The Blindness of Madge Tyndall, etc

Front matter

THE BLINDNESS OF MADGE TYNDALL etc. She had taken his hand to steady herself up a narrow path, and had thanked him very sweetly. Front. p. 56. THE BLINDNESS OF MADGE TYNDALL etc. BY SILAS K. HOCKING, F.R.H.S. AUTHOR OF "for such IS LIFE," "the HEART OF man," "one IN charity" "WHERE DUTY LIES," "FOR ABIGAIL," " CROOKLEIGH," ETC. London Frederick Warne & Co. And New York Printed by Eallantvne, Hanson <5h Co. At the Ballantyne Press CONTENTS THE BLINDNESS OF MADGE TYNDALL- CHAP. PAGE I. THE CLOCK STRIKES TWELVE ... I II. FATHER AND DAUGHTER . . . .12 III. JACOB WHERRY'S SECRET .... 22 IV. MIND AND BODY 33 V. REVIVING HOPES 45 VI. REFLECTIONS 56 VII. TREACHERY 68 VIII. THE MYSTERY DEEPENS .... 80 IX. A RETROSPECT 9 1 X. FRANK GETS A CLUE 102 XI. AN EXPERIMENT 1 13 XII. THE DIE CAST 1 23 XIII. PLANS RIPEN 1 35 XIV.

THE WANDERER'S RETURN . . . . 1 50 XV. FACE TO FACE 162 XVI. FRIEND AND FOE 173 V Contents VI CHAP. PAGE XVII. PLOTTERS 1S3 XVIII. A woman's wit 194 XIX. THE NEW HOME 20__ IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN— I. HOW IT BEGAN 217 II. HOW IT CONTINUED 229 III. HOW IT ENDED

Chapter I The Clock Strikes Twelve

" Those flattering bells have all The sound at wedding, and at funeral." — Webster. The marriage was to take place at eleven o'clock, and it now wanted but ten minutes to that hour. The church was full of people, all on the tip toe of expectation ; for the bride was the belle of the little town, and the bridegroom attached to himself no ordinary share of interest. A sub dued hum of voices filled the place, broken every now and then when a fresh footstep sounded in tlie aisle, or any fresh movement was observed. The best man had already arrived, and stood near the altar rails, trying his best to look com fortable and at ease, but failing most conspicu ously in the endeavour. Every now and then — ■ a between his futile attempts to fasten the top button of his right-hand glove — he glanced un easily at his watch, and then slowly returned it to his pocket.

As the minutes travelled on, his uneasiness perceptibly increased, and his forehead began to shine in the slanting light. In the body of the church the hum of voices became more and more audible. The expec tancy had reached a higher point of tension. All eyes were turned in the same direction. It wanted now but three minutes to eleven, and the bridegroom had not yet arrived. Where was he ? What had kept him ? Per haps he had been called to see some patient at the last minute. Perhaps he had been taken ill himself. Fred Lorrimer gave over trying to fasten his glove, and commenced to wipe his hot forehead. The situation had become decidedly painful. When he promised Dr. Studley to act as his best man, he did not expect to be left standing the best part of ten minutes alone. Studley had promised him faithfully to be at the church not later than ten minutes to eleven, and now — good heavens ! the clock was striking !

Up in the old tower there was a sudden whirr of wheels, and then clang went the first stroke of eleven. Every one ceased whispering, and in absolute silence the slow strokes of the hour were counted. As the last stroke died away the look of curiosity on many faces gave place to one of concern, and the hum of voices became more audible than ever. What could have happened to Dr. Studley ? As a medical man he was noted for his punctuality. It was one of his mottoes always to be in time. Hence for him to be late on his own wedding-day was all the more unaccountable. Something out of the common had most certainly happened, or he would have put in an appearance ten minutes ago. Fred Lorrimer was perspiring as though it had been midsummer instead of late in October, while sundry gossips in various parts of the church began to recite illustrations of the old adage, that " there's many a slip 'twixt cup and lip."

Indeed, most people could remember stories they had heard or read, of wedding arrangements that had broken down at the last minute ; of brides who had been taken ill on their way to church ; and of bridegrooms who had mysteriously disappeared never again to be heard of. Such a case, it is true, had never been known in the history of Bexmouth, but that was no guarantee that such a circumstance would never occur. Perhaps Madge Tyndall had been taken ill, and her doctor lover had been summoned to her side ; or perhaps her father, the curate, had collapsed under the excitement ; or perhaps the doctor had been taken ill himself, or But further speculation was instantly arrested by the arrival of the bride and her father, followed by the bridesmaids. Instantly every eye was turned upon Madge Tyndall.

