Joan Haste by H. Rider Haggard (ereader manga .txt) 📕

his plans; in return he would do everything in his power—at least,

everything that circumstances permitted—to promote her comfort and

welfare. She should not lack for money, nor should she be tormented by

Samuel Rock.

Having drawn the Monk’s Lodge covers blank, Mr. Rock turned his

attention to those of Rosham. As a first step he sent Mrs.

Gillingwater to whine and threaten, with results that we have already

learned. Then he determined to go himself. He did not, however, drive

up to the Hall and ask boldly to see Sir Henry, as Mrs. Gillingwater

had done, for such an act would not have been in keeping with his

character. Samuel’s nature was a furtive one. Did he desire to see a

person, he would lurk about for hours in order to meet him on some

path which he knew that he must follow, rather than accost him in a

public place. Even in business transactions, of which he had many,

this custom clung to him. He was rarely seen on market days, and so

well were his habits known, that customers desiring to buy his fat

stock or his sheep or his hay would wait about the land till he

“happened” on them in the course of his daily round.

Thus he made three separate visits to Rosham before he succeeded in

meeting Henry. On the first occasion he discovered that it was his

practice—for by now Henry could get about—to walk round the

home-farm after breakfast. Accordingly Rock returned on the following

day; but the weather chanced to be bad, and Henry did not come out.

Next morning he was more fortunate. Having put up his cart at the

village inn, he took his stand upon an eminence, as though he were a

wandering poet contemplating the beauties of Nature, and waited.

Presently he saw Henry appear out of a cowshed and cross some fields

in his direction, whereon Samuel retreated behind a hay-stack. Five

minutes passed, and Henry hobbled by within three yards of him. He

followed at his heels, unable to make up his mind how to begin the

interview, walking so softly on the grass that it was not until Henry

observed another shadow keeping pace with his own that he became aware

of his presence. Then, not unnaturally, he wheeled round suddenly, for

the apparition of this second shadow in the open field, where he had

imagined himself to be alone, was almost uncanny. So quickly did he

turn, indeed, that Samuel ran into him before he could stop himself.

“Who the devil are you?” said Henry, lifting his stick, for his first

thought was that he was about to be attacked by a tramp. “Oh! I beg

your pardon,” he added: “I suppose that you are the person who is

coming to see me about the Five Elms farm?”

“I’ve been waiting to see you, sir,” said Samuel obsequiously, and

lifting his hat—“in fact, I’ve been waiting these three mornings.”

“Then why on earth didn’t you come and speak to me, my good man,

instead of crawling about after me like a Red Indian? It’s easy enough

to find me, I suppose?”

“It isn’t about a farm that I wish to see you, sir,” went on Samuel,

ignoring the question. “No, sir, this ain’t no matter between a proud

landlord and a poor tenant coming to beg a few pounds off his rent for

his children’s bread, as it were. This is a matter between man and

man, or perhaps between man and woman.”

“Look here,” said Henry, “are you crazed, or are you asking me

riddles? Because if so, you may as well give it up, for I hate them.

What is your name?”

“My name, sir, is Samuel Rock”—here his manner suddenly became

insolent—“and I have come to ask you a riddle; and what’s more, I

mean to get an answer to it. What have you done with Joan Haste?”

“Oh! I see,” said Henry. “I wonder I didn’t recognise you. Now, Mr.

Samuel Rock, by way of a beginning let me recommend you to keep a

civil tongue in your head. I’m not the kind of person to be bullied,

do you understand?”

Samuel looked at Henry’s blue eyes, that shone somewhat ominously, and

at his determined chin and mouth, and understood.

“I’m sure I meant no offence, sir,” he replied, again becoming

obsequious.

“Very well: then be careful to give none. It is quite easy to be

polite when once you get used to it. Now I will answer your question.

I have done nothing with Joan Haste—about whom, by the way, you have

not the slightest right to question me. I don’t know where she is, and

I have neither seen nor heard of her for several weeks. Good morning!”

“That, sir, is a–-”

“Now, pray be careful.” And Henry turned to go.

“We don’t part like that, sir,” said Rock, following him and speaking

to him over his shoulder. “I’ve got some more to say to you.”

“Then say it to my face; don’t keep sneaking behind me like an

assassin. What is it?”

“This, sir: you have robbed me, sir; you have taken my ewe-lamb as

David did to Nathan, and your reward shall be the reward of David.”

“Oh, confound you and your ewe-lamb!” said Henry, who was fast getting

beyond argument. “What do you want?”

“I want her back, sir. I don’t care what’s happened; I don’t care if

you have stolen her; I tell you I want her back.”

“Very well, then, go and find her; but don’t bother me.”

