ON the night before Catherine Dennis’s wedding the spangled sky spread, still and cloudless, above Pencoed Chapel. The plain squareness of the house of worship, and the treeless stretch surrounding it and Mrs. Job’s cottage hard by, looked all the plainer for the white points of light that burned in remote solemnity over the mountain. The building, but for the one insignificant dwelling, was, as it were, the solitary feature in a bare world; and the starlight on the grey walls gave them an even greater austerity than they had by day.

In the moonless night the gravestones [Pg 38]round the chapel, having no shadows to throw them into relief, were merged into general neutrality with the grass. The sharpest things in earth or heaven were the angles of Cassiopeia’s Chair, high among the constellations, which seemed not to look down on the sleep-bound world but to be turning from it, consciously aloof in their unwavering detachment; a sight to affect some not at all; to oppress some by the comparison of infinitude with their own individualities; to raise others, by that very comparison, to the height of ecstasy—the dim foreknowledge of what that true sense of proportion must be which swallows the individual into the immutable and divine.

At the back of Mrs. Job’s house the small barn, which had been made habitable as a lodging for travelling preachers, contained a single light; and Mrs. Job, whose eye had caught the glimmer, crossed the intervening space in the darkness and pushed the door open. Catherine Dennis [Pg 39]rose from her knees at the bedside and faced her, startled, with parted lips. Though it was late she had not undressed, and, for a girl on the eve of her wedding to a man she was supposed to love, her look was curious. Perhaps she stood in awe of the morrow and of the changes it must bring. There was an air of tension hanging over the bare little room with its scanty, rough furnishings. Catherine’s hat lay on the bed; it was as if she had touched nothing, displaced nothing, since she entered the place; only the depressions made by her elbows on the bedcover were so deep they looked like dark pools in the coarse white material.

She confronted Mrs. Job with the face of one caught in some evil act. The woman’s sharp eyes took in every detail of the scene. She indulged in no useless comment, for it was not her way.

“Well,” said she, as though waiting for Catherine to speak.

[Pg 40]

“I couldn’t rest—I don’t think I can sleep,” said the girl.

“Ah, you’ve made your bed and you must lie on it,” said Mrs. Job grimly.

There was a pause.

“You’ve made a bed that’ll be hard,” she continued, “not for your body but your soul. You’ve taken a man that may give you down to lie on an’ trouble to wake to.”

She seated herself bolt upright upon the single chair the room contained. In the candlelight her thin, sharp nose looked sharper.

“You’ll be goin’ back to the Church next,” she added conclusively.

“But Charles is a Baptist,” said Catherine.

“A Baptist? A Baptist?” cried the other; “he’s nothin’—not him—but a lukewarm Christian. And you who might have been married to Heber!”

She looked at the girl as though she were dust beneath her feet; she could not [Pg 41]understand her. She had never yet mentioned Black Heber’s name to the harassed little bride-elect; but she seemed likely to make up for that omission now.

“That was a man,” she went on, “not a soft, blow-hot-an’-cold fellow that could behave to ye like Saunders behaved at Bethesda! Heber’s a man of his word, an’ you broke your word to him, an’ Saunders broke his word to you; yes, an’ will again too. If he can’t keep faith wi’ his sweetheart what’ll he do with his wife?”

“But he’s a very good-living man,” began Catherine.

“That may be,” cried Mrs. Job, raising her voice; “but there’s no religion in him! He don’t care for nothin’ but his cattle an’ his money an’ his buyin’ an’ sellin’ an’ layin’ up riches. What’s the use o’ that when his heart’s proud before God an’ the truth’s not in him? Maybe ye’ll live to find it out, girl. An’ when ye do, don’t come to me. Don’t tell me I didn’t warn ye. This [Pg 42]is a sad night for ye, Catherine Dennis, an’ to-morrow may be a sadder day, if I’m not mistaken.

“But I’ve warned ye,” she said, rising; “an’ may be the Lord robbed ye o’ your sleep this night that I might bring home the warning.”

She lifted the latch and paused on the threshold, looking back into the room like some ominous, uncouth shadow between Catherine and the star-set night outside. Her steps were audible crossing the space between the barn and her own house, and the bang of the door, and the loud scrape of the key as she locked it, had a suggestive finality that awed the listener sitting alone with the guttering candle.

