“Dear heart!” said Jacob, “I thought I saw a ghost when I lifted up my head and caught sight of thee standing there. No finer sight have I seen this many a day.”
“Alas!” said Rose. “You have changed, dear Will, since we last saw you, for you look pale and worn, and oh, so much older!”
“Why,” said I, “that is just what I was thinking about all of you, for you all have a sad look that I like not. Yea, even thou, old Ben, lookest more sad than merry. But come, let us inside to my mother, and we will forget all our sadness for a time at least.”
And I made a move towards the house, leading Rose with me. But Rose laid her hand on my arm as if to stay me, and the others hung back, while Jacob Trusty shook his head.
“Rose,” I cried, “what is it? What ails you all? Ben, speak. My mother?”
“Oh!” groaned Ben, “tell him, Rose.”
But I knew it already. Something had told me there was sadness and sorrow for me at Dale’s Field as I came along the highway in the summer twilight. Something in the sight of the empty parlour went to my heart and confirmed my sense of coming trouble. And now, when Ben spoke, a great wave of grief rose up in my heart and shut out past and future, so that I only knew that I was suffering as I had suffered that night, many years before, when my father was shot down before my very eyes.
I sat down on the low wall and covered my face with my hands and said naught. Only I heard the others go away, and felt Rose sit by me and place her arm within mine as if she would comfort me, for which comfort I was exceeding grateful, my heart being like to burst with trouble. And after that she told me very gently that my dear mother had died a month before, after a short illness that occasioned her very little pain, and was now buried by my father’s side in Darrington churchyard. So then I knew the worst, and rose up to face my great sorrow manfully, but the heart within me was cold and heavy, and would have been empty of aught but grief if it had not been for my dear love, who did all to comfort me that a woman can do.
“ ’Tis a sad homecoming for you, my poor Will,” said Rose, as she stood by me, “and I am afraid that Ben and Jacob have more sad news in store for you.”
“They can tell me naught like what I have heard already,” I said. “But let us go in, Rose, so that I may hear it and have it over. My heart is full of sorrow tonight, and I should be in a poor way if it were not for you, sweetheart.”
But with that she put her hands in mine and lifted up her face to kiss me, so that the love in her eyes gave me some new life, and I went inside with her to hear what bad news Ben had in store for me.
“We have had sore times, Will,” said Ben, when the girls had found me something to eat and drink, and I was back in my old place at the head of the long table. “You need not marvel that we all look careworn and troubled.”
“No, marry,” said Jacob, who was seated inside the kitchen, comforting himself with a mug of ale. “No, for ’tis indeed a troublous time for honest folk. Such times, such times!”
“What hath happened?” I asked, somehow caring little how great or terrible the news was. It could not be worse than the blow that had already fallen upon me.
“Shall I tell him what hath happened since he was taken away from us, Jacob, or will you?” said Ben.
“Nay,” answered Jacob, shaking his white head. “Nay, ’tis too much for me. Say on, Master Benjamin, say on.”
So Ben proceeded to tell me of all that had occurred at Dale’s Field since the evening, two years before, when the body of troopers fetched me away to the Castle. “Soon after that event,” said Ben, “more troopers appeared at Dale’s Field and carried away all the live stock and what grain and wool there was stored about the place, saying that they were levying distress upon thy goods in satisfaction of the fine imposed upon thee. So thoroughly did they carry out their business that they left naught but three of the horses and certain of the milch cows, all else in the shape of oxen and sheep being driven away before them, leaving fold and fields as bare as if the land had been tenantless.”
“Well,” said I, “I cannot help it. We are in strange times and must wait till better come.”
“Ay,” said Ben, “but that is not all, Will.”
“No,” said Jacob, “not by a long chalk.”
“We might have brought matters round,” continued Ben, “if they had left us in peace after that, but the mischief was that they put in another appearance soon after harvest, and forced us to thresh the corn, the grain of which they immediately carted away, saying that thy fine was not yet satisfied. Presently they came again and took away many loads of straw, and this they repeated so often that we never knew when to expect them. As to resisting their demands, we could not, for they were always a strong force and made much show of arms.”
“Nevertheless,” said Jacob, “they heard my mind upon the matter more than once.”
“Well,” continued Ben, “they kept up this continual raid upon thy goods, Will, until very recently, so that they have made the place as
