CHAPTER IV. THE DEED OF BLOOD.
“It rose again, but indistinct to view,
And left the waters of a purple hue.”
—Byron.
[figure description] Page 323.[end figure description]
Throughout that livelong night, the thunder roared and
roared incessantly, and from moment to moment the whole firmament
seemed to yawn asunder, showing its inner vaults,
sheeted with living and coruscant fire, while ever and anon
long, arrowy, forked tongues, of incandescent brightness, darted
down from the zenith, cleaving the massive storm-clouds with
a crash that made the whole earth reel and shudder.
Never, within the memory of man, had such a storm been
known at that season of the year. Huge branches, larger than
trees of ordinary size, were rent from the gigantic oaks by the
mere force of the hurricane, and whirled away like straws before
its fury. The rain fell not in drops or showers, but in
vast sheeted columns. The rills were swollen into rivers, the
rivers covered the lowland meadows, expanded into very seas.
Houses were unroofed, steeples and chimneys hurled in ruin to
the earth, cattle were killed in the open fields, unscathed by
lightning, by the mere weight of the storm.
Yet through that awful turmoil of the elements, which kept
men waking, and bold hearts trembling from the Land's End to
Cape Wrath, Jasper St. Aubyn slept as calmly as an infant,
with his head pillowed on the soft bosom of his innocent and
lovely wife. And she, though the tempest roared around, and
the thunder crashed above her, so that she could not close an
eye in sleep; though she believed that to-morrow she was about
to fly from her native land, her home, never, perhaps, to see
-- 324 --
[figure description] Page 324.[end figure description]
them more; though she looked forward to a life of toil and
wandering, of hardship, and of peril as an exile's wife, perhaps
to a death of horror, as a traitor's confederate, she blessed God
with a grateful heart, that he had restored to her her husband's
love, and watched that dear sleeper, dreaming a waking dream
of perfect happiness.
But him no dreams, either sleeping or waking, disturbed from
his heavy stupor, or diverted from his hellish purpose. So
resolute, so iron-like in its unbending pertinacity was that
young, boyish mind, that having once resolved upon his action,
not all the terrors of heaven or of hell could have turned him
from it.
There lay beneath one roof, on one marriage-bed, ay, clasped
in one embrace, the resolved murderer, and his unconscious
victim. And he had tasted the honey of her lips, had fondled,
had caressed her to the last, had sunk to sleep, lulled by the
sweet, low voice of her who, if his power should mate his will,
would never look upon a second morrow.
And here, let no one say such things can not be, save in the
fancy of the rhapsodist or the romancer — that such things are
impossible — for not only is there nothing under the sun impossible
to human power, or beyond the aim of human wickedness,
but such things are and have been, and will be again, so long
as human passion exists uncontrolled by principle.
Such things have been among ourselves, and in our own day,
as he who writes has seen, and many of those who read must
needs remember — and such things were that night at Widecomb.
With the first dappling of the dawn, the rage of the elements
sunk into rest, the winds sighed themselves to sleep, the pelting
torrents melted into a soft, gray mist; only the roar of the
distant waters, mellowed into a strange, fitful murmur, was
heard in the general tranquillity that followed the loud uproar.
-- 325 --
[figure description] Page 325.[end figure description]
Wearied with her involuntary watching, Theresa fell asleep
also, still clasping in her fond arms the miserable, guilty thing
which she had sworn so fatally, and kept her vow so faithfully,
to love, honor, and obey.
When the sun rose, the wretched man awoke from his deep
and dreamless sleep; and as his eye fell on that innocent, sweet
face, calm as an infant's, and serene, though full of deep thoughts
and pure affections, he did start, he did shudder, for one second's
space — perhaps for that fleeting point of time, he doubted.
But if it were so, he nerved himself again almost without
an effort, disengaged himself gently from the embrace of her
entwined arms, with something that sounded like a smothered
curse, and stalked away in sullen gloom, leaving her buried in
her last natural slumber.
Two hours had, perhaps, gone over, and the morning had
come out bright and glorious after the midnight storm, the atmosphere
was clear and breezy, the skies pure as crystal, and
the glad sunshine glanced and twinkled with ten thousand gay
reflections in the diamond rain-drops which still gemmed every
blade of grass, and glistened in every floweret's cup, when Theresa's
light step was heard coming down the stairs, and her
sweet voice inquiring where she should find Master St. Aubyn.