Catherine remained crouched where she was; she did not go to bed, for her body seemed as numb and frozen as her heart. The sound of the shutting door brought home the truth that another door had closed for good and all; though Mrs. Job [Pg 43]befriended her still and was giving her the hospitality of her roof on this last night of her girlhood, she was as much cut off from her as if she had openly declared herself an enemy. Catherine understood that. She felt herself lost, somehow, in the incalculable ways of life; she knew herself to be timid and irresolute to an absolutely fatal degree and she clung all the more to any hand that was stretched forward.

She wondered why she had parted from Heber Moorhouse; for, in spite of the half-hearted fear with which his uncommon personality and decided doings inspired her, she had liked him better than Saunders. He might look like an outlaw, but he was an honest man. Why had she listened to her mistress at the farm when she told her nobody but a born fool would refuse Charles Saunders? Heber was a proud man, she knew; an unforgiving one, she believed. No doubt he hated her now and Mrs. Job was turning away from her for ever. She [Pg 44]remembered Charles’s bitter words and heavy-browed rage on the way home from Bethesda. She had seen a new Charles that day. Was that the man she was to live with the rest of her life, and for whose sake she was parting with her old ways and her old friends? He had said a good deal to her about the home he was going to give her and enumerated its comforts and glories many times; and she had listened with pleasure and looked forward to the realisation of his pictures; but now she did so no more. These things were untried, terrible, full of pitfalls. And worse than any vision she could raise, or any misgiving about her betrothed, was the half-superstitious belief growing on her that she was doing wrong.

Catherine’s fears had been worked on as much by Mrs. Job’s grim appearance and the menace in her voice as by any words she had said. She was dazed and weary, so weary that the effort of undressing was [Pg 45]too much for her slackened will. There was no clock in the barn to tell her how the hours went by, or how many lay between her and to-morrow’s fate. It seemed that everything had passed out of her control and that she could only be still, a sad, helpless heap, her hands clasped round her knees and her head bowed on the footboard of the wooden bedstead. And this was the eve of her wedding!

She did not know how long she had stayed there when there was a sound outside which made her sit upright to listen. Before she could collect her wits, a smart, short rap fell upon the door and a hand passed over the outside of it as though groping for the latch.

Despairing fear seized Catherine. She did not move nor answer and her heart bounded in her as though it would beat her side to pieces. As the knock sounded again she hid her face in her palms. When she looked up the door was open, and a [Pg 46]tall figure stood on the threshold, with a star looking over either shoulder out of the patch of fathomless sky framed in the doorway.

She could not even scream as Heber Moorhouse strode towards her, but she was aware of a horse which stood outside and the warm contact of a man’s hands as they closed over her own.

“I’ve come for ye, Catherine,” he said, drawing her to her feet.

She tried to free her hands, but he held them fast.

“Saunders shan’t have ye,” he went on. “When he comes to Pencoed in the morning there’ll be nobody to meet him but Mrs. Job. You’re coming with me.”

“I can’t—I can’t—” she exclaimed desperately.

“He shan’t have you,” said Heber again, as if he had not heard her. “D’ye think I’ve ridden all this way for nothing?”

[Pg 47]

“It’s too late. There’s nought to be done now,” cried the girl. “Go—go, Heber. Let me be! Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?”

“You’ll do what I bid you. Come, Catherine; it’s best done first as last. I’ve got a cloak for you there on the saddle.”

The horse moved outside, and the sound sent Black Heber to the door. All was as still as death, and he turned back.

“There’s no time to lose,” said he. “Come, be a good girl.”

As he spoke an imperceptible stir of air flicked at the candle-flame and its shine struck on the gold ring with a device of clasped hands on Catherine’s finger. He took her almost roughly by the wrist.

“Take that off,” he said; “you’ll need it no more.”

She shook her head.

“Take it off,” he repeated again, standing over her.

She hesitated and then obeyed.

[Pg 48]

It looked as though the action had decided her fate. He took the ring from her and laid it on the table.

“Saunders ’ll find it there safe,” he observed, smiling, “and it’s all he’ll find.”

