Dead Mans Rock | Page 5

real scholar,
and comforting his mother's heart, with more to this effect; which made
us weep very sorrowfully when the letter was read, although we could
not well have told why. As to the sealed packet, my father would have
been doubtless more explicit had he been without a certain distrust of
letters and letter-carriers, which, amid much faith in the miraculous
powers of the Post Office, I have known to exist among us even in
these later days.
Than this blessed letter surely no written sheet was ever more read and
re-read; read to me every night before prayers were said, read to Aunt
Elizabeth and Uncle Loveday, read (in extracts) to all the neighbours of
Polkimbra, for none knew certainly why Ezekiel had gone to India
except that, somewhat vaguely, it was to "better hisself." How many
times my mother read it, and kissed it, and cried over it, God alone
knows; I only know that her step, which had been failing of late, grew
firmer, and she went about the house with a light in her face like "the
face of an angel," as the vicar said. It may have been: I have never
since seen its like upon earth.
After this came the great joy of sending an answer, which I wrote (with
infinite pains as to the capital letters) at my mother's dictation. And
then it was read over and corrected, and added to, and finally directed,
as my father had instructed us, to "Mr. Ezekiel Trenoweth; care of John

P. Eversleigh, Esq., of the East India Company's Service, Colombo,
Ceylon." I remember that my mother sealed it with the red cornelian
Ezekiel had given her when he asked her to be his wife, and took it
with her own hands to Penzance to post, having, for the occasion,
harnessed old Pleasure in the cart for the first time since we had been
alone.
Then we had to wait again, and the little store of money grew small
indeed. But Aunt Elizabeth was a wonderful contriver, and tender of
heart besides, although in most things to be called a "hard" woman. She
had married, during my grandfather's long absence, Dr. Loveday, of
Lizard Town--a mild little man with a prodigious vanity in brass
buttons, and the most terrific religious beliefs, which did not in the least
alter his natural sweetness of temper. My aunt and uncle (it was
impossible to think of them except in this order) would often drive or
walk over to Lantrig, seldom without some little present, which,
together with my aunt's cap-box, would emerge from the back seat,
amid a duetto something after this fashion:--
My Aunt. "So, my dear, we thought as we were driving in this direction
we would see how you were getting on; and by great good fortune, or
rather as I should say (Jasper, do not hang your head so; it looks so
deceitful) by the will of Heaven (and Heaven's will be done, you know,
my dear, which must be a great comfort to you in your sore affliction),
as Cyrus was driving into Cadgwith yesterday--were you not, Cyrus?"
My Uncle. "To be sure, my dear."
My Aunt. "Well, as I was saying, as Cyrus was driving into Cadgwith
yesterday to see Martha George's husband, who was run over by the
Helston coach, and she such a regular attendant at the Prayer-meeting,
but in the midst of life (Jasper, don't fidget)--well, whom should he see
but Jane Ann Collins, with the finest pair of ducks, too, and costing a
mere nothing. Cyrus will bear me out."
My Uncle. "Nothing at all, my dear. Jasper, come here and talk to me.
Do you know, Jasper, what happens to little boys that tell lies? You do?
Something terrible, eh? Soul's perdition, my boy; soul's ev-er-last-ing

perdition. There, come and show me the pig."
What agonies of conscience it must have cost these two good souls thus
to conspire together for benevolence, none ever knew. Nor was it less
pathetic that the fraud was so hollow and transparent. I doubt not that
the sin of it was washed out with self-reproving tears, and cannot think
that they were shed in vain.
So the seasons passed, and we waited, till in the late summer of 1849
(my father having been away nineteen months) there came another
letter to say that he was about to start for home. He had found what he
sought, so he said, but could not rightly understand its value, or, indeed,
make head or tail of it by himself, and dared not ask strangers to help
him. Perhaps, however, when he came home, Jasper (who was such a
scholar) would help him; and maybe the key would be some aid. For
the rest, he had been stricken