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Fern's Hollow

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<h2>CHAPTER XX.</h2> <h3>STEPHEN'S TESTIMONY.</h3> Mr. Wyley would not stir from the place where he could gaze upon his old home burning to the ground. He stood rooted to the spot, like one fascinated and enchained by a power he could not resist, grasping his precious bundle to his breast, and clinging firmly to the arm of the Longville doctor, who had been one of those who hastened to his rescue. Now and then he broke out into a deep cry, which he did not seem to hear himself; but even the grey dawn of the morning, brightening over the rounded outlines of the mountains, did not awaken him from his trance of terror and bewilderment. Miss Anne kept near to him all night, and Stephen lingered about her, making a seat for her upon the grass, and taking care that Martha also should be at hand to wait upon her. There was a great buzzing of people about them, hurrying to and fro; and every now and then they heard different conjectures as to how the fire began. But it was not, generally known that the constables from Longville and Botfield had contrived to arrest Black Thompson and Davies in the midst of the confusion, and had quietly taken them off to the jail at Longville. When the daylight grew strong, it shone upon a smouldering mass of ruins, and heaps of broken furniture piled upon the down-trodden grass. The master had grown aged in that one night, and he gazed helplessly about him, as if for some one to direct and guide him. He no longer refused to quit the place, only he would not trust himself anywhere near Botfield; and as soon as a carriage could be procured, he and Miss Anne were driven off to Longville. There was nothing more to wait for now; and Stephen went quietly home to breakfast in the cinder-hill cabin. It was a good deal later than usual that morning when the engineman at the works sent down the first skip-load of colliers into the pit. Four of their number were absent, but that excited no surprise after the events of the night; and even Bess Thompson supposed her father had gone off to the public-house with the others. But what was the amazement of the colliers when they found Tim at the bottom of the shaft, fiercely hungry after his night's fasting, and as fiercely anxious to hear what had been taking place overhead. He had the prudence, however, to listen to their revelations without making any of his own, and would not even explain how he came to be left behind in the pit. He went up in the ascending skip, and, escaping from the curiosity of the people on the bank, he darted as straight as an arrow to Stephen's cabin. 'I'm nigh clemmed,' were his first words, as he seized the brown loaf and cut off a slice, which he devoured ravenously. 'It seems like a year,' he continued; 'thee'lt never catch me being left behind anywhere again. Eh, Stephen, lad! many a time I shouted for fear I'd never see daylight again; it's awful down there in the night. Thee hears them as thee can't see punning agen the coal; and then there comes a downfall like a clap of thunder. I wasn't so much afeared of little Nan: she never did any harm when she was alive; and I thought God was too good to send her out of heaven just to terrify a poor lad like me.' 'But how did thee get left behind?' asked Martha. Then Tim told them how the horse-doctor had gone down to secure one of the ponies in a large, strong net, in order to bring it to the surface of the earth for a time; and that he had gone down with him more for his own amusement than to help him. He had wandered a little way into the winding galleries of the pit, and came back just as the skip was going up for the last time but one. Thompson and Davies were deep in conversation with the men who remained, and, stealing behind them, he overheard their plot, and their intention of persuading Stephen to join them. After that he dare not for his very life come forward when the skip descended, and he watched them go up, leaving him alone for the night in that dismal place. He had his father's lamp with him, and so made his way to the bottom of the old shaft, and waited, with what impatience and anxiety we may imagine, to hear Stephen return from his work. 'It was awfully lonesome,' he said, 'and I thought Stephen would never come, or I'd never make him hear. It wasn't much better after he had come, only for thinking Miss Anne would be safe. My lamp went out, and I reckon I said "Our Father" over a hundred times. Besides, I was wondering what was being done overhead. I'll never be left behind anywhere again, I can tell ye.' 