Part 47 (1/2)

Mary was satisfied. She flung the man aside, still holding him by the collar of the coat, which was an old one, as he was too miserly to buy a better. The fabric parted at the seam, and as he fell the coat came asunder and half remained in Mary's hand, the sleeve rending off with the violence of her strength. It was the part containing the pocket which was bulging, and when Mary threw it away Annie s.n.a.t.c.hed it up and tore out the contents, a letter or two, some papers, and the precious roll of notes, which Pendoggat had played for with all his cunning, had ruined the minister for, and finally had won; only Annie was too dazed and mad to know what she was holding. She staggered to the furze, holding the packet above her head, and flung it as far as she could; and it fell in the centre and settled down there invisible among the frosted p.r.i.c.kles.

Pendoggat watched as he stood half-dazed against the well, wiping the blood from his face, and again thanked his stars which remained propitious. His soul had been thrown into the furze, but he could regain it. Annie's madness had saved him. Had she been more sane and sober she might have discovered what it was she had taken. n.o.body knew he had the money even then. His punishment was over. He deserved it for being perhaps unnecessarily hard upon the minister; and now he was not only a free man, but the sin had been wiped away, because he had been punished for it and had suffered for it. The disgrace was nothing, as he would never be seen there again. He edged away towards the furze, and no one stood in his way. He caught up the spade, which he had placed there, and began to hack at the big bushes, trying to make a pa.s.sage. The swaling-fires above were dying down and the red light was fading from the hollow.

”Ah, go in there, man. Go in,” muttered Annie, becoming quiet when she saw what he was after.

Pendoggat had lost his senses, as men will when their money is taken from them. Had he waited a little, until Mary had gone, and he had got rid of Annie for a time, he might have started for Tavistock presently with nothing lost except honour which was of no value. But he could not wait; he was dazed by Mary's blows; and all the time he fancied he saw that precious packet which contained his future stuck in the furze; and if he could not see it he knew it was there and he must get at it. He went on hacking at the bushes, burrowing his way in, without feeling the p.r.i.c.kles; while Mary picked up her stick, turned to Peter, and said she was going home. Then she looked for Boodles, but the girl was not there, and when she started round Annie was not there either. She and Peter were alone in the court, and the furze beyond was convulsed as though a beast had fallen there and was trying to flounder its way out.

”He'm mazed, sure 'nuff,” said Peter, in a happy voice. The blows which Pendoggat had dealt him were avenged. Peter forgot just then the power of witchcraft which he had invoked by the arts that were in him. Neither he nor Mary remembered the mommet, but Annie had not forgotten. She thought of the little clay doll squatting in the glowing peat, and she seemed to see the fantastic object shaking its head at her and saying: ”Who is on my side?” Annie went into the house for something, then pa.s.sed round the wall, and came upon Boodles standing at the other end of the furze brake, rubbing the frost off the white gra.s.s stalks.

”Is it all over?” asked the child.

”Aw ees, it be done. You'm cold, my dear,” whispered Annie hoa.r.s.ely.

”Tak' this, my dear, and warm yourself. You've been out swaling, I reckon.”

She pushed a box of matches into the girl's hand.

”He wun't have it burnt just to spite me. Makes the kitchen so cruel dark I can't see from one side to t'other. Now be the time, for he'm mazed and can't stop us. Sot a match here, my dear.”

”It's so close to the house,” said Boodles.

”The house can't burn. 'Tis stone and slates. I don't want 'en to think I did it,” said Annie cunningly. ”Quick, my dear. Mary be calling ye.”

Boodles loved swaling expeditions. In the past, furze-burning had been almost her only outdoor pleasure; and, though she was unhappy then, she was very young and the sense of enjoyment remained. That huge brake would make the most glorious blaze she had ever seen. Dropping to her knees she struck a match, hearing Annie gasp once, and then the fire touched the tinder-like ma.s.ses of dead growth, there was a splutter caused by the frost, a flame darted up, then down, and up again higher; and then there was a roar, and the brake before her became in an instant like an open furnace and she jumped back to save her face and hair.

”Oh, it's splendid,” she cried.

Annie was leaning against the wall screaming, sheltering her face, perhaps from the heat, perhaps from what she might see.

”It's done. My G.o.d, it's done, and nothing can put it out.”

Somewhere in those flames a man's voice was shouting horribly. The fire seemed to sweep through with the rapidity of light, but nothing else could be heard except the roaring and the screaming and hissing as the big bushes melted away. Mary came running round, and Annie screamed at her--

”I never done it. I never put the match to 'en.”

”Aw, my dear, what have ye done?”

”I am swaling. Did you ever see such a blaze?” cried innocent Boodles.

”Her don't know,” screamed Annie. Then she staggered into the court and fell fainting.

”The man's in the vuzz,” Mary shouted.

All the sounds had ceased, and already the great flames were going out, leaving a red smoulder of ashes and big scarlet stems. It seemed to be getting very dark. Boodles did not realise what she had done, and Mary said no more; but Peter shuffled round, understanding it all perfectly, though not in the least ashamed.

”'Twas just the mommet,” he explained. ”Her had to du it 'cause her couldn't help it.”

Presently they trod over the fiery ground and dragged the body out, without clothes, without hair, without sight; without money also, for the roll of notes had melted away in one touch of those terrible flames.

He looked dead, but, like the furze which seemed to be annihilated, he lived. The heart was beating in the man's body, and the roots were alive in the glowing soil. Both would rise again, the one into a fierce p.r.i.c.kly shrub; the other into a man destined for the charity of others, scarred, maimed, and blind. There was to be no escape for Pendoggat, no new life for him. Boodles of the fiery head had fulfilled her destiny; had burnt out one malignant moorland growth which had caught so many in its thorns; and had rendered it harmless for ever.