Chapter VII: At Jacob's Bedside

A week later William visited Jacob in hospital. He was nearing recovery, but now knew that he might be lame for the rest of his life. The sufferer felt indifferent; but he cherished minor grievances and grumbled to his friend.

"Only Auna ever comes to see me. Would you believe that? Not once has John Henry visited me, and only once, Avis--and her marriage, that I've agreed to, and the farm that I've given her and all!" he said.

"Young lovers be selfish toads," explained William; "think nothing of it. I believe Avis will prove a better daughter after marriage than before. She's the sort will get sweeter with ripeness. For John Henry there's no excuse. I'll talk to him some day and open his eyes. But the great truth is that their amazing grandmother be more to your children than their own parents. A mystery, Jacob; but the ways of blood are always a mystery. The dead will come to live in their havage[1] and pass on the good and bad qualities alike. 'Tis a pity Providence don't look to it that only the good be handed down; because then the breed of men and women would be a lot better by now than they are; but all qualities are part and parcel, and even goodness often takes narrowness and coldness of heart along with it."

[1] _Havage_--offspring.

"Margery's heart was never cold."

"But her mother's--her mother's, Jacob! I may tell you now that I carried out a little plot in that quarter and went to see Mrs. Huxam on a Sabbath. I had in my mind that at my great age and with my well-known good character, I might influence her; because in a few other directions I've talked round high-minded people and showed 'em that, as things are, nought could be hopefuller than for you and your wife to come together again."

"You meant well as you always do, Billy."

"An Old Testament fashion of woman is your mother-in-law. The faith that would move mountains. It's a good thing that she hasn't got much power, for she'd use it in a very uncomfortable fashion if she had. A great, mournful wonder in the land. She's like a sloe-bush, Jacob: the older she grows, the sharper her thorns and the poorer her fruit. I came away with my tail between my legs, I assure you. I was dust in the wind afore her."

"She'll never change."

"Never. Wild horses wouldn't make her change. Hell comforts her, same as heaven comforts us, and there's no fear the fires would go out if she had the stoking."

"The littleness of her--the littleness of her!" cried Jacob. "Can't she see that all this talk is nothing to tortured flesh and blood? Her power lies in the weakness and ignorance of other people. Hear this, William: my wife would see me and listen to me, if her mother allowed it. And when I know that--to Auna she whispered it--in a weak moment--still Auna heard--and when I know that, what's hell or heaven to me? They must be nothing, anyway, to a man who has done what I've done--to a man who has brought such sorrow on the earth as I have. What is eternity to one who's wasted all his time? The things I might have done--the happiness I might have given--the good I might have wrought! Instead, I break the heart of the best, truest woman ever a man had for wife. What can alter that? Can eternity alter it? Can heaven make it better, or hell make it worse? Nothing can change it but what happens here--here--before it's too late. And Judith Huxam is going to confound all--just that one, old woman, poisoned by religion, as much as I was poisoned by jealousy."

"A very great thought, Jacob," admitted Mr. Marydrew. "We be in the hand of principalities and powers, and mystery hides our way, look where we will. But we must trust. Everything is on the move, and the Lord can touch the hardest heart."

"Hearts are nothing, William. The head governs the world, and great, blind forces govern the head. Blind forces, driving on, driving over us, like the wheel over the mole by night; and despite our wits and our power of planning and looking ahead and counting the cost, we can't withstand them. They run over us all."

"We can't withstand 'em; but the God who made 'em can," answered William. "Be patient still and trust the turn of the lane. You be paying the wages of your sin, Jacob; you be paying 'em very steady and regular; and I hope that a time will come when you'll be held to have paid in full. We never know how much, or how little our Maker calls us to pay for our mistakes. You may have very near rubbed off the score by God's mercy; for He's well known for a very generous creditor and never axes any man to pay beyond his powers."

He chattered on and, from time to time, patted Jacob's big hand, that lay on the counterpane of his bed.

The sick man thanked him presently and then there came Peter, to see his father on business. He asked after Jacob's health and expressed satisfaction to know that he was making progress. Having received necessary instructions, he went his way and William praised him.

"There's more humanity in Peter than there is in my eldest," admitted Peter's father.

He grew calmer before Billy left him and promised to keep his soul in patience.

"First thing you've got to do is to get well and up on your legs again against the wedding," urged William.

"I hope much from it," answered Jacob. "I'm planning to beg Barlow Huxam to see me on the subject. That's reasonable--eh?"

"Very reasonable indeed. He's one with a good deal of sense to him. In fact the man as have lived all his life with your mother-in-law must have qualities out of the common," declared William. "But he haven't neighboured with that amazing character all these years for nothing. How much of his soul he calls his own, you may know better than me. 'Tis a case of Aaron's rod swallowing the lesser, and he won't gainsay Mrs. Huxam in anything, I'm afraid."

When he was gone, one thought of a comforting character remained with the sick man. He had been much daunted with the tremendous moral significance of the opinion of the world and its crushing censure. It had weakened resolution and increased his self-condemnation. Now his friend was able to assert that public emotion grew quieter against him; that even, in some quarters, he had won an admission it might be reasonable for husband and wife to come together again. This fact soothed Bullstone, for like many, who do not court their fellow-creatures, he had been, none the less, sensitive of their opinions and jealous of their approval. Herein, therefore, appeared hope. He felt grateful to his old companion, who, among so many words that to Jacob meant no comfort, was yet able to drop this salutary consolation. He much desired to tell Auna, who had long been the recipient of all his confidences and made older than her years by them.