Chapter VIII: On the Marshes

First Br. "List, list! I hear
Some far-off halloo break the silent air."
Sec. Br. "Methought so too: what should it be?"
MILTON.

EVELYN was strung up to a condition of mind which would admit of no difficulties, which for the moment, could scarcely be conscious of fatigue. The cold blast came sideways, happily not facing them direct; and though very strong, it was not quite so biting as an hour earlier.

"We shall have a quick thaw," Mr. Trevelyan said tersely, noting the difference.

In a general way, Evelyn would have found advance not easy, but now, though she gratefully accepted his offered arm, she seemed scarcely to notice the wind. Mr. Trevelyan was firm as a rock against the roughest blasts; and Jean sprang ahead with a light step of positive enjoyment.

For awhile they followed the high road; but presently a gate led into a large meadow; and beyond this meadow were the flat low-lying marshes, clothed like all else in a robe of virgin white.

The clouds had now almost dispersed, and a nearly full moon shone out, slaying the lustre of all stars in her neighbourhood, and lending a weird beauty to the landscape. But for the cause of this expedition, Jean would have been enraptured. Even as things were, she silently revelled in the exquisite fairy whiteness, to which the moonlight lent a silvery shimmer, unearthly in its purity. No feature in the scene looked like itself, and distances were altogether delusive in that bewildering white shine.

Though short, the snow-fall had been heavy, and the footpath was obliterated. A smooth surface stretched in all directions, broken by the dark lines of deep dividing dykes, which cut up the whole marshland into small meadow-squares. In summer, the dykes often contained only a low layer of water, but now they were full nearly to the brim with recent rains; and interlacing ice-needles had begun to dress the water-surface in a slender skin, even while the deep mud, underlying the snow on the dyke-banks, was scarcely hardened.

The footpath led through these meadows, either straight across or diagonally, and passed from one to another by a natural earth parapet, which had been left standing when the dykes were dug, just wide enough for a path, rough and dirty at the best of times, and now a mere mass of snow and half frozen slush. Moreover, at each crossing was a stile, held in position by a few upright wooden palings on either side of itself. Some of the stiles were very high and awkward, even when neither bars nor earth were in such a slippery condition.

These stiles, with their black supports, rearing their heads gloomily from the white snow, served to point out the route, since the footpath itself was undiscernible. They alone, beside the dykes and an occasional small bush, relieved the monotony of the pure carpet everywhere outspread. While the moon shone, it was not difficult for the walkers to shape their course from stile to stile, keeping note of their bearings. But when the moon had been hidden by a dense pall, and snow was heavily falling, things must have been widely different.

Mr. Trevelyan felt this strongly, though he would not suggest it, when Evelyn remarked—

"After all, if he did cross the marshes, he ought not to have gone wrong. I think he must have taken shelter somewhere, nearer home."

"You will not consent to go back now?"

"Go back! O no; not yet. We must meet Walters first. Where can he be?"

"He may have left the path to explore elsewhere. We shall probably come upon his traces soon."

They left deep footprints themselves at every step, in the soft new snow. It was heavy walking; yet Evelyn pressed on courageously, and Jean still sprang lightly in advance, like a young gazelle, seeming almost to skim the white surface.

A thick cloud passed over the moon, and instantly the whole scene was plunged into funereal darkness; only a ghostly gleam of white being reflected from the ground to mingle with the reddish light of the lanterns.

Evelyn shuddered, and said, "What a difference!"

While again, Mr. Trevelyan pictured to himself these marshes two hours or more earlier, in the white darkness and bewildering flurry of the snowstorm.

"There is Walters!" Jean's quick eyes were the first to see a far-off glimmer. "Look! A lantern!"

"H'm! A good way from the path," muttered Mr. Trevelyan.

"Oh, they have a reason—they must have a reason for going," exclaimed Evelyn. "Can't we get to them quickly?"

"Not that way. We can't go straight across the dykes," said Jean. "Even if father and I could leap them, you couldn't. I don't think we ought to leave the path yet."

"Jean is at home in these marshes," observed Mr. Trevelyan, as Evelyn looked at him. "We could not have a better guide."

"Father—" Jean stood, deep in thought.

"Yes."

"You know where a path forks off, not far from the wood—just after the beginning of the marshes. If General Villiers took that turn by mistake, he would soon get entangled among the dykes—not able to find his way out. He might be somewhere not far from where Walters is now. Perhaps Walters has thought of that—or Ricketts, more likely—and so they have gone to see. We must get round to them the same way, by the other path. O come!"

