CHAPTER II. THE SOLITARY WOMAN AND HER VISITOR.
[figure description] Page 013.[end figure description]
The young officer and the woman sat down
side by side on the bench, in the full light
of the beacon fire.
The light revealed his face and figure
clearly. He was about twenty-five; of slight
figure, but evidently active and powerful. The
face was bronzed by sun and wind. In the
black eyes, keen and piercing, could be read
force of character, and a courage as cool as it
was reckless.
They talked long and earnestly. The sailor
seemed to be narrating his adventures.
“And now, mother,” he at length said, “since
I have finished with myself, let us come to yourself.
You still keep up your beacon?”
“Yes, yes, my son!” was the reply, in French,
-- 014 --
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the language of their conversation. “Alas! it
is little to do in expiation of my sins.”
“Your sins?”
“My great sins. Do not bring them to my
memory. That beacon, you know, warns vessels
approaching the reefs. It has saved many
lives.”
“True, mother—mine among the rest. I
dared not look for a pilot, and your beacon saved
the corvette last year.”
“A whole year since year last visit!”
She gazed at him tenderly as she uttered these
words.
“Could I help that, mother? England and
France are enemies now, and the coast is
guarded. A frigate may blow my little corvette
out of the water at any moment.”
“But you come—”
“On secret service.”
“Tell me of it.”
He shook his head.
“That is impossible, mother.”
“And yet I tell you all!”
He looked at her with a smile, and then
shrugged his shoulders.
“You tell me nothing. What is it you have
ever told me? Stay: what brought you hither,
-- 015 --
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many years since, to this solitary spot? Why
did you leave beautiful France for this rock-bound
shore? Why do you live the life of a
recluse, going to the fishing village beneath
only once in many months to buy scanty supplies,
with the poor little gold I brought?”
Her head sank.
“True,” she said, “I have preserved silence
as to all this, but only because I was compelled
to do so. Believe me, Edmond, I have good
reasons for my silence.”
“And I too, my mother, for mine, namely,
my orders. So we will respect each other's secret.
Instead of speaking, I wish you to speak.
Is a certain Viscount Cecil in this neighborhood
now?”
“I do not know, my son.”
“A certain Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke?”
The woman turned her head suddenly.
“I believe so. But your business with him,
my son?”
The sailor uttered a short laugh.
“Merely to have an interview with him, my
mother.”
The woman shuddered.
“What is the matter, mother?”
“Beware of this man, my son.”
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“Beware of Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke?”
“He is a terrible person, they say; bloody and
cruel; and strange stories are told of him.”
“Ah! what stories?”
“Mysterious things are said to take place at
Westbrooke Hall. People speak of singular
noises heard there,—of groans; of great hounds
prowling around ready to tear down intruders.
More still,—it is said that a singular odor fills
the house.”
“A singular odor?”
“The smell of corpses.”
And the woman crossed herself.
The young sailor repeated his short laugh.
“That is mysterious, and curious, and I will
go and see for myself. Groans—hounds—
noises—the smell of corpses! That is queer,
and excites curiosity. But we have conversed
sufficiently of the excellent baronet. Besides,
I am in haste, my mother—I must leave you.
First, however, here is some gold.”
And he drew a heavily filled beg from his
valise, and placed it in the lap of the recluse.
“Do not refuse it,” he added; “it is honestly
earned; and money is a friend, mother—one of
the best in the world, and we should not repulse
friends. Now I must hurry. I have some
-- 017 --
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distance to travel to-night, and must change my
costume.”
With these words the sailor raised the valise,
and entered the door of the hut, leaving the
solitary woman still seated on her bench, in the
light of the beacon fire.
This light streamed through the small window,
and revealed a rush-clad floor, one hard
wooden chair, a low narrow bed, with a poor
but neat covering, and several exquisite engravings
of scenes in the lives of the saints.
In ten minutes the sailor reappeared. He
was scarce recognizable. His uniform had been
replaced by a handsome dark travelling suit of
English fashion; in one hand he carried a small
travelling satchel, and in the other what appeared
to be a bundle of rods about three feet in length,
wrapped in shining oil-cloth.
“You behold, my mother, the gentleman
tourist, Mr. Delamere,” he said, laughing. “Let
it be pardoned the captain, Edmond Earle,
sailor, if he adopts the name of Delamere—
de la mèr—as that to which he is best entitled
after his own.”
“And you will leave me, my son, so soon
after gladdening my poor old eyes with your
coming?”
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“I must, mother; but do not fear: I will soon
return.”
“But the danger.”
“Danger! Well, we are old acquaintances,
this same danger and myself. We have shaken
hands often, and I am not afraid of him.”
“If they discover you —”
“They will arrest and hang me as a spy?
Yes: but they will not probably discover me.
I speak English like a native; and before they
hang me, the town yonder will be blown to
atoms by my cannon.”
The recluse clasped her hands.
“Oh, my son! do not go.”
He laughed grimly.
“Be at rest, my mother: there is no danger;
and you will not behold that fine spectacle from
your headland, — the coast of this good Pembrokshire
raked by the guns of my corvette.
See! yonder is her light on the horizon. She is
standing out to sea. You do not see it? I am a
sailor, and see far. And now, farewell, my
mother. I will revisit you to-morrow night, I
think. Embrace me.”
And embracing the woman, the sailor set out
rapidly by a path which led down the mountain
side toward the interior.
-- 019 -- p517-024
CHAPTER III. THE GYPSY.
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A MILE southward from the headland
which we have described, lay the fishing
village of Oldport, an assemblage of
huts, many of them consisting of the overturned hulls of wrecked vessels, in which
lurked rather than lived openly a wild and lawless
class of men, half fishermen, half smugglers,
popularly known throughout the region as “The
Wolves.”
In front of a building of somewhat greater
pretensions hung a rude sign depicting a cat
with a bell around her neck. This was the inn
of the Cat and Bell, and on the day after the
scenes just described, a rickety old road-wagon,
answering in place of a stage-coach, deposited
at the inn the disguised French officer who had
entered the vehicle at a town some miles distant.
-- 020 --
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Announcing himself as Mr. Delamere, tourist
and amateur tront-fisherman, he dined; stated
that he expected to remain some days; and
taking from the oil-cloth case a jointed fishing-rod,
fitted it together, and strolled through the
village.
From the huts of the “Wolves,” curious and
threatening eyes were bent upon him, shining
under shaggy masses of hair. The wild animals
seemed to scent a popinjay in the well-clad
amateur of their own trade.
But Earle did not see the scornful glances,
or hear the threatening murmurs. He proceeded
toward a body of wood, from which
rose in the distance a great mansion of dark-colored
stone; gained the wood, through which
a stream ran, and rapidly following a path,
muttered, —
“This leads to Westbrooke Hall — which is
my object, since the worthy Viscount Cecil is
not in the vicinity. I must reconnoitre. This is
the path, I think —”
Suddenly he stopped. He had come upon a
group of gypsies; an old crone in a red cloak
bending over a blaze, two rougish-looking girls,
and a young man, black-eyed, black-haired,
lithe of figure, reclining at the moment between
-- 021 --
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the girls, and picking his white teeth with a
straw. He was a handsome young vagabond,
and his ragged clothes did not conceal a graceful
and vigorous figure.
No sooner had Earle made his appearance,
than one of the girls rose and hastened to him.
“Shall I tell your fortune, handsome
stranger?” she said.
Earle looked intently at the girl, shook his
head, and replied in a strange tongue which
seemed to produce an electric effect on the
group. The girls started, the old crone turned
her head, and the young man, rising to his feet,
exclaimed,—
“How! You speak the Rommanye Rye!
You are a brother?”
Earle replied in the same language, and the
young man looked at him with astonishment.
“You speak the pure unmixed Rommanye
Rye! Where did you learn it, brother, and
who are you?”
“I learned it in Portugal, brother,” responded
Earle, “and am one of the tribe by adoption.
Who I am, beyond that, is not important.”
The gypsy came up close to him.
“Yes, it is important,” he whispered.
“Why?”
-- 022 --
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“Because, if you are really a brother of the
Rommanye Rye,—and you needs must be, since
you speak our tongue,—I have something on
hand in which you can help me, and yourself
too.”
“What is it? and how will it benefit me?”
“There will be ten thousand guineas to
divide.”
Earle looked sidewise at his companion.
“A robbery?” he said, coolly.
The gypsy looked much shocked.
“Nothing of the sort, brother: the affair is a
strange one; but no robbery.”
Earle found his curiosity much excited by this
preamble, and said,—
“Well, tell me about it. I may be able to
assist you.”
The gypsy looked toward his companions, and
whispered,
“Not here or now.”
“When and where, then?”
“Do you see that spot yonder, where the
road skirts the dark pool, under the big rock,
covered with trailing vines, hanging down in
the water?”
“Yes.”
“Meet me there at midnight to-night. I
-- 023 --
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swear, on the faith of the Rommanye Rye, that
no harm shall come to you!”
Earle laughed.
“I am not afraid,” he said, “and I know that
oath is sacred. I only demur to the time and
place. I am at Oldport, and that is miles distant.
Midnight is the hour to sleep; why not
earlier and in a less secluded spot?”
“Because what I tell you must be told to you
alone; and that spot is the place to tell it.”
“Why?”
“You will discover.”
Earle looked keenly at his interlocutor. He
was evidently in earnest.
“You want my help?” said Earle.
“I must have help. None of the brothers of
the Rommanye Rye are at hand. You are a
stranger, but a brother. I will trust you.
What do you say?”
“I say I will be yonder, near the pool, at
midnight,” was the reply.
And they returned to the group who had
been eyeing them with ill-dissembled curiosity.
“This is a brother,” he said to the gypsy
girls. “There is no mistake about it.”
The black-eyed houries showed their
-- 024 --
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appreciation of the visitor, thereupon, by coming up
to him, locking their arms, browned by the
sun, around his neck, and kissing him with
ardor.
The sailor laughed, and did not decline the
ruddy lips. He then made a confidential gesture
to the young gypsy, declined the offered
supper, and went on, intent, it seemed, on
making the circuit of the Westbrooke Park,
until he reached the gateway.
This he soon found,—a huge arch, with
carved stone abutments,—and, dragging open
the ponderous affair, he entered the grounds.
They had been splendid, but were now returning
to wilerdness. Hares ran across the road
in front of the pedestrian, a deer disappeared
in a tangled thicket, and no human being was
seen, to indicate that the spot was inhabited.
All at once, Earle came in sight of a great
building of age-embrowned stone, apparently
dug from the neighboring quarries, with lofty
gables, ivy-covered, and long rows of windows,
close-shut, and giving no indication that the
house was occupied by the living, whatever antics
the dead might cut up, at midnight, in its
suites of deserted chambers. The great front
door was as closely secured, and a huge knocker
-- 025 --
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in bronze scowled fiercely through cobwebs.
In the circle in front of the portico, whose tesselated
floor was giving way, was a stone urn,
slowly crumbling.
Westbrooke Hall was not a cheerful spectacle.
Earle was looking at it, leaning, as he did so,
against a tree, when a rough voice near him
said, in a threatening tone,—
“Well, what is your business here?”
-- 026 -- p517-031
CHAPTER IV. THE ODOR OF DEATH.
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CHARLE turned quickly.
Standing near him was a man of low
stature, but herculean limbs, with a
shaggy beard, bloodshot eyes, over
which the brows were bent in a dark scowl,
and holding in his hand, finger on trigger, a
heavy carbine.
Beside him stood two large wolf-hounds,
ready to spring. The man with this ferocious
body-guard seemed reluctant to await Earle's
reply before firing upon him.
The sailor exhibited little surprise and no
fear.
“My business here?” he said. “Who are
you that ask that? The gamekeeper?”
“Yes—who are you? I am told that
-- 027 --
[figure description] Page 027.[end figure description]
suspicious characters are prowling about. Your
name and business here, or I carry you before
Sir Murdaugh!”
Earle reflected for a moment, muttering,—
“That would not be so bad.”
The gamekeeper cocked his gun, scowling
ferociously.
“Do you intend to answer me?”
“No.”
“Then come along before his honor. He
will find out who is prowling around his
house.”
Earle coolly nodded, and walked with the
man toward the mansion. Reaching the front
door, his companion drew from his pocket a
huge key, opened the ponderous door, which
grated on its hinges, and ushered Earle into a
funereal apartment, hung round with old portraits,
after which he disappeared.
The furniture was ancient and mouldy; and
to add to this depressing influence, Earle's attention
was speedily attracted by a peculiarly
acrid, offensive, and even sickening odor, which
he could compare to nothing but that issuing
from some vault or charnel-house.
In spite of his courage and buoyancy of temperament,
he shuddered. This funereal
-- 028 --
[figure description] Page 028.[end figure description]
mansion, full of shadows and mystery, affected unpleasantly
even the rough sailor. The dim eyes
of the portraits followed him, the brows
scowled, the terrible odor, which he perceived
now, came to perfect the depressing and melancholy
influence of the place.
“Really, I have blundered into a vault,” he
muttered. “Some corpse is going to glide in
at that door there, and clutch me by the
hair!”
Suddenly a harsh and metallic voice, almost
beside him said,—
“Your business here? How did you gain
entrance?”
Earle turned and saw before him a strange
figure. In the new-comer's appearance there
was something at once grotesque and terrible.
He was a man of about sixty; of great height:
gaunt, bony, with glittering eyes, deeply sunken
under heavy brows, and a nose resembling the
beak of a hawk. From the corners of a large
and sensual mouth, protruded two tusks, rather
than teeth. The result of this, was a permanent
and ghastly sneer, which put the finishing
touch to a physiognomy which excited at once
fear and disgust—the sentiment of the ridiculous
and the terrible.
-- 029 --
[figure description] Page 029.[end figure description]
He was clad in an old faded dressing-gown,
the sleeves of which were rolled up, and had
evidently not expected a visitor.
“Your business here?” he repeated, in his
cold, forbidding voice, the muddy gray eyes
rolling in their cavernous sockets.
Earle gazed at him coolly, and replied,—
“Your gamekeeper conducted me hither. I
say your gamekeeper, as I presume you are Sir
Murdaugh Westbrooke.”
“I am.”
As he spoke, the shaggy-headed Hercules
entered. His master turned to him with a
scowl.
“I ordered no one to be admitted here without
my knowledge—why have you disobeyed
me?” he said.
“It was long ago—I was wrong Sir Murdaugh,”
stammered the man.
“In future obey me,” grated the metallic
voice; “who is this—gentleman?”
The word seemed forced reluctantly from
him.
“I am a tourist,” said Earle, “travelling on
my own affairs. I came to look at Westbrooke
Park, and have been gratified with a view, also,
of the interior of your residence, sir,—in the
-- 030 --
[figure description] Page 030.[end figure description]
character of a vagrant brought up before your
honor.”
And Earle looked around him cooly. A
door led from the apartment toward the servants
quarters'—through folding doors, leading
to a second receiving room, a window was seen
open in rear, and through this window, the
foliage of the park.
“Good!” muttered the sailor; “that is all I
wanted to know.”
He rose and bowed.
“If I am not to be committed as a vagabond,
I will now take my leave, sir,” he said.
Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke, bowed stiffly.
“Before I take my departure, however, may
I ask one question, sir?” said the sailor.
“Ask it.”
“It may appear intrusive.”
“Ask it!” grated the voice.
“Since you so politely permit me, I will
venture to ask,” said the sailor, coolly, “what
the very peculiar odor I perceive here is due to,
Sir Murdaugh.”
The baronet drew back and seemed to freeze.
Only his eyes burned in their bloodshot
recesses.
“Your question is offensive!” he growled.
-- 031 --
[figure description] Page 031.[end figure description]
“Then it resembles the smell I perceive.”
And Earl snuffed up the air with manifest
disgust.
“I compliment you upon the power of your
imagination!” sneered the baronet.
“My nose is the organ affected, and I should
say that you have a corpse for a visitor at
present, sir,” said Earle. “But I grow really
intrusive now, and will take my leave. Good-evening.
Thanks for the hospitalities of Westbrooke
Hall. We shall probably meet again.”
And he bowed and left the apartment. As
he did so the baronet called,—
“Wilde!”
The shaggy gamekeeper was at the door, and
quickly made his appearance.
“Follow that man and find out where he
goes, and who he is—I do not like him.
There is something in his face and voice that
warns me to beware of him. Who is he?
You do not know? Why do you not know?
What do I employ you for? Go, I say,
and track him, and bring me word all about
him!”
The man, sullen but cowed, went out, and the
baronet looked toward the door through which
Earle had disappeared.
-- 032 --
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“If that man comes here again with his
talk about odors and corpses,” he muttered in
his harsh voice, while the yellow tusks protruded
threateningly, “I will make a corpse of
him!”
-- 033 -- p517-038
CHAPTER V. THE RENDEZVOUS.
[figure description] Page 033.[end figure description]
IT was nearly midnight: the moon had
risen about half an hour before, and its
pallid light revealed every feature of the
lonely and lugubrious locality fixed upon
by the gypsy for his rendezvous with Earle.
Nothing more gloomy and forbidding than
the spot in question could be imagined.
The road, or rather bridle-path, indicated by
the gypsy, ran along the steep banks of the
stream we have spoken of, and near a dark and
sullen-looking pool above which rose a huge
rock, festooned with spectral-looking vines, and
covered nearly with dense foliage. The stream,
merrily brawling on elsewhere, here dragged
its black and sombre current slowly along,
and deposited its froth and scum. Above
-- 034 --
[figure description] Page 034.[end figure description]
the pool a dead bough, gnarled and abrupt,
resembled the gaunt arm of some fiend
stretched out—beneath, on the sullen water,
the shadows assumed ghostly and threatening
outlines.
It was a spot to commit a murder, not to
hold a midnight interview in, save with the
kind upon some weapon. The very hooting of
a great-horned owl, buried in the leaves, sonnded
unearthly. The spot seemed given up to gloom
and the recollection, by the very inanimate
objects, of some terrible tragedy.
Precisely at midnight, a figure wrapped in a
cloak approached the great gnarled tree near the
rock hanging over the pool and the moonlight
clearly revealed the form of Earle.
“Well, I am here,” he muttered; “where, I
wonder, is my friend of the black eyes?”
“Here!” came from the shadow of the
rock.
And the gypsy advanced into the moonlight.
Earle advanced in his turn. Under his cloak
his hand grasped the hilt of his poniard.
They faced each other directly opposite the
pool; and the dark eyes of the gypsy, full of
wary cunning, were fixed upon the calm face of
Earle.
-- 035 --
[figure description] Page 035.[end figure description]
“I see you are a brave man, brother,” he
said.
“How have I proved that?” said Earle.
“By coming here at an hour like this,
alone.”
“That is no proof of my courage. You are
but one man—I am another.”
The gypsy laughed.
“And a cool one. Others might have refused
this meeting. This spot has a black reputation
in the neighborhood.”
“Why?”
“A man was tied to that tree, and lashed
nearly to death.”
“In deed!”
“And six feet from it, another was murdered,
and his body dragged to the pool yonder, where
it was thrown in, with weights to hold it
down.”
“How do you know that?”
“I saw it.”
“You saw the murder?”
The gypsy nodded.
“Why did you not denounce the murderer?
But doubtless you did so.”
The gypsy shook his head.
“I was too intelligent for that.”
-- 036 --
[figure description] Page 036.[end figure description]
“Too intelligent?”
“Yes.”
“Explain.”
The gypsy laughed again. It was a low, subtle
sound, like the hiss of a serpent.
“Why should I have informed on the murderer?”
he said. “No; I was too intelligent for
that! A man is murdered; his body concealed
in that black-looking pool; no one knows of the
murder save the man or men who committed
it, and a wandering vagabond of a gypsy who
chanced to be in the copse yonder, and witnessed
all,—and you ask now why the vagabond
did not go to a magistrate and tell all;
why he did not say, `I saw another commit
this murder.' No—I am acquainted with these
good English justices of the peace. They
demand a murderer where murder has been
done—what more natural than the arrest of the
vagabond?”
Earle nodded.
“You are right. And you held your
tongue?”
“Yes.”
“Knowing all?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me what happened. There is nothing
-- 037 --
[figure description] Page 037.[end figure description]
like understanding all the particulars of a given
event.”
“The story is short. I will conceal nothing—
for you are a brother of the Rommanye Rye,
and the oath of the brotherhood seals the lips—
you know that.”
“Yes.”
“What happened was this: There was a man
who had an enemy. That enemy met the man
one day at this spot, seized him with the aid of
a servant, bound him to that tree there, and
lashed him as men lash a hound. I do not
know why—enough that he lashed him till
his flesh was bloody. Then the two went
away and left him tied; when some passer-by
found him he was nearly dead.”
“That is a strange story,” said Earle; “and
this led to the murder?”
“Yes. The man who had been lashed got
well, and waited. One day he was riding
along this road just at dark with a mounted
attendant. He met his enemy—the one who
had treated him as I have described. I was
yonder in that thicket, as I told you. The
enemies met face to face, and he who had been
lashed smiled sweetly, held out his hand, and
said, `I forgive you; my punishment was
-- 038 --
[figure description] Page 038.[end figure description]
just.' At these words, the other held out his
hand in turn. A minute afterwards he fell
from his horse with a deep groan—the man
whom he had lashed had stabbed him to the
heart.”
“Good!” said Earle; “there is a regular
murder.”
“Yes. The man did not die at once, so his
enemy and the attendant dismounted and beat
out his brains. They then fastened rocks, with
their stirrup leathers, to the feet of the corpse,
and dragged it to the pool yonder, where they
threw it in, and it sunk to the bottom.”
Earle listened with attention.
“And you saw all this?”
“Yes.”
“And did not inform on the murderer?”
“No.”
“Then the murder remained unsuspected?”
“On the contrary, it was discovered at once.”
“How was that?—you interest me.”
“The murdered man had been followed by
a very fine blood-hound, a pet dog with him.
When he was stabbed, the dog leaped at the
throat of the murderer.”
“Brave dog!—and they did not kill him
too?”
-- 039 --
[figure description] Page 039.[end figure description]
“No: he escaped, and led the way afterwards
to the spot where his master had been murdered.
The marks of a struggle were found—
the blood-stains on the grass over which the
body had been dragged, and at last the body
itself, in the pool where it had been sunk.”
Earle reflected for some moments and then
said,—
“That is a singular history you relate,
brother, and yet your voice tells me that it
is true. Now, what is your object? To bring
the murderer to justice?”
The gypsy smiled.
“I should like to do so if I could, brother;
but I cannot, being a vagabond; and then, I
cannot afford it.”
“Afford it?”
“The secret is worth much money. Listen:
I go—that is, you and I go—to the man who
committed that murder and say, “Your life is
in my hand; you killed a man; pay me ten
thousand guineas as the price of my secresy?”
That is plain, is it not?”
Earle nodded coolly.
“Then we will divide the sum he pays us,”
said the gypsy.
-- 040 --
[figure description] Page 040.[end figure description]
“That would be liberal,” returned Earle.
“You consent?”
“That depends. We have used no names; let
us come to that. Who was the murdered man?”
“Giles Maverick, a prominent gentleman of
Pembrokeshire.”
“The murderer?”
“Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke.”
-- 041 -- p517-046
CHAPTER VI. SIR MURDAUGH'S MIDNIGHT VISITOR.
[figure description] Page 041.[end figure description]
HE had scarcely uttered the words, when a
low growl in the copse near them was
suddenly heard; and an instant afterwards
the gypsy sprung in the direction
of the sound, which resembled the noise of
rapidly retreating footsteps.
The gypsy followed with long leaps, like a
wild-cat in pursuit of his prey; but in spite of
all, the sounds became more and more indistinct,
and suddenly ceased. The concealed personage
had escaped.
Earle had remained motionless, leaning
against the gnarled tree.
In ten minutes the gypsy returned to the spot,
breathing heavily from his exertion.
“We have been tracked,” he said, hastily.
-- 042 --
[figure description] Page 042.[end figure description]
Earle nodded.
“I thonght so,” he said.
“You thought so?”
“Yes; that is to say, I feared as much.”
“Why?”
“I was at Westbrooke Hall late this evening,
and had a conversation with Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke.
As I went ont, I heard him summon a
confidential servant, or gamekeeper, whose name
is Wilde. The man followed me, hung around
the tavern at the village for an hour, disappeared,
I thought; but now I find that he is a better
hand at wooderaft than I am, a mere sailor.
He has tracked me, and overheard all.”
The gypsy knit his brow.
“You take it cooly, brother.”
“There is no reason why I should take it
otherwise.”
“He will inform Sir Murdaugh.”
“Of what?”
“Of all he has heard.”
“He has heard nothing.”
“Nothing!”
“We have been talking in the Rommanye
Rye,” said Earle.
The gypsy looked at him with admiration.
“That is true, brother,” he said; “and you
-- 043 --
[figure description] Page 043.[end figure description]
have a long head on your shoulders. Now what
is to be done?”
Earle reflected for an instant.
“The affair looks unpromising,” he said;
“but something may, perhaps, take place which
will guide you in your business. The night is
clear, we have some hours before us: why not
pay a visit to the park of Westbrooke Hall, and
try to discover, for one thing, whether I am mistaken
in thinking that the man Wilde has
tracked me? If I am right, he will return to
make his report. Through a window chink we
may overhear something; from a tree, which a
good sailor like myself can easily climb, we
may see something. Who knows? Let us try,
at least.”
And, followed by the gypsy, who evidently
regarded him with admiration, Earle set out
rapidly in the direction of Westbrooke Hall. In
half an hour, they were near the boundaries of
the park, which was encircled by a high wall.
As they drew nearer, they all at once discovered
a light vehicle, to which a single horse
was attached, standing in the shadow of the
wall, at a point where the stones had partially
fallen, and left a gap.
Through this gap two men were seen lifting
-- 044 --
[figure description] Page 044.[end figure description]
a third wrapped in a cloak, and apparently in
the last stages of intoxication.
“Stand up, my hearty!” said one of the
men, with a low laugh; “this way you have of
going and getting yourself as drunk as a beast
is not according to good morals, old fellow!
There! use your legs and come on. Sir Murdaugh
is waiting for you.”
“Be quiet, and hush your gab, mate,” said
the other; “who knows who may be prowling
about?”
“After midnight?”
“Yes. There are the gypsy people.”
“Well, they do hate Sir Murdaugh.”
“There, again. I have often warned you
about calling names; stop it! Bear a hand
there.”
“You are right, mate. Come on, aged inebriate!”
And the two men half dragged, half carried
the third along a path through the shrubbery,
toward the hall.
Earle and the gypsy followed, walking noiselessly
and keeping in the shadow.
As they approached the hall, a low growl from
a kennel, where a hound seemed to be chained,
greeted them, and a moment afterwards the
-- 045 --
[figure description] Page 045.[end figure description]
door of the hall opened slightly, and revealed
the figure of Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke, clad in
his long dressing-gown, and holding a light in
his hand.
Earle and the gypsy had reached the thicket
near which the former had encountered the
gamekeeper. In this they ensconsed themselves,
and could see everything.
Sir Murdaugh shot a keen glance in the direction
of the three figures.
“Make haste!” he said, impatiently.
“Come on, old gentleman!” muttered one of
the men to the one between them.
The figure staggered, and would have fallen
had not the two men held it up by main force.
As it staggered, the hat fell off, the cloak
dropped to the ground; and the light revealed
all.
The figure was clad in a shroud, and the jaw
had fallen.
It was a corpse.
-- 046 -- p517-051
CHAPTER VII. WHAT EARLE SAW FROM HIS HIDING-PLACE.
[figure description] Page 046.[end figure description]
EARLE laid his hand upon the arm of
his companion. On the firm lips of the
young sailor the moonlight revealed a
sarcastic smile.
“Look!” he whispered; “there is the sort of
goods in which our friend deals.”
“Yes,” said the gypsy, whose dark eyes were
fixed upon the face of the corpse. “Is it
another murder?”
“No.”
“What?”
“I will tell you when there is less danger
of being overheard.”
In fact, the two men carrying the corpse
had paused to listen. Something seemed to
excite their suspicion.
“What is the matter?” came in low, harsh
-- 047 --
[figure description] Page 047.[end figure description]
tones from the lips of Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke.
“I thought I heard a noise, sir,” said one
of the men.
“A noise?”
“In the thicket there.” And releasing the
arm of the corpse, the speaker took two steps
toward the spot where Earle and the gypsy
were concealed.
Earle laid his hand upon his poniard. The
hand of the gypsy in like manner stole beneath
his ragged jacket and grasped something—
a knife, probably. There was no possibility
of retreating. It was necessary, they
felt, to await the attack and defend themselves.
But the danger quickly passed.
“Nonsense!” came in same low, harsh tones
from the baronet; “all fancy! There is no
one there. It is one in the morning. Bring in
that!”
And with his long, lean finger he pointed
to the corpse.
The man returned, muttering something,
and again assisted his companion in dragging—
for they rather dragged than carried—the
body into the mansion. The lugubrious group
-- 048 --
[figure description] Page 048.[end figure description]
with their funereal burden passed through the
great doorway—it closed—save the glimmer
through one of the windows, there was now
no sign of life throughout the establishment.
“Well,” said Earle, “we have stumbled upon
something like an adventure. We did well in
coming to visit the park. There is nothing
like knowing the private affairs of a man you
are to have dealings with!”
“Hist!” returned the gypsy suddenly. I
heard a noise!”
“A noise?—Where?”
“In the wood yonder, behind the house.”
Both listened. All at once footsteps became
audible—the firm tread of a man, walking on
the thick turf, which gave forth a muffled and
dull response.
“He has arrived!” whispered Earle.
“Who?”
“The man who tracked me and overheard
what was said yonder—Wilde?”
“He will discover us!”
“It is probable, as he has one of the hounds
with him.”
“Where is the dog?”
As he spoke, Wilde appeared in the moonlight,
emerging from the shadow of the wood.
-- 049 --
[figure description] Page 049.[end figure description]
Beside him ran the great wolf-hound, nosing
and uttering suppressed growls.
“What is the matter?” the man was heard
to say in a low voice; “there is no one here,
Wolf.”
The dog continued his quest, uneasy, evidently,
and more suspicious than his master.
“Come here,” said Wilde; “you are losing
your time. The first thing is to see Sir Murdaugh.
Then we will come out and go the
rounds, Wolf.”
With these words he called the dog to him,
and they disappeared behind the mansion.
“Now is the time to get off,” whispered the
gypsy.
“No: now is the time to discover more,”
returned Earle, coolly. “Go deeper into the
thicket; no dog can find you there, if you lie
down and keep quiet. I am going to the maintop
to look out.”
And with a short laugh, which revealed his
white teeth, the young sailor emerged from
covert, crossed the moonlit expanse in front
of the house, and, climbing with the agility of
a cat, an enormous oak whose foliage brushed
the walls of the house, concealed himself
among the leaves.
-- 050 --
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From the lofty perch which he had thus
reached, and where he sustained himself by a
firm grasp upon one of the lesser boughs, the
young man could see into the establishment,
one of whose window-shutters was open.
The apartment into which he looked was not
that which had witnessed the interview between
himself and Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke. It was
a much smaller room on the left, plainly furnished.
In the centre was a great arm-chair.
Seated bolt upright in this chair, with grinning
teeth, was the corpse.
Sir Murdaugh was standing erect, candle in
hand. In his long dressing-gown, dark and
draping his person from head to foot, he resembled
a Roman augur, about to perform
some mysterious rite. His face was pallid, and
as he gazed at the body, the grin habitual
with him distorted his features, revealing
clearly the sharp tusks at the corners of his
mouth. His sombre glance seemed to gloat
on the lugubrious object. Earle shuddered
almost. The effect produced by the expression
of the pale face was that of the presence
of one of the deadly cobras which the sailor
had seen in the tropics—a mixture of fear
and loathing.
-- 051 --
[figure description] Page 051.[end figure description]
The two men had retreated, hat in hand, to
the door, and waited.
As Earle, from his hiding-place in the oak,
took in the details of this singular tableau, the
door opened and Wilde entered, followed by his
wolf-hound.
-- 052 -- p517-057
CHAPTER VIII. THE WOLF-HOUND.
[figure description] Page 052.[end figure description]
THE baronet and the shaggy Hercules
exchanged rapid glances.
Wilde made a slight movement of
the head in the direction of the two
men, and, as though comprehending at
once the meaning of this sign, Sir Murdaugh
Westbrooke pointed to the door, said something
to the men, and they disappeared.
Wilde then rapidly approached his master.
His face was dark and scowling. He spoke
rapidly, with animated gestures, pointing, as he
did so, in the direction of the pool near the
boundary of the park.
As he spoke, Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke's
face grew as black as night. His bushy brows
were knit over his snake-like eyes, and he listened
with unconcealed emotion.
-- 053 --
[figure description] Page 053.[end figure description]
The sailor, in his oak, uttered a low laugh.
“The worthy pair are discussing things,” he
said. “The man is telling his master of the
mysterious interview between the mysterious
stranger and the gypsy, at the pool. What will
result? Let us look on, since it is impossible to
listen.”
The interview continued for about half an
hour. Then the baronet was seen to point
through the window toward the front of the
house.
The sailor saw that gesture, and his marvellous
acumen told him that Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke
was informing Wilde of the supposed
noise heard by the men when bringing in the
dead body.
The Hercules turned quickly toward the
door. As he did so, he made a sign to the
wolf-hound, and the animal, as though understanding
perfectly, disappeared at a bound.
A moment afterwards, Earle's attention was
attracted by a low and continuous growling
beneath the oak. He looked down and saw
the dog coursing to and fro, and nosing the
earth.
By a strange instinct, the wolf-hound paid no
attention to the traces left by the men and their
-- 054 --
[figure description] Page 054.[end figure description]
burden. Something seemed to draw him irresistibly
toward the oak, in which Earle was concealed.
Every circuit which he made brought
him nearer; at last he reached the tree. His
nose rested for a moment upon the trunk, and
he snuffed at it in silence. Then his head rose,
his dark eye glittered in the moonlight. He
caught sight of Earle, half-lost in the foliage,
and uttered a long, continuous, and furious
bay.
As the deep and prolonged alarm issued
from the hound's lips, Earle felt that he was
lost. There was no possibility of remaining
undiscovered: the hound had descried him;
the hoarse bay could not be mistaken. It was
the sound uttered by animals who have discovered
their prey, and are furious to leap
upon it, and tear it limb from limb. Earle felt
that Wilde and the baronet would understand
all in a moment, and throwing a rapid glance
through the window, he saw that his fears were
well founded.