How sweetly pretty she looked ! How well white became her ! Her eyes were bent upon the ground, and she did not notice that her lover had not arrived. The Rector, who had come forty miles to per form the ceremony as a mark of special favour, and who had been sitting impatiently in the vestry with the door slightly ajar, now came upon the scene and took up his position behind the altar rails. A moment later, confusion reigned. Hurried whispers ran from lip to lip. Madge grew pale to the lips and looked as if she would faint ; her father, the curate, held a hurried consultation with the Rector, and then with Fred Lorrimer ; people in the back of the church stood upon tiptoe and craned their necks, and the invited guests, who occupied the front pews, looked visibly distressed. Fred Lorrimer, as best man, was pelted with questions on every side ; but he was able to throw no light on the subject.

" He had not seen the bridegroom since Monday afternoon ; it was now Wednesday morning. He had not been to the Doctor's house. He had agreed to meet him at the church at ten minutes to eleven. He could not understand what his absence meant. He was afraid something serious had happened, for Studley was such a punctual man. If they desired it, he would go to his house and make inquiries. He would have gone before, but he had expected every moment that the Doctor would appear upon the scene." With much more to the same effect. Ultimately Fred was seen to seize his hat and rush hurriedly from the church, while the bride and her maids followed the curate and Rector into the vestry. Several of the back pews in stantly emptied. The occupants had become tired of sitting. Moreover, they felt that they would be able to breathe more freely out of doors, as well as discuss with less restraint the topic of the moment.

Scattered over the churchyard were little knots, mostly of fishermen, in blue jerseys and rough pilot coats. They had been out in their boats all night, and were now forgoing their morn ing's nap that they might pay their respects to Miss Madge Tyndall on her wedding-day. It was a glorious day for October, with a pale blue sky and a cool, steady breeze blowing in from the sea. Below them, slanting up from the near side of the river, the little town looked wonderfully bright and picturesque, but so fore shortened that it did not appear half its size. Beyond the town, and on the far side of the river, the hills rose again dotted with woods and farmsteads, and stretched seawards for two or three miles, terminating in what was known as Bexpoint. Landwards the vale of Bex soon lost itself among the hills, which, looked at from this distance, seemed tumbled together in delightful confusion.

It was a familiar scene to the groups in the churchyard, but long familiarity had rendered them indifferent to its many beauties. More over, just at present they had something else to talk about. It was not every day that one so popular as Madge Tyndall got married, and still more rare that a stranger from some distant part of the country took one of the Bexmouth maidens to be his wife. A stranger listening to the conversation of these honest fishermen would have come to the conclusion that the wedding was not in every respect a popular one. Like most of the people along that storm-swept coast, they were intensely clannish, with an unreasonable suspicion of all strangers, and a deeply-rooted conviction that honesty was a rare virtue outside their own borders. A few of them had travelled beyond the bounds of their native county, but very few, and these at exceedingly rare intervals.

The most-travelled man in their little community was Jacob Wherry, an exporter of garden produce, who went to London every now and then, and to places even more distant still. Jacob was regarded, in consequence, as something of an oracle, and his opinion of men and things treated with profound respect. Jacob entered the churchyard just as the bride and her father drove up to the gate ; he did not, however, follow them into the church, but at once joined a group of fishermen who were chatting a dozen yards away. " What, not goin' inside, Jacob ? " Dan'l Udy questioned as he drew near. "Well, no; I think I'd rather be excused," Jacob answered brightly. " It's very much pleasanter outside ; don't you think so ? " "Ay, we think so," answered two or three voices at once. " But you be such a ladies' man, Jacob, and in sich high favour wi' the curate."

"Oh yes, we're friendly enough," said Jacob, straightening his necktie ; "but the performance inside — the kissin' and cryin' and all that kind of thing— is nothin' in my line. But I'm here to give 'em a cheer when they come out." " We'll give her a cheer, any road," said Dan'l Udy. "We'll give 'em both a cheer," said Jacob. "The Doctor's a very decent sort, no doubt, though he be a bit furren in his ways." " But he ain't nawthin' to be compared to Squire Sleeman," interposed Caleb Blight. " That may be," said Jacob reflectively. " The Squire's one in a thousan', no doubt." " Ay, he's a grand 'un, is the Squire," con tinued Caleb. " Seemin' to me it's a great pity the maid couldn't be got to see it." "Women be mighty stubborn," Dan'l Udy observed sagely. "The more you want 'em to do a thing, the more they won't do it.

