THE harvest had been cut and gathered in and the farmers went about with expressions of great content on their faces, for the crops had been good and plentiful.
September was extraordinarily fine that year, the sun seemed as if he would never tire of pouring down his favors on Sunlight village and Sunlight bay.
Along the top of the cliff one bright evening came Alice with a big jug in her hand. She had been to a farm, about a mile distant, to fetch some milk, for the day had been so sultry that the morning's supply had turned sour. She walked slowly, for the heat was oppressive, stopping every now and again to refresh herself with a handful of delicious blackberries from a neighboring hedge.
“Wait, wait!" cried a voice behind her, and turning quickly round she saw Evil Deane striding towards her across the grass. A feeling akin to fear crept over her which she could not explain even to herself, for she had an innate dread of him, engendered by his evident dislike to her, which he took no pains to disguise. She knew that he wished she had never come, and yet he was in one sense somewhat afraid of her—afraid of what she might say to Gwen about him, for he could not easily deceive Alice, but it was easy enough to throw a cloak over his sins that would cover them well from the simple, unsuspecting Gwen.
With Alice it was different; she had seen enough of drink in busy London to dread it. And then he shrunk from her. He “hated her psalm-singing and hypocritical ways," he said.
Many a time he had urged the Captain to send her away, but without success. The Captain said he had a reason for keeping her there, and so he had—the reason being that he had an idea in his head that to be kind to Alice would atone for many of his former sins against his sister—that sister who had loved him so dearly in the days of his youth, and whose loving kindness he had not returned.
As Deane overtook Alice and walked beside her without speaking a word, she stole a glance at his forbidding face.
It's very warm," she ventured to remark, feeling that she must say something.
“’Ot enough," he replied, and said no more. He was busy thinking, and his thoughts boded no good to poor Alice. “I said there'd be a reckoning day between us afore long, and now it's come," he thought. “I’ve been a waitin' for a chance like this many's the day. One little push when we gets near the edge and it's all over. No one'll be none the wiser—the dead tell no tales, I reckon. And what could be more nat'ral than she should go too near the edge, lose her footing, and fall overboard. Yes, yes; I shan't be bothered with no explanations; the thing'll explain itself."
He took a step nearer to Alice, and the girl, all unconscious of danger, took a step nearer to the edge of the cliff. After a few minutes he took a step nearer still, and then another, and another, and every time Alice moved closer and closer to the edge in her anxiety not to be too near to him. He looked some yards ahead and saw a place where the chalk was much crumbled away, and decided that when they reached that spot lie would do it.
They were getting near the place, and he took his pipe out of his mouth and put it into his pocket. "Murderers have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone." The words flashed through his mind. He remembered where he heard them. It was in a Sunday school many years ago, before he came to live in Sunlight village. His 'own teacher, be remembered, had been ill, and a young lady had taken the class, and had gone home, poor thing! dispirited and out of heart, fearing that not one of the noisy boys had paid attention to the words she had said. Bitter were the tears she had shed over what she considered the afternoon's fruitless labor. But the seed had fallen into one rough heart, and though it had lain dormant for many years, yet in his hour of temptation it bore fruit. The words she had used, and the text she had chosen, came back to him now as if they had been uttered yesterday.
Thus came the fulfillment of God's beautiful promise, “So shall My word be that goeth forth out of My mouth, it shall not return unto Me void."
He stopped as they reached the spot where he had meant to push poor Alice over the cliff, and looked at her irresolutely a moment, then turned abruptly round, and ran as hard as he could in the opposite direction. Alice gazed after him in amazement, but not being able to assign any reason for his strange conduct, gave a sigh of relief at being rid of his unwelcome presence, and continued her journey homewards.
Evil Deane ran on for over a mile without stopping, and then, when the cliffs were less steep and jagged, climbed down to the sands below, and cooled his hot head in the fresh seawater.
“Oh, dear!" he said to himself, as he rested against a rock for a moment, “I feel no 'ow. I can't make it out! I never felt so uncomfortable afore!" He took a deep draught from his flask. “Oh, my! I feels all creepy and crawly like. I won't try that dodge on again, I reckon. Strange that I ain't thought on them words for years. Murderers.... have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone.'
It do make a chap feel queer to think on it!"
He lit his pipe, and walked slowly back. A flutter over head and a flapping of wings caused him to look up. Clambering up the cliff, in a most perilous position, was Gwen, the last rays of the setting sun shining full on her, making her yellow hair glisten like gold. Evil Deane shaded his eyes with his hand, and gazed anxiously at her, for she came now to a terribly dangerous part of the cliff, and was fearlessly attempting to ascend it. He dared not call out, lest, startled, she should lose her hold, slip backwards, and be dashed to pieces.
“I warned her not to go up so high!" he exclaimed, agonized, as he watched her climb higher and higher. The perspiration began to gather on his forehead, and his knees trembled under him.
“Supposing—" But no, no! he would not think of it! yet the thought forced itself upon him. What if instead of the body he had intended should be lying on the beach, mangled and lifeless, another one should be there of which also no explanation would be needed. An exclamation of horror escaped him, and for the first time in many years his lips moved in prayer to God.
"O Lord!” he broke forth, "save her! save her!"
He covered his face with his hands, and stood still for some minutes. When he at length found courage to glance up, the sun had sunk, and only a rich, red glow remained, shedding its glory over the white cliffs, and Gwen, safe and sound, and quite unconscious of the anxiety she had occasioned to the watcher below, was rapidly descending.
As she came nearer he noticed she carried something doubled up in her dress, and he guessed rightly it was a gull.
“Been risking yer life for one o' them foolish things," he said, as she alighted on the beach.
“Poor darling!" she replied, taking the fluttering bird out of her dress; “it has broken its wing and leg too, and was screaming so. I wonder how it got hurt? How pale you look! What's the matter?"
“Nothing," answered Deane, “only you struck me all of a heap like, seeing you up that height; it's awful dangerous. Don't go there no more, Gwen. You gave me quite a turn; you might have fell and been dashed to atoms, and then what should we ha' done? Think on it, Gwen, only think on it!"
“Why, Deane, I've climbed nearly as high many times before. Your forehead's quite wet; what's up with you today? You do seem funny."
“‘Nough to make me feel funny," said Deane, wiping the perspiration off his head.
When they reached his cottage he set the gull's broken leg while Gwen held it for him, but refused her pressing invitation to supper, saying he must go and see to the lobster kraals. As he watched her out of sight he resolved in his heart that he would try and lead a better life and be more worthy of her, and for a whole week afterwards he kept from drink. But the craving for the spirits was too strong for him, he could not resist it; so he took a little—just a little—not to “feel so empty like."
But with his good resolutions came the terrible memory of his walk with Alice along the top of the cliff, and with it those words that were always in his mind when he was sober—"Murderers... have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone." “I’m a murderer at 'art," he told himself” It's no good me a-trying."
So the struggle to resist the evil was but a short one, and the “just a little” became daily more and more, and finally conscience, resolutions, everything was quenched in the fiery liquid, and he became worse than before.
Gwen soon grew to know what was the cause of his uproarious mirth, followed by fits of gloomy despair. There were days in which they hardly saw him, when he would absent himself altogether; and days when he was so noisy and troublesome that they could do nothing with him.
Surely the fields in Sunlight village were white already to harvest, and God had seen it and sent there a reaper to gather the fruit unto life eternal —a reaper who was but a child God had chosen and sent into His vineyard, there to labor for Him in the heat of the day. Oh, happy child! to have been thus chosen. Press on, then, in thy faith so firm and simple!