“I am here,” answered his deep voice, which for the moment
he made an effort to inflect graciously, and with the word
he made his appearance from the door of his study, booted to
the mid-thigh, and spurred; with a long, heavy rapier at his
side, and a stout dagger counterbalancing it in the other side
of his girdle. He was dressed in a full suit of plain, black velvet,
without any ornament or embroidery; and whether it was
that the contrast made him look paler, or that the horror of
what he was about to do, though insufficient to turn his hard
heart, had sufficed to blanch his cheek and lips, I know not,
-- 326 --
[figure description] Page 326.[end figure description]
but, as she saw his face, Theresa started as if she had seen a
ghost.
“How pale you look, Jasper,” she said earnestly; “are you
ill at ease, dearest, or anxious about me? If it be the last, vex
not yourself, I pray you; for I am not in the least afraid, either
of the fatigue or of the voyage. For the rest,” she added, with
a bright smile, intended to reassure him, “I have long wished
to see La Belle France, as they call it; and to me the change
of scene, so long as you are with me, dearest Jasper, will be
but a change of pleasure. I hope I have not kept you waiting.
But I could not sleep during the night for the thunder,
and about daybreak I was overpowered by a heavy slumber. I
did not even hear you leave me.”
“I saw that you slept heavily, my own love,” he made answer,
“and was careful not to wake you, knowing what you
would have to undergo to-day, and wishing to let you get all
the rest you could before starting. But come, let us go to breakfast.
We have little time to lose, the horses will be at the
door in half an hour.”
“Come, then,” she answered, “I am ready;” and she took
his arm as she spoke, and passed, leaning on him, through the
long suite of rooms, which now, for above a year had been her
home in mingled happiness and sorrow. “Heigho!” she murmured,
with a half sigh, “dear Widecomb! dear, dear Widecomb,
many a happy hour have I spent within your walls, and
it goes hard with me to leave you. I wonder, shall I ever see
you more.”
“Never,” replied the deep voice of her husband, in so strange
a tone, that it made her turn her head and look at him quickly.
A strange, dark spasm had convulsed his face, and was not yet
passed from it, when her eye met his. She thought it was the
effect of natural grief at leaving his fine place — the place of
his birth — as an outlaw and an exile; and half-repenting that
-- 327 --
[figure description] Page 327.[end figure description]
she had so spoken as to excite his feelings, she hastened to
soothe them, as she thought, by a gayer and more hopeful word.
“Never heed, dearest Jasper,” she said, pressing his arm, on
which she hung, “if we do love old Widecomb, there are as
fair places elsewhere, on the world's green face, and if there
were not, happy minds will aye find, or make happy places.
And we, why spite of time and tide, wind and weather, we will
be happy, Jasper. And I doubt not a moment, that we shall
yet live to spend happy days once more in Widecomb.”
“I fear, never,” replied the young man, solemnly. It was a
singular feeling — he did not repent, he did not falter or shrink
in the least from his murderous purpose; but, for his life, he
could not give her a hope, he could not say a word to cheer
her, or deceive her, further than he was compelled to do in order
to carry out his end.
The morning meal passed silently and sadly; for, in spite
of all her efforts to be gay, and to make him lighter-hearted,
his brow was clouded, and he would not converse; and she,
fearing to vex him, or to trespass on what she believed to be his
deep regret at leaving home, ceased to intrude upon his sorrow.
At length he asked her, “Are you ready?” and as he spoke,
arose from the table.
“Oh yes,” she answered, “I am always ready when you
want me. And see, Jasper,” she added, “here are my jewels,”
handing him a small ebony casket, “I thought they might be
of use to us, in case of our wanting money; and yet I should
grieve to part with them, for they are the diamonds you gave
me that night we were wedded.”
He took it with a steady hand, and thrust it into the bosom
of his dress, saying, with a forced smile, “You are ever careful,
Theresa. But you have said nothing, I trust, to your maidens,
of our going.”
“Surely not, Jasper, they believe I am going but for a
-- 328 --
[figure description] Page 328.[end figure description]
morning's ride. Do you not see that I have got on my new habit?
You have not paid me one compliment on it, sir. I think you
might at least have told me that I looked pretty in it. I know
the day when you would have done so, without my begging it.”
“Is that meant for a reproach, Theresa?” he said, gloomily,
“because —”
“A reproach, Jasper,” she interrupted him quickly, “how
little you understand poor me! I hoped, by my silly prattle, to
win you from your sorrow at leaving all that you love so dearly.
But I will be silent —”
“Do so, I pray you, for the moment.”
And without further words, he led her down the steps of the
terrace, and helped her to mount her palfrey, a beautiful, slight,
high-bred thing, admirably fitted to carry a lady round the trim
rides of a park, but so entirely deficient in bone, strength, and
sinew, that no animal could be conceived less capable of enduring
any continuous fatigue, or even of making any one strong
and sustained exertion. Then he sprung to the back of his
own noble horse, a tall, powerful, thorough-bred hunter, of about
sixteen hands in height, with bone and muscle to match, capable,
as it would appear, of carrying a man-at-arms in full harness
through a long march or a pitched battle.
