FLECK TEMPTED.

For three or four days after her husband had left her, Bessie Blake, in spite of the anxiety caused her by the desertion of two of the crew, was almost as content and happy as she ever felt whilst he was away at sea. He and Victor would soon be at home again, for the voyage was not a long one, such as some he had undertaken; and as long as the wind was fair, and the river smooth, her spirits were good. The old mother was always in a gayer mood than Bessie, being naturally lighter-hearted and more hopeful; and she sang ancient Norman ballads to little Nan and the baby, as he lay placidly listening in his great old cradle. It was a happy little household, in spite of the old Frenchwoman’s rheumatism, caught amid the English fogs.

But when the calm weather was gone, and the river ran by in a swollen, sullen tide, driven and pressed by the hurrying winds, which moaned and wailed around the bow-window, and along the passages and store-rooms of the sailmaker’s old house, and thick clouds were driven across the sky in dark troops--then Bessie’s heart sank, and the old mother’s voice faltered, as she still sang her merry songs to please little Nan. Nan herself often stood with folded hands, and a grave little face, looking up to the black clouds which hid the blue, and at the stormy gusts of rain that beat against the window-panes. It was a good thing that the father and uncle Victor were in the “hollow of God’s hand” now, and that He was holding them there safely for her and her mother. The little child was not troubled by a moment’s doubt.

The news of the utter wreck of the “Dolphin” quickly spread through Wapping, as soon as it was brought by the rescued mate. There were two other Wapping men in her, besides Fleck, and Peter and Victor Blake; thus somewhat more than ordinary excitement was aroused by the calamity. The people in Wapping dwell in a little world of their own, shut off from London by the great docks, and the sluices leading up to them; and the sense of neighborhood is deeper among them than in other parts of the great city. It was not yet known that Fleck was saved; and his wife and children were loud in their lamentations, proclaiming themselves everywhere as a desolate widow and orphans. On the other hand, Bessie Blake kept her grief to herself, shrinking from every expression of sympathy; and she was left pretty nearly alone in her trouble.

The blow fell, as all such blows fall, as if it had been altogether unforeseen, unthought of. Though Bessie had never let Peter leave her for a voyage without the sorrowful prediction that he was going away for ever, and though she had dreamed hundreds of times that he was drowned, yet, now that the thing she had dreaded had come upon her, she could not believe it. The mate had been saved; and why should not Peter, her own good, loving, God-fearing man? Surely, surely God had taken care of him! Not a step sounded on the staircase that did not make her heart leap with a hope that was as full of pain as of pleasure; for beneath the hope there lay a secret lurking dread that she dared not face.

When Fleck came home at the end of the second week, her dying hope sprang into new life. A great stir was made about him in Wapping, where he was received as one come back from the dead. Everybody who had seen the “Dolphin” as she sailed out on her fatal voyage held his own opinion, and was eager to hear it confirmed by Fleck. But Fleck swore confidently that the ship was as good as a ship could be, and was neither overladen nor undermanned. All men’s minds had been softened by old Penrose’s sudden and unhappy death, and they were reluctant to speak damaging words against the dead. Fleck’s steady asseverations concerning the loss of the “Dolphin” stopped the mouths of the few, who were still ready to cast blame on the owners; and it was admitted to have been one of the unavoidable accidents of the sea.

Late on the evening of his reappearance in Wapping, Fleck made his way to Bessie Blake’s dwelling-place. She had been waiting for him in feverish impatience, anxious to have her hopes confirmed. Little Nan and the baby were fast asleep; but the old mother was sitting up to hear the news, with a flush of color on her withered cheeks, and a bright light in her sunken eyes. The Dutch clock struck twelve before Fleck came; then he slunk into a seat by the low fire, burning down to embers, and hung his head, as if he could not look either of them in the face. He fancied he saw Victor hesitating to climb the tottering mast, and he heard himself saying, “Up, up, lad!” The words would not leave off ringing through and through his brain.

“Only tell me Peter was not lost!” cried Bessie, with parched lips that could hardly speak.

“No, no, my poor lass!” answered Fleck, shaking his bowed head; “he went down with the rest of ’em, poor fellow! I did my best for Peter, for old shipmate’s sake; but, bless you! we ran on a rock as sharp as any needle, and the ‘Dolphin’ broke through amidships. Most of ’em were aft, lowering the quarter-boat, and there wasn’t a chance for e’er a one of ’em. Me and the young master were in the forecastle; that saved us and Victor.”

