the queen of hearts-第13章

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the　way。　Number　Four　was　one　of　the　two　narratives　which　Owen　had
found　among　his　own　papers。

〃I　am　almost　sorry；〃　began　my　eldest　brother；　confusedly；　〃that
it　has　fallen　to　my　turn　to　read　first。　I　hardly　know　which　I
distrust　most；　myself　or　my　story。〃

〃Try　and　fancy　you　are　in　the　pulpit　again；〃　said　Morgan；
sarcastically。　〃Gentlemen　of　your　cloth；　Owen；　seldom　seem　to
distrust　themselves　or　their　manuscripts　when　they　get　into　that
position。〃

〃The　fact　is；〃　continued　Owen；　mildly　impenetrable　to　his
brother's　cynical　remark；　〃that　the　little　thing　I　am　going　to
try　and　read　is　hardly　a　story　at　all。　I　am　afraid　it　is　only　an
anecdote。　I　became　possessed　of　the　letter　which　contains　my
narrative　under　these　circumstances。　At　the　time　when　I　was　a
clergyman　in　London；　my　church　was　attended　for　some　months　by　a
lady　who　was　the　wife　of　a　large　farmer　in　the　country。　She　had
been　obliged　to　come　to　town；　and　to　remain　there　for　the　sake　of
one　of　her　children；　a　little　boy；　who　required　the　best　medical
advice。〃

At　the　words　〃medical　advice〃　Morgan　shook　his　head　and　growled
to　himself　contemptuously。　Owen　went　on：

〃While　she　was　attending　in　this　way　to　one　child；　his　share　in
her　love　was　unexpectedly　disputed　by　another；　who　came　into　the
world　rather　before　his　time。　I　baptized　the　baby；　and　was　asked
to　the　little　christening　party　afterward。　This　was　my　first
introduction　to　the　lady；　and　I　was　very　favorably　impressed　by
her；　not　so　much　on　account　of　her　personal　appearance；　for　she
was　but　a　little　wo　man　and　had　no　pretensions　to　beauty；　as　on
account　of　a　certain　simplicity；　and　hearty；　downright　kindness
in　her　manner；　as　well　as　of　an　excellent　frankness　and　good
sense　in　her　conversation。　One　of　the　guests　present；　who　saw　how
she　had　interested　me；　and　who　spoke　of　her　in　the　highest　terms；
surprised　me　by　inquiring　if　I　should　ever　have　supposed　that
quiet；　good…humored　little　woman　to　be　capable　of　performing　an
act　of　courage　which　would　have　tried　the　nerves　of　the　boldest
man　in　England？　I　naturally　enough　begged　for　an　explanation；　but
my　neighbor　at　the　table　only　smiled　and　said；　'If　you　can　find
an　opportunity；　ask　her　what　happened　at　The　Black　Cottage；　and
you　will　hear　something　that　will　astonish　you。'　I　acted　on　the
hint　as　soon　as　I　had　an　opportunity　of　speaking　to　her
privately。　The　lady　answered　that　it　was　too　long　a　story　to　tell
then；　and　explained；　on　my　suggesting　that　she　should　relate　it
on　some　future　day；　that　she　was　about　to　start　for　her　country
home　the　next　morning。　'But；'　she　was　good　enough　to　add；　'as　I
have　been　under　great　obligations　to　you　for　many　Sundays　past；
and　as　you　seem　interested　in　this　matter；　I　will　employ　my　first
leisure　time　after　my　return　in　telling　you　by　writing；　instead
of　by　word　of　mouth；　what　really　happened　to　me　on　one　memorable
night　of　my　life　in　The　Black　Cottage。'

〃She　faithfully　performed　her　promise。　In　a　fortnight　afterward　I
received　from　her　the　narrative　which　I　am　now　about　to　read。〃

BROTHER　OWEN'S　STORY

OF

THE　SIEGE　OF　THE　BLACK　COTTAGE。

To　begin　at　the　beginning；　I　must　take　you　back　to　the　time　after
my　mother's　death；　when　my　only　brother　had　gone　to　sea；　when　my
sister　was　out　at　service；　and　when　I　lived　alone　with　my　father
in　the　midst　of　a　moor　in　the　west　of　England。

The　moor　was　covered　with　great　limestone　rocks；　and　intersected
here　and　there　by　streamlets。　The　nearest　habitation　to　ours　was
situated　about　a　mile　and　a　half　off；　where　a　strip　of　the
fertile　land　stretched　out　into　the　waste　like　a　tongue。　Here　the
outbuildings　of　the　great　Moor　Farm；　then　in　the　possession　of　my
husband's　father；　began。　The　farm…lands　stretched　down　gently
into　a　beautiful　rich　valley；　lying　nicely　sheltered　by　the　high
platform　of　the　moor。　When　the　ground　began　to　rise　again；　miles
and　miles　away；　it　led　up　to　a　country　house　called　Holme　Manor；
belonging　to　a　gentleman　named　Knifton。　Mr。　Knifton　had　lately
married　a　young　lady　whom　my　mother　had　nursed；　and　whose
kindness　and　friendship　for　me；　her　foster…sister；　I　shall
remember　gratefully　to　the　last　day　of　my　life。　These　and　other
slight　particulars　it　is　necessary　to　my　story　that　I　should　tell
you；　and　it　is　also　necessary　that　you　should　be　especially
careful　to　bear　them　well　in　mind。