No sooner had the hoarse cry of the hound
reached his ear, than the man Wilde started
and turned toward the door.
Sir Murdaugh, who had gone toward the body,
turned as quickly.
-- 055 --
[figure description] Page 055.[end figure description]
Wilde pointed in the direction of the sound,
uttered some hasty words, and, drawing a hunting
knife from his girdle, rushed from the
room.
Earle saw that all was lost, unless he acted
with decision. He did not hesitate. The inmates
of Westbrooke Hall were persons, evidently,
who did not fear bloodshed, and were
apt to act without ceremony. His life would in
all probability pay the forfeit of his daring invasion
of the precincts, and without a moment's
hesitation Earle slid down the tree, passed from
bough to bough, let his body fall from the lowest
limb, and sprung upon the hound, who in
turn darted at his enemy's throat.
Earle felt the hot breath of the animal on
his face, and the sharp teeth touched his throat.
The struggle was desperate, but did not continue
long. Before the teeth of the hound
could close upon the throat of Earle, he drew
his poniard, plunged it into the animal's body
behind the shoulder, and hurling the dog from
him, rushed into the thicket just as Wilde
reached the spot, attracted by the last cry of the
dying wolf-hound.
The Hercules uttered a growl so savage that it
resembled that of a tiger. Drawing his knife,
-- 056 --
[figure description] Page 056.[end figure description]
he hastened in the direction of a rustling which
he heard in the thicket. Head down, like a
mad bull, he burst through every obstacle,
breathing heavily, uttering curses, his eyes glaring
with rage.
But the noise receded — ceased. Coming to
an open space, he saw through a vista two shadows
clear the park wall and vanish.
Earle and the gypsy had effected their escape,
and were lost in the great Westbrooke woods.
-- 057 -- p517-062
CHAPTER IX. HOW EARLE STAGGERED AND FELL, UTTERING A CRY OF TRIUMPH.
[figure description] Page 057.[end figure description]
A MORNING full of brilliant sunshine
succeeded the night in which the events
which we have just described took place.
It was one of those days of autumn
which seem to make of the dull earth a fairy
realm, all splendor, glory, and delight; when the
forests blaze in orange, purple, crimson, and all
colors of the rainbow; when the blue sky bears
upon its bosom argosies of white-sailed clouds;
and the sigh of the pines, the laughter of the
breeze, the long and musical murmur of the
waves, make up a symphony sweeter than ever
Mozart, Verdi, or Rossini dreamed.
From the fishing village of Oldport, St.
George's Channel was seen to roll its azure
-- 058 --
[figure description] Page 058.[end figure description]
waves in the fresh breeze; and these blue billows
as they reached the rocks in the small harbor,
and at the foot of the gigantic headland,
broke into snowy spray, which glittered in the
sunshine.
Dotting the restless surface, covered with
spangles, and growing more and more restless
and brilliant as the breeze freshened, were a
number of fishing-boats, with small triangular
sails, which the wind filled, driving the barks
rapidly before it.
As the morning drew on, the breeze freshened
still more and more, and began to blow
a gale; the fishing-boats were seen hastening
landward; then as they approached they were
tossed dangerously aloft; as they reached the
shore, and were dragged up and rescued,
the roughest water-dogs of the coast were
evidently well pleased to be ashore, and not
exposed in their small skiffs to the gathering
tempest.
One sail-boat alone was visible now, beating
up toward the headland.
This craft, even at a distance, was seen not
to be a fishing-smack, but a pleasure-boat, gayly
painted, and with ladies on board; for, as the
boat veered and danced on the waves, her
-- 059 --
[figure description] Page 059.[end figure description]
bright sides and the floating scarfs of women
were plainly visible.
The wind grew stronger every moment, and
in a group upon the strand, the rough “wolves,”
as the fishermen were called, watched the boat,
which careened dangerously as it flew onward,
making straight for shore.
“That much sail is enough to sink her,” said
a huge “wolf” in a ragged pea jacket, and with
hair growing down nearly to his eyes.
“The rudder is gone,” said a calm voice behind
the speaker.
The “wolf” turned round with a scowl. His
eyes fell upon the neatly-dressed figure of Mr.
Delamere, amateur fisherman.
“What are you a-saying there?” he growled,
contemptuously.
“I say,” said Delamere, otherwise our friend
the sailor, Earle, “that the rudder is gone, and
the man in that boat is a sailor, who is steering
her ashore with his brains, as he has nothing
else.”
A low growl came from the “wolf.”
“Look here, my hoppadandy,” he said, turning
to Earle and elenching his fist; “who are
you that come here to larn old sailors their
business?”
-- 060 --
[figure description] Page 060.[end figure description]
He advanced threateningly upon the young
man as he spoke. Earle did not move,
“Who are you?” shouted the “wolf,” raising
his arm to strike at him. “I'll smash your
headpiece if—”
The sentence was not concluded.
Earle planted his left foot three feet in advance
of him, followed rapidly with his right,
and as the ball of the foot touched the earth
his right fist darted out, backed by the whole
weight of his body thrown with it, and strnck
the giant exactly where the low shag of hair
terminated nearly between his eyes.
The “wolf” fell as though a battering-ram
had struck him.
But, rising, stunned and dizzy, he rushed at
his opponent.
In a minute he was down again. The rough
crowd, whose sympathies had all been with their
own representative, uttered a shout of admiration
at the amateur's science. It was plain indeed
that the slight stranger was a perfect master
of the art of boxing, and his adversary, in
spite of his size, was hesitating whether he
should renew the attack or expend his remaining
energies in violent curses, when a cry
attracted the attention of every one—a cry so
-- 061 --
[figure description] Page 061.[end figure description]
shrill and piteous that it thrilled through the
roughest person present.
Earle glanced quickly in the direction of the
cry, that is, toward the sea. That glance told
him all. The sail-boat had run before the wind
with the rapidity of a dry leaf borne onward by
the breeze—had nearly reached the land; but
at two hundred yards from shore had struck the
reef, capsized, and a man and two women were
seen clinging to the frail mast and the ropes,
which rose and fell and beat upon the threatening
surge.
The cry had issued from the women, and the
crowd was instantly in commotion.
A boat was launched, and two of the “wolves”
sprung into it. At fifty yards from the shore
it capsized, and the men only reached land
again by vigorous swimming.
A second attempt was made. In this case the
boat swamped at twenty yards from shore.
A glance toward the overturned sail-boat
showed that the strength of the young ladies—
for such they were now seen to be—was rapidly
deserting them. The waves beat them cruelly
in the face, and tore at them. The wind roared
at them, nearly wrenching the frail hands from
the mast. The man, clinging to the gunwale,
-- 062 --
[figure description] Page 062.[end figure description]
could afford them no assistance. In ten minutes,
it was plain, they would desert their hold, and
the surf would engulf them.
Suddenly, the crowd, who had been nearly
paralyzed, was seen to divide.
In the open space, Earle was seen, without hat,
coat, boots, waistcoat, or cravat,—a sailor in shirt
and pantaloons,—with a hatchet in his belt and
a rope the thickness of a man's finger tied
around his waist.
“Stand back!” his clear voice rang out.
And throwing himself into the boiling mass,
he struck out vigorously for the wrecked boat.
As he rose and fell like a cork upon the
waves, the crowd shouted, following him with
eyes of admiration. Every instant they expected
to see him disappear, and held their
breath as he sank in the hollows. As he rose
again, swimming like a giant, the roar of
voices sounded above the storm.
It is a splended spectaclo to see man contending
with the forces of nature. The sailor was
defying the sea lashed to fury. The waves
struck him with their huge hands, buffeting and
howling at him—and he went on. The spray
cut his face and filled his eyes, blinding him—
and he went on. Hurled into the hollows of
-- 063 --
[figure description] Page 063.[end figure description]
the billows, he rose like a leaf, cutting the
foam. The crowd hurrahed, and held their
breath, and ran into the sea, grasping the rope
affixed to the sailor's waist.
Suddenly a shout, which seemed to drown the
thunder of the wind, rose.
Earle had reached the boat and affixed the
rope to a ring in the ornamental headpiece.
Then he tore the rigging from the mast, bound
the young ladies by the body to the slight railaround
the deck; cut away the mast; and, rising
up in the water, waved his arm toward the
shore.
At that signal the crowd shouted, and began
to pull. The disabled craft obeyed the rope.
Rolling, tossing, rising, falling, groaning, creaking
in all its timbers, it approached the shore.
But the danger was coming. Within twenty
yards of land an enormous wave rushed at the
prey about to escape, and with one blow broke
the frail craft into a dozen pieces.
The young ladies disappeared, and a great
wave rolled over them.
Then they reappeared as suddenly. With
his hatchet Earle cut the ropes which secured
them to the pieces of wreck; the man of the
boat seized one, and Earle seized the other;
-- 064 --
[figure description] Page 064.[end figure description]
five minutes afterwards, the fishermen had rescued
the former; and then Earle appeared,
staggering, panting, struggling to reach dry
ground, the inanimate form of a girl clasped in
his arms.
The fishermen hastened toward him. A
great wave hurled itself—the last defiance of
the sea—in their faces, and forced them back.
But that wave drove Earle onward.
As it receded, he was on firm earth.
With his left arm around the girl, he raised
his right aloft as though waving his hat,
uttered a low cry of triumph, and, staggering,
fell upon the sand, his head upon the bosom of
the girl.
-- 065 -- p517-070
CHAPTER X. HOW THE SAILOR EARLE BECAME ONE OF THE “WOLVES. ”
[figure description] Page 065.[end figure description]
IN the afternoon of the same day, Earle
was about to issue from the hostelry of
the Cat and Bell, when a thundering
knock at his door made him turn quickly
toward a brace of pistols lying upon the
table.
“Has my good friend Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke
perchance gained an inkling of my real
character, and of what is in store for him?”
he muttered. And turning to the door,—
“Come in!” he said.
As he uttered the words, he cocked one of his
pistols, prepared for whatever was to come.
The door opened, and the huge “wolf” with
whom he had fought in the morning, entered.
-- 066 --
[figure description] Page 066.[end figure description]
His head nearly touched the low ceiling.
His countenance was a great mass of shaggy
hair. Low down on his forehead grew a similar
mass, and he resembled rather a wild animal
than a human being.
“I be come to see you, master,” said the
wolf.
“And who are you?” retorted Earle.
“My name be Goliath, master,” returned the
Anak, “and the wolves are waiting to catch you
up and make you one of us.”
Earle gazed at the speaker, and saw that this
man was a friend. If there was any doubt of
the fact, his next words removed it.
“I felt your hand to-day, master,” said
Goliath: “it is heavy, but I want to feel it
again.”
As he spoke, Goliath extended a paw as large
nearly as a ham, and half covered with hair.
“Good!” said Earle; “there it is.”
And he reached out his own. It was small,
bronzed, and had the grasp of a vice.
The giant winced.
“It hits hard, and it hits fair,” he said. “I be
sorry I quarrelled, master; but I am going to
make up that.”
Suddenly he turned up Earle's cuff. A blue
-- 067 --
[figure description] Page 067.[end figure description]
anchor was tattooed, sailor-fashion, on the white
wrist.
“I knew that,” said Goliath; “nobody but a
sailor would 'a' ventured as you did to-day.”
“Well, I am a sailor.”
“Which makes it all the better; you knocked
me down, and after that I would 'a' fought you.
You went out in the surf—and the 'longshoremen
are a-going to make you a wolf!”
As he spoke a loud roar was heard in the
street without,—evidently uttered by the
wolves.
Earle laughed, and muttered,—
“A strange life this of mine!—to be made
a chief of the Iroquois in Canada, and one of
the wolves in Wales!”
The roar was again heard.
“The wolves be waiting, master!” said
Goliath.
“Ready!” said Earle.
And walking beside the giant, he descended to
the street, where a great crowd of tattered, fierece-looking
and shaggy-bearded 'longshoremen were
gathered with intent to do him honor.
“Stop your howling!” shouted Goliath,
“and be orderly, will you!”
The roar ceased for a moment, but was
-- 068 --
[figure description] Page 068.[end figure description]
resumed an instant afterwards with fresh zest.
The noise seemed to excite the crowd. From
hoarse shouts they proceeded to action. Earle
suddenly found himself caught up, borne aloft
in trimph, and then his captors at the head of
whom was Goliath, surged into the low-pitched
common-room of the inn, where Earle was
placed upon a table in the midst.
At his side, on the floor stood Goliah, one
hand on his shoulder.
“What be your name, master?” said the
gaint.
A singular sentiment moved the sailor. Content
to assume a false name with indifferent persons
or enemies,—with these rough friends it
was different. Something uncontrollable within
him made him answer,—
“Edmond Earle!”
At that reply a man who had been seated in
a dark corner started, rose suddenly, and went
out of the inn. As he disappeared, one of the'
longshoremen scowled after him and laid his
hand on his knife. The man who had gone out
was Wilde, the emissary of Sir Murdangh Westbrooke;
and Earle, in thus uttering his real
name, had committed a terrible imprudence.
He did not see Wilde, however. The wolves
-- 069 --
[figure description] Page 069.[end figure description]
were admitting him, with rude ceremonies, into
the pale of their order.
A gigantic beaker of usquebaugh was first
raised to his lips; each drank from it in turn,
and then the residue was poured upon the
floor.
As the liquor fell from the beaker, Goliath
exclaimed, in his voice of thunder,—
“So the blood of all who hunt the wolves
shall be poured out!”
And clapping Earle on the shoulder,—
“From to-day you be a wolf, master!” he
said.
The wolves roared in approbation.
“Join hands!” thundered Goliath.
At the word the wild figures linked hands
and began to dance around the table. Earle
had never witnessed so strange a spectacle.
There was something at once ferocious and
grotesque in these ragged figures circling the
table in their mad dance. Three times they
thus whirled around him, and then the circle
broke and they again caught the sailor up on
their shoulders. All resistance was impossible.
He was borne forth and carried through the
streets in triumph.
When, an hour afterwards, he was realeased,
-- 070 --
[figure description] Page 070.[end figure description]
and woke as it were from this orgy of dream-land,
he saw Goliath standing beside him, and
heard the giant say,—
“You be one of us now, master; and woe be
to him who lays his hand on you!”
At the same moment the man Wilde entered
Westbrooke Hall, and hastened to the baronet.
“Well?” said the master.
“I have something terrible to report, sir!”
said the man.
“What?”
And the baronet rose, as if on steel springs.
“The person who visited you here last night,
sir—”
Wilde paused.
“Speak!” shouted the baronet, shaking him
by the coolar.
“Is—who would have believed it—!”
The baronet's hand passed to the man's
throat.
“Is—is—” muttered Wilde, in a half-strangled
voice— “Edmond—Earle!”
The baronet turned ghastly pale, and stared
at the speaker with stupefaction.
“Edmond—Earle!” he said in a low voice,
“the Edmond Earle?”
-- 071 --
[figure description] Page 071.[end figure description]
“The same, sir. There was something familiar
in his look.”
The baronet's eyes blazed.
“Then he is not dead, after all!”
“No, since we have seen him sir, and I have
heard him give his name as Earle.”
In a few words the man related what had
occurred at the inn.
“Yes—I see now—I was deceived,” said
the baronet in a low tone. “He is here—cool
and determined—ready, and he knows my
secret. Fool!—from this moment he is dead!
Dead men tell no tales.”
-- 072 -- p517-077
CHAPTER XI. ELLINOR MAVERICK.
[figure description] Page 072.[end figure description]
WHEN broken in upon by the wolves,
Earle had been preparing to take a
ride.
An hour after the ending of the ceremony
which inducted him into the band of
“wolves,” he mounted a horse procured at the
inn, and set out on his ride.
As he went on, a singular emotion agitated
him. The occasion of this was the name of the
gentleman and ladies whom he had rescued.
This name was Maverick.
Maverick! Could it then be the head of this
family whom Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke had
murdered? Had no steps been taken to discover
the criminal? Into what black mystery
was he, Edmond Earle, about to plunge? He
-- 073 --
[figure description] Page 073.[end figure description]
had received the warm thanks of the gentleman
and two young ladies whom he had rescued.
They had urged “Mr. Delamere,” in the most
pressing manner, to visit them at their home,
“Maverick House.” The road had been
pointed out to the sailor; and, emerging from
the fishing village, he already saw the mansion
on its lofty hill, about a league distant.
He soon reached the great gate, and riding up
an avenue, dismounted and gave his bridle to a
servant. Maverick House was ancient, but
cheerful and inviting. Dogs were basking in
the sunshine on the long portico, where the light
filtrating through variegated foliage threw its
twinkling shadows; and on the steps stood,
smiling cordially and ready to welcome Earle, the
gentleman of the boat, Arthur Maverick.
Arthur Maverick was a young man of about
Earle's age; thin, pale, and sad-looking, but
courteous and cordial. He welcomed the sailor
warmly, and conducted him into the mansion,
whose appointments were at once substantial and
elegant. In a cage a linnet was singing; old
dogs wandered about; and a lapdog, small and
hideous, which made him immensely valuable,
ran yelping to announce the visitor to the two
young ladies whose lives he had saved.
-- 074 --
[figure description] Page 074.[end figure description]
Ellinor Maverick, the eldest, was tall, with
raven hair and dark eyes, instinct with a subtle
fascination. The great eyes melted or fired; the
red lips, full and moist, curled satirically or were
wreathed with dazzling smiles; in every outline
of her rounded and supple figure there was
the superb beauty of the animal—the tigress
you were apt to think; and with only a slight
effort of the imagination you might fancy the
beautiful creature “in act to spring.”
Rose Maverick was altogether different.
About nineteen,—Ellinor was older,—slender,
brown-haired, with soft, violet eyes, and an exquisite
expression of candor and goodness,
Rose made children and old ladies love her,
and men take no notice of her. The latter went
crazy about Ellinor, and did not even look at
Rose. One was the dazzling sunlight, the other
the pensive moonlight. From the first moment
Earle's eyes were dazzled; and on his return to
the inn that night a strange throbbing of the
heart accompanied his recollection of the superb
Ellinor.
On the next day he went to Maverick House
again, and on the next, and the next.
He was fascinated. That term best expresses
his sentiment towards Ellinor Maverick. It
-- 075 --
[figure description] Page 075.[end figure description]
would be incorrect to say that he loved her;
he was crazy about her, and the great melting
or blazing eyes had wrought the charm.
At times his neglect of the important object
which had brought him to the coast of Pembrokeshire
weighed heavily upon his spirits.
Was he not criminally disobeying the orders
which he had received? Was he not neglecting
his sworn duty? Would not the crew of the
corvette wonder what had become of their captain,
and the boat at the secret rendezvous return
nightly to find him still absent, paying no
attention to his appointment? Earle asked
himself those questions, and gloomily shook his
head. Then he would find himself beside
Ellinor Maverick. All his depression would
disappear. Her golden smile would shine upon
him, and the dazzled moth would circle careless
around the light, drawing every moment nearer
to his fate.
It came at last. Nearly ten days had elapsed
since his first meeting with the young lady.
He had never spoken of his love in plain words,
for an instant, but now a little incident drove
him to that proceeding.
Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke was the occasion
of the denouement. Earle had well-nigh
-- 076 --
[figure description] Page 076.[end figure description]
forgotten the baronet, and the strange history relared
by the gypsy. Was the “Giles Maverick,
Esquire,” assassinated at the pool by him, a relative
of the family at Maverick House? He
had intended, often, to ask that question, but
something had always prevented. Either the
occasion was wanting, or his interviews with
Arthur Maverick had been interrupted; always
something had intervened to withould him from
ascertaining the truth.
At last the opportunity came. He was conversing
with Arthur Maverick one evening,
when the latter pronounced the name of Sir
Murdaugh Westbrooke.
Earle looked keenly at him.
“Are you acquainted with that gentleman?”
he said.
“Very well,” was the young man's reply.
“And he is a friend?”
Arther hesitated.
“No,” he said, at length.
Earlo observed a singnlar coldness in his companion's
tones, and said,—
“You do not like the baronet?”
“I feel some delicacy in replying to that
question,” returned Arthur Maverick.
“Why?” said Earle.
-- 077 --
[figure description] Page 077.[end figure description]
“Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke is a suitor for
the hand of my cousin.”
Earle started, and looked at his companion in
utter astonishment.
“Your cousin? Sir Murdaugh her suitor?
Who is your cousin, my dear Mr. Maverick?”
“Ellinor. I thought you knew that she was
not my sister, Mr. Delamere. She is the daughter
of my father's brother. On the death of
that gentleman she had no home, and came to
live with us here. You seem astonished.”
“No, no,” stammered Earle. “Sir Murdaugh
Westbrooke a suitor! and for the hand of —
why, 'tis monstrous!” And his face flushed.
“That is to say — may I ask you a question, Mr.
Maverick? You speak of your father's brother;
he is dead, you say. Your father also is dead,
is he not?”
“Some years since,” was the reply, in a low
tone.
“May I ask the cause of his death?”
Arthur Maverick's head sank.
“He was cruelly murdered, Mr. Delamere;
and in the most mysterious manner!”
“Ah! a murder, sir!”
“An infamous murder, by whom we have
never discovered. He left home one evening
-- 078 --
[figure description] Page 078.[end figure description]
on horseback, and his dog returned some hours
afterwards without him. It was a very intelligent
blood-hound; he is still living, old and almost
blind; and he led the way to a pool in the
woods, where my father's body was discovered.”
Earle remained for some moments silent.
Then he said,—
“And no clue has ever been discovered to the
murder?”
“None whatever. It is still wrapped in the
profoundest mystery.”
Earle nodded his head coolly, and said,—
“Pardon my intrusive questions, Mr. Maverick;
I see they agitate you, and I regret them.
To return to the worthy Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke,
your cousin's suitor. Does she smile
upon him?”
“I am afraid so.”
“You say that in the tone of one who regrets
a thing,” said Earle, whose heart suddenly sank.
“Is it possible that the baronet, an aged and
not agreeable person, I think, has succeeded in
the role of a lover?”
Arthur Maverick did not reply for an instant,
then he said,—
“We are not wealthy, sir. Ellinor has
-- 079 --
[figure description] Page 079.[end figure description]
nothing; and Sir Murdaugh is a person of great
possessions.”
“Ah! and hence he succeeds! Miss Maverick
barters her beauty against money. Pardon
my rudeness, sir; I am a sailor, and speak
without ceremony. Her preferred suitor! It
is monstrous! It cannot be! I will know the
truth!”
And leaving his companion abruptly, Earle
went with pale face and glowing eyes toward
Ellinor Maverick, who was standing near one
of the great windows in the drawing-room.
Her golden smile said “Come! you have
stayed away from me too long!” Her glance
was magnetic, alluring, almost passionate, and
seemed to pierce through him.
“Is Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke your suitor?”
he said. “Answer that question plainly, I pray
you.”
Her silver laugh rang out.
“Yonder he comes; why not ask him?” she
said, pointing through the window. “Strange
that you and he have never met before, Mr.
Delamere!”
-- 080 -- p517-085
CHAPTER XII. “IT IS TIME!”
[figure description] Page 080.[end figure description]
AFEW minntes afterwards Sir Murdangh
Westbrooke entered, clad as became his
rank, and grinning in his most attractive
manner.
At sight of Earle, however, he suddenly grew
livid, and the grotesque grin was succeeded by
a glance full of menace.
For an instant their hostile glances flashed
and corssed like rapiers. Then Earle regained
his coolness, continued to converse with Ellinor
Maverick; and that young lady's handsome
back was turned upon Sir Murdaugh.
The baronet's expression thereat grew venomous.
His demeanor toward Earle was a
mixture of apprehcusion and suppresed rage;
but no one noticed it — certainly not the fair
-- 081 --
[figure description] Page 081.[end figure description]
Ellinor, who leaned forward, resting her rosy
cheek upon her snowy hand, so as to exhibit
the charms of an exquisitely rounded arm, and
gazed at Earle with an air of deep and fascinated
interest.
That expression, in the eyes of a beautiful
woman, is dangerous. It had its full effect
upon the sailor. He felt his heart beat, and
the blood rushed to his cheeks. Through a sort
of haze he seemed to see an angel, or a devil,
he knew not which, whose eyes said to him,
“You did right to take me away from that
hideous satyr yonder. We are young. Love is
the only true life. Love me, and I will love
you, and be yours!”
When a commonplace question from Rose
Maverick broke the spell, Earle seemed to fall
suddenly from some fairy realm into the cold
world again. He turned quickly. Sir Murdaugh
Westbrooke was looking at him and
Ellinor with all the furies raging in his heart.
He rose — his visit had lasted less than an
hour, but it had seemed a century of torment.
Declaring stiffly that he had only ridden out to
take the air, and must now return, he bowed
low, shot a wrathful glance at Ellinor Maverick
and went out, accompanied by Arthur Maverick,
-- 082 --
[figure description] Page 082.[end figure description]
whose manner throughout the interview had
been perfectly courteous but also perfectly formal.
Two hours afterwards, Earle in his turn
mounted and directed his way toward the village.
His head was turning, almost. A passionate
scene had occurred between himself and the
fair Ellinor on the portico. She had magnetized
him, drawn him on, said “Come!” with her
eyes, and when he poured out his passion,
quietly laughed at him.
Ten minutes afterwards, he was riding away;
as he went he muttered to himself,—
“So that folly ends, and the end is fortunate,
perhaps. Earle the sailor is not to cast anchor
yet—so much the better; the wind is fair, and
there is fighting and sailing to do. Fighting?
Come! I think there was some question of that
once! I've been crazy, but am sane now; I was
dreaming, but am awake! To work, laggard!
and obey your orders. You came hither under
orders, and you are shirking your duty. Your
men await you nightly, yonder; act this night,
and leave the accursed land where you've fallen
into a woman's toils! Come! to work! Ah!
Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke, my dear assassin and
-- 083 --
[figure description] Page 083.[end figure description]
rival, beware! This very night I will lay a
heavy hand upon you!”
He was passing, as he thus muttered, through
a dark hollow in the hills.
“It is time, brother!” said a voice, “or he
will lay his hand on you!”
And the speaker advanced from the shadow
of a huge hemlock, beneath which he had been
concealed.
It was the gypsy.
-- 084 -- p517-089
CHAPTER XIII. THE MAN IN THE COACH.
[figure description] Page 084.[end figure description]
EARLE, startled for an instant in spite of
himself, by the apparition in his path,
quickly regained his coolness, and drew
rein to converse with his companion.
“You say—?” said Earle.
“That Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke is plotting
to destroy you,” said the gypsy. “I know it
from hearing the thing with my ears, brother.”
“Tell me all about it.”
And dismounting, Earle threw his bridle
over his arm, and walked on beside the gypsy.
“Well, I will do so, brother. Night is the
time to talk; and I think the stars yonder are
friendly to the brethren of the Rommanye
Rye. Here is the way I discovered all. I had
been to make a visit to Westbrooke Hall—”
-- 085 --
[figure description] Page 085.[end figure description]
“Not to converse with the baronet on that
business?” interrupted Earl.
The gypsy smiled in a manner which displayed
a double row of teeth.
“No, brother. To tell you the truth, I don't
like the thought of going there on that errand.
Some accident might happen to me; I might
be set up in a chair, opposite that other grinning
`old gentleman,' in the grave-clothes!”
“I understand,” said Earle.
“I had other business, and I succeeded in it,
brother. I had made a little plot against the
other wolf-hound. Some day, I said, I may
have to visit Westbrooke Park. Then the
hound will prove an ugly customer, and give
the alarm. Better act in time, and pay my respects
to his honor, the wolf-hound!”
“I understand,” repeated Earle.
“So I went to see this good watch-dog in his
kennel,” continued the gypsy; “and to make my
visit more acceptable, carried with me a piece
of fresh meat. This I threw to our friend, the
hound, just as he sprung out to give the alarm.
He gobbled it up instead of barking. I hid in
the bushes near, and in about fifteen minutes
the dog seemed to grow sick. Then he bit the
ground and tugged at his chain, and ended by
-- 086 --
[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]
rolling on his back, beating the air with his
paws, and then lying quiet.”
“Poisoned?”
“Yes, brother. He is not apt to trouble us
further. I saw that he was done for and hastened
to retreat from the park. When I reached
the great woods, I thought I was safe; but as
I was gliding through a thicket skirting the
main road, I thought I heard footsteps in the
undergrowth, and lay down listening. The
steps came nearer. From my covert I saw a
man, with a gun on his shoulder, pass within
twenty feet of me, and as he approached the
road I could hear the hoof-strokes of a
horse.”
“The baronet?”
“Yes. He was coming back, it seemed, from
a visit, as I soon found that he was in full
dress. The man who was his gamekeeper,
Wilde, had chanced to be going his rounds and
met him. The baronet stopped, and I could
see, through an opening, by the starlight, that
his face was pale and full of anger at something.”
Earle nodded.
“I can explain that. Well, you saw,—
doubtless you also heard.”
-- 087 --
[figure description] Page 087.[end figure description]
“Yes, brother, I was born with a great hankering
after finding out everything. I crawled
along, without making a noise, until I was
within a few yards of these good people, and
hiding in a clump of bush, listened. I had
torn my rags to worse rags, but what I heard
was worth the expense. I need not tell you
what they said; it amounted to this—that you
were to be waylaid and `got rid of.' That was
the baronet's phrase. As to me, I was to be
treated in the same way. You see he knows
we know his secret, and as long as we are alive
he is not safe. He is in a violent rage with
you at something, besides, which occurred to-night,
it seems; and, hearing the name,
`Maverick House,' where, it appears, you
were on a visit, I thought I'd warn you in time,
brother.”
“You did well,—forewarned, forearmed,”
said Earle. “Was anything more said between
the worthies?”
“They were interrupted.”
“By whom?”
“As they were talking in low tones, on the
side of the road, within a few feet of me, a fine
coach, drawn by four horses, came along, going
toward the Hall, and, as it passed, a gentleman
-- 088 --
[figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]
put his head out of the window, and said, `Is
not that Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke?'—`Yes,'
the baronet replied.—`I am the Viscount
Cecil,' said the man in the coach. And the
baronet bowed, came up, talked for some minutes,
and at last got into the coach, which rolled
away toward the Hall, Wilde having taken his
master's horse. Then I set off to find you; the
grass has not grown under my feet. What will
you do, brother?”
But Earle did not reply. A sudden glow had
come to his countenance.
“Are you sure you heard aright?” he exclaimed.
“The man in the coach gave his
name as Viscount Cecil?”
“I heard the name distinctly, brother. It
seems to interest you.”
“It does, I swear to you! And you heard
nothing more?”
“Only something about his having come
down to his estates, from Parliament, to see
the baronet on business, or something of the
sort.”
“Good! `Parliament,'—that is enough!
`Viscount Cecil,'—there can be no doubt. It
is he!”
“What do you say, brother?”
-- 089 --
[figure description] Page 089.[end figure description]
“Nothing. Ah, the man in the coach—the
man in the coach! That decides me. I might
have been weak—this makes me resolute!”
And turning to the gypsy, he added,—
“I am about to leave this country, brother.
Do not count on my co-operation with you, and
look out for yourself. One thing only I can
promise you: I think that I will rid you of your
enemy, Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke. All is
ready! To-night decides! Farewell, brother!
May the stars guide you!”
He uttered the last words in the gypsy
tongue, and made a salute peculiar to the fraternity.
Then, putting spurs to his horse, he disappeared
at full gallop in the darkness.
The gypsy gazed after him with an expression
of wonder, and then began running
in the same direction; that is, toward Oldport.
The village was not, however, Earle's destination
now. Once out of sight of the gypsy, an
individual whom he seemed to decline trusting,
he turned to the right, rode rapidly toward the
coast, reached the foot of the great headland,
on which we have witnessed his interview with
the sad-looking woman, and, dismounting, concealed
his horse in a thicket.
-- 090 --
[figure description] Page 090.[end figure description]
He then advanced upon foot, without losing
a moment, toward the spot where he had disembarked
from the boat, and following a winding
path, along narrow ledges of rock, came in
sight of the little indentation in the precipice.
The boat was awaiting him. There were
four men in it—they seemed to have just
arrived.
-- 091 -- p517-096
CHAPTER XIV. THE NIGHT MARCH, AND ITS OBJECT.
[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]
THE young sailor passed along the narrow
ledge, with the activity of a chamois, and
suddenly stood in presence of the boat's
crew.
All hands went to their hats.
“Welcome, Captain!” said one whose tone
was that of an officer; “you see we obey orders.
I was growing uneasy.”
“Thanks, Dargonne! Well, the time has
arrived. The affair will take place to-night.
Come ashore, order the men to follow us. I
see they are armed, as I ordered. Direct them
to make no noise and come on quickly, keeping
us in sight.”
Lientenant Dargonne, a small wiry-looking
-- 092 --
[figure description] Page 092.[end figure description]
personage, elad in plain clothes, like the men,
turned and communicated Earle's orders.
The men silently stepped from the boat:
attached it to a splintered rock by a chain, and
followed Earle and Dargonne, who passed back
along the narrow path by which Earle had
come.
Reaching the slope of the headland again
toward the interior, Earle went to the thicket
in which he had tethered his horse, untied the
animal, led him by the bridle, and, followed
by the sailors, made a circuit so as to avoid
Oldport, and approached Westbrooke Hall.
“The moment has come now, my dear Dargonne,”
he said to his companion, “to tell you
my project. I have not done so before, in obedience
to orders. A few words will explain
everything. France and England are at war.
In America the war has been barbarous, they say,
on the part of England, and it seems growing
as barbarous here. The English admiralty
have issued orders to their cruisers to descend
upon the French coast, whenever an opportunity
offered, and carry off persons of position and
influence to be held as hostages. This policy
has been adopted in obedience to the wishes of
the English party in power, and this party is
-- 093 --
[figure description] Page 093.[end figure description]
led in Parliament by Viscount Cecil, who made
a violent oration urging the policy I speak of.
His oration was reported in the English journals;—
these were transmitted to His Majesty, King
Louis; in consequence, the cruisers of His
Majesty have received orders to retort by descending
upon the English coast and carrying
off any persons of rank and importance whom
they can lay their hands on.”
Dargonne made a sign that he understood
perfectly.
“Blow for blow! That is only fair,” he
said.