Ef her father hadn't shown sich a terrible liking for the Squire, it's likely enough the maid would have took him." " Don't know 'bout that," said Jacob slowly. " The Doctor's terrible good-looking." " But as poor as a rat," snorted Caleb. " So they do say, Caleb, so they do say ; but laws, maidens, when they be in love, don't care for money nor nawthin' else." " It's a terrible disappointment to the passon, I reckon," Dan'l observed. " They say he did use bad langwidge at fust, an' vowed he never would consent," observed Israel Beer, who had not before spoken. "It's no use takin' notice of what 'they say,'" Jack observed, with an air of superior wisdom. " But, hullo ! what's the meanin' of this ? Why, there goes Lawyer Lorrimer, the Doctor's best man. Wonder what's happened ? " The next moment the church door opened and twenty or thirty people came pushing out ; and then the whisper ran from group to group that the bridegroom had failed to put in an appearance, and that Fred Lorrimer had gone in search of him.

The consternation was now as great outside the church as inside. The groups broke up and formed new combinations, and everybody was asking everybody else what it meant. A few wise ones, of course, shook their heads knowingly, and pretended that they were not in the least bit surprised. Others counselled patience. Because the Doctor was twenty minutes late, that was no reason for supposing he would not turn up at all. Caleb Blight looked relieved, and hazarded the opinion that it would be a good thing if he were never heard of again — that then there might be a chance for the Squire. Dan'l opined that foreigners never could be trusted, and if women were men they never would trust them. Jacob said nothing, but he looked very startled and troubled. Indeed, he looked much more troubled than the occasion seemed to warrant.

In twenty minutes Fred Lorrimer was back again, panting and breathless. Directly he was seen a rush was made for him. " What news ? " asked fifty people simultan eously. " Doctor's missing ! " gasped Fred. " Hasn't been seen since Monday;" and he rushed past them and disappeared through the vestry door. Madge Tyndall gave a piercing shriek when Fred burst into the vestry with his message, and fell prostrate upon the floor, and for ten minutes she lay as one dead. The Rector went out into the church and explained the situation, and asked the people to go quietly to their homes. Then he returned to the vestry, and assisted in restoring Madge. She came to after a while, and they lifted her into an easy-chair, where she sat for several minutes with a bewildered look in her eyes, as if unable to comprehend what had happened.

Her father and the Rector tried to get her to talk, but without avail. Once she put out her hand with a deprecating motion ; but with that exception she never spoke or moved till the clock struck twelve. When the last note died slowly away, she rose to her feet. "The marriage cannot take place now?" she said, turning to the Rector. " No, my child, no ; it is past the hour." " Then let us go home," and she took her father's arm, and they walked away together. There were no cheers as they passed down the churchyard. But tears fell fast instead. People uncovered their heads as though it had been a funeral procession, and waited in silence until the carriages drove away from the gates, then filed slowly and silently out of the sacred enclosure, and made their way down into the town.

Chapter II Father And Daughter

" Mine after-life I what is mine after-life? My day is closed ! The gloom of night is come I A hopeless darkness settles o'er my fate." — Baillie. For several days the excitement in Bexmouth remained at an acute stage, and heated and angry discussions cropped up in various directions when people attempted to defend the character of the recreant bridegroom. Madge Tyndall was such a general favourite that sympathy for her found expression in angry denunciation of her lover. Caleb Blight declared, with many unnecessary adjectives, that " hanging was too good for him," and even the travelled Jacob Wherry, who was not supposed to take narrow and parochial views of things, observed that "such conduct was beneath contempt." A few people still contended that there might be some explanation of his conduct perfectly honourable to the missing doctor, and that the day might come when his character would be cleared from every stain of reproach.

But such people were in a hopeless minority from the very beginning. At first they suggested that he had fallen over the cliff, or into the Bex, and that the proper thing to do was to search along the coast for his body ; but when a week had passed, and every search had proved futile, they wisely held their peace, and confessed to themselves that the case against the Doctor began to look exceedingly black. Indeed, by the end of a month they had nothing to say in his defence. It was clear enough, now, that he had not fallen over the cliffs or into the sea, while it was highly probable that he had gone away from Bexmouth of deliberate purpose, and for reasons dishonourable enough, no doubt, but known only to himself. The grounds on which these conclusions were based appeared more and more conclusive as time went on.

Little by little the truth leaked out that he had left quite a number of accounts un paid, a number that steadily increased as the days passed on, while the amounts went up at a rate that astonished not a few at the gullibility of the Bexmouth tradesmen. Before a month was out, it was demonstrated to nearly everybody's satisfaction that he was hopelessly and irretrievably in debt, and that he could not have remained in Bex mouth much longer without a painful exposure. The Blindness of Madge Tyndall 14 It further transpired that the story he told Fred Lorrimer, as well as Madge Tyndall, that he was going to visit certain people in a distant town the day before his marriage, was pure fab rication. Inquiries instituted among the people, and in the town named, proved conclusively enough that he had not been near the place.