“Victor!” said the old mother; “is my son Victor safe?”

“No,” said Fleck, with a troubled voice, “we did all we could for him; if it was the last breath I said it in, we did all we could for him, young Mr. Penrose and me; and we gave him a good funeral in Alderney; for the boat picked him up, only he was dead. Young Mr. Penrose followed Victor to his grave; and he’ll do everything he can for you all. He’s sent you a pound by me, and he’ll come and see you himself some day.”

Bessie’s white face was hidden in her apron. The house was very quiet, with an awful deathlike stillness. There was no noise from the street, where all labor had long ago ceased, and there came no sound from the silent river. Even the wind, which had been moaning restlessly and incessantly for the last few days, was hushed. Fleck’s words rang in her ears, as if he had been shouting them at her through the din of a storm. She shuddered when he stretched out his hand, with the sovereign in it, and touched her.

“Money!” she said with a wild, confused air; “what’s that for?”

“Mr. Penrose sent it to you,” he answered.

“Penrose!” she repeated.

“Ay! young Penrose,” he said. “Old Penrose is dead, you know, and he’s come into everything. He’s promised to take care of you, and madam here, and the children; and he’s sent you this.”

“Did old Penrose’s son send that?” she asked, pointing to the gold coin that glittered on Fleck’s open palm.

“Ay! to be sure,” he answered.

“Tell him, then,” cried Bessie, “I’d rather starve to death in the streets than touch it with only the tip of my finger! Tell him God’s curse rests on him and his ill-gotten gold. It’s bought with the lives of men; of men like my Peter! Tell him his money is no better than the thirty pieces of silver that Judas threw away before he went and hanged himself.”

“Chut! chut!” said the old mother softly and tremblingly.

“Mother,” said Bessie, in a sharp, shrill voice of agony, “send him away! Why is he here, instead of my husband? Oh! why did God save him, and leave my poor Peter to be drowned? Send him away; and pray God I may never, never see him again, or I shall go mad!”

“And you won’t take the money!” exclaimed Fleck, scarcely believing that he had heard aright.

But the old Frenchwoman was already holding the door open, and beckoning to him to leave Bessie to herself, and go away. His finger closed cautiously over the sovereign, and he slunk down stairs and into the open street, glad enough to get away from the sight of the women’s grief.

But the question came to him what he must do with the money? It was mere folly to return it to Mr. Penrose, who had already more than he knew what to do with. Besides, he could not return it to him without delivering Bessie Blake’s terrible message; and that would be downright cruelty and ingratitude. Young Penrose was almost broken-hearted; and the only comfort he seemed to take was in the thought of seeking out and relieving the families of the lost crew of the “Dolphin,” especially that of Peter and Victor Blake. He appeared to feel an extraordinary interest in Victor, and he had been very earnest in impressing upon him that he must take that money at once.

There was nobody in the world to tell young Penrose where to find Bessie Blake but himself; unless, indeed, which was most unlikely, he made very diligent inquiries after her about Wapping. It would be very hard for him, hard and harsh and cruel, to hear such bitter words as Peter Blake’s wife had just uttered. Would it not be better if he never saw her at all?

Slowly a dim idea was forming in Fleck’s cunning brain. He turned away from the door of his own house to take another stroll through the deserted streets. Bessie had been a proud hussy, always holding herself aloof from her natural neighbors, like his wife. He would not harm her; but if she would rather die than take charity from Penrose, what a pity it would be for such kindness to be spurned and refused! Could no way be hit upon to save him from the trouble her conduct would cause him? It would do nobody any harm if he could only think of some plan to spare Penrose the pain, and reap a little benefit himself.

There was his own wife, about Bessie’s age, and there were his two youngest children, and his wife’s mother; why should not they take up the part Bessie Blake refused to fill? With a little care and contrivance there would be no risk of young Penrose discovering the scheme; and it would be a relief and consolation to him to believe that he was supporting Victor’s people. For himself he was resolved never to go to sea again, and how his family were to be kept he could not tell. But if they played this game well there would be no need for him to trouble himself as long as they could keep it up. Penrose would see that none of them came to want. The idea had not occurred to him until after Bessie had refused to accept the money; though it had been burning in his pocket all day long, and he had been longing to appropriate it. Now as he rambled about the quiet streets, turning over his plot, and arranging all its details, his fingers played with the gold coin, till all was settled in his busy, crafty brain. It was a clever dodge, he said to himself, and with very little risk in it; and Bessie Blake had only herself to blame for it.