“Entirely fair, my dear Dargonne; and now
to come to the work before us. When I received
the general order to land at any point I
thought proper on the English coast for the
object in view, I decided to visit the coast of
Pembrokshire, hoping to seize the Viscount
Cecil himself. I had already visited this coast,
as you know; and the viscount's large estates
lay near Oldport. I might find him at home
after Parliament, and that would be superb.
So I came, but soon found that the viscount
was still in London; then I planned the seizure
of a cousin of his, Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke.
I visited Westbrooke Hall to reconnoitre, and
-- 094 --
[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]
did so. Then the attack would have been
made—it should have been—but I have been
weak, Dargonne! No more of that—it is over!
I am Earle the sailor again, and will act like
him. I was to have made my attack on Westbrooke.
Hall to-night my object being to carry
off the baronet, the viscount's cousin. But
suddenly an immense piece of good fortune has
happened to us. The viscount himself has
arrived!”
“Viscount Cecil?”
“Himself—to-night.”
“The man who set the whole policy against
France in motion!”
“The very man. And think—we shall seize
him to night! He is at Westbrooke Hall!”
Dargonne clucked his tongue in a rapturous
manner.
“Magnificent!” he exclaimed.
“Is it not?” said Earle, his eyes sparkling with
joy. “Such an opportunity to win rank and
distinction is seldom offered to a privateersman.”
“Not in one hundred years, Captain! It is
splendid—unheard of. Viscount Cecil—not
only a Lord, but the man His Majesty hates!
We will be presented—thanked, at court. Jean
Bart will be forgotten!”
-- 095 --
[figure description] Page 095.[end figure description]
Earle made a gesture checking his companion.
“The work is not done; we may fail,” he
said.
“Fail?”
“May not succeed in seizing his lordship and
the baronet, for I aim to secure both. All
human affairs are doubtful.”
“This must succeed! What are the obstacles?
Are there retainers to meet our cutlasses—
dogs to alarm them?”
“Fortunately no dogs. The only one was
poisoned to-night and will not be able to announce
our approach. And as to retainers, they
are few. The viscount, and possibly the baronet,
will, however, make resistance.”
“A trifle.”
“Let us undervalue nothing, Dargonne. I
have succeeded and failed; but if I fail now, it
will be after exhausting every effort. The viscount
is at Westbrooke Hall—there it is through
the opening in the trees yonder! We will approach
without noise, and enter either by surprise
or escalade. If the viscount is captured, he will
be mounted on this horse—the baronet on
another from his own stables,—and they will
be conducted rapidly to the boat, thence to the
-- 096 --
[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]
corvette; and we will make sail for France,
and be out of sight of the coast by daylight.”
They had reached the wall of the park.
Earle threw the bridle of his horse over a bough
in a sheltered nook, and at one bound cleared
the wall, followed by Dargonne and the sailors.
As he did so, a shadow glided from beneath
an oak. At one bound Earle seized the shadow—
it was the gypsy.
“You hurt my throat, brother,” said the
gypsy.
“Ah, it is you! How did you come here?”
“I followed you, brother,” returned the vagabond
coolly; “and if you are willing, I will
help you in your work.”
Earle reflected for an instant. It was plain
that the gypsy had no motive to prove false to
him; and the presence of the men made it impossible
for him to escape and give the alarm if
he wished to do so.
“It is well, brother,” said Earle; “follow me
and obey my directions.”
The gypsy fell back to the ranks of the
sailors.
“See that the men make no noise now, Dargoune,”
said Earle, “and above all, that no firearms
are used. The attack will be made from
-- 097 --
[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]
the rear of the house, to prevent resistance and
an alarm. Let every one preserve silence and
follow me.”
As he spoke, they came to the desolate-looking
expanse immediately in front of Westbrooke
Hall.
-- 098 -- p517-103
CHAPTER XV. THE VISCOUNT CECIL.
[figure description] Page 098.[end figure description]
LET us precede the assaulting party, and
ascertain what was going on in Westbrooke
Hall at the moment when they
silently followed the path through the
woods to seize the coveted prize.
In the large apartment where the interview
between Earle and the baronet had taken place,
Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke and the Viscount
Cecil were seated, coldly conversing.
The viscount was a gentleman of commanding
appearance, and had once been handsome;
ill health, or some other cause, however, had
reduced a frame once powerful. It was an
invalid, almost, who talked with the baronet,
but an invalid of superb and commanding expression
and bearing.
-- 099 --
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“I have long desired to hold this interview,
but have been constantly prevented, sir,” he said
to the baronet, in a cold tone.
“Its object, my lord?” was the formal question
of the baronet.
“Family affairs; and to propose to you an
arrangement which may prove agreeable to
us both.”
Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke became more formal
and stiff than before. Two icebergs seemed
to have encountered each other; under the frozen
crust of these men's countenances no emotion
of any description was discernible.
“An `arrangement,' my lord? — you have an
arrangement to propose to me?” said the baronet,
with ill-concealed suspicion. “I listen, and
shall be glad to know of what character it is.”
The viscount remained for a moment silent,
his eyes fixed upon the floor; then he raised
his head and said in measured and formal
tones,—
“Permit me, in the first place, to state briefly
the relations we now sustain toward each other,
sir. That will lead to a clear understanding of
the offer I propose to make you. When the
last Lord Wentworth died, he was almost without
blood relations. Two young cousins, you
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and myself, sir, were the nearest, and were selected
by him to be his heirs. By his will, you
were to have the great Westbrooke property
here; I that upon which his lordship had resided
in this neighborhood. That is correct, is it
not, sir?”
“Wholly correct, my lord.” was the cold
reply.
“I will proceed, then, sir. There was a proviso
in the will, that if either you or myself
died without issue, the survivor should inherit.
Thus the entire property of Lord Wentworth
would remain in his family. That also is correct,
sir, is it not?”
“Entirely, my lord.”
“Well, now for my proposition, sir. I do not
propose to marry, and think it improbable
that you design doing so. Thus you will inherit
from me, or I will inherit from you: the
chance is even, perhaps. I am an invalid, but
one of those invalids who live longer than
strong men; and your age is greater by some
years than mine — in brief, I may survive
you.”
“It is possible, as your lordship says,” returned
the baronet, with his ghastly grin.
“Well, I propose a compromise; and I will
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be entirely frank, sir, in stating its object. A
great grief has rendered me lonely,—the death
of my wife,—a fact of which you are aware.
I am solitary and crave affection; thus I have
fixed my regards upon a young lady whom I
wish to adopt as my daughter. To this young
lady I wish to leave a portion of my property;
in fine, I propose, sir, to convey to you, now,
one-half my entire estate, if, in return, you
will execute an instrument settling the other
half on the young lady, to be her own at my
death.”
“The name of the young lady, my lord, if
you please?” said Sir Murdaugh, coldly.
“It is unimportant—I will withhold it for
the present. What say you to my proposition,
sir?”
Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke rose, with a grin
of unconcealed triumph.
“I say that circumstances render it impossible
for me to accept it, my lord!”
“Circumstances? Of what nature, sir?”
“I will be franker than your lordship. The
circumstance of my approaching marriage.”
“Your marriage?”
“Your lordship dwells upon the word
`your;' it is scarce polite.”
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The yiscount suddenly grew freezing.
“Your pardon, sir. It was, indeed, scant
courtesy. I will not further trouble you, save
to congratulate you upon your approaching
nuptials.”
The baronet bowed ironically.
“I can understand, sir,” said the viscount, in
the same tone, “that your parental anticipations
quite overturn my own views. Your children
may inherit my estate: so be it, sir. God has
so decreed it.”
Something like a convulsion passed over the
pale face. Then it resumed its expression of
lofty and commanding calmness, and the viscount
said,—
“Will you be good enough to order my
coach, sir? I will sleep at my own home to-night.”
As he uttered the words, the window in the
adjoining room was driven in by a heavy blow,
the sash was thrown up, and Earle, at the head
of his men, leaped into the apartment.
-- 103 -- p517-108
CHAPTER XVI. THE ATTACK AND PURSUIT.
[figure description] Page 103.[end figure description]
EARLE advanced with drawn sword toward
the viscount and baronet.
“Surrender, or you are dead!” he
said, presenting the point to the viscount's
heart.
The nobleman's reply was to draw his dresssword,
and lunge straight at Earle's breast.
But the sailor was far too powerful for him.
With a whirl of his weapon, he sent the dresssword
of the viscount spinning across the
room.
In spite of his disarmed condition, the viscount
continued to resist, and was with difficulty
secured.
“No harm is designed your lordship,” said
Earle.
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And he wheeled round to seize Sir Murdaugh
Westbrooke.
The baronet had disappeared, the explanation
of which was simple.
Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke, for reasons best
known to himself, had amused his leisure moments
by constructing in the wall of the aprtment
a secret door, which opened by means of
a spring and closed in the same manner. Was
the secret recess, or means of exit, intended to
be employed in the event of a sudden advance
by the officers of the law upon him? It is
impossible to say, but there was the means of
safety at hand, and the baronet made use of it.
Finding that the viscount was in the power of
the midnight assailants, Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke
determined to save himself. At one
bound he reached the wall, leaned against the
concealed knob, the door flew open, the baronet
passed through it, and the panel flew to again,
protecting, with its three inches of solid oak,
the fugitive from all further danger.
Thus the baronet had evaded him, but Earle
had secured the greater prize. The frightened
servants had fled at the first noise, and no opposition
was made.
“Now to gain the boat,” said Earle; “no
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time is to be lost, as the alarm may be
given!”
He made a sign and the great front door was
thrown open.
“Your lordship will please go with us quietly,”
he said to the nobleman.
And the party, with the viscount in charge,
passed out and hurried through the park.
They soon reached the spot where they had entered,
found the horse quietly awaiting them;
and Earle, with perfect courtesy, requested the
viscount to mount. He did so without uttering
a word. One of the sailors led the animal by
the bridle; Earle and Dargonne walked on
each side. The rest followed, and the cortege
set out rapidly in the direction of the coast.
When they had gone a hundred yards, Earle
turned to the viscount and said,—
“I beg that your lordship will have no apprehensions.
No harm will be done you, if
you make no resistance.”
“Very well, sir” was the viscount's reply, in
a cold and unmoved voice; “that at least is
gratifying. You have not asked for my purse,
I observe.”
Earle colored with anger, but suppressed this
emotion at once.
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“We do not wish to inspect the contents of
your lordship's pockets,” he said, stiffly.
“May I ask your object, then, sir, in committing
this extraordinary outrage upon my
person?”
“The object was to capture your lordship,”
said Earle calmly.
“To capture me?”
“Precisely.”
“For what reason? I am really curious to
ascertain the object which you have in view,
sir. You appear to be a person of good breeding,
if I may judge of your character by the
tones of your voice; and I need not inform
you that curiosity is most painful when left
ungratified.”
There was a coolness and nonchalance in the
viscount's tones which highly pleased Earle,
and made him respect his adversary.
“I compliment your lordship on your calmness,
and thank you for your good opinion.
The object of this little night attack need
not remain a secret. It is now unimportant
whether your lordship knows or is ignorant of
the meaning of every thing. We shall carry
you off, — it is probable at least, — and I trust
that the safety of my men will not require me
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to put your lordship to death. I should regret
that, and will not contemplate so painful a
catastrophe.”
“You turn your sentences charmingly, sir;
and now for your object in carrying me off?”
“It is my design to conduct you to France,
my lord.”
“To France?”
“To the court of his French majesty.”
“A prisoner?”
“Of state or war, as you choose.”
“Ah! I begin to understand. You retaliate
for the late order of the English admiralty
against French civilians!”
“Precisely, my lord.”
“Then this affair assumes quite another
aspect. Your name and rank? — you are a
French officer?”
“I am, my lord. I have assumed the name
of Delamere, but I am a captain in His Majesty's
navy, and my true name is Edmond
Earle.”
The viscount bowed.
“All this changes things greatly, and no
blame whatever attaches to you, sir,” he said
coldly. “I regarded you, very naturally, as a
bandit bent on plunder. I beg you to pardon
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that injustice, since you are an officer acting in
obedience to orders. Thanks for the information
thus communicated. I do not care to
know anything further.”
And the viscount relapsed into silence, busy,
it seemed, with his own thoughts.
Earle said no more, and the party proceeded
rapidly on their way. Following the road by
which they had come, they made the circuit of
Oldport; and then Earle hastened still more,
expecting every moment to hear or see something
that would give the alarm. Sir Murdaugh's
first thought after the disappearance of
the assaliants would undoubtedly be to arouse
the country — the audacious party might be followed,
and either captured or killed; all depended
now upon expedition; and Earle pressed
on at the head of his men toward the spot
where the boat had been left.
Suddenly the beacon light on the headland
shot up, and threw its ruddy glare around.
“What is that, pray?” said the viscount,
coolly.
“A misfortune, my lord,” said Earle; “at
least to us, for it will dissipate the darkness.”
And glancing at the beacon fire he
muttered, —
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“Why is that kindled to-night?”
He looked up. The appearance of the
heavens explained all. Across the sky drifted
rapidly black masses of cloud; and the hoarse
roar from the channel indicated that a storm
was approaching. Doubtless the solitary had
seen that, and kindled her beacon to warn vessels
off the headland.
Earle's brows were knit, and he hurried
on.
All at once, from an elevated point on the
coast south of Oldport, a piece of artillery
sent its long, hoarse thunder on the air.
“There is the alarm, my lord,” said Earle.
“Sir Murdaugh has not spared horseflesh and,
the revenue station has given the alarm.”
“Do you think there is a probability of my
rescue, sir?” said the viscount, with great
coolness.
“None at all, I am pleased to say, my
lord.”
“I will pay each one who takes part in
rescuing me, a thousand guineas,” said the
viscount, looking at the sailors.
Earle laid his hand on his pistol and
frowned.
“Will your lordship be good enough to
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forbear from further observations of that nature?”
he said, sternly, “If my men are
tempted again, I will blow out your brains,
my lord!”
The Viscount inclined his head, with unmoved
coolness.
“You are right” he said; “it was an indiscretion
under the circumstances! I will therefore
say no more, but await events.”
“You will do well, my lord. You will now
dismount, if you please. We are near the spot
where a boat awaits you.'
The viscount dismounted without objection.
Earle then hastened at the head of his party
toward the narrow path along the ledge of
rocks, leading to the spot where the boat was
awaiting him.
All at once the noise of hoofs was heard in
the direction of Oldport. Lights danced to
and fro. The gun had given the alarm.
“What noise, pray, is that?” said the viscount,
quietly.
“The mounted guard of the revenue
station — they have ridden well, and seem to
be piloted by some one!”
“The affair grows interesting!” said the
viscount, walking calmly beside Earle.
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`I think we'll get off with your lordship!”
was the cool reply. And turning round,—
“Lose not a moment!” he said to the men;
“the cavalry are on us!”
The sudden smiting of hoofs within two
hundred yards came like an echo.
“To the ledge of rocks!” cried Earle; “once
there we are nearly safe!”
The hoof-strokes were silent.
“Quick! they are dismounting!” cried Earle.
All at once the pursuers were seen passing
around a clump of bushes. They were following
on foot—about ten men under an officer,
and the gigantic plume of fire on the headland
showed them their game.
Earle knit his brows savagely.
“We will reach the boat or die fighting!”
he said. “Come, my lord!”
And he dragged the viscount on.
“There is then some hope of my escape?”
said the latter, coolly.
“None!” was Earle's stern reply. “I shall
probably have the great honor of—dying with
with your lordship!”
-- 112 -- p517-117
CHAPTER XVII. GOLIATH.
[figure description] Page 112.[end figure description]
The sailor had scarcely uttered these
words when a sudden darkness spread
itself over the landscape.
The beacon fire disappeared as though
a tempest had extinguished it. Had the wind
blown it out, or had the recluse heaped fresh
wood upon it in such quantities as to temporarily
smother the blaze? It was impossible to
say, but the light suddenly disappeared. Earle
and his party were completly concealed from
his parsuers.
The sailor uttered an exclamation of triumph.
“We are saved if the darkness continues!”
he said.
“The beacon seems extinguished, sir,” said
the voice of the viscount in the darkness.
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“Yes, my lord?”
“What does it mean?”
“Fresh wood or the wind, probably.”
“That is unfortunate.”
“Or fortunate.”
“You are right, sir. We look at things, very
naturally, in a different light. This path is
extremely narrow.”
“Your lordship runs no danger, holding
my arm. Come! our pursuers are nearly
upon us!”
“The revenue guard?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“They are pressing you close, captain. Is
it your intention, if I may ask, to blow out
my brains rather than lose me? I ask from
mere curiosity; only to know what is coming.”
“You are a brave man!” was Earle's reply.
“No! a thousand times no! I am ordered
to seize you, not to murder you!”
The viscount nodded.
“You say I am brave—I say that you
are an offieer and a gentleman. Now I will
await the sequel. I have little further solicitude.”
“And yet you are in very great danger.”
“What?”
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“Your friends may fire on us, and kill you!”
As Earle uttered the words a voice eried
“Halt!” and a shot was heard.
The sailor staggered.
“You are struck!” exclaimed the viscount.
“Yes, my lord—and badly hurt, I think.
But no matter!”
“I swear I regret it!”
“Thanks!”
“Surrender! I give you my word of honor
you shall be treated as an officer captured on
honorable duty.”
“Surrender? never!” gasped Earle; “I will
die fighting before I will surrender!”
And clutching the arm of the viscount, he
dragged him violently toward the boat.
The pursners were rushing upon them with
loud shouts. The darkness hid them, but the
noise of their footsteps on the rocky ledge
betrayed them.
Earle dragged the viscount on. They reached
the boat.
“Make haste! make haste, Dargonne! Every
instant counts!” cried Earle.
And pushing the viscount without ceremony,—
“Enter the boat, my lord,” he said, sternly.
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“Then I am not to be resened after all, it
seems,” was the philosophic reply of the viscount
as he stepped upon the boat.
The men leaped after him and Dargonne followed.
“Come, Captain!” shounted Dargonne.
As he spoke, the foremost pursuers rushed
on Earle. He felt a hand upon his throat.
Then something like a heavy thump was heard
in the darkness, and the man who had seized
Earle was hurled back as by the blow of a bludgeon.
A second dull thump followed, and a second
was prostrated in the same manner.
Earle staggered to the boat which had not
moved.
“Put off, and return for me!” he exclaimed.
“Never!” Dargonne cried.
“Obey!” said Earle, imperiously. “It is I
who give orders here!”
Dargonne bowed his head. Discipline conquered.
He made a sign, and the boat flew a
dozen yards from shore.
“Row, row!” cried Earle; “they are about
to fire on you!”
A volley came like an echo, and one of the
oarsmen uttered a cry of pain.
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“Row!” cried Earle a second time; and the
boat darted toward the open sea.
The sailor turned then to face his enemies,
resolved to die as he had promised he would.
But suddenly a voice near him said,—
“I have knocked down the foremost! Run
up yonder and you be safe, master!”
It was the voice of Goliath, the “wolf.”
“You?” said Earle.
“I came ahead, thinking it was smugglers,
meaning to fight for 'em, master. It be you,
which is better. You be a `wolf.' There is
the path.”
He spoke hurriedly and pointed to the path
leading up the cliff. Suddenly, shouts close at
hand indicated that the main body of the pursures
had reached the spot. Earle had just time
to rush behind a rock and up the path when the
ledge swarmed with his enemies.
He hastened on up the steep path. His
wound was bleeding profusely, and already his
strength was nearly exhausted.
He tore open the bosom of his shirt, and
bound up the wound in the best manner possible.
But the linen was almost instantly saturated
with blood.
Earle staggered on.
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His head began to turn; and more than once
he came near falling.
Still he continued the painful ascent: the
strength of his powerful will alone seemed to
sustain him.
At length, he had nearly reached the summit,
where stood the hut of the recluse. The path
wound around a ledge jutting over the sea.
As Earle tottered along this path, on the very
edge of the dizzy precipice, the beacon fire shot
aloft suddenly—a great pillar of flame.
Earle looked seaward. Half a mile from the
headland, the boat containing the viscount was
seen rapidly making for the open channel.
“Safe!” the sailor muttered, “they will soon
reach the corvette.”
And he tottered on up the broken pathway,
his bosom heaving, his sight failing him.
A few more steps, and he reached the summit.
Before him was the beacon and the hut.
The solitary woman was seated on her bench.
Earle staggered toward her.
“Mother!” came from him in a low murmur.
A moment afterwards he had fallen, lifeless,
nearly, upon the bosom of his mother.
-- 118 -- p517-123
PART II. THE BLOOD-HOUND.
[figure description] Page 118.[end figure description]
CHAPTER I. HUNTED.
SINCE the events just related more than a
month had passed.
Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke was seated
in his library at Westbrooke Hall—
cold, grim, gloomy, and knitting his brows,
under which rolled, in their cavernous sockets,
the threatening and bloodshot eyes.
“To think that he should have escaped!” he
muttered; “and some day he will reappear—
I feel it—and destroy me by uttering one word.
What devilish accident ever threw him with
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that gypsy whom I have been hunting in
vain? That vagabond, no doubt, witnessed
what took place yonder, while prowling in the
woods.”
He half shuddered.
“I am standing on a volcano!” he added in
the same hoarse growl. “At any instant I may
be destroyed. Not by the gypsy: no one would
credit the statement of a worthless vagrant
against Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke; but he—his
statement—that is different. He is bold, determined;
a man of character, and can ruin me if
he chooses. He will return hither; that girl has
made him her slave. Oh! to find him! to drive
a bullet through him! to seal his lips by pistol
or poniard, and at one blow insure my safety,
and what is almost as important—!”
He turned round suddenly. Hurried steps
were heard in the corridor. He started to his
feet, turned pale, and his eye fell upon a brace
of pistols lying on the table.
Wilde entered, or rather rushed in.
“You?”
The baronet drew a long breath.
“What is the matter?”
“Something important, your honor!” exclaimed
the gamekeeper.
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And in hurried words he explaimed the cause
of his abrupt entrance. We shall sum up his
communication in a few words. Knowing his
master's anxiety to ascertain all in reference to
Earle and the attack on the hall, he had exerted
himself to the utmost in his character of spy
and secret emissary. Lurking and listening at
the Gat and Bell, and keeping his eyes as well
as his ears open, he had managed on this day to
ascertain the fact that Earle was wounded on
the night of the attack. He had then examined
the ground where the embarkation on the boat
had taken place; observed the path up the
precipice; ascended it; concealed himself
behind a rock; seen Earle through the window
of the hut, and hastened back to his master with
this highly important intelligence.
It acted like a blow.
The baronet started to his feet, and exclaimed,—
“At last! this removes every danger at
once!”
“He is a desperate man, sir,” said Wilde.
“We must take a party with us.”
“Right, I'll send a note to the officer commanding
at the revenue station.”
And sitting down, he hurriedly wrote,—
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“Sir,—Information has just reached me
that the leader of the party who attacked my
house some time since, and carried off the Viscount
Cecil, is now lurking on the coast, at a
point not far from Oldport.
“As the attack on my house was a personal
grievance, and the abduction of my cousin, the
Viscount Cecil, another, I offer to take command
of a party to arrest the chief of the bandits.
If you approve of this, send the men to Westbrooke
Hall without delay. Loss of time will
probably defeat the object in view.”
This note he signed, sealed, and dispatched by
Wilde himself.
Three hours afterwards the man returned, at
the head of half a dozen mounted men. The
shades of evening approached. It was the best
hour for their project. Without a word, Sir
Murdaugh Westbrooke mounted his horse, and
made a sign to Wilde to do likewise. Then
they set out, followed by the men, over nearly
the same path which Earle and his party had
pursued, which enabled them to avoid Oldport.
Wilde had made this suggestion.
“Better not pass through the village, sir,”
he said; “the wolves do not like you, from your
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[figure description] Page 122.[end figure description]
activity in arresting their friends the smugglers.
More than this—he is one of them. They
made him a wolf in regular form a month or
more ago. They will warn him or resist you;
for they are capable of anything.”
“You are right,” returned Sir Murdaugh in
a low tone; “lead the way by the safest road.
There must be no failure—and listen, Wilde!”
He sunk his voice still lower.
“This man must not be arrested!”
Wilde returned the meaning glance.
“He must die!”
The man nodded.
“I understand you, sir; better give your
orders.”
The party were following a bridle-path
through the woods. Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke
truned to the men.
“Let every man pay attention!”
All eyes were bent on him.
“The man we are in pursuit of is a desperate
character. If he makes the least resistance, kill
him. You will know if he resists by my firing
upon him. At that signal, every man aim at his
heart!”
The men were regular soldiers, and accustomed
to obey orders without dispute. Their
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[figure description] Page 123.[end figure description]
heads moved in assent; and, directing them to
follow him at the distance of twenty yards, the
baronet rode on with Wilde.
“This is better, after all,” he said in a low
tone, with a gloomy and lowering frown; “this
man must die for more reasons than one. He
knows what will destroy both you and me—he
stands in my way yonder at Maverick House;
and there is still another reason, as I need not
tell you, which makes his death necessary.”
He paused a moment, and added in a still
lower tone.
“Let him die, then! And there is no reason
to spare him. He is an enemy of the country,
and has committed burglary and abduction.
His life is forfeited to the law. He will hang
for what he has done. But before he hangs he
will speak, Wilde!—he will speak, do you hear?
And then it is you and I who will mount the
gallows after him.”
Wilde's expression of countenance was one of
much disgust at this announcement. The word
“gallows” seemed to have a sickening effect
upon him. He shuddered.
“Your honor is right. There is nothing to
do but shoot him down. I have my carbine
ready; and he will not get off.”
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“Good!”
And the baronet rode on in silence. The
party made the circuit of Oldport, keeping in the
shadow of the woods. Evening gradually drew
near, and just at sunset they reached the forest
on the slope of the headland, from which it was
easy to gain on foot the path leading up the
precipice.
“Dismount and follow me,” said the baronet,
addressing the men.
And they silently dismounted, tethered their
horses, and followed the baronet and Wilde.
The gamekeeper rapidly led the way along
the ledge to the spot where the boat had awaited
Earle. They did not look out toward the channel
upon which the mists of night had descended.
Had they done so, they might have perceived a
small boat vigorously rowing towards the headland;
and on the horizon of water, a dusky sail
beating up in the same direction.
Both escaped the attention of Wilde and the
baronet.
“It was here that the viscount was brought,”
said Wilde, “and our man escaped up that path.
Better tell the men to be quiet. I will lead
the way, your honor.”
“Do so.”
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He followed Wilde, and was followed in
turn by the men.
As they ascended the steep and dangerous
path, the last red beams of the sun died away in
the channel mist; and the moon, a great crimson
wheel, was rolled into the eastern sky above
the fringe of the savage looking evergreens on
the horizon.
“Did he go up this path after being wounded?
It is hard to believe that,” muttered the baronet.
“There is the proof of it.”
And Wilde pointed to blood-stains on a
rock.
“He must have leaned against that rock;
and he went this way, or by some other, as I
saw him yonder.”
“Yes, yes! Come, we are losing time!”
And he hastened after Wilde up the dangerous
pathway.
“Who is this woman with whom he has taken
refuge?” he panted.
“A strange character; a sort of solitary.”
“I have heard of her.”
“You will see her soon. There is the hut.”
And Wilde pointed to the cabin of the recluse.
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In a few minutes they had passed the dizzy
ledge near the summit, and just as the last light
of day was dying away from the headland, the
baronet, at the head of Wilde and the men,
rushed upon the hut.
In a moment they reached it, and the baronet,
pistol in hand, threw himself against the door.
It yielded and flew open. The baronet raised
his weapon.
But all at once his arm fell, and he staggered
back as though a heavy blow had struck him. By
the last light of day, it could be seen that his face
had grown livid. Crouching, his mouth half
open, and displaying in full relief the hideous
tusks at each corner, with eyeballs starting from
his head almost, and a cold sweat bursting forth
upon his forehead, he was gazing at the solitary
woman, who, erect, cold, and with her eyes
fixed intently upon him, stood stiffly in the centre
of the apartment.
“You!” exclaimed the baronet, in a voice
nearly stifled by fear or astonishment. “You!
Is it a corpse I see? You! Then you are not
dead!”
“I am alive, as you see,” returned the recluse,
in a cold and unmoved voice.
Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke recoiled, gazing
-- 127 --
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at her with an air of stupefaction. In spite of
his self-possession, he trembled.
“You!” he repeated. And he drew a long,
deep breath, as though something were pressing
heavily upon his breast.
“I, and I alone! He whom you seek is not
here.”
The baronet glanced around. It was utterly
impossible that any one could be concealed in
the cabin.
“Good!” he said. “That matter can wait,
then. I see you know on what errand I came.
I, in my turn, wish to know how it is that you
are alive, and what brings you here?”
He turned to Wilde.
“Go with the men to their horses. I will
soon rejoin you.”
Wilde inclined his head, and went with the
party in the direction indicated, only he took a
path leading down the slope toward the interior,
not that by which they had come.
“Now for much in a short space,” said the
baronet, looking sidewise at the woman.
It was an evil look, and his hand was on his
pistol as he spoke.
“Neither of us know how long we may live,”
added the baronet, with a gastly grin; “and be
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fore we die it will be as well that we should
have a short talk together, madam.”
“I listen, Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke,” said
the recluse, seating herself composedly.
“Your manners remain as lofty as ever, I
perceive, madam.”
“It is natural, since I am Lady Westbrooke,
sir.”
“True, madam,” came with an ominous
scowl from the baronet, who remained standing.
“I had lost sight of—or forgotten the fact that
you are my wife.”
-- 129 -- p517-134
CHAPTER II. THE BARONET AND THE SOLITARY.
[figure description] Page 129.[end figure description]
The solitary woman gazed at him with
perfect coolness and even with curiosity.
“You no doubt regret the fact that I
am Lady Westbrooke, sir,” she said; “but
that is the truth, nevertheless. It affords me
little gratification to claim the title, but I cannot
discard it. We meet to-night for the first
time for twenty years nearly; and a bad errand
brings you hither. Better that you had not
come—”
“And intruded myself upon your ladyship!
Well, perhaps you are right; but I have little
time at present. Answer me: how and when
and why did you come to live in this wild
spot?'
“Many years since.”
-- 130 --
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“Your object?”
“To prevent you from committing a great
sin.”
“Thanks, madam, for your pious guardianship;
but may I beg to be informed what sin
you allude to?”
“A second marriage during my life—the
life of your lawful wife,” was the calm response.
Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke's countenance assumed
an expression utterly hideous at these
words.
“Ah! that is the sin which you kindly propose
to prevent me from committing, madam?”
he growled.
“It is.”
“You are a hypocrite! You came hither
with some other object!” he half shouted.
This sudden rage brought a defiant flush to
the solitary's pale face.
“You charge me with lying, then?” she said,
coldly.
“Yes: deception is your element.”
“This to me, from you! That is wonderful,
sir, and well-nigh surpasses belief.”
The words seemed to still further increase
the rage of the baronet, and his glance grew
-- 131 --
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terrible. More than once, a sudden clutch on
the weapon in his grasp seemed to indicate a
mad desire to remove then and there this obstacle
from his path.
But his fury had no effect upon the woman:
she remained cold and composed.
“Listen, Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke,” she
said. “You charge me with deceiving you, and
coming hither with some covert and unworthy
object. Do you think my past life—an unhappy
life—supports that idea? What was
that life, and what did you make it? I was
a happy girl in the village of Martigny in Normandy,
as gay as the roses blooming under our
bright French sun, when one day there came to
my father's house in the village, a young Englishman.
Chance brought on this visit, and my
wretched beauty—they said I was beautiful—
did the rest. My father, an officer of the navy,
was absent, and my old aunt watched over me.
You were that young Englishman, sir. You
won over my aunt; you became enamoured of
me; you would have made me your victim, if
I had not been too ignorant even to understand
your base hints; and in the end, when you found
that I was unassailable, you were mastered by
your passion for me—you proposed for my
-- 132 --
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hand, and my aunt forced me to marry you.
The ceremony took place: I became Lady
Westbrooke.”
The baronet grinned hideously. The yellow
teeth protruded like the tusks of a wild boar.
“You narrate with extreme elearness, madam,
and recall the happy days of my life. Yes,
I, an Englishman of rank, married the daughter
of a poor sea-captain. He was lost at sea,
nearly at the moment I married you. Thus
you were a mere pauper, having nothing beside
his pay. Well, what next, madam?”
The face of the solitary flushed hot.
“This it is to be a person of `rank,' sir! You
taunt a poor woman with her poverty—you
hint that I was designing, sir. I loathed you
at the very moment, when I placed my hand in
yours; my aunt compelled me to marry you.
French girls have no word in these arrangements.
Yes, my poor father was dead—would
he had appeared and forbidden the terrible
sacrifice I was forced to make.”
A sneer settled on the baronet's face.
“Well, all this is interesting, madam,” he
said, “but not very important. Oblige me by
coming to the events which brought Lady
Westbrooke to this crag on the coast of Wales.”
-- 133 --
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“I will gratify your curiosity, sir,” the recluse
said, coldly, “and tell you everything without
reservation. You had married me for my face
merely, and six months afterwards were tired
of the face. You began to treat me badly—
wearied of the quiet of the old house in Martigny
where we had lived since the day we were
united. In the end you began to quarrel; you
treated me cruelly, and laughed in my aunt's
face, when she wished you to take me to your
own house and acknowledge me publicly as
Lady Westbrooke. That enraged my aunt; but
I had a much greater ground for melancholy.
You were a Protestant, I a Catholic. I had
thus married a heretic, and the union, in my
eyes, was sinful.”
“Which led you, my dear madam, to desert
me—”
“Just as you were on the point of deserting
me. Yes, sir.”
“Well, you are right, madam; I acknowledge
that my married life had grown cursedly wearisome.
I was thinking of leaving you and your
doll face, and had even prepared to do so. It
was a coincidence—two fond spouses mutually
plotting in secret to desert each other.”
The woman preserved a disdainful silence.
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“Think! the affair was really comic!” added
the baronet, grinning. “You watching me,
and I watching you; each afraid that the other
would discover the secret; each fearing detection,
pursuit, and a renewal of the hateful union,
while each in reality thirsted for the separation.”
“Have you finished, sir?” said the recluse,
coldly. “If so, I will continue.”
“I have finished, madam,” returned the baronet,
with a bow of mock respect, “and shall be
glad to hear the rest of your ladyship's interesting
narrative.”
“It shall be communicated in few words, sir.
You were cruel to me; treated me with contempt;
more than once were near striking me;
in addition to which you were a heretic, and I
was perilling my soul's salvation by listening in
silence to your sneers at our holy church.
