CHAPTER IX.The Fulfilling of the Law Christopher had helped Tucker upstairs to bed and had gone into his own room to undress, when a sharp and persistent rattle upon the closed shutters brought him in alarm to his feet.Looking out, he saw a man's figure outlined in the moonlight on the walk, and, at once taking it to be Will, he ran hastily down and unbarred the door.
"Come in quietly," he said."Uncle Tucker is asleep upstairs.
What in thunder is the trouble now?"
Stepping back, he led the way into what so short a time ago had been Mrs.Blake's parlour, and then pausing in the center of the floor, stood waiting with knitted brows for an explanation of the visit.But Will, who had shrunk dazzled from the flash of the lamp, now lingered to put up the bar with shaking hands.
"For God's sake, what is it?" questioned Christopher, and a start shook through him at sight of the other's face."Have you had a fit?"Closing the parlour door behind him, Will crossed the room and caught at the mantel for support."I told you I'd do it some day--I told you I'd do it," he said incoherently, in a frantic effort to shift the burden of responsibility upon stronger shoulders.
"You might have known all along that I'd do it some day.""Do what?" demanded Christopher, while he felt the current of his blood grow weak."Out with it, now.Speak up.You're as white as a sheet.""He struck me--he struck me first.The bruise is here," resumed Will, in the same eager attempt at self justification."Then Ihit him on the head with a hammer and his skull gave way.Ididn't hit hard.I swear it was a little blow; but he's dead.Ileft him stone dead in the kitchen."
"My God, man!" exclaimed Christopher, and touched him on the shoulder.
With a groan, Will put up his hands and covered his bloodshot eyes."I didn't mean to do it--I swear I didn't," he protested.
"Who'd have thought his head would crush in like that at the first little blow--just a tap with an old hammer? Why, it would hardly have cracked a walnut! And what was the hammer doing there, anyway? They have no business to leave such things lying about on the hearth.It was all their fault--they ought to have put the hammer away."A convulsive shudder ran through him, ending in his hands and feet, which jerked wildly.His face was gray and old--so old that he might have been taken, at the first glance, for a man of eighty, and in the intervals between his words he sucked in his breath with a hissing noise.Meeting Christopher's look, he broke into a spasm of frightened sobs, whimpering like a child that has been whipped.
"I told you not to drink again," said Christopher sharply as he struggled to collect his thoughts."I told you liquor would make a beast of you.""I'll never touch another drop.I swear I'll never touch another drop," groaned Will, still sobbing."I didn't mean to kill him, Itell you.It wasn't as if I really meant to kill him; you see that.It was all the fault of that accursed hammer they left lying on the hearth.A man must have a lot of courage to murder anybody--mustn't he?" he added, with a feeble smile; "and I'm a coward--you know I've always been a coward; haven't I--haven't I?" he persisted, and Christopher nodded an agreement.
"You see, I wasn't to blame, after all; but he flew into such a rage--he always flew into a rage when he heard your name.""So you brought my name in?" asked Christopher carelessly.
"Oh, it was that that did it; it was your name," replied Will breathlessly."I told him you said he was a devil--you did say so, you know.Christopher Blake was right; he called you 'a devil,' that was it.Then he ran at me with his stick, and Ijerked up the hammer, and Oh, my God, they mustn't hang me!""Nonsense!" retorted Christopher roughly, for the other had dropped upon the floor and was grovelling in drunken hysterics at his feet."It makes me sick to see a man act like an ass.""Get me out of this and I'll never touch a drop," moaned Will.
"Take me away from here--hide me anywhere.I'll go anywhere, I'll promise anything, only they mustn't find me.If they find me I'll go mad--I'll go mad in gaol.""Shut up!" rejoined Christopher, listening with irritation to the sound of the other's hissing breath."Stop your infernal racket a minute and let me think.Here, get up.Are you too drunk to stand on your feet?""I'm sober--I'm perfectly sober," protested Will, and, rising obediently, he stood clutching at the chimney-piece."Get me out of this--only get me out of this," he repeated, with a desperate reliance on the other's power to avert the consequences of his deed."I've always been a good friend to you," he went on passionately."The quarrel first started about you, and I stood up for you to the last.I never let him say anything against you--I never did!""I'm much obliged to you," returned Christopher, and felt that he might as well have wasted his irony on a beaten hound.Turning away from the wild entreaty of Will's eyes, he walked slowly up and down the room, taking care to step lightly lest the boards should creak and awaken Tucker.
The parlour was just as Mrs.Blake had left it; her highbacked Elizabethan chair, filled with cushions, stood on the hearth; the dried grasses in the two tall vases shed their ashy pollen down upon the bricks.Even the yellow cat, grown old and sluggish, dozed in her favourite spot beside the embroidered ottoman.
On the whitewashed walls the old Blake portraits still presided, and he found, for the first time, an artless humour in the formality of the ancestral attitude--in the splendid pose which they had handed down like an heirloom through the centuries.