Jean hastened over the snow with a speed which Evelyn could not equal, even helped by Mr. Trevelyan; and once or twice their eager guide was called in, again to press ahead.

"Take care, Jean! Mind what you are after!"

"O look!" came the same instant, in Jean's soft bell-like tones. "Walters has turned off here at right angles across the marsh. Here are his footsteps and Ricketts' too. What made him do that? I don't know how they have crossed the dykes. Walters is too heavy to jump, and Ricketts, now he is lame—No, no: they've had to come back. Here are their footmarks again. They've gone round by the other path, after all, as we are doing. It's the only way, I know, on a night like this. Look how the lantern swings—as if they were trying to make signals."

"My husband," whispered Evelyn.

"If I was to go nearer, sir, and shout to them?" suggested Adams from behind.

"It would be a waste of time. No, Miss Jean is right, Adams. We must keep to our path. The turn is not distant now. If Mrs. Villiers—"

"Don't think of me. I only want not to be a hindrance. Shall we reach Walters this way, Jean?"

"O yes, soon. It is only going round, instead of trying to leap the dykes. She could never manage that, could she, father? I don't think it would be pleasant for any of us in this dim light, with the banks so slippery."

"Jean is more at home in the marshes than I am myself," said Mr. Trevelyan, as Evelyn's eyes again appealed to him. "She and the boys have explored every inch of them, I suppose."

Evelyn was beginning to flag, despite her best efforts, and Mr. Trevelyan doubted whether she could go much further: but he only gave her all possible support, while Jean, free and unencumbered, kept in front. Another cloud obscured the moon, and Jean's slim figure vanished.

"Take care what you are after," called Mr. Trevelyan. "You have no lantern. If you come on a dyke suddenly, you may be in."

Evelyn shivered.

Then the cloud passed, the white landscape was flooded anew with silver, and presently—

"Father!" exclaimed Jean. "Father! This way—take the turn! Look here!"

She was kneeling on the snow, peering under a small bush; and as they came near, she sprang to meet them, holding out a silk pocket-handkerchief. "I can't see the initials. Is this his! It had been blown under shelter of the bush, and so the snow couldn't bury it. If it is his—"

Evelyn took the handkerchief with a trembling hand, and examined the corner, close to the lantern. "My husband's," she said.

"Then he has taken the wrong turn and gone this way."

"Clever girl," Mr. Trevelyan could not help murmuring. "Lead on, Jean. Remember, the handkerchief may have been blown from a distance. However, our business now is to reach Walters. Take my lantern, if you like. Adams will light us. But don't go too far."

"If he has been all these hours wandering among the marshes—" whispered Evelyn. "And no possible shelter—"

"It would be exhausting," assented Mr. Trevelyan. "But I hope we shall be in time to prevent ill effects."

They pressed on; Jean still the leader, showing a sagacity which would have fitted her for a mountaineer's or a backwoodsman's life. Soon they saw a lantern and two dim figures advancing, and when within hearing distance, Mr. Trevelyan shouted—

"Found anything?"

"No, sir! Nothing."

Evelyn stood still, conscious of failing power. "May I rest one moment?" she asked.

"Ah! I was afraid—" Mr. Trevelyan checked himself, for reproaches now were useless. "Lean all your weight on me, Mrs. Villiers. So—your whole weight. I must not let you sit down. It will pass off. Don't speak for a minute, but keep up a brave heart."

She sighed inaudibly, and closed her eyes. Mr. Trevelyan stood like a rock, supporting her; and the two men came up. A few words were exchanged. They had searched in vain for traces of General Villiers, and had themselves become what Jean called "entangled among the dykes," losing their bearings, and unable to find the path they had left. Walters was not at home in the marshes, and Ricketts was by no means a brilliant youth. Jean's approaching lantern had been their guide.

"No use going farther that way, if you have hunted thoroughly," said Mr. Trevelyan.

They had done so, Walters averred—thoroughly. "All along the dykes, and all round about, everywhere."

"Through the furthest corner of the meadow beyond the second dyke from here?" promptly asked Jean, indicating the direction.

There was a pause. No, they had not ventured quite so far. They had only taken a look at the said corner.

"It was an awful bad bit to get over," Ricketts said solemnly. "The General could never have taken that way, sure! The stile was leaning to one side, the path almost broken away; and the piece of marsh beyond was enclosed with dykes—no second way out of it."

"Father, may I see?"

"Yes! You know what you are about. Only take care. After that, we must get Mrs. Villiers home."

Jean moved off, and Ricketts, a big awkward boy, straggled uncertainly in her rear. Like most of the poor in Mr. Trevelyan's parish, he adored Jean, looking upon her as a creature of another sphere.