Then I prayed for guidence from heaven, and
something said to me, `Leave him: he will
destroy you.' I accordingly fled from Martigny.”
“And on the very day, that I went in the
opposite direction, as I afterwards learned,
madam!”
A burst of sombre laughter accompanied
these words of the baronet.
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“It is well, sir,” was his companion's reply;
“then the sin I committed, if it be a sin, had
that palliation at least. I left you, very miserable,
but carrying with me some consolation,—
the child who had come to prove a solace to me
in my wretchedness. I went to a distant relative's;
the boy grew and loved me; he was
placed in the marine, became a man, won his
way to the command of a ship by his courage
and high character; then I came hither, fearing
that you would be led to commit a great sin,—
the sin of marrying a second time during the
life of your lawful wife.”
The baronet grinned.
“Why not, your ladyship? Intent makes
sin; and I have not sinned in intent! Did I
not believe that you and the boy were lost at
sea? That was your device, was it not? You
conveyed that intelligence to me?”
“I did, sir. It was a sin; but committed to
avoid a greater one,—that of remaining with
you; and had you believed me and the boy
alive, I feared you would pursue us, and force
us back.”
“And destroy your soul's salvation, my pious
spouse.”
“Yes; mine and the boy's. I did evil that
-- 136 --
[figure description] Page 136.[end figure description]
good might come of it. You were a heretic
and a vicious man; you blasphemed our holy
church; had you forced me to return, I should
have been compelled to listen to that daily,
and worse still, you would have corrupted and
poisoned the heart of the child. So I originated
and had conveyed to you that report of our
death. Years passed. I had lied to prevent a
terrible impiety; but then came the thought,
that my pious fraud would lead you to this sin.
You thought me dead; you might marry again;
it was my duty to prevent that. So I came
hither and watched you, sir; not from love, —
I never loved you, — but from a sense of duty.
You did not suspect my presence here, but I
was near Westbrooke Hall and must have heard
of your intended marriage. I have lived poorly;
have waited: but for accident you would not
have discovered me.”
The voice was silent.
“Well, you have related an entertaining history,
madam. A misalliance, desertion the solitary
life of a recluse on a storm-beaten crag,
where your only amusement, I am informed, is
to build beacon fires, in the intervals of watching
over the morals of your dear spouse, — what
could be more romantic, more touching, and
-- 137 --
[figure description] Page 137.[end figure description]
ilke the story-books! And may I ask your
future intentions, madam?”
“To remain where I am and live as I have
lived, sir.”
“Ah!”
And the baronet's face grew dark.
“Suppose, in spite of all, I should contract
marriage with some second fair one?”
“You dare not!”
“Ah! I warn you I am a tolerably daring
person, madam!”
“You will not marry, because you would
thereby commit the legal offence of bigamy.
The law of God might not restrain you — the
law of man would punish you.”
“You round your sentences charmingly,
madam; but I beg to remind your ladyship of
one fact, — that you are supposed to be dead,
and even are such on your own authority.
Why, then, should I not marry? Widowers,
however sad, marry.”
“You will not marry, for a good reason,
sir.”
“What is that, madam, will you please in
form me?”
“Because the marriage of Marianne Earle
and Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke, baronet, is
-- 138 --
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recorded in the parish register at Martigny, in
Normandy!”
The baronet started, and turned pale.
“Fool that I was to forget that!” he
muttered; “it is incredible how men will
blunder!”
Then looking at his companion sidewise, and
with a wary glance, —
“What you say is very true, madam, and I
have not the remotest intention of becoming
a bigamist,” he said.
A keen glance accompanied the last words.
The recluse seemed neither to believe or disbelieve
them.
“And now to end our interesting conversation,
madam. You propose to remain here until I
marry?”
“Or I die.”
“That would be sad; and as a Catholic you
would doubtless confess yourself to a priest?”
“Yes.”
“Revealing your true name?”
“My name and whole life.”
“So that if I should unfortunately be married,
my marriage would be shown to be illegal?”
“Yes.”
“It is well,” he said, with the spirit of
-- 139 --
[figure description] Page 139.[end figure description]
murder in his low voice; “and now for a last point.
Where is that boy?”
The recluse looked intently at him.
“Be at rest — you mean him mischief, unnatural
father! but he is beyond your reach.”
“Where?”
“I will not reply!”
“Beware how you defy me!” he said, advancing
a step toward her.
“I fear you not!”
“Answer!”
“I will not!”
He seized her wrists furionsly.
`Reply! or —!”
“Kill me, if you please!” said the woman,
coldly, and exhibiting no signs of pain. “Do
you think I value my life? I despise your
threats and violence, and will tell you nothing,
though you murder me!”
She wrenched her hands from him.
“Go!” she said, rising to her full height;
“the boy has never wronged you. It is I, if
any one, who should suffer.”
“And I swear you shall!” howled the baronet;
“at present I have that to attend to. I
will not give up the search yet. I go now,
but beware of me when I return!”
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With these words he hastened from the hut,
and rapidly descended the path taken by Wilde
and the men.
In ten minutes, such was his haste, he reached
the clump of trees in which they waited beside
their horses.
“Mount!” he ordered.
The men threw themselves into the saddle.
The baronet and Wilde rode in front, at full
gallop.
“He is at Maverick House!” said the former,
hoarsely; “and to-night may end that matter,
Wilde. But I have other work for you! Be
ready to set out for France at daylight.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You were at Martigny with me — you remember?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, listen now to my instructions, and see
that you obey them to the letter. If you succeed—
a thousand pounds sterling! If you fail,
find some other master. Now listen!”
And in rapid words he gave the man his instructions
as they went on at full gallop.
As the baronet ended, Maverick House glimmered
before them in the moonlight a quarter
of a mile distant.
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[figure description] Page 141.[end figure description]
“The time is near!” he said; “no faltering,
Wilde! this man must die!”
And turning to the men,—
“The desperado we are in search of is here!”
he said, “and ready to resist. At the signal
from me, fire on him! Shoot him down—a
hundred guineas to the man who kills him!”
-- 142 -- p517-147
CHAPTER III. WHAT ONE WOMAN IS CAPABLE OF TOWARD ANOTHER.
[figure description] Page 142.[end figure description]
AN hour or two before, Ellinor and Rose
Maverick had issued forth, and strolled
over the russet lawn, to enjoy the mild and
caressing airs of the autumn evening.
It was what is called “St. Martin's Summer.”
The breeze was soft, and fanned their foreheads
like the zephyrs of spring. The cutting blasts
had not whirled the brown leaves from the
trees. The year was going to his death in his
trappings of golden sunsets; mists curled
around the headlands; the moonlight, mixing
with the orange tint in the west, slept serenely
on the charming landscape.
The two girls had wandered some distance in
the shrubbery.
-- 143 --
[figure description] Page 143.[end figure description]
The superb beauty of Ellinor was unchanged.
Her dark eyes sparkled with satirical wit, her
lips curled with irony, and the magnetic glances
kept for the male sex had given way to an expression
best described as “spiteful.”
Rose was much altered. The delicate carnation
of her cheeks had disappeared. She walked
over the russet turf with slow and languid
steps. It was the pale flower of autumn beside
the dazzling rose of summer, and the summer
flower seemed to be amusing herself at the expense
of the autumn primrose.
“What a very romantic affair! Who would
ever have believed it?” said Ellinor, satirically.
“The elegant and high-born Miss Rose Maverick
in a love-sick condition about an unknown
adventurer!”
Rose turned her head impatiently, and a
slight color came to her pale cheeks.
“I have already told you, Ellinor, that it was
unpleasant to me to be spoken to in that manner,”
she said.
“I don't believe it!” was the reply. It is not
unpleasant, my quiet little cousin! You are
proud of your romance. Come, confess! are
you ashamed of your—well, of your friend
ship for the handsome Mr. Delamere?”
-- 144 --
[figure description] Page 144.[end figure description]
“I am not,” said Rose, firmly. “He saved
my life, as he did yours. We owe him friendship,
at least—”
“And love? Ah! you wince, my pretty
cousin. Your blushes betray you.”
Rose Maverick drew herself up with some
hauteur, but made no reply.
“Oh! there is your fine air again, my Lady
Disdain!” snarled the fair Ellinor. “If you
are not in love with him, why have you drooped
like a flower when the frost comes, ever since
that night when he disappeared so mysteriously?
Before, your spirits were excellent, and
I think the goody old people, if not the men,
liked you much better than they liked me, preferring
your “sweet smile, full of native goodness,”
one of them said, I remember, “to my
brilliant glances.” Well, where is the sweet
smile? Why do you sit for hours in sad musings?
Why have you lost all interest in your
flowers, and even forgot to feed your linnet
yesterday? I reply that you are in love—in
love with the interesting unknown!”
Rose had turned with an offended air to
re-enter the house.
Ellinor followed, goading and snapping at
her.
-- 145 --
[figure description] Page 145.[end figure description]
“Deny it, if you dare, my romantic cousin!”
she said.
Rose made no reply. She walked quietly toward
the house, her companion beside her, and
laughing maliciously.
“Now you really ought to have taken pattern
by my insignificant self,” went on her tormentor.
“The late interesting Mr. Delamere had
the bad taste to prefer me to you. I am penniless,
only a poor girl, but he honored me by his
attentions; in spite of which I remained quite
heart-whole and not in the least romantic about
the handsome stranger. Oh, he said a number
of things to me! Did I never tell you that before?
He looked at me in such a way! He
told me at last—but here I am becoming indiscreet.
If he did not kiss my shoes, and lay
his neck down for me to place my foot upon, it
was only because he saw that I was too proper
a young lady to encourage a strange adventurer!
There is the blush again, and this time
it is an angry blush. Very well, but this is
true. He would have knelt down quickly
enough, if he had hoped I would raise him up
in my arms! And what he did do was something!
He—”
“I am weary of all this,” said Rose, stung to
-- 146 --
[figure description] Page 146.[end figure description]
the quick. “I wonder you take such pains to
prove that you are heartless, Ellinor. You are
witty and brilliant, you think. Other persons
would call your wit ill-temper.”
The words went home and aroused in the
ironical Ellinor a good old-fashioned fit of pure
anger.
“Ah, there you are, my fine cousin!” she
cried. “You treat me, as usual, to moral and
scriptural abuse. Thank your ladyship! But'
tis enough for the present. I'll go home now
and hear the rest of the sermon on another occasion.
Thank you!—I am `ill-tempered'!
Oh, yes! And all because I refer to what
everybody is speaking of! I say what everybody
is speaking of, madam!—your lovesick
state of mind all about this unknown stranger,
Mr. Delamere! The very neighbors laugh at
it! You have no pride, they say. They wonder,
as your family wonder, that you should
thus honor a person of unknown position and
blood, that ever since he disappeared in that
mysterious, and, I must say, very suspicious
manner, you should have mourned him and
cried about him, and loved the very chair he
sat in! That is all I have to say, madam! `Illtempered'!”
-- 147 --
[figure description] Page 147.[end figure description]
And the fair Ellinor tossed her head in superb
wrath.
“I'd like to know what I have said to expose
myself to that insult!” she added. “ `Illtempered'!
and all because I laugh at your
infatuation about an adventurer!”
“Mr. Delamere was not an adventurer!”
was Rose's cold response.
“What, then, was he? this charming stranger,
whose amateur fishing excursions terminated so
mysteriously, and so very suspiciously.”
“I see no mystery and no ground for suspicion
in his disappearance,” was Rose Maverick's
response. “You know as well as I do, Ellinor,
that he has been missing since the night of the
attack on Westbrooke Hall, when the Viscount
Cecil was carried off. It is nearly certain now,
as you know equally well, that this attack was
made by a party of Frenchmen from a vessel,
in the channel, and that their object was to abduct
persons of rank to hold as hostages.”
“Pray what has that to do with it, if I may
address a question without offence to your
ladyship?”
“Simply this. Mr. Delamere was returning
from his visit here to Oldport, on the night of
the attack. On the next morning he had disappeared,
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[figure description] Page 148.[end figure description]
and his horse was found grazing in the
fields. Nothing further is known; but it is certainly
reasonable to suppose that he too was carried
off,—since his dress, demeanor, and all
connected with him, you will not deny, indicated
that he was a gentleman. As such he
was worth attention. He was seen no more.
Is it so improbable that the French people captured
him?”
“A fine theory, indeed!”
“It is at least more charitable than to conclude
that he was an adventurer and disappeared
as he came,—“mysteriously.”
“You defend your protegé well, madam.”
“I take the part of the absent, who are defamed.”
“And the absent thanks you!” said a voice
in the shrubbery, very near them.
The young ladies recoiled, and uttering exclamations,
gazed with affright toward the
shadow.
A figure wrapped in a cloak advanced. The
face was pale, thin, and worn, but resolute and
stern.
It was Earle.
-- 149 -- p517-154
CHAPTER IV. THE SAILOR AND HIS SHIP.
[figure description] Page 149.[end figure description]
A SUDDEN and unexpected event was the
occasion of Earle's presence at Maverick
House.
He had remained prostrate on a couch
of illness for weeks after the night of the attack
on Westbrooke Hall—the recluse watching
over him in the solitary hut with deep solicitude
and tenderness.
At last the wound in his shoulder had healed.
He had left his sick bed. The fresh breeze
of the ocean infused new life into his frame;
and seated for hours on the bench in front of
the rude cabin on the great headland, he had
looked through his glass out on the channel and
along the coast.
Where was the corvette? he asked himself
-- 150 --
[figure description] Page 150.[end figure description]
What had become of his beloved craft? The
sailor loves his ship, and the fate of the corvette
was ever on Earle's mind. Had she arrived
safely with her prize, the viscount, or had she
been chased and captured by some English
frigate? Was she riding in pride, or sunk
fathoms deep beneath the waves of St. George's
Channel?
He had been seated in his customary seat on
that morning, gazing through his glass and
asking himself these questions, when all at once
the recluse saw him rise to his feet, and heard
him utter an exclamation, almost a cry, of joy.
The corvette was visible in the offing! There
was no mistaking the object of his pride and
affection! The eye of the sailor knows his
craft, as the eye of the lover knows his mistress.
There was the corvette slowly beating up
toward the coast of Pembrokeshire; and as his
mother hastened to his side, Earle pointed the
vessel out and exclaimed,—
“There she is, mother!”
“Your ship, my son?” said the poor recluse,
not sharing his joy.
“Yes, yes, mother! My own corvette!—
coming to rescue her commander.”
“Then you will leave me?”
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[figure description] Page 151.[end figure description]
He turned toward her, and looked at her with
great tenderness.
“See how strong the sailor spirit is in me:
I had not thought of that,” he said.
“While I think first of it. You go, and I
shall be alone again.”
Her voice was full of melancholy, and the
sailor's joy was dimmed.
“Come with me, my mother. Leave this
wild and lonely spot. Your native Normandy
is brighter than this land; come! Nothing
there shall ever part us.”
“You say Normandy: how do you know
that Normandy is my birthplace?” said the
recluse, suddenly.
“From your missal, mother, — the little book
you pray from. I found it on the table near
my sick couch, and opened it. On the first
leaf is written, `Marianne Earle, Martigny, Normandy.' ”
The recluse was silent.
“Until now I had thought you a native of the
South, mother, where we always lived; but you
never told me any thing. There will be time,
to discuss all this, however. Now time is wanting.
See! look through my glass. There is a
man; it is Dargonne, on the deck of the
-- 152 --
[figure description] Page 152.[end figure description]
corvette. He has his glass, and is looking for me.
He waves his handkerchief, and I reply.”
Earle waved his own hadkerchief.
“You see, mother! Get ready to come with
me.”
“I cannot.”
“Why not?”
“I must remain here. Do not ask me why,
my son.”
“And we shall part!”
“It breaks my heart, but I must remain, Edmond.
Ask me not why.”
“Enough, my mother; I will say no more.
Women like yourself never yield. I must go;
but I will return. My duty calls me now, but
we shall still love each other. See! the signal
flags are run up. I read them as I read print.”
“What do they say?”
Earle looked through his glass, and repeated
slowly as the fluttering signal flags syllabled the
message, —
“Be at — the old place — to-night.”
“The recluse sank upon the bench.
“Then it is ended — all my happiness at seeing
you near me, my child,” she murmured.
And looking at him, she said to herself in a
low voice, —
-- 153 --
[figure description] Page 153.[end figure description]
“He does not hear me; he is looking at his
vessel, waving his handkerchief. That means
that he will be punctual. Oh! why do we love
in this world? Why do we become wrapped
up in human beings until we are unhappy without
them? Then they go — we are alone — our
very love works our woe. Alas! my child is
going to leave me, and I will be alone.”
Earle turned toward her, joyously.
“See! she understands my signal, mother.
She has tacked about, content — is making for
the coast of Ireland — but she will be here
without fail, again, to-night!”
-- 154 -- p517-159
CHAPTER V. EARLE'S DESIGN.
[figure description] Page 154.[end figure description]
As evening approached, Earle dressed himself
in his full uniform of a captain in
the French navy, buckled on his belt and
pistols, and, wrapping his cloak around
him, turned to the recluse.
“I am going to be absent for an hour, my
mother,” he said. “A last duty makes this
necessary. Be not afraid: I will soon return,
and then I will renew my persuasions to induce
you to embark with me for France. Reflect that
it will make me very happy, mother; and the
good God watch over you.”
He left the hut. The recluse had made no
response. Bending down and weeping silently,
she presented an appearance of the deepest dejection.
-- 155 --
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Earle threw a last tender glance toward her,
and disappeared in the dusk of evening.
He followed the path leading down the headland,
in the direction of Maverick House; and
just as Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke, with his
party, left Westbrooke Hall in pursuit of him,
entered the Maverick woods, half a league from
the mansion.
As he went on with firm tread, and an expression
of stern resolution upon his features, he
muttered to himself, —
“Yes: this is a duty, and I will not leave the
country without performing it. Chance has
placed me in possession of a secret intimately
concerning Arthur Maverick, the man who has
called me friend, and his household; a murderer
is about to enter that household as the
husband of one of the family whose head he
has assassinated. I alone, besides the gypsy,
who has disappeared, can warn the victim. I
swear I will do so, and from a sense of duty,
not in the least from a mean jealousy; and then,
if the marriage takes place, let it take place.”
He went on rapidly. Pale and thin as he
was, it was evident that his physical vigor was
nearly unabated.
“Jealousy!” he muttered as he proceeded
-- 156 --
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beneath the huge boughs, toward Maverick
House,—“jealousy! oh, no! I swear that I am
not in the least jealons. The love I had for
that woman is dead. She made me crazy for a
time; but I have become sane. I can see now—
thanks to the hours of meditation and recollecon
my sick couch—that she is false, acted a
part with me, lured me on to gratify a poor
sentiment of vanity; and when she had entrapped
me, and driven me to an avowal, threw
me away without a thought or care for me.
“Fool that I was to imagine that the poor
stranger could compete with the rich baronet in
madam's eyes. Fool, above all, to give my love
to a thing of deception, false as the sea. As
the sea? I do it wrong. It is changeable
and dangerous, but makes no protestations.
You embark on it with a knowledge of its
perils. This woman's glance and smile said,
`There is no danger with me.' They fooled me.
I was her slave. I am free now; and I am not
jealous. Were she to hold out her hand now, I
would not take it, for I know her. Fool! to pass
by that pure flower, Arthur Maverick's sister,
and bestow my love upon this quicksand, Arthur
Maverick's cousin. But it is over—all that
madness. I care not if she marry the assassin
-- 157 --
[figure description] Page 157.[end figure description]
and monster. It is to save Arthur Maverick,
my friend, that I go to warn him, and to speak
in my own name and character. There is the
house, here is the wall: in ten minutes I shall
be there.”
As he spoke, rapid steps were heard on the
path behind him, and he turned round.
Through the dim light a man was seen running
towards him, and he drew his pistol.
“Don't shoot, brother. I am a friend!”
said the pursuer.
And the gypsy reached him.
“Take care, brother!” he said; “Sir Murdaugh
Westbrooke is on your track!”
-- 158 -- p517-163
CHAPTER VI. THE WITNESS.
[figure description] Page 158.[end figure description]
EARLE gazed at the gypsy without exhibiting
the least emotion at these words.
“How do you know that?” he said.
“But first tell me where you have been?'
“I have been yonder in the woods, in the
great ravine beyond Maverick House. On the
night of the attack on Westbrooke Hall, I went
with you as far as the ledge on the sea shore.
There my heart failed me. I heard the shouts
of the revenue guard. I was a coward, and
glided into the darkness.”
“You did well. I have been wounded; but
that is no matter. You say I am pursued?”
“Yes, brother. I was at the revenue station
to-day, offering to tell fortunes. As I was telling
that of the young officer in command, the
-- 159 --
[figure description] Page 159.[end figure description]
man Wilde rode up hastily. He brought a
note. The officer read it half aloud, and I
heard it. It was from Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke,
and asked for a party of men to arrest
you. You were lurking at a place on the coast
near the village of Oldport.”
“Ah! he has found out that? And the men
were sent?”
“Yes, brother. They were ordered out immediately.
Then I left in a hurry, and began
to run toward Oldport. As I went, I thought
of the hut on the headland, where the solitary
woman lives. You might be there, and I went
up the steep cliff by a path I found. You were
gone; the woman said, had followed the path
toward Maverick House. I ran after you, and
here I am. The baronet is probably on your
track too.”
Earle nodded coolly.
“It is well,” he said.
He looked keenly at the gypsy, as though to
read him through. The look seemed to be understood
by the vagabond. His face flushed,
and he said,—
“You don't doubt me, brother?”
“No,” said Earle, extending his hand; “but
this deep interest you show in a stranger—”
-- 160 --
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“You are no stranger, brother. You are one
of the Rommanye Rye. But there is more to
make me your friend. You have been kind to
me. You have not despised me. All the world
despises the gypsies. They are vagabonds and
thieves! At their appearance, the housewife
takes in her linen from the hedge. When they
camp in the woods near a homestead, the farmer
looks to his sheep and pigs. They are outeasts;
all curse them! I am one of them, and you
have been kind, not cruel. You are a gentleman,
and have touched my hand and called the
poor gypsy `brother.' That has moved him;
he is your friend. I swear to watch over and
obey you, brother!”
Earle saw that the speaker was in earnest, and
suddenly the thought came, “Here is the witness
to the murder.”
“You will do what I ask of you, then,
brother?” he said.
“I swear it; order me. I am yours!”
“Then follow me. I am going to reveal
the murderer of Giles Maverick to his son
Arthur. Remain concealed in the shadow
of the trees near the house. When I call you,
come quickly. See, we are near now. Here is
the wall!”
-- 161 --
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They leaped into the park, and rapidly approached
the house.
“Remain here!” said Earle, pointing to a
spot in the shrubbery; “and when you hear me
blow on my sailor's whistle, come quickly, and
give your testimony.”
The gypsy made a sign of obedience.
“I will lose no time, brother; and I advise
you to hasten. The baronet will not find you
on the coast, and will come straight here. I
warn you.”
“Let him come!”
And Earle rapidly made his way toward the
mansion.
Suddenly he heard the sound of voices, and
Rose and Ellinor passed in the moonlight. He
clearly distinguished what was said; heard the
taunts of Ellinor, the charge of loving him,
which she brought against her cousin; and
heard, too, the defence made of him by Rose.
A moment afterward he stood before them.
-- 162 -- p517-167
CHAPTER VII. THE DENUNCIATION.
[figure description] Page 162.[end figure description]
EARLE wrapped his cloak around him so
as to conceal his uniform, and bowing
low to Rose, said, in his deep voice,—
“Once more I thank you, madam.
You defend me. The attack is strange!”
He turned to Ellinor.
“I loved you once, or thought I did,” he
said, coolly. “I love you no longer—have
ceased for more than a month to care aught for
you. I shall see you no more—before I go I
undeceive you on that point, if you have
deceived yourself.”
Ellinor Maverick blushed crimson at the stern
and almost contemptnous words of the sailor.
Her pride was cruelly mortified, and anger
followed—her eyes darted lightnings.
-- 163 --
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Before she could speak, however, Earle had
turned his back upon her. He went to meet
Arthur Maverick, who, startled by the exclamations
of the ladies at Earle's appearance,
had hurried out to ascertain the cause of
their agitation.
“In good time!” said Earle' “it is you
whom I come to see.”
“Mr. Delamere? Is it possible that you are
alive, and not a prisoner either? We thought
you had been captured.”
“I will explain all, some day,” was Earle's
reply' “now there is no time. I came not to
explain this disapearance, but a much more
mysterious affair. My explanation must be
brief, the meaning of which statement you
will soon discover, friend.”
“Your words astound me!”
“I am about to astound you far more. The
object of my hurried visit to-night is to reveal
to you what I should have revealed long since.”
“To reveal—what?”
“The murderer of your father!”
Arthur Maverick started, and almost recoiled.
“You know the mystery of that terrible
affair?”
“Yes!”
-- 164 --
[figure description] Page 164.[end figure description]
“Good heavens, Mr. Delamere! Speak!
What frightful intelligence have you to communicate?”
“Intelligence truly frightful! for it reveals a
depravity almost incredible. Tell me, friend,—
you are that to me,—what think you of love and
murder mingled? What would you say if I told
you that your father's murderer aspires to an alliance
with one of your own family! What if
the man whose hands reek with the blood of the
uncle, comes to ask the hand of the niece, hopes
to make Miss Ellinor Maverick his wife?”
Arthur gazed at the speaker with distended
eyes.
Ellinor Maverick, as pale as death, now,
seemed about to faint.
“You would say—you surely do not
mean—?” Arthur said in a low and agitated
voice.
“I mean that Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke, of
Westbrooke Hall, is the murderer of Giles Maverick,
your father!”
For a moment a deep silence reigned throughout
the entire group. The words seemed to
paralyze the listeners, and to deprive them of
the power of utterance.
The first person who spoke was Ellinor
-- 165 --
[figure description] Page 165.[end figure description]
Maverick. She sprang forward with the fury of a
tigress.
“Who are you, sir?” she cried, white with
rage, “who bring this accusation? who are you—
the unknown adventurer who dare to assault
the character of a gentleman of rank? Speak!
I will detend Sir Murdaugh, if my cousin is too
cowardly to do so!”
Earle bowed with ironical ceremony.
“I compliment you, madam, upon your chivalric
defence of the absent. It seems, then, that
you can defend as well as attack those who are
not present to take their own parts!”
“Answer! no evasion! No trick to avoid a
reply to my question!” exclaimed the young
lady, stung to wild fury.
“Your question, madam?”
“Who are you, I demand, who sneak here to
destroy a gentleman's character?”
Earle threw back his cloak, and revealed his
full uniform of a French captain.
“I am Edmond Earle, of the French navy;
an enemy, but an officer and a gentleman! I
came to avow that; you hasten the avowal.
Yes,” he said, turning to the astonished Arthur,
“I am not Mr. Delamere, but Captain Earle. I
-- 166 --
[figure description] Page 166.[end figure description]
have assumed a part—it was repugnant, but
it was done in compliance with orders. French
civilians were seize on the French coast—I
came to seize English civilians on the English
coast! It was I who attacked Westbrooke Hall
and, carried off the Viscount Cecil,—it was I who
was pursued and wounded on the sea-shore. I
have remained here since that time; my ship
has returned for me, and the boat is now waiting;
but I have come here, risking my life,
you see, with a mounted party on my track,
to say, `Thanks for your hospitality friends!
I never betrayed that. Before I go, I perform
a duty; act as your best friend would
act—reveal the fact that a murderer, the
murderer of your own father, is about to enter
your family as the husband of a member of that
family.' ”
Arthur Maverick looked and listened with
stupefaction. Words seemed to fail him.
“The avowal of my real character is dangerous,
perhaps,” said Earle; “but I swore I would
make it. I am a French officer, and politically
your enemy; but personally, my heart beats
with earnest affection for you. Do not remember
that I am an ememy—think me your
-- 167 --
[figure description] Page 167.[end figure description]
friend. There is little time left. Let me
hasten and prove my charges.”
He made the signal agreed upon, and the
gypsy appeared quickly.
“This man is a vagabond, and you may not
credit him,” said Earle; “but listen to his story
first, and form your opinion.”
At a sign from Earle the gypsy rapidly
narrated the scene at the pool in the forest,
more than five years before. As he painted in
vivid colors the sombre event which he had
witnessed,—the meeting of the enemies, the
apparently friendly greeting, the sudden stab,
the dog leaping at the murderer's throat, and
the murdered man beaten with fragments
of rock, and his body dragged to and sunken in
the pool,—as this terrible scene was depicted in
the forcible words of the gypsy, Arthur Maverick
shuddered, and his face assumed the ashy
hue of a corpse.
“You do not believe that, perhaps,” said Earle,
as the gypsy terminated his narrative. “You
may say that I am the rejected suitor of Miss
Maverick, and have suborned this man to perjure
himself, in order to ruin my rival. So be it!
form that theory, and try this narrative by the
-- 168 --
[figure description] Page 168.[end figure description]
strongest test. Believe nothing until it is accounted
for upon reasonable grounds; and first,
was there no reason why Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke
should hate your father?”
“I know of none,” said Arthur Maverick in
a stifled voice.
“I am better informed!”
“You?”
“Your father bound and lashed the baronet
as men lash a dog! Were you too young to
know that fact? Interrogate your memory.”
“Good heavens! And it was my father, then,
who committed that terrible outrage, with which
the whole country rang! It is possible? and
yet, it is incredible, but—”
“Had they not quarreled?”
“Yes, yes! I now recall old stories of a violent
scene between them. They were on a race-course;
had an altercation; my father gave Sir
Murdaugh the lie, and the baronet struck him
with his riding-whip. Before he could repeat
the blow, the bystanders interposed and forced
Sir Murdaugh from the ground!”
“That is enough,” said Earle, coolly; “and the
chain of motive is perfect. Your father quarrels
with the baronet, the baronet inflicts a
-- 169 --
[figure description] Page 169.[end figure description]
terrible indignity upon Mr. Maverick; the result is
that your father returns the insult in kind by
binding and lashing his adversary; and the
fifth act of the drama is the murder of your
father by that adversary.”
-- 170 -- p517-175
CHAPTER VII. THE BLOOD-HOUND.
[figure description] Page 170.[end figure description]
ARTHUR Maverick's eyes were fixed
upon the ground. His expression of
horror and astonishment began to give
place to a gloomy rage.
“Then, if this be true, I have welcomed and
touched the hand of my father's murderer!”
he muttered.
Before Earle could reply, Ellinor Maverick
bounded toward them.
White with fury, chiefly from the undisguised
contempt of her former lover, she caught
Arthur by the arm, almost shook him in her
rage, and half hissed through her closed set
teeth,—
“Do you believe that spy and liar?”
-- 171 --
[figure description] Page 171.[end figure description]
Arthur Maverick drew back and extricated
his arm from her grasp.
“Permit me to manage my own affairs
madam, and believe or disbelieve as seems good
to me,” he said, coldly.
“Believe as you will, then!” was the furious
response; “disgrace your name if you will, by
giving credit to this convicted spy and adventurer!
But you shall not poison my mind
against—”
“Your uncle's murderer, madam? As you
will—that is your affair. I arrogate no anthority
over you. But listen to me. I am the
head of the house of Maverick in Pembrokshire;
my father was murdered; a man is charged with
the murder. I will pursue the inquiry to the
last limits. If true, the guilty shall suffer. If
untrue, the innocent will be vindicated. Does
that suit your views, madam? If not, the fact
will not move me.”
Ellinor was carried away by her rage.
“I say the very idea is an insult!”
“So be it, madam. People will be insulted,
then.”
“It is an outrage—a thing unheard of, that
this unknown adventurer, this man who dared
to pay his addresses to me, whom I spurned
-- 172 --
[figure description] Page 172.[end figure description]
and laughed at, and ordered to leave my presence,—
it is infamous that on his testimony a
gentleman of rank and character should be
suspected!”
“She fights hard for her rich suitor!” muttered
Earle, with stern irony.
And then raising his voice,—
“May I call your attention to one fact,
madam?” he said, coldly: “I have no testimony
to give.”
“You have paid this vulgar wretch to blacken
Sir Murdaugh!”
“I am too poor, madam!”
He made her a mock inclination, and spoke
with an accent of such contempt that the lady
shuddered with rage, and with difficulty refrained
from springing at him.
“To end this scene,” said Earle, returning
to his gloomy tone, full of sternness and cold
resolution: “I expected this reception—I
was thus prepared for it, and it does not
move me. I had my duty to perform, and
have performed it,—at some risk, too,” he said
to Arthur Maverick. “Do you doubt that?
Listen!”
He raised his finger, and there was dead
silence for a monent.
-- 173 --
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In the midst of this silence rapid hoof-strokes
were heard on the road leading to the great
gate.
“Do you hear?” said Earle, coolly.
“Yes!” was Arthur Maverick's reply—“the
meaning of that sound?”
“Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke is coming hither
with a party to seize and murder me.”
“The baronet?”
“In person! Can you not fancy the
worthy's motive? On the night when this
black mystery was revealed to me, he had me
tracked—his secret emissary overhead all. Sir
Mandaugh knows that I know—his good name
is threatened. I may send him to the gallows—
he has doomed me—and is coming to murder
me!”
The hoof-strokes sounded nearer, and a shudder
ran through Rose Maverick, who was standing
pale but erect beside her brother.
“My sentence is already pronounced; I am
to die,” said Earle, coolly; “and I lose my life
by coming hither to warn you of this man's
character! Does that prove, or does it not,
that I believe this gypsy's statement? He
alone can speak of that scene—”
Earle suddenly stopped.
-- 174 --
[figure description] Page 174.[end figure description]
The hoof-strokes clashed on the avenne. The
pursuers were nearly upon them.
“Yes, yes!” said Earle: “there is another witness—
and he is here! the blood-hound!—you
informed me that he was still alive, old and
blind nearly. Send for the dog!—he will
know the murderer!”
“I will go for him in person! wait!”
And Arthur Maverick disappeared at a
bound toward the rear of the mansion, where
the bloodhound—dangerous in spite of his
great age—was kept chained.
As his figure disappeared, Sir Murdaugh
Westbrooke rushed toward the group. Behind
came his men, ready to obey his orders.
“There he is!” shouted the baronet, “armed
and ready to resist!”
Earle's pistol was indeed in his hand, and
unconsciously he raised it.