My　father　was　by　trade　a　stone…mason。　His　cottage　stood　a　mile
and　a　half　from　the　nearest　habitation。　In　all　other　directions
we　were　four　or　five　times　that　distance　from　neighbors。　Being
very　poor　people；　this　lonely　situation　had　one　great　attraction
for　uswe　lived　rent　free　on　it。　In　addition　to　that　advantage；
the　stones；　by　shaping　which　my　father　gained　his　livelihood；　lay
all　about　him　at　his　very　door；　so　that　he　thought　his　position；
solitary　as　it　was；　quite　an　enviable　one。　I　can　hardly　say　that
I　agreed　with　him；　though　I　never　complained。　I　was　very　fond　of
my　father；　and　managed　to　make　the　best　of　my　loneliness　with　the
thought　of　being　useful　to　him。　Mrs。　Knifton　wished　to　take　me
into　her　service　when　she　married；　but　I　declined；　unwillingly
enough；　for　my　father's　sake。　If　I　had　gone　away；　he　would　have
had　nobody　to　live　with　him；　and　my　mother　made　me　promise　on　her
death…bed　that　he　should　never　be　left　to　pine　away　alone　in　the
midst　of　the　bleak　moor。

Our　cottage；　small　as　it　was；　was　stoutly　and　snugly　built；　with
stone　from　the　moor　as　a　matter　of　course。　The　walls　were　lined
inside　and　fenced　outside　with　wood；　the　gift　of　Mr。　Knifton's
father　to　my　father。　This　double　covering　of　cracks　and　crevices；
which　would　have　been　superfluous　in　a　sheltered　position；　was
absolutely　necessary；　in　our　exposed　situation；　to　keep　out　the
cold　winds　which；　excepting　just　the　summer　months；　swept　over　us
continually　all　the　year　round。　The　outside　boards；　covering　our
roughly…built　stone　walls；　my　father　protected　against　the　wet
with　pitch　and　tar。　This　gave　to　our　little　abode　a　curiously
dark；　dingy　look；　especially　when　it　was　seen　from　a　distance；
and　so　it　had　come　to　be　called　in　the　neighborhood；　even　before
I　was　born；　The　Black　Cottage。

I　have　now　related　the　preliminary　particulars　which　it　is
desirable　that　you　should　know；　and　may　proceed　at　once　to　the
pleasanter　task　of　telling　you　my　story。

One　cloudy　autumn　day；　when　I　was　rather　more　than　eighteen　years
old；　a　herdsman　walked　over　from　Moor　Farm　with　a　letter　which
had　been　left　there　for　my　father。　It　came　from　a　builder　living
at　our　county　town；　half　a　day's　journey　off；　and　it　invited　my
father　to　come　to　him　and　give　his　judgment　about　an　estimate　for
some　stonework　on　a　very　large　scale。　My　father's　expenses　for
loss　of　time　were　to　be　paid；　and　he　was　to　have　his　share　of
employment　afterwards　in　preparing　the　stone。　He　was　only　too
glad；　therefore；　to　obey　the　directions　which　the　letter
contained；　and　to　prepare　at　once　for　his　long　walk　to　the　county
town。

Considering　the　time　at　which　he　received　the　letter；　and　the
necessity　of　resting　before　he　attempted　to　return；　it　was
impossible　for　him　to　avoid　being　away　from　home　for　one　night；
at　least。　He　proposed　to　me；　in　case　I　disliked　being　left　alone
in　the　Black　Cottage；　to　lock　the　door　and　to　take　me　to　Moor
Farm　to　sleep　with　any　one　of　the　milkmaids　who　would　give　me　a
share　of　her　bed。　I　by　no　means　liked　the　notion　of　sleeping　with
a　girl　whom　I　did　not　know；　and　I　saw　no　reason　to　feel　afraid　of
being　left　alone　for　only　one　night；　so　I　declined。　No　thieves
had　ever　come　near　us；　our　poverty　was　sufficient　protection
against　them；　and　of　other　dangers　there　were　none　that　even　the
most　timid　person　could　apprehend。　Accordingly；　I　got　my　father's
dinner；　laughing　at　the　notion　of　my　taking　refuge　under　the
protection　of　a　milkmaid　at　Moor　Farm。　He　started　for　his　walk　as
soon　as　he　had　done；　saying　he　should　try　and　be　back　by
dinner…time　the　next　day；　and　leaving　me　and　my　cat　Polly　to　take
care　of　the　house。

I　had　cleared　the　table　and　brightened　up　the　fire；　and　had　sat
down　to　my　work　with　the　cat　dozing　at　my　feet；　when　I　heard　the
trampling　of　horses；　and；　running　to　the　door；　saw　Mr。　a