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diff --git a/35196.txt b/35196.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dc6f8de --- /dev/null +++ b/35196.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15826 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Gwen Wynn, by Mayne Reid + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Gwen Wynn + A Romance of the Wye + +Author: Mayne Reid + +Release Date: February 7, 2011 [EBook #35196] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GWEN WYNN *** + + + + +Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England + + + + +Gwen Wynn +A Romance of the Wye +By Captain Mayne Reid +Published by Tinsley Brothers, 8 Catherine Street, Strand, London. +This edition dated 1877. + +Volume One, Chapter I. + +THE HEROINE. + +A tourist descending the Wye by boat from the town of Hereford to the +ruined Abbey of Tintern, may observe on its banks a small pagoda-like +structure; its roof, with a portion of the supporting columns, +o'er-topping a spray of evergreens. It is simply a summer-house, of the +kiosk or pavilion pattern, standing in the ornamental grounds of a +gentleman's residence. Though placed conspicuously on an elevated +point, the boat traveller obtains view of it only from a reach of the +river above. When opposite he loses sight of it; a spinney of tall +poplars drawing curtain-like between him and the higher bank. These +stand on an oblong island, which extends several hundred yards down the +stream, formed by an old channel, now forsaken. With all its wanderings +the Wye is not suddenly capricious; still, in the lapse of long ages it +has here and there changed its course, forming _aits_, or _eyots_, of +which this is one. + +The tourist will not likely take the abandoned channel. He is bound and +booked for Tintern--possibly Chepstow--and will not be delayed by lesser +"lions." Besides, his hired boatmen would not deviate from their terms +of charter, without adding an extra to their fare. + +Were he free, and disposed for exploration, entering this unused water +way, he would find it tortuous, with scarce any current, save in times +of flood; on one side the eyot, a low marshy flat, thickly overgrown +with trees; on the other a continuous cliff, rising forty feet sheer, +its _facade_ grim and grey, with flakes of reddish hue, where the frost +has detached pieces from the rock--the old red sandstone of +Herefordshire. Near its entrance he would catch a glimpse of the kiosk +on its crest; and, proceeding onward, will observe the tops of laurels +and other exotic evergreens, mingling their glabrous foliage with that +of the indigenous holly, ivy, and ferns; these last trailing over the +cliff's brow, and wreathing it with fillets of verdure, as if to conceal +its frowning corrugations. + +About midway down the old river's bed he will arrive opposite a little +embayment in the high bank, partly natural, but in part quarried out of +the cliff--as evinced by a flight of steps, leading up at back, +chiselled out of the rock _in situ_. + +The cove thus contrived is just large enough to give room to a row-boat; +and, if not out upon the river, one will be in it, riding upon its +painter; this attached to a ring in the red sandstone. It is a light +two-oared affair--a pleasure-boat, ornamentally painted, with cushioned +thwarts, and tiller ropes of coloured cord athwart its stern, which the +tourist will have turned towards him, in gold lettering, "The +Gwendoline." + +Charmed by this Idyllic picture, he may forsake his own craft, and +ascend to the top of the stair. If so, he will have before his eyes a +lawn of park-like expanse, mottled with clumps of coppice, here and +there a grand old tree--oak, elm, or chestnut--standing solitary; at the +upper end a shrubbery of glistening evergreens, with gravelled walks, +fronting a handsome house; or, in the parlance of the estate agent, a +noble mansion. That is Llangorren Court, and there dwells the owner of +the pleasure-boat, as also prospective owner of the house, with some two +thousand acres of land lying adjacent. + +The boat bears her baptismal name, the surname being Wynn, while people, +in a familiar way, speak of her as "Gwen Wynn;" this on account of her +being a lady of proclivities and habits that make her somewhat of a +celebrity in the neighbourhood. She not only goes boating, but hunts, +drives a pair of spirited horses, presides over the church choir, plays +its organ, looks after the poor of the parish--nearly all of it her own, +or soon to be--and has a bright smile, with a pleasant word, for +everybody. + +If she be outside, upon the lawn, the tourist, supposing him a +gentleman, will withdraw; for across the grounds of Llangorren Court +there is no "right of way," and the presence of a stranger upon them +would be deemed an intrusion. Nevertheless, he would go back down the +boat stair reluctantly, and with a sigh of regret, that good manners do +not permit his making the acquaintance of Gwen Wynn without further loss +of time, or any ceremony of introduction. + +But my readers are not thus debarred; and to them I introduce her, as +she saunters over this same lawn, on a lovely April morn. + +She is not alone; another lady, by name Eleanor Lees, being with her. +They are nearly of the same age--both turned twenty--but in all other +respects unlike, even to contrast, though there is kinship between them. +Gwendoline Wynn is tall of form, fully developed; face of radiant +brightness, with blue-grey eyes, and hair of that chrome-yellow almost +peculiar to the Cymri--said to have made such havoc with the hearts of +the Roman soldiers, causing these to deplore the day when recalled home +to protect their seven-hilled city from Goths and Visigoths. + +In personal appearance Eleanor Lees is the reverse of all this; being of +dark complexion, brown-haired, black-eyed, with a figure slender and +_petite_. Withal she is pretty; but it is only prettiness--a word +inapplicable to her kinswoman, who is pronouncedly beautiful. + +Equally unlike are they in mental characteristics; the first-named being +free of speech, courageous, just a trifle fast, and possibly a little +imperious. The other of a reserved, timid disposition, and habitually +of subdued mien, as befits her station; for in this there is also +disparity between them--again a contrast. Both are orphans; but it is +an orphanage under widely different circumstances and conditions: the +one heiress to an estate worth some ten thousand pounds per annum; the +other inheriting nought save an old family name--indeed, left without +other means of livelihood, than what she may derive from a superior +education she has received. + +Notwithstanding their inequality of fortune, and the very distant +relationship--for they are not even near as cousins--the rich girl +behaves towards the poor one as though they were sisters. No one seeing +them stroll arm-in-arm through the shrubbery, and hearing them hold +converse in familiar, affectionate tones, would suspect the little dark +damsel to be the paid "companion" of the lady by her side. Yet in such +capacity is she residing at Llangorren Court. + +It is just after the hour of breakfast, and they have come forth in +morning robes of light muslin--dresses suitable to the day and the +season. Two handsome ponies are upon the lawn, its herbage dividing +their attention with the horns of a pet stag, which now and then +threaten to assail them. + +All three, soon as perceiving the ladies, trot towards them; the ponies +stretching out their necks to be patted; the cloven-hoofed creature +equally courting caresses. They look especially to Miss Wynn, who is +more their mistress. + +On this particular morning she does not seem in the humour for dallying +with them; nor has she brought out their usual allowance of lump sugar; +but, after a touch with her delicate fingers, and a kindly exclamation, +passes on, leaving them behind, to all appearance disappointed. + +"Where are you going, Gwen?" asks the companion, seeing her step out +straight, and apparently with thoughts preoccupied. Their arms are now +disunited, the little incident with the animals having separated them. + +"To the summer-house," is the response. "I wish to have a look at the +river. It should show fine this bright morning." + +And so it does; as both perceive after entering the pavilion, which +commands a view of the valley, with a reach of the river above--the +latter, under the sun, glistening like freshly polished silver. + +Gwen views it through a glass--a binocular she has brought out with her; +this of itself proclaiming some purpose aforethought, but not confided +to the companion. It is only after she has been long holding it +steadily to her eye, that the latter fancies there must be some object +within its field of view more interesting than the Wye's water, or the +greenery on its banks. + +"What is it?" she naively asks. "You see something?" + +"Only a boat," answers Gwen, bringing down the glass with a guilty look, +as if conscious of being caught. "Some tourist, I suppose, making down +to Tintern Abbey--like as not, a London cockney." + +The young lady is telling a "white lie." She knows the occupant of that +boat is nothing of the kind. From London he may be--she cannot tell-- +but certainly no sprig of cockneydom--unlike it as Hyperion to the +Satyr; at least so she thinks. But she does not give her thought to the +companion; instead, concealing it, she adds,--"How fond those town +people are of touring it upon our Wye!" + +"Can you wonder at that?" asks Ellen. "Its scenery is so grand--I +should say, incomparable; nothing equal to it in England." + +"I don't wonder," says Miss Wynn, replying to the question. "I'm only a +little bit vexed seeing them there. It's like the desecration of some +sacred stream, leaving scraps of newspapers in which they wrap their +sandwiches, with other picnicking debris on its banks! To say nought of +one's having to encounter the rude fellows that in these degenerate days +go a-rowing--shopboys from the towns, farm labourers, colliers, +hauliers, all sorts. I've half a mind to set fire to the _Gwendoline_, +burn her up, and never again lay hand on an oar." + +Ellen Lees laughs incredulously as she makes rejoinder. + +"It would be a pity," she says, in serio-comic tone. "Besides, the poor +people are entitled to a little recreation. They don't have too much of +it." + +"Ah, true," rejoins Gwen, who, despite her grandeeism, is neither Tory +nor aristocrat. "Well, I've not yet decided on that little bit of +incendiarism, and shan't burn the _Gwendoline_--at all events not till +we've had another row out of her." + +Not for a hundred pounds would she set fire to that boat, and never in +her life was she less thinking of such a thing. For just then she has +other views regarding the pretty pleasure craft, and intends taking seat +on its thwarts within less than twenty minutes' time. + +"By the way," she says, as if the thought had suddenly occurred to her, +"we may as well have that row now--whether it's to be the last or not." + +Cunning creature! She has had it in her mind all the morning; first +from her bed-chamber window, then from that of the breakfast-room, +looking up the river's reach, with the binocular at her eye, too, to +note if a certain boat, with a salmon-rod bending over it, passes down. +For one of its occupants is an angler. + +"The day's superb," she goes on; "sun's not too hot--gentle breeze--just +the weather for a row. And the river looks so inviting--seems calling +us to come! What say you, Nell?" + +"Oh! I've no objections." + +"Let us in, then, and make ready. Be quick about it! Remember it's +April, and there may be showers. We mustn't miss a moment of that sweet +sunshine." + +At this the two forsake the summer-house; and, lightly recrossing the +lawn, disappear within the dwelling. + +While the anglers boat is still opposite the grounds, going on, eyes are +observing it from an upper window of the house; again those of Miss Wynn +herself, inside her dressing-room, getting ready for the river. + +She had only short glimpses of it, over the tops of the trees on the +eyot, and now and then through breaks in their thinner spray. Enough, +however, to assure her that it contains two men, neither of them +cockneys. One at the oars she takes to be a professional waterman. But +he, seated in the stern is altogether unknown to her, save by sight-- +that obtained when twice meeting him out on the river. She knows not +whence he comes, or where he is residing; but supposes him a stranger to +the neighbourhood, stopping at some hotel. If at the house of any of +the neighbouring gentry, she would certainly have heard of it. She is +not even acquainted with his name, though longing to learn it. But she +is shy to inquire, lest that might betray her interest in him. For such +she feels, has felt, ever since setting eyes on his strangely handsome +face. + +As the boat again disappears behind the thick foliage, she sets, in +haste, to effect the proposed change of dress, saying, in soliloquy--for +she is now alone:-- + +"I wonder who, and what he can be? A gentleman, of course. But, then, +there are gentlemen, and gentlemen; single ones and--" + +She has the word "married" on her tongue, but refrains speaking it. +Instead, she gives utterance to a sigh, followed by the reflection-- + +"Ah, me! That would be a pity--a dis--" + +Again she checks herself, the thought being enough unpleasant without +the words. + +Standing before the mirror, and sticking long pins into her hair, to +keep its rebellious plaits in their place, she continues soliloquising-- + +"If one only had a word with that young waterman who rows him! And were +it not that my own boatman is such a chatterer, I'd put him up to +getting that word. But no! It would never do. He'd tell aunt about +it; and then Madame la Chatelaine would be talking all sorts of serious +things to me--the which I mightn't relish. Well; in six months more the +old lady's trusteeship of this young lady is to terminate--at least +legally. Then I'll be my own mistress; and then--'twill be time enough +to consider whether I ought to have--a master. Ha, ha, ha!" + +So laughing, as she surveys her superb figure in a cheval glass, she +completes the adjustment of her dress, by setting a hat upon her head, +and tightening the elastic, to secure against its being blown off while +in the boat. In fine, with a parting glance at the mirror, which shows +a satisfied expression upon her features, she trips lightly out of the +room, and on down the stairway. + +Volume One, Chapter II. + +THE HERO. + +Than Vivian Ryecroft--handsomer man never carried sling-jacket over his +shoulder, or sabretasche on his hip. For he is in the Hussars--a +captain. + +He is not on duty now, nor anywhere near the scene of it. His regiment +is at Aldershot, himself rusticating in Herefordshire--whither he has +come to spend a few weeks' leave of absence. + +Nor is he, at the time of our meeting him, in the saddle, which he sits +so gracefully; but in a row-boat on the river Wye--the same just sighted +by Gwen Wynn through the double lens of her lorgnette. No more is he +wearing the braided uniform and "busby;" but, instead, attired in a suit +of light Cheviots, piscator-cut, with a helmet-shaped cap of quilted +cotton on his head, its rounded rim of spotless white in striking, but +becoming, contrast with his bronzed complexion and dark military +moustache. + +For Captain Ryecroft is no mere stripling nor beardless youth, but a man +turned thirty, browned by exposure to Indian suns, experienced in Indian +campaigns, from those of Scinde and the Punjaub to that most memorable +of all--the Mutiny. + +Still is he personally as attractive as he ever was--to women, possibly +more; among these causing a flutter, with _rapprochement_ towards him +almost instinctive, when and wherever they may meet him. In the present +many a bright English lady sighs for him, as in the past many a dark +damsel of Hindostan. And without his heaving sigh, or even giving them +a thought in return. Not that he is of cold nature, or in any sense +austere; instead, warm-hearted, of cheerful disposition, and rather +partial to female society. But he is not, and never has been, either +man-flirt or frivolous trifler; else he would not be fly-fishing on the +Wye--for that is what he is doing there--instead of in London, taking +part in the festivities of the "season," by day dawdling in Rotten Row, +by night exhibiting himself in opera-box or ball-room. In short, Vivian +Ryecroft is one of those rare individuals, to a high degree endowed, +physically as mentally, without being aware of it, or appearing so; +while to all others it is very perceptible. + +He has been about a fortnight in the neighbourhood, stopping at the +chief hotel of a riverine town much affected by fly-fishermen and +tourists. Still, he has made no acquaintance with the resident gentry. +He might, if wishing it; which he does not, his purpose upon the Wye not +being to seek society, but salmon, or rather the sport of taking it. An +ardent disciple of the ancient Izaak, he cares for nought else--at +least, in the district where he is for the present sojourning. + +Such is his mental condition, up to a certain morning; when a change +comes over it, sudden as the spring of a salmon at the gaudiest or most +tempting of his flies--this brought about by a face, of which he has +caught sight by merest accident, and while following his favourite +occupation. Thus it has chanced:-- + +Below the town where he is staying, some four or five miles by the +course of the stream, he has discovered one of those places called +"catches," where the king of river fish delights to leap at flies, +whether natural or artificial--a sport it has oft reason to rue. +Several times so, at the end of Captain Ryecroft's line and rod; he +having there twice hooked a twenty-pounder, and once a still larger +specimen, which turned the scale at thirty. In consequence that portion +of the stream has become his choicest angling ground, and at least three +days in the week he repairs to it. The row is not much going down, but +a good deal returning; five miles up stream, most of it strong adverse +current. That, however, is less his affair than his oarsman's--a young +waterman by name Wingate, whose boat and services the hussar officer has +chartered by the week--indeed, engaged them for so long as he may remain +upon the Wye. + +On the morning in question, dropping down the river to his accustomed +whipping-place, but at a somewhat later hour than usual, he meets +another boat coming up--a pleasure craft, as shown by its style of +outside ornament and inside furniture. Of neither does the salmon +fisher take much note; his eyes all occupied with those upon the +thwarts. There are three of them, two being ladies seated in the stern +sheets, the third an oarsman on a thwart well forward, to make better +balance. And to the latter the hussar officer gives but a glance--just +to observe that he is a serving-man--wearing some of its insignia in the +shape of a cockaded hat, and striped stable-waistcoat. And not much +more than a glance at one of the former; but a gaze, concentrated and +long as good manners will permit, at the other, who is steering; when +she passes beyond sight, her face remaining in his memory, vivid as if +still before his eyes. + +All this at a first encounter; repeated in a second, which occurs on the +day succeeding, under similar circumstances, and almost in the selfsame +spot; then the face, if possible, seeming fairer, and the impression +made by it on Vivian Ryecroft's mind sinking deeper--indeed, promising +to be permanent. It is a radiant face, set in a luxuriance of bright +amber hair--for it is that of Gwendoline Wynn. + +On the second occasion he has a better view of her, the boats passing +nearer to one another; still, not so near as he could wish, good manners +again interfering. For all, he feels well satisfied--especially with +the thought, that his own gaze earnestly given, though under such +restraint, has been with earnestness returned. Would that his secret +admiration of its owner were in like manner reciprocated! + +Such is his reflective wish as the boats widen the distance between; one +labouring slowly up, the other gliding swiftly down. + +His boatman cannot tell who the lady is, nor where she lives. On the +second day he is not asked--the question having been put to him on that +preceding. All the added knowledge now obtained is the name of the +craft that carries her; which, after passing, the waterman, with face +turned towards its stern, makes out to be the _Gwendoline_--just as on +his own boat--the _Mary_,--though not in such grand golden letters. + +It may assist Captain Ryecroft in his inquiries, already contemplated, +and he makes note of it. + +Another night passes; another sun shines over the Wye; and he again +drops down stream to his usual place of sport--this day only to draw +blank, neither catching salmon, nor seeing hair of amber hue; his +reflecting on which is, perchance, a cause of the fish not taking to his +flies, cast carelessly. + +He is not discouraged; but goes again on the day succeeding--that same +when his boat is viewed through the binocular. He has already formed a +half suspicion that the home of the interesting water nymph is not far +from that pagoda-like structure, he has frequently noticed on the right +bank of the river. For, just below the outlying eyot is where he has +met the pleasure-boat, and the old oarsman looked anything but equal to +a long pull up stream. Still, between that and the town are several +other gentlemen's residences on the river side, with some standing +inland. It may be any of them. + +But it is not, as Captain Ryecroft now feels sure, at sight of some +floating drapery in the pavilion, with two female heads showing over its +baluster rail; one of them with tresses glistening in the sunlight, +bright as sunbeams themselves. + +He views it through a telescope--for he, too, has come out provided for +distant observation--this confirming his conjectures just in the way he +would wish. Now there will be no difficulty in learning who the lady +is--for of one only does he care to make inquiry. + +He would order Wingate to hold way, but does not relish the idea of +letting the waterman into his secret; and so, remaining silent, he is +soon carried beyond sight of the summer-house, and along the outer edge +of the islet, with its curtain of tall trees coming invidiously between. + +Continuing on to his angling ground, he gives way to reflections--at +first of a pleasant nature. Satisfactory to think that she, the subject +of them, at least lives in a handsome house; for a glimpse got of its +upper storey tells it to be this. That she is in social rank a lady, he +has hitherto had no doubt. The pretty pleasure craft and its +appendages, with the venerable domestic acting as oarsman, are all +proofs of something more than mere respectability--rather evidences of +style. + +Marring these agreeable considerations is the thought, he may not to-day +meet the pleasure-boat. It is the hour that, from past experience, he +might expect it to be out--for he has so timed his own piscatorial +excursion. But, seeing the ladies in the summer-house, he doubts +getting nearer sight of them--at least for another twenty-four hours. +In all likelihood they have been already on the river, and returned home +again. Why did he not start earlier? + +While thus fretting himself, he catches sight of another boat--of a sort +very different from the _Gwendoline_--a heavy barge-like affair, with +four men in it; hulking fellows, to whom rowing is evidently a new +experience. Notwithstanding this, they do not seem at all frightened at +finding themselves upon the water. Instead, they are behaving in a way +that shows them either very courageous, or very regardless of a danger-- +which, possibly, they are not aware of. At short intervals one or other +is seen starting to his feet, and rushing fore or aft--as if on an empty +coal-waggon, instead of in a boat--and in such fashion, that were the +craft at all crank, it would certainly be upset! + +On drawing nearer them Captain Ryecroft and his oarsman get the +explanation of their seemingly eccentric behaviour--its cause made clear +by a black bottle, which one of them is holding in his hand, each of the +others brandishing tumbler, or tea cup. They are drinking; and that +they have been so occupied for some time is evident by their loud +shouts, and grotesque gesturing. + +"They look an ugly lot!" observes the young waterman, viewing them over +his shoulder; for, seated at the oars, his back is towards them. "Coal +fellows, from the Forest o' Dean, I take it." + +Ryecroft, with a cigar between his teeth, dreamily thinking of a boat +with people in it so dissimilar, simply signifies assent with a nod. + +But soon he is roused from his reverie, at hearing an exclamation louder +than common, followed by words whose import concerns himself and his +companion. These are:-- + +"Dang it, lads! le's goo in for a bit o' a lark! Yonner be a boat +coomin' down wi' two chaps in 't; some o' them spick-span city gents! +S'pose we gie 'em a capsize?" + +"Le's do it! Le's duck 'em!" shouted the others, assentingly; he with +the bottle dropping it into the boat's bottom, and laying hold of an oar +instead. + +All act likewise, for it is a four-oared craft that carries them; and in +a few seconds' time they are rowing it straight for that of the +angler's. + +With astonishment, and fast gathering indignation, the Hussar officer +sees the heavy barge coming bow-on for his light fishing skiff, and is +thoroughly sensible of the danger; the waterman becoming aware of it at +the same instant of time. + +"They mean mischief," mutters Wingate; "what'd we best do, Captain? If +you like I can keep clear, and shoot the _Mary_ past 'em--easy enough." + +"Do so," returns the salmon fisher, with the cigar still between his +teeth--but now held bitterly tight, almost to biting off the stump. +"You can keep on!" he adds, speaking calmly, and with an effort to keep +down his temper; "that will be the best way, as things stand now. They +look like they'd come up from below; and, if they show any ill manners +at meeting, we can call them to account on return. Don't concern +yourself about your course. I'll see to the steering. There! hard on +the starboard oar!" + +This last, as the two boats have arrived within less than three lengths +of one another. At the same time Ryecroft, drawing tight the port +tiller-cord, changes course suddenly, leaving just sufficient sea-way +for his oarsman to shave past, and avoid the threatened collision. + +Which is done the instant after--to the discomfiture of the would-be +capsizers. As the skiff glides lightly beyond their reach, dancing over +the river swell, as if in triumph and to mock them, they drop their +oars, and send after it a chorus of yells, mingled with blasphemous +imprecations. + +In a lull between, the Hussar officer at length takes the cigar from his +lips, and calls back to them-- + +"You ruffians! You shall rue it! Shout on--till you're hoarse. +There's a reckoning for you, perhaps sooner than you expect." + +"Yes, ye damned scoun'rels!" adds the young waterman, himself so enraged +as almost to foam at the mouth. "Ye'll have to pay dear for sich a +dastartly attemp' to waylay Jack Wingate's boat. That will ye." + +"Bah!" jeeringly retorts one of the roughs. "To blazes wi' you, an' yer +boat!" + +"Ay, to the blazes wi' ye!" echo the others in drunken chorus; and, +while their voices are still reverberating along the adjacent cliffs, +the fishing skiff drifts round a bend of the river, bearing its owner +and his fare out of their sight, as beyond earshot of their profane +speech. + +Volume One, Chapter III. + +A CHARON CORRUPTED. + +The lawn of Llangorren Court, for a time abandoned to the dumb +quadrupeds, that had returned to their tranquil pasturing, is again +enlivened by the presence of the two young ladies; but so transformed, +that they are scarce recognisable as the same late seen upon it. Of +course, it is their dresses that have caused the change; Miss Wynn now +wearing a pea-jacket of navy blue, with anchor buttons, and a straw hat +set coquettishly on her head, its ribbons of azure hue trailing over, +and prettily contrasting with the plaits of her chrome-yellow hair, +gathered in a grand coil behind. But for the flowing skirt below, she +might be mistaken for a young mid, whose cheeks as yet show only the +down--one who would "find sweethearts in every port." + +Miss Lees is less nautically attired; having but slipped over her +morning dress a paletot of the ordinary kind, and on her head a plumed +hat of the Neapolitan pattern. For all, a costume becoming; especially +the brigand-like head gear which sets off her finely-chiselled features, +and skin dark as any daughter of the South. + +They are about starting towards the boat-dock, when a difficulty +presents itself--not to Gwen, but the companion. + +"We have forgotten Joseph!" she exclaims. + +Joseph is an ancient retainer of the Wynn family, who, in its domestic +affairs, plays parts of many kinds--among them the _metier_ of boatman. +It is his duty to look after the _Gwendoline_, see that she is snug in +her dock, with oars and steering apparatus in order; go out with her +when his young mistress takes a row on the river, or ferry any one of +the family who has occasion to cross it--the last a need by no means +rare, since for miles above and below there is nothing in the shape of +bridge. + +"No, we haven't," rejoins Joseph's mistress, answering the exclamation +of the companion. "I remembered him well enough--too well." + +"Why too well?" asks the other, looking a little puzzled. + +"Because we don't want him." + +"But surely, Gwen, you wouldn't think of our going alone." + +"Surely I would, and do. Why not?" + +"We've never done so before." + +"Is that any reason we shouldn't now?" + +"But Miss Linton will be displeased, if not very angry. Besides, as you +know, there may be danger on the river." + +For a short while Gwen is silent, as if pondering on what the other has +said. Not on the suggested danger. She is far from being daunted by +that. But Miss Linton is her aunt--as already hinted, her legal +guardian till of age--head of the house, and still holding authority, +though exercising it in the mildest manner. And just on this account it +would not be right to outrage it, nor is Miss Wynn the one to do so. +Instead, she prefers a little subterfuge, which is in her mind as she +makes rejoinder-- + +"I suppose we must take him along; though it's very vexatious, and for +various reasons." + +"What are they? May I know them?" + +"You're welcome. For one, I can pull a boat just as well as he, if not +better. And for another, we can't have a word of conversation without +his hearing it--which isn't at all nice, besides being inconvenient. As +I've reason to know, the old curmudgeon is an incorrigible gossip, and +tattles all over the parish, I only wish we'd some one else. What a +pity I haven't a brother, to go with us! _But not to-day_." + +The reserving clause, despite its earnestness, is not spoken aloud. In +the aquatic excursion intended, she wants no companion of the male +kind--above all, no brother. Nor will she take Joseph; though she +signifies her consent to it, by desiring the companion to summon him. + +As the latter starts off for the stable-yard, where the ferryman is +usually to be found, Gwen says, in soliloquy-- + +"I'll take old Joe as far as the boat stairs; but not a yard beyond. I +know what will stay him there--steady as a pointer with a partridge six +feet from its nose. By the way, have I got my purse with me?" + +She plunges her hand into one of her pea-jacket pockets; and, there +feeling the thing sought for, is satisfied. + +By this Miss Lees has got back, bringing with her the versatile Joseph-- +a tough old servitor of the respectable family type, who has seen some +sixty summers, more or less. + +After a short colloquy, with some questions as to the condition of the +pleasure-boat, its oars, and steering gear, the three proceed in the +direction of the dock. + +Arrived at the bottom of the boat stairs, Joseph's mistress, turning to +him, says-- + +"Joe, old boy, Miss Lees and I are going for a row. But, as the day's +fine, and the water smooth as glass, there's no need for our having you +along with us. So you can stay here till we return." + +The venerable retainer is taken aback by the proposal. He has never +listened to the like before; for never before has the pleasure-boat gone +to river without his being aboard. True, it is no business of his; +still, as an ancient upholder of the family, with its honour and safety, +he cannot assent to this strange innovation without entering protest. +He does so, asking: + +"But, Miss Gwen; what will your aunt say to it? She mayent like you +young ladies to go rowin' by yourselves? Besides, Miss, ye know there +be some not werry nice people as moat meet ye on the river. 'Deed some +v' the roughest and worst o' blaggarts." + +"Nonsense, Joseph! The Wye isn't the Niger, where we might expect the +fate of poor Mungo Park. Why, man, we'll be as safe on it as upon our +own carriage drive, or the little fishpond. As for aunt, she won't say +anything, because she won't know. Shan't, can't, unless you peach on +us. The which, my amiable Joseph, you'll not do--I'm sure you will +not?" + +"How'm I to help it, Miss Gwen? When you've goed off, some o' the house +sarvints'll see me here, an', hows'ever I keep my tongue in check--" + +"Check it now!" abruptly breaks in the heiress, "and stop palavering, +Joe! The house servants won't see you--not one of them. When we're off +on the river, you'll be lying at anchor in those laurel bushes above. +And to keep you to your anchorage, here's some shining metal." + +Saying which, she slips several shillings into his hand, adding, as she +notes the effect,-- + +"Do you think it sufficiently heavy? If not--but never mind now. In +our absence you can amuse yourself weighing, and counting the coins. I +fancy they'll do." + +She is sure of it, knowing the man's weakness to be money, as it now +proves. + +Her argument is too powerful for his resistance, and he does not resist. +Despite his solicitude for the welfare of the Wynn family, with his +habitual regard of duty, the ancient servitor, refraining from further +protest, proceeds to undo the knot of the _Gwendoline's_ painter. + +Stepping into the boat, the other Gwendoline takes the oars, Miss Lees +seating herself to steer. + +"All right! Now, Joe, give us a push off." + +Joseph, having let all loose, does as directed; which sends the light +craft clear out of its dock. Then, standing on the bottom step, with an +adroit twirl of the thumb, he spreads the silver pieces over his palm-- +so that he may see how many--and, after counting and contemplating with +pleased expression, slips them into his pocket, muttering to himself-- + +"I dar say it'll be all right. Miss Gwen's a oner to take care o' +herself; an' the old lady neen't a know any thin' about it." + +To make his last words good, he mounts briskly back up the boat stairs, +and ensconces himself in the heart of a thick-leaved laurestinus--to the +great discomfort of a pair of missel-thrushes, which have there made +nest, and commenced incubation. + +Volume One, Chapter IV. + +ON THE RIVER. + +The fair rower, vigorously bending to the oars, soon brings through the +bye-way, and out into the main channel of the river. + +Once in mid-stream, she suspends her stroke, permitting the boat to +drift down with the current; which, for a mile below Llangorren, flows +gently through meadow land, but a few feet above its own level, and +flush with it in times of flood. + +On this particular day there is none such--no rain having fallen for a +week--and the Wye's water is pure and clear. Smooth, too, as the +surface of a mirror; only where, now and then, a light zephyr, playing +upon it, stirs up the tiniest of ripples; a swallow dips its scimitar +wings; or a salmon in bolder dash causes a purl, with circling eddies, +whose wavelets extend wider and wider as they subside. So, with the +trace of their boat's keel; the furrow made by it instantly closing up, +and the current resuming its tranquillity; while their reflected forms-- +too bright to be spoken of as shadows--now fall on one side, now on the +other, as the capricious curving of the river makes necessary a change +of course. + +Never went boat down the Wye carrying freight more fair. Both girls are +beautiful, though of opposite types, and in a different degree; while +with one--Gwendoline Wynn--no water Nymph, or Naiad, could compare; her +warm beauty in its real embodiment far excelling any conception of +fancy, or flight of the most romantic imagination. + +She is not thinking of herself now; nor, indeed, does she much at any +time--least of all in this wise. She is anything but vain; instead, +like Vivian Ryecroft, rather underrates herself. And possibly more than +ever this morning; for it is with him her thoughts are occupied-- +surmising whether his may be with her, but not in the most sanguine +hope. Such a man must have looked on many a form fair as hers, won +smiles of many a woman beautiful as she. How can she expect him to have +resisted, or that his heart is still whole? + +While thus conjecturing, she sits half turned on the thwart, with oars +out of water, her eyes directed down the river, as though in search of +something there. And they are; that something a white helmet hat. + +She sees it not; and as the last thought has caused her some pain, she +lets down the oars with a plunge, and recommences pulling; now, and as +in spite, at each dip of the blades breaking her own bright image! + +During all this while Ellen Lees is otherwise occupied; her attention +partly taken up with the steering, but as much given to the shores on +each side--to the green pasture-land, of which, at intervals, she has a +view, with the white-faced "Herefords" straying over it, or standing +grouped in the shade of some spreading trees, forming pastoral pictures +worthy the pencil of a Morland or Cuyp. In clumps, or apart, tower up +old poplars, through whose leaves, yet but half unfolded, can be seen +the rounded burrs of the mistletoe, looking like nests of rooks. Here +and there, one overhangs the river's bank, shadowing still deep pools, +where the ravenous pike lies in ambush for "salmon pink" and such small +fry; while on a bare branch above may be observed another of their +persecutors--the kingfisher--its brilliant azure plumage in strong +contrast with everything on the earth around, and like a bit of sky +fallen from above. At intervals it is seen darting from side to side, +or in longer flight following the bend of the stream, and causing +scamper among the minnows--itself startled and scared by the intrusion +of the boat upon its normally peaceful domain. + +Miss Lees, who is somewhat of a naturalist, and has been out with the +District Field Club on more than one "ladies' day," makes note of all +these things. As the _Gwendoline_ glides on, she observes beds of the +water ranunculus, whose snow-white corollas, bending to the current, are +oft rudely dragged beneath; while on the banks above, their cousins of +golden sheen, mingling with the petals of yellow and purple +loosestrife--for both grow here--with anemones, and pale, lemon-coloured +daffodils--are but kissed, and gently fanned, by the balmy breath of +Spring. + +Easily guiding the craft down the slow-flowing stream, she has a fine +opportunity of observing Nature in its unrestrained action--and takes +advantage of it. She looks with delighted eye at the freshly-opened +flowers, and listens with charmed ear to the warbling of the birds--a +chorus, on the Wye, sweet and varied as anywhere on earth. From many a +deep-lying dell in the adjacent hills she can hear the song of the +thrush, as if endeavouring to outdo, and cause one to forget, the +matchless strain of its nocturnal rival, the nightingale; or making +music for its own mate, now on the nest, and occupied with the cares of +incubation. She hears, too, the bold whistling carol of the blackbird, +the trill of the lark soaring aloft, the soft sonorous note of the +cuckoo, blending with the harsh scream of the jay, and the laughing +cackle of the green woodpecker--the last loud beyond all proportion to +the size of the bird, and bearing close resemblance to the cry of an +eagle. Strange coincidence besides, in the woodpecker being commonly +called "eekol"--a name, on the Wye, pronounced with striking similarity +to that of the royal bird! + +Pondering upon this very theme, Ellen has taken no note of how her +companion is employing herself. Nor is Miss Wynn thinking of either +flowers, or birds. Only when a large one of the latter--a kite-- +shooting out from the summit of a wooded hill, stays awhile soaring +overhead, does she give thought to what so interests the other. + +"A pretty sight!" observes Ellen, as they sit looking up at the sharp, +slender wings, and long bifurcated tail, cut clear as a cameo against +the cloudless sky. "Isn't it a beautiful creature?" + +"Beautiful, but bad;" rejoins Gwen, "like many other animated things-- +too like, and too many of them. I suppose, it's on the look-out for +some innocent victim, and will soon be swooping down at it. Ah, me! +it's a wicked world, Nell, with all its sweetness! One creature preying +upon another--the strong seeking to devour the weak--these ever needing +protection! Is it any wonder we poor women, weakest of all, should wish +to--" + +She stays her interrogatory, and sits in silence, abstractedly toying +with the handles of the oars, which she is balancing above water. + +"Wish to do what?" asked the other. + +"Get married!" answers the heiress of Llangorren, elevating her arms, +and letting the blades fall with a plash, as if to drown a speech so +bold; withal, watching its effect upon her companion, as she repeats the +question in a changed form. "Is it strange, Ellen?" + +"I suppose not," Ellen timidly replies; blushingly too, for she knows +how nearly the subject concerns herself, and half believes the +interrogatory aimed at her. "Not at all strange," she adds, more +affirmatively. "Indeed very natural, I should say--that is, for women +who _are_ poor and weak, and really need a protector. But you, Gwen-- +who are neither one nor the other, but instead rich and strong, have no +such need." + +"I'm not so sure of that. With all my riches and strength--for I am a +strong creature; as you see, can row this boat almost as ably as a +man,"--she gives a vigorous pull or two, as proof, then continuing, +"Yes; and I think I've got great courage too. Yet, would you believe +it, Nelly, notwithstanding all, I sometimes have a strange fear upon +me?" + +"Fear of what?" + +"I can't tell. That's the strangest part of it; for I know of no actual +danger. Some sort of vague apprehension that now and then oppresses +me--lies on my heart, making it heavy as lead--sad and dark as the +shadow of that wicked bird upon the water. Ugh!" she exclaims, taking +her eyes off it, as if the sight, suggestive of evil, had brought on one +of the fear spells she is speaking of. + +"If it were a magpie," observes Ellen, laughingly, "you might view it +with suspicion. Most people do--even some who deny being superstitious. +But a kite--I never heard of that being ominous of evil. No more its +shadow; which as you see it there is but a small speck compared with the +wide bright surface around. If your future sorrows be only in like +proportion to your joys, they won't signify much. See! Both the bird +and its shadow are passing away--as will your troubles, if you ever have +any." + +"Passing--perhaps, soon to return. Ha! look there. As I've said!" + +This, as the kite swoops down upon a wood-quest, and strikes at it with +outstretched talons. Missing it, nevertheless; for the strong-winged +pigeon, forewarned by the other's shadow, has made a quick double in its +flight, and so shunned the deadly clutch. Still, it is not yet safe; +its tree covert is far off on the wooded slope, and the tyrant continues +the chase. But the hawk has its enemy too, in a gamekeeper with his +gun. Suddenly it is seen to suspend the stroke of its wings, and go +whirling downward; while a shot rings out on the air, and the cushat, +unharmed, flies on for the hill. + +"Good!" exclaims Gwen, resting the oars across her knees, and clapping +her hands in an ecstasy of delight. "The innocent has escaped!" + +"And for that _you_ ought to be assured, as well as gratified;" puts in +the companion, "taking it as a symbol of yourself, and those imaginary +dangers you've been dreaming about." + +"True," assents Miss Wynn, musingly, "but, as you see, the bird found a +protector--just by chance, and in the nick of time." + +"So will you; without any chance, and at such time as may please you." + +"Oh!" exclaims Gwen, as if endowed with fresh courage. "I don't want +one--not I! I'm strong to stand alone." + +Another tug at the oars to show it. "No," she continues, speaking +between the plunges, "I want no protector--at least not yet--nor for a +long while." + +"But there's one wants you," says the companion, accompanying her words +with an interrogative glance. "And soon--soon as he can have you." + +"Indeed! I suppose you mean Master George Shenstone. Have I hit the +nail upon the head?" + +"You have." + +"Well; what of him?" + +"Only that everybody observes his attentions to you." + +"Everybody is a very busy body. Being so observant, I wonder if this +everybody has also observed how I receive them?" + +"Indeed, yes." + +"How then?" + +"With favour. 'Tis said you think highly of him." + +"And so I do. There are worse men in the world than George Shenstone-- +possibly few better. And many a good woman would, and might, be glad to +become his wife. For all, I know one of a very indifferent sort who +wouldn't--that's Gwen Wynn." + +"But he's very good-looking?" Ellen urges; "the handsomest gentleman in +the neighbourhood. Everybody says so." + +"There your everybody would be wrong again--if they thought as they say. +But they don't. I know one who thinks somebody else much handsomer +than he." + +"Who?" asks Miss Lees, looking puzzled. For she has never heard of +Gwendoline having a preference, save that spoken of. + +"The Reverend William Musgrave," replies Gwen, in turn bending +inquisitive eyes on her companion, to whose cheeks the answer has +brought a flush of colour, with a spasm of pain at the heart. Is it +possible her rich relative--the heiress of Llangorren Court--can have +set her eyes upon the poor curate of Llangorren Church, where her own +thoughts have been secretly straying? With an effort to conceal them +now, as the pain caused her, she rejoins interrogatively, but in +faltering tone-- + +"You think Mr Musgrave handsomer than Mr Shenstone?" + +"Indeed I don't. Who says I do?" + +"Oh--I thought," stammers out the other, relieved--too pleased just then +to stand up for the superiority of the curate's personal appearance--"I +thought you meant it that way." + +"But I didn't. All I said was, that somebody thinks so; and that isn't +I. Shall I tell you who it is?" + +Ellen's heart is again quiet; she does not need to be told, already +divining who it is--herself. + +"You may as well let me," pursues Gwen, in a bantering way. "Do you +suppose, Miss Lees, I haven't penetrated your secret long ago? Why, I +knew it last Christmas, when you were assisting his demure reverence to +decorate the church! Who could fail to observe that pretty hand play, +when you two were twining the ivy around the altar-rail? And the holly, +you were both so careless in handling--I wonder it didn't prick your +fingers to the bone! Why, Nell, 'twas as plain to me, as if I'd been at +it myself. Besides, I've seen the same thing scores of times--so has +everybody in the parish. Ha! you see, I'm not the only one with whose +name this everybody has been busy; the difference being, that about me +they've been mistaken, while concerning yourself they haven't; instead, +speaking pretty near the truth. Come, now, confess! Am I not right? +Don't have any fear, you can trust me." + +She does confess; though not in words. Her silence is equally eloquent; +drooping eyelids, and blushing cheeks, making that eloquence emphatic. +She loves Mr Musgrave. + +"Enough!" says Gwendoline, taking it in this sense; "and, since you've +been candid with me, I'll repay you in the same coin. But mind you; it +mustn't go further." + +"Oh! certainly not," assents the other, in her restored confidence about +the curate, willing to promise anything in the world. + +"As I've said," proceeds Miss Wynn, "there are worse men in the world +than George Shenstone, and but few better. Certainly none behind +hounds, and I'm told he's the crack shot of the county, and the best +billiard player of his club. All accomplishments that have weight with +us women--some of us. More still; he's deemed good-looking, and is, as +you say; known to be of good family and fortune. For all, he lacks one +thing that's wanted by--" + +She stays her speech till dipping the oars--their splash, simultaneous +with, and half-drowning, the words, "Gwen Wynn." + +"What is it?" asks Ellen, referring to the deficiency thus hinted at. + +"On my word, I can't tell--for the life of me I cannot. It's something +undefinable; which one feels without seeing or being able to explain-- +just as ether, or electricity. Possibly it is the last. At all events, +it's the thing that makes us women fall in love; as no doubt you've +found when your fingers were--were--well, so near being pricked by that +holly. Ha, ha, ha!" + +With a merry peal she once more sets to rowing; and for a time no speech +passes between them--the only sounds heard being the songs of the birds, +in sweet symphony with the rush of the water along the boat's sides, and +the rumbling of the oars in their rowlocks. + +But for a brief interval is there silence between them; Miss Wynn again +breaking it by a startled exclamation:--"See!" + +"Where? where?" + +"Up yonder! We've been talking of kites and magpies. Behold, two birds +of worse augury than either!" + +They are passing the mouth of a little influent stream, up which at some +distance are seen two men, one of them seated in a small boat, the other +standing on the bank, talking down to him. He in the boat is a stout, +thick-set fellow in velveteens and coarse fur cap, the one above a spare +thin man, habited in a suit of black--of clerical, or rather sacerdotal, +cut. Though both are partially screened by the foliage, the little +stream running between wooded banks, Miss Wynn has recognised them. So, +too, does the companion; who rejoins, as if speaking to herself-- + +"One's the French priest who has a chapel up the river, on the opposite +side; the other's that fellow who's said to be such an incorrigible +poacher." + +"Priest and poacher it is! An oddly-assorted pair; though in a sense +not so ill-matched either. I wonder what they're about up there, with +their heads so close together. They appeared as if not wishing we +should see them! Didn't it strike you so, Nelly?" + +The men are now out of sight; the boat having passed the rivulet's +mouth. + +"Indeed, yes," answered Miss Lees; "the priest, at all events. He drew +back among the bushes on seeing us." + +"I'm sure his reverence is welcome. I've no desire ever to set eyes on +him--quite the contrary." + +"I often meet him on the roads." + +"I too--and off them. He seems to be about everywhere skulking and +prying into people's affairs. I noticed him, the last day of our +hunting, among the rabble--on foot, of course. He was close to my +horse, and kept watching me out of his owlish eyes, all the time; so +impertinently I could have laid the whip over his shoulders. There's +something repulsive about the man; I can't bear the sight of him." + +"He's said to be a great friend and very intimate associate of your +worthy cousin, Mr--" + +"Don't name _him_, Nell! I'd rather not think, much less talk of him. +Almost the last words my father ever spoke--never to let Lewin Murdock +cross the threshold of Llangorren. No doubt, he had his reasons. My +word! this day with all its sunny brightness seems to abound in dark +omens. Birds of prey, priests, and poachers! It's enough to bring on +one of my fear fits. I now rather regret leaving Joseph behind. Well; +we must make haste, and get home again." + +"Shall I turn the boat back?" asks the steerer. + +"No; not just yet. I don't wish to repass those two uncanny creatures. +Better leave them awhile, so that on returning we mayn't see them, to +disturb the priest's equanimity--more like his conscience." + +The reason is not exactly as assigned; but Miss Lees, accepting it +without suspicion, holds the tiller-cords so as to keep the course on +down stream. + +Volume One, Chapter V. + +DANGERS AHEAD. + +For another half mile, or so, the _Gwendoline_ is propelled onward, +though not running trimly; the fault being in her at the oars. With +thoughts still preoccupied, she now and then forgets her stroke, or +gives it unequally--so that the boat zig-zags from side to side, and, +but for a more careful hand at the tiller, would bring up against the +bank. + +Observing her abstraction, as also her frequent turning to look down the +river--but without suspicion of what is causing it--Miss Lees at length +inquires,-- + +"What's the matter with you, Gwen?" + +"Oh, nothing," she evasively answers, bringing back her eyes to the +boat, and once more giving attention to the oars. + +"But why are you looking so often below? I've noticed you do so at +least a score of times." + +If the questioner could but divine the thoughts at that moment in the +other's mind, she would have no need thus to interrogate, but would know +that below there is another boat with a man in it, who possesses that +unseen something, like ether or electricity, and to catch sight of whom +Miss Wynn has been so oft straining her eyes. She has not given all her +confidence to the companion. + +Not receiving immediate answer, Ellen again asks-- + +"Is there any danger you fear?" + +"None that I know of--at least, for a long way down. Then there are +some rough places." + +"But you are pulling so unsteadily! It takes all my strength to keep in +the middle of the river." + +"Then you pull, and let me do the steering," returns Miss Wynn, +pretending to be in a pout; as she speaks starting up from the thwart, +and leaving the oars in their thole pins. + +Of course, the other does not object; and soon they have changed places. + +But Gwen in the stern behaves no better, than when seated amidships. +The boat still keeps going astray, the fault now in the steerer. + +Soon something more than a crooked course calls the attention of both, +for a time engrossing it. They have rounded an abrupt bend, and got +into a reach where the river runs with troubled surface and great +velocity--so swift there is no need to use oars down stream, while +upward 'twill take stronger arms than theirs. Caught in its current, +and rapidly, yet smoothly, borne on, for awhile they do not think of +this. Only a short while; then the thought comes to them in the shape +of a dilemma--Miss Lees being the first to perceive it. + +"Gracious goodness!" she exclaims, "what are we to do? We can never row +back up this rough water--it runs so strong here!" + +"That's true," says Gwen, preserving her composure. "I don't think we +could." + +"But what's to be the upshot? Joseph will be waiting for us, and auntie +sure to know all--if we shouldn't get back in time." + +"That's true also," again observes Miss Wynn, assentingly, and with an +admirable _sang froid_, which causes surprise to the companion. + +Then succeeds a short interval of silence, broken by an exclamatory +phrase of three short words from the lips of Miss Wynn. They are--"I +have it!" + +"What have you?" joyfully asks Ellen. + +"The way to get back--without much trouble; and without disturbing the +arrangements we've made with old Joe--the least bit." + +"Explain yourself!" + +"We'll keep on down the river to Rock Weir. There we can leave the +boat, and walk across the neck to Llangorren. It isn't over a mile, +though it's five times that by the course of the stream. At the Weir we +can engage some water fellow to take back the _Gwendoline_ to her +moorings. Meanwhile, we'll make all haste, slip into the grounds +unobserved, get to the boat-dock in good time, and give Joseph the cue +to hold his tongue about what's happened. Another half-crown will tie +it firm and fast, I know." + +"I suppose there's no help for it," says the companion, assenting, "and +we must do as you say." + +"Of course, we must. As you see, without thinking of it, we've drifted +into a very cascade and are now a long way down it. Only a regular +waterman could pull up again. Ah! 'twould take the toughest of them, I +should say. So--_nolens volens_--we'll have to go on to Rock Weir, +which can't be more than a mile now. You may feather your oars, and +float a bit. But, by the way, I must look more carefully to the +steering. Now, that I remember, there are some awkward bars and eddies +about here, and we can't be far from them. I think they're just below +the next bend." + +So saying, she sets herself square in the stern sheets, and closes her +fingers firmly upon the tiller-cords. + +They glide on, but now in silence; the little flurry, with the prospect +of peril ahead, making speech inopportune. + +Soon they are round the bend spoken of, discovering to their view a +fresh reach of the river; when again the steerer becomes neglectful of +her duty, the expression upon her features, late a little troubled, +suddenly changing to cheerfulness, almost joy. Nor is it that the +dangerous places have been passed; they are still ahead, and at some +distance below. But there is something else ahead to account for the +quick transformation--a row-boat drawn up by the river's edge, with men +upon the bank beside. + +Over Gwen Wynn's countenance comes another change, sudden as before, and +as before, its expression reversed. She has mistaken the boat; it is +not that of the handsome fisherman! Instead, a four-oared craft, manned +by four men, for there is this number on the bank. The anglers skiff +had in it only two--himself and his oarsman. + +But she has no need to count heads, nor scrutinise faces. Those now +before her eyes are all strange, and far from well favoured; not any of +them in the least like the one which has so prepossessed her. And while +making this observation another is forced upon her--that their natural +plainness is not improved by what they have been doing, and are still-- +drinking. + +Just as the young ladies make this observation, the four men, hearing +oars, face towards them. For a moment there is silence, while they in +the _Gwendoline_ are being scanned by the quartette on the shore. +Through maudlin eyes, possibly, the fellows mistake them for ordinary +country lasses, with whom they may take liberties. Whether or not one +cries out-- + +"Petticoats, by gee--ingo!" + +"Ay!" exclaims another, "a pair o' them. An' sweet wenches they be, +too. Look at she wi' the gooldy hair--bright as the sun itself. Lord, +meeats! if we had she down in the pit, that head o' her ud gi'e as much +light as a dozen Davy's lamps. An't she a bewty? I'm boun' to have a +smack fra them red lips o' hers." + +"No," protests the first speaker, "she be myen. First spoke soonest +sarved. That's Forest law." + +"Never mind, Rob," rejoins the other, surrendering his claim, "she may +be the grandest to look at, but not the goodiest to go. I'll lay odds +the black 'un beats her at kissin'. Le's get grup o' 'em an' see! Coom +on, meeats!" + +Down go the drinking vessels, all four making for their boat, into which +they scramble, each laying hold of an oar. + +Up to this time the ladies have not felt actual alarm. The strange men +being evidently intoxicated, they might expect--were, indeed, +half-prepared for--coarse speech; perhaps indelicate, but nothing +beyond. Within a mile of their own home, and still within the boundary +of the Llangorren land, how could they think of danger such as is +threatening? For that there is danger they are now sensible--becoming +convinced of it, as they draw nearer to the four fellows, and get a +better view of them. Impossible to mistake the men--roughs from the +Forest of Dean, or some other mining district, their but half-washed +faces showing it; characters not very gentle at any time, but very rude, +even dangerous, when drunk. This known, from many a tale told, many a +Petty and Quarter Sessions report read in the county newspapers. But it +is visible in their countenances, too intelligible in their speech--part +of which the ladies have overheard--as in the action they are taking. + +They in the pleasure-boat no longer fear, or think of, bars and eddies +below. No whirlpool--not Maelstrom itself, could fright them as those +four men. For it is fear of a something more to be dreaded than +drowning. + +Withal, Gwendoline Wynn is not so much dismayed as to lose presence of +mind. Nor is she at all excited, but cool as when caught in the rapid +current. Her feats in the hunting field, and dashing drives down the +steep "pitches" of the Herefordshire roads, have given her strength of +nerve to face any danger; and, as her timid companion trembles with +affright, muttering her fears, she but says-- + +"Keep quiet, Nell! Don't let them see you're scared. It's not the way +to treat such as they, and will only encourage them to come at us." + +This counsel, before the men have moved, fails in effect; for as they +are seen rushing down the bank and into their boat, Ellen Lees utters a +terrified shriek, scarcely leaving her breath to add the words--"Dear +Gwen! what shall we do?" + +"Change places," is the reply, calmly but hurriedly made. "Give me the +oars! Quick!" + +While speaking she has started up from the stern, and is making for +'midships. The other, comprehending, has risen at the same instant, +leaving the oars to trail. + +By this the roughs have shoved off from the bank, and are making for +mid-stream, their purpose evident--to intercept the _Gwendoline_. But +the other Gwendoline has now got settled to the oars; and pulling with +all her might, has still a chance to shoot past them. + +In a few seconds the boats are but a couple of lengths apart, the heavy +craft coming bow-on for the lighter; while the faces of those in her, +slewed over their shoulders, show terribly forbidding. A glance tells +Gwen Wynn 'twould be idle making appeal to them; nor does she. Still +she is not silent. Unable to restrain her indignation, she calls out-- + +"Keep back, fellows! If you run against us, 'twill go ill for you. +Don't suppose you'll escape punishment." + +"Bah!" responds one, "we an't a-frightened at yer threats--not we. That +an't the way wi' us Forest chaps. Besides, we don't mean ye any much +harm. Only gi'e us a kiss all round, an' then--maybe, we'll let ye go." + +"Yes; kisses all round!" cries another. "That's the toll ye're got to +pay at our pike; an' a bit o' squeeze by way o' boot." + +The coarse jest elicits a peal of laughter from the other three. +Fortunately for those who are its butt, since it takes the attention of +the rowers from their oars, and before they can recover a stroke or two +lost--the pleasure-boat glides past them, and goes dancing on, as did +the fishing skiff. + +With a yell of disappointment they bring their boat's head round, and +row after; now straining at their oars with all strength. Luckily, they +lack skill; which, fortunately for herself, the rower of the +pleasure-boat possesses. It stands her in stead now, and, for a time, +the _Gwendoline_ leads without losing ground. But the struggle is +unequal--four to one--strong men, against a weak woman! Verily is she +called on to make good her words, when saying she could row almost as +ably as a man. + +And so does she for a time. Withal it may not avail her. The task is +too much for her woman's strength, fast becoming exhausted. While her +strokes grow feebler, those of the pursuers seem to get stronger. For +they are in earnest now; and, despite the bad management of their boat, +it is rapidly gaining on the other. + +"Pull, meeats!" cries one, the roughest of the gang, and apparently the +ringleader, "pull like--hic--hic!"--his drunken tongue refuses the +blasphemous word. "If ye lay me 'longside that girl wi' the gooe-- +goeeldy hair, I'll stan' someat stiff at the `Kite's Nest' whens we get +hic--'ome." + +"All right, Bob!" is the rejoinder, "we'll do that. Ne'er a fear." + +The prospect of "someat stiff" at the Forest hostelry inspires them to +increase their exertion, and their speed proportionately augmented, no +longer leaves a doubt of their being able to come up with the pursued +boat. Confident of it they commence jeering the ladies--"wenches" they +call them--in speech profane, as repulsive. + +For these, things look black. They are but a couple of boats' length +ahead, and near below is a sharp turn in the river's channel; rounding +which they will lose ground, and can scarcely fail to be overtaken. +What then? + +As Gwen Wynn asks herself the question, the anger late flashing in her +eyes gives place to a look of keen anxiety. Her glances are sent to +right, to left, and again over her shoulder, as they have been all day +doing, but now with very different design. Then she was searching for a +man, with no further thought than to feast her eyes on him; now she is +looking for the same, in hopes he may save her from insult--it may be +worse. + +There is no man in sight--no human being on either side of the river! +On the right a grim cliff rising sheer, with some goats clinging to its +ledges. On the left a grassy slope with browsing sheep, their lambs +astretch at their feet; but no shepherd, no one to whom she can call +"Help!" + +Distractedly she continues to tug at the oars; despairingly as the boats +draw near the bend. Before rounding it she will be in the hands of +those horrid men--embraced by their brawny, bear-like arms! + +The thought re-strengthens her own, giving them the energy of +desperation. So inspired, she makes a final effort to elude the ruffian +pursuers, and succeeds in turning the point. + +Soon as round it, her face brightens up, joy dances in her eyes, as with +panting breath she exclaims:-- + +"We're saved, Nelly! We're saved! Thank Heaven for it!" + +Nelly does thank Heaven, rejoiced to hear they are saved--but without in +the least comprehending how! + +Volume One, Chapter VI. + +A DUCKING DESERVED. + +Captain Ryecroft has been but a few minutes at his favourite fishing +place--just long enough to see his tackle in working condition, and cast +his line across the water; as he does the last, saying-- + +"I shouldn't wonder, Wingate, if we don't see a salmon to-day. I fear +that sky's too bright for his dainty kingship to mistake feathers for +flies." + +"Ne'er a doubt the fish'll be a bit shy," returns the boatman; "but," he +adds, assigning their shyness to a different cause, "'tain't so much the +colour o' the sky; more like it's that lot of Foresters has frightened +them, with their hulk o' a boat makin' as much noise as a Bristol +steamer. Wonder what brings such rubbish on the river anyhow. They +han't no business on't; an' in my opinion theer ought to be a law +'gainst it--same's for trespassin' after game." + +"That would be rather hard lines, Jack. These mining gentry need +out-door recreation as much as any other sort of people. Rather more I +should say, considering that they're compelled to pass the greater part +of their time underground. When they emerge from the bowels of the +earth to disport themselves on its surface, it's but natural they should +like a little aquatics; which you, by choice, an amphibious creature, +cannot consistently blame them for. Those we've just met are doubtless +out for a holiday, which accounts for their having taken too much +drink--in some sense an excuse for their conduct. I don't think it at +all strange seeing them on the water." + +"Their faces han't seed much o' it anyhow," observes the waterman, +seeming little satisfied with the Captain's reasoning. "And as for +their being out on holiday, if I an't mistook, it be holiday as lasts +all the year round. Two o' 'em may be miners--them as got the grimiest +faces. As for t'other two, I don't think eyther ever touch't pick or +shovel in their lives. I've seed both hangin' about Lydbrook, which be +a queery place. Besides, one I've seed 'long wi' a man whose company is +enough to gi'e a saint a bad character--that's Coracle Dick. Take my +word for't, Captain, there ain't a honest miner 'mong that lot--eyther +in the way of iron or coal. If there wor I'd be the last man to go +again them havin' their holiday; 'cepting I don't think they ought to +take it on the river. Ye see what comes o' sich as they humbuggin' +about in a boat?" + +At the last clause of this speech--its Conservatism due to a certain +professional jealousy--the Hussar officer cannot resist smiling. He had +half forgiven the rudeness of the revellers--attributing it to +intoxication--and more than half repented of his threat to bring them to +a reckoning, which might not be called for, but might, and in all +likelihood would be inconvenient. Now, reflecting on Wingate's words, +the frown which had passed from off his face again returns to it. He +says nothing, however, but sits rod in hand, less thinking of the salmon +than how he can chastise the "damned scoun'rels," as his companion has +pronounced them, should he, as he anticipates, again come in collision +with them. + +"Lissen!" exclaims the waterman; "that's them shoutin'! Comin' this +way, I take it. What should we do to 'em, Captain?" + +The salmon fisher is half determined to reel in his line, lay aside the +rod, and take out a revolving pistol he chances to have in his pocket-- +not with any intention to fire it at the fellows, but only frighten +them. + +"Yes," goes on Wingate, "they be droppin' down again--sure; I dar' say, +they've found the tide a bit too strong for 'em up above. An' I don't +wonder; sich louty chaps as they thinkin' they cud guide a boat 'bout +the Wye! Jist like mountin' hogs a-horseback!" + +At this fresh sally of professional spleen the soldier again smiles, but +says nothing, uncertain what action he should take, or how soon he may +be called on to commence it. Almost instantly after he is called on to +take action, though not against the four riotous Foresters, but a silly +salmon, which has conceived a fancy for his fly. A purl on the water, +with a pluck quick succeeding, tells of one on the hook, while the whizz +of the wheel and rapid rolling out of catgut proclaims it a fine one. + +For some minutes neither he nor his oarsman has eye or ear for aught +save securing the fish, and both bend all their energies to "fighting" +it. The line runs out, to be spun up and run off again; his river +majesty, maddened at feeling himself so oddly and painfully restrained +in his desperate efforts to escape, now rushing in one direction, now +another, all the while the angler skilfully playing him, the equally +skilled oarsman keeping the boat in concerted accordance. + +Absorbed by their distinct lines of endeavour they do not hear high +words, mingled with exclamations, coming from above; or hearing, do not +heed, supposing them to proceed from the four men they had met, in all +likelihood now more inebriated than ever. Not till they have well-nigh +finished their "fight," and the salmon, all but subdued, is being drawn +towards the boat--Wingate, gaff in hand, bending over ready to strike +it. Not till then do they note other sounds, which even at that +critical moment make them careless about the fish, in its last feeble +throes, when its capture is good as sure, causing Ryecroft to stop +winding his wheel, and stand listening. + +Only for an instant. Again the voices of men, but now also heard the +cry of a woman, as if she sending it forth were in danger or distress! + +They have no need for conjecture, nor are they long left to it. Almost +simultaneously they see a boat sweeping round the bend, with another +close in its wake, evidently in chase, as told by the attitudes and +gestures of those occupying both--in the one pursued two young ladies, +in that pursuing four rough men readily recognisable. At a glance the +Hussar officer takes in the situation--the waterman as well. The sight +saves a salmon's life, and possibly two innocent women from outrage. +Down goes Ryecroft's rod, the boatman simultaneously dropping his gaff; +as he does so hearing thundered in his ears-- + +"To yours oars, Jack! Make straight for them! Row with all your +might!" + +Jack Wingate needs neither command to act nor word to stimulate him. As +a man he remembers the late indignity to himself; as a gallant fellow he +now sees others submitted to the like. No matter about their being +ladies; enough that they are women suffering insult; and more than +enough at seeing who are the insulters. + +In ten seconds' time he is on his thwart, oars in hand, the officer at +the tiller; and in five more, the _Mary_, brought stem up stream, is +surging against the current, going swiftly as if with it. She is set +for the big boat pursuing--not now to shun a collision, but seek it. + +As yet some two hundred yards are between the chased craft and that +hastening to its rescue. Ryecroft, measuring the distance with his +eyes, is in thought tracing out a course of action. His first instinct +was to draw a pistol, and stop the pursuit with a shot. But no. It +would not be English. Nor does he need resort to such deadly weapon. +True there will be four against two; but what of it? + +"I think we can manage them, Jack," he mutters through his teeth, "I'm +good for two of them--the biggest and best." + +"An' I t'other two--sich clumsy chaps as them! Ye can trust me takin' +care o' 'em, Captin." + +"I know it. Keep to your oars, till I give the word to drop them." + +"They don't 'pear to a sighted us yet. Too drunk I take it. Like as +not when they see what's comin' they'll sheer off." + +"They shan't have the chance. I intend steering bow dead on to them. +Don't fear the result. If the _Mary_ get damaged I'll stand the expense +of repairs." + +"Ne'er a mind 'bout that, Captain. I'd gi'e the price o' a new boat to +see the lot chastised--specially that big black fellow as did most o' +the talkin'." + +"You shall see it, and soon!" + +He lets go the ropes, to disembarrass himself of his angling +accoutrements; which he hurriedly does, flinging them at his feet. When +he again takes hold of the steering tackle the _Mary_ is within six +lengths of the advancing boats, both now nearly together, the bow of the +pursuer overlapping the stern of the pursued. Only two of the men are +at the oars; two standing up, one amidships, the other at the head. +Both are endeavouring to lay hold of the pleasure-boat, and bring it +alongside. So occupied they see not the fishing skiff, while the two +rowing, with backs turned, are equally unconscious of its approach. +They only wonder at the "wenches," as they continue to call them, taking +it so coolly, for these do not seem so much frightened as before. + +"Coom, sweet lass!" cries he in the bow--the black fellow it is-- +addressing Miss Wynn. "'Tain't no use you tryin' to get away. I must +ha' my kiss. So drop yer oars, and ge'et to me!" + +"Insolent fellow!" she exclaims, her eyes ablaze with anger. "Keep your +hands off my boat. I command you!" + +"But I ain't to be c'mmanded, ye minx. Not till I've had a smack o' +them lips; an' by Gad I s'll have it." + +Saying which he reaches out to the full stretch of his long, ape-like +arms, and with one hand succeeds in grasping the boat's gunwale, while +with the other he gets hold of the lady's dress, and commences dragging +her towards him. + +Gwen Wynn neither screams, nor calls "Help!" She knows it is near. + +"Hands off!" cries a voice in a volume of thunder, simultaneous with a +dull thud against the side of the larger boat, followed by a continued +crashing as her gunwale goes in. The roughs, facing round, for the +first time see the fishing skiff, and know why it is there. But they +are too far gone in drink to heed or submit--at least their leader seems +determined to resist. Turning savagely on Ryecroft, he stammers out-- + +"Hic--ic--who the blazes be you, Mr White Cap! An' what d'ye want wi' +me?" + +"You'll see." + +At the words he bounds from his own boat into the other; and, before the +fellow can raise an arm, those of Ryecroft are around him in tight hug. +In another minute the hulking scoundrel is hoisted from his feet, as +though but a feather's weight, and flung overboard. + +Wingate has meanwhile also boarded, grappled on to the other on foot, +and is threatening to serve him the same. + +A plunge, with a wild cry--the man going down like a stone; another, as +he comes up among his own bubbles; and a third, yet wilder, as he feels +himself sinking for the second time! + +The two at the oars, scared into a sort of sobriety, one of them cries +out-- + +"Lor' o' mercy! Rob'll be drownded! He can't sweem a stroke." + +"He's a-drownin' now!" adds the other. + +It is true. For Rob has again come to the surface, and shouts with +feebler voice, while his arms tossed frantically about tell of his being +in the last throes of suffocation! + +Ryecroft looks regretful--rather alarmed. In chastising the fellow he +had gone too far. He must save him! + +Quick as the thought off goes his coat, with his boots kicked into the +bottom of the boat; then himself over its side! + +A splendid swimmer, with a few bold sweeps he is by the side of the +drowning man. Not a moment too soon--just as the latter is going down +for the third--likely the last time. With the hand of the officer +grasping his collar, he is kept above water. But not yet saved. Both +are now imperilled--the rescuer and he he would rescue. For, far from +the boats, they have drifted into a dangerous eddy, and are being +whirled rapidly round! + +A cry from Gwen Wynn--a cry of real alarm, now--the first she has +uttered! But before she can repeat it, her fears are allayed--set to +rest again--at sight of still another rescuer. The young waterman has +leaped back to his own boat, and is pulling straight for the strugglers. +A few strokes, and he is beside them; then, dropping his oars, he soon +has both safe in the skiff. + +The half-drowned, but wholly frightened, Bob is carried back to his +comrades' boat, and dumped in among them; Wingate handling him as though +he were but a wet coal sack or piece of old tarpaulin. Then giving the +"Forest chaps" a bit of his mind he bids them "be off!" + +And off go they, without saying word; as they drop down stream their +downcast looks showing them subdued, if not quite sobered, and rather +feeling grateful than aggrieved. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +The other two boats soon proceed upward, the pleasure craft leading. +But not now rowed by its owner; for Captain Ryecroft has hold of the +oars. In the haste, or the pleasurable moments succeeding, he has +forgotten all about the salmon left struggling on his line, or caring +not to return for it, most likely will lose rod, line, and all. What +matter? If he has lost a fine fish, he may have won the finest woman on +the Wye! + +And she has lost nothing--risks nothing now--not even the chiding of her +aunt! For now the pleasure-boat will be back in its dock in time to +keep undisturbed the understanding with Joseph. + +Volume One, Chapter VII. + +AN INVETERATE NOVEL READER. + +While these exciting incidents are passing upon the river, Llangorren +Court is wrapped in that stately repose becoming an aristocratic +residence--especially where an elderly spinster is head of the house, +and there are no noisy children to go romping about. It is thus with +Llangorren, whose ostensible mistress is Miss Linton, the aunt and legal +guardian already alluded to. But, though presiding over the +establishment, it is rather in the way of ornamental figure-head; since +she takes little to do with its domestic affairs, leaving them to a +skilled housekeeper who carries the keys. + +Kitchen matters are not much to Miss Linton's taste, being a dame of the +antique brocaded type, with pleasant memories of the past, that go back +to Bath and Cheltenham; where, in their days of glory, as hers of youth, +she was a belle, and did her share of dancing, with a due proportion of +flirting, at the Regency balls. No longer able to indulge in such +delightful recreations, the memory of them has yet charms for her, and +she keeps it alive and warm by daily perusal of the _Morning Post_ with +a fuller hebdomadal feast from the _Court Journal_, and other +distributors of fashionable intelligence. In addition she reads no end +of novels, her favourites being those which tell of Cupid in his most +romantic escapades and experiences, though not always the chastest. Of +the prurient trash there is a plenteous supply, furnished by scribblers +of both sexes, who ought to know better, and doubtless do; but knowing +also how difficult it is to make their lucubrations interesting within +the legitimate lines of literary art, and how easy out of them, thus +transgress the moralities. + +Miss Linton need have no fear that the impure stream will cease to flow, +any more than the limpid waters of the Wye. Nor has she; but reads on, +devouring volume after volume, in triunes as they issue from the press, +and are sent her from the Circulating Library. + +At nearly all hours of the day, and some of the night, does she so +occupy herself. Even on this same bright April morn, when all nature +rejoices, and every living thing seems to delight in being out of +doors--when the flowers expand their petals to catch the kisses of the +warm Spring sun, Dorothea Linton is seated in a shady corner of the +drawing-room, up to her ears in a three-volume novel, still odorous of +printer's ink and binder's paste; absorbed in a love dialogue between a +certain Lord Lutestring and a rustic damsel--daughter of one of his +tenant-farmers--whose life he is doing his best to blight, and with much +likelihood of succeeding. If he fail, it will not be for want of will +on his part, nor desire of the author to save the imperilled one. He +will make the tempted iniquitous as the tempter, should this seem to add +interest to the tale, or promote the sale of the book. + +Just as his lordship has gained a point and the girl is about to give +way, Miss Linton herself receives a shock, caused by a rat-tat at the +drawing-room door, light, such as well-trained servants are accustomed +to give before entering a room occupied by master or mistress. + +To her command "Come in!" a footman presents himself, silver waiter in +hand, on which is a card. + +She is more than annoyed, almost angry, as taking the card, she reads-- + +"Reverend William Musgrave." + +Only to think of being thus interrupted on the eve of such an +interesting climax, which seemed about to seal the fate of the farmer's +daughter. + +It is fortunate for his Reverence, that before entering within the room +another visitor is announced, and ushered in along with him. Indeed the +second caller is shown in first; for, although George Shenstone rung the +front door bell after Mr Musgrave had stepped inside the hall, there is +no domestic of Llangorren but knows the difference between a rich +baronet's son and a poor parish curate; as which should have precedence. +To this nice, if not very delicate appreciation, the Reverend William +is now indebted more than he is aware. It has saved him from an +outburst of Miss Linton's rather tart temper, which, under the +circumstances, otherwise he would have caught. For it so chances that +the son of Sir George Shenstone is a great favourite with the old lady +of Llangorren; welcome at all times, even amid the romantic gallantries +of Lord Lutestring. Not that the young country gentleman has anything +in common with the titled Lothario, who is habitually a dweller in +cities. Instead, the former is a frank, manly fellow, devoted to field +sports and rural pastimes, a little brusque in manner, but for all +well-bred, and, what is even better, well-behaved. There is nothing odd +in his calling at that early hour. Sir George is an old friend of the +Wynn family--was an intimate associate of Gwen's deceased father--and +both he and his son have been accustomed to look in at Llangorren Court +_sans ceremonie_. + +No more is Mr Musgrave's matutinal visit out of order. Though but the +curate, he is in full charge of parish duties, the rector being not only +aged but an absentee--so long away from the neighbourhood as to have +become almost a myth to it. For this reason his vicarial representative +can plead scores of excuses for presenting himself at "The Court." +There is the school, the church choir, and clothing club, to say nought +of neighbouring news, which on most mornings make him a welcome visitor +to Miss Linton; and no doubt would on this, but for the glamour thrown +around her by the fascinations of the dear delightful Lutestring. It +even takes all her partiality for Mr Shenstone to remove its spell, and +get him vouchsafed friendly reception. + +"Miss Linton," he says, speaking first, "I've just dropped in to ask if +the young ladies would go for a ride. The day's so fine, I thought they +might like to." + +"Ah, indeed," returns the spinster, holding out her fingers to be +touched, but, under the plea of being a little invalided, excusing +herself from rising. "Yes; no doubt they would like it very much." + +Mr Shenstone is satisfied with the reply; but less the curate, who +neither rides nor has a horse. And less Shenstone himself--indeed +both--as the lady proceeds. They have been listening, with ears all +alert, for the sound of soft footsteps and rustling dresses. Instead, +they hear words, not only disappointing, but perplexing. + +"Nay, I am sure," continues Miss Linton, with provoking coolness, "they +would have been glad to go riding with you; delighted--" + +"But why can't they?" asked Shenstone, impatiently interrupting. + +"Because the thing's impossible; they've already gone rowing." + +"Indeed!" cry both gentlemen in a breath, seeming alike vexed by the +intelligence, Shenstone mechanically interrogating: + +"On the river?" + +"Certainly!" answers the lady, looking surprised. "Why, George; where +else could they go rowing! You don't suppose they've brought the boat +up to the fishpond!" + +"Oh, no," he stammers out. "I beg pardon. How very stupid of me to ask +such a question. I was only wondering why Miss Gwen--that is, I am a +little astonished--but--perhaps you'll think it impertinent of me to ask +another question?" + +"Why should I? What is it?" + +"Only whether--whether she--Miss Gwen, I mean--said anything about +riding to-day?" + +"Not a word--at least not to me." + +"How long since they went off--may I know, Miss Linton?" + +"Oh, hours ago! Very early, indeed--just after taking breakfast. I +wasn't down myself--as I've told you, not feeling very well this +morning. But Gwen's maid informs me they left the house then, and I +presume they went direct to the river." + +"Do you think they'll be out long?" earnestly interrogates Shenstone. + +"I should hope not," returns the ancient toast of Cheltenham, with +aggravating indifference, for Lutestring is not quite out of her +thoughts. "There's no knowing, however. Miss Wynn is accustomed to +come and go, without much consulting me." + +This with some acerbity--possibly from the thought that the days of her +legal guardianship are drawing to a close, which will make her a less +important personage at Llangorren. + +"Surely, they won't be out all day," timidly suggests the curate; to +which she makes no rejoinder, till Mr Shenstone puts it in the shape of +an inquiry. + +"Is it likely they will, Miss Linton?" + +"I should say not. More like they'll be hungry, and that will bring +them home. What's the hour now? I've been reading a very interesting +book, and quite forgot myself. Is it possible?" she exclaims, looking +at the ormolu dial on the mantelshelf. "Ten minutes to one! How time +does fly, to be sure! I couldn't have believed it near so late--almost +luncheon time! Of course you'll stay, gentlemen? As for the girls, if +they're not back in time they'll have to go without. Punctuality is the +rule of this house--always will be with me. I shan't wait one minute +for them." + +"But, Miss Linton; they may have returned from the river, and are now +somewhere about the grounds. Shall I run down to the boat-dock and +see?" + +It is Mr Shenstone who thus interrogates. + +"If you like--by all means. I shall be too thankful. Shame of Gwen to +give us so much trouble! She knows our luncheon hour, and should have +been back by this. Thanks, much, Mr Shenstone." + +As he is bounding off, she calls after--"Don't you be staying too, else +you shan't have a pick. Mr Musgrave and I won't wait for any of you. +Shall we, Mr Musgrave?" + +Shenstone has not tarried to hear either question or answer. A luncheon +for Apicius were, at that moment, nothing to him; and little more to the +curate, who, though staying, would gladly go along. Not from any +rivalry with, or jealousy of, the baronet's son: they revolve in +different orbits, with no danger of collision. Simply that he dislikes +leaving Miss Linton alone--indeed, dare not. She may be expecting the +usual budget of neighbourhood intelligence he daily brings her. + +He is mistaken. On this particular day it is not desired. Out of +courtesy to Mr Shenstone, rather than herself, she had laid aside the +novel; and it now requires all she can command to keep her eyes off it. +She is burning to know what befel the farmer's daughter! + +Volume One, Chapter VIII. + +A SUSPICIOUS STRANGER. + +While Mr Musgrave is boring the elderly spinster about new scarlet +cloaks for the girls of the church choir, and other parish matters, +George Shenstone is standing on the topmost step of the boat stair, in a +mood of mind even less enviable than hers. For he has looked down into +the dock, and there sees no Gwendoline--neither boat nor lady--nor is +there sign of either upon the water, far as he can command a view of it. +No sounds, such as he would wish, and might expect to hear--no dipping +of oars, nor, what would be still more agreeable to his ear, the soft +voices of women. Instead only the note of a cuckoo, in monotonous +repetition, the bird balancing itself on a branch near by; and, farther +off, the _hiccol_, laughing, as if in mockery--and at him! Mocking his +impatience; ay, something more, almost his misery! That it is so his +soliloquy tells: + +"Odd her being out on the river! She promised me to go riding to-day. +Very odd indeed! Gwen isn't the same she was--acting strange altogether +for the last three or four days. Wonder what it means! By Jove, I +can't comprehend it!" + +His noncomprehension does not hinder a dark shadow from stealing over +his brow, and there staying. + +It is not unobserved. Through the leaves of the evergreen Joseph notes +the pained expression, and interprets it in his own shrewd way--not far +from the right one. + +The old servant soliloquising in less conjectural strain, says, or +rather thinks-- + +"Master George be mad sweet on Miss Gwen. The country folk are all +talkin' o't; thinkin' she's same on him, as if they knew anything about +it. I knows better. An' he ain't no ways confident, else there +wouldn't be that queery look on's face. It's the token o' jealousy for +sure. I don't believe he have suspicion o' any rival particklar. Ah! +it don't need that wi' sich a grand beauty as she be. He as love her +might be jealous o' the sun kissing her cheeks, or the wind tossin' her +hair!" + +Joseph is a Welshman of Bardic ancestry, and thinks poetry. He +continues-- + +"I know what's took her on the river, if he don't. Yes--yes, my young +lady! Ye thought yerself wonderful clever leavin' old Joe behind, +tellin' him to hide hisself, and bribin' him to stay hid! And d'y +'spose I didn't obsarve them glances exchanged twixt you and the salmon +fisher--sly, but for all that, hot as streaks o' fire? And d'ye think I +didn't see Mr Whitecap going down, afore ye thought o' a row yerself. +Oh, no; I noticed nothin' o' all that, not I? 'Twarn't meant for me-- +not for Joe--ha, ha!" + +With a suppressed giggle at the popular catch coming in so _apropos_, he +once more fixes his eyes on the face of the impatient watcher, +proceeding with his soliloquy, though in changed strain: + +"Poor young gentleman! I do pity he to be sure. He are a good sort, +an' everybody likes him. So do she, but not the way he want her to. +Well; things o' that kind allers do go contrary wise--never seem to run +smooth like. I'd help him myself if 'twar in my power, but it ain't. +In such cases help can only come frae the place where they say matches +be made--that's Heaven. Ha! he's lookin' a bit brighter! What's +cheerin' him? The boat coming back? I can't see it from here, nor I +don't hear any rattle o' oars!" + +The change he notes in George Shenstone's manner is not caused by the +returning pleasure craft. Simply a reflection which crossing his mind, +for the moment tranquillises him. + +"What a stupid I am!" he mutters self-accusingly. "Now I remember, +there was nothing said about the hour we were to go riding, and I +suppose she understood in the afternoon. It was so the last time we +went out together. By Jove! yes. It's all right, I take it; she'll be +back in good time yet." + +Thus reassured he remains listening. Still more satisfied, when a dull +thumping sound, in regular repetition, tells him of oars working in +their rowlocks. Were he learned in boating tactics he would know there +are two pairs of them, and think this strange too; since the +_Gwendoline_ carries only one. But he is not so skilled--instead, +rather averse to aquatics--his chosen home the hunting field, his +favourite seat in a saddle, not on a boat's thwart. It is only when the +plashing of the oars in the tranquil water of the bye-way is borne clear +along the cliff, that he perceives there are two pairs at work, while at +the same time he observes two boats approaching the little dock, where +but one belongs! + +Alone at that leading boat does he look; with eyes in which, as he +continues to gaze, surprise becomes wonderment, dashed with something +like displeasure. The boat he has recognised at the first glance--the +_Gwendoline_--as also the two ladies in the stern. But there is also a +man on the mid thwart plying the oars. "Who the deuce is he?" Thus to +himself George Shenstone puts it. Not old Joe, not the least like him. +Nor is it the family Charon who sits solitary on the thwarts of that +following. Instead, Joseph is now by Mr Shenstone's side, passing him +in haste--making to go down the boat stairs! + +"What's the meaning of all this, Joe?" asks the young man, in stark +astonishment. + +"Meanin' o' what, sir?" returns the old boatman, with an air of assumed +innocence. "Be there anythin' amiss?" + +"Oh, nothing," stammers Shenstone. "Only I supposed you were out with +the young ladies. How is it you haven't gone?" + +"Well, sir, Miss Gwen didn't wish it. The day bein' fine, an' nothing +o' flood in the river, she sayed she'd do the rowin' herself." + +"She hasn't been doing it for all that," mutters Shenstone to himself, +as Joseph glides past and on down the stair; then repeating, "Who the +deuce is he?" the interrogation as before, referring to him who rows the +pleasure-boat. + +By this it has been brought, bow in, to the dock, its stern touching the +bottom of the stair; and, as the ladies step out of it, George Shenstone +overhears a dialogue, which, instead of quieting his perturbed spirit, +but excites him still more--almost to madness. It is Miss Wynn who has +commenced it, saying. + +"You'll come up to the house, and let me introduce you to my aunt?" + +This to the gentleman who has been pulling her boat, and has just +abandoned the oars soon as seeing its painter in the hands of the +servant. + +"Oh, thank you!" he returns. "I would, with pleasure; but, as you see, +I'm not quite presentable just now--anything but fit for a drawing-room. +So I beg you'll excuse me to-day." + +His saturated shirt-front, with other garments dripping, tells why the +apology; but does not explain either that or aught else to him on the +top of the stair; who, hearkening further, hears other speeches which, +while perplexing him, do nought to allay the wild tempest now surging +through his soul. Unseen himself--for he has stepped behind the tree +lately screening Joseph--he sees Gwen Wynn hold out her hand to be +pressed in parting salute--hears her address the stranger in words of +gratitude, warm as though she were under some great obligation to him! + +Then the latter leaps out of the pleasure-boat into the other brought +alongside, and is rowed away by his waterman; while the ladies ascend +the stair--Gwen, lingeringly, at almost every step, turning her face +towards the fishing skiff, till this, pulled around the upper end of the +eyot, can no more be seen. + +All this George Shenstone observes, drawing deductions which send the +blood in chill creep through his veins. Though still puzzled by the wet +garments, the presence of the gentleman wearing them seems to solve that +other enigma, unexplained as painful--the strangeness he has of late +observed in the ways of Miss Wynn. Nor is he far out in his fancy, +bitter though it be. + +Not until the two ladies have reached the stair head do they become +aware of his being there; and not then, till Gwen has made some +observations to the companion, which, as those addressed to the +stranger, unfortunately for himself, George Shenstone overhears. + +"We'll be in time for luncheon yet, and aunt needn't know anything of +what's delayed us--at least, not just now. True, if the like had +happened to herself--say some thirty or forty years ago--she'd want all +the world to hear of it, particularly that portion of the world yclept +Cheltenham. The dear old lady! Ha, ha!" After a laugh, continuing: +"But, speaking seriously, Nell, I don't wish any one to be the wiser +about our bit of an escapade--least of all, a certain young gentleman, +whose Christian name begins with a G, and surname with an S." + +"Those initials answer for mine," says George Shenstone, coming forward +and confronting her. "If your observation was meant for me, Miss Wynn, +I can only express regret for my bad luck in being within earshot of +it." + +At his appearance, so unexpected and abrupt, Gwen Wynn had given a +start--feeling guilty, and looking it. Soon, however, reflecting whence +he has come, and hearing what said, she feels less self-condemned than +indignant, as evinced by her rejoinder. + +"Ah! you've been overhearing us, Mr Shenstone! Bad luck, you call it. +Bad or good, I don't think you are justified in attributing it to +chance. When a gentleman deliberately stations himself behind a shady +bush, like that laurustinus, for instance, and there stands listening-- +intentionally--" + +Suddenly she interrupts herself, and stands silent too--this on +observing the effect of her words, and that they have struck terribly +home. With bowed head the baronet's son is stooping towards her, the +cloud on his brow telling of sadness--not anger. Seeing it, the old +tenderness returns to her, with its familiarity, and she exclaims:-- + +"Come, George! there must be no quarrel between you and me. What you've +just seen and heard, will be all explained by something you have yet to +hear. Miss Lees and I have had a little bit of an adventure; and if +you'll promise it shan't go further, we'll make you acquainted with it." + +Addressed in this style, he readily gives the promise--gladly, too. The +confidence so offered seems favourable to himself. But, looking for +explanation on the instant, he is disappointed. Asking for it, it is +denied him, with reason assigned thus: + +"You forget we've been full four hours on the river, and are as hungry +as a pair of kingfishers--hawks, I suppose, you'd say, being a game +preserver. Never mind about the simile. Let us in to luncheon, if not +too late." + +She steps hurriedly off towards the house, the companion following, +Shenstone behind both. + +However hungry they, never man went to a meal with less appetite than +he. All Gwen's cajoling has not tranquillised his spirit, nor driven +out of his thoughts that man with the bronzed complexion, dark +moustache, and white helmet hat. + +Volume One, Chapter IX. + +JEALOUS ALREADY. + +Captain Ryecroft has lost more than rod and line; his heart is as good +as gone too--given to Gwendoline Wynn. He now knows the name of the +yellow haired Naiad--for this, with other particulars, she imparted to +him on return up stream. + +Neither has her confidence thus extended, nor the conversation leading +to it, belied the favourable impression made upon him by her appearance. +Instead, so strengthened it, that for the first time in his life he +contemplates becoming a benedict. He feels that his fate is sealed--or +no longer in his hands, but hers. + +As Wingate pulls him on homeward, he draws out his cigar case, sets fire +to a fresh weed, and, while the blue smoke wreaths up round the rim of +his topee, reflects on the incidents of the day,--reviewing them in the +order of their occurrence. + +Circumstances apparently accidental have been strangely in his favour. +Helped as by Heaven's own hand, working with the rudest instruments. +Through the veriest scum of humanity he has made acquaintance with one +of its fairest forms. More than mere acquaintance, he hopes; for surely +those warm words, and glances far from cold, could not be the sole +offspring of gratitude! If so, a little service on the Wye goes a long +way. Thus reflects he, in modest appreciation of himself, deeming that +he has done but little. How different the value put upon it by Gwen +Wynn! + +Still he knows not this, or at least cannot be sure of it. If he were, +his thoughts would be all rose-coloured, which they are not. Some are +dark as the shadows of the April showers now and then drifting across +the sun's disc. + +One that has just settled on his brow is no reflection from the +firmament above--no vague imagining--but a thing of shape and form--the +form of a man, seen at the top of the boat stair, as the ladies were +ascending, and not so far off as to have hindered him from observing the +man's face, and noting that he was young, and rather handsome. Already +the eyes of love have caught the keenness of jealousy. A gentleman +evidently on terms of intimacy with Miss Wynn. Strange, though, that +the look with which he regarded her on saluting, seemed to speak of +something amiss! What could it mean! Captain Ryecroft has asked this +question as his boat was rounding the end of the eyot, with another in +the selfsame formulary of interrogation, of which but the moment before +he was himself the subject:--"Who the deuce can _he_ be?" Out upon the +river, and drawing hard at his Regalia, he goes on:-- + +"Wonderfully familiar the fellow seemed! Can't be a brother? I +understood her to say she had none. Does he live at Llangorren? No. +She said there was no one there in the shape of masculine relative--only +an old aunt, and that little dark damsel, who is cousin or something of +the kind. But who the deuce is the gentleman? Might _he_ be a cousin?" + +So propounding questions without being able to answer them, he at length +addresses himself to the waterman, saying: + +"Jack, did you observe a gentleman at the head of the stair?" + +"Only the head and shoulders o' one, captain." + +"Head and shoulders; that's enough. Do you chance to know him?" + +"I ain't thorough sure; but I think he be a Mr Shenstone." + +"Who is Mr Shenstone?" + +"The son o' Sir George." + +"Sir George! What do you know of _him_?" + +"Not much to speak of--only that he be a big gentleman, whose land lies +along the river, two or three miles below." + +The information is but slight, and slighter the gratification it gives. +Captain Ryecroft has heard of the rich baronet whose estate adjoins that +of Llangorren, and whose title, with the property attached, will descend +to an only son. It is the _torso_ of this son he has seen above the red +sandstone rock. In truth, a formidable rival! So he reflects, smoking +away like mad. + +After a time, he again observes:--"You've said you don't know the ladies +we've helped out of their little trouble?" + +"Parsonally, I don't, captain. But, now as I see where they live, I +know who they be. I've heerd talk 'bout the biggest o' them--a good +deal." + +The biggest of them! As if she were a salmon! In the boatman's eyes, +bulk is evidently her chief recommendation! + +Ryecroft smiles, further interrogating:--"What have you heard of her?" + +"That she be a _tidy_ young lady. Wonderful fond o' field sport, such +as hunting and that like. Fr' all, I may say that up to this day, I +never set eyes on her afore." + +The Hussar officer has been long enough in Herefordshire to have learnt +the local signification of "tidy"--synonymous with "well-behaved." That +Miss Wynn is fond of field sports--flood pastimes included--he has +gathered from herself while rowing her up the river. + +One thing strikes him as strange--that the waterman should not be +acquainted with every one dwelling on the river's bank, at least for a +dozen miles up and down. He seeks an explanation:-- + +"How is it, Jack, that you, living but a short league above, don't know +all about these people?" + +He is unaware that Wingate, though born on the Wye's banks, as he has +told him, is comparatively a stranger to its middle waters--his +birthplace being far up in the shire of Brecon. Still, that is not the +solution of the enigma, which the young waterman gives in his own way,-- + +"Lord love ye, sir! That shows how little you understand this river. +Why, captain; it crooks an' crooks, and goes wobblin' about in such a +way, that folks as lives less'n a mile apart knows no more o' one the +other than if they wor ten. It comes o' the bridges bein' so few and +far between. There's the ferry boats, true; but people don't take to +'em more'n they can help; 'specially women--seein' there be some danger +at all times, and a good deal o't when the river's a-flood. That's +frequent, summer well as winter." + +The explanation is reasonable; and, satisfied with it, Ryecroft remains +for a time wrapt in a dreamy reverie, from which he is aroused as his +eyes rest upon a house--a quaint antiquated structure, half timber, half +stone, standing not on the river's edge, but at some distance from it up +a dingle. The sight is not new to him; he has before noticed the +house--struck with its appearance, so different from the ordinary +dwellings. + +"Whose is it, Jack?" he asks. + +"B'longs to a man, name o' Murdock." + +"Odd-looking domicile!" + +"'Ta'nt a bit more that way than he be--if half what they say 'bout him +be true." + +"Ah! Mr Murdock's a character, then?" + +"Ay; an' a queery one." + +"In what respect? what way?" + +"More'n one--a goodish many." + +"Specify, Jack?" + +"Well; for one thing, he a'nt sober to say half o' his time." + +"Addicted to dipsomania?" + +"'Dicted to getting dead drunk. I've seen him so, scores o' 'casions." + +"That's not wise of Mr Murdock." + +"No, captain; 'ta'nt neyther wise nor well. All the worse, considerin' +the place where mostly he go to do his drinkin'." + +"Where may that be?" + +"The Welsh Harp--up at Rogue's Ferry." + +"Rogue's Ferry? Strange appellation! What sort of place is it? Not +very nice, I should say--if the name be at all appropriate." + +"It's parfitly 'propriate, though I b'lieve it wa'nt that way bestowed. +It got so called after a man the name o' Rugg, who once keeped the Welsh +Harp and the ferry too. It's about two mile above, a little ways back. +Besides the tavern, there be a cluster o' houses, a bit scattered about, +wi' a chapel an' a grocery shop--one as deals trackways, an' a'nt +partickler as to what they take in change--stolen goods welcome as any-- +ay, welcomer, if they be o' worth. They got plenty o' them, too. The +place be a regular nest o' poachers, an' worse than that--a good many as +have sarved their spell in the Penitentiary." + +"Why, Wingate, you astonish me! I was under the impression your Wyeside +was a sort of Arcadia, where one only met with innocence and primitive +simplicity." + +"You won't meet much o' either at Rogue's Ferry. If there be an +uninnocent set on earth it's they as live there. Them Forest chaps we +came 'cross a'nt no ways their match in wickedness. Just possible drink +made them behave as they did--some o' 'em. But drink or no drink it be +all the same wi' the Ferry people--maybe worse when they're sober. Any +ways they're a rough lot." + +"With a place of worship in their midst! That ought to do something +towards refining them." + +"Ought; and would, I dare say, if 'twar the right sort--which it a'nt. +Instead, o' a kind as only the more corrupts 'em--being Roman." + +"Oh! A Roman Catholic chapel. But how does it corrupt them?" + +"By makin' 'em believe they can get cleared of their sins, hows'ever +black they be. Men as think that way a'nt like to stick at any sort of +crime--'specialty if it brings 'em the money to buy what they calls +absolution." + +"Well, Jack; it's very evident you're no friend, or follower, of the +Pope." + +"Neyther o' Pope nor priest. Ah! captain; if you seed him o' the +Rogue's Ferry Chapel, you wouldn't wonder at my havin' a dislike for the +whole kit o' them." + +"What is there specially repulsive about him?" + +"Don't know as there be any thin' very special, in partickler. Them +priests all look bout the same--such o' 'em as I've ever set eyes on. +And that's like stoats and weasels, shootin' out o' one hole into +another. As for him we're speakin' about, he's here, there, an' +everywhere; sneakin' along the roads an' paths, hidin' behind bushes +like a cat after birds, an' poppin' out where nobody expects him. If +ever there war a spy meaner than another it's the priest of Rogue's +Ferry." + +"_No_?" he adds, correcting himself. "There be one other in these parts +worse than he--if that's possible. A different sort o' man, true; and +yet they be a good deal thegither." + +"Who is this other?" + +"Dick Dempsey--better known by the name of Coracle Dick." + +"Ah, Coracle Dick! He appears to occupy a conspicuous place in your +thoughts, Jack; and rather a low one in your estimation. Why, may I +ask? What sort of fellow is he?" + +"The biggest blaggard as lives on the Wye, from where it springs out o' +Plinlimmon to its emptying into the Bristol Channel. Talk o' poachers +an' night netters. He goes out by night to catch somethin' beside +salmon. 'Taint all fish as comes into his net, I know." + +The young waterman speaks in such hostile tone both about priest and +poacher, that Ryecroft suspects a motive beyond the ordinary prejudice +against men who wear the sacerdotal garb, or go trespassing after game. +Not caring to inquire into it now, he returns to the original topic, +saying:-- + +"We've strayed from our subject, Jack--which was the hard drinking owner +of yonder house." + +"Not so far, captain; seein' as he be the most intimate friend the +priest have in these parts; though if what's said be true, not nigh so +much as his Missus." + +"Murdock is married, then?" + +"I won't say that--leastwise I shouldn't like to swear it. All I know +is, a woman lives wi' him, s'posed to be his wife. Odd thing she." + +"Why odd?" + +"'Cause she beant like any other o' womankind 'bout here." + +"Explain yourself, Jack. In what does Mrs Murdock differ from the rest +of your Herefordshire fair?" + +"One way, captain, in her not bein' fair at all. 'Stead, she be dark +complected; most as much as one o' them women I've seed 'bout +Cheltenham, nursin' the children o' old officers as brought 'em from +India--_ayers_ they call 'em. She a'nt one o' 'em, but French, I've +heerd say; which in part, I suppose explains the thickness 'tween her +an' the priest--he bein' the same." + +"Oh! His reverence is a Frenchman, is he?" + +"All o' that, captain. If he wor English, he wouldn't--couldn't--be the +contemptible sneakin' hound he is. As for Mrs Murdock, I can't say +I've seed her more'n twice in my life. She keeps close to the house; +goes nowhere; an' it's said nobody visits her nor him--leastwise none o' +the old gentry. For all Mr Murdock belongs to the best of them." + +"He's a gentleman, is he?" + +"Ought to be--if he took after his father." + +"Why so?" + +"Because he wor a squire--regular of the old sort. He's not been so +long dead. I can remember him myself, though I hadn't been here such a +many years--the old lady too--this Murdock's mother. Ah! now I think +on't, she wor t'other squire's sister--father to the tallest o' them two +young ladies--the one with the reddish hair." + +"What! Miss Wynn?" + +"Yes, captain; her they calls Gwen." + +Ryecroft questions no farther. He has learnt enough to give him food +for reflection--not only during the rest of that day, but for a week, a +month--it may be throughout the remainder of his life. + +Volume One, Chapter X. + +THE CUCKOO'S GLEN. + +About a mile above Llangorren Court, but on the opposite side of the +Wye, stands the house which had attracted the attention of Captain +Ryecroft; known to the neighbourhood as "Glyngog"--Cymric synonym for +"Cuckoo's Glen." Not immediately on the water's edge, but several +hundred yards back, near the head of a lateral ravine which debouches on +the valley of the river, to the latter contributing a rivulet. + +Glyngog House is one of those habitations, common in the county of +Hereford as other western shires--puzzling the stranger to tell whether +they be gentleman's residence, or but the dwelling of a farmer. This +from an array of walls, enclosing yard, garden, even the orchard--a +plenitude due to the red sandstone being near, and easily shaped for +building purposes. + +About Glyngog House, however, there is something besides the +circumvallation to give it an air of grandeur beyond that of the +ordinary farm homestead; certain touches of architectural style which +speak of the Elizabethan period--in short that termed Tudor. For its +own walls are not altogether stone; instead a framework of oaken +uprights, struts, and braces, black with age, the panelled masonry +between plastered and white-washed, giving to the structure a quaint, +almost fantastic, appearance, heightened by an irregular roof of steep +pitch, with projecting dormers, gables acute angled, overhanging +windows, and carving at the coigns. Of such ancient domiciles there are +yet many to be met with on the Wye--their antiquity vouched for by the +materials used in their construction, when bricks were a costly +commodity, and wood to be had almost for the asking. + +About this one, the enclosing stone walls have been a later erection, as +also the pillared gate entrance to its ornamental grounds, through which +runs a carriage drive to the sweep in front. Many a glittering equipage +may have gone round on that sweep; for Glyngog was once a Manor-house. +Now it is but the remains of one, so much out of repair as to show +smashed panes in several of its windows, while the _enceinte_ walls are +only upright where sustained by the upholding ivy; the shrubbery run +wild; the walks and carriage drive weed-covered; on the latter neither +recent track of wheel, nor hoof-mark of horse. + +For all, the house is not uninhabited. Three or four of the windows +appear sound, with blinds inside them; while at most hours smoke may be +seen ascending from at least two of the chimneys. + +Few approach near enough the place to note its peculiarities. The +traveller gets but a distant glimpse of its chimney-pots; for the +country road, avoiding the dip of the ravine, is carried round its head, +and far from the house. It can only be approached by a long, narrow +lane, leading nowhere else, so steep as to deter any explorer save a +pedestrian; while he, too, would have to contend with an obstruction of +overgrowing thorns and trailing brambles. + +Notwithstanding these disadvantages, Glyngog has something to recommend +it--a prospect not surpassed in the western shires of England. He who +selected its site must have been a man of tastes rather aesthetic, than +utilitarian. For the land attached and belonging--some fifty or sixty +acres--is barely arable; lying against the abruptly sloping sides of the +ravine. But the view is superb. Below, the Wye, winding through a +partially wood-covered plain, like some grand constrictor snake; its +sinuosities only here and there visible through the trees, resembling a +chain of detached lakes--till sweeping past the Cuckoo's Glen, it runs +on in straight reach towards Llangorren. + +Eye of man never looked upon lovelier landscape; mind of man could not +contemplate one more suggestive of all that is, or ought to be, +interesting in life. Peaceful smokes ascending out of far-off chimneys; +farm-houses, with their surrounding walls, standing amid the greenery of +old homestead trees--now in full leaf, for it is the month of June--here +and there the sharp spire of a church, or the showy facade of a +gentleman's mansion--in the distant background, the dark blue mountains +of Monmouthshire; among them conspicuous the Blorenge, Skerrid, and +Sugar Loaf. The man who could look on such a picture, without drawing +from it inspirations of pleasure, must be out of sorts with the world, +if not weary of it. + +And yet just such a man is now viewing it from Glyngog House, or rather +the bit of shrubbery ground in front. He is seated on a rustic bench +partly shattered, barely enough of it whole to give room beside him for +a small japanned tray, on which are tumbler, bottle and jug--the two +last respectively containing brandy and water; while in the first is an +admixture of both. He is smoking a meerschaum pipe, which at short +intervals he removes from his mouth to give place to the drinking glass. + +The personal appearance of this man is in curious correspondence with +the bench on which he sits, the walls around, and the house behind. +Like all these, he looks dilapidated. Not only is his apparel out of +repair, but his constitution too, as shown by hollow cheeks and sunken +eyes, with crows' feet ramifying around them. This due not, as with the +surrounding objects, to age; for he is still under forty. Nor yet any +of the natural infirmities to which flesh is heir; but evidently to +drink. Some reddish spots upon his nose and flecks on the forehead, +with the glass held in shaking hand, proclaims this the cause. And it +is. + +Lewin Murdock--such is the man's name--has led a dissipated life. Not +much of it in England; still less in Herefordshire; and only its earlier +years in the house he now inhabits--his paternal home. Since boyhood he +has been abroad, staying none can say where, and straying no one knows +whither--often seen, however, at Baden, Homburg, and other "hells," +punting high or low, as the luck has gone for or against him. At a +later period in Paris, during the Imperial _regime_--worst hell of all. +It has stripped him of everything; driven him out and home, to seek +asylum at Glyngog, once a handsome property, now but a _pied a terre_, +on which he may only set his foot, with a mortgage around his neck. For +even the little land left to it is let out to a farmer, and the rent +goes not to him. He is, in fact, only a tenant on his patrimonial +estate; holding but the house at that, with the ornamental grounds and +an acre or two of orchard, of which he takes no care. The farmer's +sheep may scale the crumbling walls, and browse the weedy enclosure at +will; give Lewin Murdock his meerschaum pipe, with enough brandy and +water, and he but laughs. Not that he is of a jovial disposition, not +at all given to mirth; only that it takes something more than the +pasturage of an old orchard to excite his thoughts, or turn them to +cupidity. + +For all, land does this--the very thing. No limited tract; but one of +many acres in extent--even miles--the land of Llangorren. + +It is now before his face, and under his eyes, as a map unfolded. On +the opposite side of the river it forms the foreground of the landscape; +in its midst the many-windowed mansion, backed by stately trees, with +well-kept grounds, and green pastures; at a little distance the +"Grange," or home-farm, and farther off others that look of the same +belonging--as they are. A smiling picture it is; spread before the eyes +of Lewin Murdock, whenever he sits in his front window, or steps outside +the door. And the brighter the sun shines on it, the darker the shadow +on his brow! + +Not much of an enigma either. That land of Llangorren belonged to his +grandfather, but now is, or soon will be, the property of his cousin-- +Gwendoline Wynn. Were she not, it would be his. Between him and it +runs the Wye, a broad deep river. But what its width or depth, compared +with that other something between? A barrier stronger and more +impassable than the stream, yet seeming slight as a thread. For it is +but _the thread of a life_. Should it snap, or get accidentally +severed, Lewin Murdock would only have to cross the river, proclaim +himself master of Llangorren, and take possession. + +He would scarce he human not to think of all this. And being human he +does--has thought of it oft, and many a time. With feelings too, beyond +the mere prompting of cupidity. These due to a legend handed down to +him, telling of an unfair disposal of the Llangorren property; but a +pittance given to his mother who married Murdock of Glyngog; while the +bulk went to her brother, the father of Gwen Wynn. All matters of +testament, since the estate is unentailed; the only grace of the +grandfather towards the Murdock branch being a clause entitling them to +possession, in the event of the collateral heirs dying out. And of +these but one is living--the heroine of our tale. + +"Only she--but she!" mutters Lewin Murdock, in a tone of such +bitterness, that, as if to drown it, he plucks the pipe out of his +mouth, and gulps down the last drop in the glass. + +Volume One, Chapter XI. + +A WEED BY THE WYESIDE. + +"Only she--but she!" he repeats, grasping the bottle by the neck, and +pouring more brandy into the tumbler. + +Though speaking _sotto voce_, and not supposing himself overheard, he +is, nevertheless--by a woman, who, coming forth from the house, has +stepped silently behind him, there pausing. + +Odd-looking apparition she, seen upon the Wyeside; altogether unlike a +native of it, but altogether like one born upon the banks of the Seine, +and brought up to tread the Boulevards of Paris--like the latter from +the crown of her head to the soles of her high-heeled boots, on whose +toes she stands poised and balancing. In front of that ancient English +manor-house, she seems grotesquely out of place--as much as a +costermonger driving his moke-drawn cart among the Pyramids, or smoking +a "Pickwick" by the side of the Sphinx. + +For all there is nothing mysterious, or even strange in her presence +there. She is Lewin Murdoch's wife. If he has left his fortune in +foreign lands, with the better part of his life and health, he has +thence brought her, his better-half. + +Physically a fine-looking woman, despite some ravages due to time, and +possibly more to crime. Tall and dark as the daughters of the Latinic +race, with features beautiful in the past--even still attractive to +those not repelled by the beguiling glances of sin. + +Such were hers, first given to him in a _cafe chantant_ of the +Tuileries--oft afterwards repeated in _jardin, bois_, and _bals_ of the +demi-monde, till at length she gave him her hand in the Eglise La +Madeleine. + +Busied with his brandy, and again gazing at Llangorren, he has not yet +seen her; nor is he aware of her proximity till hearing an +exclamation:-- + +"_Eh, bien_?" + +He starts at the interrogatory, turning round. + +"You think too loud, Monsieur--that is if you wish to keep your thoughts +to yourself. And you might--seeing that it's a love secret! May I ask +who is this _she_ you're soliloquising about? Some of your old English +_bonnes amies_, I suppose?" + +This, with an air of affected jealousy, she is far from feeling. In the +heart of the _ex-cocotte_ there is no place for such a sentiment. + +"Got nothing to do with _bonnes amies_, young or old," he gruffly +replies. "Just now I've got something else to think of than +sweethearts. Enough occupation for my thoughts in the how I'm to +support a wife--yourself, madame." + +"It wasn't me you meant. No, indeed. Some other, in whom you appear to +feel a very profound interest." + +"There, you're right, it was one other, in whom I feel all that." + +"_Merci, Monsieur! Ma foi_! your candour deserves all thanks. Perhaps +you'll extend it, and favour me with the lady's name? A lady, I +presume. The grand Seigneur Lewin Murdock would not be giving his +thoughts to less." + +Ignorance pretended. She knows, or surmises, to whom he has been giving +them. For she has been watching him from a window, and observed the +direction of his glances. And she has more than a suspicion as to the +nature of his reflections; since she is well aware as he of that +something besides a river separating them from Llangorren. + +"Her name?" she again asks, in tone of more demand, her eyes bent +searchingly on his. + +Avoiding her glance, he still pulls away at his pipe, without making +answer. + +"It is a love secret, then? I thought so. It's cruel of you, Lewin! +This is the return for giving you--all I had to give!" + +She may well speak hesitatingly, and hint at a limited sacrifice. Only +her hand; and it more than tenderly pressed by scores--ay hundreds--of +others, before being bestowed upon him. No false pretence, however, on +her part. He knew all that, or should have known it. How could he +help? Olympe, the belle of the Jardin Mabille, was no obscurity in the +_demi-monde_ of Paris--even in its days of glory under Napoleon le +Petite. + +Her reproach is also a pretence, though possibly with some sting felt. +She is drawing on to that term of life termed _passe_, and begins to +feel conscious of it. He may be the same. Not that for his opinion she +cares a straw--save in a certain sense, and for reasons altogether +independent of slighted affection--the very purpose she is now working +upon, and for which she needs to hold over him the power she has +hitherto had. And well knows she how to retain it, rekindling love's +fire when it seems in danger of dying out, either through appeal to his +pity, or exciting his jealousy, which she can adroitly do, by her artful +French ways and dark flashing eyes. + +As he looks in them now, the old flame flickers up, and he feels almost +as much her slave as when he first became her husband. + +For all he does not show it. This day he is out of sorts with himself, +and her and all the world besides; so instead of reciprocating her sham +tenderness--as if knowing it such--he takes another swallow of brandy, +and smokes on in silence. + +Now really incensed, or seeming so, she exclaims:-- + +"_Perfide_!" adding with a disdainful toss of the head, such as only the +dames of the _demi-monde_ know how to give, "Keep your secret! What +care I?" Then changing tone, "_Mon Dieu_! France--dear France! Why +did I ever leave you?" + +"Because your dear France became too dear to live in." + +"Clever _double entendre_! No doubt you think it witty! Dear, or not, +better a garret there--a room in its humblest _entresol_ than this. I'd +rather serve in a cigar shop--keep a _gargot_ in the Faubourg +Montmartre--than lead such a _triste_ life as we're now doing. Living +in this wretched kennel of a house, that threatens to tumble on our +heads!" + +"How would you like to live in that over yonder?" + +He nods towards Llangorren Court. + +"You are merry, Monsieur. But your jests are out of place--in presence +of the misery around us." + +"You may some day," he goes on, without heeding her observation. + +"Yes; when the sky falls we may catch larks. You seem to forget that +Mademoiselle Wynn is younger than either of us, and by the natural laws +of life will outlive both. Must, unless she break her neck in the +hunting field, get drowned out of a boat, or meet _some other +mischance_." + +She pronounces the last three words slowly and with marked emphasis, +pausing after she has spoken them, and looking fixedly in his face, as +if to note their effect. + +Taking the meerschaum from his mouth, he returns her look--almost +shuddering as his eyes meet hers, and he reads in them a glance such as +might have been given by Messalina, or the murderess of Duncan. +Hardened as his conscience has become through a long career of sin, it +is yet tender in comparison with hers. And he knows it, knowing her +history, or enough of it--her nature as well--to make him think her +capable of anything, even the crime her speech seems to point to-- +neither more nor less than-- + +He dares not think, let alone pronounce, the word. He is not yet up to +that; though day by day, as his desperate fortunes press upon him, his +thoughts are being familiarised with something akin to it--a dread, dark +design, still vague, but needing not much to assume shape, and tempt to +execution. And that the tempter is by his side he is more than half +conscious. It is not the first time for him to listen to fell speech +from those fair lips. + +To-day he would rather shun allusion to a subject so grave, yet so +delicate. He has spent part of the preceding night at the Welsh Harp-- +the tavern spoken of by Wingate--and his nerves are unstrung, yet not +recovered from the revelry. Instead of asking her what she means by +"some other mischance," he but remarks, with an air of careless +indifference,-- + +"True, Olympe; unless something of that sort were to happen, there seems +no help for us but to resign ourselves to patience, and live on +expectations." + +"Starve on them, you mean?" This in a tone, and with a shrug, which +seem to convey reproach for its weakness. + +"Well, _cherie_;" he rejoins, "we can at least feast our eyes on the +source whence our fine fortunes are to come. And a pretty sight it is, +isn't it? _Un coup d'oeil charmant_!" + +He again turns his eyes upon Llangorren, as also she, and for some time +both are silent. + +Attractive at any time, the Court is unusually so on this same summer's +day. For the sun, lighting up the verdant lawn, also shines upon a +large white tent there erected--a marquee--from whose ribbed roof +projects a signal staff, with flag floating at its peak. They have had +no direct information of what all this is for--since to Lewin Murdock +and his wife the society of Herefordshire is tabooed. But they can +guess from the symbols that it is to be a garden party, or something of +the sort, there often given. While they are still gazing its special +kind is declared, by figures appearing upon the lawn and taking stand in +groups before the tent. There are ladies gaily attired--in the distance +looking like bright butterflies--some dressed _a la Diane_, with bows in +hand, and quivers slung by their sides, the feathered shafts showing +over their shoulders; a proportionate number of gentlemen attendant; +while liveried servants stride to and fro erecting the ringed targets. + +Murdock himself cares little for such things. He has had his surfeit of +fashionable life; not only sipped its sweets, but drank its dregs of +bitterness. He regards Llangorren with something in his mind more +substantial than its sports and pastimes. + +With different thoughts looks the Parisian upon them--in her heart a +chagrin only known to those whose zest for the world's pleasure is of +keenest edge, yet checked and baffled from indulgence--ambitions +uncontrollable, but never to be attained. As Satan gazed back when +hurled out of the Garden of Eden, so she at that scene upon the lawn of +Llangorren. No _jardin_ of Paris--not the Bois itself--ever seemed to +her so attractive as those grounds, with that aristocratic gathering--a +heaven none of her kind can enter, and but few of her country. + +After long regarding it with envy in her eyes, and spleen in her soul-- +tantalised, almost to torture--she faces towards her husband, saying-- + +"And you've told me, between all that and us, there's but one life--" + +"Two!" interrupts a voice--not his. Both turning, startled, +behold--_Father Rogier_! + +Volume One, Chapter XII. + +A WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING. + +Father Rogier is a French priest of a type too well known over all the +world--the Jesuitical. Spare of form, thin-lipped, nose with the +cuticle drawn across it tight as drum parchment, skin dark and +cadaverous, he looks Loyola from head to heel. + +He himself looks no one straight in the face. Confronted, his eyes fall +to his feet, or turn to either side, not in timid abashment, but as +those of one who feels himself a felon. And but for his habiliments he +might well pass for such; though even the sacerdotal garb, and assumed +air of sanctity, do not hinder the suspicion of a wolf in sheep's +clothing--rather suggesting it. And in truth is he one; a very +Pharisee--Inquisitor to boot, cruel and keen as ever sate in secret +Council over an _Auto da Fe_. + +What is such a man doing in Herefordshire? What, in Protestant England? + +Time was, and not so long ago, when these questions would have been +asked with curiosity, and some degree of indignation. As for instance, +when our popular Queen added to her popularity, by somewhat +ostentatiously declaring, that "no foreign priest should take tithe or +toll in her dominions," even forbidding them their distinctive dress. +Then they stole timidly, and sneakingly, through the streets, usually +seen hunting in couples, and looking as if conscious their pursuit was +criminal, or, at the least, illegal. + +All that is over now; the ban removed, the boast unkept--to all +appearance forgotten! Now they stalk boldly abroad, or saunter in +squads, exhibiting their shorn crowns and pallid faces, without fear or +shame; instead, triumphantly flouting their vestments in public walks or +parks, or loitering in the vestibules of convents and monasteries, which +begin to show thick over the land--threatening us with a curse as that +anterior to the time of bluff King Hal. No one now thinks it strange to +see shovel-hatted priest, or sandalled monk--no matter in what part of +England, nor would wonder at one of either being resident upon Wyeside. +Father Rogier, one of the former, is there with similar motive, and for +the same purpose, his sort are sent everywhere--to enslave the souls of +men and get money out of their purses, in order that other men, princes, +and priests like himself, may lead luxurious lives, without toil and by +trickery. The same old story, since the beginning of the world, or +man's presence upon it. The same craft as the rain maker of South +Africa, or the medicine man of the North American Indian; differing only +in some points of practice; the religious juggler of a higher +civilisation, finding his readiest tools not in roots, snake-skins, and +rattles, but the weakness of woman. Through this, as by sap and mine, +many a strong citadel has been carried, after bidding defiance to the +boldest and most determined assault. + +_Pere_ Rogier well knows all this; and by experience, having played the +propagandist game with some success since his settling in Herefordshire. +He has not been quite three years resident on Wyeside, and yet has +contrived to draw around him a considerable coterie of weak-minded +Marthas and Marys, built him a little chapel, with a snug +dwelling-house, and is in a fair way of further feathering his nest. +True, his neophytes are nearly all of the humbler class, and poor. But +the Peter's pence count up in a remarkable manner, and are paid with a +regularity which only blind devotion, or the zeal of religious +partisanship, can exact. Fear of the Devil, and love of him, are like +effective in drawing contributions to the box of the Rugg's Ferry +chapel, and filling the pockets of its priest. + +And if he have no grand people among his flock, and few disciples of the +class called middle, he can boast of at least two claiming to be +genteel--the Murdocks. With the man no false assumption either; neither +does he assume, or value it. Different the woman. Born in the Faubourg +Montmartre, her father a common _ouvrier_, her mother a +_blanchisseuse_--herself a beautiful girl--Olympe Renault soon found her +way into a more fashionable quarter. The same ambition made her Lewin +Murdock's wife, and has brought her on to England. For she did not many +him without some knowledge of his reversionary interest in the land of +which they have just been speaking, and at which they are still looking. +That was part of the inducement held out for obtaining her hand; her +heart he never had. + +That the priest knows something of the same, indeed all, is evident from +the word he has respondingly pronounced. With step, silent and +cat-like--his usual mode of progression--he has come upon them unawares, +neither having note of his approach till startled by his voice. On +hearing it, and seeing who, Murdock rises to his feet, as he does so +saluting. Notwithstanding long years of a depraved life, his early +training has been that of a gentleman, and its instincts at times return +to him. Besides, born and brought up Roman Catholic, he has that +respect for his priest, habitual to a proverb--would have, even if +knowing the latter to be the veriest Pharisee that ever wore +single-breasted black-coat. + +Salutations exchanged, and a chair brought out for the new comer to sit +upon, Murdock demands explanation of the interrupting monosyllable, +asking: + +"What do you mean, Father Rogier, by `two'?" + +"What I've said, M'sieu; that there are two between you and that over +yonder, or soon will be--in time perhaps ten. A fair paysage it is!" he +continues, looking across the river; "a very vale of Tempe, or Garden of +the Hesperides. _Parbleu_! I never believed your England so beautiful. +Ah! what's going on at Llangorren?" This as his eyes rest upon the +tent, the flags, and gaily-dressed figures. "A _fete champetre_: +Mademoiselle making, merry! In honour of the anticipated change, no +doubt." + +"Still I don't comprehend," says Murdock, looking puzzled. "You speak +in riddles, Father Rogier." + +"Riddles easily read, M'sieu. Of this particular one you'll find the +interpretation there." + +This, pointing to a plain gold ring on the fourth finger of Mrs +Murdock's left hand, put upon it by Murdock himself on the day he became +her husband. + +He now comprehends--his quick-witted wife sooner. + +"Ha!" she exclaims, as if pricked by a pin, "Mademoiselle to be +married?" + +The priest gives an assenting nod. + +"That's news to me," mutters Murdock, in a tone more like he was +listening to the announcement of a death. + +"_Moi aussi_! Who, _Pere_? Not Monsieur Shenstone, after all?" + +The question shows how well she is acquainted with Miss Wynn--if not +personally, with her surroundings and predilections! + +"No," answers the priest. "Not he." + +"Who then?" asked the two simultaneously. + +"A man likely to make many heirs to Llangorren--widen the breach between +you and it--ah! to the impossibility of that ever being bridged." + +"_Pere Rogier_!" appeals Murdock, "I pray you speak out! Who is to do +this? His name?" + +"_Le Capitaine Ryecroft_." + +"Captain Ryecroft! Who--what is he?" + +"An officer of Hussars--a fine-looking fellow--sort of combination of +Mars and Apollo; strong as Hercules! As I've said, likely to be father +to no end of sons and daughters, with Gwen Wynn for their mother. +_Helas_! I can fancy seeing them now--at play over yonder, on the +lawn!" + +"Captain Ryecroft!" repeats Murdock, musingly; "I never saw--never heard +of the man!" + +"You hear of him now, and possibly see him too. No doubt he's among +those gay toxophilites--Ha! no, he's nearer! What a strange +coincidence! The old saw, `speak of the fiend.' There's _your_ fiend, +Monsieur Murdock!" + +He points to a boat on the river with two men in it; one of them wearing +a white cap. It is dropping down in the direction of Llangorren Court. + +"Which?" asks Murdock, mechanically. + +"He with the _chapeau blanc_. That's whom you have to fear. The +other's but the waterman Wingate--honest fellow enough, whom no one need +fear--unless indeed our worthy friend Coracle Dick, his competitor for +the smiles of the pretty Mary Morgan. Yes, _mes amis_! Under that +conspicuous _kepi_ you behold the future lord of Llangorren." + +"Never!" exclaims Murdock, angrily gritting his teeth. "Never!" + +The French priest and ci-devant French courtesan exchange secret, but +significant, glances; a pleased expression showing on the faces of both. + +"You speak excitedly, M'sieu," says the priest, "emphatically, too. But +how is it to be hindered?" + +"I don't know," sourly rejoins Murdock; "I suppose it can't be," he +adds, drawing back, as if conscious of having committed himself. "Never +mind, now; let's drop the disagreeable subject. You'll stay to dinner +with us, Father Rogier?" + +"If not putting you to inconvenience." + +"Nay; it's you who'll be inconvenienced--starved, I should rather say. +The butchers about here are not of the most amiable type; and, if I +mistake not, our _menu_ for to-day is a very primitive one--bacon and +potatoes, with some greens from the old garden." + +"Monsieur Murdock! It's not the fare, but the fashion, which makes a +meal enjoyable. A crust and welcome is to me better cheer than a +banquet with a grudging host at the head of the table. Besides, your +English bacon is a most estimable dish, and with your succulent cabbages +delectable. With a bit of Wye salmon to precede, and a pheasant to +follow, it were food to satisfy Lucullus himself." + +"Ah! true," assents the broken-down gentleman, "with the salmon and +pheasant. But where are they? My fishmonger, who is, conjointly also a +game-dealer, is at present as much out with me as is the butcher; I +suppose, from my being too much in with them--in their books. Still, +they have not ceased acquaintance, so far as calling is concerned. That +they do with provoking frequency. Even this morning, before I was out +of bed, I had the honour of a visit from both the gentlemen. +Unfortunately, they brought neither fish nor meat; instead, two sheets +of that detestable blue paper, with red lines and rows of figures--an +arithmetic not nice to be bothered with at one's breakfast. So, _Pere_; +I am sorry I can't offer you any salmon; and as for pheasant--you may +not be aware, that it is out of season." + +"It's never out of season, any more than barn-door fowl; especially if a +young last year's _coq_, that hasn't been successful in finding a mate." + +"But it's close time now," urges the Englishman, stirred by his old +instincts of gentleman sportsman. + +"Not to those who know how to open it," returns the Frenchman, with a +significant shrug. "And suppose we do that to-day?" + +"I don't understand. Will your Reverence enlighten me?" + +"Well, M'sieu; being Whit-Monday, and coming to pay you a visit, I +thought you mightn't be offended by my bringing along with me a little +present--for Madame here--that we're talking of--salmon and pheasant." + +The husband, more than the wife, looks incredulous. Is the priest +jesting? Beneath the _froc_, fitting tight his thin spare form, there +is nothing to indicate the presence of either fish or bird. + +"Where are they?" asks Murdock mechanically. "You say you've brought +them along?" + +"Ah! that was metaphorical. I meant to say I had sent them. And if I +mistake not, they are near now. Yes; there's my messenger!" + +He points to a man making up the glen, threading his way through the +tangle of wild bushes that grow along the banks of the rivulet. + +"Coracle Dick!" exclaims Murdock, recognising the poacher. + +"The identical individual," answers the priest, adding, "who, though a +poacher, and possibly has been something worse, is not such a bad fellow +in his way--for certain purposes. True, he's neither the most devout +nor best behaved of my flock; still a useful individual, especially on +Fridays, when one has to confine himself to a fish diet. I find him +convenient in other ways as well; as so might you, Monsieur Murdock-- +some day. Should you ever have need of a strong hard hand, with a heart +in correspondence, Richard Dempsey possesses both, and would no doubt +place them at your service--for a consideration." + +While Murdock is cogitating on what the last words are meant to convey, +the individual so recommended steps upon the ground. A stout, thick-set +fellow, with a shock of black curly hair coming low down, almost to his +eyes, thus adding to their sinister and lowering look. For all a face +not naturally uncomely, but one on which crime has set its stamp, deep +and indelible. + +His garb is such as gamekeepers usually wear, and poachers almost +universally affect, a shooting coat of velveteen, corduroy smalls, and +sheepskin gaiters buttoned over thick-soled shoes iron-tipped at the +toes. In the ample skirt pockets of the coat--each big as a game-bag-- +appear two protuberances, that about balance one another--the present of +which the priest has already delivered the invoice--in the one being a +salmon "blotcher" weighing some three or four pounds, in the other a +young cock pheasant. + +Having made obeisance to the trio in the grounds of Glyngog, he is about +drawing them forth when the priest prevents him, exclaiming:-- + +"_Arretez_! They're not commodities that keep well in the sun. Should +a water-bailiff, or one of the Llangorren gamekeepers chance to set eyes +on them, they'd spoil at once. Those lynx-eyed fellows can see a long +way, especially on a day bright as this. So, worthy Coracle, before +uncarting, you'd better take them back to the kitchen." + +Thus instructed, the poacher strides off round to the rear of the house; +Mrs Murdock entering by the front door to give directions about +dressing the dinner. Not that she intends to take any hand in cooking +it--not she. That would be _infra dig_ for the _ancien belle of +Mabille_. Poor as is the establishment of Glyngog, it can boast of a +plain cook, with a _slavey_ to assist. + +The other two remain outside, the guest joining his host in a glass of +brandy and water. More than one; for Father Rogier, though French, can +drink like a born Hibernian. Nothing of the Good Templar in him. + +After they have been for nigh an hour hobnobbing, conversing, Murdock +still fighting shy of the subject, which is nevertheless uppermost in +the minds of both, the priest once more approaches it, saying:-- + +"_Parbleu_! They appear to be enjoying themselves over yonder!" He is +looking at the lawn where the bright forms are flitting to and fro. +"And most of all, I should say, Monsieur White Cap--foretasting the +sweets of which he'll ere long enter into full enjoyment; when he +becomes master of Llangorren." + +"That--never!" exclaims Murdock, this time adding an oath. "Never while +I live. When I'm dead--" + +"_Diner_!" interrupts a female voice from the house, that of its +mistress seen standing on the doorstep. + +"Madame summons us," says the priest, "we must in, M'sieu. While +picking the bones of the pheasant, you can complete your unfinished +speech. _Allons_!" + +Volume One, Chapter XIII. + +AMONG THE ARROWS. + +The invited to the archery meeting have nearly all arrived, and the +shooting has commenced; half a dozen arrows in the air at a time, making +for as many targets. + +Only a limited number of ladies compete for the first score, each having +a little coterie of acquaintances at her back. + +Gwen Wynn herself is in this opening contest. Good with the bow, as at +the oar--indeed with county celebrity as an archer--carrying the +champion badge of her club--it is almost a foregone conclusion she will +come off victorious. + +Soon, however, those who are backing her begin to anticipate +disappointment. She is not shooting with her usual skill, nor yet +earnestness. Instead, negligently, and to all appearance, with thoughts +abstracted; her eyes every now and then straying over the ground, +scanning the various groups, as if in search of a particular individual. +The gathering is large--nearly a hundred people present--and one might +come or go without attracting observation. She evidently expects one to +come who is not yet there; and oftener than elsewhere her glances go +towards the boat-dock, as if the personage expected should appear in +that direction. There is a nervous restlessness in her manner, and +after each reconnaissance of this kind, an expression of disappointment +on her countenance. + +It is not unobserved. A gentleman by her side notes it, and with some +suspicion of its cause--a suspicion that pains him. It is George +Shenstone; who is attending on her, handing the arrows--in short, acting +as her _aide-de-camp_. Neither is he adroit in the exercise of his +duty; instead performs it bunglingly; his thoughts preoccupied, and eyes +wandering about. His glances, however, are sent in the opposite +direction--to the gate entrance of the park, visible from the place +where the targets are set up. + +They are both "prospecting" for the selfsame individual, but with very +different ideas--one eagerly anticipating his arrival, the other as +earnestly hoping he may not come. For the expected one is a gentleman-- +no other than Vivian Ryecroft. + +Shenstone knows the Hussar officer has been invited; and, however hoping +or wishing it, has but little faith he will fail. Were it himself no +ordinary obstacle could prevent his being present at that archery +meeting, any more than would five-barred gate, or bullfinch, hinder him +from keeping up with hounds. + +As time passes without any further arrivals, and the tardy guest has not +yet put in appearance, Shenstone begins to think he will this day have +Miss Wynn to himself, or at least without any very formidable +competitor. There are others present who seek her smiles--some aspiring +to her hand--but none he fears so much as the one still absent. + +Just as he is becoming calm, and confident, he is saluted by a gentleman +of the genus "swell," who, approaching, drawls out the interrogatory:-- + +"Who is that fella, Shenstone?" + +"What fellow?" + +"He with the vewy peculya head gear? Indian affair--_topee_, I bewieve +they call it." + +"Where?" asks Shenstone, starting and staring to all sides. + +"Yondaw! Appwoaching from the diwection of the rivaw. Looks a fwesh +awival. I take it, he must have come by bawt! Knaw him?" + +George Shenstone, strong man though he be, visibly trembles. Were Gwen +Wynn at that moment to face about, and aim one of her arrows at his +breast, it would not bring more pallor upon his cheeks, nor pain to his +heart. For he wearing the "peculya head gear" is the man he most fears, +and whom he had hoped not to see this day. + +So much is he affected, he does not answer the question put to him; nor +indeed has he opportunity, as just then Miss Wynn, sighting the _topee_ +too, suddenly turning, says to him:-- + +"George! be good enough to take charge of these things." She holds her +bow with an arrow she had been affixing to the string. "Yonder's a +gentleman just arrived; who you know is a stranger. Aunt will expect me +to receive him. I'll be back soon as I've discharged my duty." + +Delivering the bow and unspent shaft, she glides off without further +speech or ceremony. + +He stands looking after; in his eyes anything but a pleased expression. +Indeed, sullen, almost angry, as watching her every movement, he notes +the manner of her reception--greeting the new comer with a warmth and +cordiality he, Shenstone, thinks uncalled for, however much stranger the +man may be. Little irksome to her seems the discharge of that so-called +duty; but so exasperating to the baronet's son, he feels like crushing +the bow stick between his fingers, or snapping it in twain across his +knee! + +As he stands with eyes glaring upon them, he is again accosted by his +inquisitive acquaintance, who asks: + +"What's the matter, Jawge? Yaw haven't answered my intewogatowy!" + +"What was it? I forget." + +"Aw, indeed! That's stwange. I merely wished to know who Mr White Cap +is?" + +"Just what I'd like to know myself. All I can tell you is, that he's an +army fellow--in the Cavalry I believe--by name Ryecroft." + +"Aw yas; Cavalwy. That's evident by the bend of his legs. Wyquoft-- +Wyquoft, you say?" + +"So he calls himself--a captain of Hussars--his own story." + +This in a tone and with a shrug of insinuation. + +"But yaw don't think he's an adventuwer?" + +"Can't say whether he is, or not." + +"Who's his endawser? How came he intwoduced at Llangowen?" + +"That I can't tell you." He could though; for Miss Wynn, true to her +promise, has made him acquainted with the circumstances of the river +adventure, though not those leading to it; and he, true to his, has kept +them a secret. In a sense therefore, he could not tell, and the +subterfuge is excusable. + +"By Jawve! The Light Bob appears to have made good use of his time-- +however intwoduced. Miss Gwen seems quite familiaw with him; and yondaw +the little Lees shaking hands, as though the two had been acquainted +evaw since coming out of their cwadles! See! They're dwagging him up +to the ancient spinster, who sits enthawned in her chair like a queen of +the Tawnament times. Vewy mediaeval the whole affair--vewy!" + +"Instead, very modern; in my opinion, disgustingly so!" + +"Why d'y aw say that, Jawge?" + +"Why! Because in either olden or mediaeval times such a thing couldn't +have occurred--here in Herefordshire." + +"What thing, pway?" + +"A man admitted into good society without endorsement or introduction. +Now-a-days, any one may be so; claim acquaintance with a lady, and force +his company upon her, simply from having had the chance to pick up a +dropped pocket-handkerchief, or offer his umbrella in a skiff of a +shower!" + +"But, shawly, that isn't how the gentleman yondaw made acquaintance with +the fair Gwendoline?" + +"Oh! I don't say that," rejoins Shenstone with forced attempt at a +smile--more natural, as he sees Miss Wynn separate from the group they +are gazing at, and come back to reclaim her bow. Better satisfied, now, +he is rather worried by his importunate friend, and to get rid of him +adds: + +"If you are really desirous to know how Miss Wynn became acquainted with +him, you can ask the lady herself." + +Not for all the world would the swell put that question to Gwen Wynn. +It would not be safe; and thus snubbed he saunters away, before she is +up to the spot. + +Ryecroft, left with Miss Linton, remains in conversation with her. It +is not his first interview; for several times already has he been a +visitor at Llangorren--introduced by the young ladies as the gentleman +who, when the pleasure-boat was caught in a dangerous whirl, out of +which old Joseph was unable to extricate it, came to their rescue-- +possibly to the saving of their lives! Thus, the version of the +adventure, vouchsafed to the aunt--sufficient to sanction his being +received at the Court. + +And the ancient toast of Cheltenham has been charmed with him. In the +handsome Hussar officer she beholds the typical hero of her romance +reading; so much like it, that Lord Lutestring has long ago gone out of +her thoughts--passed from her memory as though he had been but a musical +sound. Of all who bend before her this day, the worship of none is so +welcome as that of the martial stranger. + +Resuming her bow, Gwen shoots no better than before. Her thoughts, +instead of being concentrated on the painted circles, as her eyes, are +half the time straying over her shoulders to him behind, still in a +_tete-a-tete_ with the aunt. Her arrows fly wild and wide, scarce one +sticking in the straw. In fine, among all the competitors, she counts +lowest score--the poorest she has herself ever made. But what matters +it? She is only too pleased when her quiver is empty, and she can have +excuse to return to Miss Linton, on some question connected with the +hospitalities of the house. + +Observing all this, and much more besides, George Shenstone feels +aggrieved--indeed exasperated--so terribly, it takes all his best +breeding to withhold him from an exhibition of bad behaviour. He might +not succeed were he to remain much longer on the ground--which he does +not. As if misdoubting his power of restraint, and fearing to make a +fool of himself, he too frames excuse, and leaves Llangorren long before +the sports come to a close. Not rudely, or with any show of spleen. He +is a gentleman, even in his anger; and bidding a polite, and formal, +adieu to Miss Linton, with one equally ceremonious, but more distant, to +Miss Wynn, he slips round to the stables, orders his horse, leaps into +the saddle, and rides off. + +Many the day he has entered the gates of Llangorren with a light and +happy heart--this day he goes out of them with one heavy and sad. + +If missed from the archery meeting, it is not by Miss Wynn. Instead, +she is glad of his being gone. Notwithstanding the love passion for +another now occupying her heart--almost filling it--there is still room +there for the gentler sentiment of pity. She knows how Shenstone +suffers--how could she help knowing? and pities him. + +Never more than at this same moment, despite that distant, half +disdainful adieu, vouchsafed to her at parting; by him intended to +conceal his thoughts, as his sufferings, while but the better revealing +them. How men underrate the perception of women! In matters of this +kind a very intuition. + +None keener than that of Gwen Wynn. She knows why he has gone so short +away,--well as if he had told her. And with the compassionate thought +still lingering, she heaves a sigh; sad as she sees him ride out through +the gate--going in reckless gallop--but succeeded by one of relief, soon +as he is out of sight! + +In an instant after, she is gay and gladsome as ever; once more bending +the bow, and making the catgut twang. But now shooting straight-- +hitting the target every time, and not unfrequently lodging a shaft in +the "gold." For he who now attends on her, not only inspires +confidence, but excites her to the display of skill. Captain Ryecroft +has taken George Shenstone's place, as her aide-de-camp; and while he +hands the arrows, she spending them, others of a different kind pass +between--the shafts of Cupid--of which there is a full quiver in the +eyes of both. + +Volume One, Chapter XIV. + +BEATING ABOUT THE BUSH. + +Naturally, Captain Ryecroft is the subject of speculation among the +archers at Llangorren. A man of his mien would be so anywhere--if +stranger. The old story of the