“He is ready to fire! Shoot him down!”
cried the baronet furiously.
And he raised his own pistol, but suddenly
let it fall.
Rose Maverick had rushed between Earle and
the threatening muzzle.
“You dare not fire upon me!” she exclaimed
disdainfully; “if you dare—fire!”
-- 175 --
[figure description] Page 175.[end figure description]
And beautiful, superb, her cheeks burning
with passionate feeling,—
“I know now that you murdered my father!”
she exclaimed.
Tne words were nearly drowned in a hoarse
and threatening roar; and an instant afterwards
an enormous blood-hound bounded down
the steps.
At sight of the dog, Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke
uttered a hoarse cry and turned to fly.
It was too late. The dog had recognized
the murderer of his master. His bloodshot
eyes glared at the baronet for an instant; his
huge mouth opened wide, displaying the jagged
teeth—then with one bound the blood-hound
reached the spot and sprung at his enemy's
throat.
A second cry, hoarse and horror-stricken like
the first, came from the baronet. But this time
it was suddenly interrupted. The hound's teeth
were on his throat. A supernatural strength
seemed to animate the faithful animal—the
baronet struggled in vain—suddenly man and
dog fell beneath the trampling hoofs of the
horses, and Earle's voice was heard exclaiming,—
“Behold the murderer of Giles Maverick!”
-- 176 --
[figure description] Page 176.[end figure description]
As he uttered the words the far boom of cannon
came from the channel.
Earle started.
It came a second time. The omnious sound
was unmistakable.
“The corvette!—she is attacked!” cried
Earle.
And seizing the bridle of the baronet's horse,
he leaped into the saddle.
“Farewell, friends!” he cried to Arthur and
Rose: “there are my cannon!—I know their
ring! My corvette is fighting and I am absent!
Farewell!”
And charging, pistol in hand, the confused
revenue guard, he passed through them, followed
only by a few random shots, and then
disappeared toward the coast.
-- 177 -- p517-182
CHAPTER IX. WHAT FOLLOWED.
[figure description] Page 177.[end figure description]
CARLE went on at full speed.
The boat, he knew, awaited him at the
cove under the headland: to reach the
spot now without delay was the one
thought that possessed him.
The animal he bestrode was a powerful
hunter, of the purest blood and the highest
speed. At every bound he cleared ten feet.
Earle drove him on mercilessly. With erect
head, floating mane, and foam flying from his
jaws, he darted straight on toward the coast,
along whose headlands and rocky promontories
reverberated the hoarse boom of the cannon.
Suddenly another sound mingled with the far
ominous roar,—the smiting of hoofs on the
road behind.
-- 178 --
[figure description] Page 178.[end figure description]
Earle turned his head and listened.
`They are following me,” he muttered, digging
the spur into his horse's sides.
He was not mistaken. Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke
was on his track.
A brief but fiery scene had followed the fall
of the baronet, in the clutch of the blood-hound.
His men ran to him, dragged off the dog, and
he rose to his feet, trembling, bleeding, and as
pale as a corpse.
“The meaning—of—this—outrage?” he
gasped.
“Ask your memory,” was Arthur Maverick's
response, in a low, hoarse tone.
He advanced close to the baronet as he spoke,
and fixed his eyes upon him.
“You are the murderer of my father!” came
in a low hiss through his pale lips.
The baronet recoiled, and his eyes seemed
starting from their cavernous sockets.
“That hound convicts you! See! I have
only to step aside and he will tear you to the
earth a second time! Wretch! murderer! convicted
assassin! your black crime shall not go
unpunished longer!”
And catching the baronet by the throat, he
would have strangled him despite his great
-- 179 --
[figure description] Page 179.[end figure description]
strength, had not the men forcibly interposed,
and parted them instantly.
“It—is—well!” gasped the baronet, staggering
back; “you shall answer for this outrage.
I go now, but I return. My horse!”
And turning, he caught almost mechanically,
the bridle of a horse which one of the men
hastened to lead forward.
The baronet mounted hastily, and made a
sign to his men to do likewise.
Arthur Maverick seemed to hesitate whether
he would attempt to retain him or not.
“Well, go!” he said; “but beware how you
set your foot here again. Return, as you say
you will, and you die by my hand.”
The baronet looked at the speaker with eyes
full of indescribable rage, with which was
mingled no little trepidation.
“It is well!” he said, in a low tone; “but let
the son beware of the fate of the father.”
As he spoke he turned his horse's head, and
struck the spur into the animal's sides.
“Come!” he shouted in hoarse tones to the
men; “we may catch up with the spy yet. A
hundred guineas for his head!”
And he set out at full speed on the track of
-- 180 --
[figure description] Page 180.[end figure description]
Earle. The men followed, and the party disappeared
like a whilwind.
The dismounted man, whose horse the baronet
rode, ran after them.
The gypsy had already disappeared.
-- 181 -- p517-186
CHAPTER X. THE FLAG WITH THE LILIES.
[figure description] Page 181.[end figure description]
CHARLE continued his flight, making
straight for the coast.
The hunter cleared the earth with long
strides, and promised very soon to distance
all pursuit and reach the strand.
Suddenly he staggered. A sharp stone had
entered his foot, and inflicted a deep wound.
Such was the pain that he was unable to keep
up his great speed; his pace fell off; he limped
terribly; and Earle heard behind him the
shouts of the pursuers, who every moment were
gaining upon him.
He turned and looked over his shoulder;
then through the night mist toward the coast.
From the rear came threatening cries; from the
-- 182 --
[figure description] Page 182.[end figure description]
front, the long reverberating boom of cannon
from the channel.
Behind that curtain of white mist wrapping
the shores and the great headlands, Earle felt
that a hard combat was going on between his
corvette and an English frigate probably.
The thought drove him to frenzy almost.
He struck the poor animal he rode, with his
clenched fist.
“Faster! faster!” he exclaimed. “I care
not for myself. But she is attacked yonder—
my corvette! They are fighting, and I am not
there!”
With merciless spur, he drove the animal to
full speed, in spite of his wound; and thus pursuers
and pursued swept onward toward the sea.
It was now a race for life. The party commanded
by Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke were
every moment gaining on the sailor. Either
they caught glimpses of him, or heard the sound
of his horse's hoofs. They came closer and
closer, and Earle heard them, and prepared for
the worst.
As his horse went on at full speed nearly, in
spite of the painful limp, the sailor slipped his
belt round, and placed the handle of his pistol
where he could easily grasp it.
-- 183 --
[figure description] Page 183.[end figure description]
“If they come up, I will fight them all,” he
muttered, with his short, defiant laugh. “That
is not brave; it is the only course! If I am
arrested, I will die on the gallows. Yes, my
good Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke, you play with
edged tools. You may come up with me, but
you come to your death!”
A pistol-shot was heard, and a bullet whistled
by his head. He drew his own weapon, but
did not fire.
“I am too good a sailor to waste my shot,” he
muttered.
And he went on, pursued by cries; they evidently
saw him, and were gaining rapidly on
him.
The mist opening for a moment, gave him all
at once a full glimpse of the party. At their
head rode Sir Murdaugh, and Earle heard him
howl,—
“Shoot him down! Death to him!”
Then the mist enveloped them.
But from this mist came, nearer and nearer,
the hoof-strokes and the cries. Earle's horse
staggered under him, and seemed about to fall.
From the front, as before, came the thunder
of cannon, and with this now mingled the hoarse
dash of the waves.
-- 184 --
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“The coast is near. I cannot see, but there
is the sound a sailor knows,” muttered Earle.
The roll of the surf grew louder. With it
came now the confused sound of voices.
Earle's brows were heavily knit.
“I had forgotten that!” he exclaimed.
“While I am followed by this party, bent on
my death, another party awaits me yonder. Between
the two I shall be crushed!”
The wind whirled away the mist, and on the
strand were seen confused shapes,—men running
to and fro.
“I have mistaken my route, and am near
Oldport,” muttered Earle.
Then gazing before him,—
“If these people see me, I am lost!” he exclaimed.
As he spoke, the party behind rushed upon
him, with fierce shouts. From the mist emerged
a whirlwind of furious enemies, pistol in hand.
“Halt! or you are dead!”
Earle replied by firing at the baronet.
The bullet passed through his hat. Only a
moment afterwards a hail-storm of balls whistled
around the sailor.
His horse had struck his wounded foot, and,
half falling, saved the life of his rider.
-- 185 --
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The bullets passed over Earle's head, and the
baronet uttered a cry of rage.
“Ride him down! See, his horse will carry
him no farther!”
Earle drove the spur deep into his animal's
side. The only result was that the horse uttered
a groan, and nearly fell.
At the same moment violent hands caught
the bridle, and threw him on his haunches.
“Who be you?” cried a voice—the voice of
the man in front.
Earle recognized that voice. It belonged to
Goliath.
He threw himself from the saddle.
“I am one of the wolves!” he said; “and
they are after me!”
“You!” exclaimed the giant, recognizing
him.
“Yes: listen! Yonder are the men who are
hunting me down!”
The baronet rushed on with his men, who
uttered shouts of triumph.
“Who be these?” said Goliath.
“Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke and the revenue
guard!”
No sooner had Goliath heard Earle's reply,
than he drew a long knife. His next
-- 186 --
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proceeding was to utter a shrill and prolonged cry, resembling
the scream of the sea-gull.
At that cry, dusky shapes rushed toward him
from every direction. The wolves had evidently
recognized the signal, which meant, “One of
the wolves is in dauger!”
“You be safe, master,” said Goliath.
Earle drew his second pistol.
“Go on, master; where you be going?”
“I am not going anywhere!”
As he spoke, the pursuers darted upon them.
“Kill him!” exclaimed the baronet, “and all
who resist!”
As he spoke he fired at Earle, and, riding at
him, levelled a blow at him with his pistol,
which was still smoking.
The sailor parried it, and fired on the baronet,
so close that the powder blackened his face. As
the weapon was discharged, the horse ridden by
the baronet took fright and wheeled. He was
not destined to bear off his rider, however, who
had remained uninjured. One of the wolves
caught the baronet by the throat and dragged
him down. Then the fight surged over him.
Quick pistol-shots, cries, the revenue guards
scattering and flying, hotly pursued,—such
were the sounds and sights which greeted Sir
-- 187 --
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Murdaugh as he rolled to the earth, and a powerful
wolf placed his knee on him.
“Quick, master,” said Goliath to Earle; “the
fight be over! take care of yourself!”
“Thanks.”
And Earle caught a horse and threw himself
into the saddle.
“Good-by, brother!” he said, grasping the
huge hand of Goliath; “you have saved my
life to-night, and I shall not forget that.”
Goliath shook his head.
“No need of thanking me, master. You be
a wolf, but look out!”
Earle turned in the direction indicated by
the giant's finger.
The sound of cavalry coming on at full gallop
was heard.
“The revenue station people!”
“They are too late!”
And with a last pressure of the hand, Earle
darted off along the shore toward the spot
where the boat awaited him.
In ten minutes he stopped, and threw himself
to the earth.
Then he began to run along the narrow ledge
of rock, and disappeared in the shadow of the
headland.
-- 188 --
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Ten minutes afterwards the revenue guard
who had ridden down to the shore, might have
been heard uttering cries.
A boat had darted from the shadow of the
headland, above which suddenly soared the
beacon light. The gigantic torch lit up all.
The ruddy glare turned night into day. The
boat was rowed by four men, and another in
uniform stood erect in the stern.
A shower of bullets from the guard, who
rode down into the surf, greeted the boat.
The reply aroused furious shouts and more
shots.
It was simple.
The man in the stern unfurled a flag, and
waved his hat.
The glare of the beacon fell on the flag.
On its defiant folds were emblazoned the
lilies of France; and, as though, to salute it, a
salvo of cannon roared from the channel.
Earle waved his hat a second time in triumph,
and in ten minutes the boat had disappeared in
the mist.
-- 189 -- p517-194
PART III. BURIED ALIVE.
[figure description] Page 189.[end figure description]
CHAPTER I. BARON DELAMERE.
UNTIL nearly midnight the cannon continued
to roar from St. George's Channel;
then the dull sound receded, was
heard at intervals only; then ceased.
Three days afterwards His French Majesty's
corvette the Solitaire, entered the port of Brest,
having in tow His Britannie Majesty's sloop-of-war
the Hornet, which had attacked the corvette
in St. George's Channel, off the coast of
Pembrokeshire, and very nearly succeded in
sinking the Frenchman.
-- 190 --
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In fact the fight was plainly going in favor of
the Hornet, and the corvette was trying to get
off, when a boat rowed by four sailors, with a
fifth person standing in the stern, was seen making
its way from shore, directly under the fire
of the Hornet's guns—and this boat in the
midst of plunging shot, and a fire of musketry
directed at it, reached the corvette; the person
in the stern leaping instantly upon deck, and,
as the English commander could see, taking
command.
From that moment the fight became far
more obstinate; and it was soon obvious that
whoever the commanding officer of the corvette
might be, he had resolved to go to the bottom
rather than strike his flag. Success crowned
his hard work—it was the sloop-of-war which
struck her flag, and the corvette sailed away
with her, managing to evade the English cruisers
and reach Brest in safety.
Such had been the result of Earle's night
combat in St. George's Channel,—victory over
a waspish craft manned by good men, and
commanded by a brave old sea-dog. He sailed
into Brest with colors flying, and was saluted
by the fortress with the roar of cannon.
An hour afterwards he had cast anchor.
-- 191 --
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His barge was manned, and he sprung into
it. The oars fell, the barge danced over the
waves, Earle touched shore; and was soon
bowing, cocked hat in hand, in presence of
the great Duc de Choiseul, prime minister,
who chanced, happily for the sailor's fortunes
to be on a visit to Brest, and to witness his
triumphal entry.
A week afterwards Captain Edmond Earle
was travelling post from Paris to the village
of Martigny.
The object of his visit was to procure a
copy of his baptismal register, and the formal
record of the marriage of his father and
mother.
These documents were necessary before he
could be created Baron Delamere.
That was the reward designed to be conferred
on the young sailor; and for the suggestion
he was indebted to no less a personage
than the Viscount Cecil.
A few words will place the reader in possession
of the details. Our history passes in
Wales, and only touches for a few moments
the French shore.
The capture of the viscount had pleased
everybody, and the court was thus in high
-- 192 --
[figure description] Page 192.[end figure description]
good humour. He was released at once on
parole; fêted by the anti-war party; received
with great politeness by his grace the Due de
Choiseul, whose word was law throughout
France; and one morning when he was
shown into the minister's cabinet he found
Earle in waiting.
“Ah! you have returned then, my dear
Captain?” he said.
“As you see, my lord,” said Earle, bowing.
“And, I have heard, with a prize. What
ship had the bad luck to meet you?”
“I was attaked by His Britannic Majesty's
sloop-of-war Hornet, my lord.”
“Commanded by Digby! You had a hard
fight?”
“A very hard one, my lord. Captain Digby
did not seem to know when he ought to strike!
A very brave man!”
The Viscount Cecil bowed.
“When one brave sailor speaks well of another,
we civilians should listen.”
“Your lordship does me great honor.”
“Not more than you deserve, sir. Come to
England—I will have you made a peer!”
The Duc de Choiseul laughed.
“What say you, Monsieur le Capitaine?”
-- 193 --
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The sailor bowed.
“I have a flag, my lord. It is the flag of
the lilies!”
The viscount approached the duke.
“See, monseigneur! you have a nobleman
already made there.”
“But you think, my Lord Viscount—” said
Choiseul.
“That you should make him a baron, at
least, monseigneur.”
“Baron—whom?”
“Stay: I find you a name, monseigneur.
Delamere—de-la-mer. He captured me while
bearing that name; and I assure your lordship
that he will honor your patent.”
The Duc de Choiseul inclined politely.
“Will it oblige Monsieur le Vicopte?”
“Very greatly, my lord. It is a great privilege
to be able to reward merit—I have enjoyed
it at times.”
The duke took a large sheet of paper, wrote
some lines upon it, and then affixed his seal
to it.
“Monsieur le Baron Delamere,” he said, turning
to Earle, “take this paper to the Bureau
of Record, which you will easily find, and
have all the formalities attended to by the
-- 194 --
[figure description] Page 194.[end figure description]
chief of the Burean. You will then report in
fifteen days to the admiral at Brest for orders.
The Tèmèraire will await you there, and you
will take command of her!”
Earle bowed low. The Tèmèraire was a
frigate of the first class; and he was dizzy for
joy. He did not think of the paper in his
hand. But when he found himself in the
antechamber he glanced at it.
“Edmond Earle—created—by His Majesty—
for important services—Baron Delamere.
Choiseul.”
Earle read something like that. The whole
affair astonished him. And he owed this latter
distinction to his brave enemy the viscount!
As he walked on, in a dream as it were, he
felt a hand laid upon his arm.
He turned quickly. It was the Viscount
Cecil.
“Farewell, baron; I return to England to-morrow,”
said the viscount.
“You are released, then, my lord?”
“Yes.”
“I am overjoyed to be so informed. It was
by my act that you have been thus inconvenienced—
and your revenge has been
princely, my lord.”
-- 195 --
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The viscount took the sailor's arm, and they
walked on together.
“Listen, my dear Captain Earle—for that
is your most honorable title,” said Viscount
Cecil: “I am an old man now, and have seen
a great deal of the world. I never prided myon
many things, but I think I recognize a
gentleman whenever I meet one. Well, you
conducted yourself as such in capturing me,
and you beat Digby—those two facts have
much impressed me. To day I found the
occasion—his grace was in an excellent humor.
He has made you a baron—you deserve that,
sir; and when the war ends, come and see
me. I live at Wentworth Castle—you will
always be welcome there. Farewell, Captain!
There is the Bureau of Record.”
And he held out his hand, which Earle
pressed warmly.
“Thanks, my lord,” he said. “The king ennobles
me for a fight and a victory. But there
are others who do not require that, since they
are noblemen by nature.”
And they parted,—Earle entering the
Bureau.
He was ushered into an inner apartment,
where a dry-looking individual scowled at him.
-- 196 --
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At sight of the paper in the writing of Choiseul,
however, this individual dissolved into profuse
politeness.
“Will Monsieur le Baron be seated?” he
said, bowing and pointing to a chair. “This
patent is in regular order. I congratulate Monsieur
le Baron. A few formalities only are necessary,—
mere formalities; namely, the full
name of Moniseur le Baron's father and mother,
and the date of their marriage; also, the date
of Monsieur le Baron's birth: that will be all.
Delighted to serve Monsieur le Baron!”
And the functionary executed another bow.
Earle responded in the same manner, and
left the Bureau, with “Monsieur le Baron”
fairly ringing in his ears.
On the next morning he set out for Martigny,
in Normandy, remembering the writing
in the recluse's missal.
Just at dusk he reached the village.
As he entered it in the post-carriage, a man
muffled in a heavy overcoat passed, running
rapidly.
The man seemed making for the sea-coast, a
mile or so distant, where some sail-boats were
seen.
Earle scarcely looked at him. He stopped
-- 197 --
[figure description] Page 197.[end figure description]
at the inn, and was directed to the house of
the curé.
“What is your pleasure, my son?” said the
old priest, meeting him on the steps.
“To see your register, father, and find the
date of the marriage of the Tèmèraire!
Pshaw!—pardon, father! They have given
me a frigate, and it has turned my head!”
-- 198 -- p517-203
CHAPTER II. THE MULTILATED REGISTER.
[figure description] Page 198.[end figure description]
Two hours before the appearance of Earle
at the village of Martigny, a man of
powerful frame, his face half-covered
by a heavy beard, had knocked at the
door of the old priest's house, and, receiving
the reply “Come in,” had entered.
“You are the priest of this parish?” said the
man, with a foreign accent.
“Yes, my son.”
“And you have in your possession the record
of births in the parish?”
“Yes, my son.”
“I wish to examine them,—to find the registry
of the birth of Jean Angely, cordwainer,”
said the man.
The old priest mildly inclined his head.
-- 199 --
[figure description] Page 199.[end figure description]
“That will be easy, my son. But you know
we poor priests are very curious, having so
little to amuse us. The object of this inquiry,
my son?”
“That Jean Angely may inherit property
left to him. His cousin, Guillanme Angely,
of Tours, leaves a farm to Jean Angely, born
at Martigny, and son of Robert Angely and
Suzanne, his wife. The fact of his birth
needs formal proof. The register will prove
it.”
The priest inclined his head, and, after a moment's
hesitation, opened a closet. From this
he took a large volume in black leather, and
laid it on the table.
“The date is about 17—,” said the man.
“An error of a year, my son.”
“It may be.”
And the man turned over the leaves, examining
the register.
As he was thus engaged, a second knock
came at the door.
“Come in!” repeated the old priest, and a
child entered.
“Well, my little one?”
The child modestly held down his head and
said,—
-- 200 --
[figure description] Page 200.[end figure description]
“Mother Francois is dying, and wishes to see
you, father.”
“Mother Francois! Dying! Why, she was
scarcely ill!”
He rose quickly and put on his hat. Then
he stopped, looking toward the man.
Compassion conquered, however, and he
went toward the door.
“I will return speedily, my son. Await my
coming.”
And he left the room.
As the door closed, the man turned round
and listened attentively. The priest's footsteps
receded.
“Good!” he said; “my little trap has caught
the old bird. I have ten minutes.”
With a sharp knife he rapidly cut from the
volume one of the leaves. This he examined a
second time, to be sure that no mistake had been
made, folded, and placed in his pocket-book;
returned the latter to his pocket; and, taking
pen, ink, and paper, carefully copied the entry
in the register, relating to Jean Angely, cordwainer.
He was thus occupied when the old priest
returned, red in the face, and looking much
mortified.
-- 201 --
[figure description] Page 201.[end figure description]
“These children! these children!” he murmured:
“to think of Emile Drouet playing a
trick on me.”
The man raised his head.
“They played a trick, do you say?” he mquired.
“Yes, yes, my son; Mother Francois was
much better than when I saw her this morning,
and had never sent Emile. That child will
turn out badly.”
“A young rascal!” said the man. “Well, I
have copied the entry I wish, and you can attest
it.”
“I will do so with pleasure, my son.”
And comparing the copy of the entry, it was
found correct. The old priest then certified on
the paper that it was a true copy, signed his
name, and the man folded up the document,
and put it in his pocket.
“Is any fee to be paid?” he asked.
“None, my son. It is my duty to keep the
register, and afford access to it. I can even
offer you a part of my poor dinner, if it please
you to share it.”
This the man declined, and wrapping a great
overcoat around him, he straightway left the
priest's house.
-- 202 --
[figure description] Page 202.[end figure description]
He did not go to the inn, but out toward the
suburbs, in the direction of the coast.
Once in the suburbs, he began to run, making
for a clump of woods on a hill.
He saw a post-carriage driving rapidly into
Martigny from the direction of Paris.
He scarcely glanced at it, and reaching the
woods, disappeared.
-- 203 -- p517-208
CHAPTER III THE REVELATION.
[figure description] Page 203.[end figure description]
The day seemed destined to be a busy
one for the good priest of Martigny.
The man who had called to examine
the record of the birth of Jean Angely,
had scarce left him, when another appeared,
anxious to know “the date of the marriage of
the Tèmèraire.”
Earle laughed, and corrected himself.
“I mean the date of the marriage of one
who was probably a member of your flock,
father.”
“Her name, my son?”
“Marianne Earle.”
The old priest looked up quickly.
“Marianne Earle, my son?” he said.
“Yes, father. Did you not know her?”
-- 204 --
[figure description] Page 204.[end figure description]
“As I should know my own child, had I enjoyed
the happiness of paternity.”
“Then you loved her?”
“Tenderly.”
Again the old priest looked intently at Earle.
“Well, father, then you will certainly be
pleased to aid me. I am her son.”
“You the son of Marianne Earle!”
The sailor nodded.
“Does that seem strange, father?”
“And she sends you?”
Earle shook his head.
“Why, then, do you come?”
Earle explained his object.
The old priest listened, quietly; but it was
plain that he was weighing every word which
his companion uttered.
“Now you understand, father. Pray look
for your register. I wish to find the date of
my mother's marriage, and that of my birth
too.”
The old priest did not move.
“In a moment, my son. Where is your mother
now?”
“In Wales.”
“You have seen her lately?”
“Yes.”
-- 205 --
[figure description] Page 205.[end figure description]
“And she could not inform you of the exact
date?”
“Doubtless; but the occasion has just arisen;
moreover, she has always preserved a singular
silence on these matters.”
“Her silence has been judicious, my son,”
said the old priest, gravely; “I know its cause,
and approve it.”
“What is the cause?”
“I will tell you frankly. She wishes to preserve
you from a knowledge of your father.”
“Of my father? Was he not her cousin, Edmond
Earle of the Marine?”
The priest hesitated an instant.
“No,” he said at length; “he was a heretic.”
“My father a heretic!—and not Edmond
Earle!—you astound me, father!”
“I tell you the truth, my son; and your
mother had good reason to conceal all this.
She was one of my flock, and I knew every
thought of her heart. Every breath she drew
was purity itself, and she placed her religious
duties before all. Your father would surely
have corrupted you—hence she fled to rescue
you. Now you come and ask me to tell you, in
effect the name of that father. Do you wonder
I hesitate?”
-- 206 --
[figure description] Page 206.[end figure description]
Earle pondered with knit brow for a moment.
“No father — but — it is astounding! Edmond
Earle not my father? His name, then!
his name! Or rather let me see the register!”
The old priest said solemnly,—
“Swear to me, that you will not be corrupted
by him, my son.”
“Corrupted?”
“That you will not permit him to shake your
faith in the Holy Church.”
“I swear it, father. I am a good Catholic,
and will die in the true faith! Does that satisfy
you? My father's name now?”
“Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke.”
-- 207 -- p517-212
CHAPTER IV. THE DISCOVERY.
[figure description] Page 207.[end figure description]
CHARLE gave a violent start and turned so
pale that he seemed about to faint.
“Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke!” he
gasped, — “that man my father!”
“Yes!”
“You laugh at me, old man! My father
was a French sailor, Edmond Earle, a brave
man and a good Catholic.”
“You are mistaken. Your father was an
Englishman, and I am sorry to say a heretic,
my son!”
“Good heavens!”
The old priest assumed an expression which
said,—
“It is melancholy, but true!”
Then he added in words,—
“You doubtless have seen him?”
-- 208 --
[figure description] Page 208.[end figure description]
“Yes,” said the sailor, in a low voice; his
brows knit, his eyes fixed upon the carpet.
“Without knowing of the relationship?”
“I never dreamed of it,” said Earle, in the
same tone.
Then rising suddenly, and losing sight apparently
of the presence of the priest, he paced
hurriedly up and down the room, exclaiming at
intervals,—
“That man my father! — the husband of my
mother, living there within sight of her; never
acknowledging, or perhaps not knowing her!
It is incredible, or it is infamous! That murderer
whom I have just renounced! that man
who has tracked, and hunted me to my death
well-nigh! that assassin, that infamous excrescence
of humanity, — this wretch my father!
my own father!”
He sank into a chair, and covered his face
with both hands. His breast shook, a deep sob
tore its way from his lips, and scalding tears
trickled between his fingers.
The old priest went to him, and said soothingly,—
“Do not be so much moved, my son. No
human being can control his fate. It is not
your fault that you are this man's son. Dry your
-- 209 --
[figure description] Page 209.[end figure description]
tears; seek consolation where alone it is to be
found, and all will once more grow peaceful in
your breast. Lift up your heart!”
The old man man raised his hand, and
pointed toward heaven. Earle slowly inclined
his head, and removed his hands. His face was
wet with tears.
“Enough, father,” he said. “I was a child
for a moment, but I am a man again.”
His face flushed. He rose to his feet.
“Yes, a man! and my mother shall not suffer!”
“Your mother?”
“She shall not be repudiated by that man!
I know him too well; he has acted infamously,
if he is my father; he is bent on acting more infamously
still.”
“Tell me all, my son.”
“He designs marrying a second time; and
even now may be perfecting that crime in spite
of all I have done to destroy him!”
“You! a second marriage! Why that would
be no marriage, since your mother still lives,
you say. And you speak of attempting to destroy
him! How is all this, my son?”
Earle grew calm, collected, and on his guard
all at once. The old priest's foible was evidently
-- 210 --
[figure description] Page 210.[end figure description]
curiosity; but the sailor did not wish to gratify
this curiosity. A heavy weight was on his heart,
and he saw that there was no time to lose if he
meant to act.
“I am in haste now, father,” he said, “and
must reserve my story for another occasion.
At present I request that you will exhibit to me
your register, and supply me with an attested
copy of the marriage record of Marianne Earle
and Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke. It is here—
the register?”
“Yes, my son; there upon the table.”
And the old priest approached the table, and
opened the volume bound in black leather.
“Another person has just visited me, on an
errand similar to yours, my son. His object
was to procure a copy, attested, of a certain
birth entry. What you wish is further back.
It ought to be here,” he added, stopping as he
turned over the leaves.
He examined the pages.
“Strange!” he said. “I do not find it, and
yet—”
He looked at the paging of the volume. At
a glance it was evident that one of the sheets
was missing, since page 39 followed page 36.
“Can it be?”
-- 211 --
[figure description] Page 211.[end figure description]
And the priest examined the volume more
closely. A sheet had been cut out. The narrow
strip remained indicating the theft.
“It is incredible! How was it possible? Yes,
yes! while I was absent! That was a plan laid
to remove me. Not a doubt of it!”
“What is the matter, father?” exclaimed
Earle.
“It is gone, my son. The entry of your
father and mother's marriage has been stolen!”
“Stolen! By whom?”
“By the man who was here an hour ago.”
“The man—!”
“An Englishman, as I conjectured from his
accent. He had me sent for on a false errand;
remained here, and must have cut out this leaf.”
Earle gazed in astonishment at the book, and
saw the narrow slip.
“What interest could any one have in—”
Suddenly he stopped.
“An Englishman, did you say, father?”
“As I supposed, my son.”
“His appearance?”
“A large man of great bulk and strength,
though not tall. He had a heavy black beard on
his face, and wore an English dreadnought
coat.”
-- 212 --
[figure description] Page 212.[end figure description]
“It was Wilde!” exclaimed Earle; “and he
was sent hither by his master. This proof of
the marriage with my mother existed. He is
bent on marrying again, and has abstracted it.”
He turned quickly, and seized his hat.
“What route did the man take, father?”
“I can tell you that, my son. He went
straight toward the coast.”
Earle hastened toward the door.
“Farewell, father! I am going to pursue
him. I have fifteen days' furlough; this cloak
will conceal my uniform. From this moment
it is a struggle which of us shall reach England
first. I will have that paper, or the life of the
man who carries it on his person. If he arrives
with it, all is lost! If I come up with him all
is saved. Farewell, father! Your blessing. I
go on a dangerous journey.”
And turning suddenly, the young man knelt
on one knee.
“Heaven bless and prosper you, my son!”
A moment afterwards Earle had disappeared.
-- 213 -- p517-218
CHAPTER V. THE BLOW OF THE WHIP.
[figure description] Page 213.[end figure description]
AT the moment when Earle left Paris, on
his way to Martigny, events of importance
to the personages of this history
were occurring in Pembrokeshire.
Arthur Maverick was seated in his library,
gloomily reflecting, when a servant entered and
announced Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke.
A moment afterwards the baronet entered.
His brow was as black as night, and there
was something venomous and yet apprehensive
in the glance shot sidewise from his deep-set
eyes.
Arthur Maverick rose quickly. His whole
person seemed suddenly to have stiffened into
stone.
“Your pleasure, sir!” he said, in a voice
-- 214 --
[figure description] Page 214.[end figure description]
which was scarcely recognizable. “What does
my father's murderer propose to himself in
coming to this house?”
The young man's expression was sick and
scornful. It was plain that he tolerated the
presence of the baronet only by a strong effort.
“I came to speak of that,” was the low reply
of Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke; “to ascertain
if I am to suffer in the estimation of yourself
and the Misses Maverick from the testimony of
a vagabond and the attack of a mad dog.”
Arthur looked at him fixedly.
“How do you know that the vagabond testified
against you?” he said.
Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke was caught.
“I thought as much. He is my enemy and
has endevored to extort money from me. He
made up the whole of this base charge. Your
father and myself never met after our quarrel
on the race-course.”
“Not even when he bound you to a tree and
lashed you?”
Sir Murdaugh quivered with rage at the
scornful glance of the young man.
“That is a lie, like the charge of murder. He
never so outraged me.”
“And you think I will believe you—you, the
-- 215 --
[figure description] Page 215.[end figure description]
convicted liar and murderer!” exclaimed the
young man. “You suppose, then, that I am a
baby—that because I have not arrested you,
you will go free. Undeceive yourself. Your
fate approaches. At the next assizes I lay an
information against you, and the gallows shall
avenge my father.”
Sir Murdaugh rose in tremendous wrath.
“Then there are none but enemies here,” he
growled.
“You have one friend at least,” exclaimed a
voice at the door, and Ellinor bounded into,
rather than simply entered the apartment.
“Yes!” she cried, “there is one person who
disbelieves this infamous fabrication, this slander
based on the testimony of spies and vagabonds
and dogs. My cousin there,” and she
scornfully pointed towards Authur, “may believe
as he chooses, and insult the guests in his
own house to his heart's desire; but I, at least,
will not do that. I cling to—”
“Your rich suitor, madam?”
And with an expression of overpowering
scorn, Arthur Maverick made his cousin a low
bow.
The contempt of his voice and expression
seemed to sting the fair Ellinor into wild rage.
-- 216 --
[figure description] Page 216.[end figure description]
“If I am to be insulted, I will leave this
house. I am not homeless; Lady Worsham
will protect me.”
“As you please, madam,” said the young man,
making her a second bow of profound ceremony.
“You are welcome here as long as you
remain Miss Ellinor Maverick. If you design
becoming Lady Westbrooke, the ceremony will
not take place here.”
The young lady could scarce contain her rage
at these words.
“Very well, sir,” she said, shooting a wrathful
glance at her cousin; “will you have the goodness
to order a carriage to take me to Lady
Worsham's?”
Arthur Maverick quietly rang a bell, and a
servant entered.
“The coach!” he said.
The servant disappeared.
“I will not remain here an instant longer
than is necessary, sir.”
And going out, the young lady banged the
door violently after her.
Sir Murdaugh had listened attentively. He
had supposed his suit at an end forever. Now
the unexpected turn of affairs showed him that
he might derive enormous advantage from
-- 217 --
[figure description] Page 217.[end figure description]
Ellinor's continued adhesion to her engagement.