While, if further proof of the man's perfidy were needed, it was discovered that only three days before his flight he had converted certain scrip into cash, and had taken all available money with him. In face of evidence like this, his friends — supposing he had any — were compelled to hold their peace. Even Fred Lorrimer found it con venient to keep silence, but whether he remained perfectly unconvinced was not quite clear. But upon poor Madge Tyndall the cruellest burden was laid. If he had died, if he had fallen into the river or over the cliffs, and so perished, her loss would have been compara tively easy to bear. Then she would have known the truth, and all doubt and speculation would have been set at rest for ever. For days and weeks she searched the cliffs, and wandered up and down the coast for miles and miles, and hoped and prayed that the "cruel, crawling waves" would bring in her dead lover and lay him at her feet.

But her anguished prayer re mained unanswered, and out of the great silence there came no voice of comfort. In the evening, when the lamps were lighted, she would often steal down the garden path and, leaning upon the garden gate, would live the past over again. It was there she had seen him last. They had stood together under the silent stars, and talked of that love-lit future that lay before them bright and beautiful. "The day after to-morrow, Madge," he had said, "and you will be mine for ever and ever." And she had leaned her head against his shoulder with a sense of delicious peace. In her heart there was no shadow of misgiving. She had given him all her love and trusted him with perfect confidence. "To-morrow I shall not see you, darling," he had said. " I am going to Kesbrook, and it will be late when I get back ; but on Wednesday morning we shall meet in the dear old church, and then, oh ! then " And his kiss was warm and pure upon her brow, and his eyes were full of the light of love.

She had thought herself then the happiest girl on earth. Her lover was so handsome, so strong, so good. A little reserved he might appear to others, with a manner that gave but The Blindness of Madge Tyndall scant encouragement to those who were fond of indulging in familiarities ; yet with a counte nance so frank and open, and a smile all the sweeter because of his general gravity, that to her he seemed the perfection of all manly grace and goodness. It was a surprise and pain to her that people were so ready to condemn him, so eager to think the worst and say the worst. She could excuse them on one ground only : they did not know Frank Studley as she knew him. Surely if they knew him, if they had looked into his clear, fearless eyes as she had done, they would be more generous in their thoughts of him, more charitable in their speech.

So she cherished his image in her heart still, and prayed for strength to bear her burden. Leaning on the garden gate, with the friendly stars looking down upon her, and the wash and moan of the waves in her ears, she felt as though her lover were still near her, and heard again the deep thrilling tones of his voice. But in all this she got no sympathy from others. In her home Dr. Studley's name was not mentioned now. Anything that would even suggest his name would make her father angry and irritable for a whole day. At first, of course, his name came up constantly, and night after night her father tried to reason her into a better frame of mind. Unmindful of her tears and expostulations, he would persist in presenting his view of the case, and when she protested, he got angry and talked her down.

" Your Dr. Studley is a scoundrel," he said, with flaming eyes. " No, father, no. Don't say that," she pleaded. " But I do say it," he replied, " and I can prove it. I mistrusted the fellow from the first, and, as you know, reluctantly gave my consent to the engagement." " But that was because you had other designs upon me, and Dr. Studley was poor." " Other designs, indeed, but not selfish designs. Madge, you are my first-born, and I have desired only your well-being. Your happiness is more to me than my own." " Then, father, why do you hurt me so ? Why do you say such cruel things ■ ?" " I say only what is truth," he interposed. " That man has insulted us all. In wronging you he has wronged me. In trifling with your affections and openly jilting you, he has dis graced the whole family. The insult is too deep ever to be effaced."

" But father, he may not have intended it. He may be the unwilling victim of some cruel fate, B or, what is more likely, he is sleeping out there in the great sea, entangled among the seaweeds and " " Oh, don't talk sentiment and nonsense to me," he snapped. " Sleeping among the sea weeds, indeed ! More likely he is making love to some other girl in some other part of the country." She put out her hands to him appealingly. " Please don't," she wailed. " If you love me, spare me such cruel words." " I would not willingly pain you, Madge," he said in milder tones. "And yet it is necessary to give pain sometimes. You must know the truth, however much it hurts you." " I do know the truth," she said wearily ; " please let me be in peace." " I cannot, I will not," he said, his eyes flashing again.