unknown knight suddenly appearing on the +tourney's field with closed visor, only recognisable by a love-lock or +other favour of the lady whose cause he comes to champion. + +He, too, wears a distinctive badge--in the white cap. For though our +tale is of modern time, it antedates that when Brown began to affect the +_pugaree_--sham of Manchester Mills--as an appendage to his cheap straw +hat. That on the head of Captain Ryecroft is the regular forage cap +with quilted cover. Accustomed to it in India--whence he has but lately +returned--he adheres to it in England without thought of its attracting +attention and as little caring whether it do or not. + +It does, however. Insular, we are supremely conservative--some might +call it "caddish"--and view innovations with a jealous eye; as witness +the so-called "moustache movement" not many years ago, and the fierce +controversy it called forth. + +For other reasons the officer of Hussars is at this same archery +gathering a cynosure of eyes. There is a perfume of romance about him; +in the way he has been introduced to the ladies of Llangorren; a +question asked by others besides the importunate friend of George +Shenstone. The true account of the affair with the drunken foresters +has not got abroad--these keeping dumb about their own discomfiture; +while Jack Wingate, a man of few words, and on this special matter +admonished to silence, has been equally close-mouthed; Joseph also mute +for reasons already mentioned. + +Withal, a vague story has currency in the neighbourhood, of a boat, with +two young ladies, in danger of being capsized--by some versions actually +upset--and the ladies rescued from drowning by a stranger who chanced to +be salmon fishing near by--his name, Ryecroft. And as this tale also +circulates among the archers at Llangorren, it is not strange that some +interest should attach to the supposed hero of it, now present. + +Still, in an assemblage so large, and composed of such distinguished +people--many of whom are strangers to one another--no particular +personage can be for long an object of special concern; and if Captain +Ryecroft continue to attract observation, it is neither from curiosity +as to how he came there, nor the peculiarity of his head-dress, but the +dark handsome features beneath it. On these more than one pair of +bright eyes occasionally become fixed, regarding them with admiration. + +None so warmly as those of Gwen Wynn; though hers neither openly nor in +a marked manner. For she is conscious of being under the surveillance +of other eyes, and needs to observe the proprieties. + +In which she succeeds; so well, that no one watching her could tell, +much less say, there is aught in her behaviour to Captain Ryecroft +beyond the hospitality of host--which in a sense she is--to guest +claiming the privileges of a stranger. Even when during an interregnum +of the sports the two go off together, and, after strolling for a time +through the grounds, are at length seen to step inside the summer-house, +it may cause, but does not merit, remark. Others are acting similarly, +sauntering in pairs, loitering in shady places, or sitting on rustic +benches. Good society allows the freedom, and to its credit. That +which is corrupt alone may cavil at it, and shame the day when such +confidence be abused and abrogated! + +Side by side they take stand in the little pavilion, under the shadow of +its painted zinc roof. It may not have been all chance their coming +thither--no more the archery party itself. That Gwendoline Wynn, who +suggested giving it, can alone tell. But standing there with their eyes +bent on the river, they are for a time silent--so much, that each can +hear the beating of the other's heart--both brimful of love. + +At such moment one might suppose there could be no reserve or reticence, +but confession full, candid, and mutual. Instead, at no time is this +farther off. If _le joie fait peur_, far more _l'amour_. + +And with all that has passed is there fear between them. On her part +springing from a fancy she has been over forward--in her gushing +gratitude for that service done, given too free expression to it, and +needs being more reserved now. On his side speech is stayed by a +reflection somewhat akin, with others besides. In his several calls at +the Court his reception has been both welcome and warm. Still, not +beyond the bounds of well-bred hospitality. But why on each and every +occasion has he found a gentleman there--the same every time--George +Shenstone by name? There before him, and staying after! And this very +day, what meant Mr Shenstone by that sudden and abrupt departure? +Above all, why her distraught look, with the sigh accompanying it, as +the baronet's son went galloping out of the gate? Having seen the one, +and heard the other, Captain Ryecroft has misinterpreted both. No +wonder his reluctance to speak words of love. + +And so for a time they are silent, the dread of misconception, with +consequent fear of committal, holding their lips sealed. On a simple +utterance now may hinge their life's happiness, or its misery. + +Nor is it so strange, that in a moment fraught with such mighty +consequence, conversation should be not only timid, but commonplace. +They who talk of love's eloquence, but think of it in its lighter +phases--perhaps its lying. When truly, deeply, felt it is dumb, as +devout worshipper in the presence of the divinity worshipped. Here, +side by side, are two highly organised beings--a man handsome and +courageous, a woman beautiful and aught but timid--both well up in the +accomplishments, and gifted with the graces of life--loving each other +to their souls' innermost depths, yet embarrassed in manner, and +constrained in speech, as though they were a couple of rustics! More; +for Corydon would fling his arms around his Phyllis, and give her an +eloquent smack, which she with like readiness would return. + +Very different the behaviour of these in the pavilion. They stand for a +time silent as statues--though not without a tremulous motion, scarce +perceptible--as if the amorous electricity around stifled their +breathing, for the time hindering speech. And when at length this +comes, it is of no more significance than what might be expected between +two persons lately introduced, and feeling but the ordinary interest in +one another! + +It is the lady who speaks first:-- + +"I understand you've been but a short while resident in our +neighbourhood, Captain Ryecroft?" + +"Not quite three months, Miss Wynn. Only a week or two before I had the +pleasure of making your acquaintance." + +"Thank you for calling it a pleasure. Not much in the manner, I should +say; but altogether the contrary," she laughs, adding-- + +"And how do you like our Wye?" + +"Who could help liking it?" + +"There's been much said of its scenery--in books and newspapers. You +really admire it?" + +"I do, indeed." His preference is pardonable under the circumstances. +"I think it the finest in the world." + +"What! you such a great traveller! In the tropics too; upon rivers that +run between groves of evergreen trees, and over sands of gold! Do you +really mean that, Captain Ryecroft?" + +"Really--truthfully. Why not, Miss Wynn?" + +"Because I supposed those grand rivers we read of were all so much +superior to our little Herefordshire stream; in flow of water, scenery, +everything--" + +"Nay, not everything!" he says, interruptingly. "In volume of water +they may be; but far from it in other respects. In some it is superior +to them all--Rhine, Rhone, ah! Hippocrene itself!" + +His tongue is at length getting loosed. + +"What other respects?" she asks. + +"The forms reflected in it," he answers hesitatingly. + +"Not those of vegetation! Surely our oaks, elms, and poplars cannot be +compared with the tall palms and graceful tree ferns of the tropics?" + +"No; not those." + +"Our buildings neither, if photography tells truth, which it should. +Those wonderful structures--towers, temples, pagodas--of which it has +given us the _fac similes_--far excel anything we have on the Wye--or +anything in England. Even our Tintern, which we think so very grand, +were but as nothing to them. Isn't that so?" + +"True," he says, assentingly. "One must admit the superiority of +Oriental architecture." + +"But you've not told me what form our English river reflects, so much to +your admiration!" + +He has a fine opportunity for poetical reply. The image is in his +mind--her own--with the word upon his tongue, "woman's." But he shrinks +from giving it utterance. Instead, retreating from the position he had +assumed, he rejoins evasively:-- + +"The truth is, Miss Wynn, I've had a surfeit of tropical scenery, and +was only too glad once more to feast my eyes on the hill and dale +landscapes of dear old England. I know none to compare with these of +the Wyeside." + +"It's very pleasing to hear you say that--to me especially. It's but +natural I should love our beautiful Wye--I, born on its banks, brought +up on them, and, I suppose, likely to--" + +"What?" he asks, observing that she has paused in her speech. + +"Be buried on them!" she answers, laughingly. She intended to have said +"Stay on them for the rest of my life." + +"You'll think that a very grave conclusion," she adds, keeping up the +laugh. + +"One at all events very far off--it is to be hoped. An eventuality not +to arise, till after you've passed many long and happy days--whether on +the Wye, or elsewhere." + +"Ah! who can tell? The future is a sealed book to all of us." + +"Yours need not be--at least as regards its happiness. I think that is +assured." + +"Why do you say so, Captain Ryecroft?" + +"Because it seems to me, as though you had yourself the making of it." + +He saying no more than he thinks; far less. For he believes she could +make fate itself--control it, as she can his. And as he would now +confess to her--is almost on the eve of it--but hindered by recalling +that strange look and sigh sent after Shenstone. His fond fancies, the +sweet dreams he has been indulging in ever since making her +acquaintance, may have been but illusions. She may be playing with him, +as he would with a fish on his hook. As yet, no word of love has passed +her lips. Is there thought of it in her heart--for him? + +"In what way? What mean you?" she asks, her liquid eyes turned upon him +with a look of searching interrogation. + +The question staggers him. He does not answer it as he would, and again +replies evasively--somewhat confusedly. + +"Oh! I only meant, Miss Wynn--that you so young--so--well, with all the +world before you--surely have your happiness in your own hands." + +If he knew how much it is in his he would speak more courageously, and +possibly with greater plainness. But he knows not, nor does she tell +him. She, too, is cautiously retentive, and refrains taking advantage +of his words, full of suggestion. + +It will need another _seance_--possibly more than one--before the real +confidence can be exchanged between them. Natures like theirs do not +rush into confession as the common kind. With them it is as with the +wooing of eagles. + +She simply rejoins: + +"I wish it were," adding with a sigh, "Far from it, I fear." + +He feels as if he had drifted into a dilemma--brought about by his own +_gaucherie_--from which something seen up the river, on the opposite +side, offers an opportunity to escape--a house. It is the quaint old +habitation of Tudor times. Pointing to it, he says: + +"A very odd building, that! If I've been rightly informed, Miss Wynn, +it belongs to a relative of yours?" + +"I have a cousin who lives there." The shadow suddenly darkening her +brow, with the slightly explicit rejoinder, tells him he is again on +dangerous ground. He attributes it to the character he has heard of Mr +Murdock. His cousin is evidently disinclined to converse about him. + +And she is; the shadow still staying. If she knew what is at that +moment passing within Glyngog--could but hear the conversation carried +on at its dining table--it might be darker. It is dark enough in her +heart, as on her face--possibly from a presentiment. + +Ryecroft more than ever embarrassed, feels it a relief when Ellen Lees, +with the Rev Mr Musgrave as her cavalier attendant--they, too, +straying solitarily--approach near enough to be hailed, and invited into +the pavilion. + +So the dialogue between the cautious lovers comes to an end--to both of +them unsatisfactory enough. For this day their love must remain +unrevealed; though never man and woman more longed to learn the sweet +secret of each other's heart. + +Volume One, Chapter XV. + +A SPIRITUAL ADVISER. + +While the sports are in progress outside Llangorren Court, inside +Glyngog House is being eaten that dinner to commence with salmon in +season and end with pheasant out. + +It is early; but the Murdocks, often glad to eat what Americans call a +"square meal," have no set hours for eating, while the priest is not +particular. + +In the faces of the trio seated at the table, a physiognomist might find +interesting study, and note expressions that would puzzle Lavater +himself. Nor could they be interpreted by the conversation which, at +first, only refers to topics of a trivial nature. But now and then, a +_mot_ of double meaning let down by Rogier, and a glance surreptitiously +exchanged between him and his countryman, tell that the thoughts of +these two are running upon themes different from those about which are +their words. + +Murdock, by no means of a trusting disposition, but ofttimes furiously +jealous--has nevertheless, in this respect, no suspicion of the priest, +less from confidence than a sort of contempt for the pallid puny +creature, whom he feels he could crush in a moment of mad anger. And +broken though he be, the stalwart, and once strong, Englishman could +still do that. To imagine such a man as Rogier a rival in the +affections of his own wife, would be to be little himself. Besides, he +holds fast to that proverbial faith in the spiritual adviser, not always +well founded--in his case certainly misplaced. Knowing nought of this, +however, their exchanged looks, however markedly significant, escape his +observation. Even if he did observe, he could not read in them aught +relating to love. For, this day there is not; the thoughts of both are +absorbed by a different passion--cupidity. They are bent upon a scheme +of no common magnitude, but grand and comprehensive--neither more nor +less than to get possession of an estate worth 10,000 pounds a year-- +that Llangorren. They know its value as well as the steward who gives +receipts for its rents. + +It is no new notion with them; but one for some time entertained, and +steps considered. Still nothing definite either conceived, or +determined on. A task, so herculean, as dangerous and difficult, will +need care in its conception, and time for its execution. True, it might +be accomplished, almost instantaneously with six inches of steel, or as +many drops of belladonna. Nor would two of the three seated at the +table stick at employing such means. Olympe Renault, and Gregoire +Rogier have entertained thoughts of them--if not more. In the third is +the obstructor. Lewin Murdock would cheat at dice and cards, do +moneylenders without remorse, and tradesmen without mercy, ay, steal, if +occasion offered; but murder--that is different--being a crime not only +unpleasant to contemplate, but perilous to commit. He would be willing +to rob Gwendoline Wynn of her property--glad to do it--if he only knew +how--but to take away her life, he is not yet up to that. + +But he is drawing up to it, urged by desperate circumstances, and +spurred on by his wife, who loses no opportunity of bewailing their +broken fortunes, and reproaching him for them; at her back the Jesuit +secretly instructing, and dictating. + +Not till this day have they found him in the mood for being made more +familiar with their design. Whatever his own disposition, his ear has +been hitherto deaf to their hints, timidly, and ambiguously given. But +to-day things appear more promising, as evinced by his angry exclamation +"Never!" Hence their delight at hearing it. + +During the earlier stages of the dinner, as already said, they converse +about ordinary subjects, like the lovers in the pavilion, silent upon +that paramount in their minds. How different the themes--as love itself +from murder! And just as the first word was unspoken in the +summer-house at Llangorren, so is the last unheard in the dining-room of +Glyngog. + +While the blotcher is being carved with a spoon--there is no fish slice +among the chattels of Mr Murdock--the priest in good appetite, and high +glee, pronounces it "crimp." He speaks English like a native, and is +even up in its provincialisms; few in Herefordshire whose dialect is of +the purest. + +The phrase of the fishmonger received smilingly, the salmon is +distributed and handed across the table; the attendance of the slavey, +with claws not over clean, and ears that might be unpleasantly sharp, +having been dispensed with. + +There is wine without stint; for although Murdoch's town tradesmen may +be hard of heart, in the Welsh Harp there is a tender string he can +still play upon; the Boniface of the Rugg's Ferry hostelry having a +belief in his _post obit_ expectations. Not such an indifferent wine +either, but some of the choicest vintage. The guests of the Harp, +however rough in external appearance and rude in behaviour--have +wonderfully refined ideas about drink, and may be often heard calling +for "fizz"--some of them as well acquainted with the qualities of Moet +and Cliquot, as a connoisseur of the most fashionable club. + +Profiting by their aesthetic tastes, Lewin Murdock is enabled to set +wines upon his table of the choicest brands. Light Bordeaux first with +the fish, then sherry with the heavier greens and bacon, followed by +champagne as they get engaged upon the pheasant. + +At this point the conversation approaches a topic, hitherto held in +reserve, Murdock himself starting it:-- + +"So, my cousin Gwen's going to get married, eh! are you sure of that, +Father Rogier?" + +"I wish I were as sure of going to heaven." + +"But what sort of man is he? you haven't told us." + +"Yes, I have. You forget my description, Monsieur--cross between Mars +and Phoebus--strength herculean; sure to be father to a progeny numerous +as that which spring from the head of Medusa--enough of them to make +heirs for Llangorren to the end of time--keep you out of the property if +you lived to be the age of Methuselah. Ah! a fine-looking fellow, I can +assure you; against whom the baronet's son, with his rubicund cheeks and +hay-coloured hair, wouldn't stand the slightest chance--even were there +nothing: more to recommend the martial stranger. But there is." + +"What more?" + +"The mode of his introduction to the lady--that quite romantic." + +"How was he introduced?" + +"Well, he made her acquaintance on the water. It appears Mademoiselle +Wynn and her companion Lees, were out on the river for a row alone. +Unusual that! Thus out, some fellows--Forest of Dean dwellers--offered +them insult; from which a gentleman angler, who chanced to be whipping +the stream close by, saved them--he no other than _le Capitaine +Ryecroft_. With such commencement of acquaintance, a man couldn't be +much worth, who didn't know how to improve it--even to terminating in +marriage if he wished. And with such a rich heiress as Mademoiselle +Gwendoline Wynn--to say nought of her personal charms--there are few men +who wouldn't wish it so to end. That he, the Hussar officer, captain, +colonel, or whatever his rank, does, I've good reason to believe, as +also that he will succeed in accomplishing his desires; no more doubt of +it than of my being seated at this table. Yes; sure as I sit here that +man will be the master of Llangorren." + +"I suppose he will;" "must," rejoins Murdock, drawing out the words as +though not greatly concerned, one way, or the other. + +Olympe looks dissatisfied, but not Rogier nor she, after a glance from +the priest, which seems to say "Wait." He himself intends waiting till +the drink has done its work. + +Taking the hint she remains silent, her countenance showing calm, as +with the content of innocence, while in her heart is the guilt of hell, +and the deceit of the devil. + +She preserves her composure all through, and soon as the last course is +ended, with a show of dessert placed upon the table--poor and _pro +forma_--obedient to a look from Rogier, with a slight nod in the +direction of the door, she makes her _conge_, and retires. + +Murdock lights his meerschaum, the priest one of his paper cigarettes-- +of which he carries a case--and for some time they sit smoking and +drinking; talking, too, but upon matters with no relation to that +uppermost in their minds. They seem to fear touching it, as though it +were a thing to contaminate. It is only after repeatedly emptying their +glasses, their courage comes up to the standard required; that of the +Frenchman first; who, nevertheless, approaches the delicate subject with +cautious circumlocution. + +"By the way, M'sieu," he says, "we've forgotten what we were conversing +about, when summoned to dinner--a meal I've greatly enjoyed-- +notwithstanding your depreciation of the _menu_. Indeed, a very _bonne +bouche_ your English bacon, and the greens excellent, as also the +_pommes de terre_. You were speaking of some event, or circumstance, to +be conditional on your death. What is it? Not the deluge, I hope! +True, your Wye is subject to sudden floods; might it have ought to do +with them?" + +"Why should it?" asks Murdock, not comprehending the drift. + +"Because people sometimes get drowned in these inundations; indeed, +often. Scarce a week passes without some one falling into the river, +and there remaining, at least till life is extinct. What with its +whirls and rapids, it's a very dangerous stream. I wonder at +Mademoiselle Wynne venturing so courageously--so _carelessly_ upon it." + +The peculiar intonation of the last speech, with emphasis on the word +carelessly, gives Murdock a glimpse of what it is intended to point to. + +"She's got courage enough," he rejoins, without appearing to comprehend. +"About her carelessness, I don't know." + +"But the young lady certainly is careless--recklessly so. That affair +of her going out alone is proof of it. What followed may make her more +cautious; still, boating is a perilous occupation, and boats, whether +for pleasure or otherwise, are awkward things to manage--fickle and +capricious as women themselves. Suppose hers should some day go to the +bottom she being in it?" + +"That would be bad." + +"Of course it would. Though, Monsieur Murdock, many men situated as +you, instead of grieving over such an accident, would but rejoice at +it." + +"No doubt they would. But what's the use of talking of a thing not +likely to happen?" + +"Oh, true! Still, boat accidents being of such common occurrence, one +is as likely to befall Mademoiselle Wynn as anybody else. A pity if it +should--a misfortune! But so is the other thing." + +"What other thing?" + +"That such a property as Llangorren should be in the hands of heretics, +having but a lame title too. If what I've heard be true, you yourself +have as much right to it as your cousin. It were better it belonged to +a true son of the Church, as I know you to be, M'sieu." + +Murdock receives the compliment with a grimace. He is no hypocrite; +still with all his depravity he has a sort of respect for religion, or +rather its outward forms--regularly attends Rogier's chapel, and goes +through all the ceremonies and genuflexions, just as the Italian bandit +after cutting a throat will drop on his knees and repeat a _paternoster_ +at hearing the distant bell of the Angelus. + +"A very poor one," he replies, with a half smile, half grin. + +"In a worldly sense, you mean? I'm aware, you're not very rich." + +"In more senses than that. Your Reverence, I've been a great sinner, I +admit." + +"Admission is a good sign--giving promise of repentance, which need +never come too late if a man be disposed to it. It is a deep sin the +Church cannot condone--a dark crime indeed." + +"Oh, I haven't done anything deserving the name. Only such as a great +many others." + +"But you might be tempted some day. Whether or not it's my duty, as +your spiritual adviser, to point out the true doctrine--how the Vatican +views such things. It's after all only a question of balance between +good and evil; that is, how much evil a man may have done, and the +amount of good he may do. This world is a ceaseless war between God and +the devil; and those who wage it in the cause of the former have often +to employ the weapons of the latter. In our service the end justifies +the means, even though these be what the world calls criminal--ay, even +to the taking of life, else why should the great and good Loyola have +counselled drawing the sword, himself using it?" + +"True," grunts Murdock, smoking hard, "you're a great theologian, Father +Rogier. I confess ignorance in such matters; still, I see reason in +what you say." + +"You may see it clearer if I set the application before you. As for +instance, if a man have the right to a certain property, or estate, and +is kept out of it by a quibble, any steps he might take to possess +himself would be justifiable providing he devote a portion of his gains +to the good cause--that is, upholding the true faith, and so benefiting +humanity at large. Such an act is held by the best of our Church +authorities to compensate for any sin committed--supposing the money +donation sufficient to make the amount of good it may do preponderate +over the evil. And such a man would not only merit absolution, but +freely receive it. Now, Monsieur, do you comprehend me?" + +"Quite," says Murdock, taking the pipe from his mouth and gulping down a +half tumbler of brandy--for he has dropped the wine. Withal, he +trembles at the programme thus metaphorically put before him, and fears +admitting the application to himself. + +Soon the more potent spirit takes away his last remnant of timidity, +which the tempter perceiving, says:-- + +"You say you have sinned, Monsieur. And if it were only for that you +ought to make amends." + +"In what way could I?" + +"The way I've been speaking of. Bestow upon the Church the means of +doing good, and so deserve indulgence." + +"Ah! where am I to find this means?" + +"On the other side of the river." + +"You forget that there's more than the stream between." + +"Not much to a man who would be true to himself." + +"I'm that man all over." The brandy has made him bold, at length +untying his tongue, while unsteadying it. "Yes, Pere Rogier; I'm ready +for anything that will release me from this damnable fix--debt over the +ears--duns every day. Ha! I'd be true to myself, never fear!" + +"It needs being true to the Church as well." + +"I'm willing to be that when I have the chance, if ever I have it. And +to get it I'd risk life. Not much if I lose it. It's become a burden +to me, heavier than I can bear." + +"You may make it as light as a feather, M'sieu; cheerful as that of any +of those gay gentry you saw disporting themselves on the lawn at +Llangorren--even that of its young mistress." + +"How, _Pere_?" + +"By yourself becoming its master." + +"Ah! if I could." + +"You can!" + +"With safety?" + +"Perfect safety." + +"And without committing,"--he fears to speak the ugly English word, but +expresses the idea in French--"_cette dernier coup_?" + +"Certainly! Who dreams of that? Not I, M'sieu." + +"But how is it to be avoided?" + +"Easily." + +"Tell me, Father Rogier!" + +"Not to-night, Murdock!"--he has dropped the distant M'sieu--"Not +to-night. It's a matter that calls for reflection--consideration, calm +and careful. Time, too. Ten thousand _livres esterlies_ per annum! We +must both ponder upon it--sleep nights, and think days, over it-- +possibly have to draw Coracle Dick into our deliberations. But not +to-night--_Pardieu_! it's ten o'clock! And I have business to do before +going to bed. I must be off." + +"No, your Reverence; not till you've had another glass of wine." + +"One more then. But let me take it standing--the _tasse d'estrope_, as +you call it." + +Murdock assents; and the two rise up to drink the stirrup cup. But only +the Frenchman keeps his feet till the glasses are emptied; the other, +now dead drunk, dropping back into his chair. + +"_Bon soir, Monsieur_!" says the priest, slipping out of the room, his +host answering only by a snore. + +For all, Father Rogier does not leave the house so unceremoniously. In +the porch outside he takes more formal leave of a woman he there finds +waiting for him. As he joins her going out, she asks, _sotto voce_:-- + +"_C'est arrange_?" + +"Pas encore serait tout suite." This the sole speech that passes +between them; but something besides, which, if seen by her husband, +would cause him to start from his chair--perhaps some little sober him. + +Volume One, Chapter XVI. + +CORACLE DICK. + +A traveller making the tour of the Wye will now and then see moving +along its banks, or across the contiguous meadows, what he might take +for a gigantic tortoise walking upon its tail! Mystified by a sight so +abnormal, and drawing nigh to get an explanation of it, he will discover +that the moving object is after all but a man, carrying a boat upon his +back! Still the tourist will be astonished at a feat so herculean-- +rival to that of Atlas--and will only be altogether enlightened when the +boat-bearer lays down his burden--which, if asked, he will obligingly +do--and permits him, the stranger, to satisfy his curiosity by an +inspection of it. Set square on the sward at his feet, he will look +upon a craft quaint as was ever launched on lake, stream, or tidal wave. +For he will be looking at a "coracle." + +Not only quaint in construction, but singularly ingenious in design, +considering the ends to be accomplished. In addition, historically +interesting; so much as to deserve more than passing notice, even in the +pages of a novel. Nor will I dismiss it without a word, however it may +seem out of place. + +In shape the coracle bears resemblance to the half of a humming-top, or +Swedish turnip cloven longitudinally, the cleft face scooped out leaving +but the rind. The timbers consist of slender saplings--peeled and split +to obtain lightness--disposed, some fore and aft, others athwart-ships, +still others diagonally, as struts and ties, all having their ends in a +band of wickerwork, which runs round the gunwale, holding them firmly in +place, itself forming the rail. Over this framework is stretched a +covering of tarred, and, of course, waterproof canvas, tight as a drum. +In olden times it was the skin of ox or horse, but the modern material +is better, because lighter, and less liable to decay, besides being +cheaper. There is but one seat, or thwart, as the coracle is designed +for only a single occupant, though in a pinch it can accommodate two. +This is a thin board, placed nearly amidships, partly supported by the +wicker rail, and in part by another piece of light scantling, set +edgeways underneath. + +In all things ponderosity is as much as possible avoided, since one of +the essential purposes of the coracle is "portage;" and to facilitate +this it is furnished with a leathern strap, the ends attached near each +extremity of the thwart, to be passed across the breast when the boat is +borne overland. The bearer then uses his oar--there is but one, a +broad-bladed paddle--by way of walking-stick; and so proceeds, as +already said, like a tortoise travelling on its tail! + +In this convenience of carriage lies the ingenuity of the structure-- +unique and clever beyond anything in the way of water-craft I have +observed elsewhere, either among savage or civilised nations. The only +thing approaching it in this respect is the birch bark canoe of the +Esquimaux and the Chippeway Indians. But, though more beautiful this, +it is far behind our native craft in an economic sense--in cheapness and +readiness. For while the Chippewayan would be stripping his bark from +the tree, and re-arming it--to say nought of fitting to the frame +timbers, stitching, and paying it--a subject of King Caradoc would have +launched his coracle upon the Wye, and paddled it from Plinlimmon to +Chepstow; as many a modern Welshman would the same. + +Above all, is the coracle of rare historic interest--as the first +venture upon water of a people--the ancestors of a nation that now rules +the sea--their descendants proudly styling themselves its "Lords"--not +without right and reason. + +Why called "coracle" is a matter of doubt and dispute; by most admitted +as a derivative from the Latin _corum_--a skin; this being its original +covering. But certainly a misconception; since we have historic +evidence of the basket and hide boat being in use around the shores of +Albion hundreds of years before these ever saw Roman ship or standard. +Besides, at the same early period, under the almost homonym of +"corragh," it floated--still floats--on the waters of the Lerne, far +west of anywhere the Romans ever went. Among the common people on the +Wye it bears a less ancient appellation--that of "truckle." + +From whatever source the craft derives its name, it has itself given a +sobriquet to one of the characters of our tale--Richard Dempsey. Why +the poacher is thus distinguished it is not easy to tell; possibly +because he, more than any other in his neighbourhood, makes use of it, +and is often seen trudging about the river bottoms with the huge +carapace on his shoulders. It serves his purpose better than any other +kind of boat, for Dick, though a snarer of hares and pheasants, is more +of a salmon poacher, and for this--the water branch of his amphibious +calling--the coracle has a special adaptation. It can be lifted out of +the river, or launched upon it anywhere, without leaving trace; whereas +with an ordinary skiff the moorings might be marked, the embarkation +observed, and the night netter followed to his netting-place by the +watchful water-bailiff. + +Despite his cunning and the handiness of his craft, Dick has not always +come off scot-free. His name has several times figured in the reports +of Quarter Sessions, and himself in the cells of the county gaol. This +only for poaching; but he has also served a spell in prison for crime of +a less venal kind--burglary. As the "job" was done in a distant shire, +there has been nothing heard of it in that where he now resides. The +worst known of him in the neighbourhood is his game and fish +trespassing, though there is worse suspected. He whose suspicions are +strongest being the waterman, Wingate. + +But Jack may be wronging him, for a certain reason--the most powerful +that ever swayed the passion or warped the judgment of man--rivalry for +the affections of a woman. + +No heart, however hardened, is proof against the shafts of Cupid; and +one has penetrated the heart of Coracle Dick, as deeply as has another +that of Jack Wingate. And both from the same how and quiver--the eyes +of Mary Morgan. + +She is the daughter of a small farmer who lives by the Wyeside; and +being a farmer's daughter, above both in social rank, still not so high +but that Love's ladder may reach her, and each lives in hope he may some +day scale it. For Evan Morgan holds as a tenant, and his land is of +limited acreage. Dick Dempsey and Jack Wingate are not the only ones +who wish to have him for a father-in-law, but the two most earnest, and +whose chances seem best. Not that these are at all equal; on the +contrary, greatly disproportionate, Dick having the advantage. In his +favour is the fact that Farmer Morgan is a Roman Catholic--his wife +fanatically so--he, Dempsey, professing the same faith; while Wingate is +a Protestant of pronounced type. + +Under these circumstances Coracle has a friend at head-quarters, in Mrs +Morgan, and an advocate who visits there, in the person of Father +Rogier. + +With this united influence in his favour, the odds against the young +waterman are great, and his chances might appear slight--indeed would +he, were it not for an influence to counteract. He, too, has a partisan +inside the citadel, and a powerful one; since it is the girl herself. +He knows--is sure of it, as man may be of any truth, communicated to him +by loving lips amidst showers of kisses. For all this has passed +between Mary Morgan and himself. + +And nothing of it between her and Richard Dempsey. Instead, on her +part, coldness and distant reserve. It would be disdain--ay, scorn--if +she dare show it; for she hates the very sight of the man. But, +controlled and close watched, she has learnt to smile when she would +frown. + +The world--or that narrow circle of it immediately surrounding and +acquainted with the Morgan family--wonders at the favourable reception +it vouchsafes to Richard Dempsey--a known and noted poacher. + +But in justice to Mrs Morgan it should be said, she has but slight +acquaintance with the character of the man--only knows it as represented +by Rogier. Absorbed in her paternosters, she gives little heed to ought +else; her thoughts, as her actions, being all of the dictation, and +under the direction, of the priest. In her eyes Coracle Dick is as the +latter has painted him, thus-- + +"A worthy fellow--poor it is true, but honest withal; a little addicted +to fish and game taking, as many another good man. Who wouldn't with +such laws--unrighteous--oppressive to the poor? Were they otherwise, +the poacher would be a patriot. As for Dempsey, they who speak ill of +him are only the envious--envying his good looks, and fine mental +qualities. For he's clever, and they can't say nay--energetic, and +likely to make his way in the world. Yet, one thing he would make-- +that's a good husband to your daughter Mary--one who has the strength +and courage to take care of her." + +So counsels the priest; and as he can make Mrs Morgan believe black +white, she is ready to comply with his counsel. If the result rested on +her, Coracle Dick would have nothing to fear. + +But it does not--he knows it does not--and is troubled. With all the +influence in his favour, he fears that other influence against him--if +against him, far more than a counterpoise to Mrs Morgan's religious +predilections, or the partisanship of his priest. Still he is not sure; +one day the slave of sweet confidence, the next a prey to black bitter +jealousy. And thus he goes on doting and doubting, as if he were never +to know the truth. + +A day comes when he is made acquainted with it, or, rather, a night; for +it is after sundown the revelation reaches him--indeed, nigh on to +midnight. His favoured, yet defeated, aspirations, are more than twelve +months old. They have been active all through the preceding winter, +spring, and summer. It is now autumn; the leaves are beginning to turn +sere, and the last sheaves have been gathered to the stack. + +No shire than that of Hereford more addicted to the joys of the Harvest +Home; this often celebrated in a public and general way, instead of at +the private and particular farm-house. One such is given upon the +summit of Garran Hill--a grand gathering, to which all go of the class +who attend such assemblages--small farmers with their families, their +servants too, male and female. There is a cromlech on the hill's top, +around which they annually congregate, and beside this ancient relic are +set up the symbols of a more modern time--the Maypole--though it is +Autumn--with its strings and garlands; the show booths and the +refreshment tents, with their display of cakes, fruits, perry, and +cider. And there are sports of various kinds, pitching the stone, +climbing the greased pole--that of May now so slippery--jumping, racing +in sacks, dancing--among other dances the Morris--with a grand _finale_ +of fireworks. + +At this year's fete Farmer Morgan is present, accompanied by his wife +and daughter. It need not be said that Dick Dempsey and Jack Wingate +are there too. They are, and have been all the afternoon--ever since +the gathering began. But during the hours of daylight neither +approaches the fair creature to which his thoughts tend, and on which +his eyes are almost constantly turning. The poacher is restrained by a +sense of his own unworthiness--a knowledge that there is not the place +to make show of his aspirations to one all believe so much above him; +while the waterman is kept back and aloof by the presence of the +watchful mother. + +With all her watchfulness he finds opportunity to exchange speech with +the daughter--only a few words, but enough to make hell in the heart of +Dick Dempsey, who overhears them. + +It is at the closing scene of the spectacle, when the pyrotechnists are +about to send up their final _feu de joie_, Mrs Morgan, treated by +numerous acquaintances to aniseed and other toothsome drinks, has grown +less thoughtful of her charge, which gives Jack Wingate the opportunity +he has all along been looking for. Sidling up to the girl, he asks in a +tone which tells of lovers _en rapport_, mutually, unmistakably-- + +"When, Mary?" + +"Saturday night next. The priest's coming to supper. I'll make an +errand to the shop, soon as it gets dark." + +"Where?" + +"The old place under the big elm." + +"You're sure you'll be able?" + +"Sure, never fear, I'll find a way." + +"God bless you, dear girl. I'll be there, if anywhere on earth." + +This is all that passes between them. But enough--more than enough--for +Richard Dempsey. As a rocket, just then going up, throws its glare over +his face, as also the others, no greater contrast could be seen or +imagined. On the countenances of the lovers an expression of +contentment, sweet and serene; on his a look such as Mephistopheles gave +to Gretchen escaping from his toils. + +The curse in Coracle's heart is but hindered from rising to his lips by +a fear of its foiling the vengeance he there and then determines on. + +Volume One, Chapter XVII. + +THE "CORPSE-CANDLE." + +Jack Wingate lives in a little cottage whose bit of garden ground +"brinks" the country road where the latter trends close to the Wye at +one of its sharpest sinuosities. The cottage is on the convex side of +the bend, having the river at back, with a deep drain, or wash, running +up almost to its walls, and forming a fence to one side of the garden. +This gives the waterman another and more needed advantage--a convenient +docking place for his boat. There the _Mary_, moored, swings to her +painter in safety; and when a rise in the river threatens he is at hand +to see she be not swept off. To guard against such catastrophe he will +start up from his bed at any hour of the night, having more than one +reason to be careful of the boat; for, besides being his _gagne-pain_, +it hears the name, by himself given, of her the thought of whom sweetens +his toil and makes his labour light. For her he bends industriously to +his oar, as though he believed every stroke made and every boat's length +gained was bringing him nearer to Mary Morgan. And in a sense so is it, +whichever way the boat's head may be turned; the farther he rows her the +grander grows that heap of gold he is hoarding up against the day when +he hopes to become a Benedict. He has a belief that if he could but +display before the eyes of Farmer Morgan sufficient money to take a +little farm for himself and stock it, he might then remove all obstacles +between him and Mary--mother's objections and sinister and sacerdotal +influence included. + +He is aware of the difference of rank--that social chasm between--being +oft bitterly reminded of it; but, emboldened by Mary's smiles, he has +little fear but that he will yet be able to bridge it. + +Favouring the programme thus traced out, there is, fortunately, no great +strain on his resources by way of drawback; only the maintaining of his +own mother, a frugal dame--thrifty besides--who, instead of adding to +the current expenses, rather curtails them by the adroit handling of her +needle. It would have been a distaff in the olden days. + +Thus helped in his housekeeping, the young waterman is enabled to put +away almost every shilling he earns by his oar, and this same summer all +through till autumn, which it now is, has been more than usually +profitable to him, by reason of his so often having Captain Ryecroft as +his fare; for although the Hussar officer no longer goes salmon +fishing--he has somehow been spoilt for that--there are other excursions +upon which he requires the boat, and as ever generously, even lavishly, +pays for it. + +From one of these the young waterman has but returned; and, after +carefully bestowing the _Mary_ at her moorings, stepped inside the +cottage. It is Saturday--within one hour of sundown--that same Saturday +spoken of "at the Harvest Home." But though Jack is just home, he shows +no sign of an intention to stay there; instead, behaves as if he +intended going out again, though not in his boat. + +And he does so intend, for a purpose unsuspected by his mother, to keep +that appointment, made hurriedly, and in a half whisper, amid the fracas +of the fireworks. + +The good dame had already set the table for tea, ready against his +arrival, covered it with a cloth, snow-white of course. The tea-things +superimposed, in addition a dining plate, knife and fork, these for a +succulent beefsteak heard hissing on the gridiron almost as soon as the +_Mary_ made appearance at the mouth of the wash, and, soon as the boat +was docked, done. It is now on the table, alongside the teapot; its +savoury odour mingling with the fragrance of the freshly "drawn" tea, +fills the cottage kitchen with a perfume to delight the gods. + +For all, it gives no gratification to Jack Wingate the waterman. The +appetising smell of the meat, and the more ethereal aroma of the Chinese +shrub, are alike lost upon him. Appetite he has none, and his thoughts +are elsewhere. + +Less from observing his abstraction, than the slow, negligent movements +of his knife and fork, the mother asks-- + +"What's the matter with ye, Jack? Ye don't eat!" + +"I ain't hungry, mother." + +"But ye been out since mornin', and tooked nothing wi' you!" + +"True; but you forget who I ha' been out with. The captain ain't the +man to let his boatman be a hungered. We war down the day far as +Symond's yat, where he treated me to dinner at the hotel. The daintiest +kind o' dinner, too. No wonder at my not havin' much care for eatin' +now--nice as you've made things, mother." + +Notwithstanding the compliment, the old lady is little satisfied--less +as she observes the continued abstraction of his manner. He fidgets +uneasily in his chair, every now and then giving a glance at the little +Dutch clock suspended against the wall, which in loud ticking seems to +say, "You'll be late--you'll be late." She suspects something of the +cause, but inquires nothing of it. Instead, she but observes, speaking +of the patron:--"He be very good to ye, Jack." + +"Ah! that he be; good to every one as comes nigh o' him--and 's +desarvin' it." + +"But ain't he stayin' in the neighbourhood longer than he first spoke of +doin'?" + +"Maybe he is. Grand gentry such as he ain't like us poor folk. They +can go and come whens'ever it please 'em. I suppose he have his reasons +for remaining." + +"Now, Jack, you know he have, an' I've heerd something about 'em +myself." + +"What have you heard, mother?" + +"Oh, what! Ye han't been a rowin' him up and down the river now nigh on +five months without findin' out. An' if you haven't, others have. It's +goin' all about that he's after a young lady as lives somewhere below. +Tidy girl, they say, tho' I never seed her myself. Is it so, my son? +Say!" + +"Well, mother, since you've put it straight at me in that way, I won't +deny it to you, tho' I'm in a manner bound to saycrecy wi' others. It +be true that the Captain have some notion o' such a lady." + +"There be a story, too, o' her bein' nigh drownded an' his saving her +out o' a boat. Now, Jack, whose boat could that be if it wa'nt your'n?" + +"'Twor mine, mother; that's true enough. I would a told you long ago, +but he asked me not to talk o' the thing. Besides, I didn't suppose +you'd care to hear about it." + +"Well," she says, satisfied, "'tan't much to me, nor you neyther, Jack; +only as the Captain being so kind, we'd both like to know the best about +him. If he have took a fancy for the young lady, I hope she return it. +She ought after his doin' what he did for her. I han't heerd her name; +what be it?" + +"She's a Miss Wynn, mother. A very rich heiress. 'Deed I b'lieve she +ain't a heiress any longer, or won't be, after next Thursday, sin' that +day she comes o' age. An' that night there's to be a big party at her +place, dancin' an' all sorts o' festivities. I know it because the +Captain's goin' there, an' has bespoke the boat to take him." + +"Wynn, eh? That be a Welsh name. Wonder if she's any kin o' the great +Sir Watkin." + +"Can't say, mother. I believe there be several branches o' the Wynn +family." + +"Yes, and all o' the good sort. If she be one o' the Welsh Wynns, the +Captain can't go far astray in having her for his wife." + +Mrs Wingate is herself of Cymric ancestry, originally from the shire of +Pembroke, but married to a man of Montgomery, where Jack was born. It +is only of late, in her widowhood, she has become a resident of +Herefordshire. + +"So you think he have a notion o' her, Jack?" + +"More'n that, mother. I may as well tell ye; he be dead in love wi' +her. An' if you seed the young lady herself, ye wouldn't wonder at it. +She be most as good-looking as--" + +Jack suddenly interrupted himself on the edge of a revelation he would +rather not make, to his mother nor any one else. For he has hitherto +been as careful in keeping his own secret as that of his patron. + +"As who?" she asks, looking him straight in the face, and with an +expression in her eyes of no common interest--that of maternal +solicitude. + +"Who?--well--" he answers confusedly; "I wor goin' to mention the name +o' a girl who the people 'bout here think the best-lookin' o' any in the +neighbourhood--" + +"An' nobody more'n yourself, my son. You needn't gi'e her name. I know +it." + +"Oh, mother! what d'ye mean?" he stammers out, with eyes on the but +half-eaten beefsteak. "I take it they've been tellin' ye some stories +'bout me." + +"No, they han't. Nobody's sayed a word about ye relatin' to that. I've +seed it for myself, long since, though you've tried hide it. I'm not +goin' to blame ye eyther, for I believe she be a tidy proper girl. But +she's far aboon you, my son; and ye maun mind how you behave yourself. +If the young lady be anythin' like's good-lookin' as Mary Morgan--" + +"Yes, mother! that's the strangest thing o' all--" + +He interrupts her, speaking excitedly; again interrupting himself. + +"What's strangest?" she inquires with a look of wonderment. + +"Never mind, mother! I'll tell you all about it some other time. I +can't now; you see it's nigh nine o' the clock." + +"Well; an' what if't be?" + +"Because I may be too late." + +"Too late for what? Surely you arn't goin' out again the night?" She +asks this, seeing him rise up from his chair. + +"I must, mother." + +"But why?" + +"Well, the boat's painter's got frailed, and I want a bit o' whipcord to +lap it with. They have the thing at the Ferry shop, and I must get +there afores they shut up." + +A fib, perhaps pardonable, as the thing he designs lapping is not his +boat's painter, but the waist of Mary Morgan, and not with slender +whipcord, but his own stout arms. + +"Why won't it do in the mornin'?" asks the ill-satisfied mother. + +"Well, ye see, there's no knowin' but that somebody may come after the +boat. The Captain mayent, but he may, changin' his mind. Anyhow, he'll +want her to go down to them grand doin's at Llangowen Court?" + +"Llangowen Court?" + +"Yes; that's where the young lady lives." + +"That's to be on Thursday, ye sayed?" + +"True; but, then, there may come a fare the morrow, an' what if there +do? 'Tain't the painter only as wants splicin', there's a bit o' a leak +sprung close to the cutwater, an' I must hae some pitch to pay it." + +If Jack's mother would only step out, and down to the ditch where the +_Mary_ is moored, with a look at the boat, she would make him out a +liar. Its painter is smooth and clean as a piece of gimp, not a strand +unravelled--while but two or three gallons of bilge water at the boat's +bottom attest to there being little or no leakage. + +But she, good dame, is not thus suspicious, instead so reliant on her +son's truthfulness, that, without questioning further, she consents to +his going, only with a proviso against his staying, thus appealingly +put--"Ye won't be gone long, my son! I know ye won't!" + +"Indeed I shan't, mother. But why be you so partic'lar about my goin' +out--this night more'n any other?" + +"Because, Jack, this day, more'n most others, I've been feelin' bothered +like, and a bit frightened." + +"Frightened o' what? There han't been nobody to the house--has there?" + +"No; ne'er a rover since you left me in the mornin'." + +"Then what's been a scarin' ye, mother?" + +"'Deed, I don't know, unless it ha' been brought on by the dream I had +last night. 'Twer' a dreadful unpleasant one. I didn't tell you o' it +'fore ye went out, thinkin' it might worry ye." + +"Tell me now, mother." + +"It hadn't nought to do wi' us ourselves, after all. Only concernin' +them as live nearest us." + +"Ha! the Morgans?" + +"Yes; the Morgans." + +"Oh, mother, what did you dream about them?" + +"That I wor standin' on the big hill above their house, in the middle o' +the night, wi' black darkness all round me; and there lookin' down what +should I see comin' out o' their door?" + +"What?" + +"The canwyll corph!" + +"The canwyll corph?" + +"Yes, my son; I seed it--that is I dreamed I seed it--coming just out o' +the farm-house door, then through the yard, and over the foot-plank at +the bottom o' the orchard, when it went flarin' up the meadows straight +towards the ferry. Though ye can't see that from the hill, I dreamed I +did; an' seed the candle go on to the chapel an' into the buryin' +ground. That woked me." + +"What nonsense, mother! A ridiklous superstition! I thought you'd left +all that sort o' stuff behind, in the mountains o' Montgomery, or +Pembrokeshire, where the thing comes from, as I've heerd you say." + +"No, my son; it's not stuff, nor superstition neyther; though English +people say that to put slur upon us Welsh. Your father before ye +believed in the _Canwyll Corph_, and wi' more reason ought I, your +mother. I never told you, Jack, but the night before your father died I +seed it go past our own door, and on to the graveyard o' the church +where he now lies. Sure as we stand here there be some one doomed in +the house o' Evan Morgan. There be only three in the family. I do hope +it an't her as ye might some day be wantin' me to call daughter." + +"Mother! You'll drive me mad! I tell ye it's all nonsense. Mary +Morgan be at this moment healthy and strong--most as much as myself. If +the dead candle ye've been dreamin' about we're all o' it true, it +couldn't be a burnin' for her. More like for Mrs Morgan, who's half +daft by believing in church candles and such things--enough to turn her +crazy, if it doesn't kill her outright. As for you, my dear mother, +don't let the dream bother you the least bit. An' ye mustn't be feeling +lonely, as I shan't be long gone. I'll be back by ten sure." + +Saying which, he sets his straw hat jauntily on his thick curly hair, +gives his guernsey a straightening twitch, and, with a last cheering +look and encouraging word to his mother, steps out into the night. + +Left alone, she feels lonely withal, and more than ever afraid. Instead +of sitting down to her needle, or making to remove the tea-things, she +goes to the door, and there stays, standing on its threshold and peering +into the darkness--for it is a pitch dark night--she sees, or fancies, a +light moving across the meadows, as if it came from Farmer Morgan's +house, and going in the direction of Rugg's Ferry. While she continues +gazing, it twice crosses the Wye, by reason of the river's bend. + +As no mortal hand could thus carry it, surely it is the _canwyll corph_! + +Volume One, Chapter XVIII. + +A CAT IN THE CUPBOARD. + +Evan Morgan is a tenant-farmer, holding Abergann. By Herefordshire +custom, every farm or its stead, has a distinctive appellation. Like +the land belonging to Glyngog, that of Abergann lies against the sides +of a sloping glen--one of the hundreds or thousands of lateral ravines +that run into the valley of the Wye. But, unlike the old manor-house, +the domicile of the farmer is at the glen's bottom and near the river's +bank; nearer yet to a small influent stream, rapid and brawling, which +sweeps past the lower end of the orchard in a channel worn deep into the +soft sandstone. + +Though with the usual imposing array of enclosure walls, the dwelling +itself is not large nor the outbuildings extensive; for the arable +acreage is limited. This because the ridges around are too high pitched +for ploughing, and if ploughed would be unproductive. They are not even +in pasture, but overgrown with woods; less for the sake of the timber, +which is only scrub, than as a covert for foxes. They are held in hand +by Evan Morgan's landlord--a noted Nimrod. + +For the same reason the farm-house stands in a solitary spot, remote +from any other dwelling. The nearest is the cottage of the Wingates-- +distant about half a mile, but neither visible from the other. Nor is +there any direct road between, only a footpath, which crosses the brook +at the bottom of the orchard, thence running over a wooded ridge to the +main highway. The last, after passing close to the cottage, as already +said, is deflected away from the river by this same ridge, so that when +Evan Morgan would drive anywhere beyond the boundaries of his farm, he +must pass out through a long lane, so narrow that were he to meet any +one driving in, there would be a deadlock. However, there is no danger; +as the only vehicles having occasion to use this thoroughfare are his +own farm waggon and a lighter `trap' in which he goes to market, and +occasionally with his wife and daughter to merry-makings. + +When the three are in it there is none of his family at home. For he +has but one child--a daughter. Nor would he long have her were a +half-score of young fellows allowed their way. At least this number +would be willing to take her off his hands and give her a home +elsewhere. Remote as is the farm-house of Abergann, and narrow the lane +leading to it, there are many who would be glad to visit there, if +invited. + +In truth a fine girl is Mary Morgan, tall, bright haired, and with +blooming cheeks, beside which red rose leaves would seem _fade_. Living +in a town she would be its talk; in a village its belle. Even from that +secluded glen has the fame of her beauty gone forth and afar. Of +husbands she could have her choice, and among men much richer than her +father. + +In her heart she has chosen one, not only much poorer, but lower in +social rank--Jack Wingate. She loves the young waterman, and wants to +be his wife; but knows she cannot without the consent of her parents. +Not that either has signified opposition, since they have never been +asked. Her longings in that direction she has kept secret from them. +Nor does she so much dread refusal by the father. Evan Morgan had been +himself poor--began life as a farm labourer--and, though now an employer +of such, his pride had not kept pace with his prosperity. Instead, he +is, as ever, the same modest, unpresuming man, of which the lower middle +classes of the English people present many noble examples. From him +Jack Wingate would have little to fear on the score of poverty. He is +well acquainted with the young waterman's character, knows it to be +good, and has observed the efforts he is making to better his condition +in life; it may be with suspicion of the motive, at all events, +admiringly--remembering his own. And although a Roman Catholic, he is +anything but bigoted. Were he the only one to be consulted his daughter +might wed with the man upon whom she has fixed her affections, at any +time it pleases them--ay, at any place, too, even within the walls of a +Protestant Church! By him neither would Jack Wingate be rejected on the +score of religion. + +Very different with his wife. Of all the worshippers who compose the +congregation at the Bugg's Ferry Chapel none bend the knee to Baal as +low as she; and over no one does Father Rogier exercise such influence. +Baneful it is like to be; since not only has he control of the mother's +conduct, but through that may also blight the happiness of the daughter. + +Apart from religious fanaticism, Mrs Morgan is not a bad woman--only a +weak one. As her husband, she is of humble birth, and small beginnings; +like him, too, neither has prosperity affected her in the sense of +worldly ambition. Perhaps better if it had. Instead of spoiling, a +little social pride might have been a bar to the dangerous aspirations +of Richard Dempsey--even with the priest standing sponsor for him. But +she has none, her whole soul being absorbed by blind devotion to a faith +which scruples not at anything that may assist in its propagandism. + +It is the Saturday succeeding the festival of the Harvest Home, a little +after sunset, and the priest is expected at Abergann. He is a frequent +visitor there; by Mrs Morgan ever made welcome, and treated to the best +cheer the farm-house can afford; plate, knife, and fork always placed +for him. And, to do him justice, he may be deemed in a way worthy of +such hospitality; for he is, in truth, a most entertaining personage; +can converse on any subject, and suit his conversation to the company, +whether high or low. As much at home with the wife of the Welsh farmer +as with the French _ex-cocotte_, and equally so in the companionship of +Dick Dempsey, the poacher. In his hours of _far niente_ all are alike +to him. + +This night he is to take supper at Abergann, and Mrs Morgan, seated in +the farm house parlour, awaits his arrival. A snug little apartment, +tastefully furnished, but with a certain air of austerity, observable in +Roman Catholic houses: this by reason of some pictures of saints hanging +against the walls, an image of the Virgin and, standing niche-like in a +corner, one of the Crucifixion over the mantelshelf, with crosses upon +books, and other like symbols. + +It is near nine o'clock, and the table is already set out. On grand +occasions, as this, the farm-house parlour is transformed into dining or +supper room, indifferently. The meal intended to be eaten now is more +of the former, differing in there being a tea-tray upon the table, with +a full service of cups and saucers, as also in the lateness of the hour. +But the odoriferous steam escaping from the kitchen, drifted into the +parlour when its door is opened, tells of something in preparation more +substantial than a cup of tea, with its usual accompaniment of bread and +butter. And there is a fat capon roasting upon the spit, with a +frying-pan full of sausages on the dresser, ready to be clapped upon the +fire at the proper moment--as soon as the expected guest makes his +appearance. + +And in addition to the tea-things, there is a decanter of sherry on the +table, and will be another of brandy when brought on--Father Rogier's +favourite tipple, as Mrs Morgan has reason to know. There is a full +bottle of this--Cognac of best brand--in the larder cupboard, still +corked as it came from the "Welsh Harp," where it cost six shillings-- +The Rugg's Ferry hostelry, as already intimated, dealing in drinks of a +rather costly kind. Mary has been directed to draw the cork, decant, +and bring the brandy in, and for this purpose has just gone off to the +larder. Thence instantly returning, but without either decanter or +Cognac! Instead with a tale which sends a thrill of consternation +through her mother's heart. The cat has been in the cupboard, and there +made havoc--upset the brandy bottle, and sent it rolling off the shelf +on the stone flags of the floor! Broken, of course, and the contents-- + +No need for further explanation, Mrs Morgan does not seek it. Nor does +she stay to reflect on the disaster, but how it may be remedied. It +will not mend matters to chastise the cat, nor cry over the spilt +brandy, any more than if it were milk. + +On short reflection she sees but one way to restore the broken bottle-- +by sending to the "Welsh Harp" for a whole one. + +True, it will cost another six shillings, but she recks not of the +expense. She is more troubled about a messenger. Where, and how, is +one to be had? The farm labourers have long since left. They are all +Benedicts, on board wages, and have departed for their respective wives +and homes. There is a cow-boy, yet he is also absent; gone to fetch the +kine from a far-off pasturing place, and not be back in time; while the +one female domestic maid-of-all-work is busy in the kitchen, up to her +ears among pots and pans, her face at a red heat over the range. She +could not possibly be spared. "It's very vexatious!" exclaims Mrs +Morgan, in a state of lively perplexity. + +"It is, indeed!" assents her daughter. + +A truthful girl, Mary, in the main; but just now the opposite. For she +is not vexed by the occurrence, nor does she deem it a disaster, quite +the contrary. And she knows it was no accident, having herself brought +it about. It was her own soft fingers, not the cat's claws, that swept +that bottle from the shelf, sending it smash upon the stones! Tipped +over by no _maladroit_ handling of corkscrew, but downright deliberate +intention! A stratagem that may enable her to keep the appointment made +among the fireworks--that threat when she told Jack Wingate she would +"find away." + +Thus is she finding it; and in furtherance she leaves her mother no time +to consider longer about a messenger. + +"I'll go!" she says, offering herself as one. + +The deceit unsuspected, and only the willingness appreciated, Mrs +Morgan rejoins: + +"Do! that's a dear girl! It's very good of you, Mary. Here's the +money." + +While the delighted mother is counting out the shillings, the dutiful +daughter whips on her cloak--the night is chilly--and adjusts her hat, +the best holiday one, on her head; all the time thinking to herself how +cleverly she has done the trick. And with a smile of pardonable +deception upon her face, she trips lightly across the threshold, and on +through the little flower garden in front. + +Outside the gate, at an angle of the enclosure wall, she stops, and +stands considering. There are two ways to the Ferry, here forking--the +long lane and the shorter footpath. Which is she to take? The path +leads down along the side of the orchard; and across the brook by the +bridge--only a single plank. This spanning the stream, and originally +fixed to the rock at both ends, has of late come loose, and is not safe +to be traversed, even by day. At night it is dangerous--still more on +one dark as this. And danger of no common kind at any time. The +channel through which the streams runs is twenty feet deep, with rough +boulders in its bed. One falling from above would at least get broken +bones. No fear of that to-night, but something as bad, if not worse. +For it has been raining throughout the earlier hours of the day, and +there in the brook, now a raging torrent. One dropping into it would be +swept on to the river, and there surely drowned, if not before. + +It is no dread of any of these dangers which causes Mary Morgan to stand +considering which route she will take. She has stepped that plank on +nights dark as this, even since it became detached from the fastenings, +and is well acquainted with its ways. Were there nought else, she would +go straight over it, and along the footpath, which passes the `big elm.' +But it is just because it passes the elm she has now paused and is +pondering. Her errand calls for haste, and there she would meet a man +sure to delay her. She intends meeting him for all that, and being +delayed; but not till on her way back. Considering the darkness and +obstructions on the footwalk she may go quicker by the road though +roundabout. Returning she can take the path. + +This thought in her mind, with, perhaps, remembrance of the adage, +`business before pleasure,' decides her; and drawing closer her cloak, +she sets off along the lane. + +Volume One, Chapter XIX. + +A BLACK SHADOW BEHIND. + +In the shire of Hereford there is no such thing as a village--properly +so called. The tourist expecting to come upon one, by the black dot on +his guide-book map, will fail to find it. Indeed, he will see only a +church with a congregation, not the typical cluster of houses around. +But no street, nor rows of cottages, in their midst--the orthodox patch +of trodden turf--the "green." Nothing of all that. + +Unsatisfied, and inquiring the whereabouts of the village itself, he +will get answers, only farther confusing him. One will say "here be +it," pointing to no place in particular; a second, "thear," with his eye +upon the church; a third, "over yonner," nodding to a shop of +miscellaneous wares, also intrusted with the receiving and distributing +of letters; while a fourth, whose ideas run on drink, looks to a house +larger than the rest, having a square pictorial signboard, with red lion +_rampant_, fox _passant_, horse's head, or such like symbol--proclaiming +it an inn, or public. + +Not far from, or contiguous to, the church, will be a dwelling-house of +special pretension, having a carriage entrance, sweep, and shrubbery of +well-grown evergreens--the rectory, or vicarage; at greater distance, +two or three cottages of superior class, by their owners styled +"villas," in one of which dwells the doctor, a young Esculapius, just +beginning practice, or an old one who has never had much; in another, +the relict of a successful shopkeeper left with an "independence;" while +a third will be occupied by a retired military man--"captain," of +course, whatever may have been his rank--possibly a naval officer, or an +old salt of the merchant service. In their proper places stand the +carpenters shop and smithy, with their array of reapers, rollers, +ploughs, and harrows seeking repair; among them perhaps a huge +steam-threshing machine, that has burst its boiler, or received other +damage. Then there are the houses of the _hoi polloi_, mostly labouring +men--their little cottages wide apart, or in twos and threes together, +with no resemblance to the formality of town dwellings, but quaint in +structure, ivy-clad or honeysuckled, looking and smelling of the +country. Farther along the road is an ancient farmstead, its big barns, +and other outbuildings, abutting on the highway, which for some distance +is strewn with a litter of rotting straw; by its side a muddy pond with +ducks and a half-dozen geese, the gander giving tongue as the tourist +passes by; if a pedestrian with knapsack on his shoulders the dog +barking at him, in the belief he is a tramp or beggar. Such is the +Herefordshire village, of which many like may be met along Wyeside. + +The collection of houses known as Rugg's Ferry is in some respects +different. It does not lie on any of the main county thoroughfares, but +a cross-country road connecting the two, that lead along the hounding +ridges of the river. That passing through it is but little frequented, +as the ferry itself is only for foot passengers, though there is a horse +boat which can be had when called for. But the place is in a deep +crater-like hollow, where the stream courses between cliffs of the old +red sandstone, and can only be approached by the steepest "pitches." + +Nevertheless, Rugg's Ferry has its mark upon the Ordnance map, though +not with the little crosslet denoting a church. It could boast of no +place of worship whatever till Father Rogier laid the foundation of his +chapel. + +For all, it has once been a brisk place in its days of glory; ere the +railroad destroyed the river traffic, and the bargees made it a stopping +port, as often the scene of rude, noisy revelry. + +It is quieter now, and the tourist passing through might deem it almost +deserted. He will see houses of varied construction--thirty or forty of +them in all--clinging against the cliff in successive terraces, reached +by long rows of steps carved out of the rock; cottages picturesque as +Swiss _chalets_, with little gardens on ledges, here and there one +trellised with grape vines or other climbers, and a round cone-topped +cage of wicker holding captive a jackdaw, magpie, or it may be parrot or +starling taught to speak. + +Viewing these symbols of innocence, the stranger will imagine himself to +have lighted upon a sort of English Arcadia--a fancy soon to be +dissipated perhaps by the parrot or starling saluting him with the +exclamatory phrases, `God-damn-ye! go to the devil!