Who would be brought to believe that he was a
murderer, when Miss Maverick consented to be
come Lady Westbrooke? Would the niece
marry the murderer of her own uncle? No one
would believe that. It was with a sudden sentiment
of safety and triumph, therefore, that the
baronet prepared to depart.
“I will imitate Miss Maverick now, sir, and
rid you of my furthur presence here,” he said,
venomously.
“Do so,” said Arthur Maverick, “and beware
how you return.”
“And you, sir, beware how you insult me,”
hissed the baronet.
“Insult you? You are not worth insult.”
“Beware!”
“This is my reply to you.”
And seizing a riding-whip lying on the table
near, the young man, in a wild rage at the presence
of his father's murderer, struck the baronet
a furious blow across the face.
In an instant they would have clutched each
other; but the door suddenly flew open.
“The blood-hound, sir!” exclaimed a servant,
rushing into the apartment.
“What of the hound?” said Arthur
-- 218 --
[figure description] Page 218.[end figure description]
Maverick, pale with passion, and quivering in every
muscle.
“There at the door, sir. He has gone mad,
they say.”
In spite of himself, the baronet turned pale.
“We meet again!” he gasped, hoarsely, addressing
Arthur Maverick. “You have struck
me, outraged me: you shall answer with your
life.”
And seeing that the way was clear, he
hastened forth and mounted his horse. A moment
afterward, he was going down the avenue
at full speed.
Suddenly a hoarse and prolonged bay was
heard in the grounds. Then a white object
darted swiftly from a mass of shrubbery on his
track.
The blood-hound had seen and was pursuing
him.
-- 219 -- p517-224
CHAPTER VI. THE MAD DOG.
[figure description] Page 219.[end figure description]
THE baronet rode on at the full speed of
his horse.
That deep and ominous bay had
shown him his danger, and he had now
a double reason to fear the blood-hound. Not
only was the animal his sworn enemy as the
murderer of Giles Maverick,—he was mad, and
his bite was mortal, no longer a mere wound.
Thus it was a race for life. As he went on
at headlong speed, he heard the hound on his
track.
The dog had cleared the tall gate in the wall
enclosing the grounds, at one leap; had plainly
descried the baronet going at full speed over
the high-road; and now, with hanging tongue,
quick pants, and grinning mouth, he pursued
-- 220 --
[figure description] Page 220.[end figure description]
him at a pace which promised to put his enemy
in his power in a few minutes.
Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke was brave, but his
heart sank within him as he drove his horse on.
The hoarse bay of the mad hound rang in his
ears like the trump of doom. Every instant he
seemed to be gaining on his enemy in the wild
race.
Suddenly his horse, into whose sides he had
driven the spur mercilessly, stumbled and half
fell.
With a curse, his rider dragged him up, and
again struck the spur into him.
But the instant thus lost was nearly fatal to
the baronet. The hound reached him and
sprung at his throat, his eyes glaring, his mouth
slavering.
But for the sudden grasp on the bridle, that
moment would have been the baronet's last.
The horse rose to his feet again, and the blood-hound
missed his spring. The sharp teeth, instead
of fixing themselves in the baronet's throat,
clutched his riding boot.
Death had grazed him thus, and he improved
the incident promptly.
With a blow from his clenched hand, cased
in a heavy riding gauntlet, he hurled the hound
-- 221 --
[figure description] Page 221.[end figure description]
from him. The animal rolled over on his back,
and again the baronet went on headlong, intent
on nothing now but escape.
All at once, however, the ominous bay was
again heard. With a sudden chill at his heart,
he turned his head and looked back. The hound
was once more pursuing him, more resolute and
enraged than before.
At that spectacle the murderer felt a pang of
mortal fear. Despair clutched him, as he felt
the venomons teeth wonld soon do. The image
of the man whom he had assassinated rose and
“shook his gory locks at him.” In the agony
of his soul he shouted,—
“Help! help! that dog will murder me.
Help!”
Suddenly his horse shied violently. He had
nearly ridden over a man in the road. This
man was rudely clad, and shouted,—
“What be the matter?”
“The dog!” gasped the baronet.
And he looked over his shoulder.
The mad blood-hound was within ten feet of
him.
“Ten guineas if you kill him!” he gasped.
As he spoke, the hound sprung. But the
man had understood, and met him.
-- 222 --
[figure description] Page 222.[end figure description]
They clutched and rolled on the road, locked
in a mortal hug.
The baronet did not wait. He put spur to his
horse and disappeared at headlong speed toward
Westbrooke Hall.
He was saved.
An hour afterward one of the fraternity of
wolves entered Oldport, with his breast covered
with blood.
The blood flowed from a deep wound in his
throat, which had swelled suddenly.
When his brother wolves questioned him, he
said he had met a man chased by a dog, the man
had offered him ten guineas to kill the dog, and
he had killed him.
Then the “wolf” ceased speaking, and began
to snap at those around him.
Two days afterwards he was attacked with
convulsions, and four men were required to
hold him.
On the next day he was calmer, but suddenly
drawing up his limbs, expired.
The dead hound had been discovered on the
road to Maverick House. The “wolf” had
-- 223 --
[figure description] Page 223.[end figure description]
succeeded in strangling him, but the mortal poison
had been communicated.
He had died of the bite of the mad dog, in
place of the baronet, and even the ten guineas
were unpaid.
-- 224 -- p517-229
CHAPTER VII. THE BURIAL OF THE WOLF.
[figure description] Page 224.[end figure description]
THE wolves followed their dead companion
to the grave, with solemn ceremony.
The scene of sepulture was a wild spot
on the very brink of the sea, and the fishermen
had enclosed the space by piling up
masses of rock, which from the channel resembled
rough defences against cannon.
Up the rugged path which led to this burial
place they now bore the dead wolf, the rude
coffin enclosing his remains carried on the
shoulders of his brethren; and reaching the
wall, they lifted the coffin over, and carried it
to the side of the grave.
Then the ceremony of interring a member of
the fraternity of the wolves began. No priest
of any denomination was present, and there was
something heathenish in the strange rites.
-- 225 --
[figure description] Page 225.[end figure description]
Hands were joined around the grave, the
wolves circled it slowly, beating the ground
with monotonous feet; then a wild and melancholy
chant rose, and was carried away by the
wind.
This lasted for half an hour. Then the hands
were unlocked and the coffin lowered into the
grave amid deep murmurs.
“Who is this we be a burying?” came in
hoarse tones from the gigantic Goliath.
“A wolf!” was the muffled response from the
voices of all present.
Goliath extended his hand solemnly.
“So mote it be!” he thundered; “and cursed
be the man who moves the bones of a wolf!”
As he spoke he took a handful of earth and
threw it on the coffin. The men did likewise,
each in turn, and the grave was speedily filled.
Then the wild-looking figures joined hands
and encircled the grave once more, beat the
ground with their feet, and repeated their
monotonous chant.
It ended at last. They left the burial ground,
and slowly wound down the hill toward the
coast. As they disappeared, night descended,
and the moon rose, throwing her pallid light on
land and sea.
-- 226 --
[figure description] Page 226.[end figure description]
Such had been the wolf's burial.
An hour past midnight, and a figure leaped
the wall, followed in a moment by another.
The moon revealed the faces of these men,
who carried picks and spades. They were the
two rough personages whom Earle and the
gypsy had encountered that night bearing the
corpse into Westbrooke Hall.
“This is the place, mate,” said one of them;
“it is easily found.”
“By the fresh earth—you are right.”
“And now to work; this job is dangerous.”
“Dangerous?”
“This is one of the wolves, and I'm told they
are sworn to put a knife into whoever disturbs
one of 'em.”
“Ough! I never heard that.”
“It makes the job worth five guineas more.”
“Exactly.”
And without further words they proceeded
vigorously to work.
In an hour the coffin responded to the blow
of the pick.
“Take care, mate!” said one, as the dull
sound was heard.
“Right.”
And proceeding more carefully, they soon
-- 227 --
[figure description] Page 227.[end figure description]
unearthed the long box without noise, and
wrenching off the lid, dragged forth the dead
body.
“He's a rough-looking one,” muttered the
man who lifted the corpse, “and his neck is all
swollen.”
“On account of the dog.”
“Hurry up, mate.”
And laying the body on the earth, they proceeded
rapidly to fill up the grave again.
This was soon accomplished, and they then
lifted the body over the fence, and bore it on
their shoulders down the rough path leading
toward the interior.
In a clump of bushes a small vehicle was
waiting. Into this they pushed the corpse as if
it were the body of an animal.
“Come on, mate; I don't like this job. Seems
to me they are a watching of us.”
And the speaker hastily got into the wagon.
The other followed, and in a business-like way
took his seat on the corpse.
Then the single horse was whipped up, the
vehicle rolled away, and night swallowed it.
The grave of the wolf had been rifled. Would
the curse descend?
-- 228 -- p517-233
CHAPTER VIII. THE CHASE.
[figure description] Page 228.[end figure description]
IT was the night succeeding these events.
Darkness and storm had rushed down
simultaneously on the coast of Pembrokeshire.
The surges of St. George's Channel, lashed
to fury by the breath of a veritable hurricane,
broke in thunder on the jagged reefs and
ledges of rock jutting from the water, and
died away in the cavernous recesses beneath
the great headland near Oldport, like the
hoarse bellowing of bulls, or the dull boom of
artillery.
The coast was absolutely deserted. Scarce
a light glimmered in Oldport. On the headland,
no beacon light warned barks off the perilous
reef. The light of the blood-red moon
-- 229 --
[figure description] Page 229.[end figure description]
alone, shining through a rift in the black
clouds, toward the east, contended with the
ebon darkness, and revealed, in their full horror,
the foam-capped reefs.
All at once a sail-boat might have been seen
darting toward land. It was a vessel of the
smallest size, and carcened terribly under the
great pressure of eanvas.
Clinging to the single mast was a man
wrapped in a dreadnought, and with his hand in
his breast. Three other men were on the bark,
but they were crouching, pale and sullen.
“We'll all go to the bottom!” said one of
the men, who seemed to be the owner of the
boat.
“You are paid!” was the gruff reply of
Wilde—for he it was who stood erect, clinging
to the mast.
“What's pay if we go down?” said the sullen
one.
“But we wont!”
“Look at that reef! Down with the helm!”
And he started to his feet.
The vessel grazed a grinning reef, scraped,
and darted on. She was a mere cork—the
winds drove her like a dry leaf of autumn over
the foaming waves.
-- 230 --
[figure description] Page 230.[end figure description]
“If I only arrive,” muttered Wilde, “I have
my fortune here!”
And he clutched a package in his breast,—
the pocket-book containing the stolen leaf from
the register at Martigny.
“Look!” suddenly shouted the skipper of the
vessel. “There is that devilish craft following
us still!”
And he pointed to a sail-boat similar to his
own, which was darting towards them.
Wilde uttered a curse.
“I thought you had got away from her!”
“I thought so too! But there she is,—followed
us all the way from the coast of
France!”
And, knitting his brows, he muttered,—
“A sailor is on board of her! I believe I'll
throw this Englishman overboard, and strike to
the craft that's been pursuing us!”
Wilde heard the muttered words, and drew
a long knife from beneath his coat.
“Death to the man who touches me!” he
growled, with the accent and manner of a wild
animal.
“And death to the man who is running us
on these reefs to go to the bottom!”
As he spoke, the Frenchman drew a knife in
-- 231 --
[figure description] Page 231.[end figure description]
his turn, his companions exactly imitated him,
and they rushed straight on Wilde.
It was too late.
Before they had reached him where he stood,
clinging with his left hand to the mast, a crash
like thunder was heard, the bark staggered, and
reeled backward. She had run right on a reef,
and two of the Frenchmen were hurled overboard.
As they disappeared, a single cry cut the
darkness like a steel blade. An instant afterwards
the heads were engulfed and the men
dashed to pieces on the jagged rocks.
The third Frenchman uttered a shout of rage,
and struck at Wilde.
As he did so, his foot slipped.
An instant afterwards Wilde had seized him
and hurled him into the sea.
The craft grated with harsh thunder on the
rocks, and then darted ahead.
The momentary arrest of her progress had,
however, given her pursuers time to gain upon
her.
As she drove on now, the craft following
hovered above her, on the summit of a gigantic
wave—and in the prow a man, wrapped in a
cloak, gazed eagerly toward her.
-- 232 --
[figure description] Page 232.[end figure description]
“She struck, Captain!” said one of the
men, “and look!—again!”
In fact, the sail-boat containing Wilde, had
rushed straight on a still more dangerous
reef.
It finished her. The sharp teeth tore her
hull to shreds—she burst in two, and her mast
sunk, dragging the sail like the wing of a
wounded sea-bird. Wilde was thrown into the
water, and struck out powerfully for the strand,
now not two hundred yards distant.
“He will escape!” cried the man in the boat
in pursuit.
And without a moment's hesitation he threw
off his cloak, and plunged into the boiling
waves.
Then a tremendous contest took place between
the adversaries. On one side was enormous
strength and great skill as a a swimmer;
on the other, equal skill, if not so much
strength, and a burning resolve to reach the
man he was in pursuit of, or die.
The wind howled; the waves struck them;
the moon was blotted out; all was darkness.
Still Wilde darted on, pursued by Earle.
-- 233 -- p517-238
CHAPTER IX. THE MYSTERY OF THE DEAD BODIES.
[figure description] Page 233.[end figure description]
WHILE these events were occurring on
the storm-lashed coast of St. George's
Channel, a sombre scene might have
been witnessed at Westbrooke Hall.
In an apartment of the mansion, furnished
with only two or three chairs and a long pine
table, Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke, clad in his
old dressing-gown, with the sleeves rolled up,
was dissecting a dead body.
The corpse was that of the “wolf,” carried
off from the lonely spot near the sea; and at the
door stood one of the rough persons who had
effected the robbery of the grave, thus providing
the “subject” which the baronet was
engaged in dissecting.
Sir Murdaugh, with animated movements,
-- 234 --
[figure description] Page 234.[end figure description]
and an expression of horrible avidity in his
eyes, cut away at the body: the man gazed at
him with interest and a curiosity which was
plain in his expression.
All at once the baronet turned, bloody scalpel
in hand, and grinned. His yellow tusks protruded
frightfully thereupon, and, to speak
plainly, he was extremely hideous.
“Gubbs!” he said.
The man thus addressed returned,—
“Your honor?”
“This seems a strange way of amusing myself,
Gubbs?”
As the words were uttered in the tone of an
inquiry, the man said,—
“Yes, your honor.”
The baronet grinned again. The occupation
in which he was engaged always put him in a
good humor. To see the flesh of his dead subjects
divide at the application of the knife,
almost invariably communicated a singular
and repulsive cheerfulness to the baronet's
expression.
“You wonder, I suppose, Gubbs,” he said,
“why I dissect. Well, suppose I tell you. It
is simple, and easily explained. When I was a
young man, I acquired a taste for surgery in
-- 235 --
[figure description] Page 235.[end figure description]
the great hospitals of Paris. I was poor—was
then simple Murdaugh Westbrooke; studied
surgery. Afterwards I had no occasion to
enter the fraternity of leg and arm cutters; but
I was as fond as ever of this—I am fond of
it still; and so I amuse myself, you see,
Gubbs, in this highly scientific manner.”
The tusks became the most prominent
features in the baronet's face as he spoke.
His yellow teeth came out too, jagged and
awry; his eyes, bloodshot but glittering with
pleasure, rolled in their cavernous sockets.
“Other men like wine and cards and
women,” said the baronet, plunging his knife
into the body,—“I like this!”
And with a keen stroke, he cut into the subject,
making a clear circular incision which
nearly divided it.
“Every man to his taste! this is mine.”
And he eagerly repeated the stroke. As he
did so, the knife slipped, and inflicted a slight
wound upon his hand.
“Take care, your honor,” said the man, “I've
hearn that was dangerous.”
“What?”
“To cut yourself while you were carving
away at one of them.”
-- 236 --
[figure description] Page 236.[end figure description]
And he pointed to the body.
“True, it is sometimes. But a little water
will prevent danger.”
And going to a basin he washed his hands
and looked at it.
The knife had punctured the palm and blood
exuded.
“An ugly scratch!” he muttered, “but no
harm can come of it now.”
As he spoke, he bound a handkerchief around
the hand, and returned to his work.
“Anything further to do, to-night, your honor?”
said the man.
“Nothing, but come back to-morrow.”
All at once hurried steps were heard, and the
door was thrown open.
As it flew back, Wilde rushed in; his face
flushed, his eyes sparkling, his clothes wet and
dripping.
“You have it!” exclaimed the baronet.
“Yes, your honor,—but I am nearly dead.
He—that one—pursued me; both boats were
wrecked on the reef yonder. I swam ashore,
he after me,—he clutched me just as I touched
land. I stabbed him, and got off in the dark.”
The baronet had scarcely listened.
“The paper!” he exclaimed.
-- 237 --
[figure description] Page 237.[end figure description]
“Here it is, your honor.”
And Wilde drew forth the leaf which he
had stolen from the register,—the proof of Sir
Murdaugh's marriage with Marianne Earle.
-- 238 --
CHAPTER X. THE DEN OF THE WOLF.
[figure description] Page 238.[end figure description]
WILDE had accurately narrated what had
taken place between himself and Earle.
The sailor by almost superhuman efforts
had succeeded in coming up with
his opponent just as Wilde emerged half dead
with cold and exhaustion from the blinding
surf; had grappled with him, intent alone on
arresting his further progress; and the powerful
gamekeeper thus assailed by his mortal
foe, had just strength enough to draw his knife
and strike at Earle as the latter clutched him.
The knife passed through the fleshy part of
the sailor's arm, and inflicted a painful wound.
It was far from disabling him however, and
it was the darkness alone which saved Wilde.
He tore away from Earle as he struck,
-- 239 --
[figure description] Page 239.[end figure description]
pushing back his opponent as he did so; then, with
a single bound, he disappeared in the gloom,
running rapidly over the sandy shore, which
gave back no sound, and enabled him to evade
his pursuer.
Earle had rushed after him, but all was in
vain. Wilde had vanished, and no sound indicated
the direction in which he had goue. In
ten minutes the sailor gave up the pursuit, and
stopped, panting and nearly exhausted from the
blood which he had lost from his wound.
He looked around him. All was dark. A
few lights glimmered in the village of Oldport.
He dared not venture there in his full uniform
of a captain in the French navy; and looking
for the bark which had brought him, he could
nowhere discover it.
“One thing only is left,” he muttered,—“to
go to my mother.”
And traversing the surge-lashed shore, along
the edge of the water, he reached the narrow
path running along the ledge of rocks—then
that which wound up the preipice to the hut of
the recluse.
No one but a sailor, sure-footed and accustoned
to work with hands and feet in the dark,
could have found his way safely up the dizzy
-- 240 --
[figure description] Page 240.[end figure description]
path toward the summit. More than once he
passed near the very brink of the precipice;
a step out of the pathway, would have hurled
him a thousand feet down into the boiling
abyss. But he went on safely. No chamois
could have traversed the narrow way more
rapidly and surely. Soon he reached the last
and most dangerous point; passed it; reached
the summit, and hastened to the hut of the
recluse.
No light was visible. The spot seemed deserted.
Earle struck the door with his clenched hand.
It flew open, but within all was darkness and
silence.
He entered. A strange sinking of the heart
suddenly assailed him. Where was his mother?
Why this darkness and silence, instead of
her smile and warm greeting?
He went toward the narrow bed, and felt for
his mother there. She might be asleep.
The bed was vacant. The cold pillow was
round and unpressed.
She was gone!
Earle sat down, faint in body and mind. A
sombre foreboding siezed upon him. What was
the origin of this absence?
-- 241 --
[figure description] Page 241.[end figure description]
Suddenly he rose with a hoarse cry.
“That man!—that wretch! He has probably
murdered her! He has discovered her!
He came here, I now remember, in search of
me! He sent to France to steal that proof of
his marriage! He has secured both obstacles
to his new marriage,—the record, and the person
of the first wife!”
Earle pressed both hands to his forehead, and
staggered.
What should he do?
With weak and uncertain steps, but a wild
excitement in his breast, he tottered out of the
hut, went toward the precipice, traversed the
dizzy brink with the instinct of a blind man, descended
the path, reached the shore, then,
scarce knowing what he did, he staggered on
toward the village.
All at once there rose before him in the darkness
a weird-looking object.
It was the hull of a wrecked vessel, turned
upward and fitted up as a rude dwelling. A
ray of moonlight as red as blood enabled him
to make out its surroundings. These were nets,
an old anchor, a coil of rope, and an old buoy.
The door was a hole scarce large enough for a
man to crawl into. It was open now, and Earle
-- 242 --
[figure description] Page 242.[end figure description]
saw crouching over a few embers, a gigantic
figure.
Something in this figure struck him as familiar.
He tottered forward and looked in. The
figure raised its head. By the glimmer of the
embers Earle recognized Goliath.
The next moment he staggered to the doorway,
uttered a low cry, and fell forward into
the arms of the chief of the wolves, who had
recognized him, and drew him into his rude
dwelling, radiant with joy at his return.
“You be come up out of the foam, master!”
Earle tried to reply, but fainted.
-- 243 -- p517-248
CHAPTER XI. KIDNAPPED.
[figure description] Page 243.[end figure description]
In an upper room of Westbrooke Hall,
difficult of access, and almost unsuspected,
so carefully was it concealed by jutting
gables and angles, sat the recluse
whom we left in her hut on the headland, when
Earle set out for Maverick House.
Two days before, she had been kidnapped.
This was very simply effected. The man
Gubbs, in the absence of Wilde, the baronet's
factotum, undertook the affair, went thither after
midnight, simply seized and gagged the solitary
woman, forced her to enter a light carriage,
and then drove off swiftly through woodland
by-roads to Westbrooke Hall, which they
reached before daylight.
The recluse was then conducted to the
-- 244 --
[figure description] Page 244.[end figure description]
apartment which we have spoken of above; the door
was locked upon her; she was left to her reflections;
and, whilst still engaged in this occupation,
Sir Murdaugh had entered.
“Welcome to Westbrooke Hall, your ladyship!”
was his ironical greeting. “Can I do
aught to render your sojourn here more agreeable?
If the servants exhibit any neglect, pray
inform me of the fact, Charmed to see you,
my dear madam,—really charmed, upon my
word!”
The recluse looked at him coldly. There
was not a particle of nervous trepidation in her
expression.
“You do not reply, my lady. Pray honor
me with a few words: your voice invariably
charms me.”
“I do not reply because I have none to make,
sir,” said the woman, with entire
calmness.
“What response is necessary to an outrage
like this?”
“An outrage, madam?”
“Is it not an outrage to send a wretch
in your pay to seize an unprotected woman
and to drag her off thus to a place of concealment?”
“Well, it is irregular.”
-- 245 --
[figure description] Page 245.[end figure description]
The baronet grinned and was evidently enjoying
himself.
“Your object?”
“Well, shall I be frank with you, madam?”
“If you can.”
“Shall I tell you my first plan, or my
second?”
“Speak!”
“First, I thought I would—well, would—
murder you, my dear madam. That is an ugly
word, but you may retort that it suits me. Perhaps
it does. I am not a beauty, and my life,
tried by a strictly moral standard, may not be
beautiful morally. Yes! I thought I would get
rid of you.”
“Why have you not done so, then?” was the
cold inquiry.
The baronet's face grew dark.
“It is not too late,” he said in a threatening
tone; “beware how you defy me.”
“Defy you? Do you suppose I am afraid of
you? No! do as you will. Yes! I do defy
you.”
And the woman rose to her full height.
“I never feared you,” she said, looking at
him with superb scorn in her eyes. “I fled
from you to rescue a child from your poisonous
-- 246 --
[figure description] Page 246.[end figure description]
association. That child is safe from you now.
You cannot harm him, for he knows you. As
to me, what care I, think you? Nothing.”
And she sat down again.
The baronet scowled at her with sudden
wrath. Then this changed to a sneer.
“Good, good!” he said; “the same spirit that
used to blaze cut in Marianne Earle, twenty
years ago. Ah! you look at me with your
fine disdain. You would say that I provoked
you then. Well, so be it; let that go. I am
here to speak of the present and future—your
future. I will do so very briefly, madam. I
brought you here intending to get rid of you, if
necessary. It is not necessary. I will simply
send you to St. Domingo. My good servitor,
Wilde, who is known to you, will accompany
your ladyship. He is absent now on important
business, but will soon return. Then I will call
on madam again.”
And sneering, he went out abruptly.
-- 247 -- p517-252
CHAPTER XII. MASTER AND MAN.
[figure description] Page 247.[end figure description]
SUCH were the events which had occurred
during the brief absence of Earle and
Wilde.
We left the baronet and this latter
worthy in the apartment containing the corpse,
the eyes of Sir Murdaugh fixed joyfully on the
paper which Wilde had brought him.
“At last I have it,” he exclaimed. “From
this moment I am safe.”
Wilde glanced sidewise at the man, Gubbs,
and the baronet nodded.
“You can go now,” he said to the man, who
at once left the apartment.
“And now to business, Wilde,” added the
baronet. “Much has been done in your absence.”
-- 248 --
[figure description] Page 248.[end figure description]
“What, your honor?”
“That woman is here, a prisoner in this house.
But, before I speak further of this, tell me all
about your journey.”
“That I will do in few words, sir.”
And Wilde narrated every thing, concluding
with the scene whiel had occurred on the beach.
“That man is an incarnate devil,” growled
the baronet. “He is ever on my track. Not
content with denouncing me as a murderer, he
is now here again to thwart and endanger me.”
“There is but one thing left your honor,” said
Wilde in a low tone.
The baronet looked at him intently.
“I understand you—yes,” he said.
Compact of murder was never made more
clearly in fewer words. But the baronet
seemed determined that there should be no
doubt whatever.
“That man must die, Wilde; no mincing of
words. We have gone too far to recede.”
The words were uttered in a whisper.
“The thing is plain, sir,” was the reply in the
same tone; “while he is alive, you are in danger,
to say nothing of me. I don't intend to
rest. Give your orders, sir. They shall be
obeyed.”
-- 249 --
[figure description] Page 249.[end figure description]
The baronet sat down, and gazed at the floor.
“Where is he?” he said suddenly; “since
you stabbed him, he must be near Oldport. Was the wound dangerous?”
“Only in the flesh of the arm.”
“That is nothing! Act promptly. Go and
look for him to-night! This is all the more
necessary, as he will come quickly to look for
us!”
“I understand, sir.”
“She is here! He will be on our track,
since he must suspect me of the abduction.”
Wilde buttoned up his wet coat.
“I will take Gubbs, and hunt him to-night,
sir.”
“Do so, and return before daylight. Things
are hurrying in many ways, Wilde. Listen! I
am to be married in eight days. In three days
that woman must be out of England. If in
twenty-four hours he is dead we are safe, and
you will have earned one thousand pounds. If
he lives—the gallows—! I am rich and influential,
and may escape. You are poor and
nobody—you will hang! Go, now! You
may find him in some corner, fainting and
weak from loss of blood. You are a man of
decision; you will not neglect that chance.
-- 250 --
[figure description] Page 250.[end figure description]
Go, go! His death secures everything. Whilst
he lives,—listen, Wilde,—the halter is around
your neck!”
“And yours!” muttered the Hercules as he
hastened from the apartment.
-- 251 -- p517-256
CHAPTER XIII. A TIGRESS.
[figure description] Page 251.[end figure description]
AS Wilde disappeared, the baronet fixed
his eyes with avidity upon the paper in
his hand.
“The actual entry!” he muttered;
“Murdaugh Westbrooke to Marianne Earle,
Martigny, April 17—, signed by Father Ambrose;
all in due form! Decidedly, Wilde is a
cool hand, and has effected all I hoped for.
Now to action! But first to enjoy my little
treat!”
He went out quickly, and ascending the
broad staircase, took a key from his pocket and
opened a door. Before him, in a bare apartment,
sat the recluse, pale but calm.
“I have come to call on you, madam,” he
said, grinning.
-- 252 --
[figure description] Page 252.[end figure description]
The recluse coldly inclined her head.
“I have an interesting communication to
make, madam.”
The recluse gazed at him intently, but made
no reply.
“Your ladyship is silent this evening, but
no matter. I will talk myself. And first, I
beg to call your ladyship's attention to the
fact that this is the record of our marriage in
the village of Martigny—brought for my
private perusal by our mutual acquaintance,
Mr. Wilde.”
The baronet watched her closely. At these
words she turned suddenly pale.
“Doubtless a copy, sir!” she said, coldly,
but with a sudden, eager glance.
The baronet burst out laughing. It was a
sombre and ghastly sound.
“A copy? By no means, madam. The original
paper! I was too intelligent to care for
a copy. I wished to feast my eyes upon the
sole and only evidence of our connubial
bliss! What cared I for a copy? What I
wanted was the actual sheet from the record,
signed by the priest: here it is; and from this
moment there is no proof whatever of our marriage.”
-- 253 --
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The recluse was pale, but her calmness had
returned.
“So you are bent on destroying all proof
that I am Lady Westbrooke?”
The baronet bowed and said ironically,—
“Madam is intelligent.”
“You design marrying again?”
“I do, madam.”
“To commit bigamy?”
“There is no bigamy where proof does not
exist of a former marriage.”
The recluse made no reply. With her eyes
fixed intently upon the baronet, she seemed to
listen coldly.
“Why make so much ado, my dear madam,”
he said, with sombre grin. “Are we so much
devoted to each other that we cannot bear to
ignore that former union? Was it of hearts—
or hands only? I think it was merely the hand.
Well, I count that a sin. I design to unite myself
now to a young creature who loves me?”
No reply came from the recluse. The baronet
went on:—
“Shall I tell you of my little affair? The
fair one is called Ellinor Maverick. She is exceedingly
handsome—much more handsome,
I must say, than you ever were; and she marries
-- 254 --
[figure description] Page 254.[end figure description]
me in defiance of the whole respectable Maverick
family.”
The recluse had never removed her eyes
from the face of the baronet.
“Does she know that you have one wife living?”
she said, calmly.
The words brought to the baronet's face the
eternal grin.
“I must confess she does not, madam!
She is a tender lamb led to the slaughter. I
am a monster, you perhaps think, and I confess
I am not a saint. But in this case the lamb is
tough! Miss Maverick weds me for my estate,
not from the sympathetic impulse of her maiden
heart! She calculates—she does not gush
out! I am Sir Ten Thousand a Year, rather
than Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke; and a few
little charges which have been brought against
me have had no influence on the sweet charmer—
she is still determined to marry me.”
“And you will ruin this young woman because
she is worldly and ambitious?”
“Ruin her, madam? not at all? How shall
I ruin her?”
The recluse pointed coldly toward the paper
in his hand.
“Still harping upon this!” the baronet said
-- 255 --
[figure description] Page 255.[end figure description]
with a grin. “I will show you how I remove
that little difficulty in the simplest manner,
madam?”
He caught the paper with both hands, and
was about to tear it in pieces.
“Forbear!” cried the recluse, suddenly rising
and confronting him.
“Forbear what?” he growled.
“From the commission of the crime you
meditate!” his companion said, with flushed
cheeks. “It is your soul's salvation you imperil!
I do not speak of the offence against
law! Think, unhappy old man!—for you
are old now, as I am,—think, God has forbidden
this. You sin wilfully against his commandements!
Stop now, on the threshold!—
repent!—a poor sinner urges that! Abandon
this scheme!—remember that your lawful
wife still lives!—Give me the paper!”
And before he divined her intention, she
grasped the paper and tore it from him.
The baronet uttered an enraged cry and
said,—
“Beware!—give me back that writing!”
“It is mine equally—since it is the record
of my marriage!” she exclaimed, recoiling, and
thrusting the paper into her bosom.
-- 256 --
[figure description] Page 256.[end figure description]
“Give me the writing!”
And he seized her by the wrist, with a
grasp of iron.
“Release me, sir!”
“Give me the paper!”
“I will not!”
He seized her by the throat.
“The paper—or you are dead!”
The hand grasped the white throat more
furiously.
“Kill me, then!—you may take it from my
dead body—I will never surrender it!”
He tore open her dress, and drew the paper
from its hiding-place.
“Coward!” she exclaimed, as he did so;
“wretch, to outrage me thus!—to lay the
hand of violence where you once laid your
head! Oh! I could tear the very flesh
which was so profaned once!—coward!”
And with flaming eyes she confronted him,—
eyes full of superb wrath.
“Insult, outrage, murder me if you will!”
she cried, in her rage and scorn. “There is
one person who is safe from you—your
child!—whom you aimed to murder! unnatural
and monstrous! Of what race do you
-- 257 --
[figure description] Page 257.[end figure description]
come? You would slay your own child!—
but he at least is safe from you!”
The baronet had retreated a step as she confronted
him with blazing eyes. In spite of
himself, he shrunk before the scorn of his
companion. Now, however, his sneer returned—
the ghastly grin distorted his ugly mouth.
“Ah! you think that whelp is safe, do you,
madam? You are mistaken. Wilde stabbed
him to-night!”
“You lie—he is in France!”
“I do not lie, madam—he is in Pembrokeshire.”
The woman looked at him; as she did so
the flush died out of her cheeks.
“Where is he?”
“I will not tell you!”
She trembled.
“For pity's sake!”
And suddenly submissive she clasped her
hands.
“Do not harm him! He has not wronged
you! Why do you thus hate him?”
“Because he hates me, and will destroy me—
if I do not destroy him! Cease your prayers,
then—they are vain! His doom is sealed—
Wilde is now tracking him!”
-- 258 --
[figure description] Page 258.[end figure description]
“That wretch? Oh, it is infamous! He
will murder him! Let me go and save him!”
The baronet thrust her back violently, and
went toward the door.
“It is too late! he is doomed!”
And he reached the door and opened it.
Suddenly the woman threw herself upon
him, and seizcd his throat with both hands.
“Give me my child!” she cried, with the
rage of a tigress robbed of her young.
His reply was to hurl her from him, and she
fell at full length on the floor. A moment
afterwards the baronet had passed through the
door and closed and locked it.
As the key turned in the lock, the door
shook under the grasp of the poor mother.
“My child! my child! Give me my child!”
she moaned, shaking the door.
A laugh replied; and the baronet's footsteps
receded. A moment afterwards a body fell
heavily in the apartment which he had left.
