Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.


ANONYMOUS

THE MAID OF THE MILL

Cover Image

RGL e-Book Cover
Based on an image created with Microsoft Bing software


Ex Libris

As published in
The South Wales Echo, 10 January 1896

This e-book edition: Roy Glashan's Library, 2024
Version Date: 2024-12-17

Produced by Paul Moulder and Roy Glashan

All content added by RGL is proprietary and protected by copyright.



MR RICHARD WAREHAM, lying on his back on the grass under an elm tree, and dreamily smoking a good cigar, was about as near a realisation of his ideas of Utopia as he was ever likely to be. With plenty of money, unlimited time, and a feeling of unbounded satisfaction with his present position, Dick Wareham was happy. The half-gentlemanly, half-vagabond life which he had led all summer suited him exactly. His quarters at the inn in the village over the hill were comfortable, his portfolio was full of sketches, and trout had risen accommodatingly to his rod; but more than all, a thousand times better than all, he had found in this unfrequented, delightful rural region what he honestly believed to be the sweetest, prettiest, and most modest girl to be found in any country under the sun.

Whether or not he was in love with her was a matter which he had not in his own mind fully decided. When he first saw Dolly Morse he was startled at her prettiness, but nothing more. It was not until he had made several visits to Morse's mill, for sketching purposes, that Dolly's bright eyes began to haunt his dreams, and not until after that did he discover that, go which way he would, all roads eventually led, by some mysterious means, past the mill pond and the water-wheel. If he fished, the mill was sure to be in his way; if he sketched, what object more picturesque than the old building itself, with its adjacent dam, over which the water fell in a wide, thin sheet of silver? Sometimes he spoke with Dolly, sometimes she was invisible; and after a time he began himself to suspect that upon his seeing her depended whether the day had seemed bright to him, or profitless and dull.

And so a stranger knowing these things would have been at no loss to guess the subject of Dick Wareham's thoughts as he lay on his back, with his cigar, that lazy summer morning. But, whatever his meditations were, he was not long permitted to enjoy them.

"Ah, there you are!" exclaimed a rough, nasal voice near him. "I've been looking for yer."

Wareham raised himself on one elbow, and turned so as to face the speaker. He saw a low-browed, sunburned man leaning over the fence, and regarding him with a look of satisfaction. The new comer was unshaven, and clad in ragged shirt and trousers. His bare toes protruded from his boots, his head, with its dusky shock of hair, was surmounted by a brimless straw hat, and his lounging attitude, his grimy face and general appearance of shiftlessness, advertised him as belonging to that sect of philosophers commonly known as "tramps." Wareham had frequently met him. Sometimes in the tavern bar-room in the village, sometimes stumbling upon him, fishing in the brooks, sometimes finding him asleep in the shade. He had spoken with him but little, but had set him down in his own mind as one of those harmless ne'er-do-wells, common to every rural community.

"I've been a looking for yer," repeated the man.

"So you said before," replied Wareham, while blowing a wreath of smoke into the air. "Well?"

"The folks over to the tavern sent me ter hunt for ye. I told 'em I thought ye was down this way, near the old mill. Ginerally be, ain't ye?"

"What do they want, of me at the tavern?" asked Dick, shortly.

"Wall, yer hoss is in trouble. Got throwed in her stall, and broke her leg."

Wareham jumped to his feet instantly.

"What!" he exclaimed. "Bless my poor Bess! How could it have happened?"

"Dunno. Guess they'll have to shoot her. They're only waiting for you ter come ter gin the order."

"Poor, poor Bess," repeated Dick, leaping over the fence, and tossing the man a coin. "I'm much obliged to you, my man, for your trouble. Come with me. You may be of service."

"Wall, you go right on, and I'll follow. I've got rheumatiz in my leg, and hev to walk slow."

Wareham started off at a brisk pace, and the other followed, limping slowly. No sooner had Dick disappeared over the hill, however, than the man's manner instantly changed. His painful lameness disappeared, and a sudden energy took possession of his limbs, and turning quickly about, he walked briskly in the opposite direction; not toward the village, but directly toward Morse's mill.

