The Farrell Dishonour, or Fabian's Folly

Front matter

THE FARRELL DISHONOUR OR FABIAN'S FOLLY Uniform with "The Farrell Dishonour." Crown Svo, cloth. PRICE 3/6 EACH. ALFREDA HOLME. A Story of Australian Life. By Elisabeth Boyd Bayly. 4th Edition. " It is not often that we meet with a narrative of experiences so full of freshness and force as are to be found in this excellent ' Story of Social Life in Australia.'" — Temperance Record. ZACHARY BROUGH'S VENTURE. By Elisabeth Boyd Bayly. 2nd Edition. " We have nothing but unstinted praise for this book." — Cambridge Independent Press. FORESTWYK: or TEN YEARS AFTER (Sequel to "Zachary Brough's Venture"). JONATHAN MERLE. A West Country Story of the Times. By Elisabeth Boyd Bayly. 9th Thousand, " Rich in character and incident, and as charming in substance as it is elevated in tone. In general character it frequently and pleasantly reminds us of the work of Dr. George MacDonald." — Spectator.

ST. WYNFRITH. By E. Everett-Green. 2nd Edition. " It is a pretty story, delicately and carefully written, of life in an almshouse." — I he Star. PHŒBE DEACON. By Hude Myddleton. GILDAS HAVEN. By M. S. Haycraft. THE FARRELL DISHONOUR; or, Fabian's Folly. By E. M. Pledge. London: larrotd and Sons, io &> n, Warwick Lane, E.C. The Farrell Dishonour OR FABIAN'S FOLLY BY E. M. PLEDGE Author of " Loving Whispers foi' Lowly Workers,"1 "Valencia ; or, Led into Light," "Called to be Conquerors : or, Stella Adair' s Faith" etc., etc. SANS PEUR. ET SANS REPROCHE LONDON JARROLD & SONS, io & it, WARWICK LANE, E.C [All rights reserved] "Knowledge by suffering entereth." "Dark is the world to thee: thyself art the reason why." CONTENTS. CHAPTER PACE I. IN PARRY'S PARLOUR - - - - g II. THE RESULT OF THE RAFFLE - - 20 III.

THE VISIT TO SCOTT'S - - - -32 IV. WOODLEIGH - 44 V. "CONSIDER THE END" - - 56 VI. THE DOWN GRADE OF GAMBLING - - 67 VII. A SAD NIGHT AT THE FARRELLS - - 78 VIII. ON THE ADMIRALTY PIER - - - 90 IX. CHATTY - - - - IO X. LIFE AT MONACO - - - - 112 XI. CHATTY VISITS THE GREY HOUSE - - 12 1 XII. REBY'S SUSPENSE - 134 XIII. A DOUBLE FUNERAL - 145 XIV. PARRY'S PARLOUR AGAIN - - - 1 56 XV. MIDNIGHT AT CHARING CROSS - - - CONTENTS. CHAPTER FACE XVI. JOHN GRANT'S PROMISE - - - '76 XVII. THE DEATH OF WILLIAM PARRY - - 1 87 XVIII. CHATTY'S MISSION - - - - 197 XIX. IN THE HOP-GARDEN - 208 XX. A COMMON LODGING-HOUSE - - 221 XXI. THE "END" CONSIDERED ... " There is one way of wasting time, of all the vilest, because it wastes, not time only, but the interests and energy of your minds. Of all the habits into which you can fall, the vilest is betting, or interesting yourselves in the issues of betting.

Chapter I. In Parry's

parlour. "And life is never the same again. POETRY and prose are strangely intermingled in life. Mrs. Farrell had just breathed a despairing little sigh over the large holes all too plainly visible in an already well-darned sock which she held in her hand, and lifting her gaze to the face beside her, seen in profile, a sudden glow lighted up her soft brown eyes with quick, motherly pride, and before she was at all aware of it, she had fallen into a day-dream, fashioning a fair future for her boy. He was her only one, all the other children being girls ; and so round Fabian clustered many hopes. She was brought back to the world of fact from fiction by Reby's voice — Reby, the eldest of the Farrell family, tall for her sixteen years, but younger in face than Fabian, who was a good twelvemonths her junior.

