VERY peacefully passed the days while the two men were away. The girls wandered in the cornfields or down by the seashore for hours and hours, and a color given by the fresh air and sea breeze slowly crept into Alice's pale cheeks.
Gwen cared to talk of little else but the wonderful story. Over and over again she made Alice tell it, and never tired of listening. After a while Alice read to her the "Pilgrim's Progress," and explained it to her as well as she was able. One day as they sat on the rocks eating their dinner of bread and cheese, Gwen exclaimed, after a quarter of an hour's silence, in which she had been thinking deeply, “Am I in the city of Destruction?'"
No," said Alice with a smile, “you’re going on pilgrimage."
“Is father or Deane there? I'm sure they can't be; they are both such good men."
“Deane may seem good, but I fear he is there," said Alice slowly; "but don't look so scared, dear. We must try and be Mr. Evangelist to him and point him out the way to the wicket gate. Perhaps God sent me here to tell you how you can serve Him by trying to make Deane a better man. Mrs. White says he is very wicked; that if it were not for his bringing brandy into the village and selling it so cheap the men wouldn't drink as they do, and beat their wives and children."
"Then brandy must be that stuff father calls medicine," said Gwen in horror, as something of the truth began to dawn upon her. "You know you said it smelt like it the first day you came. Deane scarcely ever takes any, I'm sure, and I've never seen him drunk. Why didn't Mrs. White tell me about it, I wonder?"
“Mrs. White says he can stand a good deal, and drinks all day long. And he's so cruel, too, she says. That's why he's called 'Evil Deane,' I suppose."
“I never thought of that before," said Gwen. "I don't think he's cruel. Does `evil' mean cruel, Alice?"
"It means everything that's bad," said Alice. "Just fancy living with a man who drinks and is cruel. Think how horrible! What shall you do, Gwen?"
“Do? I can't do a thing, because I've promised that I would marry him."
The girls talked all the afternoon over this question, and Gwen planned many ways of inducing her father and Deane to give up the drink.
“I’d no idea of all this," she said sadly. “Now I know what's in those bund—. Oh," and she stopped herself hastily and looked anxiously at her companion.
But Alice pretended not to have heard, and was gazing over the sea. "Look at that white speck in the distance! Is that a bird?" she asked.
Gwen, springing up, cried, " Of course not. You can't half see! It's the cutter—she'll be in within an hour an' a half. She's making straight for the bay. I'll go an' get something for them to eat."
Away she bounded, leaving lame Alice to follow at her leisure. At the time mentioned the cutter was in, and the two men came up the beach looking very tired and evidently out of sorts.
"Never mind, Cap'n, better luck next time!" said Evil Deane, brightening up as he caught sight of Gwen standing at the cottage door. “We should ha' been foolish to risk it with them custom-house men on the look-out."
Late that night, long after Alice had fallen asleep, Gwen lay thinking of the conversation they had had in the morning. Deane in the City of Destruction how dreadful it seemed to her! “I’ll warn him to-morrow," she thought. “I’ll beg him to give up the drink. Alice said we could serve God by trying to make him better—we were to act the part of Mr. Evangelist to him, and point out the way to the wicket gate." She lay still for a time and tried to sleep, but could not. “Suppose to-morrow should be too late? Deane might be gone out in the cutter fishing. He might be drowned; lots of things might happen." All kinds of dangers came into her mind, until she could bear it no longer, but crept out of bed and dressed. “I’ll serve God now," she thought, “lest I become like Mr. Slothful."
She stole into her father's room, as she went along, and gazed mournfully at him as he lay asleep, with the bright moonlight shining across his face. She took up the bottle that stood by his side to ascertain how much was in it. "Not a drop, an' it was half full when he went to bed. Oh, my dear father!" she murmured, “an’ I always thought it was medicine till Alice came!"
She kneeled down and said a little prayer for him, and then made her way to Evil Deane's cottage, or rather hut. It was a beautiful night, almost as bright as day, and the tide was low, so she chose the sands in preference to the shingly beach, though her bare feet were pretty well hardened to the stones. She knocked once or twice at the door, but receiving no answer, lifted the latch and entered.
Evil Deane lay dressed on his rough bed, sound asleep. Gwen kneeled by him and shook him with both hands. “Smuggled?” he muttered, with a chuckle; “prove it, my fine fellow, prove it!" “Get up!” the girl cried, shaking him more violently. "Get up, Deane, God is very angry with you." The last shake woke him. “Halloo," he cried, “who’s that?”
“Me, Deane," said Gwen, "I've come to warn you, like Pilgrim was warned, to flee from the wrath to come!’ You're in the City of Destruction; Alice says you are! If it wasn't for you the people in the village wouldn't get so drunk. You've brought a fearful curse on us with your horrible brandy that father always made me believe was medicine. You must leave the place! an' do good an' not harm."
Evil Deane sat up. "I can't understand you. You ain't come to tell me all this in the middle o' the night, 'ave yer? Is the Cap'n took bad? What's up?"
"Father's not ill! I came to tell you how angry God is with you for all the wicked things you've done. I always thought you were so good! Oh, Deane! Dear Deane! do give up 'the drink! “she implored, trying to choke down a sob.
“Have you ever seen me drunk?” the man, asked fiercely. “If folks will take too much I can't 'elp it, can I?”
“Yes, you can! You shouldn't bring it into the place, and sell it so cheap. Father wouldn't let me come the last four times you've been out fishing. You didn't go fishing at all. You went to fetch the brandy from somewhere—now I know what's in those bundles, and why father wouldn't let me go. You don't get drunk, Mrs. White told Alice, 'cos you can stand a lot, an' you're always taking drink all day long. I've come to be a Mr Evangelist to you. I wouldn't have come in the night, only I couldn't sleep, I was so afraid of being like Mr. Slothful. Make haste and pack up your things an' go. An' yet I don't want you to go away," she added, inconsistently, while her sobs became more violent.
Evil Deane felt her hot tears fall on his hand.
"'Twas a good man a-running away from a bad city, an' not t'other way, I reckon," he said, kindly, as vague memories of his boyhood and the sound of a sweet gentle voice telling him of holy things floated dimly through his mind. “You’re over excited. Come, stop crying. I can't a-bear it. Who's been a-tellin' you all these tales—Alice, eh? I'll be a better man after tonight, though. Folks shall call me 'Good Deane' in future. Come, dry your eyes, my pretty, an' I'll walk back wi' yer."
Gwen thanked him earnestly, and cheered up, rejoicing in the success of her entreaties. Evil Deane was rather silent on the way back, pretending to be very sad indeed, sighing heavily now and then. “Don’t be so miserable, dear old Deane," the girl cried, as she softly opened the cottage door, “God will forgive you if you ask Him, only you must always say for Christ's sake. Amen.' "
"Thank yer for comforting me, my pretty," the man answered, as he turned back.
When the door was closed, he looked up at the window of the room where he knew Alice was sleeping, and shaking his fist, muttered to himself, "You shall pay for this trouble. You're the cause of all this! But there'll be a reckoning-day atween us afore long."
However, for the next week or two Evil Deane's conduct was most exemplary. No brandy was to be seen in either of the cottages on the beach, yet once or twice Gwen fancied her father was rather unsteady in gait and confused in his head towards evening, but in answer to her anxious questions he always had an excuse ready. He was getting old, had worked too hard that day, etc.
And so the simple girl believed it and ceased to fret.