'Well,' said Stephen, 'my sheep and lambs don't know about the fire, and I must be off. They'll want me just as bad as if I'd been in bed all night.' Still he could not help turning aside with Tim just for another glimpse of the smouldering ruins, looking so black and desolate in the daylight. But after that he did not loiter a minute, and spent the rest of the morning in diligent attention to his duties, until, a little before mid-day, he saw the farmer who employed him riding across the sheep-walk; and when he ran forward to receive his orders, he bade him make haste and go home to prepare himself for appearing before the magistrate, to give his evidence against Black Thompson and his comrades. When Stephen reached the cinder-hill cabin he found Tim there again, and Bess Thompson waiting to see him. Poor Bess had been crying bitterly, for by this time it was known that her father and Davies were in jail; though the others, being young and single men, had fled at once from the place, and escaped for the present. As soon as Stephen entered, Bess threw herself on her knees at his feet, and looked up imploringly into his face. 'Oh, dear, good Stephen,' she cried, 'thee canst save father! I'll kneel here till thee has promised to save him. Oh, don't bear any spite agen him, but forgive him and save him!' 'Get up, Bess,' said Stephen kindly; 'don't thee kneel down to a fellow like me. I'll do anything for thy father; I've no spite agen him.' 'Oh, I knew thee would!' she said; 'thee'lt tell the justice thee never saw him there till the other folks came up from Botfield. Tim says he didn't see anybody down in the pit, and he's promised not to swear to their names. Don't thee swear to seeing anybody.' 'But I did see every one of them,' Stephen answered; 'and Tim knew all their voices; and there'll be lots to tell who came up in the last skip.' 'There's nobody in Botfield will swear agen them,' pleaded Bess. 'Whose place is it to know who came up in the last skip, or who was at the fire last night? Oh, Stephen, the Bible says we're to do good to them that hate us. And if father's hated thee, thee canst save him now.' 'Ay,' said Tim, 'Bess is right; there's not a mother's son in Botfield to swear agen them for the master's sake. If he didn't see them, nor Miss Anne, why need we know? I'll soon baffle the justice, I promise ye. It's a rare chance to forgive Black Thompson, anyhow.' 'Bess and Tim,' answered Stephen, in great distress, 'I can't do it. It isn't that I bear a grudge against thy father—I've almost forgotten that he ever did anything to me. But it's not true; it's sure to come out somehow. Why, I don't even know what I said to Miss Anne last night; but if I hadn't told a word to anybody, I'd be bound to tell the truth now.' 'Only say thee aren't certain,' urged Bess. 'Nay, lass,' said Stephen, 'I am certain. I'd do anything that was right for thy sake, and to save thy father; but I can't do this, and it would be no use if I could. God seeth in secret, and He will reward men openly. He's begun to reward the master already. We can do nothing for thy father, but every one of us tell the truth, and pray to God for him.' 'Father was good to thee when thou wert ill,' said Bess. 'Ay, I know it,' he replied; 'but if he was my own father, I could not tell a lie to get him off. I'd do anything I could. Oh, Bess and Tim, don't ask me to go agen the right!' 'It'll break mother's heart,' said Bess, bursting out into a loud crying. 'We made sure of thee, because thee says so much about having thy enemies; and we were only afeared of Tim. Thee says we are to do to another as we'd have them do to us. If thee was in father's place, thee'd want him to do as I ask thee. Thee doesn't think father wants thee to swear agen him?' 'Nay,' answered Stephen, 'the justice and Miss Anne would have me tell the truth. It seems as if I can't do to everybody as they'd like me; so I'll abide by telling the truth.' There was no time for further discussion, for the constable from Longville came in to conduct them before the magistrate, to give their separate evidence concerning the events of the past night. Bess went with them, weeping all the way beside them, and grieving Stephen's heart by her tears, though she dared not speak a word in the constable's presence. But he gave his testimony gravely and truthfully, and Tim and Martha followed his example; and, in consequence of their joint evidence, Black Thompson and Davies were fully committed to take their trial at the next assizes, and were removed that afternoon to the county jail. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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