--go to the devil!' +And while he is pondering on what sort of personage could have +instructed the creature in such profanity, he will likely enough see the +instructor himself peering out through a partially opened door, his face +in startling correspondence with the blasphemous exclamations of the +bird. For there are other birds resident at Rugg's Ferry besides those +in the cages--several who have themselves been caged in the county gaol. +The slightly altered name bestowed upon the place by Jack Wingate, as +others, is not so inappropriate. + +It may seem strange such characters congregating in a spot so primitive +and rural, so unlike their customary haunts; incongruous as the ex-belle +of Mabille in her high-heeled _bottines_ inhabiting the ancient +manor-house of Glyngog. + +But more of an enigma--indeed, a moral, or psychological puzzle; since +one would suppose it the very last place to find them in. And yet the +explanation may partly lie in moral and psychological causes. Even the +most hardened rogue has his spells of sentiment, during which he takes +delight in rusticity; and as the "Ferry" has long enjoyed the reputation +of being a place of abode for him and his sort, he is there sure of +meeting company congenial. Or the scent after him may have become too +hot in the town, or city, where he has been displaying his dexterity; +while here the policeman is not a power. The one constable of the +district station dislikes taking, and rather steals through it on his +rounds. + +Notwithstanding all this, there are some respectable people among its +denizens, and many visitors who are gentlemen. Its quaint +picturesqueness attracts the tourist; while a stretch of excellent +angling ground, above and below, makes it a favourite with amateur +fishermen. + +Centrally on a platform of level ground, a little back from the river's +bank, stands a large three-storey house--the village inn--with a swing +sign in front, upon which is painted what resembles a triangular +gridiron, though designed to represent a harp. From this the hostelry +has its name--the "Welsh Harp!" But however rough the limning, and +weather-blanched the board--however ancient the building itself--in its +business there are no indications of decay, and it still does a thriving +trade. Guests of the excursionist kind occasionally dine there; while +in the angling season, _piscator_ stays at it all through spring and +summer; and if a keen disciple of Izaak, or an ardent admirer of the Wye +scenery, often prolonging his sojourn into late autumn. Besides, from +towns not too distant, the sporting tradesmen and fast clerks, after +early closing on Saturdays, come hither, and remain over till Monday, +for the first train catchable at a station some two miles off. + +The "Welsh Harp" can provide beds for all, and sitting rooms besides. +For it is a roomy _caravanserai_, and if a little rough in its culinary +arrangements, has a cellar unexceptionable. Among those who taste its +tap are many who know good wine from bad, with others who only judge of +the quality by the price; and in accordance with this criterion the +Boniface of the "Harp" can give them the very best. + +It is a Saturday night, and two of those last described connoisseurs, +lately arrived at the Wyeside hostelry, are standing before its bar +counter, drinking rhubarb sap, which they facetiously call "fizz," and +believe to be champagne. As it costs them ten shillings the bottle they +are justified in their belief; and quite as well will it serve their +purpose. They are young drapers' assistants from a large manufacturing +town, out for their hebdomadal holiday, which they have elected to spend +in an excursion to the Wye, and a frolic at Rugg's Ferry. + +They have had an afternoon's boating on the river; and, now returned to +the "Harp"--their place of put-up--are flush of talk over their +adventures, quaffing the sham "shammy," and smoking "regalias," not +anything more genuine. + +While thus indulging they are startled by the apparition of what seems +an angel, but what they know to be a thing of flesh and blood--something +that pleases them better--a beautiful woman. More correctly speaking a +girl; since it is Mary Morgan who has stepped inside the room set apart +for the distributing of drink. + +Taking the cigars from between their teeth--and leaving the rhubarb +juice, just poured into their glasses, to discharge its pent-up gas-- +they stand staring at the girl, with an impertinence rather due to the +drink than any innate rudeness. They are harmless fellows in their way; +would be quiet enough behind their own counters; though fast before that +of the "Welsh Harp," and foolish with such a face as that of Mary Morgan +beside them. + +She gives them scant time to gaze on it. Her business is simple, and +speedily transacted. + +"A bottle of your best brandy--the French cognac?" As she makes the +demand, placing ten shillings, the price understood, upon the +lead-covered counter. + +The barmaid, a practised hand, quickly takes the article called for from +a shelf behind, and passes it across the counter, and with like +alertness counting the shillings laid upon it, and sweeping them into +the till. + +It is all over in a few seconds' time; and with equal celerity Mary +Morgan, slipping the purchased commodity into her cloak, glides out of +the room--vision-like as she entered it. + +"Who is that young lady?" asks one of the champagne drinkers, +interrogating the barmaid. + +"Young lady!" tartly returns the latter, with a flourish of her heavily +chignoned head, "only a farmer's daughter." + +"Aw!" exclaims the second tippler, in drawling imitation of Swelldom, +"only the offspring of a chaw-bacon! she's a monstrously crummy creetya, +anyhow." + +"Devilish nice gal!" affirms the other, no longer addressing himself to +the barmaid, who has scornfully shown them the back of her head, with +its tower of twisted jute. "Devilish nice gal, indeed! Never saw +spicier stand before a counter. What a dainty little fish for a +farmer's daughter! Say, Charley! wouldn't you like to be sellin' her a +pair of kids--Jouvin's best--helpin' her draw them on, eh?" + +"By Jove, yes! That would I." + +"Perhaps you'd prefer it being boots? What a stepper she is, too! +S'pose we slide after, and see where she hangs out?" + +"Capital idea! Suppose we do?" + +"All right, old fellow! I'm ready with the yard stick--roll off!" + +And without further exchange of their professional phraseology, they +rush out, leaving their glasses half full of the effervescing beverage-- +rapidly on the spoil. + +They have sallied forth to meet disappointment. The night is black as +Erebus, and the girl gone out of sight. Nor can they tell which way she +has taken; and to inquire might get them "guyed," if not worse. +Besides, they see no one of whom inquiry could be made. A dark shadow +passes them, apparently the figure of a man; but so dimly descried, and +going in such rapid gait, they refrain from hailing him. + +Not likely they will see more of the "monstrously crummy creetya" that +night--they may on the morrow somewhere--perhaps at the little chapel +close by. + +Registering a mental vow to do their devotions there, and recalling the +bottle of fizz left uncorked on the counter they return to finish it. + +And they drain it dry, gulping down several goes of B-and-S, besides, +ere ceasing to think of the "devilish nice gal," on whose dainty little +fist they would so like fitting kid gloves. + +Meanwhile, she, who has so much interested the dry goods gentlemen, is +making her way along the road which leads past the Widow Wingate's +cottage, going at a rapid pace, but not continuously. At intervals she +makes stops, and stands listening--her glances sent interrogatively to +the front. She acts as one expecting to hear footsteps, or a voice in +friendly salutation--and see him saluting, for it is a man. + +Footsteps are there besides her own, but not heard by her, nor in the +direction she is hoping to hear them. Instead, they are behind, and +light, though made by a heavy man. For he is treading gingerly as if on +eggs--evidently desirous not to make known his proximity. Near he is, +and were the light only a little clearer she would surely see him. +Favoured by its darkness he can follow close, aided also by the +shadowing trees, and still further from her attention being all given to +the ground in advance, with thoughts preoccupied. + +But closely he follows her, but never coming up. When she stops he does +the same, moving on again as she moves forward. And so for several +pauses, with spells of brisk walking between. + +Opposite the Wingates' cottage she tarries longer than elsewhere. There +was a woman standing in the door, who, however, does not observe her-- +cannot--a hedge of holly between. Cautiously parting its spinous leaves +and peering through, the young girl takes a survey, not of the woman, +whom she well knows, but of a window--the only one in which there is a +light. And less the window than the walls inside. On her way to the +Ferry she had stopped to do the same; then seeing shadows--two of them-- +one a woman's, the other of a man. The woman is there in the door--Mrs +Wingate herself; the man, her son, must be elsewhere. + +"Under the elm, by this," says Mary Morgan, in soliloquy. "I'll find +him there,"--she adds, silently gliding past the gate. + +"Under the elm," mutters the man who follows, adding, "I'll kill her +there--ay, both!" + +Two hundred yards further on, and she reaches the place where the +footpath debouches upon the road. There is a stile of the usual rough +crossbar pattern, proclaiming a right of way. + +She stops only to see there is no one sitting upon it--for there might +have been--then leaping lightly over, she proceeds along the path. + +The shadow behind does the same, as though it were a spectre pursuing. + +And now, in the deeper darkness of the narrow way, arcaded over by a +thick canopy of leaves, he goes closer and closer, almost to touching. +Were a light at this moment let upon his face, it would reveal features +set in an expression worthy of hell itself; and cast farther down, would +show a hand closed upon the haft of a long-bladed knife--nervously +clutching--every now and then half drawing it from its sheath, as if to +plunge its blade into the back of her who is now scarce six steps ahead! + +And with this dread danger threatening--so close--Mary Morgan proceeds +along the forest path, unsuspectingly: joyfully, as she thinks of who is +before, with no thought of that behind--no one to cry out, or even +whisper, the word: "Beware!" + +Volume One, Chapter XX. + +UNDER THE ELM. + +In more ways than one has Jack Wingate thrown dust in his mother's eyes. +His going to the Ferry after a piece of whipcord and a bit of pitch was +fib the first; the second his not going there at all--for he has not. +Instead, in the very opposite direction; soon as reaching the road, +having turned his face towards Abergann, though his objective point is +but the "big elm." Once outside the gate he glides along the holly +hedge crouchingly, and with head ducked, so that it may not be seen by +the good dame, who has followed him to the door. + +The darkness favouring him, it is not; and congratulating himself at +getting off thus deftly, he continues rapidly up the road. + +Arrived at the stile, he makes stop, saying in soliloquy:-- + +"I take it she be sure to come; but I'd gi'e something to know which o' +the two ways. Bein' so darkish, an' that plank a bit dangerous to +cross, I ha' heard--'tan't often I cross it--just possible she may +choose the roundabout o' the road. Still, she sayed the big elm, an' to +get there she'll have to take the path comin' or goin' back. If I +thought comin' I'd steer straight there an' meet her. But s'posin' she +prefers the road, that 'ud make it longer to wait. Wonder which it's to +be." + +With hand rested on the top rail of the stile, he stands considering. +Since their stolen interchange of speech at the Harvest Home, Mary has +managed to send him word she will make an errand to Rugg's Ferry; hence +his uncertainty. Soon again he resumes his conjectured soliloquy:-- + +"'Tan't possible she ha' been to the Ferry, an' goed back again? God +help me, I hope not! An' yet there's just a chance. I weesh the +Captain hadn't kep' me so long down there. An' the fresh from the rain +that delayed us nigh half a hour, I oughtn't to a stayed a minute after +gettin' home. But mother cookin' that nice bit o' steak; if I hadn't +ate it she'd a been angry, and for certain suspected somethin'. Then +listenin' to all that dismal stuff 'bout the corpse-candle. An' they +believe it in the shire o' Pembroke! Rot the thing! Tho' I an't myself +noways superstishus, it gi'ed me the creeps. Queer, her dreamin' she +seed it go out o' Abergann! I do weesh she hadn't told me that; an' I +mustn't say word o't to Mary. Tho' she ain't o' the fearsome kind, a +thing like that's enough to frighten anyone. Well, what 'd I best do? +If she ha' been to the Ferry an's goed home again, then I've missed her, +and no mistake! Still, she said she'd be at the elim, an's never broke +her promise to me when she cud keep it. A man ought to take a woman at +her word--a true woman--an' not be too quick to anticipate. Besides, +the surer way's the safer. She appointed the old place, an' there I'll +abide her. But what am I thinkin' o'? She may be there now, a waitin' +for me!" + +He doesn't stay by the stile one instant longer, but, vaulting over it, +strikes off along the path. + +Despite the obscurity of the night, the narrowness of the track, and the +branches obstructing, he proceeds with celerity. With that part he is +familiar--knows every inch of it, well as the way from his door to the +place where he docks his boat--at least so far as the big elm, under +whose spreading branches he and she have oft clandestinely met. It is +an ancient patriarch of the forest; its timber is honeycombed with +decay, not having tempted the axe by whose stroke its fellows have long +ago fallen, and it now stands amid their progeny, towering over all. It +is a few paces distant from the footpath, screened from it by a thicket +of hollies interposed between, and extending around. From its huge +hollow trunk a buttress, horizontally projected, affords a convenient +seat for two, making it the very _beau ideal_ of a trysting-tree. + +Having got up and under it, Jack Wingate is a little disappointed-- +almost vexed--at not finding his sweetheart there. He calls her name-- +in the hope she may be among the hollies--at first cautiously and in a +low voice, then louder. No reply; she has either not been, or has and +is gone. + +As the latter appears probable enough, he once more blames Captain +Ryecroft, the rain, the river flood, the beefsteak--above all, that long +yarn about the _canwyll corph_, muttering anathemas against the ghostly +superstition. + +Still she may come yet. It may be but the darkness that's delaying her. +Besides, she is not likely to have the fixing of her time. She said +she would "find a way;" and having the will--as he believes--he flatters +himself she will find it, despite all obstructions. + +With confidence thus restored, he ceases to pace about impatiently, as +he has been doing ever since his arrival at the tree; and, taking a seat +on the buttress, sits listening with all ears. His eyes are of little +use in the Cimmerian gloom. He can barely make out the forms of the +holly bushes, though they are almost within reach of his hand. + +But his ears are reliable, sharpened by love; and, ere long they convey +a sound, to him sweeter than any other ever heard in that wood--even the +songs of its birds. It is a swishing, as of leaves softly brushed by +the skirts of a woman's dress--which it is. He needs no telling who +comes. A subtle electricity, seeming to precede, warns him of Mary +Morgan's presence, as though she were already by his side. + +All doubts and conjectures at an end, he starts to his feet, and steps +out to meet her. Soon as on the path he sees a cloaked figure, drawing +nigh with a grace of movement distinguishable even in the dim glimmering +light. + +"That you, Mary?" + +A question mechanical; no answer expected or waited for. Before any +could be given she is in his arms, her lips hindered from words by a +shower of kisses. + +Thus having saluted, he takes her hand and leads her among the hollies. +Not from precaution, or fear of being intruded upon. Few besides the +farm people of Abergann use the right-of-way path, and unlikely any of +them being on it at that hour. It is only from habit they retire to the +more secluded spot under the elm, hallowed to them by many a sweet +remembrance. + +They sit down side by side; and close, for his arm is around her waist. +How unlike the lovers in the painted pavilion at Llangorren! Here there +is neither concealment of thought nor restraint of speech--no time given +to circumlocution--none wasted in silence. There is none to spare, as +she has told him at the moment of meeting. + +"It's kind o' you comin', Mary," he says, as soon as they are seated. +"I knew ye would." + +"O Jack! What a work I had to get out--the trick I've played mother! +You'll laugh when you hear it." + +"Let's hear it, darling!" + +She relates the catastrophe of the cupboard, at which he does laugh +beyond measure, and with a sense of gratification. Six shillings thrown +away--spilled upon the floor--and all for him! Where is the man who +would not feel flattered, gratified, to be the shrine of such sacrifice, +and from such a worshipper? + +"You've been to the Ferry, then?" + +"You see," she says, holding up the bottle. + +"I weesh I'd known that. I could a met ye on the road, and we'd had +more time to be thegither. It's too bad, you havin' to go straight +back." + +"It is. But there's no help for it. Father Rogier will be there before +this, and mother mad impatient." + +Were in light she would see his brow darken at mention of the priest's +name. She does not, nor does he give expression to the thoughts it has +called up. In his heart he curses the Jesuit--often has with his +tongue, but not now. He is too delicate to outrage her religious +susceptibilities. Still he cannot be altogether silent on a theme so +much concerning both. + +"Mary dear!" he rejoins in grave, serious tone, "I don't want to say a +word against Father Rogier, seein' how much he be your mother's friend; +or, to speak more truthful, her favourite; for I don't believe he's the +friend o' anybody. Sartinly, not mine, nor yours; and I've got it on my +mind that man will some day make mischief between us." + +"How can he, Jack?" + +"Ah, how! A many ways. One, his sayin' ugly things about me to your +mother--tellin' her tales that ain't true." + +"Let him--as many as he likes; you don't suppose I'll believe them?" + +"No, I don't, darling--'deed I don't." A snatched kiss affirms the +sincerity of his words; hers as well, in her lips not being drawn back, +but meeting him halfway. + +For a short time there is silence. With that sweet exchange thrilling +their hearts it is natural. + +He is the first to resume speech; and from a thought the kiss has +suggested:-- + +"I know there be a good many who'd give their lives to get the like o' +that from your lips, Mary. A soft word, or only a smile. I've heerd +talk o' several. But one's spoke of, in particular, as bein' special +favourite by your mother, and backed up by the French priest." + +"Who?" + +She has an idea who--indeed knows; and the question is only asked to +give opportunity of denial. + +"I dislike mentionin' his name. To me it seems like insultin' ye. The +very idea o' Dick Dempsey--" + +"You needn't say more," she exclaims, interrupting him. "I know what +you mean. But you surely don't suppose I could think of him as a +sweetheart? That _would_ insult me." + +"I hope it would; pleezed to hear you say't. For all, he thinks o' you, +Mary; not only in the way o' sweetheart, but--" + +He hesitates. + +"What?" + +"I won't say the word. 'Tain't fit to be spoke--about him an' you." + +"If you mean _wife_--as I suppose you do--listen! Rather than have +Richard Dempsey for a husband, I'd die--go down to the river and drown +myself! That horrid wretch! I hate him!" + +"I'm glad to hear you talk that way--right glad." + +"But why, Jack? You know it couldn't be otherwise! You should--after +all that's passed. Heaven be my witness! you I love, and you alone. +You only shall ever call me wife. If not--then nobody!" + +"God bless ye!" he exclaims in answer to her impassioned speech. "God +bless you, darling!" in the fervour of his gratitude flinging his arms +around, drawing her to his bosom, and showering upon her lips an +avalanche of kisses. + +With thoughts absorbed in the delirium of love, their souls for a time +surrendered to it, they hear not a rustling among the late fallen +leaves; or, if hearing, supposed it to proceed from bird or beast--the +flight of an owl, with wings touching the twigs; or a fox quartering the +cover in search of prey. Still less do they see a form skulking among +the hollies, black and boding as their shadows. + +Yet such there is; the figure of a man, but with face more like that of +demon--for it is he whose name has just been upon their lips. He has +overheard all they have said; every word an added torture, every phrase +sending hell to his heart. And now, with jealousy in its last dire +throe, every remnant of hope extinguished--cruelly crushed out--he +stands, after all, unresolved how to act. Trembling, too; for he is at +bottom a coward. He might rush at them and kill both--cut them to +pieces with the knife he is holding in his hand. But if only one, and +that her, what of himself! He has an instinctive fear of Jack Wingate, +who has more than once taught him a subduing lesson. + +That experience stands the young waterman in stead now, in all +likelihood saving his life. For at this moment the moon, rising, flings +a faint light through the branches of the trees; and like some ravenous +nocturnal prowler that dreads the light of day, Richard Dempsey pushes +his knife-blade back into its sheath, slips out from among the hollies, +and altogether away from the spot. + +But not to go back to Rugg's Ferry, nor to his own home. Well for Mary +Morgan if he had. + +By the same glimpse of silvery light warned as to the time, she knows +she must needs hasten away; as her lover, that he can no longer detain +her. The farewell kiss, so sweet yet painful, but makes their parting +more difficult; and, not till after repeating it over and over, do they +tear themselves asunder--he standing to look after, she moving off along +the woodland path, as nymph or sylphide, with no suspicion that a satyr +has preceded her and is waiting not far off, with foul fell intent--no +less than the taking of her life. + +END OF VOLUME ONE. + +Volume Two, Chapter I. + +A TARDY MESSENGER. + +Father Rogier has arrived at Abergann; slipped off his goloshes, left +them with his hat in the entrance passage; and stepped inside the +parlour. + +There is a bright coal fire chirping in the grate; for, although not +absolutely cold, the air is damp and raw from the rain which has fallen +during the earlier hours of the day. He has not come direct from his +house at the Ferry, but up the meadows from below, along paths that are +muddy, with wet grass overhanging. Hence his having on india-rubber +overshoes. Spare of flesh, and thin-blooded, he is sensitive to cold. + +Feeling it now, he draws a chair to the fire, and sits down with his +feet rested on the fender. + +For a time he has it all to himself. The farmer is still outside, +looking after his cattle, and setting things up for the night; while +Mrs Morgan, after receiving him, has made excuse to the kitchen--to set +the frying-pan on the coals. Already the sausages can be heard +frizzling, while their savoury odour is borne everywhere throughout the +house. + +Before sitting down the priest had helped himself to a glass of sherry; +and, after taking a mouthful or two, set it on the mantelshelf, within +convenient reach. It would have been brandy were there any on the +table; but, for the time satisfied with the wine, he sits sipping it, +his eyes now and then directed towards the door. This is shut, Mrs +Morgan having closed it after her as she went out. + +There is a certain restlessness in his glances, as though he were +impatient for the door to be reopened, and some one to enter. + +And so is he, though Mrs Morgan herself is not the some one--but her +daughter. Gregoire Rogier has been a fast fellow in his youth--before +assuming the cassock a very _mauvais sujet_. Even now in the maturer +age, and despite his vows of celibacy, he has a partiality for the sex, +and a keen eye to female beauty. The fresh, youthful charms of the +farmer's daughter have many a time made it water, more than the now +stale attractions of Olympe, _nee_ Renault. She is not the only +disciple of his flock he delights in drawing to the confessional. + +But there is a vast difference between the mistress of Glyngog and the +maiden of Abergann. Unlike are they as Lucrezia Borgia to that other +Lucretia--victim of Tarquin _fils_. And the priest knows he must deal +with them in a very different manner. He cannot himself have Mary +Morgan for a wife--he does not wish to--but it may serve his purpose +equally well were she to become the wife of Richard Dempsey. Hence his +giving support to the pretensions of the poacher--not all unselfish. + +Eagerly watching the door, he at length sees it pushed open; and by a +woman, but not the one he is wishing for. Only Mrs Morgan re-entering +to speak apologies for delay in serving supper. It will be on the table +in a trice. + +Without paying much attention to what she says, or giving thought to her +excuses, he asks in a drawl of assumed indifference,-- + +"Where is Ma'mselle Marie? Not on the sick list, I hope?" + +"Oh no, your reverence. She was never in better health in her life, I'm +happy to say." + +"Attending to culinary matters, I presume? Bothering herself--on my +account, too! Really, madame, I wish you wouldn't take so much trouble +when I come to pay you these little visits--calls of duty. Above all, +that ma'mselle should be scorching her fair cheeks before a kitchen +fire." + +"She's not--nothing of the kind, Father Rogier." + +"Dressing, may be? That isn't needed either--to receive poor me." + +"No; she's not dressing." + +"Ah! What then? Pardon me for appearing inquisitive. I merely wish to +have a word with her before monsieur, your husband, comes in--relating +to a matter of the Sunday school. She's at home, isn't she?" + +"Not just this minute. She soon will be." + +"What! Out at this hour?" + +"Yes; she has gone up to the Ferry on an errand. I wonder you didn't +meet her! Which way did you come, Father Rogier--the path or the lane?" + +"Neither--nor from the Ferry. I've been down the river on visitation +duty, and came up through the meadows. It's rather a dark night for +your daughter to have gone upon an errand! Not alone, I take it?" + +"Yes; she went alone." + +"But why, madame?" + +Mrs Morgan had not intended to say anything about the nature of the +message, but it must come out now. + +"Well, your reverence," she answers, laughing, "it's rather an amusing +matter--as you'll say yourself, when I tell it you." + +"Tell it, pray!" + +"It's all through a cat--our big Tom." + +"Ah, Tom! What _jeu d'esprit_ has he been perpetrating?" + +"Not much of a joke, after all; but more the other way. The mischievous +creature got into the pantry, and somehow upset a bottle--indeed, broke +it to pieces." + +"_Chat maudit_! But what has that to do with your daughter's going to +the Ferry?" + +"Everything. It was a bottle of best French brandy--unfortunately the +only one we had in the house. And as they say misfortunes never do come +single, it so happened our boy was away after the cows, and nobody else +I could spare. So I've sent Mary to the Welsh Harp for another. I know +your reverence prefers brandy to wine." + +"Madame, your very kind thoughtfulness deserves my warmest thanks. But +I'm really sorry at your having taken all this trouble to entertain me. +Above all, I regret its having entailed such a disagreeable duty upon +your Mademoiselle Marie. Henceforth I shall feel reluctance in setting +foot over your threshold." + +"Don't say that, Father Rogier. Please don't. Mary didn't think it +disagreeable. I should have been angry with her if she had. On the +contrary, it was herself proposed going; as the boy was out of the way, +and our girl in the kitchen, busy about supper. But poor it is--I'm +sorry to tell you--and will need the drop of Cognac to make it at all +palatable." + +"You underrate your _menu_, madame; if it be anything like what I've +been accustomed to at your table. Still, I cannot help feeling regret +at ma'mselle's having been sent to the Ferry--the roads in such +condition. And so dark, too--she may have a difficulty in finding her +way. Which did she go by--the path or the lane? Your own interrogatory +to myself--almost verbatim--_c'est drole_!" + +With but a vague comprehension of the interpolated French and Latin +phrases, the farmer's wife makes rejoinder: + +"Indeed, I can't say which. I never thought of asking her. However, +Mary's a sensible lass, and surely wouldn't think of venturing over the +foot plank a night like this. She knows it's loose. Ah!" she +continues, stepping to the window, and looking out, "there be the moon +up! I'm glad of that; she'll see her way now, and get sooner home." + +"How long is it since she went off?" Mrs Morgan glances at the clock +over the mantel; soon she sees where the hands are, exclaiming: + +"Mercy me! It's half-past nine! She's been gone a good hour!" + +Her surprise is natural. To Rugg's Ferry is but a mile, even by the +lane and road. Twenty minutes to go and twenty more to return were +enough. How are the other twenty being spent? Buying a bottle of +brandy across the counter, and paying for it, will not explain; that +should occupy scarce as many seconds. Besides, the last words of the +messenger, at starting off, were a promise of speedy return. She has +not kept it! And what can be keeping _her_? + +Her mother asks this question, but without being able to answer it. She +can neither tell nor guess. But the priest, more suspicious, has his +conjectures; one giving him pain--greatly exciting him, though he does +not show it. Instead, with simulated calmness, he says: + +"Suppose I step out and see whether she be near at hand?" + +"If your reverence would. But please don't stay for her. Supper's +quite ready, and Evan will be in by the time I get it dished. I wonder +what's detaining Mary!" + +If she only knew what, she would be less solicitous about the supper, +and more about the absent one. + +"No matter," she continues, cheering up, "the girl will surely be back +before we sit down to the table. If not, she must go--" + +The priest had not stayed to hear the clause threatening to disentitle +the tardy messenger. He is too anxious to learn the cause of delay; +and, in the hope of discovering it, with a view to something besides, he +hastily claps on his hat--without waiting to defend his feet with the +goloshes--then glides out and off across the garden. + +Mrs Morgan remains in the doorway looking after him, with an expression +on her face not all contented. Perhaps she too, has a foreboding of +evil; or, it may be, she but thinks of her daughter's future, and that +she is herself doing wrong by endeavouring to influence it in favour of +a man about whom she has of late heard discreditable rumours. Or, +perchance, some suspicion of the priest himself may be stirring within +her: for there are scandals abroad concerning him, that have reached +even her ears. Whatever the cause, there is shadow on her brow, as she +watches him pass out through the gate; scarce dispelled by the bright +blazing fire in the kitchen, as she returns thither to direct the +serving of the supper. + +If she but knew the tale he, Father Rogier, is so soon to bring back, +she might not have left the door so soon, or upon her own feet; more +likely have dropped down on its threshold, to be carried from it +fainting, if not dead! + +Volume Two, Chapter II. + +A FATAL STEP. + +Having passed out through the gate, Rogier turns along the wall; and, +proceeding at a brisk pace to where it ends in an angle, there comes to +a halt. + +On the same spot where about an hour before stopped Mary Morgan--for a +different reason. She paused to consider which of the two ways she +would take; he has no intention of taking either, or going a step +farther. Whatever he wishes to say to her can be said where he now is, +without danger of its being overheard at the house--unless spoken in a +tone louder than that of ordinary conversation. But it is not on this +account he has stopped; simply that he is not sure which of the two +routes she will return by--and for him to proceed along either would be +to risk the chance of not meeting her at all. + +But that he has some idea of the way she will come, with suspicion of +why and what is delaying her, his mutterings tell: + +"_Morbleu_! over an hour since she set out! A tortoise could have +crawled to the Ferry, and crept back within the time! For a demoiselle +with limbs lithe and supple as hers--pah! It can't be the brandy bottle +that's the obstruction. Nothing of the kind. Corked, capsuled, +wrapped, ready for delivery--in all two minutes, or at most, three! She +so ready to run for it, too--herself proposed going! Odd, that to say +the least. Only understandable on the supposition of something +prearranged. An assignation with the River Triton for sure! Yes; he's +the anchor that's been holding her--holds her still. Likely, they're +somewhat under the shadow of that wood, now--standing--sitting--ach! I +wish I but knew the spot; I'd bring their billing and cooing to an +abrupt termination. It will not do for me to go on guesses; I might +miss the straying damsel with whom this night I want a word in +particular--must have it. Monsieur Coracle may need binding a little +faster, before he consents to the service required of him. To ensure an +interview with her it is necessary to stay on this spot, however trying +to patience." + +For a second or two he stands motionless, though all the while active in +thought, his eyes also restless. These, turning to the wall, show him +that it is overgrown with ivy. A massive cluster on its crest projects +out, with hanging tendrils, whose tops almost touch the ground. Behind +them there is ample room for a man to stand upright, and so be concealed +from the eyes of anyone passing, however near. + +"_Grace a Dieu_!" he exclaims, observing this; "the very place. I must +take her by surprise. That's the best way when one wants to learn how +the cat jumps. Ha! _cette chat_ Tom; how very opportune his mischievous +doings--for Mademoiselle! Well, I must give _Madame la mere_ counsel +better to guard against such accidents hereafter; and how to behave when +they occur." + +He has by this ducked his head, and stepped under the arcading +evergreen. + +The position is all he could desire. It gives him a view of both ways +by which on that side the farmhouse can be approached. The cart lane is +directly before his face, as is also the footpath when he turns towards +it. The latter leading, as already said, along a hedge to the orchard's +bottom, there crosses the brook by a plank--this being about fifty yards +distant from where he has stationed himself. And as there is now +moonlight he can distinctly see the frail footbridge, with a portion of +the path beyond, where it runs through straggling trees, before entering +the thicker wood. Only at intervals has he sight of it, as the sky is +mottled with masses of cloud, that every now and then, drifting over the +moon's disc, shut off her light with the suddenness of a lamp +extinguished. + +When she shines he can himself be seen. Standing in crouched attitude +with the ivy tendrils festooned over his pale, bloodless face, he looks +like a gigantic spider behind its web, on the wait for prey--ready to +spring forward and seize it. + +For nigh ten minutes he thus remains watching, all the while impatiently +chafing. He listens too; though with little hope of hearing aught to +indicate the approach of her expected. After the pleasant +_tete-a-tete_, he is now sure she must have held with the waterman, she +will be coming along silently, her thoughts in sweet, placid +contentment; or she may come on with timid, stealthy steps, dreading +rebuke by her mother for having overstayed her time. + +Just as the priest in bitterest chagrin is promising himself that +rebuked she shall be he sees what interrupts his resolves, suddenly and +altogether withdrawing his thoughts from Mary Morgan. It is a form +approaching the plank, on the opposite side of the stream; not hers, nor +woman's; instead the figure of a man! Neither erect nor walking in the +ordinary way, but with head held down and shoulders projected forward, +as if he were seeking concealment under the bushes that beset the path, +for all drawing nigh to the brook with the rapidity of one pursued, and +who thinks there is safety only on its other side! + +"_Sainte Vierge_!" exclaims the priest, _sotto voce_. "What can all +that mean? And who--" + +He stays his self-asked interrogatory, seeing that the skulker has +paused too--at the farther end of the plank, which he has now reached. +Why? It may be from fear to set foot on it; for indeed is there danger +to one not intimately acquainted with it. The man may be a stranger-- +some fellow on teams who intends trying the hospitality of the +farmhouse--more likely its henroosts, judging by his manner of approach? + +While thus conjecturing, Rogier sees the skulker stoop down, immediately +after hearing a sound, different from the sough of the stream; a harsh +grating noise, as of a piece of heavy timber drawn over a rough surface +of rock. + +"Sharp fellow?" thinks the priest; "with all his haste, wonderfully +cautious! He's fixing the thing steady before venturing to tread upon +it! Ha! I'm wrong; he don't design crossing it after all!" + +This as the crouching figure erects itself and, instead of passing over +the plank, turns abruptly away from it. Not to go back along the path, +but up the stream on that same side! And with bent body as before, +still seeming desirous to shun observation. + +Now more than ever mystified, the priest watches him, with eyes keen as +those of a cat set for nocturnal prowling. Not long till he learns who +the man is. Just then the moon, escaping from a cloud, flashes her full +light in his face, revealing features of diabolic expression--that of a +murderer striding away from the spot where he has been spilling blood! + +Rogier recognises Coracle Dick, though still without the slightest idea +of what the poacher is doing there. + +"_Que diantre_!" he exclaims, in surprise; "what can that devil be +after! Coming up to the plank and not crossing--Ha! yonder's a very +different sort of pedestrian approaching it? Ma'mselle Mary at last!" + +This as by the same intermittent gleam of moonlight he descries a straw +hat, with streaming ribbons, over the tops of the bushes beyond the +brook. + +The brighter image drives the darker one from his thoughts; and, +forgetting all about the man, in his resolve to take the woman unawares, +he steps out from under the ivy, and makes forward to meet her. He is a +Frenchman, and to help her over the footplank will give him a fine +opportunity for displaying his cheap gallantry. + +As he hastens down to the stream, the moon remaining unclouded, he sees +the young girl close to it on the opposite side. She approaches with +proud carriage, and confident step, her cheeks even under the pale light +showing red--flushed with the kisses so lately received, as it were +still clinging to them. Her heart yet thrilling with love, strong under +its excitement, little suspects she how soon it will cease to beat. + +Boldly she plants her foot upon the plank, believing, late boasting, a +knowledge of its tricks. Alas! there is one with which she is not +acquainted--could not be--a new and treacherous one, taught it within +the last two minutes. The daughter of Evan Morgan is doomed; one more +step will be her last in life! + +She makes it, the priest alone being witness. He sees her arms flung +aloft, simultaneously hearing a shriek; then arms, body, and bridge sink +out of sight suddenly, as though the earth had swallowed them! + +Volume Two, Chapter III. + +A SUSPICIOUS WAIF. + +On returning homeward the young waterman bethinks him of a difficulty--a +little matter to be settled with his mother. Not having gone to the +shop, he has neither whipcord nor pitch to show. If questioned about +these commodities, what answer is he to make? He dislikes telling her +another lie. It came easy enough before the interview with his +sweetheart, but now it is not so much worth while. + +On reflection he thinks it will be better to make a clean breast of it. +He has already half confessed, and may as well admit his mother to full +confidence about the secret he has been trying to keep from her-- +unsuccessfully, as he now knows. + +While still undetermined, a circumstance occurs to hinder him from +longer withholding it, whether he would or not. In his abstraction he +has forgotten all about the moon, now up, and at intervals shining +brightly. During one of these he has arrived at his own gate, as he +opens it seeing his mother on the door-step. Her attitude shows she has +already seen him, and observed the direction whence he has come. Her +words declare the same. + +"Why, Jack!" she exclaims, in feigned astonishment, "ye beant a comin' +from the Ferry that way?" + +The interrogatory, or rather the tone in which it is put, tells him the +cat is out of the bag. No use attempting to stuff the animal in again; +and seeing it is not, he rejoins, laughingly-- + +"Well, mother, to speak the truth, I ha'nt been to the Ferry at all. +An' I must ask you to forgie me for practisin' a trifle o' deception on +ye--that 'bout the _Mary_ wantin' repairs." + +"I suspected it, lad; an' that it wor the tother Mary as wanted +something, or you wanted something wi' her. Since you've spoke +repentful, an' confessed, I ain't a-goin' to worrit ye about it. I'm +glad the boat be all right, as I ha' got good news for you." + +"What?" he asks, rejoiced at being so easily let off. + +"Well; you spoke truth when ye sayed there was no knowin' but that +somebody might be wantin' to hire ye any minnit. There's been one +arready." + +"Who? Not the Captain?" + +"No, not him. But a grand livery chap; footman or coachman--I ain't +sure which--only that he came frae a Squire Powell's, 'bout a mile +back." + +"Oh! I know Squire Powell--him o' New Hall, I suppose it be. What did +the sarvint say?" + +"That if you wasn't engaged, his young master wants ye to take hisself, +and some friends that be staying wi' him, for a row down the river." + +"How far did the man say? If they be bound to Chepstow or even but +Tintern, I don't think I could go; unless they start Monday mornin'. +I'm 'gaged to the Captain for Thursday, ye know; an if I went the long +trip, there'd be all the bother o' gettin' the boat back--an' bare +time." + +"Monday! Why, it's the morrow they want ye." + +"Sunday! That's queerish, too. Squire Powell's family be a sort o' +strict religious, I've heerd." + +"That's just it. The livery chap sayed it be a church they're goin' to; +some curious kind o' old worshippin' place, that lie in a bend o' the +river, where carriages ha' difficulty in gettin' to it." + +"I think I know the one, an' can take them there well enough. What +answer did you gie to the man?" + +"That ye could take 'em, an' would. I know'd you hadn't any other +bespeak; and since it wor to a church wouldn't mind its bein' Sunday." + +"Sartinly not. Why should I?" asks Jack, who is anything but a +Sabbatarian. "Where do they weesh the boat to be took? Or am I to wait +for 'em here?" + +"Yes; the man spoke o' them comin' here, an' at a very early hour. Six +o'clock. He sayed the clergyman be a friend o' the family, and they're +to ha' their breakfasts wi' him, afore goin' to church." + +"All right! I'll be ready for 'em, come's as early as they may." + +"In that case, my son; ye better get to your bed at once. Ye've had a +hard day o' it, and need rest. Should ye like take a drop o' somethin' +'fores you lie down?" + +"Well, mother; I don't mind. Just a glass o' your elderberry." + +She opens a cupboard, brings forth a black bottle, and fills him a +tumbler of the dark red wine--home made, and by her own hands. + +Quaffing it, he observes:-- + +"It be the best stuff I know of to put spirit into a man, an' makes him +feel cheery. I've heerd the Captain hisself say, it beats their +_Spanish Port_ all to pieces." + +Though somewhat astray in his commercial geography, the young waterman, +as his patron, is right about the quality of the beverage; for +elderberry wine, made in the correct way, _is_ superior to that of +Oporto. Curious scientific fact, I believe not generally known, that +the soil where grows the _Sambucus_ is that most favourable to the +growth of the grape. + +Without going thus deeply into the philosophy of the subject, or at all +troubling himself about it, the boatman soon gets to the bottom of his +glass, and bidding his mother good night, retires to his sleeping room. + +Getting into bed, he lies for a while sweetly thinking of Mary Morgan, +and that satisfactory interview under the elm; then goes to sleep as +sweetly to dream of her. + +There is just a streak of daylight stealing in through the window as he +awakes; enough to warn him that it is time to be up and stirring. Up he +instantly is and arrays himself, not in his everyday boating +habiliments, but a suit worn only on Sundays and holidays. + +The mother, also astir betimes, has his breakfast on the table soon as +he is rigged; and just as he finishes eating it, the rattle of wheels on +the road in front, with voices, tells him his fare has arrived. + +Hastening out, he sees a grand carriage drawn up at the gate, double +horsed, with coachman and footman on the box; inside young Mr Powell, +his pretty sister, and two others--a lady and gentleman, also young. + +Soon they are all seated in the boat, the coachman having been ordered +to take the carriage home, and bring it back at a certain hour. The +footman goes with them--the _Mary_ having seats for six. + +Rowed down stream, the young people converse among themselves; gaily, +now and then giving way to laughter, as though it were any other day +than Sunday. But their boatman is merry also, with memories of the +preceding night; and, though not called upon to take part in their +conversation, he likes listening to it. Above all he is pleased with +the appearance of Miss Powell, a very beautiful girl; and takes note of +the attention paid her by the gentleman who sits opposite. Jack is +rather interested in observing these, as they remind him of his own +first approaches to Mary Morgan. + +His eyes, though, are for a time removed from them, while the boat is +passing Abergann. Out of the farmhouse chimneys just visible over the +tops of the trees, he sees smoke ascending. It is not yet seven +o'clock, but the Morgans are early risers, and by this mother and +daughter will be on their way to _Matins_, and possibly Confession at +the Rugg's Ferry Chapel. He dislikes to reflect on the last, and longs +for the day when he has hopes to cure his sweetheart of such a repulsive +devotional practice. + +Pulling on down he ceases to think of it, and of her for the time, his +attention being engrossed by the management of the boat. For just below +Abergann the stream runs sharply, and is given to caprices. But further +on, it once more flows in gentle tide along the meadow lands of +Llangorren. + +Before turning the bend, where Gwen Wynn and Eleanor Lees were caught in +the rapid current, at the estuary of a sluggish inflowing brook, whose +waters are now beaten back by the flooded river, he sees what causes him +to start, and hang on the stroke of his oar. + +"What is it, Wingate?" asks young Powell, observing his strange +behaviour. "Oh! a waif--that plank floating yonder! I suppose you'd +like to pick it up! But remember! it's Sunday, and we must confine +ourselves to works of necessity and mercy." + +Little think the four who smile at this remark--five with the footman-- +what a weird, painful impression the sight of that drifting thing has +made on the sixth who is rowing them. + +Nor does it leave him all that day; but clings to him in the church, to +which he goes; at the Rectory, where he is entertained; and while rowing +back up the river--hangs heavy on his heart as lead! + +Returning, he looks out for the piece of timber; but cannot see it; for +it is now after night, the young people having stayed dinner with their +friend the clergyman. + +Kept later than they intended, on arrival at the boat's dock they do not +remain there an instant; but, getting into the carriage, which has been +some time awaiting them, are whirled off to New Hall. + +Impatient are they to be home. Far more--for a different reason--the +waterman; who but stays to tie the boat's painter; and, leaving the oars +in her thwarts, hastens into his house. The plank is still uppermost in +his thoughts, the presentiment heavy on his heart. + +Not lighter, as on entering at the door he sees his mother seated with +her head bowed down to her knees. + +He does not wait for her to speak, but asks excitedly:-- + +"What's the matter, mother?" + +The question is mechanical--he almost anticipates the answer, or its +nature. + +"Oh, my son, my son! As I told ye. It _was the canwyll corph_!" + +Volume Two, Chapter IV. + +"THE FLOWER OF LOVE-LIES-BLEEDING." + +There is a crowd collected round the farmhouse of Abergann. Not an +excited, or noisy one; instead, the people composing it are of staid +demeanour, with that formal solemnity observable on the faces of those +at a funeral. + +And a funeral it is, or soon to be. For, inside there is a chamber of +death; a coffin with a corpse--that of her, who, had she lived, would +have been Jack Wingate's wife. + +Mary Morgan has indeed fallen victim to the mad spite of a monster. +Down went she into that swollen stream, which, ruthless and cruel as he +who committed her to it, carried her off on its engulfing tide--her form +tossed to and fro, now sinking, now coming to the surface, and again +going down. No one to save her--not an effort at rescue made by the +cowardly Frenchman; who, rushing on to the chasm's edge, there +stopped,--only to gaze affrightedly at the flood surging below, +foam-crested; only to listen to her agonised cry, further off and more +freely put forth, as she was borne onward to her doom. + +Once again he heard it, in that tone which tells of life's last struggle +with death--proclaiming death the conqueror. Then all was over. As he +stood horror-stricken, half-bewildered, a cloud suddenly curtained the +moon, bringing black darkness upon the earth, as if a pall had been +thrown over it. Even the white froth on the water was for the while +invisible. He could see nothing--nothing hear, save the hoarse, harsh +torrent rolling relentlessly on. Of no avail, then, his hurrying back +to the house, and raising the alarm. Too late it was to save Mary +Morgan from drowning; and, only by the accident of her body being thrown +up against a bank was it that night recovered. + +It is the third day after, and the funeral about to take place. Though +remote the situation of the farm-stead, and sparsely inhabited the +district immediately around, the assemblage is a large one. This partly +from the unusual circumstances of the girl's death, but as much from the +respect in which Evan Morgan is held by his neighbours, far and near. +They are there in their best attire, men and women alike, Protestants as +Catholics, to show a sympathy, which in truth many of them sincerely +feel. + +Nor is there among the people assembled any conjecturing about the cause +of the fatal occurrence. No hint, or suspicion, that there has been +foul play. How could there? So clearly an accident, as pronounced by +the coroner at his inquiry held the day after the drowning--brief and +purely _pro forma_. + +Mrs Morgan herself told of her daughter sent on that errand from which +she never returned; while the priest, eye-witness, stated the reason +why. Taken together, this was enough; though further confirmed by the +absent plank, found and brought back on the following day. Even had +Wingate rowed back up the river during daylight, he would not have seen +it again. The farm labourers and others, accustomed to cross by it, +gave testimony as to its having been loose. + +But of all whose evidence was called for, one alone could have put a +different construction on the tale. Father Rogier could have done this; +but did not, having his reasons for withholding the truth. He is now in +possession of a secret that will make Richard Dempsey his slave for +life--his instrument, willing or unwilling, for such purpose as he may +need him, no matter what its iniquity. + +The hour of interment has been fixed for twelve o'clock. It is now a +little after eleven, and everybody has arrived at the house. The men +stand outside in groups, some in the little flower garden in front, +others straying into the farmyard to have a look at the fatting pigs, or +about the pastures to view the white-faced Herefords and "Bye-land" +sheep; of which last Evan Morgan is a noted breeder. + +Inside the house are the women--some relatives of the deceased, with the +farmer's friends and more familiar acquaintances. All admitted to the +chamber of death to take a last look at the dead. The corpse is in the +coffin, but with lid not yet screwed on. There lies the corpse in its +white drapery, still untouched by "decay's effacing fingers," beautiful +as living bride, though now a bride for the altar of eternity. + +The stream passes in and out; but besides those only curious coming and +going, there are some who remain in the room. Mrs Morgan herself sits +beside the coffin, at intervals giving way to wildest grief; a cluster +of women around vainly essaying to comfort her. + +There is a young man seated in the corner, who seems to need consoling +almost as much as she. Every now and then his breast heaves in audible +sobbing as though the heart within were about to break. None wonder at +this; for it is Jack Wingate. + +Still, there are those who think it strange his being there--above all, +as if made welcome. They know not the remarkable change that has taken +place in the feelings of Mrs Morgan. Beside that bed of death all who +were dear to her daughter, were dear to her now. And she is aware that +the young waterman was so. For he has told her, with tearful eyes and +sad, earnest words, whose truthfulness could not be doubted. + +But where is the other, the false one? Not there--never has been since +the fatal occurrence. Came not to the inquest, came not to inquire or +condole; comes not now to show sympathy, or take part in the rites of +sepulture. + +There are some who make remark about his absence, though none lament +it--not even Mrs Morgan herself. The thought of the bereaved mother is +that he would have ill-befitted being her son. Only a fleeting +reflection, her whole soul being engrossed in grief for her lost +daughter. + +The hour for closing the coffin has come. They but await the priest to +say some solemn words. He has not yet arrived, though every instant +looked for. A personage so important has many duties to perform, and +may be detained by them elsewhere. + +For all, he does not fail. While inside the death chamber they are +conjecturing the cause of his delay, a buzz outside, with a shuffling of +feet in the passage, tells of way being made for him. + +Presently he enters the room, and stepping up to the coffin stands +beside it, all eyes turned towards him. His are upon the face of the +corpse--at first with the usual look of official gravity and feigned +grief. But continuing to gaze upon it, a strange expression comes over +his features, as though he saw something that surprised, or unusually +interested him. It affects him even to giving a start; so light, +however, that no one seems to observe it. Whatever the emotion, he +conceals it; and in calm voice pronounces the prayer, with all its +formalities and gestures. + +The lid is laid on, covering the form of Mary Morgan--for ever veiling +her face from the world. Then the pall is thrown over, and all carried +outside. + +There is no hearse, no plumes, nor paid pall-bearers. Affection +supplies the place of this heartless luxury of the tomb. On the +shoulders of four men the coffin is borne away, the crowd forming into +procession as it passes, and following. + +On to the Rugg's Ferry chapel,--into its cemetery, late consecrated. +There lowered into a grave already prepared to receive it; and, after +the usual ceremonial of the Roman Catholic religion covered up, and +turfed over. + +Then the mourners scatter off for their homes, singly or in groups, +leaving the remains of Mary Morgan in their last resting-place, only her +near relatives with thought of ever again returning to stand over them. + +There is one exception; this is a mail not related to her, but who would +have been had she lived. Wingate goes away with the intention ere long +to return. The chapel burying-ground brinks upon the river, and when +the shades of night have descended over it, he brings his boat +alongside. Then, fixing her to the bank, he steps out, and proceeds in +the direction of the new made grave. All this cautiously, and with +circumspection, as if fearing to be seen. The darkness favouring him, +he is not. + +Reaching the sacred spot he kneels down, and with a knife, taken from +his pockets, scoops out a little cavity in the lately laid turf. Into +this he inserts a plant, which he has brought along with him--one of a +common kind, but emblematic of no ordinary feeling. It is that known to +country people as "The Flower of Love-lies-bleeding" (_Amaranthus +caudatus_). + +Closing the earth around its roots, and restoring the sods, he bends +lower, till his lips are in contact with the grass upon the grave. One +near enough might hear convulsive sobbing, accompanied by the words:-- + +"Mary, darling! you're wi' the angels now; and I know you'll forgie me, +if I've done ought to bring about this dreadful thing. Oh, dear, dear +Mary! I'd be only too glad to be lyin' in the grave along wi' ye. As +God's my witness I would." + +For a time he is silent, giving way to his grief--so wild as to seem +unbearable. And just for an instant he himself thinks it so, as he +kneels with the knife still open in his hand, his eyes fixed upon it. A +plunge with that shining blade with point to his heart, and all his +misery would be over! "My mother--my poor mother--no!" These few +words, with the filial thought conveyed, save him from suicide. Soon as +repeating them, he shuts to his knife, rises to his feet, and returning +to the boat again rows himself home--but never with so heavy a heart. + +Volume Two, Chapter V. + +A FRENCH FEMME DE CHAMBRE. + +Of all who assisted at the ceremony of Mary Morgan's funeral, no one +seemed so impatient for its termination as the priest. In his official +capacity he did all he could to hasten it; soon as it was over hurrying +away from the grave, out of the burying-ground, and into his own house, +near by. + +Such haste would have appeared strange--even indecent--but for the +belief of his having some sacerdotal duty that called him elsewhere; a +belief strengthened by their shortly after seeing him start off in the +direction of the Ferry-boat. + +Arriving there, the Charon attendant rows him across the river; and, +soon as setting foot on the opposite side, he turns face down stream, +taking a path that meanders through fields and meadows. Along this he +goes rapidly as his legs can carry him--in a walk. Clerical dignity +hinders him from proceeding at a run, though judging by the expression +of his countenance he is inclined to it. + +The route he is on would conduct to Llangorren Court--several miles +distant--and thither is he bound; though the house itself is not his +objective point. He does not visit, nor would it serve him to show his +face there--least of all to Gwen Wynn. She might not be so rude as to +use her riding whip on him, as she once felt inclined in the +hunting-field; but she would certainly be surprised to see him at her +home. + +Yet it is one within her house he wishes to see, and is now on the way +for it, pretty sure of being able to accomplish his object. True to her +fashionable instincts and _toilette_ necessities, Miss Linton keeps a +French maid, and it is with this damsel Father Rogier designs having an +interview. He is thoroughly _en rapport_ with the _femme de chambre_ +and through her, aided by the Confession, kept advised of everything +which transpires at the Court, or all he deems it worth while to be +advised about. + +His confidence that he will not have long his walk for nothing rests on +certain matters of pre-arrangement. With the foreign domestic he has +succeeded in establishing a code of signals, by which he can +communicate--with almost a certainty of being able to see her. Not +inside the house, but at a place near enough to be convenient. Rare the +park in Herefordshire through which there is not a right-of-way path, +and one runs across that of Llangorren. Not through the ornamental +grounds, nor at all close to the mansion--as is frequently the case, to +the great chagrin of the owner--but several hundred yards distant. It +passes from the river's bank to the county road, all the way through +trees, that screen it from view of the house. There is a point, +however, where it approaches the edge of the wood, and there one +traversing it might be seen from the upper windows. But only for an +instant, unless the party so passing should choose to make stop in the +place exposed. + +It is a thoroughfare not much frequented, though free to Father Rogier +as any one else; and, now hastening along it, he arrives at that spot +where the break in the timber brings the house in view. Here he makes a +halt, still keeping under the trees; to a branch of one of them, on the +side towards the Court attaching a piece of white paper, he has taken +out of his pocket. This done with due caution, and care that he be not +observed in the act, he draws back to the path, and sits down upon a +stile close by--to await the upshot of his telegraphy. + +His haste hitherto explained by the fact, only at certain times are his +signals likely to be seen, or could they be attended to. One of the +surest and safest is during the early afternoon hours, just after +luncheon, when the ancient toast of Cheltenham takes her accustomed +_siesta_--before dressing herself for the drive, or reception of +callers. While the mistress sleeps the maid is free to dispose of +herself, as she pleases. + +It was to hit this interlude of leisure Father Rogier has been hurrying; +and that he has succeeded is soon known to him, by his seeing a form +with floating drapery, recognisable as that of the _femme de chambre_. +Gliding through the shrubbery, and evidently with an eye to escape +observation, she is only visible at intervals; at length lost to his +sight altogether as she enters among the thick standing trees. But he +knows she will turn up again. + +And she does, after a short time; coming along the path towards the +stile where here he is seated. + +"Ah! _ma bonne_!" he exclaims, dropping on his feet, and moving forward +to meet her. "You've been prompt! I didn't expect you quite so soon. +Madame la Chatelaine oblivious, I apprehend; in the midst of her +afternoon nap?" + +"Yes, Pere; she was when I stole off. But she has given me directions +about dressing her, to go out for a drive--earlier than usual. So I +must get back immediately." + +"I'm not going to detain you very long. I chanced to be passing, and +thought I might as well have a word with you--seeing it's the hour when +you're off duty. By the way, I hear you're about to have grand doings +at the Court--a ball, and what not?" + +"_Oui, m'sieu; oui_." + +"When is it to be?" + +"On Thursday. Mademoiselle celebrates _son jour de naissance_--the +twenty-first, making her of age. It is to be a grand fete as you say. +They've been all last week preparing for it." + +"Among the invited Le Capitaine Ryecroft, I presume?" + +"O yes. I saw madame write the note inviting him--indeed took it myself +down to the hall table for the post-boy." + +"He visits often at the Court of late?" + +"Very often--once a week, sometimes twice." + +"And comes down the river by boat; doesn't he!" + +"In a boat. Yes--comes and goes that way." + +Her statement is reliable, as Father Rogier has reason to believe-- +having an inkling of suspicion that the damsel has of late been casting +sheep's eyes, not at Captain Ryecroft, but his young boatman, and is as +much interested in the movements of the _Mary_ as either the boat's +owner or charterer. + +"Always comes by water, and returns by it," observes the priest, as if +speaking to himself. "You're quite sure of that, _ma fille_?" + +"Oh, quite, Pere!" + +"Mademoiselle appears to be very partial to him. I think, you told me +she often accompanies him down to the boat stair, at his departure?" + +"Often! always." + +"Always?" + +"_Toujours_! I never knew it otherwise. Either the boat stair, or the +pavilion." + +"Ah! the summer-house! They hold their _tete-a-tete_ there at times; do +they?" + +"Yes; they do." + +"But not when he leaves at a late hour--as, for instance, when he dines +at the Court; which I know he has done several times?" + +"Oh, yes; even then. Only last week he was there for dinner; and +Ma'mselle Gwen went with him to his boat, or the pavilion--to bid +adieus. No matter what the time to her. _Ma foi_! I'd risk my word +she'll do the same after this grand ball that's to be. And why +shouldn't she, Pere Rogier? Is there any harm in it?" + +The question is put with a view of justifying her own conduct, that +would be somewhat similar were Jack Wingate to encourage it, which, to +say truth, he never has. + +"Oh, no," answers the priest, with an assumed indifference; "no harm, +whatever, and no business of ours. Mademoiselle Wynn is mistress of her +own actions, and will be more, after the coming birthday number +_vingt-un_. But," he adds, dropping the role of the interrogator, now +that he has got all the information wanted, "I fear I'm keeping you too +long. As I've said, chancing to come by I signalled--chiefly to tell +you, that next Sunday we have High Mass in the chapel. With special +prayers for a young girl, who was drowned last Saturday night, and whom +we've just this day interred. I suppose you've heard?" + +"No, I haven't. Who Pere?" Her question may appear strange, Rugg's +Ferry being so near to Llangorren Court and Abergann still nearer. But +for reasons already stated, as others, the ignorance of the Frenchwoman +as to what has occurred at the farmhouse, is not only intelligible, but +natural enough. + +Equally natural, though in a sense very different, is the look of +satisfaction appearing in her eyes, as the priest in answer gives the +name of the drowned girl. "_Marie, la fille de fermier Morgan_." + +The expression that comes over her face is, under the circumstances, +terribly repulsive--being almost that of joy! For not only has she seen +Mary Morgan at the chapel, but something besides--heard her name coupled +with that of the waterman, Wingate. + +In the midst of her strong, sinful emotions, of which the priest is +fully cognisant, he finds it a good opportunity for taking leave. Going +back to the tree where the bit of signal paper has been left, he plucks +it off, and crumbles it into his pocket. Then, returning to the path, +shakes hands with her, says "_Bonjour_!" and departs. + +She is not a beauty, or he would have made his adieus in a very +different way. + +Volume Two, Chapter VI. + +THE POACHER AT HOME. + +Coracle Dick lives all alone. If he have relatives they are not near, +nor does any one in the neighbourhood know aught about them. Only some +vague report of a father away off in the colonies, where he went against +his will; while the mother--is believed dead. + +Not less solitary is Coracle's place of abode. Situated in a dingle +with sides thickly wooded, it is not visible from anywhere. Nor is it +near any regular road; only approachable by a path, which there ends; +the dell itself being a _cul-de-sac_. Its open end is toward the river, +running in at a point where the bank is precipitous, so hindering +thoroughfare along the stream's edge, unless when its waters are at +their lowest. + +Coracle's house is but a hovel, no better than the cabin of a backwoods +squatter. Timber structure, too, in part, with a filling up of rough +mason work. Its half-dozen perches of garden ground, once reclaimed +from the wood, have grown wild again, no spade having touched them for +years. The present occupant of the tenement has no taste for gardening, +nor agriculture of any kind; he is a poacher, _pur sang_--at least, so +far as is known. And it seems to pay him better than would the +cultivation of cabbages--with pheasants at nine shillings the brace, and +salmon three shillings the pound. He has the river, if not the mere, +for his net, and the land for his game; making as free with both as ever +did Alan-a-dale. + +But, whatever the price of fish and game, be it high or low, Coracle is +never without good store of cash, spending it freely at the Welsh Harp, +as elsewhere; at times so lavishly, that people of suspicious nature +think it cannot all be the product of night netting and snaring. Some +of it, say scandalous tongues, is derived from other industries, also +practised by night, and less reputable than trespassing after game. +But, as already said, these are only rumours, and confined to the few. +Indeed, only a very few have intimate acquaintance with the man. He is +of a reserved, taciturn habit, somewhat surly: not talkative even in his +cups. And though ever ready to stand treat in the Harp tap-room he +rarely practises hospitality in his own house; only now and then, when +some acquaintance of like kidney and calling pays him a visit. Then the +solitary domicile has its silence disturbed by the talk of men, thick as +thieves--often speech which, if heard beyond its walls, 'twould not be +well for its owner. + +More than half time however, the poacher's dwelling is deserted, and +oftener at night than by day. Its door shut, and padlocked, tells when +the tenant is abroad. Then only a rough lurcher dog--a dangerous +animal, too--is guardian of the place. Not that there are any chattels +to tempt the cupidity of the kleptomaniac. The most valuable moveable +inside were not worth carrying away; and outside is but the coracle +standing in a lean-to shed, propped up by its paddle. It is not always +there, and, when absent, it may be concluded that its owner is on some +expedition up, down, or across the river. Nor is the dog always at +home; his absence proclaiming the poacher engaged in the terrestrial +branch of his profession--running down hares or rabbits. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +It is the night of the same day that has seen the remains of Mary Morgan +consigned to their resting-place in the burying-ground of the Rugg's +Ferry chapel. A wild night it has turned out, dark and stormy. The +autumnal equinox is on, and its gales have commenced stripping the trees +of their foliage. Around the dwelling of Dick Dempsey the fallen leaves +lie thick, covering the ground as with cloth of gold; at intervals torn +to shreds, as the wind swirls them up and holds them suspended. + +Every now and then they are driven against the door, which is shut, but +not locked. The hasp is hanging loose, the padlock with its bowed bolt +open. The coracle is seen standing upright in the shed; the lurcher not +anywhere outside--for the animal is within, lying upon the hearth in +front of a cheerful fire. And before the same sits its master, +regarding a pot which hangs over it on hooks; at intervals lifting off +the lid, and stirring the contents with a long-handled spoon of white +metal. What these are might be told by the aroma; a stew, smelling +strongly of onions with game savour conjoined. Ground game at that, for +Coracle is in the act of "jugging" a hare. Handier to no man than him +were the recipe of Mrs Glass, for he comes up to all its requirements-- +even the primary and essential one--knows how to catch his hare as well +as cook it. + +The stew is done, dished, and set steaming upon the table, where already +has been placed a plate--the time-honoured willow pattern--with a knife +and two-pronged fork. There is, besides, a jug of water, a bottle +containing brandy, and a tumbler. + +Drawing his chair up, Coracle commences eating. The hare is a young +one--a leveret he has just taken from the stubble--tender and juicy-- +delicious even without the red-currant jelly he has not got, and for +which he does not care. Withal, he appears but little to enjoy the +meal, and only eats as a man called upon to satisfy the cravings of +hunger. Every now and then, as the fork is being carried to his head, +he holds it suspended, with the morsel of flesh on its prongs, while +listening to sounds outside! + +At such intervals the expression upon his countenance is that of the +keenest apprehension; and as a gust of wind, unusually violent, drives a +leafy branch in loud clout against the door, he starts in his chair, +fancying it the knock of a policeman with his muffled truncheon! + +This night the poacher is suffering from no ordinary fear of being +summoned for game trespass. Were that all, he could eat his leveret as +composedly as if it had been regularly purchased and paid for. But +there is more upon his mind; the dread of a writ being presented to him, +with shackles at the same time--of being taken handcuffed to the county +jail--thence before a court of assize--and finally to the scaffold! + +He has reason to apprehend all this. Notwithstanding his deep cunning, +and the dexterity with which he accomplished his great crime, a man must +have witnessed it. Above the roar of the torrent, mingling with the +cries of the drowning girl as she struggled against it, were shouts in a +man's voice, which he fancied to be that of Father Rogier. From what he +has since heard he is now certain of it. The coroner's inquest, at +which he was not present, but whose report has reached him, puts that +beyond doubt. His only uncertainty is, whether Rogier saw him by the +footbridge, and if so to recognise him. True, the priest has nothing +said of him at the 'quest; for all he, Coracle, has his suspicions; now +torturing him almost as much as if sure that he was detected tampering +with the plank. No wonder he eats his supper with little relish, or +that after every few mouthfuls he takes a swallow of the brandy, with a +view to keeping up his spirits. + +Withal he has no remorse. When he recalls the hastily exchanged +speeches he overheard upon Garran-hill, with that more prolonged +dialogue under the trysting-tree, the expression upon his features is +not one of repentance, but devilish satisfaction at the fell deed he has +done. Not that his vengeance is yet satisfied. It will not be till he +have the other life--that of Jack Wingate. He has dealt the young +waterman a blow which at the same time afflicts himself; only by dealing +a deadlier one will his own sufferings be relieved. He has been long +plotting his rival's death, but without seeing a safe way to accomplish +it. And now the thing seems no nearer than ever--this night farther +off. In his present frame of mind--with the dread of the gallows upon +it--he would be too glad to cry quits, and let Wingate live! + +Starting at every swish of the wind, he proceeds with his supper, +hastily devouring it, like a wild beast; and when at length finished, he +sets the dish upon the floor for the dog. Then lighting his pipe, and +drawing the bottle nearer to his hand, he sits for a while smoking. + +Not long before being interrupted by a noise at the door; this time no +stroke of wind-tossed waif, but a touch of knuckles. Though slight and +barely audible, the dog knows it to be a knock, as shown by his +behaviour. Dropping the half-gnawed bone, and springing to its feet, +the animal gives out an angry growling. + +Its master has himself started from his chair, and stands trembling. +There is a slit of a door at back convenient for escape; and for an +instant his eye is on it, as though he had half a mind to make exit that +way. He would blow out the light were it a candle; but cannot as it is +the fire, whose faggots are still brightly ablaze. + +While thus undecided, he hears the knock repeated; this time louder, and +with the accompaniment of a voice, saying: + +"Open your door, Monsieur Dick." + +Not a policeman, then; only the priest! + +Volume Two, Chapter VII. + +A MYSTERIOUS CONTRACT. + +"Only the priest!" muttered Coracle to himself, but little better +satisfied than if it were the policeman. + +Giving the lurcher a kick to quiet the animal, he pulls back the bolt, +and draws open the door, as he does so asking, "That you, Father +Rogier?" + +"_C'est moi_!" answers the priest, stepping in without invitation. "Ah! +_mon bracconier_! you're having something nice for supper. Judging by +the aroma _ragout_ of hare. Hope I haven't disturbed you. Is it hare?" + +"It was, your Reverence, a bit of leveret." + +"Was! You've finished then. It is all gone?" + +"It is. The dog had the remains of it, as ye see." + +He points to the dish on the floor. + +"I'm sorry at that--having rather a relish for leveret. It can't be +helped, however." + +"I wish I'd known ye were comin'. Dang the dog!" + +"No, no! Don't blame the poor dumb brute. No doubt, it too has a taste +for hare, seeing it's half hound. I suppose leverets are plentiful just +now, and easily caught, since they can no longer retreat to the standing +corn?" + +"Yes, your Reverence. There be a good wheen o' them about." + +"In that case, if you should stumble upon one, and bring it to my house, +I'll have it jugged for myself. By the way, what have you got in that +black jack?" + +"It's brandy." + +"Well, Monsieur Dick; I'll thank you for a mouthful." + +"Will you take it neat, or mixed wi' a drop o' water?" + +"Neat--raw. The night's that, and the two raws will neutralise one +another. I feel chilled to the bones, and a little fatigued, toiling +against the storm." + +"It be a fearsome night. I wonder at your Reverence bein' out--exposin' +yourself in such weather!" + +"All weathers are alike to me--when duty calls. Just now I'm abroad on +a little matter of business that won't brook delay." + +"Business--wi' me?" + +"With you, _mon bracconier_!" + +"What may it be, your Reverence?" + +"Sit down, and I shall tell you. It's too important to be discussed +standing." + +The introductory dialogue does not tranquillise the poacher; instead, +further intensifies his fears. Obedient, he takes his seat one side the +table, the priest planting himself on the other, the glass of brandy +within reach of his hand. + +After a sip, he resumes speech with the remark: + +"If I mistake not, you are a poor man, Monsieur Dempsey?" + +"You ain't no ways mistaken 'bout that, Father Rogier." + +"And you'd like to be a rich one?" + +Thus encouraged, the poacher's face lights up a little. Smilingly, he +makes reply: + +"I can't say as I'd have any particular objection. 