" Are you going to play in the match next Tuesday, Fab ? " The boy, who was standing just outside the window upon the heavy grey stone verandah, leaned forward, put his arms on the discoloured coping, and rested his chin in the palms of both hands before answering. Then his reply was brief, but certainly to the point — " No." " Why not ? " No answer this time ; not even a movement of the lithe young figure upon the old verandah. "Why not, Fab?" persisted Reby. " Because I haven't a decent bat to play with, and I'm not going without." Again Mrs. Farrell sighed, and this time she rose and quietly went out of the room. Reby stepped outside the window and stood beside her brother. It was a favourite spot with both. Just before them, only separated by a narrow stretch of shingle, sand, and broken rock, lay the great, heaving, restless ocean.

To Fabian and Reby it had a mood for every day. They had loved it when as tiny children the roaring of its mighty waves had been to them a lullaby upon winter nights, as they lay in their little warm cots in the attic of the old house ; and they loved it now, and would wander down to its brink and listen to its ceaseless voices, ever murmuring low music or wakening discordant thunders among the rocks around. Kingsnorth was a quiet little town, sleepy and half indifferent to the noise of the great world around it ; except when it made an annual attempt to arouse itself to cater for the few visitors who invaded it for a few weeks in the summer. But upon the whole the effort was wearisome, and Kingsnorth was not sorry to settle down once more when the modest excitement was over, and make all snug and close for its winter sleep.

Not that it was all play and no work at Kingsnorth in the cold months. There would sometimes penetrate to that outer world thrilling tales of storm and shipwreck ; but these were things that the little town had always been used to ; and they lost much of their real terror in its estimation because of their very familiarity. After all it is the novelty of a thing that has much to do with the awakening of the emotion of pain or pleasure, fear or joy. The Rev. Mortimer Farrell had taken holy orders and married early in life, but in less than three years after his marriage his health had given way, and he had been compelled to give up his curacy and retire upon a small annuity left him by his father; and thus it came about that the only home that the young Farrells had ever known was the old grey stone house, with its heavy verandahs and iron studded, prison-like door, that stood on the long barren seashore of the little town of Kingsnorth.

" It is going to be a fins evening," remarked Reby. But her brother took no notice. His whole attention was absorbed watching a figure coming slowly along in the distance — a boy's figure about Fabian's own height, but dressed in the rough nondescript attire of a fisherman. As he drew nearer he cast a keen glance at the house, but it was not until he was just below the grey verandah and Fabian gave a low shrill whistle that he appeared aware that anyone was near. Then for a moment he raised a pair of keen black eyes to the figure above him, and, giving the least perceptible nod of the head, sauntered slowly past the house, and was soon lost in the grey dusk that was beginning to give surrounding objects a misty vague appearance. " That was John Grant," said Reby wonderingly. " Why, what could he want ?

" But Fabian made no reply. He hastily turned, and, muttering something about going out, left his sister standing alone on the old verandah, and a few minutes later she saw him leave the house and go quickly along the shore in the same direction that John Grant had taken. She wondered a little, but her mother called her almost directly to put some of the younger children to bed, and the circumstance passed from her mind. Fabian did not waste his time in sauntering along the road when he had left the grey stone house behind him. He stepped out briskly, as one with a deliberate purpose in view, and yet, by the hasty, furtive glances he cast around, he was evidently ill at ease. Presently a shrill whistle behind made him turn and wait for a lad some year or two his senior, who was hastening to overtake him.