Just as he was on the point of starting, he observed that one
of his dogs, a favorite greyhound, was loose, and about to follow
him, when he commanded him to be taken up instantly,
rating the man who had held the horses very harshly, and
cursing him soundly for disobeying his orders.
Then, when he saw that he was secure against the animal's
following him, he turned his horse's head to the right hand,
toward the great hills to the westward, saying aloud, so that all
the bystanders could hear him —
“Well, lady fair, since we are only going for a pleasure-ride,
suppose we go up toward the great deer-park in the forest. By
-- 329 --
[figure description] Page 329.[end figure description]
the way,” he added, turning in his saddle, to the old steward,
who was standing on the terrace, “I desired Haggerston, the
horse-dealer, to meet me here at noon, about a hunter he wants
to sell me. If I should not be back, give him some dinner, and
detain him until I return. I shall not be late, for I fancy my
lady will not care to ride very far.”
“Do n't be too sure of that, Jasper,” she replied, with an
arch smile, thinking to aid him in his project. “It is so long
since I have ridden out with you, that I may wish to make a
day of it. Come, let us start.”
And she gave her jennet its head, and cantered lightly away
over the green, her husband following at a trot of his powerful
hunter; and in a few minutes they were both hidden from the
eyes of the servants, among the clumps of forest-trees and the
dense thickets of the chase.
At something more than three miles' distance from Widecomb
house, to the westward, there is a pass in the hills, where
a bridle-road crosses the channel of the large brook, which I
have named so often, and which, at a point far lower down, was
the scene of Jasper's ill-omened introduction to Theresa Allan.
This bridle-road, leading from the sparse settlements on Dartmoor
to the nearest point of the seacoast, was a rough, dangerous
track, little frequented except by the smugglers and poachers
of that region, and lay, for the most part, considerably below
the level of the surrounding country, between wooded hills,
or walls of dark, gray rock.
The point at which it crosses the stream is singularly wild
and romantic, for the road and the river both are walled by
sheer precipices of gray, shattered, limestone rock, nearly two
hundred feet in height, perfectly barren, bare, and treeless, except
on the summits, which are covered with heather and low
stunted shrubbery.
The river itself, immediately above the ford, by which the
-- 330 --
[figure description] Page 330.[end figure description]
road passes it, descends by a flight of rocky steps, or irregular,
shelvy rapids, above a hundred feet within three times as many
yards, and then spreads out into a broad, open pool, where its
waters, not ordinarily above three feet deep, glance rapidly,
still and unbroken, over a level pavement of smooth stone, almost
as slippery as ice. Scarce twenty yards below this, there
is an abrupt pitch of sixty feet in perpendicular height, over
which the river rushes at all times in a loud, foaming waterfall,
but after storms among the hills, in a tremendous roaring
cataract.
The ford is never a safe one, owing to the insecure foothold
afforded by the slippery limestone, but when the river is in
flood, no one in his senses would dream of crossing it.
Yet it was by this road that Jasper had persuaded his young
wife that they could alone hope to escape with any chance of
safety, and to this point he was leading her. And she, though
she knew the pass, and all its perils, resolute to accompany him
through life, and if need should be, to death itself, rode onward
with him, cheerful and apparently fearless.
They reached its brink, and the spectacle it afforded, was,
indeed, fearful. The river swollen by the rains of the past
night, though, like all mountain torrents, rising and falling rapidly,
it was already subsiding, came down from the moors with
an arrowy rush, clear and transparent as glass, yet deep in color
as the rich brown cairn-gorm. The shelvy rapids above the
ford were one sheet of snow-white foam, and in the ford itself
the foam-flakes wheeled round and round, as in a huge, boiling
caldron, while below it the roar of the cataract was louder than
the loudest thunder, and the spray rolling upward from the
whirlpool beneath, clung to the craigs above in mist-wreaths so
dense that their summits were invisible.
“Good God!” cried Theresa, turning deadly pale, as she
looked on the fearful pool. “We are lost. It is impossible.”
-- 331 --
[figure description] Page 331.[end figure description]
“By Heaven!” he answered, impetuously, “I must pass it,
or stay and be hanged. You can do as you will, Theresa.”
“But is it possible?”
“Certainly it is. Do you think I would lead you into certain
death? But see, I will ride across and return, that you
may see how easy it is, to a brave heart and a cool hand.”