Mr. Trevelyan despatched Adams to the Ricketts' cottage, to make sure that General Villiers had not meantime found his way thither; and he kept Walters by him with the other lantern, till Jean should return. They could follow her swift sure movements by her lantern, as she climbed the nearest stile, and struck across the snow beyond.

Then Evelyn roused herself. "Thanks," she said. "I am so sorry to be a trouble. I think I was faint for a minute. I am better now. Where is Jean?"

"She will be back directly. She has gone to take a look beyond where Walters was."

"Gone alone! Are you not afraid? I don't know which is the most wonderful, you or Jean. Suppose she were to slip into the water? O do come too."

"Perhaps you had better move; you will be getting chilled. Gently, there is no hurry," he said. "When Jean comes back, I am going to send you and her home."

Jean did not return quickly. The three went over the first dyke, Walters leading; and then they followed Jean's small footprints. A minute later, Jean's voice rang out from the distance, clear and thrilling, with a now sound in it.

"She's found something," Walters exclaimed.

"Father! Come!" The distant appeal cut like a blade through the air, yet Jean did not scream.

"Will you wait here with Walters? I must take the lantern. Don't stir till I come back."

"O no—I must go too."

To pause for discussion was impossible. The second dyke had to be reached and crossed, and the crossing, it could not be denied, was "awful bad." Mr. Trevelyan lifted Evelyn sheer over the stile, and all but carried her through the half knee-deep slush beyond—slush just enough frozen to be slippery, not enough to keep them from sinking into it. A false step might have plunged both into the dyke; but the other side was reached, and Jean came to meet them.

Mr. Trevelyan knew in a moment—knew as his eyes fell upon Jean—what had happened. He had never before seen her thus. Every trace of colour had left her face, and the eyes looked out fixedly from two surrounding hollows which had suddenly sprung into existence. Yet Jean was herself, which means that she was not thinking of herself.

"Not Evelyn!" broke from her blanched lips, and she clutched Evelyn's hands, as in a vice, with ice-cold fingers. "Father—you and Walters—over there—not Evelyn! O not Evelyn!"

"Why not?" Evelyn was perfectly composed now, not nearly so pale as Jean.

"I can't tell you! Father, don't let her! Don't let her!" cried Jean, in smothered agony. "Keep her away! Don't let her go!"

"Jean, dear, I am not a child to be made. Your father knows me better. Tell me, have you found him?"

"If you would but wait—till the others have been—"

"No: I am going on."

Jean's arm fell with a despairing gesture. Then she grasped the lamp which Walters held, thrust it into her father's hand, muttered hoarsely—

"Come—after us—" and led the way with Walters, urging him vehemently to a speed far beyond Evelyn's powers.

Mr. Trevelyan, fully understanding, did his best to hold Mrs. Villiers back.

So Jean and Walters arrived first at the spot, where General Villiers lay, face downwards, on the snow-covered grass, which here sloped a little into the almost full dyke. He seemed to have fallen thus, exhausted, overcome with cold, and his face was buried in the half frozen mud.

Jean by herself had struggled in vain to move the prostrate figure, but Walters could do what she had failed to accomplish. When Evelyn came up, her husband lay asleep, as it might be, on a winding-sheet of pure snow, "like a warrior taking his rest," calm and silent; while Jean knelt beside him, wiping away with her handkerchief the mud which still clung to the sealed eyes, the rigid and purple lips.

"My poor master!" groaned Walters.

Evelyn did not at once grasp how things were, or, if in her heart she knew, she would not at once accept the truth. A mist over the moon had thickened into cloud, blotting out most of its light, but now the cloud rolled on, leaving a clear landscape. The quiet face could be seen plainly—hardly paler than Jean's. Evelyn's glance went from the one to the other.

"He is found!" she said; and putting Mr. Trevelyan aside, she went forward alone.

"Then he lost his way, as Jean thought. And Jean has found him!—Jean!" with an accent of wonder. "Has he fainted? We must got him home quickly. He is so cold—only feel him! Cannot we give him—something—do—something?" uncertainly, as if she did not know what she said. "William, dearest! Dear—I have come to you."

Jean, shaken by the shock of her discovery, could not endure this. One hard sob broke from the girl's lips, racking her whole frame in its struggle to escape, and startling herself at least as much as others.

"Jean!" her father breathed, and she had herself in hand instantly; but that slight sound had done the business.

Evelyn looked across, with a dim smile, full of anguish.

"Jean!" she said. "Why—Jean—"

Then she swayed slowly forward and fell, prone and senseless, upon her husband's body.