Morse's mill stood in the hollow among the hills, where the highroad, taking a sharp curve to the east, passed directly across the dam. Weather-beaten and moss-grown, it was a most picturesque adjunct to the landscape. The portion of the building fronting the south was occupied by miller as a dwelling. Here, with his daughter, just budding into womanhood, Abner Morse had lived for many years. Popular belief gave him the character of a miser. It was impossible, so the villagers argued, that a man with so small a family to feed and clothe, and with so good a trade as Abner Morse, could be otherwise than rich. The common belief in his wealth was strengthened by the precautions taken to guard the buildings against marauders. The only door was of oak, iron-bound and riveted. The windows were barred with iron. Was it to guard his money, the people wondered, or his pretty daughter, that these precautions were taken?

It could scarcely have been for the latter reason, for Dolly was in no way restricted of her liberty. This sunny summer morning she sat in the open doorway, knitting a stocking of snow-white yarn. As she sat there, framed as in a picture against the dark background of the interior, she could scarcely have appeared, under any circumstances, more attractive to the passer-by. Her cheeks glowed with the hue of youthful health; the warm sunlight lay upon her light-brown hair; her red lips were parted in absorbing interest in her occupation; a tiny, slippered foot protruded from beneath her gown. All in all, she formed a most bewitching part of the scene which greeted the eyes of the ragged man as he turned the corner in the road, and came in sight of Morse's mill.

"Ah, James, is that you?" asked Dolly, looking up with a pleasant smile as the man paused before the door.

"Yes, it's me, Jim Billings," replied the other, doggedly. "All alone, ain't ye?"

"Yes; father's gone away."

"I know it; met him on the road. Going to be gone long!"

"No; he has only gone to the village. He will be at home this afternoon. You can see him then if you wish."

"Wall, p'raps I will," said Billings, looking up and down the road in either direction, and then turning once more to Dolly.

"Did—did you want him particularly?" asked the girl, noticing his apparent disinclination to leave.

"Well—er, no; but I'm desprit hungry, Dolly. Can't yer git a feller something ter eat?"

"Why, yes," exclaimed the good-hearted girl, "of course I will."

She went unsuspectingly towards the pantry, closely followed by the man. No sooner had he crossed the threshold, however, than he slammed the door to with his foot, and sprang like a tiger at her throat. So sudden was the onslaught, and so tight his grasp upon her neck, that she could neither struggle nor cry out. White with terror, she sank upon her knees.

"Now, girl," cried the ruffian, "where's your father's money?"

She tried to speak, and the man, seeing that she was unable to do so, let go her throat, and seized her by the wrists.

"If you scream," he said, "I'll kill you. Where's the money? It must be either that or your life, my pretty Dolly."

Through Dolly's brain the thoughts flew quickly. Her first paroxysm of terror over, she began to realise the necessity of subduing her fears and summoning all her wit and resolution. She was a brave girl, and, with her, to think was to act.

"Don't harm me," she said, "Father's money is in the oak chest in the attic."

"Ah!" exclaimed Billings. "Show me the way to it, and do you go afore me. It will go hard with ye if ye lie to me."

She tremblingly obeyed and led the way upstairs. The room at the head of the staircase was employed as a lumber-room. From this a ladder led to the attic, the entrance to which was closed by a trap-door in the floor. Though Dolly had lifted this door almost daily she failed to do so now, and sank back upon the ladder feigning exhaustion.

"The trap is too heavy for me," she said. "I cannot raise it."

With an oath the man pulled her down from the ladder, and placing his shoulder against the trap, raised it, mounted to the attic and held the door for her to follow. But like a flash Dolly had sprung through the door of the lumber-room, and had turned the keys in the great double locks, which, placed there as a safeguard against assault from without, now served to secure a prisoner within.

In vain did Billings, on discovering the trick, hurl himself against the door with the most frightful imprecations. The oaken barrier resisted his utmost efforts, and the windows were barred with iron. With no weapon or aid from without, escape was impossible.

Shutting her ears to the man's howls of rage, Dolly fled down the stairs, and out into the road. But she had not run a dozen yards before she heard a shrill whistle, and the voice of Billings calling from the window above—

"Cashel! Cashel! Stop the girl! I'm locked in! Bring her back and make quick work of her."