'Stead, I'd like it +wonderful well." + +"You can be, if so inclined." + +"I'm ever so inclined, as I've sayed. But how, your Reverence? In this +hard work-o'-day world 'tant so easy to get rich." + +"For you, easy enough. No labour and not much more difficulty than +transporting your coracle five or six miles across the meadows." + +"Somethin' to do wi' the coracle, have it?" + +"No; 'twill need a bigger boat--one that will carry three or four +people. Do you know where you can borrow such, or hire it?" + +"I think I do. I've a friend, the name o' Rob Trotter, who's got just +sich a boat. He'd lend it me, sure." + +"Charter it, if he doesn't. Never mind about the price. I'll pay." + +"When might you want it, your Reverence?" + +"On Thursday night, at ten, or a little later--say half-past." + +"And where am I to bring it?" + +"To the Ferry; you'll have it against the bank by the back of the Chapel +burying-ground, and keep it there till I come to you. Don't leave it to +go up to the `Harp,' or anywhere else; and don't let any one see either +the boat or yourself, if you can possibly avoid it. As the nights are +now dark at that hour, there need be no difficulty in your rowing up the +river without being observed. Above all, you're to make no one the +wiser of what you're to do, or anything I'm now saying to you. The +service I want you for is one of a secret kind, and not to be prattled +about." + +"May I have a hint o' what it is?" + +"Not now; you shall know in good time--when you meet me with the boat. +There will be another along with me--may be two--to assist in the +affair. What will be required of you is a little dexterity, _such as +you displayed on Saturday night_." + +No need the emphasis on the last words to impress their meaning upon the +murderer. Too well he comprehends, starting in his chair as if a hornet +had stung him. + +"How--where?" he gasps out in the confusion of terror. + +The double interrogatory is but mechanical, and of no consequence. +Hopeless any attempt at concealment or subterfuge; as he is aware on +receiving the answer, cool and provokingly deliberate. + +"You have asked two questions, Monsieur Dick, that call for separate +replies. To the first, `How?' I leave you to grope out the answer for +yourself, feeling pretty sure you'll find it. With the second I'll be +more particular, if you wish me. Place--where a certain foot plank +bridges a certain brook, close to the farmhouse of Abergann. It--the +plank, I mean--last Saturday night, a little after nine, took a fancy to +go drifting down the Wye. Need I tell you who sent it, Richard +Dempsey?" + +The man thus interrogated looks more than confused--horrified, well nigh +crazed. Excitedly stretching out his hand, he clutches the bottle, half +fills the tumbler with brandy, and drinks it down at a gulp. He almost +wishes it were poison, and would instantly kill him! + +Only after dashing the glass down does he make reply--sullenly, and in a +hoarse, husky voice: + +"I don't want to know, one way or the other. Damn the plank! What do I +care?" + +"You shouldn't blaspheme, Monsieur Dick. That's not becoming--above +all, in the presence of your spiritual adviser. However, you're +excited, as I see, which is in some sense an excuse." + +"I beg your Reverence's pardon. I was a bit excited about something." + +He has calmed down a little, at thought that things may not be so bad +for him after all. The priest's last words, with his manner, seem to +promise secrecy. Still further quieted as the latter continues: + +"Never mind about what. We can talk of it afterwards. As I've made you +aware--more than once, if I rightly remember--there's no sin so great +but that pardon may reach it--if repented and atoned for. On Thursday +night you shall have an opportunity to make some atonement. So, be +there with the boat!" + +"I will, your Reverence; sure as my name's Richard Dempsey." + +Idle of him to be thus earnest in promising. He can be trusted to come +as if led in a string. For he knows there is a halter around his neck, +with one end of it in the hand of Father Rogier. + +"Enough!" returns the priest. "If there be anything else I think of +communicating to you before Thursday I'll come again--to-morrow night. +So be at home. Meanwhile, see to securing the boat. Don't let there be +any failure about that, _coute que coute_. And let me again enjoin +silence--not a word to any one, even your friend Rob. _Verbum +sapientibus_! But as you're not much of a scholar, Monsieur Coracle, I +suppose my Latin's lost on you. Putting it in your own vernacular, I +mean: keep a close mouth, if you don't wish to wear a necktie of +material somewhat coarser than either silk or cotton. You comprehend?" + +To the priest's satanical humour the poacher answers, with a sickly +smile,-- + +"I do, Father Rogier; perfectly." + +"That's sufficient. And now, _mon bracconier_, I must be gone. Before +starting out, however, I'll trench a little further on your hospitality. +Just another drop, to defend me from these chill equinoctials." + +Saying which he leans towards the table, pours out a stoop of the +brandy--best Cognac from the "Harp" it is--then quaffing it off, bids +"bon soir!" and takes departure. + +Having accompanied him to the door, the poacher stands upon its +threshold looking after, reflecting upon what has passed, anything but +pleasantly. Never took he leave of a guest less agreeable. True, +things are not quite so bad as he might have expected, and had reason to +anticipate. And yet they are bad enough. He is in the toils--the +tough, strong meshes of the criminal net, which at any moment may be +drawn tight and fast around him; and between policeman and priest there +is little to choose. For his own purposes the latter may allow him to +live; but it will be as the life of one who has sold his soul to the +devil! + +While thus gloomily cogitating he hears a sound, which but makes still +more sombre the hue of his thoughts. A voice comes pealing up the +glen--a wild, wailing cry, as of some one in the extreme of distress. +He can almost fancy it the shriek of a drowning woman. But his ears are +too much accustomed to nocturnal sounds, and the voices of the woods, to +be deceived. That heard was only a little unusual by reason of the +rough night--its tone altered by the whistling of the wind. + +"Bah!" he exclaims, recognising the call of the screech-owl, "it's only +one o' them cursed brutes. What a fool fear makes a man!" + +And with this hackneyed reflection he turns back into the house, rebolts +the door, and goes to his bed; not to sleep, but lie long awake--kept so +by that same fear. + +Volume Two, Chapter VIII. + +THE GAME OF PIQUE. + +The sun has gone down upon Gwen Wynn's natal day--its twenty-first +anniversary--and Llangorren Court is in a blaze of light. For a grand +entertainment is there being given--a ball. + +The night is a dark one; but its darkness does not interfere with the +festivities; instead, heightens their splendour, by giving effect to the +illuminations. For although autumn, the weather is still warm, and the +grounds are illuminated. Parti-coloured lamps are placed at intervals +along the walks, and suspended in festoonery from the trees, while the +casement windows of the house stand open, people passing in and out of +them as if they were doors. The drawing-room is this night devoted to +dancing; its carpet taken up, the floor made as slippery as a skating +rink with beeswax--abominable custom! Though a large apartment, it does +not afford space for half the company to dance in; and to remedy this, +supplementary quadrilles are arranged on the smooth turf outside--a +string and wind band from the neighbouring town making music loud enough +for all. + +Besides, all do not care for the delightful exercise. A sumptuous +spread in the dining-room, with wines at discretion, attracts a +proportion of the guests; while there are others who have a fancy to go +strolling about the lawn, even beyond the coruscation of the lamps; some +who do not think it too dark anywhere, but the darker the better. + +The _elite_ of at least half the shire is present, and Miss Linton, who +is still the hostess, reigns supreme in fine exuberance of spirits. +Being the last entertainment at Llangorren over which she is officially +to preside, one might imagine she would take things in a different way. +But as she is to remain resident at the Court, with privileges but +slightly, if at all, curtailed, she has no gloomy forecast of the +future. Instead, on this night present she lives as in the past; almost +fancies herself back at Cheltenham in its days of splendour, and dancing +with the "first gentleman in Europe" redivivus. If her star be going +down, it is going in glory, as the song of the swan is sweetest in its +dying hour. + +Strange, that on such a festive occasion, with its circumstances +attendant, the old spinster, hitherto mistress of the mansion, should be +happier than the younger one, hereafter to be! But in truth, so is it. +Notwithstanding her great beauty and grand wealth--the latter no longer +in prospective, but in actual possession--despite the gaiety and +grandeur surrounding her, the friendly greetings and warm +congratulations received on all sides--Gwen Wynn is herself anything but +gay. Instead, sad, almost to wretchedness! + +And from the most trifling of causes, though not as by her estimated; +little suspecting she has but herself to blame. It has arisen out of an +episode, in love's history of common and very frequent occurrence--the +game of piques. She and Captain Ryecroft are playing it, with all the +power and skill they can command. Not much of the last, for jealousy is +but a clumsy fencer. Though accounted keen, it is often blind as love +itself; and were not both under its influence they would not fail to see +through the flimsy deceptions they are mutually practising on one +another. In love with each other almost to distraction, they are this +night behaving as though they were the bitterest enemies, or at all +events as friends sorely estranged. + +She began it; blamelessly, even with praiseworthy motive; which, known +to him, no trouble could have come up between them. But when, touched +with compassion for George Shenstone, she consented to dance with him +several times consecutively, and in the intervals remained conversing-- +too familiarly, as Captain Ryecroft imagined--all this with an +"engagement ring" on her finger, by himself placed upon it--not strange +in him, thus _fiance_, feeling a little jealous; no more that he should +endeavour to make her the same. Strategy, old as hills, or hearts +themselves. + +In his attempt he is, unfortunately, too successful; finding the means +near by--an assistant willing and ready to his hand. This in the person +of Miss Powell; she also went to church on the Sunday before in Jack +Wingate's boat--a young lady so attractive as to make it a nice point +whether she or Gwen Wynn be the attraction of the evening. + +Though only just introduced, the Hussar officer is not unknown to her by +name, with some repute of his heroism besides. His appearance speaks +for itself, making such impression upon the lady as to set her pencil at +work inscribing his name on her card for several dances, round and +square, in rapid succession. + +And so between him and Gwen Wynn the jealous feeling, at first but +slightly entertained, is nursed and fanned into a burning flame--the +green-eyed monster growing bigger as the night gets later. + +On both sides it reaches its maximum, when Miss Wynn, after a waltz, +leaning on George Shenstone's arm, walks out into the grounds, and stops +to talk with him in a retired, shadowy spot. + +Not far off is Captain Ryecroft observing them, but too far to hear the +words passing between. Were he near enough for this, it would terminate +the strife raging in his breast, as the sham flirtation he is carrying +on with Miss Powell--put at end to _her_ new sprung aspirations, if she +has any. + +It does as much for the hopes of George Shenstone--long in abeyance, but +this night rekindled and revived. Beguiled, first by his partner's +amiability in so oft dancing with, then afterwards using him as a foil, +he little dreams that he is but being made a catspaw. Instead, drawing +courage from the deception, emboldened as never before, he does what he +never dared before--make Gwen Wynn a proposal of marriage. He makes it +without circumlocution, at a single bound, as he would take a hedge upon +his hunter. + +"Gwen! you know how I love you--would give my life for you! Will you +be--" Only now he hesitates, as if his horse baulked. + +"Be what?" she asks, with no intention to help him over, but +mechanically, her thoughts being elsewhere. + +"My wife?" + +She starts at the words, touched by his manly way, yet pained by their +appealing earnestness, and the thought she must give denying response. + +And how is she to give it, with least pain to him? Perhaps the bluntest +way will be the best. So thinking, she says:-- + +"George, it can never be. Look at that!" + +She holds out her left hand, sparkling with jewels. + +"At what?" he asks, not comprehending. + +"That ring." She indicates a cluster of brilliants, on the fourth +finger, by itself, adding the word "Engaged." + +"O God!" he exclaims, almost in a groan. "Is that so?" + +"It is." + +For a time there is silence; her answer less maddening than making him +sad. + +With a desperate effort to resign himself, he at length replies:-- + +"Dear Gwen! for I must still call you--ever hold you so--my life +hereafter will be as one who walks in darkness, waiting for death--ah, +longing for it!" + +Despair has its poetry, as love; oft exceeding the last in fervour of +expression, and that of George Shenstone causes surprise to Gwen Wynn, +while still further paining her. So much she knows not how to make +rejoinder, and is glad when a _fanfare_ of the band instruments gives +note of another quadrille--the Lancers--about to begin. + +Still engaged partners for the dance, but not to be for life, they +return to the drawing-room, and join in it; he going through its figures +with a sad heart and many a sigh. + +Nor is she less sorrowful, only more excited; nigh unto madness, as she +sees Captain Ryecroft _vis-a-vis_ with Miss Powell; on his face an +expression of content, calm, almost cynical; hers radiant as with +triumph! + +In this moment of Gwen Wynn's supreme misery--acme of jealous spite-- +were George Shenstone to renew his proposal, she might pluck the +betrothal ring from her finger, and give answer, "I will!" + +It is not to be so, however weighty the consequence. In the horoscope +of her life there is yet a heavier. + +Volume Two, Chapter IX. + +JEALOUS AS A TIGER. + +It is a little after two a.m., and the ball is breaking up. Not a very +late hour, as many of the people live at a distance, and have a long +drive homeward, over hilly roads. + +By the fashion prevailing a _galop_ brings the dancing to a close. The +musicians, slipping their instruments into cases and baize bags, retire +from the room; soon after deserted by all, save a spare servant or two, +who make the rounds to look to extinguishing the lamps, with a sharp eye +for waifs in the shape of dropped ribbons or _bijouterie_. + +Gentlemen guests stay longer in the dining-room over claret and +champagne "cup," or the more time-honoured B and S; while in the hallway +there is a crush, and on the stairs a stream of ladies, descending +cloaked and hooded. + +Soon the crowd waxes thinner, relieved by carriages called up, quickly +filling, and whirled off. + +That of Squire Powell is among them; and Captain Ryecroft, not without +comment from certain officious observers, accompanies the young lady, he +has been so often dancing with, to the door. + +Having seen her off with the usual ceremonies of leave-taking, he +returns into the porch, and there for a while remains. It is a large +portico, with Corinthian columns, by one of which he takes stand, in +shadow. But there is a deeper shadow on his own brow, and a darkness in +his heart, such as he has never in his life experienced. He feels how +he has committed himself, but not with any remorse or repentance. +Instead, the jealous anger is still within his breast, ripe and ruthless +as ever. Nor is it so unnatural. Here is a woman--not Miss Powell, but +Gwen Wynn--to whom he has given his heart--acknowledged the surrender, +and in return had acknowledgment of hers--not only this, but offered his +hand in marriage--placed the pledge upon her finger, she assenting and +accepting--and now, in the face of all, openly, and before his face, +engaged in flirtation! + +It is not the first occasion for him to have observed familiarities +between her and the son of Sir George Shenstone; trifling, it is true, +but which gave him uneasiness. But to-night things have been more +serious, and the pain caused him all-imbuing and bitter. + +He does not reflect how he has been himself behaving. For to none more +than the jealous lover is the big beam unobservable, while the little +mote is sharply descried. He only thinks of her ill-behaviour, ignoring +his own. If she has been but dissembling, coquetting with him, even +that were reprehensible. Heartless, he deems it--sinister--something +more, an indiscretion. Flirting while engaged--what might she do when +married? + +He does not wrong her by such direct self-interrogation. The suspicion +were unworthy of himself, as of her; and as yet he has not given way to +it. Still her conduct seems inexcusable, as inexplicable; and to get +explanation of it he now tarries, while others are hastening away. + +Not resolutely. Besides the half sad, half indignant expression upon +his countenance, there is also one of indecision. He is debating within +himself what course to pursue, and whether he will go off without +bidding her good-bye. He is almost mad enough to be ill-mannered; and +possibly, were it only a question of politeness, he would not stand +upon, or be stayed by it. But there is more. The very same spiteful +rage hinders him from going. He thinks himself aggrieved, and, +therefore, justifiable in demanding to know the reason--to use a slang, +but familiar phrase, "having it out." + +Just as has reached this determination, an opportunity is offered him. +Having taken leave of Miss Linton, he has returned to the door, where he +stands hat in hand, his overcoat already on. Miss Wynn is now also +there, bidding good night to some guests--intimate friends--who have +remained till the last. As they move off, he approaches her; she, as if +unconsciously, and by the merest chance, lingering near the entrance. +It is all pretence on her part, that she has not seen him dallying +about; for she has several times, while giving _conge_ to others of the +company. Equally feigned her surprise, as she returns his salute, +saying-- + +"Why, Captain Ryecroft! I supposed you were gone long ago!" + +"I am sorry, Miss Wynn, you should think me capable of such rudeness." + +"Captain Ryecroft" and "Miss Wynn," instead of "Vivian" and "Gwen!" It +is a bad beginning, ominous of a worse ending. + +The rejoinder, almost a rebuke, places her at a disadvantage, and she +says rather confusedly-- + +"O! certainly not, sir. But where there are so many people, of course, +one does not look for the formalities of leave-taking." + +"True; and, availing myself of that, I might have been gone long since, +as you supposed, but for--" + +"For what?" + +"A word I wish to speak with you--alone. Can I?" + +"Oh, certainly." + +"Not here?" he asks suggestingly. + +She glances around. There are servants hurrying about through the hall, +crossing and recrossing, with the musicians coming forth from the +dining-room, where they have been making a clearance of the cold fowl, +ham, and heel-taps. + +With quick intelligence comprehending, but without further speech she +walks out into the portico, he preceding. Not to remain there, where +eyes would still be on them, and ears within hearing. She has an Indian +shawl upon her arm--throughout the night carried while promenading--and +again throwing it over her shoulders, she steps down upon the gravelled +sweep, and on into the grounds. + +Side by side they proceed in the direction of the summer-house, as many +times before, though never in the same mood as now. And never, as now, +so constrained and silent; for not a word passes between them till they +reach the pavilion. + +There is light in it. But a few hundred yards from the house, it came +in for part of the illumination, and its lamps are not yet +extinguished--only burning feebly. + +She is the first to enter--he to resume speech, saying-- + +"There was a day, Miss Wynn, when, standing on this spot, I thought +myself the happiest man in Herefordshire. Now I know it was but a +fancy--a sorry hallucination." + +"I do not understand you, Captain Ryecroft!" + +"Oh yes, you do. Pardon my contradicting you; you've given me reason." + +"Indeed! In what way? I beg, nay, demand, explanation." + +"You shall have it; though superfluous, I should think, after what has +been passing--this night especially." + +"Oh! this night especially! I supposed you so much engaged with Miss +Powell as not to have noticed anything or anybody else. What was it, +pray?" + +"You understand, I take it, without need of my entering into +particulars." + +"Indeed, I don't; unless you refer to my dancing with George Shenstone." + +"More than dancing with him--keeping his company all through!" + +"Not strange that; seeing I was left so free to keep it! Besides, as I +suppose you know, his father was my father's oldest and most intimate +friend." + +She makes this avowal condescendingly, observing he is really vexed, and +thinking the game of contraries has gone far enough. He has given her a +sight of his cards, and with the quick subtle instinct of woman she sees +that among them Miss Powell is no longer chief trump. Were his +perception keen as hers, their jealous conflict would now come to a +close, and between them confidence and friendship, stronger than ever, +be restored. + +Unfortunately it is not to be. Still miscomprehending, yet unyielding, +he rejoins, sneeringly-- + +"And I suppose your father's daughter is determined to continue that +intimacy with his fathers son; which might not be so very pleasant to +him who should be your husband! Had I thought of that when I placed a +ring upon your finger--" + +Before he can finish she has plucked it off, and drawing herself up to +full height, says in bitter retort-- + +"You insult me, sir! Take it back!" With the words, the gemmed circlet +is flung upon the little rustic table, from which it rolls off. + +He has not been prepared for such abrupt issue, though his rude speech +tempted it. Somewhat sorry, but still too exasperated to confess or +show it, he rejoins, defiantly:-- + +"If you wish it to end so, let it!" + +"Yes; let it!" + +They part without further speech. He, being nearest the door, goes out +first, taking no heed of the diamond cluster which lies sparkling upon +the floor. + +Neither does she touch, or think of it. Were it the Koh-i-noor, she +would not care for it now. A jewel more precious--the one love of her +life is lost--cruelly crushed--and, with heart all but breaking, she +sinks down upon the bench, draws the shawl over her face, and weeps till +its rich silken tissue is saturated with her tears. + +The wild spasm passed, she rises to her feet, and stands leaning upon +the baluster rail, looking out and listening. Still dark, she sees +nothing; but hears the stroke of a boat's oars in measured and regular +repetition--listens on till the sound becomes indistinct, blending with +the sough of the river, the sighing of the breeze, and the natural +voices of the night. + +She may never hear _his_ voice, never look on his face again! + +At the thought she exclaims, in anguished accent, "This the ending! It +is too--" + +What she designed saying is not said. Her interrupted words are +continued into a shriek--one wild cry--then her lips are sealed, +suddenly, as if stricken dumb, or dead! + +Not by the visitation of God. Before losing consciousness, she felt the +embrace of brawny arms--knew herself the victim of man's violence. + +Volume Two, Chapter X. + +STUNNED AND SILENT. + +Down in the boat-dock, upon the thwarts of his skiff, sits the young +waterman awaiting his fare. He has been up to the house and there +hospitably entertained--feasted. But with the sorrow of his recent +bereavement still fresh, the revelry of the servants' hall had no +fascination for him--instead, only saddening the more. Even the +blandishments of the French _femme de chambre_ could not detain him; and +fleeing them, he has returned to his boat long before he expects being +called upon to use the oars. + +Seated, pipe in mouth--for Jack too indulges in tobacco--he is +endeavouring to put in the time as well as he can; irksome at best with +that bitter grief upon him. And it is present all the while, with +scarce a moment of surcease, his thoughts ever dwelling on her who is +sleeping her last sleep in the burying-ground at Rugg's Ferry. + +While thus disconsolately reflecting, a sound falls upon his ears, which +claims his attention, and for an instant or two occupies it. If +anything, it was the dip of an oar; but so light that only one with ears +well-trained to distinguish noises of the kind could tell it to be that. +He, however, has no doubt of it, muttering to himself-- + +"Wonder whose boat can be on the river this time o' night--mornin', I +ought to say? Wouldn't be a tourist party--starting off so early? No, +can't be that. Like enough Dick Dempsey out a-salmon stealin'! The +night so dark--just the sort for the rascal to be about on his unlawful +business." + +While thus conjecturing, a scowl, dark as the night itself, flits over +his own face. + +"Yes; a coracle!" he continues; "must 'a been the plash o' a paddle. +If't had been a regular boat's oar I'd a heerd the thumpin' against the +thole pins." + +For once the waterman is in error. It is no paddle whose stroke he has +heard, nor a coracle impelled by it; but a boat rowed by a pair of oars. +And why there is no "thumpin' against the thole pins" is because the +oars are muffled. Were he out in the main channel--two hundred yards +above the bye-way--he would see the craft itself with three men in it. +But only at that instant; as in the next it is headed into a bed of +"witheys"--flooded by the freshet--and pushed on through them to the +bank beyond. + +Soon it touches _terra firma_, the men spring out; two of them going off +towards the grounds of Llangorren Court. The third remains by the boat. + +Meanwhile, Jack Wingate, in his skiff, continues listening. But hearing +no repetition of the sound that had so slightly reached his ear, soon +ceases to think of it; again giving way to his grief, as he returns to +reflect on what lies in the chapel cemetery. If he but knew how near +the two things were together--the burying-ground and the boat--he would +not be long in his own. + +Relieved he is, when at length voices are heard up at the house--calls +for carriages--proclaiming the ball about to break up. Still more +gratified, as the banging of doors, and the continuous rumble of wheels, +tell of the company fast clearing off. + +For nigh half an hour the rattling is incessant; then there is a lull, +and he listens for a sound of a different sort--a footfall on the stone +stairs that lead down to the little dock--that of his fare, who may at +any moment be expected. + +Instead of footstep, he hears voices on the cliff above, off in the +direction of the summer-house. Nothing to surprise him that? It is not +first time he has listened to the same, and under very similar +circumstances; for soon as hearing he recognises them. But it is the +first time for him to note their tone as it is now--to his astonishment +that of anger. + +"They be quarrelling, I declare," he says to himself. "Wonder what for! +Somethin' crooked's come between 'em at the ball--bit o' jealousy, +maybe? I shudn't be surprised if it's about young Mr Shenstone. Sure +as eggs is eggs, the Captain have ugly ideas consarnin' him. He +needn't, though; an' wouldn't, if he seed through the eyes o' a sensible +man. Course, bein' deep in love, he can't. I seed it long ago. She be +mad about him as he o' her--if not madder. Well; I daresay it be only a +lovers' quarrel an'll soon blow over. Woe's me! I weesh--" + +He would say "I weesh 'twar only that 'twixt myself an' Mary," but the +words break upon his lips, while a scalding tear trickles down his +cheek. + +Fortunately his anguished sorrow is not allowed further indulgence for +the time. + +The footstep, so long listened for, is at length upon the boat stair; +not firm, in its wonted way, but as though he making it were +intoxicated! + +But Wingate does not believe it is that. He knows the Captain to be +abstemious, or, at all events, not greatly given to drink. He has never +seen him overcome by it; and surely he would not be, on this night in +particular. Unless, indeed, it may have to do with the angry speech +overheard, or the something thought of preceding it! + +The conjectures of the waterman, are brought to an end by the arrival of +his fare at the bottom of the boat stair, where he stops only to +ask--"Are you there, Jack?" The pitchy darkness accounts for the +question. + +Receiving answer in the affirmative, he gropes his way along the ledge +of rock, reeling like a drunken man. Not from drink, but the effects of +that sharp, defiant rejoinder still ringing in his ears. He seems to +hear, in every gust of the wind swirling down from the cliff above, the +words, "Yes; let it!" + +He knows where the skiff should be--where it was left--beyond the +pleasure boat. The dock is not wide enough for both abreast, and to +reach his own he must go across the other--make a gang-plank of the +_Gwendoline_. + +As he sets foot upon the thwarts of the pleasure craft, has he a thought +of what were his feelings when he first planted it there, after ducking +the Forest of Dean fellow? Or, stepping off, does he spurn the boat +with angry heel, as in angry speech he has done her whose name it bears? +Neither. He is too excited and confused to think of the past, or aught +but the black bitter present. + +Still staggering, he drops down upon the stern sheets of the skiff, +commanding the waterman to shove off. + +A command promptly obeyed, and in silence. Jack can see the Captain is +out of sorts, and suspecting the reason, naturally supposes that speech +at such time might not be welcome. He says nothing, therefore; but, +bending to his oars, pulls on up the bye-way. + +Just outside its entrance a glimpse can be got of the little pavilion-- +by looking back. And Captain Ryecroft does this, over his shoulder; +for, seated at the tiller, his face is from it. The light is still +there, burning dimly as ever. For all, he is enabled to trace the +outlines of a figure, in shadowy _silhouette_--a woman standing by the +baluster rail, as if looking out over it. + +He knows who it is; it can only be Gwen Wynn. Well were it for both +could he but know what she is at that moment thinking. If he did, back +would go his boat, and the two again be together--perhaps never more to +part in spite. + +Just then, as if ominous, and in spiteful protest against such +consummation, the sombre sandstone cliff draws between, and Captain +Ryecroft is carried onward, with heart dark and heavy as the rock. + +Volume Two, Chapter XI. + +A STARTLING CRY. + +During all this while Wingate has not spoken a word, though he also has +observed the same figure in the pavilion. With face that way he could +not avoid noticing it, and easily guesses who she is. Had he any doubt +the behaviour of the other would remove it. + +"Miss Wynn, for sartin," he thinks to himself, but says nothing. + +Again turning his eyes upon his patron, he notes the distraught air, +with head drooping, and feels the effect in having to contend against +the rudder ill directed. But he forbears making remark. At such a +moment his interference might not be tolerated--perhaps resented. And +so the silence continues. + +Not much longer. A thought strikes the waterman, and he ventures a word +about the weather. It is done for a kindly feeling--for he sees how the +other suffers--but in part because he has a reason for it. The +observation is-- + +"We're goin' to have the biggest kind o' a rainpour Captain." + +The Captain makes no immediate response. Still in the morose mood, +communing with his own thoughts, the words fall upon his ear +unmeaningly, as if from a distant echo. + +After a time it occurs to him he has been spoken to and asks-- + +"What did you observe, Wingate?" + +"That there be a rain storm threatening o' the grandest sort. There's +flood enough now; but afore long it'll be all over the meadows." + +"Why do you think that? I see no sign. The sky's very much clouded +true; but it has been just the same for the last several days." + +"'Tan't the sky as tells me, Captain." + +"What then?" + +"The _heequall_." + +"The heequall?" + +"Yes. It's been a cacklin' all through the afternoon and evenin'-- +especial loud just as the sun wor settin'. I niver know'd it do that +'ithout plenty o' wet comin' soon after." + +Ryecroft's interest is aroused, and for the moment forgetting his +misery, he says:-- + +"You're talking enigmas, Jack! At least they are so to me. What is +this barometer you seem to place such confidence in? Beast, bird, or +fish?" + +"It be a bird, Captain? I believe the gentry folks calls it a +woodpecker; but 'bout here it be more generally known by the name +_heequall_." + +The orthography is according to Jack's orthoepy, for there are various +spellings of the word. + +"Anyhow," he proceeds, "it gies warnin' o' rain, same as a +weather-glass. When it ha' been laughin' in the mad way it wor most +part o' this day, you may look out for a downpour. Besides, the owls +ha' been a-doin' their best, too. While I wor waiting for ye in that +darksome hole, one went sailin' up an' down the backwash, every now an' +then swishin' close to my ear and giein' a screech--as if I hadn't +enough o' the disagreeable to think o'. They allus come that way when +one's feelin' out o' sorts--just as if they wanted to make things worse. +Hark! Did ye hear that, Captain?" + +"I did." + +They speak of a sound that has reached their ears from below--down the +river. + +Both show agitation, but most the waterman; for it resembled a shriek, +as of a woman in distress. Distant, just as one he heard across the +wooded ridge, on that fatal night after parting with Mary Morgan. He +knows now, that must have been her drowning cry, and has often thought +since whether, if aware of it at the time, he could have done aught to +rescue her. Not strange, that with such a recollection he is now +greatly excited by a sound so similar! + +"That waren't no heequall; nor screech-owl neyther," he says, speaking +in a half whisper. + +"What do you think it was?" asks the Captain, also _sotto voce_. + +"The scream o' a female. I'm 'most sure 'twor that." + +"It certainly did seem a woman's voice. In the direction of the Court, +too!" + +"Yes; it comed that way." + +"I've half a mind to put back, and see if there be anything amiss. What +say you, Wingate?" + +"Gie the word, sir! I'm ready." + +The boatman has his oars out of water, and holds them so, Ryecroft still +undecided. Both listen with bated breath. But, whether woman's voice, +or whatever the sound, they hear nothing more of it; only the monotonous +ripple of the river, the wind mournfully sighing through the trees upon +its banks, and a distant "brattle," of thunder, bearing out the portent +of the bird. + +"Like as not," says Jack, "'twor some o' them sarvint girls screechin' +in play, fra havin' had a drop too much to drink. There's a Frenchy +thing among 'em as wor gone nigh three sheets i' the wind 'fores I left. +I think, Captain, we may as well keep on." + +The waterman has an eye to the threatening rain, and dreads getting a +wet jacket. + +But his words are thrown away; for, meanwhile, the boat, left to itself, +has drifted downward, nearly back to the entrance of the bye-way, and +they are once more within sight of the kiosk on the cliff. There all is +darkness; no figure distinguishable. The lamps have burnt out, or been +removed by some of the servants. + +"She has gone away from it," is Ryecroft's reflection to himself. "I +wonder if the ring be still on the floor--or, has she taken it with her! +I'd give something to know that." + +Beyond he sees a light in the upper window of the house--that of a +bedroom no doubt. She may be in it, unrobing herself, before retiring +to rest. Perhaps standing in front of a mirror, which reflects that +form of magnificent outline he was once permitted to hold in his arms, +thrilled by the contact, and never to be thrilled so again! Her face in +the glass--what the expression upon it? Sadness, or joy? If the +former, she is thinking of him; if the latter of George Shenstone. + +As this reflection flits across his brain, the jealous rage returns, and +he cries out to the waterman-- + +"Row back, Wingate! Pull hard, and let us home!" + +Once more the boat's head is turned upstream, and for a long spell no +further conversation is exchanged--only now and then a word relating to +the management of the craft, as between rower and steerer. Both have +relapsed into abstraction--each dwelling on his own bereavement. +Perhaps boat never carried two men with sadder hearts, or more bitter +reflections. Nor is there so much difference in the degree of their +bitterness. The sweetheart, almost bride, who has proved false, seems +to her lover not less lost, than to hers she who has been snatched away +by death! + +As the _Mary_ runs into the slip of backwater--her accustomed +mooring-place--and they step out of her, the dialogue is renewed by the +owner asking-- + +"Will ye want me the morrow, Captain?" + +"No, Jack." + +"How soon do you think? 'Scuse me for questionin'; but young Mr Powell +have been here the day, to know if I could take him an' a friend down +the river, all the way to the Channel. It's for sea fishin' or duck +shootin' or somethin' o' that sort; an' they want to engage the boat +most part o' a week. But, if you say the word, they must look out for +somebody else. That be the reason o' my askin' when's you'd need me +again." + +"Perhaps never." + +"Oh! Captain; don't say that. 'Tan't as I care 'bout the boat's hire, +or the big pay you've been givin' me. Believe me it ain't. Ye can have +me an' the _Mary_ 'ithout a sixpence o' expense--long's ye like. But to +think I'm niver to row you again, that 'ud vex me dreadful--maybe more'n +ye gi'e me credit for, Captain." + +"More than I give you credit for! It couldn't, Jack. We've been too +long together for me to suppose you actuated by mercenary motives. +Though I may never need your boat again, or see yourself, don't have any +fear of my forgetting you. And now, as a souvenir, and some slight +recompense of your services, take this." + +The waterman feels a piece of paper pressed into his hand, its crisp +rustle proclaiming it a bank-note. It is a "tenner," but in the +darkness he cannot tell, and believing it only a "fiver," still thinks +it too much. For it is all extra of his fare. + +With a show of returning it, and, indeed, the desire to do so, he says +protestingly-- + +"I can't take it, Captain. You ha' paid me too handsome, arredy." + +"Nonsense, man! I haven't done anything of the kind. Besides, that +isn't for boat hire, nor yourself; only a little douceur, by way of +present to the good dame inside the cottage--asleep, I take it." + +"That case I accept. But won't my mother be grieved to hear o' your +goin' away--she thinks so much o' ye, Captain. Will ye let me wake her +up? I'm sure she'd like to speak a partin' word, and thank you for this +big gift." + +"No, no! don't disturb the dear old lady. In the morning you can give +her my kind regards, and parting compliments. Say to her, when I return +to Herefordshire--if I ever do--she shall see me. For yourself, take my +word, should I ever again go rowing on this river it will be in a boat +called the _Mary_, pulled by the best waterman on the Wye." + +Modest though Jack Wingate be, he makes no pretence of misunderstanding +the recondite compliment, but accepts it in its fullest sense, +rejoining-- + +"I'd call it flattery, Captain, if't had come from anybody but you. But +I know ye never talk nonsense; an' that's just why I be so sad to hear +ye say you're goin' off for good. I feeled so bad 'bout losin' poor +Mary; it makes it worse now losin' you. Good night!" + +The Hussar officer has a horse, which has been standing in a little +lean-to shed, under saddle. The lugubrious dialogue has been carried on +simultaneously with the bridling, and the "Good night" is said as +Ryecroft springs up on his stirrup. + +Then as he rides away into the darkness, and Jack Wingate stands +listening to the departing hoof-stroke, at each repetition more +indistinct, he feels indeed forsaken, forlorn; only one thing in the +world now worth living for--but one to keep him anchored to life--his +aged mother! + +Volume Two, Chapter XII. + +MAKING READY FOR THE ROAD. + +Having reached his hotel, Captain Ryecroft seeks neither rest nor sleep, +but stays awake for the remainder of the night. + +The first portion of his time he spends in gathering up his +_impedimenta_, and packing. Not a heavy task. His luggage is light, +according to the simplicity of a soldier's wants; and as an old +campaigner he is not long in making ready for the _route_. + +His fishing tackle, gun-case and portmanteau, with an odd bundle or two +of miscellaneous effects, are soon strapped and corded. After which he +takes a seat by a table to write out the labels. + +But now a difficulty occurs to him--the address! His name of course, +but what the destination? Up to this moment he has not thought of where +he is going; only that he must go somewhere--away from the Wye. There +is no Lethe in that stream for memories like his. + +To his regiment he cannot return, for he has none now. Months since he +ceased to be a soldier; having resigned his commission at the expiration +of his leave of absence--partly in displeasure at being refused +extension of it, but more because the attractions of the "Court" and the +grove had made those of the camp uncongenial. Thus his visit to +Herefordshire has not only spoilt him as a salmon fisher, but put an end +to his military career. + +Fortunately he was not dependent on it; for Captain Ryecroft is a rich +man. And yet he has no home he can call his own; the ten latest years +of his life having been passed in Hindostan. Dublin is his native +place; but what would or could he now do there? his nearest relatives +are dead, his friends few, his schoolfellows long since scattered--many +of them, as himself, waifs upon the world. Besides, since his return +from India, he has paid a visit to the capital of the Emerald Isle; +where, finding all so changed, he cares not to go back--at least, for +the present. + +Whither then? + +One place looms upon the imagination--almost naturally as home itself-- +the metropolis of the world. He will proceed thither, though not there +to stay. Only to use it as a point of departure for another +metropolis--the French one. In that focus and centre of gaiety and +fashion--Maelstrom of dissipation--he may find some relief from his +misery, if not happiness. Little hope has he; but it may be worth the +trial and he will make it. + +So determining, he takes up the pen, and is about to put "London" on the +labels. But as an experienced strategist, who makes no move with undue +haste and without due deliberation, he sits a while longer considering. + +Strange as it may seem, and a question for psychologists, a man thinks +best upon his back. Better still with a cigar between his teeth-- +powerful help to reflection. Aware of this, Captain Ryecroft lights a +"weed," and looks around him. He is in his sleeping apartment, where, +besides the bed, there is a sofa--horsehair cushion and squab hard as +stones--the orthodox hotel article. + +Along this he lays himself, and smokes away furiously. Spitefully, too; +for he is not now thinking of either London or Paris. He cannot yet. +The happy past, the wretched present, are too soul-absorbing to leave +room for speculations of the future. The "fond rage of love" is still +active within him. Is it to "blight his life's bloom," leaving him "an +age all winters?" Or is there yet a chance of reconciliation? Can the +chasm which angry words have created be bridged over? No. Not without +confession of error--abject humiliation on his part--which in his +present frame of mind he is not prepared to make--will not--could not. + +"Never!" he exclaims, plucking the cigar from between his lips, but soon +returning it, to continue the train of his reflections. + +Whether from the soothing influence of the nicotine, or other cause, his +thoughts after a time became more tranquillised--their hue sensibly +changed, as betokened by some muttered words which escape him. + +"After all, I may be wronging her. If so, may God forgive, as I hope He +will pity me. For if so, I am less deserving forgiveness, and more to +be pitied than she." + +As in ocean's storm, between the rough surging billows foam-crested, are +spots of smooth water, so in thought's tempest are intervals of calm. +It is during one of these he speaks as above; and continuing to reflect +in the same strain, things, if not quite _couleur de rose_, assume a +less repulsive aspect. Gwen Wynn may have been but dissembling--playing +with him--and he would now be contented, ready--even rejoiced--to accept +it in that sense; ay, to the abject humiliation that but the moment +before he had so defiantly rejected. So reversed his sentiments now-- +modified from mad anger to gentle forgiveness--he is almost in the act +of springing to his feet, tearing the straps from his packed +paraphernalia, and letting all loose again! + +But just at this crisis he hears the town clock tolling six, and voices +in conversation under his window. It is a hit of gossip between two +stable-men--attaches of the hotel--an ostler and fly-driver. + +"Ye had a big time last night at Llangorren?" says the former, +inquiringly. + +"Ah! that ye may say," returns the Jarvey, with a strongly accentuated +hiccup, telling of heel-taps. "Never knowed a bigger, s'help me. Wine +runnin' in rivers, as if 'twas only table-beer--an' the best kind o't +too. I'm so full o' French champagne, I feel most like burstin'." + +"She be a grand gal, that Miss Wynn. An't she?" + +"In course is--one o' the grandest. But she an't going to be a _girl_ +long. By what I heerd them say in the sarvints' hall, she's soon to be +broke into pair-horse harness." + +"Wi' who?" + +"The son o' Sir George Shenstone." + +"A good match they'll make, I sh'd say. Tidier chap than he never +stepped inside this yard. Many's the time he's tipped me." + +There is more of the same sort, but Captain Ryecroft does not hear it; +the men having moved off beyond earshot. In all likelihood he would not +have listened, had they stayed. For again he seems to hear those other +words--that last spiteful rejoinder--"Yes; let it." + +His own spleen returning, in all its keen hostility, he springs upon his +feet, hastily steps back to the table, and writes on the slips of +parchment-- + +_Mr Vivian Ryecroft, Passenger to London_, _G.W.R_. + +He cannot attach them till the ink gets dry; and, while waiting for it +to do so, his thoughts undergo still another revulsion; again leading +him to reflect whether he may not be in the wrong, and acting +inconsiderately--rashly. + +In fine, he resolves on a course which had not hitherto occurred to +him--he will write to her. Not in repentance, nor any confession of +guilt on his part. He is too proud, and still too doubting for that. +Only a test letter to draw her out, and if possible, discover how she +too feels under the circumstances. Upon the answer--if he receive one-- +will depend whether it is to be the last. + +With pen still in hand, he draws a sheet of notepaper towards him. It +bears the hotel stamp and name, so that he has no need to write an +address--only the date. + +This done, he remains for a time considering--thinking what he should +say. The larger portion of his manhood's life spent in camp, under +canvas--not the place for cultivating literary tastes or epistolary +style--he is at best an indifferent correspondent, and knows it. But +the occasion supplies thoughts; and as a soldier accustomed to prompt +brevity he puts them down--quickly and briefly as a campaigning +despatch. + +With this, he does not wait for the ink to dry, but uses the blotter. +He dreads another change of resolution. Folding up the sheet, he slips +it into an envelope, on which he simply superscribes-- + +_Miss Wynn_, _Llangorren Court_. + +Then rings a bell--the hotel servants are now astir--and directs the +letter to be dropped into the post box. + +He knows it will reach her that same day, at an early hour, and its +answer him--should one be vouchsafed--on the following morning. It +might that same night at the hotel where he is now staying; but not the +one to which he is going--as his letter tells, the "Langham, London." + +And while it is being slowly carried by a pedestrian postman, along +hilly roads towards Llangorren, he, seated in a first-class carriage of +the Gr.W.R., is swiftly whisked towards the metropolis. + +Volume Two, Chapter XIII. + +A SLUMBERING HOUSEHOLD. + +As calm succeeds a storm, so at Llangorren Court on the morning after +the ball there was quietude--up to a certain hour more than common. The +domestics justifying themselves by the extra services of the preceding +night, lie late. Outside is stirring only the gardener with an +assistant, at his usual work, and in the yard a stable help or two +looking after the needs of the horses. The more important functionaries +of this department--coachman and head-groom still slumber, dreaming of +champagne bottles brought back to the servants' hall three parts full +with but half demolished pheasants, and other fragmentary delicacies. + +Inside the house things are on a parallel; there only a scullery and +kitchen maid astir. The higher class servitors availing themselves of +the licence allowed, are still abed, and it is ten as butler, cook, and +footman make their appearance, entering on their respective _roles_ +yawningly, and with reluctance. + +There are two lady's-maids in the establishment; the little French +demoiselle attached to Miss Linton, and an English damsel of more robust +build, whose special duties are to wait upon Miss Wynn. The former lies +late on all days, her mistress not requiring early manipulation; but the +maid "native and to the manner born," is wont to be up betimes. This +morning is an exception. After such a night of revelry, slumber holds +her enthralled, as in a trance; and she is abed late as any of the +others, sleeping like a dormouse. + +As her dormitory window looks out upon the back yard, the stable clock, +a loud striker, at length awakes her. Not in time to count the strokes, +but a glance at the dial gives her the hour. + +While dressing herself she is in a flutter, fearing rebuke. Not for +having slept so late, but because of having gone to sleep so early. The +dereliction of duty, about which she is so apprehensive, has reference +to a spell of slumber antecedent--taken upon a sofa in her young +mistress's dressing-room. There awaiting Miss Wynn to assist in +disrobing her after the ball, the maid dropped over and forgot +everything--only remembering who she was, and what her duties, when too +late to attend to them. Starting up from the sofa, and glancing at the +mantel timepiece, she saw, with astonishment, its hands pointing to +half-past 4 a.m! + +Reflection following:-- + +"Miss Gwen must be in her bed by this! Wonder why she didn't wake me +up? Rang no bell? Surely I'd have heard it? If she did, and I haven't +answered--Well; the dear young lady's just the sort not to make any ado +about it. I suppose she thought I'd gone to my room, and didn't wish to +disturb me? But how could she think that? Besides, she must have +passed through here, and seen me on the sofa!" The dressing-room is an +ante-chamber of Miss Wynn's sleeping apartment. "She mightn't +though,"--the contradiction suggested by the lamp burning low and +dim,--"Still, it _is_ strange, her not calling me, nor requiring my +attendance?" + +Gathering herself up, the girl stands for a while in cogitation. The +result is a move across the carpeted floor in soft stealthy step, and an +ear laid close to the keyhole of the bedchamber door. + +"Sound asleep! I can't go in now. Mustn't--I daren't awake her." + +Saying which the negligent attendant slips off to her own sleeping room, +a flight higher; and in ten minutes after, is herself once more in the +arms of Morpheus; this time retained in them till released, as already +said, by the tolling of the stable clock. + +Conscious of unpardonable remissness, she dresses in careless haste--any +way, to be in time for attendance on her mistress, at morning toilet. + +Her first move is to hurry down to the kitchen, get the can of hot +water, and take it up to Miss Wynn's sleeping room. Not to enter, but +tap at the door and leave it. + +She does the tapping; and, receiving no response nor summons from +inside, concludes that the young lady is still asleep and not to be +disturbed. It is a standing order of the house, and pleased to be +precise in its observance--never more than on this morning--she sets +down the painted can, and hurries back to the kitchen, soon after taking +her seat by a breakfast table, unusually well spread, for the time to +forget about her involuntary neglect of duty. + +The first of the family proper, appearing down stairs is Eleanor Lees; +she, too, much behind her accustomed time. Notwithstanding, she has to +find occupation for nearly an hour before any of the others join her; +and she endeavours to do this by perusing a newspaper which has come by +the morning post. + +With indifferent success. It is a Metropolitan daily, having but little +in it to interest her, or indeed any one else; almost barren of news, as +if its columns were blank. Three or four long-winded "leaders," the +impertinent outpourings of irresponsible anonymity; reports of +Parliamentary speeches, four-fifths of them not worth reporting; chatter +of sham statesmen, with their drivellings at public dinners; "Police +intelligence," in which there is half a column devoted to Daniel +Driscoll, of the Seven Dials, how he blackened the eye of Bridget +Sullivan, and bit off Pat Kavanagh's ear, a _crim. con._ or two in all +their prurience of detail; Court intelligence, with its odious plush and +petty paltriness--this is the pabulum of a "London Daily" even the +leading one supplies to its easily satisfied _clientele_ of readers! +Scarce a word of the world's news, scarce a word to tell of its real +life and action--how beats the pulse, or thrills the heart of humanity! +If there be anything in England half a century behind the age it is its +Metropolitan Press--immeasurably inferior to the Provincial. + +No wonder the "companion"--educated lady--with only such a sheet for her +companion, cannot kill time for even so much as an hour. Ten minutes +were enough to dispose of all its contents worth glancing at. + +And after glancing at them, Miss Lees drops the bald broadsheet--letting +it fall to the floor to be scratched by the claws of a playful kitten-- +about all it is worth. + +Having thus settled scores with the newspaper she hardly knows what next +to do. She has already inspected the superscription of the letters, to +see if there be any for herself. A poor, fortuneless girl, of course +her correspondence is limited, and there is none. Two or three for Miss +Linton, with quite half a dozen for Gwen. Of these last is one in a +handwriting she recognises--knows it to be from Captain Ryecroft, even +without the hotel stamp to aid identification. + +"There was a coolness between them last night," remarks Miss Lees to +herself, "if not an actual quarrel; to which, very likely, this letter +has reference. If I were given to making wagers, I'd bet that it tells +of his repentance. So soon, though! It must have been written after he +got back to his hotel, and posted to catch the early delivery. What!" +she exclaims, taking up another letter, and scanning the superscription. +"One from George Shenstone, too! It, I dare say, is in a different +strain, if that I saw--Ha!" she ejaculates, instinctively turning to the +window, and letting go Mr Shenstone's epistle, "William! Is it +possible--so early?" + +Not only possible, but an accomplished fact. The reverend gentleman is +inside the gates of the park, sauntering on towards the house. + +She does not wait for him to ring the bell, or knock; but meets him at +the door, herself opening it. Nothing _outre_ in the act, on a day +succeeding a night, with everything upside down, and the domestic, whose +special duty it is to attend to door-opening, out of the way. + +Into the morning room Mr Musgrave is conducted, where the table is set +for breakfast. He oft comes for luncheon, and Miss Lees knows he will +be made equally welcome to the earlier meal; all the more to-day, with +its heavier budget of news, and grander details of gossip, which Miss +Linton will be expecting and delighted to revel in. Of course, the +curate has been at the ball; but, like "Slippery Sam," erst Bishop of +Oxford, not much in the dancing room. For all, he, too, has noticed +certain peculiarities in the behaviour of Miss Wynn to Captain Ryecroft, +with others having reference to the son of Sir George Shenstone--in +short, a triangular play he but ill understood. Still, he could tell by +the straws, as they blew about, that they were blowing adversely; though +what the upshot he is yet ignorant, having, as became his cloth, +forsaken the scene of revelry at a respectably early hour. + +Nor does he now care to inquire into it, any more than Miss Lees to +respond to such interrogation. Their own affair is sufficient for the +time; and engaging in an amorous duel of the milder type--so different +from the stormy passionate combat between Gwendoline Wynn and Vivian +Ryecroft--they forget all about these--even their existence--as little +remembering that of George Shenstone. + +For a time are but two individuals in the world of whom either has a +thought--one Eleanor Lees, the other William Musgrave. + +Volume Two, Chapter XIV. + +"WHERE'S GWEN?" + +Not for long are the companion and curate permitted to carry on the +confidential dialogue, in which they had become interested. Too +disagreeably soon is it interrupted by a third personage appearing upon +the scene. Miss Linton has at length succeeded in dragging herself out +of the embrace of the somnolent divinity, and enters the breakfast-room, +supported by her French _femme de chambre_. + +Graciously saluting Mr Musgrave, she moves towards the table's head, +where an antique silver urn sends up its curling steam--flanked by tea +and coffee pot, with contents already prepared for pouring into their +respectively shaped cups. Taking her seat, she asks: + +"Where's Gwen?" + +"Not down yet," meekly responds Miss Lees, "at least I haven't seen +anything of her." + +"Ah! she beats us all to-day," remarks the ancient toast of Cheltenham, +"in being late," she adds, with a laugh at her little _jeu d'esprit_. +"Usually such an early riser, too. I don't remember having ever been up +before her. Well, I suppose she's fatigued, poor thing!--quite done up. +No wonder, after dancing so much, and with everybody." + +"Not everybody, aunt!" says her companion, with a significant emphasis +on the everybody. "There was one gentleman she never danced with all +the night. Wasn't it a little strange?" This in a whisper and aside. + +"Ah! true. You mean Captain Ryecroft?" + +"Yes." + +"It was a little strange. I observed it myself. She seemed distant +with him, and he with her. Have you any idea of the reason, Nelly?" + +"Not in the least. Only I fancy something must have come between them." + +"The usual thing; lover's tiff I suppose. Ah, I've seen a great many of +them in my time. How silly men and women are--when they're in love. +Are they not, Mr Musgrave?" + +The curate answers in the affirmative but somewhat confusedly, and +blushing, as he imagines it may be a thrust at himself. + +"Of the two," proceeds the garrulous spinster, "men are the most foolish +under such circumstances. No!" she exclaims, contradicting herself, +"when I think of it, no. I've seen ladies, high-born, and with titles, +half beside themselves about Beau Brummel, distractedly quarrelling as +to which should dance with him! Beau Brummel, who ended his days in a +low lodging-house! Ha! ha! ha!" + +There is a _soupcon_ of spleen in the tone of Miss Linton's laughter, as +though she had herself once felt the fascinations of the redoubtable +dandy. + +"What could be more ridiculous?" she goes on. "When one looks back upon +it, the very extreme of absurdity. Well;" taking hold of the +_cafetiere_, and filling her cup, "it's time for that young lady to be +downstairs. If she hasn't been lying awake ever since the people went +off, she should be well rested by this. Bless me," glancing at the +ormolu dial over the mantel, "it's after eleven, Clarisse," to the +_femme de chambre_, still in attendance, "tell Miss Wynn's maid to say +to her mistress we're waiting breakfast. _Veet, tray veet_!" she +concludes, with a pronunciation and accent anything but Parisian. + +Off trips the French demoiselle, and upstairs; almost instantly +returning down them, Miss Wynn's maid along, with a report which +startles the trio at the breakfast table. It is the English damsel who +delivers it in the vernacular. + +"Miss Gwen isn't in her room; nor hasn't been all the night long." + +Miss Linton is in the act of removing the top from a guinea fowl's egg, +as the maid makes the announcement. Were it a bomb bursting between her +fingers, the surprise could not be more sudden or complete. + +Dropping egg and cup, in stark astonishment, she demands: + +"What do you mean, Gibbons?" + +Gibbons is the girl's name. + +"Oh, ma'am! Just what I've said." + +"Say it again. I can't believe my ears." + +"That Miss Gwen hasn't slept in her room." + +"And where has she slept?" + +"The goodness only knows." + +"But you ought to know. You're her maid--you undressed her?" + +"I did not--I am sorry to say," stammered out the girl, confused and +self-accused, "very sorry I didn't." + +"And why didn't you, Gibbons? explain that." + +Thus brought to book, the peccant Gibbons confesses to what has occurred +in all its details. No use concealing aught--it must come out anyhow. + +"And you're quite sure she has not slept in her room?" interrogates Miss +Linton, as yet unable to realise a circumstance so strange and +unexpected. + +"Oh, yes, ma'am. The bed hasn't been lied upon by anybody--neither +sheets or coverlet disturbed. And there's her nightdress over the +chair, just as I laid it out for her." + +"Very strange," exclaims Miss Linton, "positively alarming." + +For all, the old lady is not alarmed yet--at least, not to any great +degree. Llangorren Court is a "house of many mansions," and can boast +of a half-score spare bedrooms. And she, now its mistress, is a +creature of many caprices. Just possible she has indulged in one after +the dancing--entered the first sleeping apartment that chanced in her +way, flung herself on a bed or sofa in her ball dress, fallen asleep, +and is there still slumbering. + +"Search them all!" commands Miss Linton, addressing a variety of +domestics, whom the ringing of bells has brought around her. + +They scatter off in different directions, Miss Lees along with them. + +"It's very extraordinary. Don't you think so?" + +This to the curate, the only one remaining in the room with her. + +"I do, decidedly. Surely no harm has happened her. I trust not. How +could there?" + +"True, how? Still I'm a little apprehensive, and won't feel satisfied +till I see her. How my heart does palpitate, to be sure." + +She lays her spread palm over the cardiac region, with an expression +less of pain, than the affectation of it. + +"Well, Eleanor," she calls out to the companion, re-entering the room +with Gibbons behind. "What news?" + +"Not any, aunt." + +"And you really think she hasn't slept in her room?" + +"Almost sure she hasn't. The bed, as Gibbons told you, has never been +touched, nor the sofa. Besides, the dress she wore last night isn't +there." + +"Nor anywhere else, ma'am," puts in the maid; about such matters +specially intelligent. "As you know, 'twas the sky-blue silk, with +blonde lace over-skirt, and flower-de-loose on it. I've looked +everywhere, and can't find a thing she had on--not so much as a ribbon!" + +The other searchers are now returning in rapid succession, all with a +similar tale. No word of the missing one--neither sign nor trace of +her. + +At length the alarm is serious and real, reaching fever height. Bells +ring, and servants are sent in every direction. They go rushing about, +no longer confining their search to the sleeping apartments, but +extending it to rooms where only lumber has place--to cellars almost +unexplored, garrets long unvisited, everywhere. Closet and cupboard +doors are drawn open, screens dashed aside, and panels parted, with keen +glances sent through the chinks. Just as in the baronial castle, and on +that same night when young Lovel lost his "own fair bride." + +And while searching for their young mistress, the domestics of +Llangorren Court have the romantic tale in their minds. Not one of them +but knows the fine old song of the "Mistletoe Bough." Male and female-- +all have heard it sung in that same house, at every Christmas-tide, +under the "kissing bush," where the pale green branch and its waxen +berries were conspicuous. + +It needs not the mystic memory to stimulate them to zealous exertion. +Respect for their young mistress--with many of them almost adoration--is +enough; and they search as if for sister, wife, or child according to +their feelings and attachments. + +In vain--all in vain. Though certain that no "old oak chest" inside the +walls of Llangorren Court encloses a form destined to become a skeleton, +they cannot find Gwen Wynn. Dead, or living, she is not in the house. + +Volume Two, Chapter XV. + +AGAIN THE ENGAGEMENT RING. + +The first hurried search, with its noisy excitement, proving fruitless, +there follows an interregnum calmer with suspended activity. Indeed, +Miss Linton directs it so. Now convinced that her niece has really +disappeared from the place, she thinks it prudent to deliberate before +proceeding further. + +She has no thought that the young lady has acted otherwise than of her +own will. To suppose her carried off is too absurd--a theory not to be +entertained for an instant. And having gone so, the questions are, why +and whither? After all, it may be, that at the ball's departing, in the +last moment when the guests were departing, moved by a mad prank, she +leaped into the carriage of some lady friends, and was whirled home with +them, just in the dress she had been dancing in. With such an impulsive +creature as Gwen Wynn, the freak was not improbable. Nor is there any +one to say nay. In the bustle and confusion of departure the other +domestics were busy with their own affairs, and Gibbons sound asleep. + +And if true a "hue and cry" raised and reaching the outside world would +at least beget ridicule, if it did not cause absolute scandal. To avoid +this the servants are forbidden to go beyond the confines of the Court, +or carry any tale outward--for the time. + +Beguiled by this hopeful belief, Miss Linton, with the companion +assisting, scribbles off a number of notes, addressed to the heads of +three or four families in whose houses her niece must have so abruptly +elected to take refuge for the night. Merely to ask if such was the +case, the question couched in phrase guarded, and as possible +suggestive. These are dispatched by trusted messengers, cautioned to +silence; Mr Musgrave himself volunteering a round of calls, at other +houses, to make personal inquiry. + +This matter settled, the old lady waits the result, though without any +very sanguine expectations of success. For another theory has presented +itself to her mind--that Gwen has run away with Captain Ryecroft! + +Improbable as the thing might appear--Miss Linton, nevertheless, for a +while has faith in it. It was as she might have done, some forty years +before, had she but met the right man--such as he. And measuring her +niece by the same romantic standard--with Gwen's capriciousness thrown +into the account--she ignores everything else; even the absurdity of +such a step from its sheer causelessness. That to her is of little +weight; no more the fact of the young lady taking flight in a thin +dress, with only a shawl upon her shoulders. For Gibbons called upon to +give account of her wardrobe, has taken stock, and found everything in +its place--every article of her mistress's drapery save the blue silk +dress and Indian shawl--hats and bonnets hung up, or in their boxes, but +all there, proving her to have gone off bareheaded? + +Not the less natural, reasons Miss Linton--instead, only a component +part in the chapter of contrarieties. + +So, too, the coolness observed between the betrothed sweethearts +throughout the preceding night--their refraining from partnership in the +dances--all dissembling on their part, possibly to make the surprise of +the after event more piquant and complete. + +So runs the imagination of the novel-reading spinster, fresh and fervid +as in her days of girlhood--passing beyond the trammels of reason-- +leaving the bounds of probability. + +But her new theory is short lived. It receives a death blow from a +letter which Miss Lees brings under her notice. It is that superscribed +in the handwriting of Captain Ryecroft, which the companion had for the +time forgotten; she having no thought that it would have anything to do +with the young lady's disappearance. And the letter proves that he can +have nothing to do with it. The hotel stamp, the postmark, the time of +deposit and delivery are all understood, all contributing to show it +must have been posted, if not written, that same morning. Were she with +him it would not be there. + +Down goes the castle of romance Miss Linton has been constructing-- +wrecked--scattered as a house of cards. + +It is quite possible that letter contains something that would throw +light upon the mystery, perhaps clear all up; and the old lady would +like to open it. But she may not, dare not. Gwen Wynn is not one to +allow tampering with her correspondence; and as yet her aunt cannot +realise the fact--nor even entertain the supposition--that she is gone +for good and for ever. + +As time passes, however, and the different messengers return, with no +news of the missing lady--Mr Musgrave is also back without tidings--the +alarm is renewed, and search again set up. It extends beyond the +precincts of the house, and the grounds already explored, off into woods +and fields, along the banks of river and bye wash, everywhere that +offers a likelihood, the slightest, of success. But neither in wood, +spinney, or coppice can they find traces of Gwen Wynn; all "draw blank," +as George Shenstone would say of a cover where no fox is found. + +And just as this result is reached, that gentleman himself steps upon +the ground, to receive a shock such as he has rarely experienced. The +news communicated is a surprise to him; for he has arrived at the Court, +knowing nought of the strange incident which has occurred. He has come +thither on an afternoon call, not altogether dictated by ceremony. +Despite all that has passed--what Gwen Wynn told him, what she showed +holding up her hand--he does not even yet despair. Who so circumstanced +ever does? What man in love, profoundly, passionately as he, could +believe his last chance eliminated; or have his ultimate hope +extinguished? He had not. Instead, when bidding adieu to her, after +the ball, he felt some revival of it, several causes having contributed +to its rekindling. Among others, her gracious behaviour to himself, so +gratifying; but more, her distant manner towards his rival, which he +could not help observing, and saw with secret satisfaction. + +And still thus reflecting on it, he enters the gates at Llangorren, to +be stunned by the strange intelligence there awaiting him--Miss Wynn +missing! gone away! run away! perhaps carried off! lost, and cannot be +found! For in these varied forms, and like variety of voices, is it +conveyed to him. + +Needless to say, he joins in the search with ardour, but distractedly; +suffering all the sadness of a torn and harrowed heart. But to no +purpose; no result to soothe or console him. His skill at drawing a +cover is of no service here. It is not for a fox "stole away," leaving +hot scent behind; but a woman goes without print of foot or trace to +indicate the direction; without word left to tell the cause of +departure. + +Withal, George Shenstone continues to seek for her long after the others +have desisted. For his views differ from those entertained by Miss +Linton, and his apprehensions are of a keener nature. He remains at the +Court throughout the evening, making excursions into the adjacent woods, +searching, and again exploring everywhere. None of the servants think +it strange; all know of his intimate relations with the family. + +Mr Musgrave remains also; both of them asked to stay dinner--a meal +this day eaten _sans facon_, in haste, and under agitation. + +When, after it, the ladies retire to the drawing-room--the curate along +with them--George Shenstone goes out again, and over the grounds. It is +now night, and the darkness lures him on; for it was in such she +disappeared. And although he has no expectation of seeing her there, +some vague thought has drifted into his mind, that in darkness he may +better reflect, and something be suggested to avail him. + +He strays on to the boat stair, looks down into the dock, and there sees +the _Gwendoline_ at her moorings. But he thinks only of the other boat, +which, as he now knows, on the night before lay alongside her. Has it +indeed carried away Gwen Wynn? He fancies it has--he can hardly have a +doubt of it. How else is her disappearance to be accounted for? But +has she been borne off by force, or went she willingly? These are the +questions which perplex him; the conjectured answer to either causing +him keenest anxiety. + +After remaining a short while on the top of the stair, he turns away +with a sigh, and saunters on towards the pavilion. Though under the +shadow of its roof the obscurity is complete, he, nevertheless, enters +and sits down. He is fatigued with the exertions of the afternoon, and +the strain upon his nerves through the excitement. + +Taking a cigar from his case and nipping off the end, he rasps a fusee +to light it. But, before the blue fizzing blaze dims down he drops the +cigar--to clutch at an object on the floor, whose sparkle has caught his +eye. He succeeds in getting hold of it, though not till the fusee has +ceased flaming. But he needs no light to tell him what he has in his +hand. He knows it is that which so pained him to see on one of Gwen +Wynn's fingers--the engagement ring! + +Volume Two, Chapter XVI. + +A MYSTERIOUS EMBARKATION. + +Not in vain had the green woodpecker given out its warning note. As +Jack Wingate predicted from it, soon after came a downpour of rain. It +was raining as Captain Ryecroft returned to his hotel, as at intervals +throughout that day; and now on the succeeding night it is again +sluicing down as from a shower bath. The river is in full flood, its +hundreds of affluents from Plinlimmon downward, having each contributed +its quota, till Vaga, usually so pure, limpid, and tranquil, rolls on in +vast turbulent volume, muddy and maddened. There is a strong wind as +well, whose gusts now and then, striking the water's surface, lash it +into furrows with white frothy crests. + +On the Wye this night there would be danger for any boat badly manned or +unskilfully steered. And yet a boat is about to embark upon it; one +which throughout the afternoon has been lying moored in a little branch +stream that runs in opposite the lands of Llangorren, a tributary +supplied by the dingle in which stands the dwelling of Richard Dempsey. +It is the same near whose mouth the poacher and the priest were seen by +Gwen Wynn and Eleanor Lees on the day of their remarkable adventure with +the forest roughs. And almost in the same spot is the craft now spoken +of; no coracle, however, but a regular pair-oared boat of a kind in +common use among Wye watermen. + +It is lying with bow to the bank, its painter attached to a tree, whose +branches extend over it. During the day no one has been near it, and it +is not likely that any one has observed it. Some little distance up the +brook, and drawn well in under the spreading boughs, that almost +touching the water, darkly shadow the surface, it is not visible from +the rivers channel: while, along the edge of the rivulet, there is no +thoroughfare, nor path of any kind. No more a landing-place where boat +is accustomed to put in or remain at moorings. That now there has +evidently been brought thither for some temporary purpose. + +Not till after the going down of the sun is this declared. Then, just +as the purple of twilight is changing to the inky blackness of night, +and another dash of rain clatters on the already saturated foliage three +men are seen moving among the trees that grow thick along the +streamlet's edge. They seem not to mind it, although pouring down in +torrents; for they have come through the dell, as from Dempsey's house, +and are going in the direction of the boat, where there is no shelter. +But if they regard not getting wet,--something they do regard; else why +should they observe such caution in their movements, and talk in subdued +voices? All the more strange this, in a place where there is so little +likelihood of their being overheard, or encountering any one to take +note of their proceedings. + +It is only between two of them that conversation is carried on; the +third walking far in advance, beyond earshot of speech in the ordinary +tone; besides, the noise of the tempest would hinder his hearing them. +Therefore, it cannot be on his account they converse guardedly. More +likely their constraint is due to the solemnity of the subject; for +solemn it is, as their words show. + +"They'll be sure to find the body in a day or two. Possibly to-morrow, +or if not, very soon. A good deal will depend on the state of the +river. If this flood continue and the water remain discoloured as now, +it may be several days before they light on it. No matter when; your +course is clear, Monsieur Murdock." + +"But what do you advise my doing, _Pere_? I'd like you to lend me your +counsel--give me minute directions about everything." + +"In the first place, then, you must show yourself on the other side of +the water, and take an active part in the search. Such a near relative, +as you are, 'twould appear strange if you didn't. All the world may not +be aware of the little tiff--rather prolonged though--that's been +between you. And if it were, your keeping away on such an occasion +would give cause for greater scandal. Spite so rancorous! that of +itself should excite curious thoughts--suspicions. Naturally enough. A +man, whose own cousin is mysteriously missing, not caring to know what +has become of her! And when knowing--when `Found drowned,' as she will +be--not to show either sympathy or sorrow! _Ma foi_! they might mob you +if you didn't!" + +"That's true enough," grunts Murdock, thinking of the respect in which +his cousin is held, and her great popularity throughout the +neighbourhood. + +"You advise my going over to Llangorren?" + +"Decidedly, I do. Present yourself there to-morrow, without fail. You +may make the hour reasonably late; saying that the sinister intelligence +has only just reached you at Glyngog--out of the way as it is. You'll +find plenty of people at the Court on your arrival. From what I've +learnt this afternoon, through my informant resident there, they'll be +hot upon the search to-morrow. It would have been more earnest to-day, +but for that quaint old creature with her romantic notions; the latest +of them, as Clarisse tell me, that Mademoiselle had run away with the +Hussar! But it appears a letter has reached the Court in his +handwriting, which put a different construction on the affair; proving +to them it could be no elopement--at least with him. Under these +circumstances, then, to-morrow morning, soon as the sun is up, there'll +be a hue and cry all over the country; so loud you couldn't fail to +hear, and will be expected to have a voice in it. To do that +effectually you must show yourself at Llangorren, and in good time." + +"There's sense in what you say. You're a very Solomon, Father Rogier. +I'll be there, trust me. Is there anything else you think of." + +The Jesuit is for a time silent, apparently in deep thought. It is a +ticklish game the two are playing, and needs careful consideration, with +cautious action. + +"Yes," he at length answers. "There are a good many other things, I +think of. But they depend upon circumstances not yet developed by which +you will have to be guided. And you must guide yourself, M'sieu, as you +best can. It will be quite four days, if not more, ere I can get back. +They may even find the body to-morrow--if they should think of employing +drags, or other searching apparatus. Still, I fancy, 'twill be some +time before they come to a final belief in her being drowned. Don't +you, on any account suggest it. And should there be such search, +endeavour, in a quiet way, to have it conducted in any direction but the +right one. The longer before fishing the thing up, the better it will +be for our purposes: you comprehend?" + +"I do." + +"When found, as it must be in time, you will know how to show becoming +grief; and, if opportunity offer, you may throw out a hint, having +reference to _Le Capitaine Ryecroft_. His having gone away from his +hotel this morning, no one knows why or whither--decamping in such haste +too--that will be sure to fix suspicion upon him--possibly have him +pursued and arrested as the murderer of Miss Wynn! Odd succession of +events, is it not?" + +"It is indeed." + +"Seems as if the very Fates were in a conspiracy to favour our design. +If we fail now, 'twill be our own fault. And that reminds me there +should be no waste of time--must not. One hour of this darkness may be +worth an age--or at all events ten thousand pounds per annum. _Allons! +vite-vite_?" + +He steps briskly onward, drawing his caped cloak closer to protect him +from the rain, now running in rivers down the drooping branches of the +trees. + +Murdock follows; and the two, delayed by a dialogue of such grave +character, draw closer to the third who had gone ahead. They do not +overtake him, however, till after he has reached the boat, and therein +deposited a bundle he has been bearing--of weight sufficient to make him +stagger, where the ground was rough and uneven. It is a package of +irregular oblong shape, and such size, that laid along the boat's bottom +timbers it occupies most part of the space forward of the mid-thwart. + +Seeing that he who has thus disposed of it, is Coracle Dick, one might +believe it poached salmon, or land game now in season in the act of +being transported to some receiver of such commodities. But the words +spoken by the priest as he comes up forbid this belief: they are an +interrogatory:-- + +"Well, _mon bracconier_; have you stowed my luggage?" + +"It's in the boat, Father Rogier." + +"And all ready for starting?" + +"The minute your reverence steps in." + +"So, well! And now, M'sieu," he adds, turning to Murdock, and again +speaking in undertone, "if you play _your_ part skilfully, on return I +may find you in a fair way of getting installed as the Lord of +Llangorren. Till then, adieu!" + +Saying which he steps over the boat's side, and takes seat in its stern. + +Shoved off by sinewy arms, it goes brushing out from under the branches, +and is rapidly drifted down towards the river. + +Lewin Murdock is left standing on the brook's edge, free to go what way +he wishes. + +Soon he starts off, not on return to the empty domicile of the poacher, +nor yet direct to his own home: but first to the Welsh Harp--there to +gather the gossip of the day, and learn whether the startling tale, soon +to be told, has yet reached Rugg's Ferry. + +Volume Two, Chapter XVII. + +AN ANXIOUS WIFE. + +Inside Glyngog House is Mrs Murdock, alone, or with only the two female +domestics. But these are back in the kitchen while the ex-cocotte is +moving about in front at intervals opening the door, and gazing out into +the night. A dark stormy one; for it is the same in which has occurred +the mysterious embarkation of Father Rogier, only an hour later. + +To her no mystery; she knows whither the priest is bound, and on what +errand. It is not him therefore she is expecting, but her husband to +bring home word that her countryman has made a safe start. So anxiously +does she await this intelligence, that, after a time, she stays +altogether on the door-step, regardless of the raw night, and a fire in +the drawing-room which blazes brightly. There is another in the +dining-room, and a table profusely spread--set out for supper with +dishes of many kinds--cold ham and tongue, fowl and game, flanked by +decanters of different wines sparkling attractively. + +Whence all this plenty, within walls where of late and for so long, has +been such scarcity? + +As no one visits at Glyngog save Father Rogier, there is no one but he +to ask the question. And he would not, were he there; knowing the +answer, better than anyone else. He ought. The cheer upon Lewin +Murdock's table, with a cheerfulness observable on Mrs Murdock's face, +are due to the same cause, by himself brought about, or to which he has +largely contributed. As Moses lends money on _post obits_, at "shixty +per shent," with other expectations, a stream of that leaven has found +its way into the ancient manor-house of Glyngog, conducted thither by +Gregoire Rogier, who has drawn it from a source of supply provided for +such eventualities, and seemingly inexhaustible--the treasury of the +Vatican. + +Yet only a tiny rivulet of silver, but soon, if all goes well, to become +a flood of gold grand and yellow as that in the Wye itself, having +something to do with the waters of this same stream. + +No wonder there is now brightness upon the face of Olympe Renault, so +long shadowed. The sun of prosperity is again to shine upon the path of +her life. Splendour, gaiety, volupte, be hers once more, and more than +ever! + +As she stands in the door of Glyngog, looking down the river, at +Llangorren, and through the darkness sees the Court with only one or two +windows alight--they but in dim glimmer--she reflects less on how they +blazed the night before, with lamps over the lawn like constellations of +stars, than how they will flame hereafter, and ere long--when she +herself be the ruling spirit and mistress of that mansion. + +But as the time passes and no husband home, a cloud steals over her +features. From being only impatient, she becomes nervously anxious. +Still standing in the door she listens for footsteps she has oft heard +making approach unsteadily, little caring. Not so to-night. She dreads +to see him return intoxicated. Though not with any solicitude of the +ordinary woman's kind, but for reasons purely prudential. These are +manifested in her muttered soliloquy:-- + +"Gregoire must have got off long ere this--at least two hours ago. He +said they'd set out soon as it came night. Half an hour was enough for +my husband to return up the meadows home. If he has gone to the Ferry +first, and sets to drinking in the Harp? _Cette auberge maudit_. +There's no knowing what he may do, or say. Saying would be worse than +doing. A word in his cups--a hint of what has happened--might undo +everything: draw danger upon us all! And such danger--_l'prise de +corps, mon dieu_!" + +Her cheek blanches at thought of the ugly spectres thus conjured up. + +"Surely he will not be so stupid--so insane? Sober he can keep secrets +well enough--guard them closely, like most of his countrymen. But the +Cognac? Hark Footsteps! His I hope." + +She listens without stirring from the spot. The tread is heavy, with +now and then a loud stroke against stones. Were her husband a Frenchman +it would be different. But Lewin Murdock, like all English country +gentlemen, affects substantial foot gear; and the step is undoubtedly +his. Not as usual however; to-night firm and regular, telling him to be +sober! "He isn't such a fool after all!" Her reflection followed by +the inquiry, called out-- + +"_C'est vous, mon mari_?" + +"Of course it is. Who else could it be? You don't expect the Father, +our only visitor, to-night? You'll not see him for several days to +come." + +"He's gone then?" + +"Two hours ago. By this he should be miles away; unless he and Coracle +have had a capsize, and been spilled out of their boat. No unlikely +occurrence with the river running so madly." + +She still shows unsatisfied, though not from any apprehension of the +boat's being upset. She is thinking of what may have happened at the +Welsh Harp; for the long interval, since the priest's departure, her +husband could only have been there. She is less anxious however, seeing +the state in which he presents himself; so unusual coming from the +"_auberge maudite_." + +"Two hours ago they got off, you say?" + +"About that; just as it was dark enough to set out with safety, and no +chance of being observed." + +"They did so?" + +"Oh, yes." + +"_Le bagage bien arrange_?" + +"_Parfaitment_; or as we say in English, neat as a trivet. If you +prefer another form; nice as ninepence." + +She is pleased at his facetiousness, quite a new mode for Lewin Murdock. +Coupled with his sobriety, it gives her confidence that things have +gone on smoothly, and will to the end. Indeed, for some days Murdock +has been a new man--acting as one with some grave affair on his hands-- +feat to accomplish, or negotiation to effect--resolved on carrying it to +completeness. + +Now, less from anxiety as to what he has been saying at the Welsh Harp, +than to know what he has there heard said by others, she further +interrogates him:--"Where have you been meanwhile, monsieur?" + +"Part of the time at the Ferry; the rest of it I've spent on paths and +roads coming and going. I went up to the Harp to hear what I could +hear." + +"And what did you hear?" + +"Nothing much to interest us. As you know, Rugg's is an out of the way +corner--none more so on the Wye--and the Llangorren news hasn't reached +it. The talk of the Ferry folk is all about the occurrence at Abergann, +which still continues to exercise them. The other don't appear to have +got much abroad, if at all, anywhere--for reasons told Father Rogier by +your countrywoman, Clarisse, with whom he held an interview sometime +during the afternoon." + +"And has there been no search yet?" + +"Search, yes; but nothing found, and not much noise made, for the +reasons I allude to." + +"What are they? You haven't told me." + +"Oh! various. Some of them laughable enough. Whimsies of that Quixotic +old lady who has been so long doing the honours at Llangorren." + +"Ah! Madame Linton. How has she been taking it?" + +"I'll tell you after I've had something to eat and drink. You forget, +Olympe, where I've been all the day long--under the roof of a poacher, +who, of late otherwise employed, hadn't so much as a head of game in his +house. True, I've since made call at an hotel, but you don't give me +credit for my abstemiousness! What have you got to reward me for it?" + +"_Entrez_!" she exclaims, leading him into the dining-room, their +dialogue so far having been carried on in the porch. "_Voila_!" + +He is gratified, though no ways surprised at the set out. He does not +need to inquire whence it comes. He, too, knows it is a sacrifice to +the rising sun. But he knows also what a sacrifice he will have to make +in return for it--one third the estate of Llangorren. + +"Well, _ma cherie_," he says, as this reflection occurs to him, "we'll +have to pay pretty dear for all this. But I suppose there's no help for +it." + +"None," she answers with a comprehension of the circumstances--clearer +and fuller than his. "We've made the contract, and must abide by it. +If broken by us, it wouldn't be a question of property, but life. +Neither yours nor mine would be safe for a single hour. Ah monsieur! +you little comprehend the power of those gentry, _les Jesuites_--how +sharp their claws, and far reaching!" + +"Confound them!" he exclaims, angrily dropping down upon a chair by the +table's side. + +He eats ravenously, and drinks like a fish. His day's work is over, and +he can afford the indulgence. + +And while they are at supper, he imparts all details of what he has done +and heard; among them Miss Linton's reasons for having put restraint +upon the search. + +"The old simpleton!" he says, concluding his narration, "she actually +believed my cousin to have run away with that captain of Hussars--if she +don't believe it still! Ha, ha, ha. She'll think differently when she +sees that body brought out of the water. _It_ will settle the +business!" + +Olympe Renault, retiring to rest, is long kept awake by the pleasant +thought, not that for many more nights will she have to sleep in a mean +bed at Glyngog, but on a grand couch in Llangorren Court. + +Volume Two, Chapter XVIII. + +IMPATIENT FOR THE POST. + +Never man looked with more impatience for a post, than Captain Ryecroft +for the night mail from the West, its morning delivery in London. It +may bring him a letter, on the contents of which will turn the hinges of +his life's fate, assuring his happiness or dooming him to misery. And +if no letter come, its failure will make misery for him all the same. + +It is scarce necessary to say, the epistle thus expected, and fraught +with such grave consequence, is an answer to his own; that written in +Herefordshire, and posted before leaving the Wyeside Hotel. Twenty-four +hours have since elapsed; and now, on the morning after, he is at the +Langham, London, where the response, if any, should reach him. + +He has made himself acquainted with the statistics of postal time, +telling him when the night mail is due, and when the first distribution +of letters in the metropolitan district. At earliest in the Langham, +which has post and telegraph office within its own walls, this palatial +hostelry, unrivalled for convenience, being in direct communication with +all parts of the world. + +It is on the stroke of 8 a.m., and, the ex-Hussar-officer pacing the +tesselated tiles, outside the deputy-manager's moderately-sized room +with its front glass-protected, watches for the incoming of the +post-carrier. + +It seems an inexorable certainty--though a very vexatious one--that +person, or thing, awaited with unusual impatience, must needs be behind +time--as if to punish the moral delinquency of the impatient one. Even +postmen are not always punctual, as Vivian Ryecroft has reason to know. +That amiable and active individual in coatee of coarse cloth, with red +rag facings, flitting from door to door, brisk as a blue-bottle, on this +particular morning does not step across the threshold of the Langham +till nearly half-past eight. There is a thick fog, and the street flags +are "greasy." That would be the excuse for his tardy appearance, were +he called upon to give one. + +Dumping down his sack, and spilling its contents upon the lead-covered +sill of the booking-office window, he is off again on a fresh and +further flight. + +With no abatement of impatience Captain Ryecroft stands looking at the +letters being sorted--a miscellaneous lot, bearing the post marks of +many towns and many countries, with the stamps of nearly every civilised +nation on the globe; enough of them to make the eyes of an ardent stamp +collector shed tears of concupiscence. + +Scarcely allowing the sorter time to deposit them in their respective +pigeon boles, Ryecroft approaches and asks if there be any for him--at +the same time giving his name. + +"No, not any," answers the clerk, after drawing out all under letter R, +and dealing them off as a pack of cards. + +"Are you quite sure, sir? Pardon me. I intend starting off within the +hour, and expecting a letter of some importance, may I ask you to glance +over them again?" + +In all the world there are no officials more affable than those of the +Langham. They are in fact types of the highest _hotel civilisation_. +Instead of showing nettled, he thus appealed to makes assenting +rejoinder, accompanying his words with a re-examination of the letters +under R; soon as completed saying,-- + +"No, sir; none for the name of Ryecroft." + +He bearing this name turns away, with an air of more than +disappointment. The negative denoting that no letter had been written +in reply, vexes--almost irritates him. It is like a blow repeated--a +second slap in his face held up in humiliation--after having forgiven +the first. He will not so humble himself--never forgive again. This +his resolve as he ascends the great stairway to his room, once more to +make ready for travel. + +The steam-packet service between Folkestone and Boulogne is "tidal." +Consulting Bradshaw, he finds the boat on that day leaves the former +place at 4 p.m.; the connecting train from the Charing Cross station, 1. +Therefore have several hours to be put in meanwhile. + +How are they to be occupied? He is not in the mood for amusement. +Nothing in London could give him that now--neither afford him a moment's +gratification. + +Perhaps in Paris? And he will try. There men have buried their +griefs--women as well: too oft laying in the same grave their innocence, +honour, and reputation. In the days of Napoleon the Little, a grand +cemetery of such; hosts entering it pure and stainless, to become +tainted as the Imperial _regime_ itself. + +And he, too, may succumb to its influence, sinister as hell itself. In +his present frame of mind it is possible. Nor would his be the first +noble spirit broken down, wrecked on the reef of a disappointed +passion--love thwarted, the loved one never again to be spoken to, in +all likelihood never more met! + +While waiting for the Folkestone train, he is a prey to the most +harrowing reflections, and in hope of escaping them, descends to the +billiard-room--in the Langham a well-appointed affair, with tables the +very best. + +The marker accommodates him to a hundred up, which he loses. It is not +for that he drops the cue disheartened, and retires. Had he won, with +Cook, Bennett, or Roberts as his adversary, 'twould have been all the +same. + +Once more mounting to his room, he makes an appeal to the ever-friendly +Nicotian. A cigar, backed by a glass of brandy, may do something to +soothe his chafed spirit; and lighting the one, he rings for the other. +This brought him, he takes seat by the window, throws up the sash, and +looks down upon the street. There to see what gives him a fresh spasm +of pain; though to two others, affording the highest happiness on earth. +For it is a wedding ceremony being celebrated at "All Souls" opposite, +a church before whose altar many fashionable couples join hands to be +linked together for life. Such a couple is in the act of entering the +sacred edifice; carriages drawing up and off in quick succession, +coachmen with white rosettes and whips ribbon-bedecked, footmen wearing +similar favours--an unusually stylish affair. + +As in shining and with smiling faces, the bridal train ascends the steps +two by two disappearing within the portals of the church, the spectators +on the nave and around the enclosure rails also looking joyous, as +though each--even the raggedest--had a personal interest in the event, +from the window opposite, Captain Ryecroft observes it with very +different feelings. For the thought is before his mind, how near he has +been himself to making one in such a procession--at its head--followed +by the bitter reflection, he now never shall. + +A sigh, succeeded by a half angry ejaculation; then the bell rung with a +violence which betrays how the sight has agitated him. + +On the waiter entering, he cries out-- + +"Call me a cab." + +"Hansom, sir?" + +"No! four-wheeler. And this luggage; get down stairs soon as possible." + +His impediments are all in travelling trim--but a few necessary articles +having been unpacked, and a shilling tossed upon the strapped +portmanteau ensures it, with the lot, speedy descent down the lift. + +A single pipe of Mr Trafford's silver whistle brings a cab to the +Langham entrance in twenty seconds time; and in twenty more a +traveller's luggage however heavy is slung to the top, with the lighter +articles stowed inside. + +His departure so accelerated, Captain Ryecroft--who had already settled +his bill--is soon seated in the cab, and carried off. + +But despatch ends on leaving the Langham. The cab being a four-wheeler +crawls along like a tortoise. Fortunately for the fare he is in no +haste now; instead will be too early for the Folkestone train. He only +wanted to get away from the scene of that ceremony, so disagreeably +suggestive. + +Shut up, imprisoned, in the plush-lined vehicle, shabby, and not over +clean, he endeavours to beguile time by gazing out at the shop windows. +The hour is too early for Regent Street promenaders. Some distraction, +if not amusement, he derives from his "cabby's" arms; these working to +and fro as if the man were rowing a boat. In burlesque it reminds him +of the Wye, and his waterman Wingate! + +But just then something else recalls the western river, not ludicrously, +but with another twinge of pain. The cab is passing through Leicester +Square, one of the lungs of London, long diseased, and in process of +being doctored. It is beset with hoardings, plastered against which are +huge posters of the advertising kind. Several of them catch the eye of +Captain Ryecroft, but only one holds it, causing him the sensation +described. It is the announcement of a grand concert to be given at the +St. James's Hall, for some charitable purpose of Welsh speciality. +Programme with list of performers. At their head in largest lettering +the queen of the eisteddfod:-- + +Edith Wynne! + +To him in the cab now a name of galling reminiscence, notwithstanding +the difference of orthography. It seems like a Nemesis pursuing him! + +He grasps the leathern strap, and letting down the ill-fitting sash with +a clatter, cries out to the cabman,-- + +"Drive on, Jarvey, or I'll be late for my train! A shilling extra for +time." + +If cabby's arms sparred slowly before, they now work as though he were +engaged in catching flies; and with their quickened action, aided by +several cuts of a thick-thonged whip, the Rosinante goes rattling +through the narrow defile of Heming's Row, down King William Street, and +across the Strand into the Charing Cross station. + +Volume Two, Chapter XIX. + +JOURNEY INTERRUPTED. + +Captain Ryecroft takes a through ticket for Paris, without thought of +breaking journey, and in due time reaches Boulogne. Glad to get out of +the detestable packet, little better than a ferry-boat, which plies +between Folkestone and the French seaport, he loses not a moment in +scaling the equally detestable gang-ladder by which alone he can escape. + +Having set foot upon French soil, represented by a rough cobble-stone +pavement, he bethinks of passport and luggage--how he will get the +former _vised_ and the latter looked after with the least trouble to +himself. It is not his first visit to France, nor is he unacquainted +with that country's customs; therefore knows that a "tip" to _sergent de +ville_ or _douanier_ will clear away the obstructions in the shortest +possible time--quicker if it be a handsome one. Peeling in his pockets +for a florin or a half-crown, he is accosted by a voice familiar and of +friendly tone. + +"Captain Ryecroft!" it exclaims in a rich rolling brogue, as of Galway. +"Is it yourself? By the powers of Moll Kelly, and it is." + +"Major Mahon!" + +"That same, old boy. Give us a grip of your fist, as on that night when +you pulled me out of the ditch at Delhi, just in time to clear the +bayonets of the pandys. A nate thing, and a close shave, wasn't it? +But's what brought you to Boulogne?" + +The question takes the traveller aback. He is not prepared to explain +the nature of his journey, and with a view to evasion he simply points +to the steamer, out of which the passengers are still swarming. + +"Come, old comrade!" protests the Major, good-naturedly, "that won't do; +it isn't satisfactory for bosom friends, as we've been, and still are, I +trust. But, maybe, I make too free, asking your business in Boulogne?" + +"Not at all, Mahon. I have no business in Boulogne; I'm on the way to +Paris." + +"Oh! a pleasure trip, I suppose." + +"Nothing of the kind. There's no pleasure for me in Paris or anywhere +else." + +"Aha!" ejaculated the Major, struck by the words, and their despondent +tone, "what's this, old fellow? Something wrong?" + +"Oh, not much--never mind." + +The reply is little satisfactory. But seeing that further allusion to +private matters might not be agreeable, the Major continues, +apologetically-- + +"Pardon me, Ryecroft. I've no wish to be inquisitive; but you have +given me reason to think you out of sorts, somehow. It isn't your +fashion to be low-spirited, and you shan't be, so long as you're in my +company--if I can help it." + +"It's very kind of you, Mahon; and for the short time I'm to be with you +I'll do the best I can to be cheerful. It shouldn't be a great effort. +I suppose the train will be starting in a few minutes?" + +"What train?" + +"For Paris." + +"You're not going to Paris now--not this night?" + +"I am, straight on." + +"Neither straight nor crooked, _ma bohil_!" + +"I must." + +"Why must you? If you don't expect pleasure there, for what should you +be in such haste to reach it? Bother, Ryecroft! you'll break your +journey here, and stay a few days with me? I can promise you some +little amusement. Boulogne isn't such a dull place just now. The smash +of Agra and Masterman's, with Overend and Gurney following suite, has +sent hither a host of old Indians, both soldiers and civilians. No +doubt you'll find many friends among them. There are lots of pretty +girls, too--I don't mean natives, but our countrywomen--to whom I'll +have much pleasure in presenting you." + +"Not for the world, Mahon--not one! I have no desire to extend my +acquaintance in that way." + +"What, turned hater, women too. Well, leaving the fair sex on one side, +there's half a dozen of the other here--good fellows as ever stretched +legs on mahogany. They're strangers to you, I think; but will be +delighted to know you, and do their best to make Boulogne agreeable. +Come, old boy. You'll stay? Say the word." + +"I would, Major, and with pleasure, were it any other time. But, I +confess, just now I'm not in the mood for making new acquaintance--least +of all among my countrymen.--To tell the truth, I'm going to Paris +chiefly with a view of avoiding them." + +"Nonsense! You're not the man to turn _solitaire_, like Simon Stylites, +and spend the rest of your days on the top of a stone pillar! Besides, +Paris is not the place for that sort of thing. If you're really +determined on keeping out of company for awhile--I won't ask why--remain +with me, and we'll take strolls along the sea beach, pick up pebbles, +gather shells, and make love to mermaids, or the Boulognese fish-fags, +if you prefer it. Come, Ryecroft, don't deny me. It's so long since +we've had a day together, I'm dying to talk over old times--recall our +_camaraderie_ in India." + +For the first time in forty-eight hours Captain Ryecroft's countenance +shows an indication of cheerfulness--almost to a smile, as he listens to +the rattle of his jovial friend, all the pleasanter from its _patois_ +recalling childhood's happy days. And as some prospect of distraction +from his sad thoughts--if not a restoration of happiness--is held out by +the kindly invitation, he is half inclined to accept it. What +difference whether he find the grave of his griefs in Paris or +Boulogne--if find it he can? + +"I'm booked to Paris," he says mechanically, and as if speaking to +himself. + +"Have you a through ticket?" asks the Major, in an odd way. + +"Of course I have." + +"Let me have a squint at it?" further questions the other, holding out +his hand. + +"Certainly. Why do you wish that?" + +"To see if it will allow you to shunt yourself here." + +"I don't think it will. In fact, I know it don't. They told me so at +Charing Cross." + +"Then they told you what wasn't true. For it does. See here!" + +What the Major calls upon him to look at are some bits of pasteboard, +like butterflies, fluttering in the air, and settling down over the +copestone of the dock. They are the fragments of the torn ticket. + +"Now, old boy! You're booked for Boulogne." + +The melancholy smile, up to that time on Ryecroft's face, broadens into +a laugh at the stratagem employed to detain him. With cheerfulness for +the time restored, he says: + +"Well, Major, by that you've cost me at at least one pound sterling. +But I'll make you recoup it in boarding and lodging me for--possibly a +week." + +"A month--a year, if you should like your lodgings and will stay in +them. I've got a snug little compound in the Rue Tintelleries, with +room to swing hammocks for us both; besides a bin or two of wine, and, +what's better, a keg of the `raal crayther.' Let's along and have a +tumbler of it at once. You'll need it to wash the channel spray out of +your throat. Don't wait for your luggage. These Custom-house gentry +all know me, and will send it directly after. Is it labelled?" + +"It is; my name's on everything." + +"Let me have one of your cards." The card is handed to him. "There, +Monsieur," he says, turning to a _douanier_, who respectfully salutes, +"take this, and see that all the _baggage_ bearing the name on it be +kept safely till called for. My servant will come for it. _Garcon_!" +This to the driver of a _voiture_, who, for some time viewing them with +expectant eye, makes response by a cut of his whip, and brisk approach +to the spot where they are standing. + +Pushing Captain Ryecroft into the back, and following himself, the Major +gives the French Jehu his address, and they are driven off over the +rough, rib-cracking cobbles of Boulogne. + +Volume Two, Chapter XX. + +HUE AND CRY. + +The ponies and pet stag on the lawn at Llangorren wonder what it is all +about. So different from the garden parties and archery-meetings, of +which they have witnessed many a one! Unlike the latter in their quiet +stateliness is the excited crowd at the Court this day; still more, from +its being chiefly composed of men. There are a few women, also, but not +the slender-waisted creatures, in silks and gossamer muslins, who make +up an out-door assemblage of the aristocracy. The sturdy dames and +robust damsels now rambling over its grounds and gravelled walks are the +dwellers in roadside cottages, who at the words "Murdered or Missing," +drop brooms upon half-swept floors, leave babies uncared-for in their +cradles, and are off to the indicated spot. + +And such words have gone abroad from Llangorren Court, coupled with the +name of its young mistress. Gwen Wynn is missing, if she be not also +murdered. + +It is the second day after her disappearance, as known to the household; +and now it is known throughout the neighbourhood, near and far. The +slight scandal dreaded by Miss Linton no longer has influence with her. +The continued absence of her niece, with the certainty at length reached +that she is not in the house of any neighbouring friend, would make +concealment of the matter a grave scandal in itself. Besides, since the +half-hearted search of yesterday new facts have come to light; for one, +the finding of that ring on the floor of the pavilion. It has been +identified not only by the finder, but by Eleanor Lees and Miss Linton +herself. A rare cluster of brilliants, besides of value, it has more +than once received the inspection of these ladies--both knowing the +giver, as the nature of the gift. + +How comes it to have been there in the summer-house? Dropped, of +course; but under what circumstances? + +Questions perplexing, while the thing itself seriously heightens the +alarm. No one, however rich or regardless, would fling such precious +stones away; above all, gems so bestowed, and, as Miss Lees has reason +to know, prized and fondly treasured. + +The discovery of the engagement ring deepens the mystery instead of +doing aught towards its elucidation. But it also strengthens a +suspicion, fast becoming belief, that Miss Wynn went not away of her own +accord; instead, has been taken. + +Robbed, too, before being earned off. There were other rings upon her +fingers--diamonds, emeralds, and the like. Possibly in the scramble, on +the robbers first seizing hold and hastily stripping her, this +particular one had slipped through their fingers, fallen to the floor, +and so escaped observation. At night and in the darkness, all likely +enough. + +So for a time run the surmises, despite the horrible suggestion +attaching to them, almost as a consequence. For if Gwen Wynn had been +robbed she may also be murdered. The costly jewels she wore, in rings, +bracelets, and chains, worth many hundreds of pounds, may have been the +temptation to plunder her; but the plunderers identified, and fearing +punishment, would also make away with her person. It may be abduction, +but it has now more the look of murder. + +By midday the alarm has reached its height--the hue and cry is at its +loudest. No longer confined to the family and domestics--no more the +relatives and intimate friends--people of all classes and kinds take +part in it. The pleasure grounds of Llangorren, erst private and sacred +as the Garden of the Hesperides, are now trampled by heavy, hobnailed +shoes; while men in smocks, slops, and sheepskin gaiters, stride +excitedly to and fro, or stand in groups, all wearing the same +expression on their features--that of a sincere, honest anxiety, with a +fear some sinister mischance has overtaken Miss Wynn. Many a young +farmer is there who has ridden beside her in the hunting-field, often +behind her no-ways nettled by her giving him the "lead;" instead, +admiring her courage and style of taking fences over which, on his cart +nag, he dares not follow--enthusiastically proclaiming her "pluck" at +markets, race meetings, and other gatherings wherever came up talk of +"Tally-ho." + +Besides those on the ground drawn thither by sympathetic friendship, and +others the idly curious, still others are there in the exercise of +official duty. Several magistrates have arrived at Llangorren, among +them Sir George Shenstone, chairman of the district bench; the police +superintendent also, with several of his blue-coated subordinates. + +There is a man present about whom remark is made, and who attracts more +attention than either justice of the peace or policeman. It is a +circumstance unprecedented--a strange sight, indeed--Lewin Murdock at +the Court! He is there, nevertheless, taking an active part in the +proceedings. + +It seems natural enough to those who but know him to be the cousin of +the missing lady, ignorant of the long family estrangement. Only to +intimate friends is there aught singular in his behaving as he now does. +But to these, on reflection, his behaviour is quite comprehensible. +They construe it differently from the others--the outside spectators. +More than one of them, observing the anxious expression upon his face, +believe it but a semblance--a mask to hide the satisfaction within his +heart--to become joy if Gwen Wynn be found--dead. + +It is not a thing to be spoken of openly, and no one so speaks of it. +The construction put upon Lewin Murdock's motives is confined to the +few; for only a few know how much he is interested in the upshot of that +search. + +Again it is set on foot, but not as on the day preceding. Now no mad +rushing to and fro of mere physical demonstration. This day there is +due deliberation; a council held, composed of the magistrates and other +gentlemen of the neighbourhood, aided by a lawyer or two, and the +talents of an experienced detective. + +As on the day before, the premises are inspected, the grounds gone over, +the fields traversed, the woods as well, while parties proceed up and +down the river, and along both sides of the backwash. The eyot also is +quartered, and carefully explored from end to end. + +As yet the drag has not been called into requisition; the deep flood, +with a swift, strong current preventing it. Partly that, but as much +because the searchers do not as yet believe--cannot realise the fact-- +that Gwendoline Wynn is dead, and her body at the bottom of the Wye! +Robbed and drowned! Surely it cannot be? + +Equally incredible that she has drowned herself. Suicide is not thought +of--incredible under the circumstances. + +A third supposition, that she has been the victim of revenge--of a +jealous lover's spite--seems alike untenable. She, the heiress, owner +of the vast Llangorren estates, to be so dealt with--pitched into the +river like some poor cottage girl, who has quarrelled with a brutal +sweetheart! The thing is preposterous! + +And yet this very thing begins to receive credence in the minds of +many--of more, as new facts are developed by the magisterial enquiry, +carried on inside the house. There a strange chapter of evidence comes +out, or rather is elicited. Miss Linton's maid, Clarisse, is the author +of it. This sportive creature confesses to having been out on the +grounds as the ball was breaking up; and, lingering there till after the +latest guest had taken departure, heard high voices, speaking as in +anger. They came from the direction of the summer-house, and she +recognised them as those of Mademoiselle and Le Capitaine--by the latter +meaning Captain Ryecroft. + +Startling testimony this, when taken in connection with the strayed +ring: collateral to the ugly suspicion the latter had already conjured +up. + +Nor is the _femme de chambre_ telling any untruth. She was in the +grounds at that same hour, and heard the voices as affirmed. She had +gone down to the boat-dock in the hope of having a word with the +handsome waterman; and returned from it reluctantly, finding he had +betaken himself to his boat. + +She does not thus state her reason for so being abroad, but gives a +different one. She was merely out to have a look at the illumination-- +the lamps and transparencies, still unextinguished--all natural enough. +And questioned as to why she said nothing of it on the day before, her +answer is equally evasive. Partly that she did not suppose the thing +worth speaking of, and partly because she did not like to let people +know that Mademoiselle had been behaving in that way--quarrelling with a +gentleman. + +In the flood of light just let in, no one any longer thinks that Miss +Wynn has been robbed; though it may be that she has suffered something +worse. What for could have been the angry words? And the quarrel; how +did it end? + +And now the name Ryecroft is on every tongue, no longer in cautious +whisperings, but loudly pronounced. Why is he not here? + +His absence is strange, unaccountable, under the circumstances. To none +seeming more so than to those holding counsel inside, who have been made +acquainted with the character of that waif--the gift ring--told he was +the giver. He cannot be ignorant of what is passing at Llangorren. +True, the hotel where he sojourns is in a town five miles off; but the +affair has long since found its way thither, and the streets are full of +it. + +"I think we had better send for him," observes Sir George Shenstone to +his brother justices. "What say you, gentlemen?" + +"Certainly; of course," is the unanimous rejoinder. + +"And the waterman, too?" queries another. "It appears that Captain +Ryecroft came to the ball in a boat. Does anyone know who was his +boatman?" + +"A fellow named Wingate" is the answer given by young Shenstone. "He +lives by the roadside, up the river, near Bugg's Ferry." + +"Possibly he may be here, outside," says Sir George. "Go see!" This to +one of the policemen at the door, who hurries off. Almost immediately +to return--told by the people that Jack Wingate is not among them. + +"That's strange, too!" remarks one of the magistrates. "Both should be +brought hither at once--if they don't choose to come willingly." + +"Oh!" exclaims Sir George, "they'll come willingly," no doubt. Let a +policeman be despatched for "Wingate. As for Captain Ryecroft, don't +you think gentlemen, it would be only politeness to summon him in a +different way. Suppose I write a note requesting his presence, with +explanations?" + +"That will be better," say several assenting. + +This note is written, and a groom gallops off with it; while a policeman +on foot makes his way to the cottage of the Widow Wingate. + +Nothing new transpires in their absence; but on their return--both +arriving about the same time--the agitation is intense. For both come +back unaccompanied; the groom bringing the report that Captain Ryecroft +is no longer at the hotel--had left it on the day before by the first +train for London! + +The policeman's tale is, that Jack Wingate went off on the same day, and +about the same early hour; not by rail to London, but in his boat, down +the river to the Bristol Channel! + +Within less than a hour after a police officer is despatched to +Chepstow, and further if need be; while the detective, with one of the +gentlemen accompanying, takes the next train for the metropolis. + +Volume Two, Chapter XXI. + +BOULOGNE-SUR-MER. + +Major Mahon is a soldier of the rollicking Irish type--good company as +ever drank wine at a regimental mess-table, or whisky-and-water under +the canvas of a tent. Brave in war, too, as evinced by sundry scars of +wounds given by the sabres of rebellious sowars, and an empty sleeve +dangling down by his side. This same token almost proclaims that he is +no longer in the army. For he is not--having left it disabled at the +close of the Indian Mutiny: after the relief of Lucknow, where he also +parted with his arm. + +He is not rich; one reason for his being in Boulogne--convenient place +for men of moderate means. There he has rented a house, in which for +nearly a twelvemonth he has been residing: a small domicile, _meuble_. +Still, large enough for his needs: for the Major, though nigh forty +years of age, has never thought of getting married; or, if so, has not +carried out the intention. As a bachelor in the French watering-place, +his income of five hundred per annum supplies all his wants--far better +than if it were in an English one. + +But economy is not his only reason for sojourning in Boulogne. There is +another alike creditable to him, or more. He has a sister, much younger +than himself, receiving education there; an only sister, for whom he +feels the strongest affection, and likes to be beside her. + +For all he sees her only at stated times, and with no great frequency. +Her school is attached to a convent, and she is in it as a +_pensionnaire_. + +All these matters are made known to Captain Ryecroft on the day after +his arrival at Boulogne. Not in the morning. It has been spent in +promenading through the streets of the lower town and along the _jetee_, +with a visit to the grand lion of the place, _l'Establissement de +Bains_, ending in an hour or two passed at the "cercle" of which the +Major is a member, and where his old campaigning comrade, against all +protestations, is introduced to the half-dozen "good fellows as ever +stretched legs under mahogany." + +It is not till a later hour, however, after a quiet dinner in the +Major's own house, and during a stroll upon the ramparts of the _Haute +Ville_, that these confidences are given to his guest, with all the +exuberant frankness of the Hibernian heart. + +Ryecroft, though Irish himself, is of less communicative nature. A +native of Dublin, he has Saxon in his blood, with some of its +secretiveness; and the Major finds a difficulty in drawing him in +reference to the particular reason of his interrupted journey to Paris. +He essays, however, with as much skill as he can command, making +approach as follows: + +"What a time it seems, Ryecroft, since you and I have been together--an +age! And yet, if I'm not wrong in my reckoning, it was but a year ago. +Yes; just twelve months, or thereabout. You remember, we met at the +`Bag,' and dined there, with Russel, of the Artillery." + +"Of course I remember it." + +"I've seen Russel since; about three months ago, when I was over in +England. And by the way, 'twas from him I last heard of yourself." + +"What had he to say about me?" + +"Only that you were somewhere down west--on the Wye I think--salmon +fishing. I know you were always good at casting a fly." + +"That all he said?" + +"Well, no;" admits the Major, with a sly, inquisitive glance at the +other's face. "There was a trifle of a codicil added to the information +about your whereabouts and occupation." + +"What, may I ask?" + +"That you'd been wonderfully successful in your angling; had hooked a +very fine fish--a big one, besides--and sold out of the army; so that +you might be free to play it on your line; in fine, that you'd captured, +safe landed, and intended staying by it for the rest of your days. +Come, old boy! Don't be blushing about the thing; you know you can +trust Charley Mahon. Is it true?" + +"Is what true?" asks the other, with an air of assumed innocence. + +"That you've caught the richest heiress in Herefordshire, or she you, or +each the other, as Russel had it, and which is best for both of you. +Down on your knees, Ryecroft! Confess!" + +"Major Mahon! If you wish me to remain your guest for another night-- +another hour--you'll not ask me aught about that affair nor even name +it. In time I may tell you all; but now to speak of it gives me a pain +which even you, one of my oldest, and I believe, truest friends cannot +fully understand." + +"I can at least understand that it's something serious." The inference +is drawn less from Ryecroft's words than their tone and the look of +utter desolation which accompanies them. "But," continues the Major, +greatly moved, "you'll forgive me, old fellow, for being so inquisitive? +I promise not to press you any more. So let's drop the subject, and +speak of something else." + +"What then?" asks Ryecroft, scarce conscious of questioning. + +"My little sister, if you like. I call her little because she was so +when I went out to India. She's now a grown girl, tall as that, and, as +flattering friends say, a great beauty. What's better, she's good. You +see that building below?" + +They are on the outer edge of the rampart, looking upon the ground +adjacent to the _enceinte_ of the ancient _cite_. A slope in warlike +days serving as the _glacis_, now occupied by dwellings, some of them +pretentious, with gardens attached. That which the Major points to is +one of the grandest, its enclosure large, with walls that only a man +upon stilts of the Landes country could look over. + +"I see--what of it!" asks the ex-Hussar. + +"It's the convent where Kate is at school--the prison in which she's +confined, I might better say," he adds, with a laugh, but in tone more +serious than jocular. + +It need scarce be said that Major Mahon is a Roman Catholic. His sister +being in such a seminary is evidence of that. But he is not bigoted, as +Ryecroft knows, without drawing the deduction from his last remark. + +His old friend and fellow-campaigner does not even ask explanation of +it, only observing-- + +"A very fine mansion it appears--walks, shade trees, arbours, fountains. +I had no idea the nuns were so well bestowed. They ought to live +happily in such a pretty place. But then, shut up, domineered over, +coerced, as I've heard they are--ah, liberty! It's the only thing that +makes the world worth living in." + +"Ditto, say I. I echo your sentiment, old fellow, and feel it. If I +didn't I might have been long ago a Benedict, with a millstone around my +neck in the shape of a wife, and half a score of smaller ones of the +grindstone pattern--in piccaninnies. Instead, I'm free as the breezes, +and by the Moll Kelly, intend remaining so!" + +The Major winds up the ungallant declaration with a laugh. But this is +not echoed by his companion, to whom the subject touched upon is a +tender one. + +Perceiving it so, Mahon makes a fresh start in the conversation, +remarking-- + +"It's beginning to feel a bit chilly up here. Suppose we saunter down +to the Cercle, and have a game of billiards!" + +"If it be all the same to you, Mahon, I'd rather not go there to night." + +"Oh! it's all the same to me. Let us home, then, and warm up with a +tumbler of whisky toddy. There were orders left for the kettle to be +kept on the boil. I see you still want cheering, and there's nothing +will do that like a drop of the _crather_. _Allons_!" Without +resisting, Ryecroft follows his friend down the stairs of the rampart. +From the point where they descended the shortest way to the Rue +Tintelleries is through a narrow lane not much used, upon which abut +only the back walls of gardens, with their gates or doors. One of +these, a gaol-like affair, is the entrance to the convent in which Miss +Mahon is at school. As they approach it a _fiacre_ is standing in +front, as if but lately drawn up to deliver its fare--a traveller. +There is a lamp, and by its light, dim nevertheless, they see that +luggage is being taken inside. Some one on a visit to the Convent, or +returning after absence. Nothing strange in all that; and neither of +the two men make remark upon it, but keep on. + +Just however, as they are passing the back, about to drive off again, +Captain Ryecroft, looking towards the door still ajar, sees a face +inside it which causes him to start. + +"What is it?" asks the Major, who feels the spasmodic movement--the two +walking arm-in-arm. + +"Well! if it wasn't that I am in Boulogne instead of on the banks of the +river Wye, I'd swear that I saw a man inside that doorway whom I met not +many days ago in the shire of Hereford." + +"What sort of a man?" + +"A priest!" + +"Oh! black's no mark among sheep. The _pretres_ are all alike, as peas +or policemen. I'm often puzzled myself to tell one from t'other." + +Satisfied with this explanation, the ex-Hussar says nothing further on +the subject, and they continue on to the Rue Tintelleries. + +Entering his house, the Major calls for "matayrials," and they sit down +to the steaming punch. But before their glasses are half emptied, there +is a ring at the door bell, and soon after a voice inquiring for +"Captain Ryecroft." The entrance-hall being contiguous to the +dining-room where they are seated, they hear all this. + +"Who can be asking for me?" queries Ryecroft, looking towards his host. + +The Major cannot tell--cannot think--who. But the answer is given by +his Irish manservant entering with a card, which he presents to Captain +Ryecroft, saying:-- + +"It's for you, yer honner." The name on the card is-- + +"Mr George Shenstone." + +Volume Two, Chapter XXII. + +WHAT DOES HE WANT? + +"Mr George Shenstone?" queries Captain Ryecroft, reading from the card. +"George Shenstone!" he repeats with a look of blank astonishment--"What +the deuce does it mean?" + +"Does what mean?" asks the Major, catching the other's surprise. + +"Why, this gentleman being here. You see that?" He tosses the card +across the table. + +"Well; what of it?" + +"Read the name!" + +"Mr George Shenstone. Don't know the man. Haven't the most distant +idea who he is. Have you?" + +"O, yes." + +"Old acquaintance; friend, I presume? No enemy, I hope?" + +"If it be the son of a Sir George Shenstone, of Herefordshire, I can't +call him either friend or enemy; and as I know nobody else of the name, +I suppose it must be he. If so, what he wants with me is a question I +can no more answer than the man in the moon. I must get the answer from +himself. Can I take the liberty of asking him into your house, Mahon?" + +"Certainly, my dear boy! Bring him in here, if you like, and let him +join us." + +"Thanks, Major!" interrupts Ryecroft. "But no, I'd prefer first having +a word with him alone. Instead of drinking, he may want fighting with +me." + +"O ho!" ejaculates the Major. "Murtagh!" to the servant, an old soldier +of the 18th, "show the gentleman into the drawing-room." + +"Mr Shenstone and I," proceeds Ryecroft in explanation, "have but the +very slightest acquaintance. I've only met him a few times in general +company, the last at a ball--a private one--just three nights ago. +'Twas that very morning I met the priest, I supposed we'd seen up there. +'Twould seem as if everybody on the Wyeside had taken the fancy to +follow me into France." + +"Ha--ha--ha! About the _pretre_, no doubt you're mistaken. And maybe +this isn't your man, either. The same name, you're sure!" + +"Quite. The Herefordshire baronet's son is George, as his father, to +whose title he is heir. I never heard of his having any other--" + +"Stay!" interrupts the Major, again glancing at the card, "here's +something to help identification--an address--_Ormeston Hall_." + +"Ah! I didn't observe that." In his agitation he had not, the address +being in small script at the corner. "Ormeston Hall? Yes, I remember, +Sir George's residence is so called. Of course it's the son--must be." + +"But why do you think he means fight? Something happened between you, +eh?" + +"No; nothing between us, directly." + +"Ah! Indirectly, then? Of course the old trouble--a woman." + +"Well; if it be fighting the fellow's after, I suppose it must be about +that," slowly rejoins Ryecroft, half in soliloquy and pondering over +what took place on the night of the ball. Now vividly recalling that +scene in the summer-house, with the angry words there spoken, he feels +good as certain George Shenstone has come after him on the part of Miss +Wynn. + +The thought of such championship stirs his indignation, and he +exclaims-- + +"By Heavens! he shall have what he wants. But I mustn't keep him +waiting. Give me that card, Major!" + +The Major returns it to him, coolly observing-- + +"If it is to be a blue pill, instead of a whisky punch, I can +accommodate you with a brace of barkers, good as can be got in Boulogne. +You haven't told me what your quarrel's about; but from what I know of +you, Ryecroft, I take it you're in the right, and you can count on me as +a second. Lucky it's my left wing that's clipped. With the right I can +shoot straight as ever--should there be need for making it a +four-cornered affair." + +"Thanks, Mahon! You're just the man I'd have asked such a favour from." + +"The gentleman's inside the dhrawin-room, surr." + +This from the ex-Royal Irish, who has again presented himself, saluting. + +"Don't yield the _Sassenach_ an inch?" counsels the Major, a little of +the old Celtic hostility stirring within him. "If he demand +explanations, hand him over to me. I'll give them to his satisfaction. +So, old fellow, be firm!" + +"Never fear!" returns Ryecroft, as he steps out to receive the +unexpected visitor, whose business with him he fully believes to have +reference to Gwendoline Wynn. + +And so has it. But not in the sense he anticipates, nor about the scene +on which his thoughts have dwelt. George Shenstone is not there to call +him to account for angry words, or rudeness of behaviour. Something +more serious; since it was the baronet's son who left Llangorren Court +in company with the plain clothes policeman. The latter is still along +with him; though not inside the house. He is standing upon the street +at a convenient distance; though not with any expectation of being +called in, or required for any farther service now, professionally. +Holding no writ, nor the right to serve such if he had it, his action +hitherto has been simply to assist Mr Shenstone in finding the man +suspected of either abduction or murder. But as neither crime is yet +proved to have been committed, much less brought home to him, the +English policeman has no further errand in Boulogne--while the English +gentleman now feels that his is almost as idle and aimless. The impulse +which carried him thither, though honourable and gallant, was begot in +the heat of blind passion. Gwen Wynn having no brother, he determined +to take the place of one, his father not saying nay. And so resolved he +had set out to seek the supposed criminal, "interview" him, and then act +according to the circumstances, as they should develop themselves. + +In the finding of his man he has experienced no difficulty. Luggage +labelled "Langham Hotel, London," gave him hot scent, as far as the +grand _caravanserai_ at the bottom of Portland Place. Beyond it was +equally fresh, and lifted with like ease. The traveller's traps +re-directed at the Langham "Paris _via_ Folkestone and Boulogne"--the +new address there noted by porters and traffic manager--was indication +sufficient to guide George Shenstone across the Channel; and cross it he +did by the next day's packet for Boulogne. + +Arrived in the French seaport, he would have gone straight on to Paris-- +had he been alone. But accompanied by the policeman the result was +different. This--an old dog of the detective breed--soon as setting +foot on French soil, went sniffing about among _serjents de ville_ and +_douaniers_, the upshot of his investigations being to bring the chase +to an abrupt termination--he finding that the game had gone no further. +In short, from information received at the Custom House, Captain +Ryecroft was run to earth in the Rue Tintelleries, under the roof of +Major Mahon. + +And now that George Shenstone is himself under it, having sent in his +card, and been ushered into the drawing-room, he does not feel at his +ease; instead greatly embarrassed. Not from any personal fear; he has +too much "pluck" for that. It is a sense of delicacy, consequent upon +some dread of wrong doing. What, after all, if his suspicions prove +groundless, and it turn out that Captain Ryecroft is entirely innocent? +His heart, torn by sorrow, exasperated with anger, starting away from +Herefordshire he did not thus interrogate. Then he supposed himself in +pursuit of an abductor, who, when overtaken, would be found in the +company of the abducted. + +But, meanwhile, both his suspicions and sentiments have undergone a +change. How could they otherwise? He pursued, has been travelling +openly and without any disguise, leaving traces at every turn and +deflection of his route, plain as fingerposts! A man guilty of aught +illegal--much more one who has committed a capital crime--would not be +acting thus? Besides, Captain Ryecroft has been journeying alone, +unaccompanied by man or woman; no one seen with him until meeting his +friend, Major Mahon, on the packet landing at Boulogne! + +No wonder that Mr Shenstone, now _au fait_ to all this--easily +ascertained along the route of travel--feels that his errand is an +awkward one. Embarrassed when ringing Major Mahon's door bell, he is +still more so inside that room, while awaiting the man to whom his card +has been taken. For he has intruded himself into the house of a +gentleman a perfect stranger to himself--to call his guest to account! +The act is inexcusable, rude almost to grotesqueness! + +But there are other circumstances attendant, of themselves unpleasant +enough. The thing he has been tracking up is no timid hare, or cowardly +fox; but a man, a soldier, gentleman as himself, who, like a tiger of +the jungles, may turn upon and tear him. + +It is no thought of this, no craven fear which makes him pace Major +Mahon's drawing-room floor so excitedly. His agitation is due to a +different and nobler cause--the sensibility of the gentleman, with the +dread of shame, should he find himself mistaken. But he has a consoling +thought. Prompted by honour and affection, he embarked in the affair, +and still urged by them he will carry it to the conclusion _coute que +coute_. + +Volume Two, Chapter XXIII. + +A GUAGE D'AMOUR. + +Pacing to and fro, with stride jerky and irregular, Shenstone at length +makes stop in front of the fireplace, not to warm himself--there is no +fire in the grate--nor yet to survey his face in the mirror above. His +steps are arrested by something he sees resting upon the mantelshelf; a +sparkling object--in short a cigar-case of the beaded pattern. + +Why should that attract the attention of the young Herefordshire squire, +causing him to start, as it first catches his eye? In his lifetime he +has seen scores of such, without caring to give them a second glance. +But it is just because he has looked upon this one before, or fancies he +has, that he now stands gazing at it; on the instant after reaching +towards, and taking it up. + +Ay, more than once has he seen that same cigar-case--he is now sure as +he holds it in hand, turning it over and over--seen it before its +embroidery was finished; watched fair fingers stitching the beads on, +cunningly combining the blue and amber and gold, tastefully arranging +them in rows and figures--two hearts central transfixed by a barbed and +feathered shaft--all save the lettering he now looks upon, and which was +never shown him. Many a time during the months past, he had hoped, and +fondly imagined, the skilful contrivance and elaborate workmanship might +be for himself. Now he knows better; the knowledge revealed to him by +the initials Y.R. entwined in monogram, and the words underneath "From +Gwen." + +Three days ago, the discovery would have caused him a spasm of keenest +pain. Not so now. After being shown that betrothal ring, no gift, no +pledge, could move him to further emotion. He but tosses the headed +thing back upon the mantel, with the reflection that he to whom it +belongs has been born under a more propitious star than himself. + +Still the little incident is not without effect. It restores his +firmness, with the resolution to act as originally intended. This is +still further strengthened, as Ryecroft enters the room, and he looks +upon the man who has caused him so much misery. A man feared but not +hated--for Shenstone's noble nature and generous disposition hinder him +from being blinded either to the superior personal or mental qualities +of his rival. A rival he fears only in the field of love; in that of +war or strife of other kind, the doughty young west-country squire would +dare even the devil. No tremor in his frame; no unsteadfastness in the +glance of his eye, as he regards the other stepping inside the open +door, and with the card in hand, coming towards him. + +Long ago introduced, and several times in company together, but cool and +distant, they coldly salute. Holding out the card Ryecroft says +interrogatively-- + +"Is this meant for me, Mr Shenstone?" + +"Yes." + +"Some matter of business, I presume. May I ask what it is?" + +The formal inquiry, in tone passive and denying, throws the fox-hunter +as upon his haunches. At the same time its evident cynicism stings him +to a blunt if not rude rejoinder. + +"I want to know--what you have done with Miss Wynn." + +He so challenged starts aback, turning pale. And looking distraught at +his challenger, while he repeats the words of the latter, with but the +personal pronoun changed-- + +"What I have done with Miss Wynn!" Then adding, "Pray explain yourself, +sir!" + +"Come, Captain Ryecroft; you know what I allude to?" + +"For the life of me I don't." + +"Do you mean to say you're not aware of what's happened?" + +"What's happened! When? Where?" + +"At Llangorren, the night of that hall. You were present; I saw you." + +"And I saw you, Mr Shenstone. But you don't tell me what happened." + +"Not at the hall, but after." + +"Well, and what after?" + +"Captain Ryecroft, you're either an innocent man, or, the most guilty on +the face of the earth." + +"Stop, sir! Language like yours requires justification, of the gravest +kind. I ask an explanation--demand it!" + +Thus brought to bay, George Shenstone looks straight in the face of the +man he has so savagely assailed; there to see neither consciousness of +guilt, nor fear of punishment. Instead, honest surprise mingled with +keen apprehension; the last not on his own account, but hers of whom +they are speaking. Intuitively, as if whispered by an angel in his ear, +he says, or thinks to himself: "This man knows nothing of Gwendoline +Wynn. If she has been carried off, it has not been by him; if murdered, +he is not her murderer." + +"Captain Ryecroft," he at length cries out in hoarse voice, the +revulsion of feeling almost choking him, "if I've been wronging you I +ask forgiveness; and you'll forgive. For if I have, you do not--cannot +know what has occurred." + +"I've told you I don't," affirms Ryecroft, now certain that the other +speaks of something different, and more serious than the affair he had +himself been thinking of. "For Heaven's sake, Mr Shenstone, explain! +What _has_ occurred there?" + +"Miss Wynn is gone away!" + +"Miss Wynn gone away! But whither?" + +"Nobody knows. All that can be said is, she disappeared on the night of +the ball, without telling any one--no trace left behind--except--" + +"Except what?" + +"A ring--a diamond cluster. I found it myself in the summer-house. You +know the place--you know the ring too?" + +"I do, Mr Shenstone; have reasons, painful ones. But I am not called +upon to give them now, nor to you. What could it mean?" he adds, +speaking to himself, thinking of that cry he heard when being rowed off. +It connects itself with what he hears now; seems once more resounding +in his ears, more than ever resembling a shriek! "But, sir; please +proceed! For God's sake, keep nothing back--tell me everything!" + +Thus appealed to, Shenstone answers by giving an account of what has +occurred at Llangorren Court--all that had transpired previous to his +leaving; and frankly confesses his own reasons for being in Boulogne. + +The manner in which it is received still further satisfying him of the +other's guiltlessness, he again begs to be forgiven for the suspicions +he had entertained. + +"Mr Shenstone," returns Ryecroft, "you ask what I am ready and willing +to grant--God knows how ready, how willing. If any misfortune has +befallen her we are speaking of, however great your grief, it cannot be +greater than mine." + +Shenstone is convinced. Ryecroft's speech, his looks, his whole +bearing, are those of a man not only guiltless of wrong to Gwendoline +Wynn, but one who, on her account, feels anxiety keen as his own. + +He stays not to question further; but once more making apologies for his +intrusion--which are accepted without anger--he bows himself back into +the street. + +The business of his travelling companion in Boulogne was over some time +ago. His is now equally ended; and though without having thrown any new +light on the mystery of Miss Wynn's disappearance, still with some +satisfaction to himself, he dares not dwell upon. Where is the man who +would not rather know his sweetheart dead than see her in the arms of a +rival? However ignoble the feeling, or base to entertain it, it is +natural to the human heart tortured by jealousy. Too natural, as George +Shenstone that night knows, with head tossing upon a sleepless pillow. +Too late to catch the Folkestone packet, his bed is in Boulogne--no bed +of roses but a couch Procrustean. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Meanwhile, Captain Ryecroft returns to the room where his friend the +Major has been awaiting him. Impatiently, though not in the interim +unemployed; as evinced by a flat mahogany box upon the table, and beside +it a brace of duelling pistols, which have evidently been submitted to +examination. They are the "best barkers that can be got in Boulogne." + +"We shan't need them, Major, after all." + +"The devil we shan't! He's shown the white feather?" + +"No, Mahon; instead, proved himself as brave a fellow as ever stood +before sword point, or dared pistol bullet?" + +"Then there's no trouble between you?" + +"Ah! yes, trouble; but not between us. Sorrow shared by both. We're in +the same boat." + +"In that case, why didn't you bring him in?" + +"I didn't think of it." + +"Well; we'll drink his health. And since you say you've both embarked +in the same boat--a bad one--here's to your reaching a good haven, and +in safety!" + +"Thanks, Major! The haven I now want to reach, and intend entering ere +another sun sets, is the harbour of Folkestone." + +The Major almost drops his glass. "Why, Ryecroft, you're surely +joking?" + +"No, Mahon; I'm in earnest--dead anxious earnest." + +"Well, I wonder! No, I don't," he adds, correcting himself. "A man +needn't be surprised at anything where there's a woman concerned. May +the devil take her, who's taking you away from me!" + +"Major Mahon!" + +"Well--well, old boy! Don't be angry. I meant nothing personal, +knowing neither the lady, nor the reason for thus changing your mind, +and so soon leaving me. Let my sorrow at that be my excuse." + +"You shall be told it, this night--now!" In another hour Major Mahon is +in possession of all that relates to Gwendoline Wynn, known to Vivian +Ryecroft; no more wondering at the anxiety of his guest to get back to +England; nor doing aught to detain him. Instead, he counsels his +immediate return; accompanies him to the first morning packet for +Folkestone; and at the parting hand-shake again reminds him of that +well-timed grip in the ditch of Delhi, exclaiming-- + +"God bless you, old boy! Whatever the upshot, remember you've a friend, +and a bit of a tent to shelter you in Boulogne--not forgetting a little +comfort from the _crayther_!" + +Volume Two, Chapter XXIV. + +SUICIDE, OR MURDER. + +Two more days have passed, and the crowd collected at Llangorren Court +is larger than ever. But it is not now scattered, nor are people +rushing excitedly about; instead, they stand thickly packed in a close +clump, which covers all the carriage sweep in front of the house. For +the search is over, the lost one has at length been found. Found, when +the flood subsided, and the drag could do its work--_found drowned_! + +Not far away, nor yet in the main river; but that narrow channel, deep +and dark, inside the eyot. In a little angular embayment at the cliff's +base, almost directly under the summer-house was the body discovered. +It came to the surface soon as touched by the grappling iron, which +caught in the loose drapery around it. Left alone for another day it +would have risen of itself. + +Taken out of the water, and borne away to the house, it is now lying in +the entrance-hall, upon a long table there set centrally. + +The hall, though a spacious one, is filled with people; and but for two +policemen stationed at the door would be densely crowded. These have +orders to admit only the friends and intimates of the family, with those +whose duty requires them to be there officially. There is again a +council in deliberation; but not as on days preceding. Then it was to +inquire into what had become of Gwendoline Wynn, and whether she were +still alive; to-day, it is an inquest being held over her dead body! + +There lies it, just as it came out of the water. But, oh! how unlike +what it was before being submerged! Those gossamer things, silks and +laces--the dress worn by her at the ball--no more floating and +feather-like, but saturated, mud-stained, "clinging like cerements" +around a form whose statuesque outlines, even in death, show the +perfection of female beauty. And her chrome yellow hair, cast in loose +coils about, has lost its silken gloss, and grown darker in hue: while +the rich rose red is gone from her cheeks, already swollen and +discoloured; so soon had the ruthless water commenced its ravages! + +No one would know Gwen Wynn now. Seeing that form prostrate and +pulseless, who could believe it the same, which but a few nights before +was there moving about, erect, lissome, and majestic? Or in that face, +dark and disfigured, who could recognise the once radiant countenance of +Llangorren's young heiress? Sad to contemplate those mute motionless +lips, so late wreathed with smiles, and speaking pleasant words! And +those eyes, dulled with "muddy impurity," that so short while ago shone +bright and gladsome, rejoicing in the gaiety of youth and the glory of +beauty--sparkling, flashing, conquering! + +All is different now; her hair dishevelled, her dress disordered and +dripping, the only things upon her person unchanged being the rings on +her fingers, the wrist bracelets, the locket still pendant to her neck-- +all gemmed and gleaming as ever, the impure water affecting not their +costly purity. And their presence has a significance, proclaiming an +important fact, soon to be considered. + +The Coroner, summoned in haste, has got upon the ground, selected his +jury, and gone through the formularies for commencing the inquest. +These over, the first point to be established is the identification of +the body. There is little difficulty in this; and it is solely through +routine, and for form's sake, that the aunt of the deceased lady, her +cousin, the lady's-maid, and one or two other domestics are submitted to +examination. All testify to their belief that the body before them is +that of Gwendoline Wynn. + +Miss Linton, after giving her testimony, is borne off to her room in +hysterics; while Eleanor Lees is led away weeping. + +Then succeeds inquiry as to how the death has been brought about; +whether it be a case of suicide or assassination? If murder the motive +cannot have been robbery. The jewellery, of grand value, forbids the +supposition of this, checking all conjecture. And if suicide, why? +That Miss Wynn should have taken her own life--made away with herself-- +is equally impossible of belief. + +Some time is occupied in the investigation of facts, and drawing +deductions. Witnesses of all classes and kinds thought worth the +calling are called and questioned. Everything already known, or +rumoured, is gone over again, till at length they arrive at the +relations of Captain Ryecroft with the drowned lady. They are brought +out in various ways, and by different witnesses; but only assume a +sinister aspect in the eyes of the jury, on their hearing the tale of +the French _femme de chambre_--strengthened, almost confirmed, by the +incident of that ring found on the floor of the summer-house. The +finder is not there to tell how; but Miss Linton, Miss Lees, and Mr +Musgrave, vouch for the fact at second hand. + +The one most wanted is Vivian Ryecroft himself, and next to him the +waterman Wingate. Neither has yet made appearance at Llangorren, nor +has either been heard of. The policeman sent after the last has +returned to report a bootless expedition. No word of the boatman at +Chepstow, nor anywhere else down the river. And no wonder there is not; +since young Powell and his friends have taken Jack's boat beyond the +river's mouth--duck-shooting along the shores of the Severn sea--there +camping out, and sleeping in places far from towns, or stations of the +rural constabulary. + +And the first is not yet expected--cannot be. From London George +Shenstone had telegraphed:--"Captain Ryecroft gone to Paris, where he +(Shenstone) would follow him." There has been no _telegram_ later to +know whether the followed has been found. Even if he have, there has +not been time for return from the French metropolis. + +Just as this conclusion has been reached by the coroner, his jury, the +justices, and other gentlemen interested in and assisting at the +investigation inside the hall, to the surprise of those on the sweep +without, George Shenstone presents himself in their midst; their excited +movement with the murmur of voices proclaiming his advent. Still +greater their astonishment when, shortly after--within a few seconds-- +Captain Ryecroft steps upon the same ground, as though the two had come +thither in companionship! And so might it have been believed, but for +two hotel hackneys seen drawn up on the drive outside the skirts of the +crowd where they delivered their respective fares, after having brought +them separately from the railway station. + +Fellow travellers they have been, but whether friends or not, the people +are surprised at the manner of their arrival; or rather, at seeing +Captain Ryecroft so present himself. For in the days just past he has +been the subject of a horrid suspicion, with the usual guesses and +conjectures relating to it and him. Not only has he been freely +calumniated, but doubts thrown out that Ryecroft is his real name, and +denial of his being an officer of the army, or ever having been; with +bold, positive asseveration that he is a swindler and adventurer! All +that while Gwen Wynn was but missing. Now that her body is found, since +its discovery, still harsher have been the terms applied to him; at +length, to culminate, in calling him a murderer! + +Instead of voluntarily presenting himself at Llangorren alone, arms and +limbs free, they expected to see him--if seen at all--with a policeman +by his side, and manacles on his wrists! + +Astonished, also, are those within the hall, though in a milder degree, +and from different causes. They did not look for the man to be brought +before them handcuffed; but no more did they anticipate seeing him enter +almost simultaneously, and side by side, with George Shenstone; they, +not having the hackney carriages in sight, taking it for granted that +the two have been travelling together. + +However strange or incongruous the companionship, those noting have no +time to reflect about it; their attention being called to a scene that, +for a while, fixes and engrosses it. + +Going wider apart as they approach the table, on which lies the body, +Shenstone and Ryecroft take opposite sides--coming to a stand, each in +his own attitude. From information already imparted to them they have +been prepared to see a corpse, but not such as that! Where is the +beautiful woman, by both beloved, fondly, passionately? Can it be +possible, that what they are looking upon is she who once was Gwendoline +Wynn? + +Whatever their reflections, or whether alike, neither makes them known +in words. Instead, both stand speechless, stunned--withered-like, as +two strong trees simultaneously scathed by lightning--the bolt which has +blasted them lying between! + +Volume Two, Chapter XXV. + +A PLENTIFUL CORRESPONDENCE. + +If Captain Ryecroft's sudden departure from Herefordshire brought +suspicion upon him, his reappearance goes far to remove it. For that +this is voluntary soon becomes known. The returned policeman has +communicated the fact to his fellow-professionals, it is by them further +disseminated among the people assembled outside. + +From the same source other information is obtained in favour of the man +they have been so rashly and gravely accusing. The time of his starting +off, the mode of making his journey, without any attempt to conceal his +route of travel or cover his tracks--instead, leaving them so marked +that any messenger, even the simplest, might have followed and found +him. Only a fool fleeing from justice would have so fled, or one +seeking to escape punishment for some trivial offence. But not a man +guilty of murder. + +Besides, is he not back there--come of his own accord--to confront his +accusers, if any there still be? So runs the reasoning throughout the +crowd on the carriage sweep. + +With the gentlemen inside the house, equally complete is the revolution +of sentiment in his favour. For, after the first violent outburst of +grief, young Shenstone, in a few whispered words, makes known to them +the particulars of his expedition to Boulogne, with that interview in +the house of Major Mahon. Himself convinced of his rival's innocence, +he urges his conviction on the others. + +But before their eyes is a sight almost confirmatory of it. That look +of concentrated anguish in Captain Ryecroft's eyes cannot be +counterfeit. A soldier who sheds tears could not be an assassin; and as +he stands in bent attitude, leaning over the table on which lies the +corpse, tears are seen stealing down his cheeks, while his bosom rises +and falls in quick, convulsive heaving. + +Shenstone is himself very similarly affected, and the bystanders +beholding them are convinced that, in whatever way Gwendoline Wynn may +have come by her death, the one is innocent of it as the other. + +For all, justice requires that the accusations already made, or menaced, +against Captain Ryecroft be cleared up. Indeed, he himself demands +this, for he is aware of the rumours that have been abroad about him. +On this account he is called upon by the Coroner to state what he knows +concerning the melancholy subject of their enquiry. + +But first George Shenstone is examined--as it were by way of skirmish, +and to approach, in a manner delicate as possible, the man mainly, +though doubtingly accused. + +The baronet's son, beginning with the night of the ball--the fatal +night--tells how he danced repeatedly with Miss Wynn; between two sets +walked out with her over the lawn, stopped, and stood for some time +under a certain tree, where in conversation she made known to him the +fact of her being betrothed by showing him the engagement ring. She did +not say who gave it, but he surmised it to be Captain Ryecroft--was sure +of its being he--even without the evidence of the engraved initials +afterwards observed by him inside it. + +As it has already been identified by others, he is only asked to state +the circumstances under which he found it. Which he does, telling how +he picked it up from the floor of the summer-house; but without alluding +to his own motives for being there, or acting as he has throughout. + +As he is not questioned about these, why should he? But there are many +hearing him who guess them--not a few quite comprehending all. George +Shenstone's mad love for Miss Wynn has been no secret, neither his +pursuit of her for many long months, however hopeless it might have +seemed to the initiated. His melancholy bearing now, which does not +escape observation, would of itself tell the tale. + +His testimony makes ready the ground for him who is looked upon less in +the light of a witness than as one accused, by some once more, and more +than ever so. For there are those present who not only were at the +ball, but noticed that triangular byplay upon which Shenstone's tale, +without his intending it, has thrown a sinister light. Alongside the +story of Clarisse, there seems to have been motive, almost enough for +murder. An engagement angrily broken off--an actual quarrel--Gwendoline +Wynn never afterwards seen alive! That quarrel, too, by the water's +edge, on a cliff at whose base her body has been found! Strange-- +altogether improbable--that she should have drowned herself. Far easier +to believe that he, her _fiance_, in a moment of mad, headlong passion, +prompted by fell jealousy, had hurled her over the high bank. + +Against this returned current of adverse sentiment, Captain Ryecroft is +called upon to give his account, and state all he knows. What he will +say is weighted with heavy consequences to himself. It may leave him at +liberty to depart from the spot voluntarily, as he came, or be taken +from it in custody. But he is yet free, and so left to tell his tale, +no one interrupting. + +And without circumlocution he tells it, concealing nought that may be +needed for its comprehension--not even his delicate relations to the +unfortunate lady. He confesses his love--his proposal of marriage--its +acceptance--the bestowal of the ring--his jealousy and its cause--the +ebullition of angry words between him and his betrothed--the so-called +quarrel--her returning the ring, with the way, and why he did not take +it back--because at that painful crisis be neither thought of nor cared +for such a trifle. Then parting with, and leaving her within the +pavilion, he hastened away to his boat, and was rowed off. But, while +passing up stream, he again caught sight of her, still standing in the +summer-house, apparently leaning upon, and looking over, its baluster +rail. His boat moving on, and trees coming between he no more saw her; +but soon after heard a cry--his waterman as well--startling both. + +It is a new statement in evidence, which startles those listening to +him. He could not comprehend, and cannot explain it; though now knowing +it must have been the voice of Gwendoline Wynn--perhaps her last +utterance in life. + +He had commanded his boatman to hold way, and they dropped back down +stream again to get within sight of the summer-house, but then to see it +dark, and to all appearance deserted. + +Afterwards he proceeded home to his hotel, there to sit up for the +remainder of the night, packing and otherwise preparing for his +journey--of itself a consequence of the angry parting with his +betrothed, and the pledge so slightingly returned. + +In the morning he wrote to her, directing the letter to be dropped into +the post office; which he knew to have been done before his leaving the +hotel for the railway station. + +"Has any letter reached Llangorren Court?" enquires the Coroner, turning +from the witness, and putting the question in a general way. "I mean +for Miss Wynn--since the night of that ball?" + +The butler present, stepping forward, answers in the affirmative, +saying-- + +"There are a good many for Miss Gwen since--some almost coming in every +post." + +Although there is, or was, but one Miss Gwen Wynn at Llangorren, the +head servant, as the others, from habit calls her `Miss Gwen,' speaking +of her as if she were still alive. + +"It is your place to look after the letters, I believe?" + +"Yes; I attend to that." + +"What have you done with those addressed to Miss Wynn?" + +"I gave them to Gibbons, Miss Gwen's lady's-maid." + +"Let Gibbons be called again!" directs the Coroner. + +The girl is brought in the second time, having been already examined at +some length, and, as before, confessing her neglect of duty. + +"Mr Williams," proceeds the examiner, "gave you some letters for your +late mistress. What have you done with them?" + +"I took them upstairs to Miss Gwen's room." + +"Are they there still?" + +"Yes; on the dressing table, where she always had the letters left for +her." + +"Be good enough to bring them down here. Bring all." + +Another pause in the proceedings while Gibbons is off after the now +posthumous correspondence of the deceased lady, during which whisperings +are interchanged between the Coroner and jurymen, asking questions of +one another. They relate to a circumstance seeming strange; that +nothing has been said about these letters before--at least to those +engaged in the investigation. + +The explanation, however, is given--a reason evident and easily +understood. They have seen the state of mind in which the two ladies of +the establishment are--Miss Linton almost beside herself, Eleanor Lees +not far from the same. In the excitement of occurrences neither has +given thought to letters, even having forgotten the one which so +occupied their attention on that day when Gwen was missed from her seat +at the breakfast table. It might not have been seen by them then, but +for Gibbons not being in the way to take it upstairs as usual. These +facts, or rather deductions, are informal, and discussed while the maid +is absent on her errand. + +She is gone but for a few seconds, returning, waiter in hand, with a +pile of letters upon it, which she presents in the orthodox fashion. +Counted there are more than a dozen of them, the deceased lady having +largely corresponded. A general favourite--to say nothing of her youth, +beauty, and riches--she had friends far and near; and, as the butler had +stated, letters coming by "almost every post"--that but once a day, +however, Llangorren lying far from a postal town, and having but one +daily delivery. Those upon the tray are from ladies, as can be told by +the delicate angular chirography--all except two, that show a rounder +and bolder hand. In the presence of her to whom they were addressed-- +now speechless and unprotesting--no breach of confidence to open them. +One after another their envelopes are torn off, and they are submitted +to the jury--those of the lady correspondents first. Not to be +deliberately read, but only glanced at, to see if they contain aught +relating to the matter in hand. Still, it takes time; and would more +were they all of the same pattern--double sheets, with the scrip +crossed, and full to the four corners. + +Fortunately, but a few of them are thus prolix and puzzling; the greater +number being notes about the late ball, birthday congratulations, +invitations to "at homes," dinner-parties, and such like. + +Recognising their character, and that they have no relation to the +subject of inquiry, the jurymen pass them through their fingers speedily +as possible, and then turn with greater expectancy to the two in +masculine handwriting. These the Coroner has meanwhile opened, and read +to himself, finding one signed "George Shenstone," the other "Vivian +Ryecroft." + +Nobody present is surprised to hear that one of the letters is +Ryecroft's. They have been expecting it so. But not that the other is +from the son of Sir George Shenstone. A word, however, from the young +man himself explains how it came there, leaving the epistle to tell its +own tale. For as both undoubtedly bear upon the matter of inquiry, the +Coroner has directed both to be read aloud. + +Whether by chance or otherwise, that of Shenstone is taken first. It is +headed-- + +"Ormeston Hall, 4 a.m., Apres le bal." + +The date, thus oddly indicated, seems to tell of the writer being in +better spirits than might have been expected just at that time; possibly +from a still lingering belief that all is not yet hopeless with him. +Something of the same runs through the tone of his letter, if not its +contents, which are-- + +"Dear Gwen,--I've got home, but can't turn in without writing you a +word, to say that, however sad I feel at what you've told me--and sad I +am, God knows--if you think I shouldn't come near you any more--and from +what I noticed last night, perhaps I ought not--only say so, and I will +not. Your slightest word will be a command to one who, though no longer +hoping to have your hand, will still hope and pray for your happiness. +That one is,-- + +"Yours devotedly, if despairingly,-- + +"George Shenstone. + +"P.S.