" I shall give you a certificate for fast walking," said the new-comer laughing. Then more eagerly, " I say, Farrell, you know that bat you were looking at the other day in my father's shop ? " Fabian coloured. " Yes." " Well, you didn't seem as if you meant to go in for it after all, so it's up to be raffled for, and I thought you'd like a chance with the others, old fellow." " Raffled for ? " Fabian's breath came quickly. No one but himself knew just how much he wanted that bat, but he had not been able to afford to buy it ; but now — ! " How much each, Scott ? " "Only a shilling; but you can have more than one number if you choose." They had apparently reached their destination, for both paused before a low, dirty-looking house, ■evidently occupied by one of the fishermen, for signs of his employment in the shape of nets and old pieces of drift-wood were scattered about.

Scott gave a cautious peculiar knock at the door. Fabian put his hand into his pocket and drew out one of his few precious shillings and placed it in the other's hand. "No, I'll only take one," he said hurriedly, "and tell your father he must manage the business for me, Scott." "Why ever don't you come yourself? " I can't ; it's too public," Fabian answered shortly ; and again the colour swept up to his boyish brow. "I wonder where Parry is?" But the wonder was of short duration. The door was cautiously opened, and a man's sharp, shrewd eyes looked to see who was there. He was apparently satisfied with his scrutiny, for he opened the door wider, and said, "Come in, gentlemen. You're a bit late, but never mind ; come in, and let's be sharp." They followed him silently into a small dark room at the back of the house to which he led them through the larger apartment in front.

Seated at a table in the centre were John Grant and another lad whom they addressed as Emmerson. The man who had admitted them went across to the window and drew the blind carefully down, and peered about, first at one side and then at another, seemingly anxious to make sure that the privacy of the room could not be invaded by any prying eyes from without. Then he also drew a chair to the table, and sat down with his guests. A strangely-assorted group they were. Fabian Farrell, with his rich brown hair and grey eyes, the only one bearing the true stamp of a gentleman about him. Scott was thc son of a tradesman who had risen from errand boy to master, and Emmer son's father was coachman at Woodleigh, a pretty estate, some half-a-mile from Kingsnorth ; while as for the man called Parry, he was a waterman of the lowest type, strongly built, possessed of immense muscular strength, but with an habitual fierceness of expression upon his rugged bull-dog face that rendered him the terror of all the children of the neighbourhood.

With slow deliberate action he drew from one of his pockets a greasy pack of cards and put them on the table. The others drew their chairs closer. " I reckon your father ain't over fond of the sight of these 'ere bits of pasteboard, Mr. Farrell," said Parry with an unpleasant laugh, "eh, sir?" " I_suppose not," answered Fabian with a little start. "Ah, well, young men will be young men, and it don't do to be over particular. Your father's a very excellent gent, no doubt of it, but a bit behind the times, you may say." Fabian made no reply. He only coloured and bit his lip. He wished Parry would not talk of his father. Perhaps Parry saw he had gone far enough ; at anyrate he said quickly, "And what shall it be, sir? Just sixpenny stakes ? " Scott and Emmerson laughed contemptuously, and Parry let them settle the matter as they pleased, and soon the four were bending over their cards lost to every other consideration.

To Fabian Farrell there was an additional excitement about it all, for he was the only one present to whom the game was an absolutely stolen pleasure ; and as the time slipped by the red flush on his face deepened. Suddenly Parry lifted his head in a quick cautious way, and seemed to be listening intently ; then with a muttered word, which sounded like an oath, he swept the cards remorselessly into one heap on the table, snatching them from the boys' hands, and then thrust them all into the bosom of his shirt. The little pile of money that was lying on the table, also, he served in the same way, and before the astonished boys could recover from their bewilder ment at his strange conduct, he had seated himself again in his former position, and taking up a news paper that lay near, spread it open before him, and began reading aloud.

This was all the work of a few seconds, but it was not accomplished a moment too soon. The first words had scarcely passed his lips before the door of the room where they were sitting was suddenly thrown open, and the tall form of one of the Kingsnorth policemen appeared. He looked round with a keen but baffled glance. Parry met his eye unflinchingly. "What now, Tom Hardy?'' said he. "Ain't it rather cool to enter a gentleman's house, without so much as saying 'By your leave?'" Hardy advanced into the room. " I'm not so sure yet that I'm in a gentleman's house," he answered. Parry rose angrily, but the other took no notice of him. He was too busy taking a survey of the apartment. But he could detect no sign of the recent occupation of its inmates. "Well, Bill Parry, you know what I came for, but E it seems you've been too sharp for us this time ; but your gaming practices are more than suspected, and we'll get you even yet," he said at length quietly.