At the call a second ruffian sprang out of the bushes a few rods beyond, and ran towards her. Dolly turned about. Terror at this new danger lent speed to the poor girl's feet, and she succeeded in regaining the door of the mill, and closing it in the villain's face while his arm was stretched forth to seize her. She quickly shot the great bolts in their places, and stood for a moment with her hand upon her bosom, waiting for breath, and to consider what she should do next.

Her situation now was a strange one. Though the captor of the man upstairs, she was the prisoner of the man without. Both were now bent upon her destruction. Oh, that her father would return, or that someone would pass by, to whom she might cry for help! The man at the door seemed to be fully alive to the latter danger, for he called out to Billings to throw out the money, but this Billings resolutely refused to do. Finding himself unable to force the door, Cashel passed round the mill, seeking some means of entrance.

Dolly followed from one grated window to another, determined to keep him in sight if possible.

"If I had a gun ye wouldn't be very safe where ye are," he said, glaring in upon her through the bars.

Dolly looked at him, but made no reply. What would be her fate should he succeed in getting into the mill, she dared not think. All her courage, all her caution, all her wit, must be at her command now.

"I'll burn the mill!" he cried. "Perhaps that'll bring ye to reason."

But this proposition was greeted by Billings with such a yell of consternation that Dolly had little fear of its being put into execution. But even if, maddened by defeat, and enraged by Billings' refusal to trust him with the money, the scoundrel had actually carried out his cruel suggestion, the stout-hearted girl would have met her fate bravely, defending her father's property with her life, rather than permit it to fall into the hands of these villains. She saw that her own death was certain if the assailant gained admission, and she knew that her father would be robbed. It was to risk all against nothing, and she consequently held fast to her resolve to stay as she was while life remained, or until assistance could reach her.

The building offered no openings to the baffled ruffian except the single oak door, which was beyond his power to force. Yes, there was one, and that was suggested by his confederate at the attic window.

"The water-gate! the water-gate!" cried Billings. "You can get in through the wheel!"

Dolly heard the words, and her heart sank. It was true. By climbing down into the sluice, and under the shaft of the great wheel, the man could enter the mill through the machinery. With a yell of delight the villain proceeded to adopt the suggestion, and, with fast-beating heart the girl watched him until he had disappeared in the sluice.

It was then that a horrible thought occurred to her; but in it seemed to lay her only chance for life. She ran into the grist-room and seized the lever which controlled the water-gate. At ordinary times her strength would have been insufficient to raise it, but now her imminent peril gave her the sinews of a giant. Slowly the heavy bar was raised. She heard the rush of water as the gate swung open. The great water-wheel began to turn slowly; the cogs and gearing to groan; the large burrs to revolve. In a moment the mill was in full operation.

The poor wretch outside had succeeded in gaining the wheel before it began to move, and now clung to one of the arms, thoroughly and desperately frightened. Thrown head downwards at every revolution, and nearly drowned by the water which poured over him, he screamed and begged to be released from his rotary prison. The wheel went round and round, and with it went the unfortunate Cashel; but Dolly did not wait to listen to the oaths and imprecations with which he filled the air. With all speed she tore open the door and ran towards the village.

As she passed around the curve in the road her eyes fell upon two men walking towards her. With bounding heart she recognised them as Wareham and her father.

To tell her exciting story was the work of a moment, and then the strength which had sustained her through all suddenly left her, and she fell fainting almost before they could catch her in their arms.

The half-drowned Cashel was released from his uncomfortable position, and the two robbers were delivered into the hands of the authorities.

Wareham had found nothing the matter with his horse, the errand on which he had been sent being a cunning device of Billings to get him away from the vicinity. Suspecting something wrong, he had returned to the mill as soon as possible, bringing the miller back with him.

As for Dolly, she became the heroine of the region for miles around. Her courageous exploit passed into local history, and, though the events here chronicled occurred many years ago, and Dolly long since became Mrs Richard Wareham, she is best remembered among her old neighbours as Dolly Morse, the "Maid of the Mill."


THE END


Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.