"There can be no peace for you or recovery while you hug such a delusion. The sooner you can be made to see that the man is a villain the better for all concerned." "But you cannot make me see it," she said with energy. " Assertion is not proof." " Proof ? " he demanded fiercely ; " what proof would you have ? " " As yet, there has been no proof at all," she snid firmly. He turned from her with a gesture of im patience. His temper was gaining the mastery again, and he was anxious to appear cool and collected. He had a difficult task to perform, and getting angry would be fatal to its achieve ment. For several moments he did not speak. Then turning round he said quietly, " You ask for proof. Has he not gone away without paying his debts ? " " And what of that ? " she demanded. " Sup pose you were to fall into the sea and get drowned, would you leave no bills unpaid ?

" " But he was hopelessly in debt, over head and ears, in fact." " Who says so ? " " Everybody says so." " That is mere gossip. What proof have you ? " " Madge, you are too provoking," he said, with suppressed anger. " Did he not tell you and Fred Lorrimer that he was going to see some people at Kesbrook, and he never went near the place ? " " And pray what has that to do with it ? " she asked defiantly. " If you were intending to visit Kesbrook to-morrow, would you send word to-day that you were going ? And if you got drowned to-day could you go to-morrow ? " "Drowned be " then he checked himself and clenched his fists. "Do you know," he said at length, "that he converted some scrip into money only a day or two previously, and that he walked off with all the ready cash he could lay hands on ?

" " If you were going to be married and wanted ready-money would you not have done the same ?" she asked. " In all this there is not one shred of proof that he was dishonourable." " You think so ? " he said, with bitter scorn. " I do," she answered, with flashing eyes. "Then I may as well be silent. It is evident you cannot reason. Arguments are thrown away on you. Some day I hope you will come to your senses ; " and he turned and left the room. After that day the subject was allowed to drop, and Madge was permitted to pursue her sunless way unmolested. For several weeks she shunned the town. She could not bear to meet people. Their pitying eyes unnerved her. She knew she had their sympathy, and that was a comfort to her. But she wanted no expression of it. Be sides, while they sympathised with her, most of them had only hard thoughts and cruel words for him who had passed out of sight, who was sleeping, perhaps, in some deep hollow not a hundred yards from the shore ; and she resented every whisper that reflected on him.

So she shunned all society, and took long walks alone, on the cliffs and on the beach. November came with fogs and storms, but neither the one nor the other deterred her. She knew she ran consider able risks, for the cliffs were always dangerous in high winds, and more dangerous still when fogs lay thick on sea and land. But she had no fear. Life had become a joyless thing, and death had lost its terror. Now and then the shadow of a doubt would flit swiftly across her mind, but it was only a shadow at most, and would quickly disappear. But a shadow implies substance, and when the shadow flitted past, the doubt could not be far away. If her lover were in reality drowned, it was strange, almost beyond precedent, that the sea should hide him so long. And if he were not drowned, then what had become of him ?

What she longed to discover most was proof of his death. If he were alive, then all that her father had said was true. But no, he could not be alive. Bitter as the thought of his death was to her, it was infinitely better than the thought of his dishonour. And so she searched for his body as one searching for hidden treasure. Her only consolation was in the thought that her lover was no more.

Chapter III Jacob Wherry's Secret

" One eye-witness weighs More than ten hear-says. Seeing is believing All the world over." — Plautus. Early in January, Jacob Wherry returned from London with a piece of news that created no little stir. At first it was whispered to one person only as a profound secret, but the person re ferred to found the burden of it too great to be borne alone, and she took two of her neighbours into her confidence, pledging them beforehand to absolute secrecy. The same evening six others were taken into confidence, and by nine o'clock on the following morning twenty-three people knew the secret, every one of them pledged in the most solemn manner not to divulge it. By noon the number had increased to eighty-seven, and by sundown it had grown to four hundred and fifty. Before bed-time everybody in the town knew it, and it was discussed north, south, east, and west with much animation, but always as a profound secret that must not on any account be allowed to travel any farther.

The Rev. Scott Tyndall, in visiting among his flock, heard many versions of the secret, and being anxious to know the exact truth, invited Jacob Wherry to his house that he might hear the story first-hand. Jacob sidled into the minister's study with much seeming reluctance, and intimated at once, in the presence of Madge and her mother, "That he would much rather say nothing about it, thai he was very sorry he had mentioned the matter at all, and that he had intended it to be kept as an absolute secret." " Wait a moment, Jacob," said the curate, in his severest pulpit tone. " I am not quite ready for you yet. Take a seat and make yourself comfortable. And you, Madge, had better go into the dining-room to the children. What Mr. Wherry has to say might be somewhat painful to you, and I have no wish " " If it is something I am interested in I would rather stay," Madge interposed.