The Vast Abyss

“I didn’t do it,” cried Tom passionately. “Everybody misjudges me, and thinks it was I.”

“Then how did it happen?”

Tom told him briefly.

“Was that window left open last night?”

“I don’t think so, uncle; I’m almost sure I fastened it.”

“Almost!” said Uncle Richard, in the same cold, hard way in which he had spoken before. “Then, sir, you accuse David of having meddled and broken it?”

“No, I don’t, uncle,” said Tom, speaking quite firmly now. “I told you everything.”

“Fetch David.”

Tom hurried out, and had no difficulty in finding the gardener, who had hardly stirred from where he had left him.

“I knowed the master’d want me. Did you own up, sir, like a man?”

“No, I didn’t,” said Tom angrily. “Come to uncle directly.”

“Then – ”

David said no more, but gave his old straw hat a smart rap on the crown, and walked sharply on before Tom, unrolling and shaking out his blue apron, prior to rolling it up again very tightly about his waist. He strode along so rapidly that Tom had hard work to keep up with him; and in spite of his efforts, David strode into the workshop first, pulled off his hat, dashed it down on the floor, and struck one hand loudly with his fist.

“What I say is this here, sir. I’ve sarved you faithful ever since you come back from the burning Ingies – ”

“Silence!”

“And made the garden what it is – ”

“Silence!” said Uncle Richard, more sternly.

“And if Master Tom’s been telling you a pack o’ lies about me – ”

“Silence, man!” cried Uncle Richard angrily.

“Why, all I’ve got to say is – ”

“Will you hold your tongue, sir? My nephew has not even accused you. He has merely told me his own version of the accident.”

“Oh!” said David, looking from one to the other, thoroughly taken aback.

“Now give me your account, sir,” continued Uncle Richard.

David threw in a few pieces of ornamentation about his narrative, but its essence was precisely the same as Tom’s.

“Humph!” said Uncle Richard. “It looks as of one of you must be in fault.”

“I take my solemn – ”

“Silence, sir! you have spoken enough. Tell me this, as the man I have always been a good master to, and have always trusted. I know it is a serious thing, but I want the simple truth. Did you have an accident, and break that glass?”

“I wish I may die this minute if I did, sir,” cried David; “and that’s an awful thing to say.”

“Thank you, David; I believe you,” said Uncle Richard quietly, and the gardener’s face glowed as he turned his eyes on Tom, and then frowned, and jerked his head, and seemed to say —

“Now out with the truth, my lad, like a man.”

Tom was darting back an angry look, when his uncle turned to him, with eyes that seemed to read him through and through.

“I thought it was your doing at first, Tom, in my vexation,” he said. “Then I suspected poor David here, very unwillingly. But you see we are at fault.”

“Yes, uncle,” cried Tom eagerly, for there was something in his uncle’s tone, stern as it sounded, that was like a friendly grasp of the hand, and turning towards him, in quite an excited burst, he cried, “Then you don’t think I did it?”

“Of course not, my boy. What have you ever done that I should doubt your word?”

Tom could not speak, but he made a snatch at his uncle’s hand, to feel it close warmly upon his own.

David looked from one to the other, and then stooped and picked up his hat, put it on, recollected himself, and snatched it off again.

“Well,” he said softly, “it’s a rum ’un. If I didn’t feel quite cock-sure as it was you, Master Tom, that I did. Then it warn’t you, arter all! Then who was it? that’s what I want to know.”

“That’s what we all want to know, David,” said Uncle Richard, as he laid his hand now upon his nephew’s shoulder, the firm pressure seeming to send a thrill of strength and determination through the boy’s heart. “One thing is very plain – it could not have broken itself.”

“But don’t you think, Master Tom, as it might have gone down when you leaned over the wrapper?”

“Impossible,” said Uncle Richard quickly. “The glass was far too heavy, as we well know, eh, Tom? Here, let’s look out outside.”

He led the way through the open door, and round to the window beneath which the speculum had lain upon the bench, and examined the lately made flower-bed, in which various creepers had been planted to run up the wall.

“There’s no need to be in doubt,” said Uncle Richard, pointing; and Tom uttered an excited cry, for there, deeply-marked beneath the window were the prints of heavy-nailed boots, doubled – by the toes pointing toward the mill, and by the appearance as of some one stepping partly into them again.

“Are those your footmarks, David?” said his master.

“Mine, sir? No. Mine’s got tips on the toes. Look.”

He lifted one leg across the other, as if he were going to be shod by a blacksmith, showing that his soles would have made a very different impression upon the soft earth.

“Why, sir,” continued David with a smile, “I never leaves no footmarks. Natur’ meant a man’s hands to be used as rakes, or they would not ’a been this shape. I always gives the place a touch over where I’ve been.”

“Yes,” said Uncle Richard, nodding. “I have seen you.”

“You ayve, sir, many times,” said David, bending down; “and these here couldn’t have been made by Master Tom, anyhow.”

“Lend me your knife, David,” said Uncle Richard.

“Knife, sir? Oh, I’ll soon smooth them marks out.”