--Do not take the trouble of writing an answer. I would rather get +it from your lips; and that you may have the opportunity of so giving +it, I will call at the Court in the afternoon. Then you can say whether +it is to be my last visit there.--G.S." + +The writer, present and listening, bravely bears himself. It is a +terrible infliction, nevertheless, having his love secret thus revealed, +his heart, as it were, laid open before all the world. But he is too +sad to feel it now; and makes no remark, save a word or two explanatory, +in answer to questions from the Coroner. + +Nor are any comments made upon the letter itself. All are too anxious +as to the contents of that other, bearing the signature of the man who +is to most of them a stranger. + +It carries the address of the hotel in which he has been all summer +sojourning, and its date is only an hour or two later than that of +Shenstone's. No doubt, at the self-same moment the two men were +pondering upon the words they intended writing to Gwendoline Wynn--she +who now can never read them. + +Very different in spirit are their epistles, unlike as the men +themselves. But, so too, are the circumstances that dictated them, that +of Ryecroft reads thus:-- + +"Gwendoline,--While you are reading this I shall be on my way to London, +where I shall stay to receive your answer--if you think it worth while +to give one. After parting as we've done, possibly you will not. When +you so scornfully cast away that little love-token it told me a tale--I +may say a bitter one--that you never really regarded the gift, nor cared +for the giver. Is that true, Gwendoline? If not, and I am wronging +you, may God forgive me. And I would crave your forgiveness; entreat +you to let me replace the ring upon your finger. But if true--and you +know best--then you can take it up--supposing it is still upon the floor +where you flung it--fling it into the river, and forget him who gave it. + +"Vivian Ryecroft." + +To this half-doubting, half-defiant epistle there is also a +postscript:-- + +"I shall be at the Langham Hotel, London, till to-morrow noon; where +your answer, if any, will reach me. Should none come, I shall conclude +that all is ended between us, and henceforth you will neither need, nor +desire, to know my address. + +"Y.R." + +The contents of the letter make a vivid impression on all present. Its +tone of earnestness, almost anger, could not be assumed or pretended. +Beyond doubt, it was written under the circumstances stated; and, taken +in conjunction with the writer's statement of other events, given in +such a clear, straightforward manner, there is again complete revulsion +of feeling in his favour, and once more a full belief in his innocence. +Which questioning him by cross-examination fails to shake, instead +strengthens; and, when, at length, having given explanation of +everything, he is permitted to take his place among the spectators and +mourners, it is with little fear of being dragged away from Llangorren +Court in the character of a criminal. + +Volume Two, Chapter XXVI. + +FOUND DROWNED. + +As a pack of hounds thrown off the scent, but a moment before hot, now +cold, are the Coroner and his jury. + +But only in one sense like the dogs these human searchers. There is +nothing of the sleuth in their search, and they are but too glad to find +the game they have been pursuing and lost is a noble stag, instead of a +treacherous wicked wolf. + +Not a doubt remains in their minds of the innocence of Captain +Ryecroft--not the shadow of one. If there were, it is soon to be +dissipated. For while they are deliberating on what had best next be +done, a noise outside, a buzz of voices, excited exclamations, at length +culminating in a cheer, tell of some one fresh arrived and received +triumphantly. + +They are not left long to conjecture who the new arrival is. One of the +policemen stationed at the door stepping aside tells who--the man after +Captain Ryecroft himself most wanted. No need saying it is Jack +Wingate. + +But a word about how the waterman has come thither, arriving at such a +time, and why not sooner. It is all in a nutshell. But the hour before +he returned from the duck-shooting expedition on the shores of the +Severn sea, with his boat brought back by road--on a donkey cart. On +arrival at his home, and hearing of the great event at Llangorren, he +had launched his skiff, leaped into it, and pulled himself down to the +Court as if rowing in a regatta. + +In the _patois_ of the American prairies he is now "arrove," and, still +panting for breath, is brought before the Coroner's Court, and submitted +to examination. His testimony confirms that of his old fare--in every +particular about which he can testify. All the more credible is it from +his own character. The young waterman is well known as a man of +veracity--incapable of bearing false witness. + +When he tells them that after the Captain had joined him, and was still +with him in the boat, he not only saw a lady in the little house +overhead, but recognised her as the young mistress of Llangorren--when +he positively swears to the fact--no one any more thinks that she whose +body lies dead was drowned or otherwise injured by the man standing +bowed and broken over it. Least of all the other, who alike suffers and +sorrows. For soon as Wingate has finished giving evidence, George +Shenstone steps forward, and holding out his hand to his late rival, +says, in the hearing of all-- + +"Forgive me, sir, for having wronged you by suspicion! I now make +reparation for it in the only way I can--by declaring that I believe you +as innocent as myself." + +The generous behaviour of the baronet's son strikes home to every heart, +and his example is imitated by others. Hands from every side are +stretched towards that of the stranger, giving it a grasp which tells of +their owners being also convinced of his innocence. + +But the inquest is not yet ended--not for hours. Over the dead body of +one in social rank as she, no mere perfunctory investigation would +satisfy the public demand, nor would any Coroner dare to withdraw till +everything has been thoroughly sifted, and to the bottom. + +In view of the new facts brought out by Captain Ryecroft and his +boatman--above all that cry heard by them--suspicions of foul play are +rife as ever, though no longer pointed at him. + +As everything in the shape of verbal testimony worth taking has been +taken, the Coroner calls upon his jury to go with him to the place where +the body was taken out of the water. Leaving it in charge of two +policemen, they sally forth from the house two and two, he preceding, +the crowd pressing close. + +First they visit the little dock, in which they see two boats--the +_Gwendoline_ and _Mary_--lying just as they were on that night when +Captain Ryecroft stepped across the one to take his seat in the other. +He is with the Coroner--so is Wingate--and both questioned give minute +account of that embarkation, again in brief _resume_ going over the +circumstances that preceded and followed it. + +The next move is to the summer-house, to which the distance from the +dock is noted, one of the jurymen stepping it--the object to discover +how time will correspond to the incidents as detailed. Not that there +is any doubt about the truth of Captain Ryecroft's statements, nor those +of the boatman; for both are fully believed. The measuring is only to +assist in making calculation how long time may have intervened between +the lovers' quarrel and the death-like cry, without thought of their +having any connection--much less that the one was either cause or +consequence of the other. + +Again there is consultation at the summer-house, with questions asked, +some of which are answered by George Shenstone, who shows the spot where +he picked up the ring. And outside, standing on the cliff's brink, +Ryecroft and the waterman point to the place, near as they can fix it, +where their boat was when the sad sound reached their ears, again +recounting what they did after. + +Remaining a while longer on the cliff, the Coroner and jury, with craned +necks, look over its edge. Directly below is the little embayment in +which the body was found. It is angular, somewhat horse-shoe shaped; +the water within stagnant, which accounts for the corpse not having been +swept away. There is not much current in the backwash at any part; +enough to have carried it off had the drowning been done elsewhere. But +beyond doubt it has been there. Such is the conclusion arrived at by +the Coroner's jury, firmly established in their minds, at sight of +something hitherto unnoticed by them. For though not in a body, +individually each had already inspected the place, negligently. But now +in official form, with wits on the alert, one looking over detects +certain abrasions on the face of the cliff--scratches on the red +sandstone--distinguishable by the fresher tint of the rock-- +unquestionably made by something that had fallen from above, and what +but the body of Gwendoline Wynn? They see, moreover, some branches of a +juniper bush near the cliff's base, broken, but still clinging. Through +that the falling form must have descended! + +There is no further doubting the fact. There went she over; the only +questions undetermined being, whether with her own will, by +misadventure, or man's violence. In other words, was it suicide, +accident, or murder? + +To the last many circumstances point, and especially the fact of the +body remaining where it went into the water. A woman being drowned +accidentally, or drowning herself, in the death struggle would have +worked away some distance from the spot she had fallen, or thrown +herself in. Still the same would occur if thrown in by another; only +that this other might by some means have extinguished life beforehand. + +This last thought, or surmise, carries Coroner and jury back to the +house, and to a more particular examination of the body. In which they +are assisted by medical men--surgeons and physicians--several of both +being present, unofficially; among them the one who administers to the +ailings of Miss Linton. There is none of them who has attended +Gwendoline Wynn, who never knew ailment of any kind. + +Their _post-mortem_ examining does not extend to dissection. There is +no need. Without it there are tests which tell the cause of death--that +of drowning. + +Beyond this they can throw no light on the affair, which remains +mysterious as ever. + +Flung back on reasoning of the analytical kind, the Coroner and his jury +can come to no other conclusion than that the first plunge into the +water, in whatever way made, was almost instantly fatal; and if a +struggle followed it ended by the body returning to, and sinking in the +same place where it first went down. + +Among the people outside pass many surmises, guesses, and conjectures. +Suspicions also, but no more pointing to Captain Ryecroft. + +They take another, and more natural, direction. Still nothing has +transpired to inculpate any one, or, in the finding of a Coroner's jury, +connect man or woman with it. + +This is at length pronounced in the usual formula, with its customary +tag:--"Found Drowned. But how, etc, etc." + +With such ambiguous rendering the once beautiful body of Gwendoline Wynn +is consigned to a coffin, and in due time deposited in the family vault, +under the chancel of Llangorren Church. + +Volume Two, Chapter XXVII. + +A MAN WHO THINKS IT MURDER. + +Had Gwendoline Wynn been a poor cottage girl, instead of a rich young +lady--owner of estates--the world would soon have ceased to think of +her. As it is most people have settled down to the belief that she has +simply been the victim of a misadventure, her death due to accident. + +Only a few have other thoughts, but none that she has committed suicide. +The theory of _felo de se_ is not entertained, because not +entertainable. For, in addition to the testimony taken at the Coroner's +inquest, other facts came out in examination by the magistrates, showing +there was no adequate reason why she should put an end to her life. A +lover's quarrel of a night's, still less an hour's duration, could not +so result. And that there was nothing beyond this Miss Linton is able +to say assuredly. Still more Eleanor Lees, who, by confidences +exchanged, and mutually imparted, was perfectly _au fait_ to the +feelings of her relative and friend--knew her hopes, and her fears, and +that among the last there was none to justify the deed of despair. +Doubts now and then, for when and where is love without them; but with +Gwen Wynn slight, evanescent as the clouds in a summer sky. She was +satisfied that Vivian Ryecroft loved her, as that she herself lived. +How could it be otherwise? and her behaviour on the night of the ball +was only a transient spite which would have passed off soon as the +excitement was over, and calm reflection returned. Altogether +impossible she could have given way to it so far as in wilful rage to +take the last leap into eternity. More likely standing on the cliff's +edge, anxiously straining her eyes after the boat which was bearing him +away in anger, her foot slipped upon the rock, and she fell over into +the flood. + +So argues Eleanor Lees, and such is the almost universal belief at the +close of the inquest, and for some time after. And if not +self-destruction, no more could it be murder with a view to robbery. + +The valuable effects left untouched upon her person forbade supposition +of that. If murder, the motive must have been other than the possession +of a few hundred pounds' worth of jewellery. So reasons the world at +large, naturally enough. + +For all, there are a few who still cling to a suspicion of there having +been foul play; but not now with any reference to Captain Ryecroft. Nor +are they the same who had suspected him. Those yet doubting the +accidental death are the intimate friends of the Wynn family, who knew +of its affairs relating to the property with the conditions on which the +Llangorren estates were held. Up to this time only a limited number of +individuals has been aware of their descent to Lewin Murdock. And when +at length this fact comes out, and still more emphatically by the +gentleman himself taking possession of them, the thoughts of the people +revert to the mystery of Miss Wynn's death, so unsatisfactory cleared up +at the Coroner's inquest. + +Still the suspicions thus newly aroused, and pointing in another +quarter, are confined to those acquainted with the character of the new +man suspected. Nor are they many. Beyond the obscure corner of Bugg's +Ferry there are few who have ever heard of, still fewer ever seen him. +Outside the pale of "society," with most part of his life passed abroad, +he is a stranger, not only to the gentry of the neighbourhood, but most +of the common people as well. Jack Wingate chanced to have heard of him +by reason of his proximity to Bugg's Ferry, and his own necessity for +oft going there. But possibly as much on the account of the intimate +relations existing between the owner of Glyngog House and Coracle Dick. + +Others less interested know little of either individual, and when it is +told that a Mr Lewin Murdock has succeeded to the estates of +Llangorren--at the same time it becoming known that he is the cousin of +her whom death has deprived of them--to the general public the +succession seems natural enough; since it has been long understood that +the lady had no nearer relative. + +Therefore, only the few intimately familiar with the facts relating to +the reversion of the property held fast to the suspicion thus excited. +But as no word came out, either at the inquest or elsewhere, and nothing +has since arisen to justify it, they also begin to share the universal +belief, that for the death of Gwendoline Wynn nobody is to blame. + +Even George Shenstone, sorely grieving, accepts it thus. Of +unsuspicious nature--incapable of believing in a crime so terrible--a +deed so dark, as that would infer--he cannot suppose that the gentleman +now his nearest neighbour--for the lands of Llangorren adjoin those of +his father--has come into possession of them by such foul means as +murder. + +His father may think differently, he knowing more of Lewin Murdock. Not +much of his late life, but his earlier, with its surroundings and +antecedents. Still Sir George is silent, whatever his thoughts. It is +not a subject to be lightly spoken of, or rashly commented upon. + +There is one who, more than any other, reflects upon the sad fate of her +whom he had so fondly loved, and differing from the rest as to how she +came to her death--this one is Captain Ryecroft. He, too, might have +yielded to the popular impression of its having been accidental, but for +certain circumstances that have come to his knowledge, and which he has +yet kept to himself. He had not forgotten what was, at an early period, +communicated to him by the waterman Wingate, about the odd-looking old +house up the glen; nor yet the uneasy manner of Gwendoline Wynn, when +once in conversation with her he referred to the place and its occupier. +This, with Jack's original story, and other details added, besides +incidents that have since transpired, are recalled to him vividly on +hearing that the owner of Glyngog has also become owner of Llangorren. + +It is some time before this news reaches him. For just after the +inquest an important matter had arisen affecting some property of his +own, which required his presence in Dublin--there for days detaining +him. Having settled it, he has returned to the same town and hotel +where he had been the summer sojourning. Nor came he back on errand +aimless, but with a purpose. Ill-satisfied with the finding of the +Coroner's jury, he is determined to investigate the affair in his own +way. + +Accident he does not believe in--least of all, that the lady having made +a false step, had fallen over the cliff. When he last saw her she was +inside the pavilion, leaning over the baluster rail, breast high; +protected by it. If gazing after him and his boat, the position gave +her as good a view as she could have. Why should she have gone outside? +And the cry heard so soon after? It was not like that of one falling, +and so far. In descent it would have been repeated, which it was not! + +Of suicide he has never entertained a thought--above all, for the reason +suggested--jealousy of himself. How could he, while so keenly suffering +it for her! No, it could not be that; nor suicide from any cause. + +The more he ponders upon it, the surer grows he that Gwendoline Wynn has +been the victim of a villainous murder. And it is for this reason he +has returned to the Wye, first to satisfy himself of the fact; then, if +possible, to find the perpetrator, and bring him to justice. + +As no robber has done the drowning, conjecture is narrowed to a point; +his suspicions finally becoming fixed on Lewin Murdock. + +He may be mistaken, but will not surrender them until he find evidence +of their being erroneous, or proof that they are correct. And to obtain +it he will devote, if need be, all the rest of his days, with the +remainder of his fortune. For what are either now to him? In life he +has had but one love, real, and reaching the height of a passion. She +who inspired it is now sleeping her last sleep--lying cold in her tomb-- +his love and memory of her alone remaining warm. + +His grief has been great, but its first wild throes have passed and he +can reflect calmly--more carefully consider, what he should do. From +the first some thoughts about Murdock were in his mind; still only +vague. Now, on returning to Herefordshire, and hearing what has +happened meanwhile--for during his absence there has been a removal from +Glyngog to Llangorren--the occurrence, so suggestive, restores his +former train of reflection, placing things in a clearer light. + +As the hunter, hitherto pursuing upon a cold trail, is excited by +finding the slot fresher, so he. And so will he follow it to the end-- +the last trace or sign. For no game, however grand--elephant, lion, or +tiger--could attract like that he believes himself to be after--a human +tiger--a murderer. + +END OF VOLUME TWO. + +Volume Three, Chapter I. + +ONCE MORE UPON THE RIVER. + +Nowhere in England, perhaps nowhere in Europe, is the autumnal foliage +more charmingly tinted than on the banks of the Wye, where it runs +through the shire of Hereford. There Vaga threads her way amid woods +that appear painted, and in colours almost as vivid as those of the +famed American forests. The beech, instead of, as elsewhere, dying off +dull bistre, takes a tint of bright amber; the chestnut turns +translucent lemon; the oak leaves show rose-colours along their edges, +and the wych-hazel coral red by its umbels of thickly clustering fruit. +Here and there along the high-pitched hill sides flecks of crimson +proclaim the wild cherry, spots of hoar white bespeak the climbing +clematis, scarlet the holly with its wax-like berries, and maroon red +the hawthorn; while interspersed and contrasting are dashes of green in +all its varied shades, where yews, junipers, gorse, ivy, and other +indigenous evergreens display their living verdure throughout all the +year, daring winter's frosts, and defying its snows. + +It is autumn now, and the woods of the Wye have donned its dress; no +livery of faded green, nor sombre russet, but a robe of gaudiest sheen, +its hues scarlet, crimson, green, and golden. Brown October elsewhere, +is brilliant here; and though leaves have fallen, and are falling, the +sight suggests no thought of decay, nor brings sadness to the heart of +the beholder. Instead, the gaudy tapestry hanging from the trees, and +the gay-coloured carpet spread underneath, but gladden it. Still +further is it rejoiced by sounds heard. For the woods of Wyeside are +not voiceless, even in winter. Within them the birds ever sing, and +although their autumn concert may not equal that of spring,--lacking its +leading tenor, the nightingale--still is it alike vociferous and alike +splendidly attuned. Bold as ever is the flageolet note of the +blackbird; not less loud and sweet the carol of his shyer cousin the +thrush; as erst soft and tender the cooing of the cushat; and with mirth +unabated the cackle of the green woodpecker, as with long tongue, +prehensile as human hand, it penetrates the ant-hive in search of its +insect prey. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +October it is; and where the Wye's silver stream, like a grand +glistening snake, meanders amid these woods of golden hue and glorious +song, a small row-boat is seen dropping downward. There are two men in +it; one rowing, the other seated in the stern sheets, steering. The +same individuals have been observed before in like relative position and +similarly occupied. For he at the oars is Jack Wingate, the steerer +Captain Ryecroft. + +Little thought the young waterman, when that "big gift"--the ten pound +bank-note--was thrust into his palm, he would so soon again have the +generous donor for a fare. + +He has him now, without knowing why, or inquiring. Too glad once more +to sit on his boat's thwarts, _vis-a-vis_ with the Captain, it would ill +become him to be inquisitive. Besides, there is a feeling of solemnity +in their thus again being together, with sadness pervading the thoughts +of both, and holding speech in restraint. All he knows is that his old +fare has hired him for a row down the river, but bent on no fishing +business. For it is twilight. His excursion has a different object; +but what the boatman cannot tell. No inference could be drawn from the +laconic order he received at embarking. + +"Row me down the river, Jack!" distance and all else left undefined. + +And down Jack is rowing him in regular measured stroke, no words passing +between them. Both are silent, as though listening to the plash of the +oar-blades, or the roundelay of late singing birds on the river's bank. + +Yet neither of these sounds has place in their thoughts; instead, only +the memory of one different and less pleasant. For they are thinking of +cries--shrieks heard by them not so long ago, and still too fresh in +their memory. + +Ryecroft is the first to break silence, saying,-- + +"This must be about the place where we heard it." + +Although not a word has been said of what the "it" is, and the remark +seems made in soliloquy rather than as an interrogation, Wingate well +knows what is meant, as shown by his rejoinder:-- + +"It's the very spot, Captain." + +"Ah! you know it?" + +"I do--am sure. You see that big poplar standing on the bank there?" + +"Yes; well?" + +"We wor just abreast o' it when ye bid me hold way. In course we must a +heard the screech just then." + +"Hold way now! Pull back a length or two. Steady her. Keep opposite +the tree!" + +The boatman obeys; first pulling the back stroke, then staying his craft +against the current. + +Once more relapsing into silence, Ryecroft sends his gaze down stream, +as though noting the distance to Llangorren Court, whose chimneys are +visible in the moonlight now on. Then, as if satisfied with some mental +observation, he directs the other to row off. But as the kiosk-like +structure comes within sight, he orders another pause, while making a +minute survey of the summer-house, and the stretch of water between. +Part of this is the main channel of the river, the other portion being +the narrow way behind the eyot; on approaching which the pavilion is +again lost to view, hidden by a tope of tall trees. But once within the +bye-way it can be again sighted; and when near the entrance to this the +waterman gets the word to pull into it. + +He is somewhat surprised at receiving this direction. It is the way to +Llangorren Court, by the boat-stair, and he knows the people now living +there are not friends of his fare--not even acquaintances, so far as he +has heard. Surely the Captain is not going to call on Mr Lewin +Murdock--in amicable intercourse? + +So queries Jack Wingate, but only of himself, and without receiving +answer. One way or other he will soon get it; and thus consoling +himself, he rows on into the narrower channel. + +Not much farther before getting convinced that the Captain has no +intention of making a call at the Court, nor is the _Mary_ to enter that +little dock, where more than once she has lain moored beside the +_Gwendoline_. When opposite the summer-house he is once more commanded +to bring to, with the intimation added: + +"I'm not going any farther, Jack." + +Jack ceases stroke, and again holds the skiff so as to hinder it from +drifting. + +Ryecroft sits with eyes turned towards the cliff, taking in its facade +from base to summit, as though engaged in a geological study, or +trigonometrical calculation. + +The waterman, for a while wondering what it is all about, soon begins to +have a glimmer of comprehension. It is clearer when he is directed to +scull the boat up into the little cove where the body was found. Soon +as he has her steadied inside it, close up against the cliff's base, +Ryecroft draws out a small lamp, and lights it. He then rises to his +feet, and leaning forward, lays hold of a projecting point of rock. On +that resting his hand, he continues for some time regarding the +scratches on its surface, supposed to have been made by the feet of the +drowned lady in her downward descent. Where he stands they are close to +his eyes, and he can trace them from commencement to termination. And +so doing, a shadow of doubt is seen to steal over his face, as though he +doubted the finding of the Coroner's jury, and the belief of every one +that Gwendoline Wynn had there fallen over. + +Bending lower, and examining the broken branches of the juniper, he +doubts no more, but is sure--convinced of the contrary! + +Jack Wingate sees him start back with a strange surprised look, at the +same time exclaiming,-- + +"I thought as much! No accident!--no suicide--murdered!" + +Still wondering, the waterman asks no questions. Whatever it may mean, +he expects to be told in time, and is therefore patient. + +His patience is not tried by having to stay much longer there. Only a +few moments more, during which Ryecroft bends over the boat's side, +takes the juniper twigs in his hand, one after the other, raises them up +as they were before being broken, then lets them gently down again! + +To his companion he says nothing to explain this apparently eccentric +manipulation, leaving Jack to guesses. Only when it is over, and he is +apparently satisfied, or with observation exhausted, giving the order,-- + +"Way, Wingate! Row back--up the river!" + +With alacrity the waterman obeys; but too glad to get out of that +shadowy passage. For a weird feeling is upon him, as he remembers how +there the screech owls mournfully cried, as if to make him sadder when +thinking of his own lost love. + +Moving out into the main channel and on up stream, Ryecroft is once more +silent and musing. But on reaching the place from which the pavilion +can be again sighted, he turns round on the thwart and looks back. It +startles him to see a form under the shadow of its roof--a woman!--how +different from that he last saw there! The ex-cocotte of Paris--faded +flower of the Jardin Mabille--has replaced the fresh beautiful blossom +of Wyeside--blighted in its bloom! + +Volume Three, Chapter II. + +THE CRUSHED JUNIPER. + +Notwithstanding the caution with which Captain Ryecroft made his +reconnaissance, it was nevertheless observed. And from beginning to +end. Before his boat drew near the end of the eyot, above the place +where for the second time it had stopped, it came under the eye of a man +who chanced to be standing on the cliff by the side of the summer-house. + +That he was there by accident, or at all events not looking out for a +boat could be told by his behaviour on first sighting this; neither by +change of attitude nor glance of eye evincing any interest in it. His +reflection is-- + +"Some fellows after salmon, I suppose. Have been up to that famous +catching place by the Ferry, and are on the way home downward--to Rock +Weir, no doubt? Ha!" + +The ejaculation is drawn from him by seeing the boat come to a stop, and +remain stationary in the middle of the stream. + +"What's that for?" he asks himself, now more carefully examining the +craft. + +It is still full four hundred yards from him, but the moonlight being in +his favour he makes it out to be a pair-oared skiff with two men in it. + +"They don't seem to be dropping a net," he observes, "nor engaged about +anything. That's odd!" + +Before they came to a stop he heard a murmur of voices, as of speech, a +few words, exchanged between them, but too distant for him to +distinguish what they had said. Now they are silent, sitting without +stir; only a slight movement in the arms of the oarsman to keep the boat +in its place. + +All this seems strange to him observing: not less when a flood of +moonlight brighter than usual falls over the boat, and he can tell by +the attitude of the man in the stern, with face turned upward, that he +is regarding the structure on the cliff. + +He is not himself standing beside it now. Soon as becoming interested +by the behaviour of the men in the boat, from its seeming eccentricity, +he had glided back behind a bush, and there now crouches, an instinct +prompting him to conceal himself. + +Soon after he sees the boat moving on, and then for a few seconds it is +out of sight, again coming under his view near the upper end of the +islet, evidently setting in for the old channel. And while he watches, +it enters! + +As this is a sort of private way, the eyot itself being an adjunct of +the ornamental grounds of Llangorren, he wonders whose boat it can be, +and what its business there. By the backwash it must be making for the +dock and stair; the men in it, or one of them, for the Court. + +While still surprisedly conjecturing, his ears admonish him that the +oars are at rest, and another stoppage has taken place. He cannot see +the skiff now, as the high bank hinders. Besides, the narrow passage is +arcaded over by trees still in thick foliage; and, though the moon is +shining brightly above, scarce a ray reaches the surface of the water. +But an occasional creak of an oar in its rowlock, and some words spoken +in low tone--so low he cannot make them out--tell him that the stoppage +is directly opposite the spot where he is crouching--as predatory animal +in wait for its prey. + +What was at first mere curiosity, and then matter of but slight +surprise, is now an object of keen solicitude. For of all places in the +world, to him there is none invested with greater interest than that +where the boat has been brought to. Why has it stopped there? Why is +it staying? For he can tell it is by the silence continuing. Above +all, who are the men in it? + +He asks these questions of himself, but does not stay to reason out the +answers. He will best get them by his eyes; and to obtain sight of the +skiff and its occupants, he glides a little way along the cliff, looking +out for a convenient spot. Finding one, he drops first to his knees, +then upon all fours, and crawls out to its edge. Craning his head over, +but cautiously, and with a care it shall be under cover of some fern +leaves, he has a view of the water below, with the boat on it--only +indistinct on account of the obscurity. He can make out the figures of +the two men, though not their faces, nor anything by which he may +identify them--if already known. But he sees that which helps to a +conjecture, at the same sharpening his apprehensions. The boat once +more in motion, not moving off, but up into the little cove, where a +dead body late lay! Then, as one of the men strikes a match and sets +light to a lamp, lighting up his own face with that of the other +opposite, he on the bank above at length recognises both. + +But it is no longer a surprise to him. The presence of the skiff there, +the movements of the men in it--like his own, evidently under restraint +and stealthy--have prepared him for seeing whom he now sees--Captain +Ryecroft and the waterman Wingate. + +Still he cannot think of what they are after, though he has his +suspicions; the place, with something only known to himself, suggesting +them--conjecture at first soon becoming certainty, as he sees the +ex-officer of Hussars rise to his feet, hold his lamp close to the +cliff's face, and inspect the abrasions on the rock! + +He is not more certain, but only more apprehensive, when the crushed +juniper twigs are taken in hand, examined, and let go again. For he has +by this divined the object of it all. + +If any doubt lingered, it is set at rest by the exclamatory words +following, which, though but muttered, reach him on the cliff above, +heard clear enough-- + +"No accident--no suicide--murdered!" They carry tremor to his heart, +making him feel as a fox that hears the tongue of hound on its track. +Still distant, but for all causing it fear, and driving it to think of +subterfuge. + +And of this thinks he, as he lies with his face among the ferns; ponders +upon it till the boat has passed back up the dark passage out into the +river, and he hears the last light dipping of its oars in the far +distance. + +He even forgets a woman, for whom he was waiting at the summer-house, +and who there without finding him has flitted off again. + +At length rising to his feet, and going a little way, he too gets into a +boat--one he finds, with oars aboard, down in the dock. It is not the +_Gwendoline_--she is gone. + +Seating himself on the mid thwart, he takes up the oars, and pulls +towards the place lately occupied by the skiff of the waterman. When +inside the cove he lights a match, and holds it close to the face of the +rock where Ryecroft held his lamp. It burns out and he draws a second +across the sand paper; this to show him the broken branches of the +juniper, which he also takes in hand and examines. Soon also dropping +them, with a look of surprise, followed by the exclamatory phrases-- + +"Prodigiously strange! I see his drift now. Cunning fellow! On the +track he has discovered the trick, and 'twill need another trick to +throw him off it. This bush must be uprooted--destroyed." + +He is in the act of grasping the juniper to pluck it out by the roots. +A dwarf thing, this could be easily done. But a thought stays him-- +another precautionary forecast, as evinced by his words-- + +"That won't do." + +After repeating them, he drops back on the boat's thwart, and sits for a +while considering, with eyes turned toward the cliff, ranging it up and +down. + +"Ah!" he exclaims at length, "the very thing; as if the devil himself +had fixed it for me! That _will_ do; smash the bush to atoms--blot out +everything, as if an earthquake had gone over Llangorren." + +While thus oddly soliloquising, his eyes are still turned upward, +apparently regarding a ledge which, almost loose as a boulder, projects +from the bank above. It is directly over the juniper, and if detached +from its bed, as it easily might be, would go crashing down, carrying +the bush with it. + +And that same night it does go down. When the morning sun lights up the +cliff, there is seen a breakage upon its face just underneath the +summer-house. Of course, a landslip, caused by the late rains acting on +the decomposed sandstone. But the juniper bush is no longer there; it +is gone, root and branch! + +Volume Three, Chapter III. + +REASONING BY ANALYSIS. + +Captain Ryecroft's start at seeing: a woman within the pavilion was less +from surprise than an emotion due to memory. When he last saw his +betrothed alive it was in that same place, and almost in a similar +attitude--leaning over the baluster rail. Besides, many other souvenirs +cling around the spot, which the sight vividly recalls; and so painfully +that he at once turns his eyes away from it, nor again looks back. He +has an idea who the woman is, though personally knowing her not, nor +ever having seen her. + +The incident agitates him a little; but he is soon calm again, and for +some time after sits silent; in no dreamy reverie, but actively +cogitating, though not of it or her. His thoughts are occupied with a +discovery he has made in his exploration just ended. An important one, +bearing on the suspicion he had conceived, almost proving it correct. +Of all the facts that came before the coroner and his jury, none more +impressed them, nor perhaps so much influenced their finding, as the +tale-telling traces upon the face of the cliff. Nor did they arrive at +their conclusion with any undue haste or light deliberation. Before +deciding they had taken boat, and from below more minutely inspected +them. But with their first impression unaltered--or only strengthened-- +that the abrasions on the soft sandstone rock were made by a falling +body, and the bush borne down by the same. And what but the body of +Gwendoline Wynn? Living or dead, springing off, or pitched over, they +could not determine. Hence the ambiguity of their verdict. + +Very different the result reached by Captain Ryecroft after viewing the +same. In his Indian campaigns the ex-cavalry officer, belonging to the +"Light," had his share of scouting experience. It enables him to read +"sign" with the skill of trapper or prairie hunter; and on the moment +his lamp threw its light against the cliff's face, he knew the scratches +were not caused by anything that came _down_, since they had been _made +from below_! And by some blunt instrument, as the blade of a boat oar. +Then the branches of the juniper. Soon as getting his eyes close to +them, he saw they had been broken _inward_, their drooping tops turned +_toward_ the cliff, not _from_ it! A falling body would have bent them +in an opposite direction, and the fracture been from the upper and inner +side! Everything indicated their having been crushed from below; not by +the same boat's oar, but likely enough by the hands that held it! + +It was on reaching this conclusion that Captain Ryecroft gave +involuntary utterance to the exclamatory words heard by him lying flat +among the ferns above, the last one sending a thrill of fear through his +heart. + +And upon it the ex-officer of Hussars is still reflecting as he returns +up stream. + +Since the command given to Wingate to row him back, he has not spoken, +not even to make remark about that suggestive thing seen in the +summer-house above--though the other has observed it also. Facing that +way, the waterman has his eyes on it for a longer time. But the bearing +of the Captain admonishes him that he is not to speak till spoken to; +and he silently tugs at his oars, leaving the other to his reflections. + +These are: that Gwendoline Wynn has been surely assassinated: though not +by being thrown over the cliff. Possibly not drowned at all, but her +body dropped into the water where found--conveyed thither after life was +extinct! The scoring of the rock and the snapping of the twigs, all +that done to mislead; as it had misled everybody but himself. To him it +has brought conviction that there has been a deed of blood--done by the +hand of another. "No accident--no suicide--murdered!" + +He is not questioning the fact, nor speculating upon the motive now. +The last has been already revolved in his mind, and is clear as +daylight. To such a man as he has heard Lewin Murdock to be, an estate +worth 10,000 pounds a-year would tempt to crime, even the capital one, +which certainly he has committed. Ryecroft only thinks of how he can +prove its committal--bring the deed of guilt home to the guilty one. It +may be difficult, impossible; but he will do his best. + +Embarked in the enterprise, he is considering what will be the best +course to pursue--pondering upon it. He is not the man to act rashly at +any time, but in a matter of such moment caution is especially called +for. He is already on the track of a criminal who has displayed no +ordinary cunning, as proved by that misguiding sign. A false move made, +or word spoken in careless confidence, by exposing his purpose, may +defeat it. For this reason he has hitherto kept his intention to +himself; not having given a hint of it to any one. + +From Jack Wingate it cannot be longer withheld, nor does he wish to +withhold it. Instead, he will take him into his confidence, knowing he +can do so with safety. That the young waterman is no prating fellow he +has already had proof, while of his loyalty he never doubted. + +First, to find out what Jack's own thoughts are about the whole thing. +For since their last being in a boat together, on that fatal night, +little speech has passed between them. Only a few words on the day of +the inquest; when Captain Ryecroft himself was too excited to converse +calmly, and before the dark suspicion had taken substantial shape in his +mind. + +Once more opposite the poplar he directs the skiff to be brought to. +Which done, he sits just as when that sound startled him on return from +the ball; apparently thinking of it, as in reality he is. + +For a minute or so he is silent; and one might suppose he listened, +expecting to hear it again. But no; he is only, as on the way down, +making note of the distance to the Llangorren grounds. The summer-house +he cannot now see, but judges the spot where it stands by some tall +trees he knows to be beside it. + +The waterman observing him, is not surprised when at length asked the +question,--"Don't you believe, Wingate, the cry came from above--I mean +from the top of the cliff?" + +"I'm a'most sure it did. I thought at the time it comed from higher +ground still--the house itself. You remember my sayin' so, Captain; and +that I took it to be some o' the sarvint girls shoutin' up there?" + +"I do remember--you did. It was not, alas! But their mistress." + +"Yes; she for sartin, poor young lady! We now know that." + +"Think back, Jack! Recall it to your mind; the tone, the length of time +it lasted--everything. Can you?" + +"I can, an' do. I could all but fancy I hear it now!" + +"Well; did it strike you as a cry that would come from one falling over +the cliff--by accident or otherwise?" + +"It didn't; an' I don't yet believe it wor--accydent or no accydent." + +"No! What are your reasons for doubting it?" + +"Why, if it had been a woman eyther fallin' over or flung, she'd a gied +tongue a second time--aye, a good many times--'fore getting silenced. +It must a been into the water; an' people don't drown at the first goin' +down. She'd a riz to the surface once, if not twice; an' screeched +sure. We couldn't a helped hearin' it. Ye remember, Captain, 'twor +dead calm for a spell, just precedin' the thunderstorm. When that cry +come ye might a heerd the leap o' a trout a quarter mile off. But it +worn't repeated--not so much as a mutter." + +"Quite true. But what do you conclude from its not having been?" + +"That she who gied the shriek wor in the grasp o' somebody when she did +it, an' wor silenced instant by bein' choked or smothered; same as they +say's done by them scoundrels called garotters." + +"You said nothing of this at the inquest?" + +"No, I didn't; for several reasons. One, I wor so took by surprise, +just home, an' hearin' what had happened. Besides, the crowner didn't +question me on my feelins--only about the facts o' the case. I answered +all his questions, clear as I could remember, an' far's I then +understood things. But not as I understand them now." + +"Ah! You have learnt something since?" + +"Not a thing, Captain. Only what I've been thinkin' o'--by rememberin' +a circumstance I'd forgot." + +"What?" + +"Well; whiles I wor sittin' in the skiff that night, waitin' for you to +come, I heerd a sound different from the hootin' o' them owls." + +"Indeed! What sort of sound?" + +"The plashing o' oars. There wor sartin another boat about there, +besides this one." + +"In what direction did you hear them?" + +"From above. It must ha' been that way. If't had been a boat gone up +from below, I'd ha' noticed the stroke again, across the strip o' +island. But I didn't." + +"The same if one had passed on down." + +"Just so; an' for that reason I now believe it wor comin' down, an' +stopped; somewhere just outside the backwash." + +An item of intelligence new to the Captain, as it is significant. He +recalls the hour--between two and three o'clock in the morning. What +boat could have been there but his own? And if other, what its +business? + +"You're quite sure there was a boat, Wingate?" he asks, after a pause. + +"The oars o' one--that I'm quite sure o'. An' where there's smoke fire +can't be far off. Yes, Captain, there wor a boat about there. I'm +willin' to swear to it." + +"Have you any idea whose?" + +"Well, no; only some conjecters. First hearin' the oar, I wor under the +idea it might be Dick Dempsey, out salmon stealin'. But at the second +plunge I could tell it wor no paddle, but a pair of regular oars. They +gied but two or three strokes, an' then stopped suddintly; not as though +the boat had been rowed back, but brought up against the bank, an' there +layed." + +"You don't think it was Dick and his coracle, then?" + +"I'm sure it worn't the coracle, but ain't so sure about its not bein' +him. 'Stead, from what happened that night, an's been a' happenin' ever +since, I b'lieve he wor one o' the men in that boat." + +"You think there were others?" + +"I do--leastways suspect it." + +"And who do you suspect besides?" + +"For one, him as used live up there, but's now livin' in Llangorren." + +They have long since parted from the place where they made stop opposite +the poplar, and are now abreast the Cuckoo's Glen, going on. It is to +Glyngog House Wingate alludes, visible up the ravine, the moon gleaming +upon its piebald walls and lightless windows--for it is untenanted. + +"You mean Mr Murdock?" + +"The same, Captain. Though he worn't at the ball, as I've heerd say-- +and might a' know'd without tellin'--I've got an idea he beant far off +when 'twor breakin' up. An' there wor another there, too, beside Dick +Dempsey." + +"A third! Who?" + +"He as lives a bit further above." + +"You mean--?" + +"The French priest. Them three ain't often far apart; an' if I beant +astray in my recknin', they were mighty close thegither that same night, +an' nigh Llangorren Court. They're all in, or about, it now--the +precious tribang--an' I'd bet big they've got foot in there by the +foulest o' foul play. Yes, Captain; sure as we be sittin' in this boat, +she as owned the place ha' been murdered--the men as done it bein' Lewin +Murdock, Dick Dempsey, and the Roman priest o' Rogues!" + +Volume Three, Chapter IV. + +A SUSPICIOUS CRAFT. + +To the waterman's unreserved statement of facts and suspicions, Captain +Ryecroft makes no rejoinder. The last are in exact consonance with his +own already conceived, the first alone new to him. + +And on the first he now fixes his thoughts, directing them to that +particular one of a boat being in the neighbourhood of the Llangorren +grounds about the time he was leaving them. For it, too, has a certain +correspondence with something on the same night observed by himself--a +circumstance he had forgotten, or ceased to think of; but now recalled +with vivid distinctness. All the more as he listens to the conjectures +of Wingate--about three men having been in that boat, and whom he +supposed them to be. + +The number is significant as corresponding with what occurred to +himself. The time as well; since, but a few hours before, he also had +his attention drawn to a boat, under circumstances somewhat mysterious. +The place was different; for all not to contradict the supposition of +the waterman--rather confirming it. + +On his way to the Court--his black dress kerseymere protected by +India-rubber overalls--Ryecroft, as known, had ridden to Wingate's +house, and was thence rowed to Llangorren. His going to a ball by boat, +instead of carriage or hotel hackney, was not for the sake of +convenience, nor yet due to eccentricity. The prospect of a private +interview with his betrothed at parting, as on former occasions expected +to be pleasant, was his ruling motive for this arrangement. Besides, +his calls at the Court were usually made in the same way; his custom +being to ride as far as the Wingate cottage, leave his roadster there, +and thence take the skiff. Between his town and the waterman's house +there is a choice of routes, the main country road keeping well away +from the river, and a narrower one which follows the trend of the stream +along its edge where practicable, but also here and there thrown off by +meadows subject to inundations, or steep spurs of the parallel ridges. +This, an ancient trackway now little used, was the route Captain +Ryecroft had been accustomed to take on his way to Wingate's cottage, +not from its being shorter or better, but for the scenery, which far +excelling that of the other, equals any upon the Wyeside. In addition, +the very loneliness of the road had its charm for him; since only at +rare intervals is house seen by its side, and rarer still living +creature encountered upon it. Even where it passes Rugg's Ferry, there +intersecting the ford road, the same solitude characterises it. For +this quaint conglomeration of dwellings is on the opposite side of the +stream; all save the chapel, and the priest's house, standing some +distance back from the bank, and screened by a spinney of trees. + +With the topography of this plan he is quite familiar; and now to-night +it is vividly recalled to his mind by what the waterman has told him. +For on that other night, so sadly remembered, as he was riding past +Rugg's, he saw the boat thus brought back to his recollection. He had +got a little beyond the crossing of the Ford road, where it leads out +from the river--himself on the other going downwards--when his attention +was drawn to a dark object against the bank on the opposite side of the +stream. The sky at the time moonless he might not have noticed it, but +for other dark objects seen in motion beside it--the thing itself being +stationary. Despite the obscurity he could make them out to be men, +busied around a boat. Something in their movements, which seemed made +in a stealthy manner--too cautious for honesty--prompted him to pull up, +and sit in his saddle observing them. He had himself no need to take +precautions for concealment; the road at this point passing under old +oaks, whose umbrageous branches; arcading over, shadowed the causeway, +making it dark around as the interior of a cavern. + +Nor was he called upon to stay long there--only a few seconds after +drawing bridle--just time enough for him to count the men, and see there +were three of them--when they stepped over the sides of the boat, pushed +her out from the bank, and rowed off down the river. + +Even then he fancied there was something surreptitious in their +proceedings; for the oars, instead of rattling in their rowlocks made +scarce any noise, while their dip was barely audible, though so near. + +Soon both boat and those on board were out of his sight, and the slight +sound made by them beyond his hearing. Had the road kept along the +river's bank he would have followed, and further watched them; but just +below Rugg's it is carried off across a ridge, with steep pitch; and +while ascending this, he ceased to think of them. + +He might not have thought of them at all, had they made their +embarkation at the ordinary landing-place, by the ford and ferry. There +such a sight would have been nothing unusual, nor a circumstance to +excite curiosity. But the boat, when he first observed it, was lying +below--up against the bank by the chapel ground, across which the men +must have come. + +Recalling all this, with what Jack Wingate has just told him, connecting +events together, and making comparison of time, place, and other +circumstances, he thus interrogatively reflects: + +"Might not that boat have been the same whose oars Jack heard down +below? And the men in it those whose names he has mentioned? Three of +them--that at least in curious correspondence! But the time? About +nine, or a little after, as I passed Rugg's Ferry. That appears too +early for the after event? No! They may have had other arrangements to +make before proceeding to their murderous work. Odd, though, their +knowing _she_ would be out there. But they need not have known that-- +likely did not. More like they meant to enter the house, after every +one had gone away, and there do the deed. A night different from the +common, everything in confusion, the servants sleeping sounder than +usual from having indulged in drink--some of them overcome by it, as I +saw myself before leaving. Yes; it's quite probable the assassins took +all that into consideration--surprised, no doubt, to find their victim +so convenient--in fact, as if she had come forth to receive them! Poor +girl!" + +All this chapter of conjectures has been to himself, and in sombre +silence; at length broken by the voice of his boatman, saying-- + +"You've come afoot, Captain; an' it be a longish walk to the town, most +o' the road muddy. Ye'll let me row you up the river--leastways for a +couple o' miles further? Then ye can take the footpath through Powell's +meadows." + +Roused as from a reverie, the Captain looking out, sees they are nearly +up to the boatman's cottage, which accounts for the proposal thus made. +After a little reflection he says in reply:-- + +"Well, Jack; if it wasn't that I dislike over-working you--" + +"Don't mention it!" interrupts Jack, "I'll be only too pleased to take +you all the way to the town itself, if ye say the word. It a'nt so late +yet, but to leave me plenty of time. Besides, I've got to go up to the +Ferry anyhow, to get some grocery for mother. I may as well do it in +the boat--'deed better than dragglin' along them roughish roads." + +"In that case I consent. But you must let me take the oars." + +"No, Captain. I'd prefer workin' 'em myself; if it be all the same to +you." + +The Captain does not insist, for in truth he would rather remain at the +tiller. Not because he is indisposed for a spell of pulling. Nor is it +from disinclination to walk, that he has so readily accepted the +waterman's offer. After reflecting, he would have asked the favour so +courteously extended. And for a reason having nothing to do with +convenience, for the fear of fatigue; but a purpose which has just +shaped itself in his thoughts, suggested by the mention of the Ferry. + +It is that he may consider this--be left free to follow the train of +conjecture which the incident has interrupted--he yields to the +boatman's wishes, and keeps his seat in the stern. + +By a fresh spurt the _Mary_ is carried beyond her mooring-place; as she +passes it her owner for an instant feathering his oars and holding up +his hat. It is a signal to one he sees there, standing outside in the +moonlight--his mother. + +Volume Three, Chapter V. + +MATERNAL SOLICITUDE. + +"The poor lad! His heart be sore sad; at times most nigh breakin'! +That's plain--spite o' all he try hide it." + +It is the Widow Wingate, who thus compassionately reflects--the subject +her son. + +She is alone within her cottage, the waterman being away with his boat. +Captain Ryecroft has taken him down the river. It is on this nocturnal +exploration, when the cliff at Llangorren is inspected by lamplight. + +But she knows neither the purpose nor the place, any more than did Jack +himself at starting. A little before sunset, the Captain came to the +house, afoot and unexpectedly; called her son out, spoke a few words to +him, when they started away in the skiff. She saw they went down +stream--that is all. + +She was some little surprised, though; not at the direction taken, but +the time of setting out. Had Llangorren been still in possession of the +young lady, of whom her son has often spoken to her, she would have +thought nothing strange of it. But in view of the late sad occurrence +at the Court, with the change of proprietorship consequent--about all of +which she has been made aware--she knows the Captain cannot be bound +thither, and therefore wonders whither. Surely, not a pleasure +excursion, at such an unreasonable hour--night just drawing down? + +She would have asked, but had no opportunity. Her son, summoned out of +the house, did not re-enter; his oars were in the boat, having just come +off a job; and the Captain appeared to be in haste. Hence, Jack's going +off, without, as he usually does, telling his mother the why and the +where. + +It is not this that is now fidgeting her. She is far from being of an +inquisitive turn--least of all with her son--and never seeks to pry into +his secrets. She knows his sterling integrity, and can trust him. +Besides, she is aware that he is of a nature somewhat uncommunicative, +especially upon matters that concern himself, and above all when he has +a trouble on his mind--in short, one who keeps his sorrows locked up in +his breast, as though preferring to suffer in silence. + +And just this it is she is now bemoaning. She observes how he is +suffering, and has been, ever since that hour when a farm labourer from +Abergann brought him tidings of Mary Morgan's fatal mishap. + +Of course she, his mother, expected him to grieve wildly and deeply, as +he did; but not deeply so long. Many days have passed since that dark +one; but since, she has not seen him smile--not once! She begins to +fear his sorrow may never know an end. She has heard of broken hearts-- +his may be one. Not strange her solicitude. + +"What make it worse," she says, continuing her soliloquy, "he keep +thinkin' that he hae been partways to blame for the poor girl's death, +by makin' her come out to meet him!"--Jack has told his mother of the +interview under the big elm, all about it from beginning to end.--"That +hadn't a thing to do wi' it. What happened wor ordained, long afore she +left the house. When I dreamed that dream 'bout the corpse candle, I +feeled most sure somethin' would come o't; but then seein' it go up the +meadows, I wor' althegither convinced. When _it_ burn no human creetur' +ha' lit it; an' none can put it out, till the doomed one be laid in the +grave. Who could 'a carried it across the river--that night especial, +wi' a flood lippin' full up to the banks? No mortal man, nor woman +neyther!" + +As a native of Pembrokeshire, in whose treeless valleys the _ignis +fatuus_ is oft seen, and on its dangerous coast cliffs, in times past, +too oft the lanthorn of the smuggler, with the "stalking horse" of the +inhuman wrecker, Mrs Wingate's dream of the _canwyll corph_ was natural +enough--a legendary reflection from tales told her in childhood, and +wild songs chaunted over her cradle. + +But her waking vision, of a light borne up the river bottom, was a +phenomenon yet more natural; since in truth was it a real light, that of +a lamp, carried in the hands of a man with a coracle on his back, which +accounts for its passing over the stream. And the man was Richard +Dempsey, who below had ferried Father Rogier across on his way to the +farm of Abergann, where the latter intended remaining all night. The +priest in his peregrinations, often nocturnal, accustomed to take a lamp +along, had it with him on that night, having lit it before entering the +coracle. But with the difficulty of balancing himself in the crank +little craft he had set it down under the thwart, and at landing +forgotten all about it. Thence the poacher, detained beyond time in +reference to an appointment he meant being present at, had taken the +shortest cut up the river bottom to Rugg's Ferry. This carried him +twice across the stream, where it bends by the waterman's cottage; his +coracle, easily launched and lifted out, enabling him to pass straight +over and on, in his haste not staying to extinguish the lamp, nor even +thinking of it. + +Not so much wonder, then, in Mrs Wingate believing she saw the _canwyll +corph_. No more that she believes it still, but less, in view of what +has since come to pass; as she supposes, but the inexorable fiat of +fate. + +"Yes!" she exclaims, proceeding with her soliloquy; "I knowed it would +come! Ah, me! it have come. Poor thing! I hadn't no great knowledge +of her myself; but sure she wor a good girl, or my son couldn't a been +so fond o' her. If she'd had badness in her, Jack wouldn't greet and +grieve as he be doin' now." + +Though right in the premises--for Mary Morgan was a good girl--Mrs +Wingate is unfortunately wrong in her deductions. But, fortunately for +her peace of mind, she is so. It is some consolation to her to think +that she whom her son loved, and for whom he so sorrows, was worthy of +his love as his sorrow. + +It is wearing late, the sun having long since set; and still wondering +why they went down the river, she steps outside to see if there he any +sign of them returning. From the cottage but little can be seen of the +stream, by reason of its tortuous course; only a short reach on either +side, above and below. + +Placing herself to command a view of the latter, she stands gazing down +it. In addition to maternal solicitude, she feels anxiety of another +and less emotional nature. Her tea-caddy is empty, the sugar all +expended, and other household things deficient. Jack was just about +starting off for the Ferry to replace them when the Captain came. Now +it is a question whether he will be home in time to reach Rugg's before +the shop closes. If not, there will be a scant supper for him, and he +must grope his way lightless to bed; for among the spent commodities +were candles, the last one having been burnt out. In the widow +Wingate's life candles seem to play an important part! + +However, from all anxieties on this score she is at length and ere long +relieved; her mind set at rest by a sound heard on the tranquil air of +the night, the dip of a boat's oars, distant but recognisable. Often +before listening for the same, she instinctively knows them to be in the +hands of her son. For Jack rows with a stroke no waterman on the Wye +has but he--none equalling it in _timbre_ and regularity. His mother +can tell it, as a hen the chirp of her own chick, or a ewe the bleat of +its lamb. + +That it is his stroke she has soon other evidence than her ears. In a +few seconds after hearing the oars she sees them, their wet blades +glistening in the moonlight, the boat between. + +And now she only waits for it to be pulled up and into the wash--its +docking place; when Jack will tell her where they have been, and what +for; perhaps, too, the Captain will come inside the cottage and speak a +friendly word with her, as he has frequently done. + +While thus pleasantly anticipating, she has a disappointment. The skiff +is passing onward--proceeding up the river! But she is comforted by +seeing a hat held aloft--the salute telling her she is herself seen; and +that Jack has some good reason for the prolongation of the voyage. It +will no doubt terminate at the Ferry, where he will get the candles and +comestibles, saving him a second journey thither, and so killing two +birds with one stone. + +Contenting herself with this construction of it, she returns inside the +house, touches up the faggots on the fire, and by their cheerful blaze +thinks no longer of candles, or any other light--forgetting even the +_canwyll corph_. + +Volume Three, Chapter VI. + +A SACRILEGIOUS HAND. + +Between Wingate's cottage and Rugg's Captain Ryecroft has but slight +acquaintance with the river, knows it only by a glimpse had here and +there from the road. Now, ascending by boat, he makes note of certain +things appertaining to it--chiefly, the rate of its current, the +windings of its channel, and the distance between the two places. He +seems considering how long a boat might be in passing from one to the +other. And just this is he thinking of: his thoughts on that boat he +saw starting downward. + +Whatever his object in all this, he does not reveal it to his companion. +The time has not come for taking the waterman into full confidence. It +will, but not to-night. + +He has again relapsed into silence, which continues till he catches +sight of an object on the left bank, conspicuous against the sky, beside +the moon's disc, now low. It is a cross surmounting a structure of +ecclesiastical character, which he knows to be the Roman Catholic chapel +at Rugg's. Soon as abreast of it he commands-- + +"Hold way, Jack! Keep her steady awhile!" + +The waterman obeys without questioning why this new stoppage. He is +himself interrogated the instant after--thus:-- + +"You see that shadowed spot under the bank--by the wall?" + +"I do, Captain." + +"Is there any landing-place there for a boat?" + +"None, as I know of. Course a boat may put in anywhere, if the bank +beant eyther a cliff or a quagmire. The reg'lar landin' place be +above--where the ferry punt lays." + +"But have you ever known of a boat being moored in there?" + +The question has reference to the place first spoken of. + +"I have, Captain; my own. That but once, an' the occasion not o' the +pleasantest kind. 