Parry laughed — a malicious laugh. "One too many for you, eh, old chap? Words don't count for very much ; you'll have to prove what you say is true before you can hurt me." The policeman turned to Fabian who had risen, and was standing by the dark empty fireplace. The boy was trembling violently, and his face and very lips were ashy white. " I'm sorry to see you here, sir," said Hardy respectfully, and in a softened tone. " If anything had come of this it would have been a sorry day for your father, I'm thinking. You'd better be getting home, and, if you take my advice, you won't be caught at Bill Parry's again." Fabian uttered no sound, but taking his cap from the ground where it had fallen, he slunk out of the room and out of the house. His cap was pulled low down over his eyes so that he did not see a slight, dark-haired girl who was standing just outside, and almost stumbled over her.

She put out her hands eagerly. "Oh, Mr. Fabian, is anything the matter? What does Tom Hardy want with father?" But he pushed her aside without answering, and groped his way along the dusky road. Another policeman, who was lingering about, looked at him suspiciously, but let him pass, and Fabian went his way stumbling at every step.

Chapter II. The Result Of The Raffle

" Ye are standing fast in your strength, But that which is now your servant .May be your tyrant at length." THE summer evening had long since darkened into night before Fabian Farrell quietly let himself in at the side-door of his home. He stepped softly, and tried to pass up the stairs to his own room without attracting anyone's notice, but his mother was anxiously listening for his footstep, and came out of the dining-room to meet him. His manner made her uneasy. "What is the matter, my dear? Why, how hot your hands are, Fabian." " Oh, I'm right enough, mother, only tired," and he tried to pass her. " But you are coming in to supper, my boy ? " she said anxiously. " No, 1 don't want anything." " Then you are ill, Fabian.' " I'm only tired. I'll go to bed. Don't bother over me, mother." She put her lips lovingly to his hot brow and sighed.

But she let him go, and only said when she went back to the supper-table that Fabian was tired and had gone to bed. " I expect he's had a long walk," said Reby. " I fancy he's been with John Grant." Her father looked dubious. " I am not quite sure about Grant. The lad means well, I think, but he's too easily led. I must talk to Fabian to-morrow." "Oh, John is all right, father," said Reby quickly. " He is as kind and good-natured as possible." " Very possibly he is, my dear, but — Mr. Farrell hesitated, and did not finish his speech ; and during the remainder of the meal he was quiet and absent-minded. There was at anyrate one sleeper in Kingsnorth whose rest was sadly disturbed that night. Fabian tossed from side to side in a manner altogether new and unpleasant. His head throbbed painfully, and his tongue was parched and fevered.

He would fall into an uneasy slumber, but his brain could not rest, and strange terrible dreams would haunt him, wherein he was in all kinds of possible and impossible dangers, from which there seemed no escape, and he would waken with a dull sensation of vague fear, until at length towards morning he slept, and dreamed that Tom Hardy's iron hand was upon him, and was drag ging him away — away, until the doors of the horrible prison-house loomed before his vision, and in a last desperate struggle to evade the fearful fate before him, he made one more effort to obtain his freedom, and, with a stifled cry, awoke to find himself in the familiar attic at the old stone house with the first rosy rays of the morning sun stealing into the little room through the unshaded window, and raising himself slightly, Fabian saw the sea all aglow with the crimson and gold glory of the August sunrise. - He sank back upon his pillows with something like a groan, and buried his face in the sheet.

