
p. 77“be yours? that’s the question i’d ax ’e.”
sarah’s heart sank low; mr. chave felt her shiver and the hands clasped over his thick waistcoat tremble. looking down, he saw her fingers peeping out of woollen mittens; and upon one, sacred to the ring, a small gold hoop appeared with a coral bead set therein.
sarah did not answer the last pointed question, and farmer chave continued:—
“i know you’ve promised to be wife to my son some day, an’ i know he’ve taken partickler gude care to hide from you my view of the question. but you must hear it, for your awn sake as well as his an’ mine. i’ve nothin’ against you, sarah, nothin’, an’ less than nothin’, for i like you well an’ wish to see you so gude as you’m purty an’ so happy as you’m gude; but i know my son for a lad of light purposes an’ weak will an’ wrong ambitions. ban’t enough iron in un; an’ the maid i’m set on for un have got a plenty backbone to make up for his lack. her he’s to wed in fulness o’ time, if i’ve any voice left in affairs; an’ if he doan’t, ’tis gude-bye to bellever for him, an’ gude-bye to more’n that. so theer he stands, sarah, an’ you’d best to hear what it means. maybe you thought you was makin’ choice between a labourin’ man an’ a gentleman, between a pauper an’ a young chap wi’ his pockets full o’ money. but ban’t so, i assure ’e. ’tis the gentleman’ll be the p. 78pauper if he marries you; but john aggett—why, i offered un my cottage in longley bottom free o’ rent from the day as your banns was axed in marriage wi’ un to widecombe church! that’s the man as gived ’e up for love of ’e. an’ ban’t you so strong as him?”
“tu gude he was—tu gude for the likes o’ me.”
“well, as to t’other, though he’s my son, blamed if i think he’s gude enough. but that’s neither here nor theer. the question ban’t what sort of love he’s got for you; but what sort you’ve got for him. do ’e follow my meanin’? i doan’t storm or rave, you see—tu wise for that. i only bid you think serious whether your feeling for timothy’s the sort to ruin him, or to save him from ruin. ’tis a hard choice for ’e, but we’m all faaced wi’ ugly puzzles ’pon the crossways o’ life. now you know my ’pinions, you’ll do what’s right, or you’m not the girl i think ’e.”
“i must give un up for all time?”
“best not put it that way. doan’t drag my rascal of a bwoy in the argeyment. say to yourself, ‘i must mate him as i promised to mate—him that’s wastin’ his life an’ gwaine all wrong for love o’ me.’ ’tis plain duty, woman, looked at right. not that i’d rob ’e of the pleasure of knowin’ you’d done a gert deed if you gived tim up; but t’other’s the man as you’ve got to think of; an’, if you do p. 79this gude thing, ’tis just similar as he done for you. wi’ jan aggett be your happiness wrapped up, if you could see it. an’ jan’s much more like to go well in marriage harness than my son be, or i doan’t know carater.”
“i’ll try, i’ll try. it’s more than i’ve heart or strength for, but i’ll try, maister chave. i’ll try to do right by both of them.”
“who could say fairer? an’ here’s the lane to blacksmith’s, so i’ll drop ’e. an’ give your faither my respects an’ tell un i want un to-morrow to the farm.”
after sarah had dismounted the farmer spoke again.
“take to heart what i’ve said to ’e, an’ remember that to please me won’t be a bad action from a worldly side. go back to jan aggett, sarah belworthy; that’s my advice to you, an’ angels from heaven couldn’t give ’e no better, ’cause theer ban’t room for two ’pinions. now let me hear what metal you’m made of, an’ that afore the week be out. so gude night.”
the man trotted off with knees stiff and elbows at right angles to his body; the girl entered her home; and that night, tossing and turning wearily, thrice she decided to give up her lover and thrice determined to take no definite step until she had again seen and spoken with timothy. but her heart told her that such a course was of all the p. 80weakest. presently she assured herself that many plans might be pursued and that wide choice of action lay before her. then john aggett chiefly occupied her thoughts. to go back to him now appeared absolutely impossible. he had given her up, at a cost even she but dimly guessed, and to return into his troubled life again struck her as a deed beyond measure difficult and dangerous.
long she reflected miserably on the sorrow of her lot; then, in the small hours of morning and upon the threshold of sleep, sarah determined to let another judge of her right course of conduct and dictate it to her.
“’twas the white witch, gammer gurney, as foretold tim would marry me that terrible night,” she thought. “then ’tis for she to say what i should do an’ what i shouldn’t do. if ’tis ordained by higher things than men-folk as i’m to have tim, what’s the use o’ weeping ’cause farmer chave wishes differ’nt?”
there was a sort of comfort in this philosophy; but her grey eyes closed upon a wet pillow as she slept, to wake with sudden starts and twitches from visions in great aisles of gloom, from dim knowledge of horrors hidden behind storm-clouds, from the murmur of remote callings and threatenings and cries of woe, from all-embracing dread begotten of a heavy heart, and an outlook wholly dreary and desolate.