The recluse had fainted.
-- 259 -- p517-264
CHAPTER XIV. THE INTRUDER.
[figure description] Page 259.[end figure description]
SIR MURDAUGH WESTBROOKE descended
to his sitting-room.
The grin had disappeared from his
lips and there was no longer the former
expression of hideous triumph in his eyes.
He sat down, and gazed for fully a quarter of
an hour into the fire, which was dying down
now.
“How will this end?” he muttered. “I am
knee-deep in blood, and am going in waist-deap!
Am I then a wretch unable to withhold
myself from crime? Why do I venture
on this marriage. Why do I plan that boy's
destruction? Is the Devil my prompter?
Doubtless, since he has just made me outrage
-- 260 --
[figure description] Page 260.[end figure description]
a woman—cut her to the heart—inflict personal
violence upon her!”
He knit his brow, and his lips writhed.
“I am a lost soul, I think!”
And he rose to his feet.
“She cowed me yonder to-night when—yes, I
was a coward to outrage that bosom! It was
Marianne Earle's once—I loved her—have
never loved any one else! Yes, yes, I was a
coward! And I aim to prove myself a worse
coward still!”
He looked at the paper which he held in his
hand. “Marianne Earle, Martigny, April 17,—,”
seemed burnt in flame upon it.
“She was beautiful then!—the only dream
of my life!” he muttered. I loved her—could
have died for her—for six months!” he added,
with a cruel sneer.
And leaning against the tall carved mantel-piece,
he pondered, his face gradually growing
dark.
“No! it is too late to recede—and to defy
that boy Arthur is delicious! This marriage is
necessary—it removes suspicion! It ties their
hands, for I will be the husband of Ellinor Maverick,
their own blood! Then—then, with
this woman and that other enemy gotten rid of
-- 261 --
[figure description] Page 261.[end figure description]
—with no fears any longer, and the failing
health of the Viscount Occil to count on—!”
He slowly tore the paper in pieces and threw
it into the fire.
“The die is cast!” he muttered; “my sentimental
mood is over! Sentiment for me! I
was an innocent man once, now I am what?
What have I to do with sentiment? Can the
wolf that is hunted find time to snivel and wipe
his eyes? Away with such imbecility! I am
a man again, and will ride over all enemies.
Aid me, Devil! if there be a Devil!”
And, with a face distorted into a hideous grin,
the baronet took from the table the only light
in the apartment, slowly crossed the drawing-room,
opened and passed through the door,
and then his steps were heard slowly ascending
the staircase.
Ten minutes after his disappearance, a slight
sound might have been heard at the rear window.
This window opened, as the reader will
remember, directly on the park; and for more
than a half an hour a man standing on the
ledge beneath it had been watching the baronet,
his eyes on a level with the window-sill.
As the figure of the baronet disappeared now,
-- 262 --
[figure description] Page 262.[end figure description]
a dusky arm suddenly rose from without. As
the arm rose, the moon came out, and revealed a
man's head and shoulders above the sill. Then
the hand stealthily passed through a broken
pane in the window—the bolt was silently shot
back—a moment afterwards the sash was
raised—and, silent as a shadow, the man stood
in the room.
It was the gypsy: his countenance expressed
mingled curiosity and apprehension. The
swarthy face was plain in a vagrant gleam from
the dying fire, and toward the fire he now moved
with a cautious and stealthy step.
“That paper!—why did he look at it so
closely—and then tear it?” muttered the
gypsy. “I see it is not burned—only one of the
pieces is destroyed!'
He stooped and raised the fragments, joining
them together, and closely scanning them.
“Murdaugh Westbrooke—Marianne Earle;
Martigny. Why this is a marriage record!” he
murmured. “And to think that the good Sir
Murdaugh has already been married!”
He looked again at the paper. The name of
the woman seemed to strike him for the first
time.
“Marianne Earle!” he said, knitting his
-- 263 --
[figure description] Page 263.[end figure description]
brows, and evidently lost in reflection, “Marianne
Earle! Earle!—there is some mystery
here!”
And his quick mind went back to his association
with the sailor. Twice he had heard Earle
repeat his own name,—once when carrying off
the viscount, in reply to a question from the
nobleman, and again during the interview with
Arthur Maverick on the night of his escape.
“Earle!” he muttered; “this baronet married
Marianne Earle, then! Who was she? was she
related to him—my brother of the Rommanye
Rye?”
His eyes distended suddenly. The vagabond's
enormous acuteness had placed him on
the track of the mystery. The woman on the
headland was Earle's mother. He had divined
that when he went to warn Earle on that last
night of his stay in Pembrokeshire.
“Aha! Here is something!” he muttered.
“It will pay better even than my knowledge of
the murderer of Giles Maverick! I am lucky!
I came for the baronet's silver: I find out
something far more valuable than silver, I
think.”
And folding up the pieces of paper, he
placed them carefully in his ragged pocket.
-- 264 --
[figure description] Page 264.[end figure description]
Then he looked around warily. There was
no silver of any description visible.
“The skinflint!” he muttered, with a grimace;
“not to leave a spoon, even, for a poor
gypsy!”
With stealthy steps he went toward the door
which opened on the hall. Not a sound was
heard in the funereal mansion but the measured
ticking of an enormous clock, which rose, ghost-like,
in the corner of the hall.
“Shall I venture farther? It is dangerous,
but I will try it. I may find something,” he
muttered.
The gypsy placed his foot upon the staircase.
In the darkness he had not seen the door leading
into the room containing the corpse. The
terrible odor, however, filled the air, and for an
instant his heart failed him.
“What devilish smell is that?” he murmured.
“I had best get out of this place.”
He turned to go back, but at that moment a
stifled groan reached his ears. It died away,
then was repetead, then died away again.
The gypsy was even more curious, by nature,
than cautions of his personal safety. The
muffled sounds roused his curiosity to the
highest pitch.
-- 265 --
[figure description] Page 265.[end figure description]
“Something horrible is going on here!” he
said, in a low voice. “Shall I try to find what
it means? I can gain the window again in
two minutes, and neither Wilde nor his hounds
are here to follow me!”
He placed his foot once more on the stair:
the solid oak did not creak. The second step
was as firm; and, rapid and noiseless as a cat,
the gypsy reached the second floor.
As he did so the groans were again heard,
apparently from an apartment at the end of a
dark side passage. The moonlight half-illumined
the corridor; he stealthily glided toward
the sound.
It grew plainer as he advanced. He reached
the door from behind which it issued, and,
stooping down, applied his eye to the keyhole in
which the key had been left.
What he saw made him hold his breath for
a moment.
A woman, clad in a dark dress, was kneeling
and praying, with clasped hands, and eyes
raised to heaven. A ray of moonlight fell
upon her face. The gypsy recognized the
mother of Earle.
For a moment his heart stood still. A vague
idea of the truth came to him. The woman
-- 266 --
[figure description] Page 266.[end figure description]
was a prisoner—Earle's mother. Was she the
Marianne Earle of the marriage record?
The gypsy's face flushed hot, and, turning his
head, he listened. The stifled groans were only
heard as the poor woman prayed.
“Now, or never, if I mean to act as his
friend!” he said to himself.
And silently unlocking the door, he stood before
the woman.
She uttered a low exclamation, and shrunk
back as he approached.
“Hush!” he whispered, “I am a friend,—I
will take you to your son. Listen! His name is
Edmond Earle. It was I who came to warn
him, you remember, of the baronet's pursuit of
him. I understand all. You are a prisoner
here. Come with me and make no noise.”
She had listened with a nervous tremor in
her frame, but this suddenly ceased.
“Yes, yes, I feel that you are a friend. Let
us hasten to leave this place.”
“Come, then!”
And the gypsy rapidly led the way from the
room to the corridor.
“Make haste now!” he whispered. “The
baronet has not yet retired. There is his
-- 267 --
[figure description] Page 267.[end figure description]
chamber. See the glimmer of the light through the
keyhole!”
Suddenly the voice of the baronet cried,—
“Who is there? Who is stirring?”
“Run! Make haste down the stairs!” exclaimed
the gypsy.
And he pushed the woman toward the staircase.
Her foot had scarce touched the top step
when Sir Murdaugh Westbrook's door opened
violently.
“Who is there?” he shouted, raising a heavy
pistol, cocked and ready.
The gypsy's reply was prompt. He threw
himself upon the baronet and hurled him
back, knocking up the weapon just as the report
of the pistol rang out.
A moment afterwards he had wrenched it
from the baronet, and dealt him a heavy blow
in the face. Then he gained the door at
one bound; closed it violently and turned the
key in the lock; hastily descended the stairs;
and taking the woman by the arm, drew her
quickly to the window, through which he assisted
her to pass, just as the sleepy and
frightened servants rushed in to find the meaning
of the pistol-shot.
-- 268 --
[figure description] Page 268.[end figure description]
Once in the park, the gypsy cried,—
“To the woods! to the woods!”
“But my son! where is my son!”
“He is in France.”
“God be thanked!” she exclaimed. “Then
that wretch wilfully lied! He is safe! Then
all is well.”
And she followed the gypsy, who hastened
on.
In ten minutes the shadows of the forest
had swallowed the two figures.
-- 269 -- p517-274
CHAPTER XV. THE RIFLED GRAVE.
[figure description] Page 269.[end figure description]
WE left Earle in the den of the chief of
the wolves.
“You be come up out of the foam,
master!” the gigantic Goliath had exclaimed;
whereupon, overcome by weakness
from the wound in his arm, and exhaustion,
Earle had fainted.
When he opened his eyes the giant was
bending over and bandaging his arm. He
performed this office with rough tenderness,
and as the young man looked up, said, in guttural
tones,—
“You be safe here, master!”
“Ah!” murmured Earle.
“You be French—the flag you run out
when they fired on you told that; but French
-- 270 --
[figure description] Page 270.[end figure description]
or no French, you be a wolf, and you be safe
here.”
Earle quietly extended his hand and grasped
the huge paw of the wolf.
“Thanks!” he said. “Yes, I need a refuge,
and your help!”
“My help?”
“The help of the wolves, perchance—the
whole fraternity. I will tell you more of that.”
And rising slowly to his feet, he looked
through the low port-hole serving as a window,
and said,—
“Is it near daylight, brother?”
The reply of the wolf was, that it was scarce
midnight.
“Then I will sleep: wake me at daylight!”
said Earle.
And stretching himself before the fire, he
fell asleep almost instantly.
The giant gazed at him for some moments
with a strange expression of solicitude on his
face; sat down on a rough stool, having first
hung an old blanket before the door; and
soon the nods of his huge head indicated that
he too slumbered.
It was long hours after midnight, when all
at once the gigantic Goliath stirred and
-- 271 --
[figure description] Page 271.[end figure description]
muttered in his sleep. The vague sense of impending
peril seemed to render him uneasy.
Suddenly the influence appeared to master
him, and he rose quickly, and went to the door.
As he did so, two shadows which had hovered
near the port-hole window, shrunk back
into the darkness behind the overturned hull,
and all was quiet.
Goliath muttered some guttural words, shook
his head, and returned to his stool. With a
glance at Earle, on whose face the glimmering
light of the embers fell, he kicked the brands
together, wrapped an old pea-jacket around
him, and in a few minutes was nodding, sound
asleep, beside his companion.
For half an hour nearly, the silence remained
unbroken save by the whistle of the wind,
and the long roll of the surf, falling with
monotonous beat upon the sands. Then cautious
steps might have been heard—two figures emerged
from the shadows of the hull, and one of
these figures, placing his eye at a crevice, muttered,—
“It is our man!”
For more than a minute he remained silent
and motionless, with his hand extended warningly
toward his companion behind him.
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Then he drew a pistol from his breast, and
directed the muzzle toward Earle.
His companion pulled him back almost violently.
“You will get yourself and me killed!” he
said, in a hurried whisper.
“Killed?” said the man, impatiently.
“The wolves will swarm at the sound of
your shot!”
And Gubbs—for it was that worthy—looked
at Wilde with horror-struck eyes.
“You don't know 'em—the wolves,” added
Gubbs, in the same hurried whisper. “They
sleep with one eye open; and this man is one
of them, you know, Wilde.”
“Yes, curse him!” growled Wilde, lowering
his pistol, “you are right.”
Goliath started and rose to his feet.
“I swear I heard something,” he cried, drawing
a long knife.
The movement was followed by the unmistakable
sound of steps retreating rapidly. Goliath
rushed from the hut; but only in time to
see two shadows disappear behind some bushes.
He darted on their track; reached the bushes,
and stopped to listen for a moment—not a
sound. The mysterious figures had vanished,
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and with muttered imprecations Goliath turned
back.
He saw Earle coming to meet him.
“What is the matter, brother?” said the sailor.
In a few words, Goliath informed him of this
incident.
Earle reflected with a knit brow, for an instant.
“Those men were sent here to murder me,
brother,” he said, “but their hearts failed them;
we are safe at present. Now for other matters.
Is it near day?”
The giant pointed to a yellow streak in the
east.
Earle nodded.
“Come, then, brother. A sailor's first thought
is of his craft. I wish to mount that height
yonder, and look out for the sail-boat that
brought me last night.”
“Right, master! You be a sailor true. If
she be wrecked—”
“I shall see her. If she rode through the
storm, I shall see her.'
And he led the way toward the height.
“When that is done, we will talk, brother,”
he said, walking slowly and painfully. “See,
we mount! we will soon arrive.
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And he went on, followed by Goliath, and
finally reached the summit of the height.
It was the wild and lonely spot used as a
place of sepulture for the dead wolves. The
rough wall of piled-up rock was clearly seen in
the gray light of dawn; and mounting to the
top. Earle gazed out on the channel, from which
the mists were slowly rising. As he did so, the
sun rose, and the curtain of vapor was swept
away as if by enchantment.
The sailor uttered an exclamation.
“Look! there she is, brother; she is making
for the coast of France.”
In fact the sail-boat, which had brought
Earle, known easily by her peculiar rigging,
was seen scudding before a fresh breeze in the
offing, toward the south.
The gigantic Goliath had heard the exclamation
of his companion, but had made no
reply.
Earle looked round. Goliath was crouching
over the rifled grave of the wolf whom he had
assisted in burying.
“What is the matter, brother?” said Earle.
Goliath uttered the growl of a wild animal,
and seized a board which protruded from the
hastily filled grave.
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“This be the matter, master,” he muttered in
a low and fierce tone.
And exerting his herculean strength, he
dragged the entire end of the coffin from the
grave. It was empty.
“Look!” said the wolf. “We buried him,
and his grave be robbed.”
As he spoke, he bounded toward the wall.
A part of the shroud had been torn torn off by
a sharp fragment.
“They went this way,” he growled.
And following the foot-prints rapidly, he
reached the spot where the wagon had waited.
Here the footprints stopped, and nothing was
left but to follow the marks of the wheels, and
the horse's feet.
These led towards Westbrooke Hall, and Goliath
was about to hasten in the direction thus
indicated, when the hand of Earle was laid on
his shoulder, and the sailor said,—
“A moment, brother.”
The giant turned impatiently.
“I be on the track—woe, to the man who
disturbed a wolf.”
“I can help you,” said Earle.
“You, master?”
“By leading you to the body.”
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“You?”
“My interest is to do so. I myself need the
help of the wolves.”
“For what, master?”
“To attack Westbrooke Hall, where my
mother is a prisoner; to release her at the same
moment when you recapture our dead brother's
body.”
The wolf started back, in astonishment.
“At Westbrooke Hall?” he exclaimed.
“Yes!—my mother, and all that is left of
our dead brother, who has been carried off!
Come, no time is to be lost! I am a wolf!—
I make the signal!—to my help, wolves! to my
help!”
“That is enough, master!”
And they hurried down the steep pathway,
toward the haunts of the wolves.
-- 277 -- p517-282
CHAPTER XVI. THE ATTACK OF THE WOLVES.
[figure description] Page 277.[end figure description]
At an hour past noon on the same day
which witnessed the discovery of the
rifled grave, a singular scene took place
at Westbrooke Hall.
Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke was pacing up
and down his library, with hurried steps,—his
face bruised, and swollen, his eyes glaring with
rage, when suddenly there came to his ears a
strange sound from the park without,—the
sound of furious shouts, hurrying feet, and that
muffled and threatening hum, which rises from
a mass of men bent upon mischief.
At that sound, the baronet suddenly stopped,
and turned his head.
“What is that?” he muttered, with an expression
of rage and apprehension mingled.
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He hastened to the window. The spectacle
which saluted him made him recoil.
In front of the hall was a confused and
furious crowd of outlandish figures,—ragged,
with glaring eyes, fierce grins, brandished arms,—
who were hurrying towards the great door,
shouting ferociously as they came; and in front
of them, beside the enormous Goliath, who led
the attack, the baronet recognized the pale face
of Earle, who wore his full uniform.
“What devil has brought these wretches to
attack and perhaps sack my house?” cried the
baronet.
Suddenly his face grew pale.
“Has she found him and told him all, and
has he come to murder me?”
He rushed to the door, and violently called
out,—
“Wilde!”
The man had his hand on the door as the
baronet opened it. He was trembling.
“Mount and ride to the revenue station,
Wilde! Say I am attacked by these assassins—
the wolves! Kill my best horse, if necessary!
Ride, and come back with the guard at a
gallop!”
Wilde ran from the library, and disappeared
-- 279 --
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at a side door. The baronet hastened to the
front door of the mansion, where a loud knocking
was heard.
“Open!” cried twenty voices.
And the door shook under the pressure of
huge shoulders.
The baronet replied by drawing a massive
chain across the door, and dropping a heavy bar.
The door was already locked—it was thus
triply guarded.
“Open!” howled the wolves.
“Who are you?” cried the baronet.
“Open the door! or—”
A tremendous rush was made at the oak.
“I warn you to desist!” shouted the baronet,
in a hoarse and trembling voice. “Who
comes to invade the privacy—and violate
the—”
A howl drowned the rest of the sentence.
“I am a magistrate!”
“Open!”
“This is a felony!”
The door cracked.
“I have sent for the revenue guard. Beware!
Disperse, before they charge and fire
on you!”
As he spoke, the wolves, in one huge mass
-- 280 --
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of shoulders, backs, and arms, rushed against
the door.
It gave way, the bar snapped, the chain was
torn from its fastenings, the lock was shattered;
in a moment the wolves had poured in, irresistible
as a surge of the ocean, and furious voices
shouted,—
“Our brother! where is the wolf, our
brother!”
Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke, staggered back,
as pale as death and trembling in every limb.
“The meaning of this violence?” he muttered.
“Who is your brother?”
A howl answered him.
He looked round, expecting every moment to
be torn to pieces. His eye fell upon Earle,
who, pale and still, was looking at him.
“You too!” gasped the baronet,—“what
brings you?”
“Where is my mother?”
The baronet grew livid, and made no reply.
“Where is my mother, and the record of her
marriage which you had stolen at Martigny?”
The young man's face suddenly flushed.
Rage was gaining the mastery with him.
“I know nothing of her, or the record!”
Earle's teeth were heard grinding together.
-- 281 --
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“Where is my mother, and that paper?” he
exclaimed, advancing as though about to throttle
the baronet. “Answer! Dare to trifle with me,
and, by heaven! though you be my father, I
will slay you as I would slay a venemous reptile!”
The baronet shrunk back, pale and trembling.
At the same instant, a tremendous shout was
heard. It issued from the side apartment,
where the wolves had discovered the corpse,
and they were seen now, pouring out, the
corpse, in its shroud, borne on their brawny
shoulders.
“Death! death!” they cried hoarsely.
And they rushed on the baronet.
As he staggered back, a loud shout was heard
without, and the clash of hooves.
“They are coming! if I can gain a few minutes!”
muttered the baronet, as pale as death.
And recoiling from the mad crowd,—
“Beware how you outrage a magistrate!” he
gasped.
The hoof-strokes came on like thunder, and
men were heard leaping to the ground.
“Wilde has met a party going the rounds:
I am saved!”
And the baronet broke from his enemies.
-- 282 --
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As he did so, a party of the revenue guard
entered the great doorway, with drawn pistols.
At their head, tall and commanding, advanced
the Viscount Cecil.
-- 283 -- p517-288
CHAPTER XVII. THE NEWS FROM FRANCE.
[figure description] Page 283.[end figure description]
THE viscount entered the hall slowly, and
his calm eyes surveyed the confused mass
of wolves, without apparent emotion.
“What is the meaning of this outrage?”
he said; “and that corpse there—what
does this mean?”
The baronet hastened toward his kinsman.
“It means that I am attacked and outraged,
as you were here, once; and that wretch takes
part again in the attack.”
The viscount turned suddenly; at sight of
Earle he could not conceal his surprise.
“You, sir!” he said; “is it possible that you
are here and thus engaged?”
“It is possible, my lord, since you see me,”
returned Earle, in a gloomy voice; “and as to
-- 284 --
[figure description] Page 284.[end figure description]
my errand, I am not ashamed of it—a matter
I will explain to your lordship.”
“It is well, sir,” returned the viscount, in a
freezing tone. “Wonders never are to cease,
then; and life is a play! I leave you in France,
and come to England; am riding out, and meet
a guard going to protect this gentleman, and
take command of it; I reach the scene of the
outrage, and lo!—the Baron Delamere commands
the insurgents—the terrible mob!”
There was an imperceptible shade of irony,
in the nobleman's tones. One thing at least was
plain—the outrage to the baronet did not violently
enrage him.
“And now a truce to all this,” he said. “The
cause of this outbreak? Why are these men
here?”
“I will explain in one word, my lord!” said
Earle.
And the narrated every thing, connected with
the robbery of the grave.
“Your lordship understands now,” he added,
“why these men are enraged. Sir Murdaugh
Westbrooke has violated one of their most
deeply rooted prejudices. They look upon one
of their fraternity, when dead, as sacred. Sir
Murdaugh Westbrooke has violated the grave
-- 285 --
[figure description] Page 285.[end figure description]
of one of them, and the wolves rescue their dead
brother, my lord!”
The viscount coldly inclined his head.
“And the wolves are right!” he replied.
He turned round to the guard.
“Put up your weapons, and mount your
horses.”
Then turning to the wolves,—
“Go home with your dead brother,” he said.
“You know me, and will not disobey me. Rebury
that body. If I have power in Pembrokeshire,
no others shall be thus outraged.”
A hoarse murmur rose from the wolves; but
it was plain that they did not design resistance.
In fact the Viscount Cecil was as popular with
them as Sir Murdaugh was unpopular; and at
the word of the high dignitary and manorial
lord they bowed their heads in submission.
Goliath went out first, and as he passed before
the viscount, doffed his seal-skin cap, and said,—
“You be right, my lord.”
“Go, and cease these outrages, Goliath. You
are the master!”
Goliath went out, overwhelmed with pride at
this recognition.
“Come on, there!” he growled to the fierce
water-dogs, who were muttering hoarsely.
-- 286 --
[figure description] Page 286.[end figure description]
At the word from their chief, they moved toward
the door. On their shoulders they bore the
corpse, and as the heavy feet struck the floor,
the monotonous chant of the burial service rose.
Then the wolves, no longer a mob, but in solemn
procession, left Westbrooke Hall.
Earle alone remained; his arms folded, his
face pale and stern. He was clad in his full
uniform, and as the baronet glanced at it, his
swollen face was full of satisfaction.
“Well, the insurrection is quelled; the mob
has dispersed!” said the Viscount Cecil, with
covert irony. “Pray what do you propose further,
my good Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke?”
The baronet bounded with rage nearly, at the
ill-suppressed satire of the speaker's tones.
“I propose to arrest this person as a French
spy, and have him hanged!” he shouted.
“Arrest whom?”
“That wretch!”
And he pointed with a furious gesture at
Earle.
“Ah! The Baron Delamere! And as a
French spy, do you say?”
“As a spy! whoever he may be.”
“You cannot, my dear Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke.”
-- 287 --
[figure description] Page 287.[end figure description]
“Cannot?”
“For the very simplest reason in the world.
Spies ply their trade only when two countries
are at war. Now France and England have
agreed on the preliminaries of a treaty of peace,
hostilities are at an end; and Monsieur le Baron
Delamere, there, is on a visit simply to Wales.”
He turned and bowed to Earle.
“When in France, I offered you the hospitalities
of Wentworth Castle, Monsieur le Baron,”
he said: “I beg you will do me the honor, now,
to accept them.”
Earle bowed low, but shook his head. His
lips moved; he seemed vainly attempting to
speak.
“What is the matter?” exclaimed the vis
count, for the young man had grown suddenly
white.
“Thanks, my lord,” came from the sailor, in
a low weak voice; “but I came hither to—I
must—”
He tottered.
The viscount hastened to him, and caught him
as he was falling.
“My mother! That paper!”
And letting his head fall on his shoulder, suffused
with blood, Earle lost consciousness.
-- 288 --
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Fifteen minutes afterwards he was in the
Viscount Cecil's chariot, which was rolling
towards Wentworth Castle. The viscount had
been riding out in it, when he met the party of
guards, and had directed it to follow; he himself
mounting the horse of one of his outriders.
As Earle fainted, he bore him out. They entered
the chariot, and it went on its way.
Between the viscount and the baronet not a
single word had been exchanged.
So the strange scene ended.
-- 289 -- p517-294
CHAPTER XVIII. THE CRISIS.
[figure description] Page 289.[end figure description]
NO sooner had the chariot disappeared with
the viscount and Earle, than Sir Murdaugh
Westbrooke fell into a chair, and
called, in a hoarse and broken voice,—
“Wilde!”
The Hercules hastened to his master. He had
kept in the background hitherto, but now appeared,
like a bird of ill-omen swooping down
on the field of conflict after the departure of the
combatants.
“Wilde!” the baronet exclaimed, “we must
go to work; not a moment must be lost now.
Where is that woman?”
“She must be in the woods somewhere, with
that gypsy rascal, your honor,” growled the
Hercules.
-- 290 --
[figure description] Page 290.[end figure description]
“Search for her instantly, with Gubbs; she
must be recaptured before she gives the alarm.”
“Yes, your honor.”
“Then to work; all is ready. In your absence
every arrangement has been made. At the port
of Roche, two or three leagues down the coast,
the bark Fly-by-Night is moored, and the captain
is in my pay. He will sail for St. Domingo, as
soon as his passenger arrives. You understand?
He is paid five hundred pounds to conduct a
mad woman to St. Domingo. The money will
close his ears, her ravings will pass unheeded.
You will go with her, and see her beyond seas,
when you will return and make your report to
me. A thousand pounds will await you. Do
you understand all now?”
Wilde flushed with joy and cupidity.
“Yes, your honor; at your honor's orders.”
“But first to find her! to find her! That
cursed gypsy has overturned all my plans. Two
things are necessary now, Wilde; let me talk
plainly; no ceremony is necessary with you. In
a few days I am to be married, but before that
day two things must be accomplished. This
woman must be out of the country, and that
man Earle must be—”
He stopped and looked at Wilde significantly.
-- 291 --
[figure description] Page 291.[end figure description]
The eyes of master and man met. Their
glances were dark and meaning.
“Yes, your honor.”
“He knows all; can send me and you to the
gallows. She is the other obstacle: she can interpose,
and forbid the bans on my marriage
day. One course only is left. She must be
sent away, and he — well, one thing only will
silence him.”
And in a low voice he added,—
“You understand?”
“I understand,” growled Wilde. “The woman
first; that is the pressing thing.”
“Yes: go, now. Take the wagon. Find her,
and send her to the ship with Gubbs. Then return
here; I will give you my further orders.”
Wilde grunted obedience and hurried from
the room.
“Things are hastening,” muttered the baronet,
“and all depends on prompt action. That
cursed dead body that brought about all this
discovery, that led the wolves to attack me, and
brought the viscount here, — would it had been
sunk fathoms deep in the waters of the channel,
ere I meddled with it. And then this cut? Is
there no danger?”
He looked at his hand, punctured by the knife
-- 292 --
[figure description] Page 292.[end figure description]
during the process of dissection. It was swollen,
and he had bandaged it carefully.
“No: it is a trifle. I have more important
matters to think of,” he said.
And rising, he paced to and fro, his brows
knit, his lips muttering.
“Well, all is touch and go now. A short
time will decide all. If I can get her out of
the country, and close his lips forever, then
safety, security, a bonny bride, and triumph
over my enemies. If I fail — but I'll not think
of that; the thought is too horrible! Now to
make my toilet carefully and repair to lady
Worsham's. There my beautiful young bride
awaits impatiently her devoted lover.”
A sneer passed over his lips, and the yellow
tusks were thrust out.
A moment afterwards he had left the apartment.
-- 293 -- p517-298
CHAPTER XIX. THE PATH TO WENTWORTH CASTLE.
[figure description] Page 293.[end figure description]
THE chariot containing Earle and the viscount
rolled on toward Wentworth Castle,
a great feudal pile crowning an eminence
above the channel, a few miles
south of Oldport.
The scene through which they passed was
wild and full of majestic beauty. Dense forests
covered the slopes of the great headlands to the
right, and from the wall of dark evergreens on
their left issued a mountain torrent, which
rushed with a sound like thunder beneath a
stone bridge which spanned the gulf beneath.
As the chariot reached this point, the castle
was seen near at hand, raising its mighty walls
above the foliage of its oaks. It was one of
these old feudal piles like Caernarvon or
-- 294 --
[figure description] Page 294.[end figure description]
Dalbardon, which render Wales so attractive in the
eyes of the historical antiquary. All around it
brought back the past and excited the imagination.
Even weak and burnt up with fever as he
was, Earle seemed deeply impressed with the
scene.
“I see you are struck with my old castle,”
said the viscount; “and it is a true relic of antiquity.
Edward I. spent a night here, and his
son, Edward II., came near being born here instead
of at Caernarvon. Even this stone bridge
over the torrent dates back two hundred years.”
Earl murmured something that was inaudible.
The viscount gazed at his pale face with attention.
The dreamy eyes of the young man
surveyed the bridge, the torrent, a path leading
to it from the forest, and suddenly he said, in a
low voice, with a strange and startled look,—
“I have been here before!”
The baronet looked at him curiously.
“You? Well that is possible, sir. But doubtless
you recall the occasion?”
“I do not,” murmured Earle; “it is strange.
But all is familiar to me.”
He gazed around him with profound astonishment
depicted upon his flushed face.
-- 295 --
[figure description] Page 295.[end figure description]
“That path! I know that path. Stay, my
lord: there is a stone cross in the wood yonder.”
And he pointed up the steep path.
“True! What does this mean?” muttered the
viscount.
“I know not, my lord.”
“There is the cross! See, through the foliage.
It is built above a well in the forest.”
“The Hart's Well?”
The nobleman started.
“You astound me! Then you have really
been here in the grounds of Wentworth Castle?”
“I know not. I am in a dream,” murmured
Earle. “Is there a previous existence? I do
not believe it; but all here is familiar. I seem
to have traversed that path but yesterday, and
to have heard some one utter that name — the
`Hart's Well.' ”
He stopped, looking with amazement around
him.
“Let us alight, if it please you, my lord.”
“Alight?”
“I would ascend that path, and approach the
figure in stone of an armed knight through the
double row of evergreens!”
The viscount gazed at the speaker with unbounded
astonishment.
-- 296 --
[figure description] Page 296.[end figure description]
“The stone figure of the armed knight! the
double row of evergreens!” he said, — “then you
have visited my house before. What mystery
is concealed under all this, sir?”
The nobleman's tones had grown cold and
formal. Was this unknown Frenchman some
charlatan, then? Had he acted a part in pretending
that he had never visited Pembrokeshire
before this autumn?
“Truly, something deeply mysterious, to myself,
at least, is under this strange recognition,”
murmured Earle; “but will your lordship permit
me to walk? I am strong enough, I think.
If my strength fails me, I will sit down and rest
on the granite seat, with the Wentworth arms
cut in the stone back of the bench.”
The viscount gazed at him without speaking.
Then he muttered, —
“I will discover the meaning of this!”
Without further words, he stopped the coach,
and directed the watchman to proceed to the
castle by the main carriage road. With Earle,
he struck into the path, supporting the young
man, who walked with difficulty, looking around
him with strange curiosity as he advanced.
Half-way up the height they came to a fountain
surmounted by a cross.
-- 297 --
[figure description] Page 297.[end figure description]
“Here is the well I have often drunk from,”
murmured Earle, pale and faint.
And he walked on, with the same dreamy
and vacant expression in his eyes.
All at once the viscount felt him stagger.
“You are faint!” he exclaimed.
“It is — nothing, my lord. Let us go on.
If I am weary, I will rest on the stone bench.
See, it is yonder, with the Wentworth arms.”
And he tottered forward to the broad seat,
upon which he fell, half exhausted.
The viscount no longer said anything. Surprise
seemed to have rendered him speechless.
Earle rose after resting for some moments.
“I am — weak — to-day. My wound has
drained my blood, he murmured. “But we
will soon reach home now; there are the two
rows of evergreens. And look, there is the
armed knight; the stone is discolored since I
was here last.”
He went on, unaware that the viscount guided
his steps, and kept him from falling.
“The old firs! How well I remember them.
There is the one that had an eagle's nest in it!”
The viscount was speechless. The sailor was
recalling things which he himself remembered
clearly.
-- 298 --
[figure description] Page 298.[end figure description]
They passed through the double row of evergreens
toward the huge pile.
“Here is the knight! One of his spurs used
to be broken, and I found and played with it
one day!”
The viscount turned pale, and glanced at
the statue, which rose from a massive block of
granite, in a grass-plat. One of the spurs had
been broken off — he had never observed it before.
He looked at Earle with distended eyes.
Something strange seemed going on in the
young man.
“Why, there is home!” he exclaimed; “one
half the great door is open, as always! Is the
picture grasping the battle-axe, hanging on the
right of the door? And the lady with the
blue mantle nearly opposite — is she there?
And the fountain, in the small court, with the
water sponting from the tritons?”
Earle staggered, and a mist seemed to pass
before his eyes. He turned faintly toward the
viscount.
“What—does—this—mean? Where am
I? Why, this is home!—home!—home!”
And he fainted in the arms of the viscount,
who was near fainting in his turn.
-- 299 -- p517-304
CHAPTER XX. WHAT THE GYPSY WOMAN HAD SEEN.
[figure description] Page 299.[end figure description]
IT was not until the next night that Wilde
made his reappearance.
He then entered the library where
Sir Murdaugh was feverishly pacing up
and down; and from the haggard appearance of
the man's face, and his jaded expression, it was
plain that he had just undergone great fatigue.