The sound of his own cry had roused him, and the horrors of the dream were still vividly present to his mind. He did not sleep again, but long before any of the rest of the household were about he dressed and went noiselessly downstairs, boots in hand, and out into the fresh air of the young morning. At the breakfast-table his pale face and heavy eyes alarmed his mother anew, but Fabian declared he wanted no medicine or fussing over, and appeared so irritated at any remark about his languid manner and want of appetite that at length Mrs. Farrell let thc subject drop. It was a miserable day to Fabian. He did not feel he could remain in the house, and yet dreaded to go abroad as usual, fearing the affair of the previous evening had become known, and some might even speak to him about it. So he wandered about the shore, avoiding companionship as much as possible, and sitting with his head bent and his cap drawn over his eyes, or lying full length upon the shingle with his face buried in his arms.

The first faint dusk of twilight found him crouch ing in a dark heap under a broken bit of grey rock that had been a favourite trysting-place with the children in the past days. He had his back to the row of small houses on that part of the shore, and was gazing wearily out at the great bed of waters that lay murmuring at a little distance from him. A timid touch on his arm made him turn his head in a startled way; but it was only William Parry's daughter. He drew a deep breath of relief. "It's you, is it?" he said ungraciously. Chatty nodded, and sat down on the shingle beside him, with her arms clasped round her knees, which were drawn up almost to meet her chin. She was a slight quiet girl of thirteen, with dusky brown hair, and eyes that had that peculiar clear, but half timid beauty that one notices in a gentle gazelle, and which strikes the observer sometimes in girls of a gentle but firm spirit, and shy, simple character, with a singular vein of nobility running through it like a silver thread.

She glanced round cautiously before she spoke, and then said softly, " I've been thinking of last night, Mr. Fabian. I've been a-thinking of it all day, and I can't get it out of my head." "I guess it doesn't do much good thinking of it now," he returned gloomily, not taking his eyes from the water before him. " I don't know," the girl said. " Thinking makes people act, and if you made up your mind not to come to father's again for — for — you know what, Mr. Fabian, you wouldn't be likely to be so near getting into trouble as you were then." He laughed a little in a strange, mirthless, don't care way. " You're a fine preacher, Chatty. Too good for your father, anyway." It was not a kind speech, and she winced as though it hurt her ; but she answered quietly, " When I spoke I was wondering about your father, Mr. Fabian, and how he'd have felt if " He interrupted her sharply.

" Don't, Chatty ! I believe it would have killed Lim." She did not look at him, but kept her gaze far out at sea. "If I'd got such a father as yours, it seems to me I'd rather die than— than bring him to grief," she said slowly. The hot blood mounted to the boy's sensitive face. He began just dimly to realise that this young fisher-girl was possessed of some fine quality he could scarcely find a name for. He had ever been ready to talk to her with a boyish kind of conde scension in his manner, for he had known her all his life; but at that moment there sprang up in his heart a new seeling for Chatty ; a mingling os respect and awe. He found in her new depths he had never fathomed ; a nobility he could not under stand. Footsteps nearing the shore roused them both from reverie. " It's Parson Trueman and his wife," said Chatty.

" There's to be a preaching service on the shore to-night." Fabian uttered an impatient word, and turned to see where the new-comers would take up their stand. The quaint, old-fashioned figures of the two were familiar enough to him. Parson Trueman, as most of the youthful portion of Kingsnorth usually called the good old man, wore the same long grey coat and red scarf that Fabian seemed to remember as long ago as his memory would be coaxed into retrospecting ; and with a stout oaken stick in his hand, and his Bible under his arm, he came trotting briskly along, his round, good-tempered face well framed in a crop of grey whiskers. His little wife, very small, very active, and very good-natured, also, walked just behind him, the worthy couple's ordinary mode of taking their constitutionals.

The little old lady wore her usual costume, consisting of a large comfortable black bonnet, that amply shaded her face, and a long cloak ; the only distinction between her summer and winter attire being in the warmth and thickness of the last-named garment. Fabian had laughed over the singularity of their appearance many a time in his careless boyish way ; but on this evening no thought of their quaint out-of-the world air had place in his thoughts. His head drooped in hot shame. Instinctively he recognised that a good man was near him, and he — who was he? " Let's go away from this, Chatty," he said hurriedly. " I can't stay." And yet he did not move ; and at a stone's throw from the grey rock the old gentleman took up his stand. A small group soon gathered round, and a simple hymn or two were sung, then Mr. Trueman opened his Bible and read the sweet sad story of the Prodigal Son.