And, confident in the strength of his horse and in his own
splendid horsemanship, he plunged in dauntlessly, and keeping
up stream near to the foot of the upper rapids, struggled through
it, and returned to her without much difficulty, though the water
rose above the belly of his horse.
He heard, however, that a fresh storm was rattling and roaring,
even now, among the hills above, and he knew by that sign
that a fresh torrent was even now speeding its way down the
chasm.
There was no time to be lost — it was now or never. He
cast an eager glance around — a glance that read and marked
everything — as he came to land; save only Theresa, there was
not a human being within sight.
“You see,” he said, with a smile, “there is no danger.”
“I see,” she answered merrily. “Forgive me for being
such a little coward. But you will lead Rosabella, won't you,
Jasper?”
“Surely,” he answered. “Come.”
And catching the curb-rein of the pony with his left hand,
and guiding his own horse with his right, holding his heavy-loaded
hunting-whip between his teeth, he led her down into
the foaming waters, so that her palfrey was between himself
and the cataract.
It was hard work, and a fearful struggle for that slender,
light-limbed palfrey to stem that swollen river: and the long
skirt of Theresa's dress, holding the water, dragged the struggling
animal down toward the waterfall. Still, despite every
-- 332 --
[figure description] Page 332.[end figure description]
disadvantage, it would have battled to the other side, had fair
play been given it.
But when they reached the very deepest and most turbulent
part of the pool, under pretence of aiding it, Jasper lifted the
jennet's fore-legs, by dint of the strong, sharp curb, clear off
the bottom. The swollen stream came down with a heavier
swirl, its hind legs were swept from under it, in an instant, and
with a piercing scream of agony and terror, the palfrey was
whirled over the brink of the fall.
But, as it fell, unsuspicious of her husband's horrible intent,
the wretched girl freed her foot from the stirrup, and throwing
herself over to the right hand, with a wild cry, “Save me!
save me, my God! save me, Jasper!” caught hold of his velvet
doublet with both hands, and clung to him with the tenacious
grasp of the death-struggle.
Even then — even then, had he relented, one touch of the
spur would have carried his noble horse clear through the peril.
But no! the instant her horse fell, he shifted his reins to the
left hand, and grasped his whip firmly in the right; and now,
with a face of more than fiendish horror, pale, comprest, ghastly,
yet grim and resolute as death, he reared his hand on high, and
poised the deadly weapon.
Then, even then, her soft blue eyes met his, full, in that moment
of unutterable terror, of hope and love, even then overpowering
agony. She met his eyes, glaring with wolfish fury;
she saw his lifted hand, and even then would have saved his
soul that guilt.
“Oh no!” she cried, “oh no! I will let go — I will drown,
if you wish it; I will, I will, indeed! O God! do not you —
do not you — kill me, Jasper.”
And even as she spoke, she relaxed her hold, and suffered
herself to glide down into the torrent; but it was all too late —
the furious blow was dealt — with that appalling sound, that
-- 333 --
[figure description] Page 333.[end figure description]
soft, dead, crushing plash, it smote her full between those
lovely eyes.
“O God! — my God! — forgive — Jasper! Jasper!” — and
she plunged deep into the pool; but as the waters swept her
over the cataract's verge, they raised her corpse erect; and its
dead face met his, with the eyes glaring on his own yet wide
open, and the dread, gory spot between them, as he had seen
it in his vision years before.
He stood, motionless, reining his charger in the middle of
the raging current, unmindful of his peril, gazing, horror-stricken,
on the spot where he had seen her last — his brain reeled,
he was sick at heart.
A wild, piercing shout, almost too shrill to be human, aroused
him from his trance of terror. He looked upward almost unconsciously,
and it seemed to him that the mist had been drawn
up like a curtain, and that a man in dark garb stood gazing on
him from the summit of the rocks.
If it were so, it was but for a second's space. The fog
closed in thicker again than before, the torrent came roaring
down in fiercer, madder flood, and wheeling his horse round,
and spurring him furiously, it was all that Jasper St. Aubyn
could do, by dint of hand and foot, and as iron a heart as ever
man possessed, to avoid following his victim to her watery
grave.
Once safe, he cast one last glance to the rocks, to the river,
but he saw, heard nothing. He whirled the bloody whip over
the falls, plunged his spurs, rowel-deep, into the horse's sides,
and with hell in his heart, he galloped, like one pursued by the
furies of the slain, back, alone, to Widecomb.
-- 334 --
Herbert, Henry William, 1807-1858 [1852], The Cavaliers of England, or, The times of the revolutions of 1642 and 1688. (Redfield, New York) [word count] [eaf580T].