The baronet stopped and turned around
eagerly.
“Well?” he exclaimed.
“I have caught her at last, your honor!”
“Good! where is she?”
“On her way to the coast in the wagon with
Gubbs.”
The baronet uttered an exclamation of satisfaction.
-- 300 --
[figure description] Page 300.[end figure description]
“That is well!” he said.
Wilde made no reply. The baronet glanced
at him. He was gloomy and dispirited.
“What is the matter? Has anything occured?
Where did you find her? Has anything
taken place?”
“Something unlucky enough, your honor.
I will begin and tell you every thing. I followed
their steps — her, and that gypsy scoundrel,
in the woods, till I lost them. Gubbs was
as much at fault as I was; but we inquired
of an old woodman, got on the trail of the
gypsies, who have been camping about in the
woods, and found 'em at last in the big forest
behind Maverick House, where they have been
laying low, to keep out of the way.”
“Make haste! Come to the point!” cried
the baronet, impatiently.
“In a minute, your honor. Well, we came
on 'em at last. I heard 'em, and crawled
through the brush till I got a sight of 'em,
there close to me. An old hag in a red cloak
was watching a pot boiling over a fire on two
forked sticks; and that gypsy scoundrel was
talking to her, while she — the woman we were
after — was listening. As I got to my hiding-place,
I heard the old hag call my name; the
-- 301 --
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next thing she said was that she could get you
and me into trouble, and then that gypsy dog,
who can never rest till he finds out every thing,
plied her with questions till she let out—”
Wilde stopped.
“Let out what? Speak!” exclaimed the
baronet, wrathfully.
“What she had seen near the bridge leading
to Wentworth Castle twenty years ago!” said
Wilde, sullenly.
The baronet turned pale.
“She saw you?”
“Yes, your honor. How could I help that?
I had my orders from you, and obeyed 'em!
and now I am to get into trouble.”
“Cease that growling! She saw—”
“Well, she saw me steal the child of Viscount
Cecil!” said Wilde,—“the son of his
wife who died twenty years ago.”
The baronet gnawed his lip, and his face
grew livid.
“You paid me to do it, and I lurked round
the castle till I did it,” growled the Hercules.
“I saw the child come tottering down the path
to the bridge, to look at the water. How he
came to stray away from his nurse I never
knew; but he was there, and I caught hold of
-- 302 --
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him, and lifted him on my black horse, and
made through the woods at a gallop, carrying
him before me!”
“And—this hag—!”
“Saw me! She was prowling in the brush
to steal fowls or any thing. I nearly rode over
her, and knew she had seen me. I ought to have
killed her, but blood is dangerous! I paid her
ten guineas, and afterwards ten more when she
met me and knew me for the man that stole the
child! Then she went away, and I thought
she was dead. I had carried the child to
France,—you were at Martigny—and I saw
no more of her. Now she has told that gypsy
and that woman the whole,—that the Viscount
Cecil's child was not drowned in the torrent as
all thought, but carried off by me. They know
that he lives—is Edmond Earle!”
The baronet drew a long, deep breath.
Something seemed crushing his breast.
“Well,” he said. “what followed?”
“Why, Gubbs came up, and we jumped into'
em!” was the reply. “I knocked the gypsy
rascal on the head, and Gubbs seized hold of
the woman. He dragged her off then, and put
her in the wagon, where she was gagged, and is
now on her way to the Fly-by-Night.”
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“That, at least, is gained,” muttered the
baronet; “and now for the other part. No
one will believe the charge of that old gypsy
hag that I stole a child; many will believe
Edmond, son of the Viscount Cecil, when he
brands me as a murderer!”
He stopped. The sound of horses' hoofs
was heard without.
“he must die! How to compass that!” said
the baronet, in a low voice.
As he spoke, steps approached, the door
opened, and Earle entered, pale and tottering.
-- 304 -- p517-309
CHAPTER XII. THE LOVE OF AN OLD MAN FOR A GIRL.
[figure description] Page 304.[end figure description]
To explain the young man's presence at
Westbrooke Hall, it will be necessary
to return to Wentworth Castle for a
brief space.
Earle had fainted in the arms of the Viscount
Cecil, as we have seen, and it was only
with the assistance of several servants, who ran
out, that he was borne into the castle.
The viscount, pale and lost in wonder at the
strange scene he had witnessed, saw to all his
wants, and a sound night's rest seemed to restore
the young man to his senses.
He descended on the next morning and managed
to swallow a little food, but it was plain
that he was laboring under fever. The viscount
endeavored to prevail on him to go to his
-- 305 --
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chamber and lie down, but he refused, and in
the midst of his host's urging, a carriage drove
up to the door, from which descended Arthur
Maverick and his sister Rose.
Rose entered, pale and pensive, and the viscount
hastened forward to greet her.
“My dear child!” he said,—“and you must
permit your old consin to thus address you!—
what has become of your roses? Your appearance
distresses me!”
Rose smiled. All at once she saw Earle and
turned crimson.
“You, sir,—you here!” she faltered.
The young man bowed, and his face flushed
too.
“You did not know that my poor face would
meet your eyes here, Miss Maverick?”
“No, sir; but I rejoice to see you—”
There she stopped with a deep blush.
“And I to see you again,” he said, in a low
tone, with much emotion. “I remember that
night—what you said—have thought of it
often! On the ocean—in my hours of musing—
in France, and everywhere, I have seen your
beautiful face and heard your voice!”
The young girl blushed crimson. The viscount,
busy in greeting Arthur, had heard
-- 306 --
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nothing. Now he turned and saw Rose and
Earle conversing like old friends.
“You know my friend, then, the Baron Delamere,
my dear Rose!” he exclaimed.
“Very well, cousin—that is—yes, we know
Mr. Delamere.”
“And are glad to call him our friend,” said
Arthur, cordially pressing his hand.
Turning to the viscount as he spoke, he
explained how their acquaintance had taken
place.
“You saved Rose, then,” said the viscount to
Earle, with deep emotion. “For that alone
you deserve and have my gratitude—my very
profound gratitude, sir. This young lady is my
cousin, and all I love upon earth very nearly.
My life has been sad, sir,—her smiles have
brightened it. She would live here at Wentworth
Castle, as its mistress, after my death, if I could
compass that. I cannot. This property goes
to a personage very distasteful to me, Sir Murdaugh
Westbrooke. Thus, my very dear Rose,”
he said, turning with a tender smile toward the
girl, “you will remain poor in comparison with
what you would be, had I my will! And now,
the news! I am just from France, you know!
How is Miss Ellinor Maverick?”
-- 307 --
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And the viscount suddenly cooled.
“That young lady is not a favorite with
me, to be frank; but she is your relative,
Arthur,” he added.
“I am sorry for it,” said the young man.
And he narrated every thing relating to the
young lady, winding up with the statement
that in three or four days she was to be married
to Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke.
The viscount knit his brows.
“I had heard something of this! But so
soon! Then she, instead of Rose, will be
mistress here!”
All eyes were directed toward the viscount
with surprise.
“You do not know the tenor of Lord Wentworth's
will, I see,” he said, gloomily. “In case
of my death without issue, Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke
inherits my estate, as, in the case of his
death without issue, I would inherit his. Well,
my child,” he said to Rose, “he is about to
marry, and is younger than I am. Thus he and
his children will possess this castle after my
death. I attempted to secure you one-half, in
consideration of relinquishing to the baronet the
other half now. He refused. There all ends.
Would to God my poor son had—”
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He stopped suddenly.
“Your son, sir?” said Earle, looking at him.
“I had a son. I have been married, sir.
Lady Cecil died early, and my poor child
strayed away and was drowned. We followed
his footprints to that torrent yonder, and he was
never more heard of. But this is sorrowful,—
let me try not to cloud your smiles, my dear
Rose.”
As he spoke a servant entered, and presented
a note on a silver salver.
The viscount looked at it, and an expression
of vexation came to his face.
“A meeting of magistrates on a matter of
importance. My presence is indispensable,” he
said. “But you will stay and dine with me,
my dear Rose and Arthur.”
“I regret to say 'tis impossible, my lord.
You will come soon to see us.”
“Very soon; but remain and entertain my
friend, the Baron Delamere. I beg you to do
so. You are my own family.”
And, with a courteous smile, the viscount
took his departure.
Rose and Arthur remained until evening.
With every passing moment, Earle found himself
gazing with deeper tenderness on the
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beautiful girl. His wild passion for Ellinor seemed
to have merely smoothed the way for this new
emotion, as profound and durable as the first
was transient, as serenely tender as the former
was passionate.
For the first time Earle felt that he loved indeed;
and when at last the young lady rose,
and took her departure with her brother, Earle
felt as though the sunlight had suddenly disappeared
from the earth with her smile and the
light of her eyes. He fell back into despondency.
The coach, containing Arthur and Rose,
rolled away just as night descended upon Wentworth
Castle.
The viscount had not yet returned, and Earle
sat down, gloomy and lonely. Then all the
violent passions, which the presence of the girl
had banished, began to tear him once more.
He rose and paced the floor, burnt up by the
one thought of his mother. Finally a fever
seized him; he felt as though his head were
burning, and going to a bell, rang it violently.
A servant hastened in.
“My horse!” said Earle, feverishly.
The servant hesited, looking with astonishment
at his flushed face.
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“Well, my horse! My horse, I say! Saddle
my horse, without delay!”
The servant bowed and went out, reduced to
submission by the authoritative voice.
Earle then coolly descended, put on his hat
and gloves, and went to the great door.
A horse, saddled and bridled, already awaited
him. At Wentworth Castle the master never
waited.
“Inform the viscount that I have gone out to
take a short ride,” he said, getting into the
saddle.
And leaving the groom gazing with amazement
on his agitated face, like the first servant,
Earle rode down the great avenue, and, crossing
the bridge, went straight on.
What was his destination? He scarce knew.
His brain was reeling, and he was burnt up by
fever. Only a vague sensation of rage and
thirst for revenge upon the baronet possessed
him. His mother—that paper—Sir Murdaugh
Westbrooke—such were the thoughts
that flitted through his weak brain. And setting
spur to his horse, he rode toward Westbrooke
Hall.
The animal broke into a gallop, and it was a
miracle almost that Earle kept his seat as the
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horse sped on through the darkness. He tottered
from side to side, his eyes half-closed, his
bosom heaving. With heated brain and burning
cheeks, which only rendered more shocking
and terrible his death-like pallor, he went on
at at full speed, clinging to his animal rather by
the instinct of excellent horsemanship than any
thing else;—and so, feeble, reeling, feverstricken,
out of his senses nearly, reached Westbrooke
Hall, and stood before Sir Murdaugh
Westbrooke the moment after he had uttered
the words in reference to Earle,—
“He must die!”
-- 312 -- p517-317
CHAPTER XXII. THE BLUDGEON AND THE ROPE.
[figure description] Page 312.[end figure description]
At sight of Earle, the baronet recoiled
and shook in every limb. Then a diabolical
joy shone in his bloodshot eyes,
and his mouth slowly expanded into
the hideous grin which was habitual with
him.
For a moment, neither of the adversaries
spoke. The baronet looked keenly at his intended
victim.
Earle was as thin as a ghost, and frightfully
pale, except in the centre of his cheeks. There
a hectic flush burned, like a red-hot coal. As
he had advanced he had staggered. As he
looked at the baronet now, his eyes showed
plainly that the young man was approaching a
paroxysm of fever; that the wound inflicted by
-- 313 --
[figure description] Page 313.[end figure description]
Wilde had at last worked its results, and
strength of mind and body were leaving him
together.
The expression of diabolical joy in the baronet's
face deepened. But, spite of this feeling,
the face of Earle seemed to cow him.
“What is—your pleasure?” he stammered.
“What brings you to this house?”
“To slay you, if necessary, as you slew Giles
Maverick!” shouted Earle, “unless you tell me
where I may find my mother!”
The baronet recoiled.
“My mother!” shouted Earle, his hand going
to his empty belt, “or, by heaven, I'll have
your blood, were you fifty times my father!”
“Then he does not know yet!” came in low,
muttered tones from the baronet, as, with his
eyes on the young man's hot face, he retreated
toward the right-hand apartment.
“My mother!—where is my mother?—and
that marriage-record you stole at Martigny?”
As he spoke in his hoarse voice, strident and
metallic from the effect of fever, Earle advanced
on the baronet, who continued to retreat
before him.
In the baronet's eyes there was something
frightful,—a venom which may be seen in the
-- 314 --
[figure description] Page 314.[end figure description]
eyes of the cobra, when he raises his deadly
crest and is about to spring.
“Your mother? I know nothing of her,”
he said, watching Earle warily, and continuing
to retire.
“Murderer! No! You shall not escape
me! You are my father, but—”
He staggered. But for the table which stood
near him, he would have fallen to the earth.
He leaned upon it, and passed his other hand
over his brow as though to clear his vision.
“My mother!” he murmured, faintly.
His doom had, in that moment, been pronounced.
The baronet had turned and whispered a few
hurried words to Wilde. The latter had disappeared
at one bound.
Suddenly Earle seemed to recover his
strength, as though by a miracle. On the wall
hung a sword. He caught it down and rushed
on the baronet.
“Speak! Tell me where to find my mother
and that paper,” he shouted, “or I will tear you
in pieces, whether you be my father or not!
Answer, monster that you are, where have you
hidden my mother? You murdered Giles
Maverick—the very dog who saw it rose to
-- 315 --
[figure description] Page 315.[end figure description]
convict you! You robbed the register at Martigny
like a felon and a thief! Last, my
mother disappears—you may have murdered
her, as you would murder me if you dared!”
“I dare!” came in a deep and sombre voice
from the baronet.
As he spoke the door of the secret closet in
the wall flew open: the figure of Wilde appeared
in the opening like a hideous picture in
its frame; a bludgeon rose, descended, and fell
upon Earle's right temple, and he fell forward
at full length, deprived of consciousness, it
seemed of life.
“Now for the rope! the rope!” shouted the
baronet, hoarsely.
Wilde rushed into the apartment, and threw
a rope around the young man's shoulders.
Then, at a signal from the baronet, he wrapped
and re-wrapped his arms, thus rendering him
entirely powerless, even if he recovered his
senses.
“What next, sir?” growled the Hercules,
breathing heavily, and gazing with knit brows
on the prostrate figure.
“Death!” came in a low tone from the baronet,
whose face resembled that of a corpse.
“Death! He has forced this on me! Death!
-- 316 --
[figure description] Page 316.[end figure description]
and death in presence of the dust of Giles
Maverick!”
The Hercules started and turned pale. Rough
and unscrupulous as he was, the words of the
baronet horrified him.
“You don't mean—”
“Yes,” came in the same low voice from
the lips of Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke. “What
is the difference? It must not take place
here! He must be lost sight of, or you and I
mount the gallows! He must die that I may
live! He shall not first put the rope around
my neck, and then, as the son of the Viscount
Cecil, inherit this estate! He shall die, and—
yonder! He has made himself the champion
of Giles Maverick! Let him wake to find
himself close to him in the vault! Say
nothing! I have resolved on it! Refuse to
aid me, and you hang! Two horses!—quick!
and tools to open the Maverick vault! Once
shut up there, he will not trouble us!—the
dead tell no tales!”
-- 317 -- p517-322
CHAPTER XXIII. THE MAVERICK VAULT.
[figure description] Page 317.[end figure description]
AN hour afterwards, a strange, and terrible
scene took place at Llangollen churchyard,—
a wild and secluded spot in the
hills, a league from Westbrooke Hall.
The church, ancient and weather-beaten,
rose in the midst of a ghostly array of tombstones;
and the shadows of the sombre evergreens
growing thickly along the rude stone
wall around the grounds, danced fantastically,
as a chill wind agitated their boughs, and
sobbed onward.
It was a weird and lugubrious night. The
moon was sailing through long streaks of ebon
clouds, reaching from horizon to horizon. At
one instant the lonely edifice, and the tombs
around it came out with sudden brilliance.
-- 318 --
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Then the moon disappeared and all was
wrapped in gloom again, a gloom which the
sobbing wind rendered ghastly and funereal.
All at once, as the moon soared forth, lighting
up the sombre tombstones and family
vaults,—for Llangollen was the place of sepulture
for the gentry of the neighborhood,—two
figures, carrying between them something which
they half supported and half dragged, got
over the wall, and rapidly approached a huge
stone set in the side of a knoll. This stone was
evidently the door to a large vault, and was secured
by an iron fastening. Over it, cut in
rude letters on the coping was the single word—
“Maverick.”
The figures came on rapidly with their burden,
which, silent and insensible, resembled a
dead body.
“It is here,” said one of the men. “Where
are the tools? Wrench off the fastening.”
The other obeyed the order, and, inserting an
instrument, succeeded in forcing the vault.
“Open!” came from the other.
A huge shoulder was placed against the stone
and it slowly revolved, grating on its hinges.
Suddenly the neigh of a horse, from beyond
the wall, rang out.
-- 319 --
[figure description] Page 319.[end figure description]
The two men started and trembled.
“It is nothing, only the horses; quick, help
me to carry him in!” came in a guttural whisper
from the lips of Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke.
Wilde, panting and shaking in all his limbs,
obeyed. The body of Earle was lifted and
borne down the few steps into the vault.
“He will not live here ten minutes,” muttered
Wilde, staggering back. “The air is
death to breache.”
“So much the better—come!”
And leaping out of the vault, the baronet
gained the open air. Wilde hastily followed
him, and, at a sign from his master, closed the
huge door. It went to with a dull clash. The
Hercules shuddered.
“Fasten the iron.”
With a trembling hand, Wilde obeyed; and
in a few moments the vault was heavily secured.
The baronet looked on with the expression
of a fiend, during the work.
“And now, come,” he said; “but what is
that?”
And he pointed to a shadow, passing rapidly
beneath the evergreens. As he uttered the
words, the shadow darted toward the wall near
the horses.
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[figure description] Page 320.[end figure description]
“A man!—some one has seen us.”
The words escaped the baronet in a horrified
cry. He shuddered, and exclaimed.
“Pursue him!—he must die, or we are lost.”
Wilde had not waited for the order. With
one bound he reached the wall; as he cleared
it, a dark figure crossed the expanse without at
a run. Wilde followed; the figure stumbled;
a moment afterwards, they had clutched.
“You!” cried Wilde, recognizing the gypsy.
The vagabond made no reply.
“You saw, then?” gasped Wilde.
The words were followed by a cry from the
Hercules. The gypsy had drawn his knife, and
plunged it into the gamekeeper's heart
“Ah!” groaned Wilde staggering back, “I
am dead! but—”
And suddenly wrenching the knife from the
gypsy, he drove it into his breast.
The weapon disappeared to the hilt, which
struck heavily against the gypsy's breast-bone.
“We die together at least,” gasped Wilde, in
a broken voice.
And he fell, dragging the gypsy.
A moment afterwards, as the baronet hastened
to the spot, he half rose.
“I die,” muttered Wilde—“but he too—!”
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[figure description] Page 321.[end figure description]
He pointed to the body of the gypsy, lying
on its back with the knife buried in the breast.
As Wilde spoke, his head drooped, the death-rattle
issued from his throat, and falling back,
he uttered a last groan and expired.
-- 322 -- p517-327
CHAPTER XXIV. THE MAN FROM WENTWORTH CASTLE.
[figure description] Page 322.[end figure description]
IT was nearly midnight.
Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke was sitting
in his library at Westbrooke Hall.
He seemed to have grown ten years
older since the morning, and was livid.
At every instant he looked over his shoulder,
and listened.
“Folly!” he suddenly exclaimed, rising and
uttering a short, harsh laugh; “am I a baby to
start at shadows! All is safe now! discovery
is impossible. My plans succeed—nothing
fails! That woman is safe on board the Fly-by
Night now, and the marriage record is burned!
That man is—”
He stopped. In spite of himself a tremor
agitated him.
-- 323 --
[figure description] Page 323.[end figure description]
“He too has disappeared! Thus nothing prevents
my marrying Ellinor Maverick on the
day after to-morrow; and he will not be present
any more than that woman to convict me!
Yes—all is safe. I marry and I inherit the
Wentworth property. The obstacles have disappeared—
even Gubbs and Wilde, my tools.
Gubbs will go to St. Domingo, and never more
be heard of; Wilde is yonder in the wood
where I dragged him and the dead gypsy.
When they are found, there will be no questions.
My gamekeeper has fought with a poacher,
and in the affray they have both been killed!”
He sat down, pale and breathing heavily, despite
his reassuring reflections.
“And yet I tremble!” he muttered; “I start
at every sound!”
The hoofs of a horse were heard without.
A mounted man was evidently approaching
rapidly.
The baronet started up.
“Who can that be!”
As he spoke, a knock was heard at the front
door, and then silence followed.
The baronet seemed paralyzed. What to do?
Should he secrete himself? Who was this midnight
visitor?
-- 324 --
[figure description] Page 324.[end figure description]
“I am a coward!—shadows fright me! I
will face all!”
And he went and opened the front door of
the house. It was necessary that he should do
so. Beside Wilde there had been for weeks
only an old deaf crone of a servant at the
hall.
A serving man was seen at the door.
“Well?” said the baronet in a low tone.
The man's hand went to his hat.
“Has Captain Earle been here, your honor?
I was sent by his lordship to ask, and say that
Captain Earle, who is staying at the castle, went
out for a short ride this evening, and an hour
or two afterwards his horse came back without
any rider. His lordship thought he might have
had an accident, and something might be known
of him here.”
The baronet responded in a low tone.
“Why here?”
“His lordship did not say, your honor.”
“Say to his lordship that I have seen nothing
of Captain Earle.”
The servant touched his hat and retired.
The baronet closed the door, and staggered
rather than walked back to the library.
“Peril surrounds me on every side! The
-- 325 --
[figure description] Page 325.[end figure description]
ghost of that boy rises to point to the spot where
he is entombed alive! Was I mad to do that?
Am I then the monster of monsters?”
He fell into a seat.
“Doubtless, since I do this monstrous thing!
Well, let me act out my character! I will go
through now to the end! Once married, I will
go abroad and only return when the viscount is
dead! Dead? If he were only dead now, all
were well!”
A cry of pain followed the words.
He had violently clenched his hands. The
movement of that upon which the dissecting
knife had inflicted the wound, caused him acute
agony.
“I had forgotten that!” he muttered, gazing
at the slight puncture, from which he had long
removed the bandage; “who would have believed
that a scratch would cause so much pain?”
He pondered for more than an hour. Then
he suddenly rose.
“The die is cast! Why draw back now!”
he muttered. “All is decided. In two days I
shall be married and on my way to France!”
A smile of ghastly triumph distorted his lips
as he spoke, and, taking a light from the table,
he went to his chamber.
-- 326 -- p517-331
CHAPTER XXV. THE WEDDING AT LLANGOLLEN.
[figure description] Page 326.[end figure description]
IT was two days after these scenes.
The coast of Pembrokeshire was
bathed in a flood of brilliant sunshine.
The great headland above Oldport
rose like a giant in the fresh light. The foam
danced and sparkled; and even the sombre
firs of the hills seemed more cheerful for
this illumination, driving away the mists of
autumn.
At Llangollen church in the hills, a large
crowd had assembled. It was the day of Sir
Murdaugh Westbrooke's marriage to Miss
Ellinor Maverick.
The selection of Llangollen church as the
scene of the marriage ceremony had been made
at the last moment, and in spite of the baronet's
-- 327 --
[figure description] Page 327.[end figure description]
persistent objections. The fair Ellinor, however,
had not been his opponent in the discussion.
The old dowager, Lady Worsham, at
whose house the young lady had “taken
refuge,” as she said, had been seized with a fit
of piety or religious etiquette, it seemed; and
under the influence of this sentiment she had
obstinately announced that the wedding feast
might be at her house, but the ceremony must
be at Llangollen church.
The old dowager had triumphed. The baronet
found her immovable, and with fear and
trembling yielded.
“After all,” he said to himself, “what have
I to fear? A ghost?—men do not live two
days in—”
The words died away in his throat.
“So be it, madam,” he said.
And bowing sullenly, he went to make his
preparations.
The morning came, and the announcement
of the intended ceremony had drawn a great
crowd, both of the gentry and the plainer people.
Chariots stopped at the gate, and discharged
their burdens of lord and lady. A
crowd watched there, moving unquietly to and
fro in front of the gateway. Among the crowd
-- 328 --
[figure description] Page 328.[end figure description]
were seen many of the fraternity of the wolves,—
rough figures, brought thither by some
stronger sentiment, it seemed, than curiosity,
and whose eyes were fixed on the pageant with
ill-concealed hostility.
At last the chariot of Lady Worsham, containing
the dowager, Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke,
and Miss Ellinor Maverick drove up to
the gateway.
From it issued, first, the baronet, clad with
unusual splendor, but as pale as death. Then
came the ladies: they entered the church,
and a great crowd surged in after them.
In front of the altar stood the priest in his
black canonicals. The bridal party—if that
could be called a party consisting of but two
or three persons—ascended the aisle, took
their positions before the priest, and the ceremony
was about to begin.
From the body of the church, gloomy, in
spite of the sunshine, a great crowd followed
the details of the scene, with varied emotions.
Many were there from simple curiosity.
Others came from want of means to otherwise
kill the time. Others,—and they were numerous—
gazed with ill-concealed hostility on
the pale bridegroom. Never popular, or
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personally attractive, the baronet had now few
well-wishers, and was so livid as to appear
hideous.
One thing about him everybody observed—
his head hung down, and moved from side to
side. As it thus moved, wary and fearful
glances shot from beneath his gray eyebrows;
more than once he looked furtively over his
shoulder as though fearful of something. As
he took his place beside the beautiful Ellinor,
he was observed to shudder.
She was radiant, and her splendid costume
set off her dazzling and magnetic beauty. It
was plain that no doubts or misgivings affected
her. She was about to become the wife of a
man of great wealth and high rank—her
worldly ambition was soon to be fully gratified;
and in the dark eyes of the fair Ellinor,
as she rustled up to the chancel, in her grand
white satin, could be read haughty triumph,
and the fruition of all her hopes.
The ceremony began. As it did so, a murmur
issued from the crowd. They were saying
to each other, “How beautiful!” and “How
hideous!”
But Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke did not hear
them. All his powers seemed to be
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concentrated into the one faculty of listening. His
face resembled the drawn and parchment-like
outlines of a corpse. He plainly feared something—
some miracle, it might be—the invisible
fate seemed approaching.
It came.
The priest proceeded with the ceremony, and
reached the passage.
“Into this holy estate these two persons
present come now to be joined.”
He looked up from the book.
“If any man can show just cause why they
may not lawfully be joined together, let him
now speak, or hereafter forever hold his peace.”
As the words issued from the priest's lips, a
woman in a black dress advanced slowly up the
aisle. All saw her coming, and a hundred eyes
were directed toward her.
The priest gazed at her in utter astonishment.
The hand containing the prayer-book sunk to
his side.
The woman came on, slow, silent, with the
noiseless tread of a ghost.
Suddenly the baronet raised his head. His
startled eyes roamed from side to side. He
glanced over his shoulder. As he did so, he
uttered a low cry.
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“There is just cause,” said the recluse, in a
low, clear voice, “why Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke
should not marry. I am Lady Westbrooke.
Here is the record of my marriage.”
And she extended toward the priest the fragments
of the leaf of the marriage register stolen
from Martigny.
-- 332 -- p517-337
CHAPTER XXVI. THE VENGEANOE OF A BLOOD-HOUND.
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SIR MURDAUGH WESTBROOKE
tottered, and leaned on the chancel
railing.
Ellinor Maverick uttered a low scream,
and fell back fainting in the arms of Lady
Worsham.
The crowd in the body of the church rose,
and towering above them could be seen the
commanding figure of the Viscount Cecil, who
made a gesture to some one and said coldly, —
“The moment has come!”
Then a shudder ran through the assembly.
It opened right and left, and through the
space thus made advanced a procession of the
wolves, bearing on their shoulders —
Earle!
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The young man was wasted to a shadow.
His face was paler than ashes. His eyes were
sunken and bloodshot. He lay on the brawny
shoulders of his brother wolves, as weak as a
sick child, and as he was borne up the aisle
fixed his eyes on the baronet, and whispered
rather than said, —
“That is he.”
The priest advanced hurriedly.
“What means this scene? Who is this sick
man?”
“Ask the witness I have brought here.”
said the viscount.
And he pointed to the rear of the strange
procession.
Supported between two of the wolves, was
seen the gypsy, as pale and wasted as Earle.
His eyes alone seemed alive as he staggered on
between his two supporters, and those eyes, dark
and fiery, were fixed upon the countenance of
the baronet.
The priest uttered an exclamation.
“My lord! the meaning of all this!” he
faltered.
“It means that the person whom you see
there, has attempted both bigamy and murder,”
said the viscount.
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[figure description] Page 334.[end figure description]
And with his arm extended at full length, he
pointed straight toward Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke.
“Do you doubt? look at him!”
And his extended arm remained motionless.
“Did I need the testsmony of his face, that
would convict him!” said the viscount slowly
and solemnly. “But that is not needed.
There are witnesses, Listen! people of Pembrokeshire!”
And turning to the crowd, —
“Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke married in
France — and there is his wife. He attempts
to marry again, and has stolen the record —
there it is. He stole my child — the only child
of my poor wife who died twenty years since —
to inherit from me, and buried that child alive—
there he is! But two days since all this was
arranged, as he supposed, securely. The first
wife was sent toward the coast to be carried
abroad, and I met and was appealed to by
her. The child — my child — was knocked
down and dragged to this very spot, and buried
alive in the Maverick vaults, by the murderer
of Giles Maverick; and a poor gypsy who
saw the infamy, and was left as they thought
dead, dragged his bleeding body to Oldport,
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where he gave the alarm to the brave chief of
the wolves there. They came and rescued him,
almost dying! There he is!”
He pointed to Earle.
An immense shout rose from the assembly.
“Death! death to him!” cried the wolves;
“he tried to murder a wolf! Death to the
murderer!”
As they spoke, they rushed straight on the
baronet, Goliath at their head.
“Death! death!” rose in hoarse thunder
from the ferocious crowd.
And they were about to tear the baronet to
pieces.
Suddenly Goliath recoiled, and the crowd
behind him, felt the pressure of his huge bulk.
“Look at him! look at the murderer!” he
growled in terrified tones, pointing to the baronet.
The sight was terrible indeed.
Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke foamed at the
mouth, and his huge red tongue was hanging
out. His eyes glared around him with a vacant
and animal expression. All at once he began
to pant quickly, as a dog does when he is heated,
then he snapped, uttered a growl, which ended
in a sound like a bark, and rushed straight upon
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the crowd, who gave way with terror, as he
came.
“The mad dog! He was bitten!—his bite
is deadly!”
Some one uttered those words.
Their effect was instant.
The crowd recoiled, and leaped over the
backs of the seats, to avoid him.
He did not attempt to follow them. They
seemed to have disappeared from his view.
The wretched man, who had inoculated his
blood with the mad dog's virus, when he
punctured his hand, in dissecting the corpse,
bitten by the animal, was now fully mastered
by the poison, and turned into a beast. Hydrophobia—
that most awful of human scourges—
had clutched him. He saw nothing, heard
nothing, rushed on, he knew not whither, snaping,
and uttering hoarse cries. When he was
followed into the churchyard, it was seen that
he made for the Maverick vault.
“There are two men murdered here! One
is alive!” he growled, tearing at the huge
stone.
Four men threw themselves upon him, and
seized him. They were scarce able to hold
him. Tetanus had set in with mortal violence;
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and he was borne foaming, raving, and struggling
to Westbrooke hall.
Three more paroxysms assailed the miserable
man before midnight.
As the last died away, he fell back a corpse
in the arms of his attendants.
The dog of the murdered man, Giles Maverick,
had avenged his master. He had bitten
and poisoned the wolf; and the dead wolf had
poisoned the murderer.
The gallows was spared the trouble. Hydrophobia
ended all.
-- 338 -- p517-343
CHAPTER XXVII. THE WOLVES CELEBRATE THE MARRIAGE OF THEIR CHIEF.
[figure description] Page 338.[end figure description]
OUR narrative might here appropriately
end, but a few words more may interest
the reader.
As the baronet rushed from Llangollen
Church, Ellinor Maverick was borne out fainting,
by Lady Worsham; and a month afterwards
they went abroad, returning only some
years afterwards to Pembrokeshire.
Earle, his mother, and the gypsy were led
forth in triumph by the wolves—and as the
young man raised his head in the fresh sunshine,
he felt his father's arms around him.
Thereat the wolves uttered a shout.
“It be his son! the son of the good
-- 339 -- p517-344
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viscount! he be the chief of the wolves!” shouted
Goliath.
And again they caught up Earle and bore
him to the viscount's coach, on their shoulders,
in triumph.
“You be the chief, master, remember!” repeated
Goliath.
And he uttered a second shout. The wolves
howled in response, and the sound rang through
the hills like thunder.
It was still reverberating in the fir-clad
gorges, when the chariot with Earle, his mother,
the gypsy, and the viscount, disappeared.
In an hour they were at Wentworth Castle.
A year after these events, Edmond, son of the
Viscount Cecil, was married to Rose Maverick,
at Maverick House.
Lady Westbrooke remained at Wentworth
Castle. Nothing could induce her to inhabit
her dower estate of Westbrooke Hall.
Arthur Maverick remained unmarried. Ellinor
returned only some years afterwards, and
never appeared in society; dedicating her time
to Lady Worsham, from whom she expected to
inherit an estate.
The gypsy, promoted to the post of head
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[figure description] Page 340.[end figure description]
gamekeeper at Wentworth Castle, lived and
died, loved and trusted by Earle.
So terminated the drama—such were the
fates of the personages.
The Viscount Cecil seemed, more than all
others, content with the denouement. He had
regained his son, and that son was married to
his favorite Rose.
The wedding was a grand one. No less a
person than Lieutenant Dargonne made his appearance,
and laughed and drank his old captain's
health. Then the cortège set out from
Maverick House for Wentworth Castle. As it
approached Oldport, an ovation awaited it. The
wolves attacked it all at once, with loud cries.
The horses were taken from the chariot containing
Earle and his blushing bride; brawny
hands seized the vehicle and drew it on amid
cries of rejoicing. And above the ferocious
crowd, with bearded faces and brandished arms,
rose the shout of Goliath,—
“He be the chief of the wolves!”
THE END.