He drew her outside to the high doorstep, and, taking the cloak from the strap on the saddle, he put it round her. She was as passive as if the loss of her ring had mesmerised her. She felt destiny slipping from her hold and the relief from its weight was well-nigh grateful to her in her bewilderment. But she was being forced to do a terrible thing, and she could not even tell whether or no it was against her will. If only Mrs. Job would come back and either bid her go with this man or save her from him!

It was not Heber’s mountain pony that waited outside, but a big, dark horse, seeming colossal to Catherine in the uncertainty of the night. While she stood on the step he leaped into the saddle.

[Pg 49]

“Now,” said he, “put your foot on mine and come.”

She drew back, a last protest on her lips; as it left them he leaned down and gripped her by both arms.

“Step up,” he said.

The stone slab she stood on was a fair height above the level of the horse’s feet, and, as she set her foot upon the shepherd’s boot, he swung her up in front of him and turned the beast’s head from the barn. She gave a cry, clinging to him as they moved forward, and his arm tightened round her, drawing her close.

“I won’t let ye drop, my dear,” said he: “no fear o’ that, Catherine. We’re going to Talgwynne.”

“To Talgwynne?”

“To my father’s house. Nobody’ll meddle with us there and we’ll leave it man and wife before long.”

As they crossed the yard and turned the corner of Mrs. Job’s house stillness lay on [Pg 50]the world round them as the tide lies on the sands. But it was a strange thing that when they were a few yards distant on the green road past Pencoed Chapel, a latch was raised softly in the cottage.

And, as the tread of the dark horse died away, Mrs. Job, like Sarah in the Scriptures, stood behind the door and laughed.

 

Black Heber set his face to the open stretches below the mountain. Above, treading the paths of the sky, the planets wheeled on their way towards morning; the constellations had turned a little. The night, as it approached its zenith, had lightened under the dominance of the shining groups with their myriad companions.

Catherine was so slight that the double weight made small difference to the animal which carried the pair. Heber’s strong clasp held her firmly in front of him in the large country saddle, and as she grew more accustomed [Pg 51]to the horse’s movements she sat more upright, looking into the darkness. To her eyes it was darkness positive, though to her discarded but inalienable lover, with his keen shepherd’s sight and his familiarity with every rood of the ground in all aspects and circumstances of weather, season, and hour, it was only comparative. It struck her that she would not have felt so secure with Charles under like conditions, though he considered himself a finer horseman and though he was such a well-appointed figure when he rode into the market-town on his sleek hackney. She would hardly have been a woman had the thought not given her pleasure. They turned towards the hill as the track opened into unconfined wideness. They had spoken little and no caress had passed between the reunited couple; Heber had not so much as kissed the woman in his arms. His attention was centred on the dark course he was steering, or fixed on landmarks only visible to his practised [Pg 52]gaze. Nothing moved upon the hill-slopes rising on their left hand to bank themselves against the stars.

The horse was a fast walker and they had kept to a foot’s pace the whole way. All at once a stone, loosened perhaps from its bed on a higher level by the foot of some grazing sheep, came rolling down the hillside. They could hear it coming almost from the start of its downward career, though in the darkness it was impossible to guess at what point it might cross their way. The horse cocked his ears and sidled, and Heber shortened his rein, holding the girl as in a vice.

The thing bounded across their path, a dim, shapeless, momentary flash of grey on its irresponsible journey from nowhere to nowhere, and the startled beast planted his forefeet and would have turned but for Heber’s strong hand and the grip of his knees. As she felt the swerve, Catherine threw her arms round the rider with a sob [Pg 53]of terror and clung to him with her face buried in his shoulder.

Then it was as if madness had entered into Black Heber with her clasp and the close pressure of her cheek; and the mountain air that blew on his forehead stung him with its associations of freedom, and space, and action. He gave a shout that rang against the slopes and sent the horse forward at a gallop.

They rushed on through the night; in the starlight the animal took his way safely along the smooth turf. There was no obstacle and no rough ground in the whole of the stretch before them. Wild exultation filled Heber, and his right arm was wound round the slight creature, who was as a child in his hold. As long as they galloped thus, so long, he knew, she would cling to him; there was room in his mind for nothing but the insane desire to race on for ever with the hill air smiting his face and her arms about him. No, [Pg 54]indeed, Saunders s............