Many and many a time had Fabian Farrell listened to those same words before — from his father's lips, at his mother's knee, in God's House but never had they rung upon his ears with such bitter-sweet meaning as upon that still summer evening, as he crouched beside the old grey rock on the Kingsnorth shingle. A few simple earnest words of exhortation followed the reading, a short prayer, another hymn, and the little service was over, and the group of men, women, and children gradually dispersed. Fabian could hear the old gentleman's cheery voice exchang ing greetings with one and another ; but he did not move from his quiet nook till the preacher and his wife had both left the shore. Then, with his cap over his eyes he went slowly home. The dining-room was empty when he went in, and its gloomy coolness suited his mood.

He flung himself among the cushions of the comfortable faded lounge. The door was soon opened again, and Reby entered with some haste and excitement in her manner. She was wearing her hat and swinging her gloves in her hand. " Oh, Fab ! " she cried in a terrified voice, " I've heard such a dreadful thing in the town. They say Her brother had raised himself at the sound of her words, and was now leaning back against the lounge with both hands nervously clutching the cushions. His face was ghastly; but Reby could scarcely see it in the dim light. "If jt's so dreadful I'd rather not hear, thank you. Whatever made you come tearing into the room so? I was just trying to get a wink of sleep. I guess you would want it if you had such a splitting headache." Usually such a speech from Fabian would have brought Reby to his side contrite and pitiful ; but it apparently had no effect upon her now.

" I'm sorry ; but I must tell you; Fab. They say that ever so many boys were at Parry's last night playing cards and gambling ; and, oh, Fabian, they say you were there ! " Her voice had sunk to a low frightened whisper ; but each word penetrated with terrible distinctness to Fabian's brain. He strove, however, to laugh it off. " It is a pity the Kingsnorth folk haven't some thing better to do than slander their neighbours' good characters. I wonder why I was pitched upon this time?" But Reby was too thoroughly frightened to discon tinue her questioning. " Don't laugh — Fabian, pray don't laugh. Tell me you weren't at Parry's ? " "What? Never?" he asked, with a feeble attempt at a joke. But she was close beside him now, and saw the quivering of his lip. She laid her head on his shoulder and burst into tears.

"Don't be such a simpleton, Reby," he said sharply. " I never said I was there last night." " But you haven't said you were not," sobbed Reby. " And, oh, Fab, I believe if it gets to father's ears, it will almost kill him ! " The boy started. They were his own words to Chatty only an hour or two before. He covered his face with his hands and groaned, as he had done in the blushing light of the new-born morning alone in his little attic chamber. A knock at the door disturbed them. They both looked up in haste and apprehension. It was only old Janet with a message. " Is Master Fabian here ? Someone said he'd come in." " I'm here," the boy said saintly ; he was a coward to his guilty fears, and was afraid to frankly acknowledge his presence. " There's a parcel for you from Scott's ; a longish parcel, and the boy said something about Mr. Scott's compliments, and had sent the bat, and he was glad you'd been the successful one at the raffle.

I don't know what he meant, I'm sure. We never have nothing to do with such things as raffles." Fabian's heart stood still. In the greater fear and excitement of the narrowly-escaped danger at Parry's the circumstance of the raffle at Scott's had entirely slipped his memory, or he would never have run the fearful risk of having the bat sent home in such a fashion, if he were proved to be the successful winner. His father's voice calling him from the hall enhanced his terror. " What does this mean, Fabian ? " Fabian heard Janet repeating the message to her master, and then Mrs. Farrell joined her husband. An ominous silence for a minute, broken again by his father's voice calling him. The boy staggered to his feet and groped his way into the dim hall. " Have you bought this bat, Fabian ? " " I— Scott said— I thought—" " Answer my question.