A Secret Inheritance. B. L. Farjeon

unseen from mortal eyes. In winter the snow-robed trees, standing like white sentinels in a white eternal night, possessed for me an irresistible fascination. I saw wondrous scenes and pictures. The woods were filled with myriad eyes, gleaming with love, with hate, with joy, with despair; grotesque creatures inhabited every cranny; white spirits lurked among the silvered branches; the frosty stars looked down upon me as upon one of their kindred, and I looked up at them, and cried in spiritual ecstasy, "Only to you and to me are these things visible!"

      Thus I lived, as it were, the inner life, and became familiar with hidden beauties and hidden horrors.

      Was I, then, so wrapped up in my own narrow self that I shut my eyes and ears to the pulsing of other human life? Not entirely. There were occasions when I associated with my fellows.

      Thus, on a stormy night in September, when the rain came down in torrents, I heard the sounds of loud entreaty proceeding from outside the stone walls of the estate. Had it not been that my sense of hearing was very acute, and that those who were appealing were screaming at the top of their voices, it would have been impossible for me to hear them. The wind assisted them and me; it blew in the direction of the chamber in which I sat reading by the light of a lamp.

      "Some people in distress," I thought, and proceeded with my reading.

      The sounds of entreaty continued, grew louder, and more deeply imploring.

      "They will scream themselves hoarse presently," I thought. "Well, I am comfortable enough."

      "Well said, Gabriel, well said!"

      Who spoke? Nothing human, for I was the only person awake in house and cottage. Although I was convinced of this I looked around, not in fear but curiosity. Nothing living was in view.

      "Is it well?" I asked aloud. "The sounds proceed most likely from poor persons who are benighted, and who have not a roof to cover them."

      "That is their affair," said the voice.

      "The storm is terrible," I continued. "They may perish in it."

      The answer came. "They meet their fate. Leave them to their doom. In the morning their sufferings will be over."

      "And I shall live," I said, "guilty and self-condemned. There is no such thing as fate. Human will can save or destroy. They are human, and I will go to them."

      The rain and the wind almost blinded me as I walked from my cottage to the gates. All the while the voices continued to beseech despairingly and bitterly, calling upon man, calling upon God.

      I heard one say, "Hush! There's somebody coming."

      The next moment I opened the gates.

      "Ah, master," cried a woman, "for the love of God tell us the way to Purvis's huts! Jump down, Jim; you've pretty nigh broke my blade-bone in."

      A tall man jumped from the woman's shoulders to the ground. It was from that elevated position he had seen the light in my room.

      "I don't know Purvis or his huts," I said. "What are you?"

      "Hoppers, master. We're bound for Purvis's gardens, and we thought we should get to the sleeping huts before night set in; but we missed our way, and have been tramping through the rain for I don't know how many hours. I'm soaked through and through, and am ready to drop."

      "Why did you not stop at an inn?" I asked.

      "None of that!" growled the man, in a threatening tone.

      "Be quiet, Jim!" said the woman. "Why didn't we stop at an inn, master? Because in them places they don't give you nothing for nothing, and that's about as much as we've got to offer. We're dead broke, master."

      "We're never nothing else," growled the man.

      "Can you help us, master?" asked the woman.

      "Ask him if he will," growled the man, "don't ask him if he can."

      "Leave it to me, Jim. You're always a-putting your foot into it. Will you, master, will you?"

      "Who is that crying?"

      "One of the children, master."

      "One of them! How many have you?"

      "Five, master."

      "Curse 'em!" growled the man.

      "Shut up, Jim! The gentleman'll help us for the sake of the young 'uns, won't you, sir? They're sopping wet, master, and a-dying of hunger."

      "If I allow you to occupy my room," I said, "and give you food and a fire, will you go away quietly when the sun rises?"

      "There, Jim; didn't I tell you? We're in luck. Go away quiet when the sun rises, master? Yes, master, yes. Hope I may never see daylight again if we don't!"

      "Come in," I said. "Follow me, and make as little noise as possible."

      They followed me quietly to my room. Their eyes dilated when they saw the fire, upon which I threw a fresh supply of coals.

      "God bless you, sir!" said the woman, drawing the children to the fire, before which the man was already crouching.

      True enough, there were seven of them. Man, woman, and five children, the youngest a baby, the eldest not more than seven years of age. A gruesome lot. Starving, cunning, in rags; but there was a soft light in the woman's eyes; she was grateful for the warmth and the prospect of food. The man's eyes were watching me greedily.

      "Where is it, master?"

      "Where is what?"

      "The grub you promised us."

      "You shall have it presently."

      I noticed that the children's clothes were drying on them, and I suggested to the woman that she should take them off.

      "I've nothing to wrap 'em in, master," she said.

      I went into my bedroom, and brought back sheets and blankets, which I gave to the woman. She took them in silence, and carried out my suggestion. I then made two or three journeys to the larder, and brought up the food I found there, bread, butter, meat, and the remains of a pie. When I came up for the last time I saw the man standing, looking round the room.

      "He ain't took nothing, master," said the woman, "and sha'n't."

      I nodded, and the man resumed his recumbent position before the fire. I handed them the food, and they devoured it wolfishly. They ate more like animals than human beings.

      "Can't you treat us to a mug of beer, master?" asked the man.

      "I have no beer," I replied. "I think I can find some tea, if you would like to have it."

      "It's the best thing you could give us, master," said the woman, "and we shall be thankful for it."

      "It's better than nothing," said the man, and was pleased to confess, after he had disposed of a couple of cups--which he emptied down his throat rather than drank--that I might have offered him something worse. When they had eaten their fill they lay down to rest, and in less than three minutes the whole party were fast asleep. "Truly," I thought, as I gazed upon them, "nature has its compensations!" They went away, as they had promised, at sunrise, and when I gave the woman a few silver coins, she said gratefully,

      "Thank you, master. We're right for four good days, Jim."

      I watched them from the gates. They had with them the remains of the food, and were eating it as they walked, and talking in gay tones. I experienced a sensation of pleasure. The world was not devoid of sweetness.

      CHAPTER III.

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      Thus my life went on until I grew to manhood, and then two grave events befell, following close upon each other's heels. First, my father died. He was absent from home at the time, and we had had no forewarning of the loss. I do not know whether his errand when he