Nearly two hundred years ago, when Miser Merle departed from life, his little corner of earth took heart and breathed again.  Not that he had raised any very mighty mound of gold to stand between himself and the sunshine, but, according to his power, he had followed the traditional road of those similarly cursed, and though the circumstances of his life, as innkeeper of a small hostelry at Two Bridges by Dart on the Devon moors, made any huge accumulation impossible, none the less he was a right miser in grain, and died without a tear to balance his two thousand pounds of money.  Some heartily cursed him on his unknown way; not one pretended to mourn his passing.

His wife was long dead—starved with cold on a winter night, so certain gossips loved to tell; his son the miser had driven out of England, and subsequent rumours of the young man’s death troubled him not at all.

p. 136So it came about that, when the “Ring o’ Bells” was masterless, an obscure maiden, who had dwelt there since Mrs. Merle’s demise, found herself possessor of all the money, for Miser Merle left no will.  Minnie Merle was his orphaned niece, and when the old man’s unhappy partner shuffled off, he bethought him of this girl.  As a relation, lacking friends or position, she would come without wages.  So, from the position of domestic servant in a Plymouth tradesman’s family at three pounds a year, Minnie was exalted to be the handmaid of Miser Merle without remuneration of any kind.

“A man’s own flesh and blood,” he said, when first she came, “will understand, but I don’t want to poison your regard for me with money, or reduce you to the level of a hireling.  You are my niece; you and Nicholas Merle, in the North Country, are all the kindred left to me now that my wife has been taken.”

So Minnie settled at the “Ring o’ Bells,” and, being young and healthy, survived conditions that had thrust her aunt untimely into the grave.  The old man never trusted his niece again after a day upon which he caught her helping two hungry tramps to bread and cheese, because Minnie’s idea of a pennyworth was far more liberal than Mr. Merle’s; but she stayed at the inn, encouraged to the dreary necessity by local friends, who hinted to her, behind p. 137her uncle’s back, that such self-denial must in the long run find itself rewarded.

Then the Miser, who would not put on a pair of new boots while an old pair hung together, went through a long day wet-footed, and so received his death-blow.  His last conscious utterance was a frantic petition to the medical man from Plymouth, when that worthy told him how all hope was vain.

“Then you did ought to take half fees,” he gasped.  “As an honest man, so you did; an’ God’s my witness that, if you don’t, I’ll never give you no peace after I’m took!”

But the physician had a material soul, feared nothing, and held out for his bond after the patient’s departure.  Minnie Merle, now a young woman of three-and-twenty, reigned at the “Ring o’ Bells,” and, with sense scarcely to have been expected from one of such youth and peculiar experience, she did wisely as maiden hostess of the little tavern.  Albeit not lavish, she gave better value for money than Mr. Merle had given; the inn grew in popularity with the moor-men; and romance of an exciting nature hung about the place, because many husbands were in the air for Minnie, and as yet she had given no sign that the happy man was chosen.  To discuss the subject with the woman herself was not possible for men, but Tibby Trout, an ancient gammer who cooked at the “Ring o’ Bells,” enjoyed the complete p. 138confidence of her mistress, and all that Minnie desired to publish she merely murmured into Tibby’s ear.  The intelligencer had seventy years of experience behind her, and was considered even more artful than old.

Tibby enjoyed to serve in the bar, as a change from the kitchen; and at such times, when her mistress was not by, she would discourse, mete praise and blame, waken hope here, here chasten a mind grown too confident.

“Be it true, Aaron French, as you told a chap to Moreton that you knawed how the cat would jump?” she asked, on a night when the bar was full.

Aaron, a sand-coloured and a sanguine man, grew hot and laughed.

“Why,” he said, “a chap may put wan an’ wan together without any harm.”

“No harm except to hisself.  The wan an’ wan you’m putting together in your foolish head—well, her may have named your name thoughtful-like now an’ again, but not these many days now.  In fact, you’d best to say nought about her to anybody, for you’m awnly like to look a fule come presently if you do.  That man at your elbow might explain if he would.”

Aaron French turned upon the labourer whom Tibby indicated, and sudden anger shook his high-pitched voice into a squeak.

p. 139“This be your work, then, Elias Bassett,” he said, furiously.  “You to dare!  You—the most penniless chap ’pon Dartymoor!”

The young man addressed regarded Aaron without emotion.  Elias stood a head taller than his rival, was ten years younger, and very much poorer; but he had a handsome face, a sturdy body, and a stout right arm.

“You’m a silly poult,” he said contemptuously.  “As if a sandy-headed little monkey like you would take any maiden onless he wanted her money.  An’ Mistress Merle have got two pounds for every one of yours.  As for me, I doan’t care a cuss for the stuff, and wish to God ’twas all drownded in Dart.  All men know that I kept company with her afore her uncle died, never knowin’ as she was gwaine to have his ill-got money; an&r............