“Oh yes, I’ll find her in time; I’ll marry her, never you fear; but I

thought that you might be able to help me on with it, for she’s

nothing to you; but you see it’s this way—I can’t live without her.”

“I have told you, Mr. Rock, that I don’t know where Joan Haste is; and

if I did, I may add that I would not help you to find her, as I

believe she is hiding herself to keep out of your way. Now will you be

so good as to go?”

Then Samuel burst into a flood of incoherent menaces and abuse, born

of his raging hate and jealousy. Henry did not follow the torrent—he

did not even attempt to do so, seeing that his whole energies were

occupied in a supreme effort to prevent himself from knocking this

creature down.

“She’s mine, and not yours,” he ended. “I’m an honest man, I am, and I

mean to marry her like an honest man; and when I’ve married her, just

you keep clear, Sir Henry Graves, or, by the God that made me, I’ll

cut your throat!”

“Really,” ejaculated Henry, “this is too much! Here, Jeffries, and

you, Bates,” he called to two men in his employ who chanced to be

walking by: “this person seems to be the worse for drink. Would you be

so good as to take him off the premises? And look here—be careful

that he never comes back again.”

Messrs. Jeffries and Bates grinned and obeyed; for, as it happened,

they both knew Samuel, and one of them had a grudge against him.

“You hear what Sir Henry says. Now come you on, master,” said

Jeffries. “Surely it is a scandal to see a man the worse for beer at

this time of day. Come on, master.”

By now Samuel’s passion had spent itself, and he went quietly enough,

followed by the two labourers. Henry watched him disappear towards the

road, and then said aloud:—

“Upon my word, Joan Haste, fond as I am of you, had I known half the

trouble and insult that I must suffer on your account, I would have

chosen to go blind before ever I set eyes upon your face.”

Within a week of this agreeable interview with Samuel Rock, Henry set

out to pay his long-promised visit to Monk’s Lodge. This time he drove

thither, and no further accident befell him. But as he passed by

Ramborough Abbey he reflected sadly enough on the strange imbroglio in

which he had become involved since the day when he attempted to climb

its ruined tower. At present things seemed to be straightening

themselves out somewhat, it was true; but a warning sense told him

that there were worse troubles to come than any which had gone before.

The woman who was at the root of these evils had vanished, indeed; but

he knew well that all which is hidden is not necessarily lost, and

absence did not avail to cure him of his longing for the sight of her

dear face. He might wish that he had been stricken blind before his

eyes beheld it; but he had looked upon it, alas! too long, nor could

he blot out its memory. He tried to persuade himself that he did not

care; he tried to believe that his sensations were merely the outcome

of flattered vanity; he tried, even, to forbid his mind to think of

her—only to experience the futility of one and all of these

endeavours.

Whether or no he was “in love” with Joan, he did not know, since,

never having fallen into that condition, he had no standard by which

to measure his feelings. What he had good cause to know, however, was

that she had taken possession of his waking thoughts in a way that

annoyed and bewildered him—yes, and even of his dreams. The vision of

her was all about him; most things recalled her to him, directly or

indirectly, and he could scarcely listen to a casual conversation, or

mix in the society of other women, without being reminded—by

inference, contrast, or example—of something that she had said or

done. His case was by no means helpless; for even now he knew that

time would cure the trouble, or at least draw its sting. He was not a

lad, to be carried away by the wild passion which is one of the insane

privileges of youth; and he had many interests, ambitions, hopes and

fears with which this woman was not connected, though, as it chanced

at present, her subtle influence seemed to pervade them all.

Meanwhile his position towards her was most painful. She had gone,

leaving him absolutely in the dark as to her wishes, motives, or

whereabouts; leaving him also to suffer many things on her account,

not the least of them being the haunting knowledge of what, in her

silence and solitude, she must be suffering upon his.

Well, he had debated the matter till his mind grew weary, chiefly with

the object of discovering which among so many conflicting duties were

specious and which were sacred, and now he was inclined to give up the

problem as insoluble, and to allow things to take their chance.

“By George!” he thought to himself, glancing at the old tower, “this

is the kind of thing that they call romance: well, I call it hell. No

more romance for me if I can avoid it. And now I am going to stay with

old Levinger, and, as I suppose that I shall not be expected to make

love to his daughter—at any rate, at present—I’ll try to enjoy

myself, and forget for a few days that there is such a thing as a

woman in the world.”

Henry reached Monk’s Lodge in time to dress for dinner, and was at

once shown by Mr. Levinger, who greeted him with cordiality and

evident pleasure, to his room—a low and many-cornered apartment

commanding a delightful view of the sea. Having changed, he found his

way to the drawing-room, where Emma was waiting to receive