'Twar the night after my poor Mary wor buried, when I +comed to say a prayer over her grave, an' plant a flower on it. I may +say I stole there to do it; not wishin' to be obsarved by that sneak o' +a priest, nor any o' their Romish lot. Exceptin' my own, I never knew +or heard o' another boat bein' laid along there." + +"All right! Now on!" + +And on the skiff is sculled up stream for another mile, with little +further speech passing between oarsman and steerer; it confined to +subjects having no relation to what they have been all the evening +occupied with. + +For Ryecroft is once more in reverie, or rather silently thinking; his +thoughts concentrated on the one theme--endeavouring to solve that +problem, simple of itself--but with many complications and doubtful +ambiguities--how Gwendoline Wynn came by her death. + +He is still absorbed in a sea of conjectures, far as ever from its +shore, when he feels the skiff at rest; as it ceases motion its oarsman +asking-- + +"Do you weesh me to set you out here, Captain? There be the right o' +way path through Powell's meadows. Or would ye rather be took on up to +the town? Say which you'd like best, an' don't think o' any difference +it makes to me." + +"Thanks, Jack; it's very kind of you, but I prefer the walk up the +meadows. There'll be moonlight enough yet. And as I shall want your +boat to-morrow--it may be for the whole of the day--you'd better get +home and well rested. Besides, you say you've an errand at Rugg's--to +the shop there. You must make haste, or it will be closed." + +"Ah! I didn't think o' that. Obleeged to ye much for remindin' me. I +promised mother to get them grocery things the night, and wouldn't like +to disappoint her--for a good deal." + +"Pull in, then, quick, and tilt me out! And, Jack! not a word to any +one about where I've been, or what doing. Keep that to yourself." + +"I will--you may rely on me, Captain." + +The boat is brought against the bank; Ryecroft leaps lightly to land, +calls back "good night," and strikes off along the footpath. + +Not a moment delays the waterman; but shoving off, and setting head down +stream, pulls with all his strength, stimulated by the fear of finding +the shop shut. + +He is in good time, however; and reaches Rugg's to see a light in the +shop window, with its door standing open. + +Going in he gets the groceries, and is on return to the landing-place, +where he has left his skiff, when he meets with a man, who has come to +the Ferry on an errand somewhat similar to his own. It is Joseph +Preece, "Old Joe," erst boatman of Llangorren Court; but now, as all his +former fellow-servants, at large. + +Though the acquaintance between him and Wingate is comparatively of +recent date, a strong friendship has sprung up between them--stronger as +the days passed, and each saw more of the other. For of late, in the +exercise of their respective _metiers_, professionally alike, they have +had many opportunities of being together, and more than one lengthened +"confab" in the _Gwendoline's_ dock. + +It is days since they have met, and there is much to talk about, Joe +being chief spokesman. And now that he has done his shopping, Jack can +spare the time to listen. It will throw him a little later in reaching +home; but his mother won't mind that. She saw him go up, and knows he +will remember his errand. + +So the two stand conversing till the gossipy Joseph has discharged +himself of a budget of intelligence, taking nigh half an hour in the +delivery. + +Then they part, the ex-Charon going about his own business, the waterman +returning to his skiff. + +Stepping into it, and seating himself, he pulls out and down. + +A few strokes bring him opposite the chapel burying-ground; when all at +once, as if stricken by a palsy, his arms cease moving, and the +oar-blades drag deep in the water. There is not much current, and the +skiff floats slowly. + +He in it sits with eyes turned towards the graveyard. Not that he can +see anything there, for the moon has gone down, and all is darkness. +But he is not gazing, only thinking. + +A thought, followed by an impulse leading to instantaneous action. A +back stroke or two of the starboard oar, then a strong tug, and the +boat's bow is against the bank. + +He steps ashore; ties the painter to a withy; and, climbing over the +wall, proceeds to the spot so sacred to him. + +Dark as is now the night he has no difficulty in finding it. He has +gone over that ground before, and remembers every inch of it. There are +not many gravestones to guide him, for the little cemetery is of late +consecration, and its humble monuments are few and far between. But he +needs not their guidance. As a faithful dog by instinct finds the grave +of its master, so he, with memories quickened by affection, makes his +way to the place where repose the remains of Mary Morgan. + +Standing over her grave he first gives himself up to an outpouring of +grief, heartfelt as wild. Then becoming calmer he kneels down beside +it, and says a prayer. It is the Lord's--he knows no other. Enough +that it gives him relief; which it does, lightening his overcharged +heart. + +Feeling better he is about to depart, and has again risen erect, when a +thought stays him--a remembrance--"The flower of love-lies-bleeding." + +Is it growing? Not the flower, but the plant. He knows the former is +faded, and must wait for the return of spring. But the latter--is it +still alive and flourishing? In the darkness he cannot see, but will be +able to tell by the touch. + +Once more dropping upon his knees, and extending his hands over the +grave, he gropes for it. He finds the spot, but not the plant. It is +gone! Nothing left of it--not a remnant! A sacrilegious hand has been +there, plucked it up, torn it out root and stalk, as the disturbed turf +tells him! + +In strange contrast with the prayerful words late upon his lips, are the +angry exclamations to which he now gives utterance; some of them so +profane as only under the circumstances to be excusable. + +"It's that d--d rascal, Dick Dempsey, as ha' done it. Can't a been +anybody else? An' if I can but get proof o't, I'll make him repent o' +the despicable trick. I will, by the livin' God!" + +Thus angrily soliloquising, he strides back to his skiff, and getting in +rows off. But more than once, on the way homeward, he might be heard +muttering words in the same wild strain--threats against Coracle Dick. + +Volume Three, Chapter VII. + +A LATE TEA. + +Mrs Wingate is again growing impatient at her son's continued absence, +now prolonged beyond all reasonable time. The Dutch dial on the kitchen +wall shows it to be after ten; therefore two hours since the skiff +passed upwards. Jack has often made the return trip to Rugg's in less +than one, while the shopping should not occupy him more than ten +minutes, or, making every allowance, not twenty. How is the odd time +being spent by him? + +Her impatience becomes uneasiness as she looks out of doors, and +observes the hue of the sky. For the moon having gone down it is now +very dark, which always means danger on the river. The Wye is not a +smooth swan pond, and, flooded or not, annually claims its victims-- +strong men as women. And her son is upon it! + +"Where?" she asks herself, becoming more and more anxious. He may have +taken his fare on up to the town, in which case it will be still later +before he can get back. + +While thus conjecturing a tinge of sadness steals over the widow's +thoughts, with something of that weird feeling she experienced when once +before waiting for him in the same way--on the occasion of his pretended +errand after whipcord and pitch. + +"Poor lad!" she says, recalling the little bit of deception she +pardoned, and which now more than ever seems pardonable; "he hain't no +need now deceivin' his old mother that way. I only wish he had." + +"How black that sky do look," she adds, rising from her seat, and going +to the door; "An' threatenin' storm, if I bean't mistook. Lucky, Jack +ha' intimate acquaintance wi' the river 'tween here and Rugg's--if he +hain't goed farther. What a blessin' the boy don't gie way to drink, +an's otherways careful! Well, I 'spose there an't need for me feelin' +uneasy. For all, I don't like his bein' so late. Mercy me! Nigh on +the stroke o' eleven? Ha! What's that? Him I hope." + +She steps hastily out, and behind the house, which fronting the road, +has its back towards the river. On turning the corner she hears a dull +thump, as of a boat brought up against the bank; then a sharper +concussion of timber striking timber--the sound of oars being unshipped. +It comes from the _Mary_, at her mooring-place; as, in a few seconds +after, Mrs Wingate is made aware, by seeing her son approach with his +arms full--in one of them a large brown paper parcel, while under the +other are his oars. She knows it is his custom to bring the latter up +to the shed--a necessary precaution due to the road running so near, and +the danger of larking fellows taking a fancy to carry off his skiff. + +Met by his mother outside, he delivers the grocery goods and together +they go in; when he is questioned as to the cause of delay. + +"Whatever ha kep' ye, Jack? Ye've been a wonderful long time goin' up +to the Ferry an' back!" + +"The Ferry! I went far beyond; up to the footpath over Squire Powell's +meadows. There I set Captain out." + +"Oh! that be it." + +His answer being satisfactory he is not further interrogated. For she +has become busied with an earthenware teapot, into which have been +dropped three spoonfuls of "Horniman's" just brought home--one for her +son, another for herself, and the odd one for the pot--the orthodox +quantity. It is a late hour for tea; but their regular evening meal was +postponed by the coming of the Captain, and Mrs Wingate would not +consider supper as it should be, wanting the beverage which cheers +without intoxicating. + +The pot set upon the hearthstone over some red-hot cinders, its contents +are soon "mashed;" and, as nearly everything else had been got ready +against Jack's arrival, it but needs for him to take seat by the table, +on which one of the new composite candles, just lighted, stands in its +stick. + +Occupied with pouring out the tea, and creaming it, the good dame does +not notice anything odd in the expression of her son's countenance; for +she has not yet looked at it, in a good light. Nor till she is handing +the cup across to him. Then, the fresh lit candle gleaming full in his +face, she sees what gives her a start. Not the sad melancholy cast to +which she has of late been accustomed. That has seemingly gone off, +replaced by sullen anger, as though he were brooding over some wrong +done, or insult recently received! + +"Whatever be the matter wi' ye, Jack?" she asks, the teacup still held +in trembling hand. "There ha' something happened?" + +"Oh! nothin' much, mother." + +"Nothin' much! Then why be ye looking so black?" + +"What makes you think I'm lookin' that way?" + +"How can I help thinkin' it? Why, lad; your brow be clouded, same's the +sky outside. Come, now tell the truth! Bean't there somethin' amiss?" + +"Well, mother; since you axe me that way I will tell the truth. +Somethin' be amiss; or I ought better say, _missin'_." + +"Missin'! Be't anybody ha' stoled the things out o' the boat? The +balin' pan, or that bit o' cushion in the stern?" + +"No it ain't; no trifle o' that kind, nor anythin' stealed eyther. +'Stead a thing as ha' been destroyed." + +"What thing?" + +"The flower--the plant." + +"Flower! plant!" + +"Yes; the Love-lies-bleedin' I set on Mary's grave the night after she +wor laid in it. Ye remember my tellin' you, mother?" + +"Yes--yes; I do." + +"Well, it ain't there now." + +"Ye ha' been into the chapel buryin' groun' then?" + +"I have." + +"But what made ye go there, Jack?" + +"Well, mother; passin' the place, I took a notion to go in--a sort o' +sudden inclinashun, I couldn't resist. I thought that kneelin' beside +her grave, an' sayin' a prayer might do somethin' to lift the weight off +o' my heart. It would a done that, no doubt, but for findin' the flower +warn't there. Fact, it had a good deal relieved me, till I discovered +it wor gone." + +"But how gone? Ha' the thing been cut off, or pulled up?" + +"Clear plucked out by the roots. Not a vestige o' it left!" + +"Maybe 'twer the sheep or goats. They often get into a graveyard; and +if I beant mistook I've seen some in that o' the Ferry Chapel. They may +have ate it up?" + +The idea is new to him, and being plausible, he reflects on it, for a +time misled. Not long, however; only till remembering what tells him it +is fallacious; this, his having set the plant so firmly that no animal +could have uprooted it. A sheep or goat might have eaten off the top, +but nothing more. + +"No, mother!" he at length rejoins; "it han't been done by eyther; but +by a human hand--I ought better to say the claw o' a human tiger. No, +not tiger; more o' a stinkin' cat!" + +"Ye suspect somebody, then?" + +"Suspect! I'm sure, as one can be without seein', that bit o' +desecrashun ha' been the work o' Dick Dempsey. But I mean plantin' +another in its place, an' watchin' it too. If he pluck it up, an' I +know it, they'll need dig another grave in the Rogue's Ferry buryin' +groun'--that for receivin' as big a rogue as ever wor buried there, or +anywhere else--the d--d scoundrel!" + +"Dear Jack! don't let your passion get the better o' ye, to speak so +sinfully. Richard Dempsey be a bad man, no doubt; but the Lord will +deal wi' him in his own way, an' sure punish him. So leave him to the +Lord. After all, what do it matter--only a bit o' weed?" + +"Weed! Mother, you mistake. That weed, as ye call it, wor like a +silken string, bindin' my heart to Mary's. Settin' it in the sod o' her +grave gied me a comfort I can't describe to ye. An' now to find it tore +up brings the bitter all back again. In the spring I hoped to see it in +bloom, to remind me o' her love as ha' been blighted, an' like it lies +bleedin'. But--well, it seems as I can't do nothin' for her now she's +dead, as I warn't able while she wor livin'." + +He covers his face with his hands to hide the tears now coursing down +his cheeks. + +"Oh, my son! don't take on so. Think that she be happy now--in Heaven. +Sure she is, from all I ha' heerd o' her." + +"Yes, mother!" he earnestly affirms, "she is. If ever woman went to the +good place, she ha' goed there." + +"Well, that ought to comfort ye." + +"It do some. But to think of havin' lost her for good--never again to +look at her sweet face. Oh! that be dreadful!" + +"Sure, it be. But think also that ye an't the only one as ha' to +suffer. Nobody escape affliction o' that sort, some time or the other. +It's the lot o' all--rich folks as well as we poor ones. Look at the +Captain, there! He be sufferin' like yourself. Poor man! I pity him, +too." + +"So do I, mother. An' I ought, so well understandin' how he feel, +though he be too proud to let people see it. I seed it the day--several +times noticed tears in his eyes, when we wor talkin' about things that +reminded him o' Miss Wynn. When a soldier--a grand fightin' soldier as +he ha' been--gies way to weepin', the sorrow must be strong an' deep. +No doubt, he be 'most heart-broke, same's myself." + +"But that an't right, Jack. It isn't intended we should always gie way +to grief, no matter how dear they may a' been as are lost to us. +Besides, it be sinful." + +"Well, mother, I'll try to think more cheerful; submittin' to the will +o' Heaven." + +"Ah! There's a good lad! That's the way; an' be assured Heaven won't +forsake, but comfort ye yet. Now, let's not say any more about it. You +an't eating your supper!" + +"I han't no great appetite after all." + +"Never mind; ye must eat, an' the tea'll cheer ye. Hand me your cup, +an' let me fill it again." + +He passes the empty cup across the table, mechanically. + +"It be very good tea," she says, telling a little untruth for the sake +of abstracting his thoughts. "But I've something else for you that's +better--before you go to bed." + +"Ye take too much care o' me, mother." + +"Nonsense, Jack. Ye've had a hard day's work o't. But ye hain't told +me what the Captain tooked ye out for, nor where ye went down the river. +How far?" + +"Only as far as Llangorren Court." + +"But there be new people there now, ye sayed?" + +"Yes; the Murdocks. Bad lot both man an' wife, though he wor the cousin +o' the good young lady as be gone." + +"Sure, then, the Captain han't been to visit them?" + +"No, not likely. He an't the kind to consort wi' such as they, for all +o' their bein' big folks now." + +"But there were other ladies livin' at Llangorren. What ha' become o' +they?" + +"They ha' gone to another house somewhere down the river--a smaller one +it's sayed. The old lady as wor Miss Wynn's aunt ha' money o' her own, +an' the other be livin' 'long wi' her. For the rest there's been a +clean out--all the sarvints sent about their business; the only one kep' +bein' a French girl who wor lady's-maid to the old mistress--that's the +aunt. She's now the same to the new one, who be French, like herself." + +"Where ha' ye heerd all this, Jack?" + +"From Joseph Preece. I met him up at the Ferry, as I wor comin' away +from the shop." + +"He's out too, then?" asks Mrs Wingate, who has of late come to know +him. + +"Yes; same's the others." + +"Where be the poor man abidin' now?" + +"Well; that's odd, too. Where do you suppose, mother?" + +"How should I know, my son? Where?" + +"In the old house where Coracle Dick used to live!" + +"What be there so odd in that?" + +"Why, because Dick's now in his house; ha' got his place at the Court, +an's goin' to be somethin' far grander than ever he wor--head keeper." + +"Ah! poacher turned gamekeeper! That be settin' thief to catch thief!" + +"Somethin' besides thief, he! A deal worse than that!" + +"But," pursues Mrs Wingate, without reference to the reflection on +Coracle's character, "ye han't yet tolt me what the Captain took down +the river." + +"I an't at liberty to tell any one. Ye understand me, mother?" + +"Yes, yes; I do." + +"The Captain ha' made me promise to say nothin' o' his doin's; an', to +tell truth, I don't know much about them myself. But what I do know, +I'm honour bound to keep dark consarnin' it--even wi' you, mother." + +She appreciates his nice sense of honour; and, with her own of delicacy, +does not urge him to any further explanation. + +"In time," he adds, "I'm like enough to know all o' what he's after. +Maybe, the morrow." + +"Ye're to see him the morrow, then?" + +"Yes; he wants the boat." + +"What hour?" + +"He didn't say when, only that he might be needin' me all the day. So I +may look out for him early--first thing in the mornin'." + +"That case ye must get to your bed at oncst, an' ha' a good sleep, so's +to start out fresh. First take this. It be the somethin' I promised +ye--better than tea." + +The something is a mug of mulled elderberry wine, which, whether or not +better than tea, is certainty superior to port prepared in the same way. + +Quaffing it down, and betaking himself to bed, under its somniferous +influence, the Wye waterman is soon in the land of dreams. Not happy +ones, alas! but visions of a river flood-swollen, with a boat upon its +seething frothy surface, borne rapidly on towards a dangerous eddy--then +into it--at length capsized to a sad symphony--the shrieks of a drowning +woman! + +Volume Three, Chapter VIII. + +THE NEW MISTRESS OF THE MANSION. + +At Llangorren Court all is changed, from owner down to the humblest +domestic. Lewin Murdock has become its master, as the priest told him +he some day might. + +There was none to say nay. By the failure of Ambrose Wynn's heirs--in +the line through his son and bearing his name--the estate of which he +was the original testator reverts to the children of his daughter, of +whom Lewin Murdock, an only son, is the sole survivor. He of Glyngog is +therefore indisputable heritor of Llangorren; and no one disputing it, +he is now in possession, having entered upon it soon as the legal +formularies could be gone through with. This they have been with a +haste which causes invidious remark, if not actual scandal. + +Lewin Murdock is not the man to care; and, in truth, he is now scarce +ever sober enough to feel sensitive, could he have felt so at any time. +But in his new and luxurious home, waited on by a staff of servants, +with wine at will, so unlike the days of misery spent in the dilapidated +manor house, he gives loose rein to his passion for drink; leaving the +management of affairs to his dexterous better half. + +She has not needed to take much trouble in the matter of furnishing. +Her husband, as nearest of kin to the deceased, has also come in for the +personal effects, furniture included; all but some belongings of Miss +Linton, which had been speedily removed by her--transferred to a little +house of her own, not far off. Fortunately, the old lady is not left +impecunious; but has enough to keep her in comfort, with an economy, +however, that precludes all idea of longer indulging in a lady's-maid, +more especially one so expensive as Clarisse; who, as Jack Wingate said, +has been dismissed from Miss Linton's establishment--at the same time +discharging herself by notice formally given. That clever _demoiselle_ +was not meant for service in a ten-roomed cottage, even though a +detached one; and through the intervention of her patron, the priest, +she still remains at the Court, to dance attendance on the _ancien +belle_ of Mabille, as she did on the ancient toast of Cheltenham. + +Pleasantly so far; her new mistress being in fine spirits, and herself +delighted with everything. The French adventuress has attained the goal +of an ambition long cherished, though not so patiently awaited. Oft +gazed she across the Wye at those smiling grounds of Llangorren, as the +Fallen Angel back over its walls into the Garden of Eden; oft saw she +there assemblages of people to her seeming as angels, not fallen, but in +highest favour--ah! in her estimation, more than angels--women of rank +and wealth, who could command what she coveted beyond any far-off joys +celestial--the nearer pleasures of earth and sense. + +Those favoured fair ones are not there now, but she herself is; owner of +the very Paradise in which they disported themselves! Nor does she +despair of seeing them at Llangorren again, and having them around her +in friendly intercourse, as had Gwendoline Wynn. Brought up under the +_regime_ of Louis and trained in the school of Eugenie, why need she +fear either social slight or exclusion? True, she is in England, not +France; but she thinks it is all the same. And not without some reason +for so thinking. The ethics of the two countries, so different in days +past, have of late become alarmingly assimilated--ever since that hand, +red with blood spilled upon the boulevards of Paris, was affectionately +elapsed by a Queen on the dock head of Cherbourg. The taint of that +touch felt throughout all England, has spread over it like a plague; no +local or temporary epidemic, but one which still abides, still emitting +its noisome effluvia in a flood of prurient literature--novel writers +who know neither decency nor shame--newspaper scribblers devoid of +either truth or sincerity--theatres little better than licensed +_bagnios_, and Stock Exchange scandals smouching names once honoured in +English history, with other scandals of yet more lamentable kind--all +the old landmarks of England's morality being rapidly obliterated. + +And all the better for Olympe, _nee_ Renault. Like her sort living by +corruption, she instinctively rejoices at it, glories in the _monde +immonde_ of the Second Empire, and admires the abnormal monster who has +done so much in sowing and cultivating the noxious crop. Seeing it +flourish around her, and knowing it on the increase, the new mistress of +Llangorren expects to profit by it. Nor has she the slightest fear of +failure in any attempt she may make to enter Society. It will not much +longer taboo her. She knows that, with very little adroitness, 10,000 +pounds a-year will introduce her into a Royal drawing-room--aye, take +her to the steps of a throne; and none is needed to pass through the +gates of Hurlingham nor those of Chiswick's Garden. In this last she +would not be the only flower of poisonous properties and tainted +perfume; instead, would brush skirts with scores of dames wonderfully +like those of the Restoration and Regency, recalling the painted dolls +of the Second Charles, and the Delilahs of the Fourth George; in bold +effrontery and cosmetic brilliance equalling either. + +The wife of Lewin Murdock hopes ere long to be among them--once more a +_celebrite_, as she was in the Bois de Boulogne, and the _bals_ of the +demi-monde. + +True, the county aristocracy have not yet called upon her. For by a +singular perverseness--unlike Nature's laws in the animal and vegetable +world--the outer tentacles of this called "Society" are the last to take +hold. But they will yet. Money is all powerful in this free and easy +age. Having that in sufficiency, it makes little difference whether she +once sat by a sewing machine, or turned a mangle, as she once has done +in the Faubourg Montmartre for her mother, _la blanchisseuse_. She is +confident the gentry of the shire will in due time surrender, send in +their cards and come of themselves; as they surely will, soon as they +see her name in the _Court Journal_ or _Morning Post_ in the list of +Royal receptions:--"_Mrs Lewin Murdock, presented by the Countess of +Devilacare_." + +And to a certainty they shall so read it, with much about her besides, +if Jenkins be true to his instincts. She need not fear him--he will. +She can trust his fidelity to the star scintillating in a field of +plush, as to the Polar that of magnetic needle. + +Her husband bears his new fortunes in a manner somewhat different; in +one sense more soberly, as in another the reverse. If, during his +adversity he indulged in drink, in prosperity he does not spare it. But +there is another passion to which he now gives loose--his old, +unconquerable vice--gaming. Little cares he for the cards of visitors, +while those of the gambler delight him; and though his wife has yet +received none of the former, he has his callers to take a hand with him +at the latter--more than enough to make up a rubber of whist. Besides, +some of his old cronies of the "Welsh Harp," who have now _entree_ at +Llangorren, several young swells of the neighbourhood--the black sheep +of their respective flocks--are not above being of his company. Where +the carrion is the eagles congregate, as the vultures; and already two +or three of the "leg" fraternity--in farther flight from London--have +found their way into Herefordshire, and hover around the precincts of +the Court. + +Night after night, tables are there set out for loo, _ecarte_, _rouge et +noir_, or whatever may be called for--in a small way resembling the +hells of Homburg, Baden, and Monaco--wanting only the women. + +Volume Three, Chapter IX. + +THE GAMBLERS AT LLANGORREN. + +Among the faces now seen at Llangorren--most of them new to the place, +and not a few of forbidding aspect--there is one familiar to us. +Sinister as any; since it is that of Father Rogier. At no rare +intervals may it be there observed; but almost continuously. Frequent +as were his visits to Glyngog, they are still more so to Llangorren, +where he now spends the greater part of his time; his own solitary, and +somewhat humble, dwelling at Rugg's Ferry seeing nothing of him for days +together, while for nights its celibate bed is unslept in: the luxurious +couch spread for him at the Court having greater attractions. + +Whether made welcome to this unlimited hospitality, or not, he comports +himself as though he were; seeming noways backward in the reception of +it; instead as if demanding it. One ignorant of his relations with the +master of the establishment might imagine _him_ its master. Nor would +the supposition be so far astray. As the King-mater controls the King, +so can Gregoire Rogier the new Lord of Llangorren--influence him at his +will. + +And this does he; though not openly, or ostensibly. That would be +contrary to the tactics taught him, and the practice to which he is +accustomed. The sword of Loyola in the hands of his modern apostles has +become a dagger--a weapon more suitable to Ultramontanism. Only in +Protestant countries to be wielded with secrecy, though elsewhere little +concealed. + +But the priest of Rugg's Ferry is not in France; and, under the roof of +an English gentleman, though a Roman Catholic, bears himself with +becoming modesty--before strangers and the eyes of the outside world. +Even the domestics of the house see nothing amiss. They are new to +their places, and as yet unacquainted with the relationships around +them. Nor would they think it strange in a priest having control there +or anywhere. They are all of his persuasion, else they would not be in +service at Llangorren Court. + +So proceed matters under its new administration. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +On the same evening that Captain Ryecroft makes his quiet excursion down +the river to inspect the traces on the cliff, there is a little dinner +party at the Court; the diners taking seat by the table just about the +time he was stepping into Wingate's skiff. + +The hour is early; but it is altogether a bachelor affair, and Lewin +Murdock's guests are men not much given to follow fashions. Besides, +there is another reason; something to succeed the dinner, on which their +thoughts are more bent than upon either eating or drinking. No spread +of fruit, nor dessert of any kind, but a bout at card-playing, or dice +for those who prefer it. On their way to the dining-room they have +caught glimpse of another apartment where whist and loo tables are seen, +with all the gambling paraphernalia upon them--packs of new cards still +in their wrappers, ivory counters, dice boxes with their spotted cubes +lying alongside. + +Pretty sight to Mr Murdock's lately picked up acquaintances; a +heterogeneous circle, but all alike in one respect--each indulging in +the pleasant anticipation that he will that night leave his host's house +with more or less of that host's money in his pocket. Murdock has +himself come easily by it, and why should he not be made as easily to +part with it? If he has a plethora of cash, they have a determination +to relieve him of at least a portion of it. + +Hence dinner is eaten in haste, and with little appreciation of the +dishes, however dainty; all so longing to be around those tables in +another room, and get their fingers on the toys there displayed. + +Their host, aware of the universal desire, does nought to frustrate it. +Instead, he is as eager as any for the fray. As said, gambling is his +passion--has been for most part of his life--and he could now no more +live without it than go wanting drink. A hopeless victim to the last, +he is equally a slave to the first. Soon, therefore, as dessert is +brought in, and a glass of the heavier wines gone round, he looks +significantly at his wife--the only lady at the table--who, taking the +hint, retires. + +The gentlemen, on their feet at her withdrawal, do not sit down again, +but drink standing--only a _petit verre_ of cognac by way of +"corrector." Then they hurry off in an unseemly ruck towards the room +containing metal more attractive; from which soon after proceed the +clinking of coin and the rattle of ebony counters; with words now and +then spoken not over nice, but rough, even profane, as though the +speakers were playing skittles in the backyard of a London beerhouse, +instead of cards under the roof of a country gentleman's mansion! + +While the new master of Llangorren is thus entertaining his amiable +company--as much as any of them engrossed in the game--its new mistress +is also playing a part, which may be more reputable, but certainly is +more mysterious. She is in the drawing-room, though not alone--Father +Rogier alone with her. He, of course, has been one of the dining +guests, and said an unctuous grace over the table. In his sacred +sacerdotal character it could hardly be expected of him to keep along +with the company; though he could take a hand at cards, and play them +with as much skill as any gamester of that gathering. But just now he +has other fish to fry, and wishes a word in private with the mistress of +Llangorren, about the way things are going on. However much he may +himself like a little game with its master, and win money from him, he +does not relish seeing all the world do the same; no more she. +Something must be done to put a stop to it; and it is to talk over this +something the two have planned their present interview--some words about +it having previously passed between them. + +Seated side by side on a lounge, they enter upon the subject. But +before a dozen words have been exchanged they are compelled to +discontinue, and for the time forego it. + +The interruption is caused by a third individual, who has taken a fancy +to follow Mrs Murdock into the drawing-room; a young fellow of the +squire class, but--as her husband late was--of somewhat damaged +reputation and broken fortunes. For all having a whole eye to female +beauty; which appears to him in great perfection in the face of the +Frenchwoman--the rouge upon her cheeks looking the real rose-colour of +that proverbial milk-maid nine times dipped in dew. + +The wine he has been quaffing gives it this hue; for he enters half +intoxicated, and with a slight stagger in his gait; to the great +annoyance of the lady, and the positive chagrin of the priest, who +regards him with scowling glances. But the intruder is too tipsy to +notice them; and advancing invites himself to a seat in front of Mrs +Murdock, at the same time commencing a conversation with her. + +Rogier, rising, gives a significant side look, with a slight nod towards +the window; then muttering a word of excuse saunters off out of the +room. + +She knows what it means, as where to follow and find him. Knows also +how to disembarrass herself of such as he who remained behind. Were it +upon a bench of the Bois, or an arbour in the Jardin, she would make +short work of it. But the ex-cocotte is now at the head of an +aristocratic establishment, and must act in accordance. Therefore she +allows some time to elapse, listening to the speech of her latest +admirer; some of it in compliments coarse enough to give offence to ears +more sensitive than hers. + +She at length gets rid of him, on the plea of having a headache, and +going upstairs to get something for it. She will be down again by and +by; and so bows herself out of the gentleman's presence, leaving him in +a state of fretful disappointment. + +Once outside the room, instead of turning up the stair-way, she glides +along the corridor; then on through the entrance-hall, and then out by +the front door. Nor stays she an instant on the steps, or carriage +sweep; but proceeds direct to the summer-house, where she expects to +find the priest. For there have they more than once been together, +conversing on matters of private and particular nature. + +On reaching the place she is disappointed--some little surprised. +Rogier is not there; nor can she see him anywhere around! + +For all that, the gentleman is very near, without her knowing it--only a +few paces off, lying flat upon his face among ferns, but so engrossed +with thoughts, just then of an exciting nature, he neither hears her +light footsteps, nor his own name pronounced. Not loudly though; since, +while pronouncing it, she feared being heard by some other. Besides, +she does not think it necessary; he will come yet, without calling. + +She steps inside the pavilion, and there stands waiting. Still he does +not come, nor sees she anything of him; only a boat on the river above, +being rowed upwards. But without thought of its having anything to do +with her or her affairs. + +By this there is another boat in motion; for the priest has meanwhile +forsaken his spying place upon the cliff, and proceeded down to the +dock. + +"Where can Gregoire have gone?" she asks herself, becoming more and more +impatient. + +Several times she puts the question without receiving answer; and is +about starting on return to the house, when longer stayed by a rumbling +noise which reaches her ears, coming up from the direction of the dock. + +"Can it be he?" + +Continuing to listen she hears the stroke of oars. It cannot be the +boat she has seen rowing off above? That must now be far away, while +this is near--in the bye-water just below her. But can it be the priest +who is in it? + +Yes, it is he; as she discovers, after stepping outside, to the place he +so late occupied, and looking over the cliff's edge. For then she had a +view of his face, lit up by a lucifer match--itself looking like that of +Lucifer! + +What can he be doing down there? Why examining those things, he already +knows all about, as she herself? + +She would call down to him, and inquire. But possibly better not? He +may be engaged upon some matter calling for secrecy, as he often is. +Other eyes besides hers may be near, and her voice might draw them on +him. She will wait for his coming up. + +And wait she does, at the boat's dock, on the top step of the stair; +there receiving him as he returns from his short, but still unexplained, +excursion. + +"What is it?" she asks, soon as he has mounted up to her, "_Quelque +chose a tort_?" + +"More than that. A veritable danger!" + +"_Comment_? Explain!" + +"There's a hound upon our track! One of sharpest scent." + +"Who?" + +"_Le Capitaine de hussards_!" + +The dialogue that succeeds, between Olympe Renault and Gregoire Rogier, +has no reference to Lewin Murdock gambling away his money, but the fear +of his losing it in quite another way. Which, for the rest of that +night, gives them something else to think of, as also something to do. + +Volume Three, Chapter X. + +AN UNWILLING NOVICE. + +"Am I myself? Dreaming? Or, is it insanity?" + +It is a young girl who thus strangely interrogates. A beautiful girl, +woman grown, of tall stature, with bright face and a wealth of hair, +golden hued. + +But what is beauty to her with all these adjuncts? As the flower born +to blush unseen, eye of man may not look upon hers; though it is not +wasting its sweetness on the desert air; but within the walls of a +convent. + +An English girl, though the convent is in France--in the city of +Boulogne-sur-mer; the same in whose attached _pensionnat_ the sister of +Major Mahon is receiving education. She is not the girl, for Kate +Mahon, though herself beautiful, is no blonde; instead, the very +opposite. Besides, this creature of radiant complexion is not attending +school--she is beyond the years for that. Neither is she allowed the +freedom of the streets, but kept shut up within a cell in the innermost +recesses of the establishment, where the _pensionnaires_ are not +permitted, save one or two who are favourites with the Lady Superior. + +A small apartment the young girl occupies--bedchamber and sitting-room +in one--in short, a nun's cloister. Furnished, as such, are, in a style +of austere simplicity; pallet bed along the one side, the other taken up +by a plain deal dressing table, a washstand with jug and basin--these +little bigger than tea-bowl and ewer--and a couple of common rush-bottom +chairs--that is all. + +The walls are lime-washed, but most of their surface is concealed by +pictures of saints male and female; while the mother of all is honoured +by an image, having a niche to itself, in a corner. + +On the table are some four or five books, including a Testament and +Missal; their bindings, with the orthodox cross stamped upon them, +proclaiming the nature of the contents. + +A literature that cannot be to the liking of the present occupant of the +cloister; since she has been there several days without turning over a +single leaf, or even taking up one of the volumes to look at it. + +That she is not there with her own will but against it, can be told by +her words, and as their tone, her manner while giving utterance to them. +Seated upon the side of the bed, she has sprung to her feet, and with +arms raised aloft and tossed about, strides distractedly over the floor. +One seeing her thus might well imagine her to be, what she half fancies +herself--insane! A supposition strengthened by an unnatural lustre in +her eyes, and a hectic flush on her cheeks unlike the hue of health. +Still, not as with one suffering bodily sickness, or any physical +ailment, but more as from a mind diseased. Seen for only a moment--that +particular moment--such would be the conclusion regarding her. But her +speech coming after tells she is in full possession of her senses--only +under terrible agitation--distraught with some great trouble. + +"It must be a convent! But how have I come into it? Into France, too; +for surely am I there? The woman who brings my meals is French. So the +other--Sister of Mercy, as she calls herself, though she speaks my own +tongue. The furniture--bed, table, chairs, washstand--everything of +French manufacture. And in all England there is not such a jug and +basin as those!" + +Regarding the lavatory utensils--so diminutive as to recall "Gulliver's +Travels in Lilliput," if ever read by her--she for a moment seems to +forget her misery, as will in its very midst, and keenest, at sight of +the ludicrous and grotesque. + +It is quickly recalled, as her glance, wandering around the room, again +rests on the little statue--not of marble, but a cheap plaster of Paris +cast--and she reads the inscription underneath, "_La Mere de Dieu_." +The symbols tell her she is inside a nunnery, and upon the soil of +France! + +"Oh, yes!" she exclaims, "'tis certainly so! I am no more in my native +land, but have been carried across the sea!" + +The knowledge, or belief, does nought to tranquillise her feelings or +explain the situation, to her all mysterious. Instead, it but adds to +her bewilderment, and she once more exclaims, almost repeating herself: + +"Am I myself? Is it a dream? Or have my senses indeed forsaken me?" + +She clasps her hands across her forehead, the white fingers threading +the thick folds of her hair which hangs dishevelled. She presses them +against her temples, as if to make sure her brain is still untouched! + +It is so, or she would not reason as she does. + +"Everything around shows I am in France. But how came I to it? Who has +brought me? What offence have I given God or man, to be dragged from +home, from country--and confined--imprisoned! Convent, or whatever it +be, imprisoned I am! The door constantly kept locked! That window, so +high, I cannot see over its sill! The dim light it lets in telling it +was not meant for enjoyment. Oh! Instead of cheering it tantalises-- +tortures me!" + +Despairingly she reseats herself upon the side of the bed, and with head +still buried in her hands, continues her soliloquy; no longer of things +present, but reverting to the past. + +"Let me think again! What can I remember? That night, so happy in its +beginning, to end as it did! The end of my life, as I thought, if I had +a thought at that time. It was not, though, or I shouldn't be here, but +in heaven I hope. Would I were in heaven now! When I recall _his_ +words--those last words and think--" + +"Your thoughts are sinful, child!" + +The remark, thus interrupting, is made by a woman, who appears on the +threshold of the door, which she had just pushed open. A woman of +mature age, dressed in a floating drapery of deep black--the orthodox +garb of the Holy Sisterhood, with all its insignia, of girdle, +bead-roll, and pendant crucifix. A tall thin personage, with skin like +shrivelled parchment, and a countenance that would be repulsive but for +the nun's coif, which partly concealing, tones down its sinister +expression. Withal, a face disagreeable to gaze upon; not the less so +from its air of sanctity, evidently affected. The intruder is "Sister +Ursule." + +She has opened the door noiselessly--as cloister doors are made to +open--and stands between its jambs, like a shadowy _silhouette_ in its +frame, one hand still holding the knob, while in the other is a small +volume, apparently well-thumbed. That she has had her ear to the +keyhole before presenting herself is told by the rebuke having reference +to the last words of the girl's soliloquy, in her excitement uttered +aloud. + +"Yes?" she continues, "sinful--very sinful! You should be thinking of +something else than the world and its wickedness. And of anything +before that you have been thinking of--the wickedness of all." + +She thus spoken to had neither started at the intrusion, nor does she +show surprise at what is said. It is not the first visit of Sister +Ursule to her cell, made in like stealthy manner; nor the first austere +speech she has heard from the same skinny lips. At the beginning she +did not listen to it patiently; instead, with indignation; defiantly, +almost fiercely, rejoining. But the proudest spirit can be humbled. +Even the eagle, when its wings are beaten to exhaustion against the bars +of its cage, will became subdued, if not tamed. Therefore the +imprisoned English girl makes reply, meekly and appealingly-- + +"Sister of Mercy, as you are called; have mercy upon me! Tell me why I +am here?" + +"For the good of your soul and its salvation." + +"But how can that concern any one save myself?" + +"Ah! there you mistake, child; which shows the sort of life you've been +hitherto leading; and the sort of people surrounding you; who, in their +sinfulness, imagine all as themselves. They cannot conceive that there +are those who deem it a duty--nay, a direct command from God--to do all +in their power for the redemption of lost sinners, and restoring them to +his divine favour. He is all-merciful." + +"True: He is. I do not need to be told it. Only, who these +redemptionists are that take such interest in my spiritual welfare, and +how I have come to be here, surely I may know?" + +"You shall in time, _ma fille_. Now you cannot--must not--for many +reasons." + +"What reasons?" + +"Well; for one, you have been very ill--nigh unto death, indeed." + +"I know that, without knowing how." + +"Of course. The accident which came so near depriving you of life was +of that sudden nature; and your senses--but I mustn't speak further +about it. The doctor has given strict directions that you're to be kept +quiet, and it might excite you. Be satisfied with knowing, that they +who have placed you here are the same who saved your life, and would now +rescue your soul from perdition. I've brought you this little volume +for perusal. It will help to enlighten you." + +She stretches out her long bony fingers, handing the book--one of those +"Aids to Faith" relied upon by the apostles of the _Propaganda_. + +The girl mechanically takes it, without looking at, or thinking of it; +still pondering upon the unknown and mysterious benefactors, who, as she +is told, have done so much for her. + +"How good of them!" she rejoins, with an air of incredulity, and in +tones that might be taken as derisive. + +"How wicked of you!" retorts the other, taking it in this sense. +"Positively ungrateful!" she adds, with the acerbity of a baffled +proselytiser. "I am sorry, child, you still cling to your sinful +thoughts, and keep up a rebellious spirit in face of all that is being +done for your good. But I shall leave you now, and go and pray for you; +hoping, on my next visit, to find you in a more proper frame of mind." + +So saying, Sister Ursule glides out of the cloister, drawing to the +door, and silently turning the key in its lock. + +"O God!" groans the young girl in despair, flinging herself along the +pallet, and for the third time interrogating, "am I myself, and +dreaming? Or am I mad? In mercy, Heaven, tell me what it means!" + +Volume Three, Chapter XI. + +A CHEERFUL KITCHEN. + +Of all the domestics turned adrift from Llangorren one alone interests +us--Joseph Preece--"Old Joe," as his young mistress used familiarly to +call him. + +As Jack Wingate has made his mother aware, Joe has moved into the house +formerly inhabited by Coracle Dick; so far changing places with the +poacher, who now occupies the lodge in which the old man ere while lived +as one of the retainers of the Wynn family. + +Beyond this the exchange has not extended. Richard Dempsey, under the +new _regime_ at Llangorren, has been promoted to higher office than was +ever held by Joseph Preece; who, on the other hand, has neither turned +poacher, nor intends doing so. Instead, the versatile Joseph, as if to +keep up his character for versatility, has taken to a new calling +altogether--that of basket-making, with the construction of bird-cages +and other kinds of wicker-work. Rather is it the resumption of an old +business to which he had been brought up, but abandoned long years agone +on entering the service of Squire Wynn. Having considerable skill in +this textile trade, he hopes in his old age to make it maintain him. +Only in part; for, thanks to the generosity of his former master, and +more still that of his late mistress, Joe has laid by a little +_pecunium_, nearly enough for his needs; so that, in truth, he has taken +to the wicker-working less from necessity than for the sake of having +something to do. The old man of many _metiers_ has never led an idle +life, and dislikes leading it. + +Is is not by any accident he has drifted into the domicile late in the +occupation of Dick Dempsey, though Dick had nothing to do with it. The +poacher himself was but a week-to-week tenant, and of course cleared out +soon as obtaining his promotion. Then, the place being to let, at a low +rent, the ex-Charon saw it would suit him; all the better because of a +"withey bed" belonging to the same landlord, which was to let at the +same time. This last being at the mouth of the dingle in which the +solitary dwelling stands--and promising a convenient supply of the raw +material for his projected manufacture--he has taken a lease of it along +with the house. + +Under his predecessor the premises having fallen into dilapidation-- +almost ruin--the old boatman had a bargain of them, on condition of his +doing the repairs. He has done them; made the roof water-tight; given +the walls a coat of plaster and whitewash; laid a new floor--in short, +rendered the house habitable, and fairly comfortable. + +Among other improvements he has partitioned off a second sleeping +apartment, and not only plastered but papered it. More still, neatly +and tastefully furnished it; the furniture consisting of an iron +bedstead, painted emerald green, with brass knobs; a new washstand, and +dressing table with mahogany framed glass on top, three cane chairs, a +towel horse, and other etceteras. + +For himself? No; he has a bedroom besides. And this, by the style of +the plenishing, is evidently intended for one of the fair sex. Indeed, +one has already taken possession of it, as evinced by some female +apparel, suspended upon pegs against the wall; a pincushion, with a +brooch in it, on the dressing table; bracelets and a necklace besides, +with two or three scent bottles, and several other toilet trifles +scattered about in front of the framed glass. They cannot be the +belongings of "Old Joe's" wife, nor yet his daughter; for among the many +parts he has played in life, that of Benedict has not been. A bachelor +he is, and a bachelor he intends staying to the end of the chapter. + +Who, then, is the owner of the brooch, bracelets, and other bijouterie? +In a word, his niece--a slip of a girl who was under-housemaid at +Llangorren; like himself, set at large, and now transformed into a +full-fledged housekeeper--his own. But before entering on parlour +duties at the Court, she had seen service in the kitchen, under the +cook; and some culinary skill, then and there acquired, now stands her +old uncle in stead. By her deft manipulation, stewed rabbit becomes as +jugged hare, so that it would be difficult to tell the difference; while +she has at her fingers' ends many other feats of the _cuisine_ that give +him gratification. The old servitor of Squire Wynn is in his way a +_gourmet_, and has a tooth for toothsome things. + +His accomplished niece, with somewhat of his own cleverness, bears the +pretty name of Amy--Amy Preece, for she is his brother's child. And she +is pretty as her name, a bright blooming girl, rose-cheeked, with form +well-rounded, and flesh firm as a Ribston pippin. Her cheerful +countenance lights up the kitchen late shadowed by the presence and dark +scowling features of Coracle Dick--brightens it even more than the +brand-new tin-ware or the whitewash upon its walls. + +Old Joe rejoices; and if he have a regret, it is that he had not long +ago taken up housekeeping for himself. But this thought suggests +another contradicting it. How could he while his young mistress lived? +She so much beloved by him, whose many beneficences have made him, as he +is, independent for the rest of his days, never more to be harassed by +care or distressed by toil, one of her latest largesses, the very last, +being to bestow upon him the pretty pleasure craft bearing her own name. +This she had actually done on the morning of that day, the twenty-first +anniversary of her birth, as it was the last of her life; thus by an act +of grand generosity commemorating two events so strangely, terribly, in +contrast! And as though some presentiment forewarned her of her own sad +fate, so soon to follow, she had secured the gift by a scrap of writing; +thus at the change in the Llangorren household enabling its old boatman +to claim the boat, and obtain it too. It is now lying just below, at +the brook's mouth by the withey bed, where Joe has made a mooring-place +for it. The handsome thing would fetch 50 pounds; and many a Wye +waterman would give his year's earnings to possess it. Indeed, more +than one has been after it, using arguments to induce its owner to +dispose of it--pointing out how idle of him to keep a craft so little +suited to his present calling! + +All in vain. Old Joe would sooner sell his last shirt, or the +newly-bought furniture of his house--sooner go begging--than part with +that boat. It oft bore him beside his late mistress, so much lamented; +it will still bear him lamenting her--aye for the rest of his life. If +he has lost the lady he will cling to the souvenir, which carries her +honoured name! + +But, however, faithful the old family retainer, and affectionate in his +memories, he does not let their sadness overpower him, nor always give +way to the same. Only at times when something turns up more vividly +than usual recalling Gwendoline Wynn to remembrance. On other and +ordinary occasions he is cheerful enough, this being his natural habit. +And never more than on a certain night shortly after that of his chance +encounter with Jack Wingate, when both were a shopping at Rugg's Ferry. +For there and then, in addition to the multifarious news imparted to the +young waterman, he gave the latter an invitation to visit him in his new +home; which was gladly and off-hand accepted. + +"A bit o' supper and a drop o' somethin' to send it down," were the old +boatman's words specifying the entertainment. + +The night has come round, and the "bit o' supper" is being prepared by +Amy, who is acting as though she was never more called upon to practise +the culinary art; and, according to her own way of thinking, she never +has been. For, to let out a little secret, the French lady's-maid was +not the only feminine at Llangorren Court who had cast admiring eyes on +the handsome boatman who came there rowing Captain Ryecroft. Raising +the curtain still higher, Amy Preece's position is exposed; she, too, +having been caught in that same net, spread for neither. + +Not strange then, but altogether natural. She is now exerting herself +to cook a supper that will give gratification to the expected guest. +She would work her fingers off for Jack Wingate. + +Possibly the uncle may have some suspicion of why she is moving about so +alertly, and besides looking so pleased like. If not a suspicion, he +has a wish and a hope. Nothing in life, now, would be so much to his +mind as to see his niece married to the man he has invited to visit him. +For never in all his life has old Joe met one he so greatly cottons to. +His intercourse with the young waterman, though scarce six months old, +seems as if it had been of twice as many years; so friendly and +pleasant, he not only wants it continued, but wishes it to become nearer +and dearer. If his niece be baiting a trap in the cooking of the +supper, he has himself set that trap by the "invite" he gave to the +expected guest. + +A gentle tapping at the door tells him the trigger is touched; and, +responding to the signal, he calls out-- + +"That you, Jack Wingate? O' course it be. Come in!" + +And in Jack Wingate comes. + +Volume Three, Chapter XII. + +QUEER BRIC-A-BRAC. + +Stepping over the threshold, the young waterman is warmly received by +his older brother of the oar, and blushingly by the girl, whose cheeks +are already of a high colour, caught from the fire over which she has +been stooping. + +Old Joe, seated in the chimney corner, in a huge wicker chair of his own +construction, motions Jack to another opposite, leaving the space in +front clear for Amy to carry on her culinary operations. There are +still a few touches to be added--a sauce to be concocted--before the +supper can be served; and she is concocting it. + +Host and guest converse without heeding her, chiefly on topics relating +to the bore of the river, about which old Joe is an oracle. As the +other, too, has spent all his days on Vaga's banks; but there have been +more of them, and he longer resident in that particular neighbourhood. +It is too early to enter upon subjects of a more serious nature, though +a word now and then slips in about the late occurrence at Llangorren, +still wrapped in mystery. If they bring shadows over the brow of the +old boatman, these pass off, as he surveys the table which his niece has +tastefully decorated with fruits and late autumn flowers. It reminds +him of many a pleasant Christmas night in the grand servants' hall at +the Court, under holly and mistletoe, besides bowls of steaming punch +and dishes of blazing snapdragon. + +His guest knows something of that same hall; but cares not to recall its +memories. Better likes he the bright room he is now seated in. Within +the radiant circle of its fire, and the other pleasant surroundings, he +is for the time cheerful--almost himself again. His mother told him it +was not good to be for ever grieving--not righteous, but sinful. And +now, as he watches the graceful creature moving about, actively +engaged--and all on his account--he begins to think there may be truth +in what she said. At all events his grief is more bearable than it has +been for long days past. Not that he is untrue to the memory of Mary +Morgan. Far from it. His feelings are but natural, inevitable. With +that fair presence flitting before his eyes, he would not be man if it +failed in some way to impress him. + +But his feelings for Amy Preece do not go beyond the bounds of +respectful admiration. Still is it an admiration that may become +warmer, gathering strength as time goes on. It even does somewhat on +this same night; for, in truth the girl's beauty is a thing which cannot +be glanced at without a wish to gaze upon it again. And she possesses +something more than beauty--a gift not quite so rare, but perhaps as +much prized by Jack Wingate--modesty. He has noted her shy, almost +timid mien, ere now; for it is not the first time he has been in her +company--contrasted it with the bold advances made to him by her former +fellow-servant at the Court--Clarisse. And now, again, he observes the +same bearing, as she moves about through that cheery place, in the light +of glowing coals--best from the Forest of Dean. + +And he thinks of it while seated at the supper table; she at its head, +_vis-a-vis_ to her uncle, and distributing the viands. These are no +damper to his admiration of her, since the dishes she has prepared are +of the daintiest. He has not been accustomed to eat such a meal, for +his mother could not cook it; while, as already said, Amy is something +of an _artiste de cuisine_. An excellent wife she would make, all +things considered; and possibly at a later period, Jack Wingate might +catch himself so reflecting. But not now; not to-night. Such a thought +is not in his mind; could not be, with that sadder thought still +overshadowing. + +The conversation at the table is mostly between the uncle and himself, +the niece only now and then putting in a word; and the subjects are +still of a general character, in the main relating to boats and their +management. + +It continues so till the supper things have been cleared off; and in +their place appear a decanter of spirits, a basin of lump sugar, and a +jug of hot water, with a couple of tumblers containing spoons. Amy +knows her uncle's weakness--which is a whisky toddy before going to bed; +for it is the "barley bree" that sparkles in the decanter; and also +aware that to-night he will indulge in more than one, she sets the +kettle on its trivet against the bars of the grate. + +As the hour has now waxed late, and the host is evidently longing for a +more confidential chat with his guest, she asks if there is anything +more likely to be wanted. + +Answered in the negative, she bids both "Good night," withdraws to the +little chamber so prettily decorated for her, and goes to her bed. + +But not immediately to fall asleep. Instead she lies awake thinking of +Jack Wingate, whose voice, like a distant murmur, she can now and then +hear. The French _femme de chambre_ would have had her cheek at the +keyhole, to catch what he might say. Not so the young English girl, +brought up in a very different school; and if she lies awake, it is from +no prying curiosity, but kept so by a nobler sentiment. + +On the instant of her withdrawal, old Joe, who has been some time +showing in a fidget for it, hitches his chair closer to the table, +desiring his guest to do the same; and the whisky punches having been +already prepared, they also bring their glasses together. + +"Yer good health, Jack." + +"Same to yerself, Joe." + +After this exchange the ex-Charon, no longer constrained by the presence +of a third party, launches out into a dialogue altogether different from +that hitherto held between them--the subject being the late tenant of +the house in which they are hobnobbing. + +"Queer sort o' chap, that Coracle Dick! an't he, Jack?" + +"Course he be. But why do ye ask? You knowed him afore, well enough." + +"Not so well's now. He never comed about the Court, 'ceptin' once when +fetched there--afore the old Squire on a poachin' case. Lor! what a +change! He now head keeper o' the estate." + +"Ye say ye know him better than ye did? Ha' ye larned anythin' 'bout +him o' late?" + +"That hae I; an' a goodish deal too. More'n one thing as seems +kewrous." + +"If ye don't object tellin' me, I'd like to hear what they be." + +"Well, one are, that Dick Dempsey ha' been in the practice of somethin' +besides poachin'." + +"That an't no news to me, I ha' long suspected him o' doin's worse than +that." + +"Amongst them did ye include forgin'?" + +"No; because I never thought o' it. But I believe him to be capable o' +it, or anything else. What makes ye think he a' been a forger?" + +"Well, I won't say forger, for he mayn't a made the things. But for +sure he ha' been engaged in passin' them off." + +"Passin' what off!" + +"Them!" rejoins Joe, drawing a little canvas bag out of his pocket, and +spilling its contents upon the table--over a score of coins to all +appearance half-crown pieces. + +"Counterfeits--every one o' 'em!" he adds, as the other sits staring at +them in surprise. + +"Where did you find them?" asks Jack. + +"In the corner o' an old cubbord. Furbishin' up the place, I comed +across them--besides a goodish grist o' other kewrosities. What would +ye think o' my predecessor here bein' a burglar as well as smasher?" + +"I wouldn't think that noways strange neyther. As I've sayed already, I +b'lieve Dick Dempsey to be a man who'd not mind takin' a hand at any +mortal thing, howsomever bad. Burglary, or even worse, if it wor made +worth his while. But what led ye to think he ha' been also in the +housebreaking line?" + +"These!" answers the old boatman, producing another and larger bag, the +more ponderous contents of which he spills out on the floor, not the +table; as he does so exclaiming, "Theere be a lot o' oddities! A +complete set o' burglar's tools--far as I can understand them." + +And so are they, jemmies, cold chisels, skeleton keys--in short, every +implement of the cracksman's calling. + +"And ye found them in the cubbert too?" + +"No, not there, nor yet inside; but on the premises. The big bag, wi' +its contents, wor crammed up into a hole in the rocks--the clift at the +back o' the house." + +"Odd, all o' it! An' the oddest his leavin' such things behind--to tell +the tale o' his guilty doin's; I suppose bein' full o' his new fortunes, +he's forgot all about them." + +"But ye han't waited for me to gie the whole o' the cat'logue. There be +somethin' more to come." + +"What more?" asks the young waterman, suprisedly, and with renewed +interest. + +"A thing as seems kewrouser than all the rest. I can draw conclusions +from the counterfeet coins, an' the house-breakin' implements; but the +other beats me dead down, an' I don't know what to make o't. Maybe you +can tell. I foun' it stuck up the same hole in the rocks, wi' a stone +in front exact fittin' to an' fillin' its mouth." + +While speaking, he draws open a chest, and takes from it a bundle of +some white stuff--apparently linen--loosely rolled. Unfolding, and +holding it up to the light, he adds:-- + +"Theer be the eydentical article!" + +No wonder he thought the thing strange, found where he had found it. +For it is a _shroud_! White, with a cross and two letters in red +stitched upon that part which, were it upon a body, both cross and +lettering would lie over the breast! + +"O God!" cries Jack Wingate, as his eyes rest upon the symbol. "That's +the shroud Mary Morgan wor buried in! I can swear to 't. I seed her +mother stitch on that cross an' them letters--the ineetials o' her name. +An' I seed it on herself in the coffin 'fore't wor closed. Heaven o' +mercy! what do it mean?" + +Amy Preece, lying awake in her bed, hears Jack Wingate's voice excitedly +exclaiming, and wonders what that means. But she is not told; nor +learns she aught of a conversation which succeeds in more subdued tone; +prolonged to a much later hour--even into morning. For before the two +men part they mature a plan for ascertaining why that ghostly thing is +still above ground instead of in the grave, where the body it covered is +coldly sleeping! + +Volume Three, Chapter XIII. + +A BRACE OF BODY-SNATCHERS. + +What with the high hills that shut in the valley of the Wye, and the +hanging woods that clothe their steep slopes, the nights there are often +so dark as to justify the familiar saying, "You couldn't see your hand +before you." I have been out on some, when a white kerchief held within +three feet of the eye was absolutely invisible; and it required a +skilful Jehu, with best patent lamps, to keep carriage wheels upon the +causeway of the road. + +Such a night has drawn down over Rugg's Ferry, shrouding the place in +impenetrable gloom. Situated in a concavity--as it were, at the bottom +of an extinct volcanic crater--the obscurity is deeper than elsewhere; +to-night alike covering the Welsh Harp, detached dwelling houses, +chapel, and burying-ground, as with a pall. Not a ray of light +scintillates anywhere; for the hour is after midnight, and everybody has +retired to rest; the weak glimmer of candles from cottage windows, as +the stronger glare through those of the hotel-tavern, no longer to be +seen. In the last every lamp is extinguished, its latest-sitting +guest--if it have any guest--having gone to bed. + +Some of the poachers and night-netters may be astir. If so they are +abroad, and not about the place, since it is just at such hours they are +away from it. + +For all, two men are near by, seemingly moving with as much stealth as +any trespassers after fish or game, and with even more mystery in their +movements. The place occupied by them is the shadowed corner under the +wall of the chapel cemetery, where Captain Ryecroft saw three men +embarking on a boat. These are also in a boat; but not one in the act +of rowing off from the river's edge; instead, just being brought into +it. + +Soon as its cutwater strikes against the bank, one of the men, rising to +his feet, leaps out upon the land, and attaches the painter to a +sapling, by giving it two or three turns around the stem. Then facing +back towards the boat, he says:-- + +"Hand me them things; an' look out not to let 'em rattle!" + +"Ye need ha' no fear 'bout that," rejoins the other, who has now +unshipped the oars, and stowed them fore and aft along the thwarts, they +not being the things asked for. Then, stooping down, he lifts something +out of the boat's bottom, and passes it over the side, repeating the +movement three or four times. The things thus transferred from one to +the other are handled by both as delicately, as though they were +pheasant's or plover's eggs, instead of what they are--an ordinary set +of grave-digger's tools--spade, shovel, and mattock. There is, besides, +a bundle of something soft, which, as there is no danger of its making +noise, is tossed up to the top of the bank. + +He who has flung follows it; and the two gathering up the hardware, +after some words exchanged in muttered tone, mount over the cemetery +wall. The younger first leaps it, stretching back, and giving a hand to +the other--an old man, who finds some difficulty in the ascent. + +Inside the sacred precincts they pause; partly to apportion the tools, +but as much to make sure that they have not hitherto been heard. Seen, +they could not be, before or now. + +Becoming satisfied that the coast is clear, the younger man says in a +whisper-- + +"It be all right, I think. Every livin' sinner--an' there be a good +wheen o' that stripe 'bout here--have gone to bed. As for him, blackest +o' the lot, who lives in the house adjoinin', ain't like he's at home. +Good as sure down at Llangorren Court, where just now he finds quarters +more comfortable. We hain't nothin' to fear, I take it. Let's on to +the place. You lay hold o' my skirt, and I'll gie ye the lead. I know +the way, every inch o' it." + +Saying which he moves off, the other doing as directed, and following +step for step. + +A few paces further, and they arrive at a grave; beside which they again +make stop. In daylight it would show recently made, though not +altogether new. A month, or so, since the turf had been smoothed over +it. + +The men are now about to disturb it, as evinced by their movements and +the implements brought along. But, before going further in their +design--body-snatching, or whatever it be--both drop down upon their +knees, and again listen intently, as though still in some fear of being +interrupted. + +Not a sound is heard save the wind, as it sweeps in mournful cadence +through the trees along the hill slopes, and nearer below, the rippling +of the river. + +At length, convinced they have the cemetery to themselves, they proceed +to their work, which begins by their spreading out a sheet on the grass +close to and alongside the grave--a trick of body-stealers--so as to +leave no traces of their theft. That done, they take up the sods with +their hands, carefully, one after another; and, with like care, lay them +down upon the sheet, the grass sides underneath. Then, seizing hold of +the tools--spade and shovel--they proceed to scoop out the earth, +placing it in a heap beside. + +They have no need to make use of the mattock; the soil is loose, and +lifts easily. Nor is their task as excavators of long continuance--even +shorter than they anticipated. Within less than eighteen inches of the +surface their tools come in contact with a harder substance, which they +can tell to be timber--the lid of a coffin. + +Soon as striking it, the younger faces round to his companion, saying-- + +"I tolt ye so--listen!" + +With the spade's point he again gives the coffin a tap. It returns a +hollow sound--too hollow for aught to be inside it! + +"No body in there!" he adds. + +"Hadn't we better keep on, an' make sure?" suggests the other. + +"Sartint we had--an' will." + +Once more they commence shovelling out the earth, and continue till it +is all cleared from the coffin. Then, inserting the blade of the +mattock under the edge of the lid, they raise it up; for it is not +screwed down, only laid on loosely--the screws all drawn and gone! + +Flinging himself on his face, and reaching forward, the younger man +gropes inside the coffin--not expecting to feel any body there, but +mechanically, and to see if there be aught else. + +There is nothing--only emptiness. The house of the dead is untenanted-- +its tenant has been taken away! + +"I know'd it!" he exclaims, drawing back. "I know'd my poor Mary wor no +longer here!" + +It is no body-snatcher who speaks thus, but Jack Wingate, his companion +being Joseph Preece. + +After which, the young waterman says not another word in reference to +the discovery they have both made. He is less sad than thoughtful now. +But he keeps his thoughts to himself, an occasional whisper to his +companion being merely by way of direction, as they replace the lid upon +the coffin, cover all up as before, shake in the last fragments of loose +earth from the sheet, and restore the grave turf--adjusting the sods +with as much exactitude, as though they were laying tesselated tiles! + +Then, taking up their tools, they glide back to the boat, step into it, +and shove off. + +On return down stream they reflect in different ways; the old boatman of +Llangorren still thinking it but a case of body-snatching, done by +Coracle Dick, for the doctors--with a view to earning a dishonest penny. + +Far otherwise the thoughts of Jack Wingate. He thinks, nay hopes-- +almost happily believes--that the body exhumed was not dead--never has +been--but that Mary Morgan still lives, breathes, and has being! + +Volume Three, Chapter XIV. + +IN WANT OF HELP. + +"Drowned? No! Dead before she ever went under the water. Murdered, +beyond the shadow of a doubt." + +It is Captain Ryecroft who thus emphatically affirms. And to himself, +being alone, within his room in the Wyeside Hotel; for he is still in +Herefordshire. + +More in conjecture, he proceeds--"They first smothered, I suppose, or in +some way rendered her insensible; then carried her to the place and +dropped her in, leaving the water to complete their diabolical work? A +double death as it were; though she may not have suffered its agonies +twice. Poor girl! I hope not." + +In prosecuting the inquiry to which he has devoted himself, beyond +certain unavoidable communications with Jack Wingate, he has not taken +any one into his confidence. This partly from having no intimate +acquaintances in the neighbourhood, but more because he fears the +betrayal of his purpose. It is not ripe for public exposure, far less +bringing before a court of justice. Indeed, he could not yet shape an +accusation against any one, all that he has learnt new serving only to +satisfy him that his original suspicions were correct; which it has +done, as shown by his soliloquy. + +He has since made a second boat excursion down the bye-channel--made it +in the day time, to assure himself there was no mistake in his +observations under the light of the lamp. It was for this he had +bespoken Wingate's skiff for the following day; for certain reasons +reaching Llangorren at the earliest hour of dawn. There and then to see +what surprised him quite as much as the unexpected discovery of the +night before--a grand breakage from the brow of the cliff. But not any +more misleading him. If the first "sign" observed there failed to blind +him, so does that which has obliterated it. No natural rock-slide, was +the conclusion he came to, soon as setting eyes upon it; but the work of +human hands! And within the hour, as he could see by the clods of +loosened earth still dropping down and making muddy the water +underneath; while bubbles were ascending from the detached boulder lying +invisible below! + +Had he been there only a few minutes earlier, himself invisible, he +would have seen a man upon the cliff's crest, busy with a crowbar, +levering the rock from its bed, and tilting it over--then carefully +removing the marks of the iron implement, as also his own footprints! + +That man saw him through the blue-grey dawn, in his skiff coming down +the river; just as on the preceding night under the light of the moon. +For he thus early astir and occupied in a task as that of Sysiphus, was +no other than Father Rogier. + +The priest had barely time to retreat and conceal himself, as the boat +drew down to the eyot. Not this time crouching among the ferns; but +behind some evergreens, at a farther and safer distance. Still near +enough for him to observe the other's look of blank astonishment on +beholding the _debacle_, and note the expression change to one of +significant intelligence as he continued gazing at it. + +"_Un limier veritable_! A hound that has scented blood, and's +determined to follow it up, till he find the body whence it flowed. +Aha! The game must be got out of his way. Llangorren will have to +change owners once again, and the sooner the better." + +At the very moment these thoughts were passing through the mind of +Gregoire Rogier, the "veritable bloodhound" was mentally repeating the +same words he had used on the night before: "No accident--no suicide-- +murdered!" adding, as his eyes ranged over the surface of red sandstone, +so altered in appearance, "This makes me all the more sure of it. +Miserable trick! Not much Mr Lewin Murdock will gain by it." + +So thought he then. But now, days after, though still believing Murdock +to be the murderer, he thinks differently about the "trick." For the +evidence afforded by the former traces, though slight, and pointing to +no one in particular, was, nevertheless, a substantial indication of +guilt against somebody; and these being blotted out, there is but his +own testimony of their having ever existed. Though himself convinced +that Gwendoline Wynn has been assassinated, he cannot see his way to +convince others--much less a legal tribunal. He is still far from being +in a position openly to accuse, or even name the criminals who ought to +be arraigned. + +He now knows there are more than one, or so supposes; still believing +that Murdock has been the principal actor in the tragedy; though others +besides have borne part in it. + +"The man's wife must know all about it?" he says, going on in +conjectural chain; "and that French priest--he probably the instigator +of it? Aye! possibly had a hand in the deed itself? There have been +such cases recorded--many of them. Exercising great authority at +Llangorren--as Jack has learned from his friend Joe--there commanding +everybody and everything! And the fellow Dempsey--poacher, and what +not--he, too, become an important personage about the place! Why all +this? Only intelligible on the supposition that they have had to do +with a death by which they have been all benefited. Yes; all four +acting conjointly have brought it about! + +"And how am I to bring it home to them? 'Twill be difficult, indeed, if +at all possible. Even that slight sign destined has increased the +difficulty. + +"No use taking the `great unpaid' into my confidence, nor yet the +sharper stipendiaries. To submit my plans to either magistrate or +policeman might be but to defeat them. 'Twould only raise a hue and +cry, putting the guilty ones on their guard. That isn't the way--will +not do! + +"And yet I must have some one to assist me. For there is truth in the +old saw `Two heads better than one.' Wingate is good enough in his way, +and willing, but he can't help me in mine. I want a man of my own +class; one who--stay! George Shenstone? No! The young fellow is true +as steel and brave as a lion, but--well, lacking brains. I could trust +his heart, not his head. Where is he who has both to be relied upon? +Ha! Mahon! The man--the very man! Experienced in the world's +wickedness, courageous, cool--except when he gets his Irish blood up +against the Sassenachs--above all devoted to me, as I know; has never +forgotten that little service I did him at Delhi. And he has nothing to +do--plenty of time at his disposal. Yes; the Major's my man! + +"Shall I write and ask him to come over here. On second thoughts, No! +Better for me to go thither; see him first, and explain all the +circumstances. To Boulogne and back's but a matter of forty-eight +hours, and a day or two can't make much difference in an affair like +this. The scent's cold as it can be, and may be taken up weeks hence as +well as now. If we ever succeed in finding evidence of their guilt it +will, no doubt, be mainly of the circumstantial sort; and much will +depend on the character of the individuals accused. Now I think of it, +something may be learnt about them in Boulogne itself; or at all events +of the priest. Since I've had a good look at his forbidding face, I +feel certain it's the same I saw inside the doorway of that convent. If +not, there are two of the sacerdotal tribe so like it would be a toss up +which is one and which t'other. + +"In any case there can be no harm in my making a scout across to +Boulogne, and instituting inquiries about him. Mahon's sister being at +school in the establishment will enable us to ascertain whether a priest +named Rogier holds relations with it, and we may learn something of the +repute he bears. Perchance, also, a trifle concerning Mr and Mrs +Lewin Murdock. It appears that both husband and wife are well known at +Homburg, Baden, and other like resorts. Gaming, if not game, birds, in +some of their migratory flights they have made short sojourn at the +French seaport, to get their hands in for those grander Hells beyond. +I'll go over to Boulogne!" + +A knock at the door. On the permission to enter, called out, a hotel +porter presents himself. "Well?" + +"Your waterman, sir, Wingate, says he'd like to see you, if convenient?" + +"Tell him to step up!" + +"What can Jack be coming after? Anyhow I'm glad he has come. 'Twill +save me the trouble of sending for him; as I'd better settle his account +before starting off." [Jack has a new score against the Captain for +boat hire, his services having been retained, exclusively, for some +length of time past.] "Besides there's something I wish to say--a long +chapter of instructions to leave with him. Come in, Jack!" + +This, as a shuffling in the corridor outside, tells that the waterman is +wiping his feet on the door mat. + +The door opening, displays him; but with an expression on his +countenance very different from that of a man coming to dun for wages +due. More like one entering to announce a death, or some event which +greatly agitates him. + +"What is it?" asks the Captain, observing his distraught manner. + +"Somethin' queer, sir; very queer indeed." + +"Ah! Let me hear it!" demands Ryecroft, with an air of eagerness, +thinking it relates to himself and the matter engrossing his mind. + +"I will, Captain. But it'll take time in the tellin'." + +"Take as much as you like. I'm at your service. Be seated." + +Jack clutches hold of a chair, and draws it up close to where the +Captain is sitting--by a table. Then glancing over his shoulder, and +all round the room, to assure himself there is no one within earshot, he +says, in grave, solemn voice: + +"I do believe, Captain, _she be still alive_!" + +Volume Three, Chapter XV. + +STILL ALIVE. + +Impossible to depict the expression on Vivian Ryecroft's face, as the +words of the waterman fall upon his ear. It is more than surprise--more +than astonishment--intensely interrogative, as though some secret hope +once entertained, but long gone out of his heart, had suddenly returned +to it. + +"Still alive!" he exclaims, springing to his feet, and almost upsetting +the table. "Alive!" he mechanically repeats. "What do you mean, +Wingate? And who?" + +"My poor girl, Captain. You know." + +"_His_ girl, not _mine_! Mary Morgan, not Gwendoline Wynn!" reflects +Ryecroft within himself, dropping back upon his chair as one stunned by +a blow. + +"I'm almost sure she be still livin'," continues the waterman, in wonder +at the emotion his words have called up, though little suspecting why. + +Controlling it, the other asks, with diminished interest, still +earnestly:-- + +"What leads you to think that way, Wingate? Have you a reason?" + +"Yes, have I; more'n one. It's about that I ha' come to consult ye." + +"You've come to astonish me! But proceed!" + +"Well, sir, as I ha' sayed, it'll take a good bit o' tellin', and a lot +o' explanation beside. But since ye've signified I'm free to your time, +I'll try and make the story short's I can." + +"Don't curtail it in any way. I wish to hear all!" + +The waterman thus allowed latitude, launches forth into a full account +of his own life--those chapters of it relating to his courtship of, and +betrothal to, Mary Morgan. He tells of the opposition made by her +mother, the rivalry of Coracle Dick, and the sinister interference of +Father Rogier. In addition, the details of that meeting of the lovers +under the elm--their last--and the sad episode soon after succeeding. + +Something of all this Ryecroft has heard before, and part of it +suspected. What he now hears new to him is the account of a scene in +the farm-house of Abergann, while Mary Morgan lay in the chamber of +death, with a series of incidents that came under the observation of her +sorrowing lover. The first, his seeing a shroud being made by the +girl's mother, white, with a red cross, and the initial letters of her +name braided over the breast: the same soon afterwards appearing upon +the corpse. Then the strange behaviour of Father Rogier on the day of +the funeral; the look with which he stood regarding the girl's face as +she lay in her coffin; his abrupt exit out of the room; as afterwards +his hurried departure from the side of the grave before it was finally +closed up--a haste noticed by others as well as Jack Wingate. + +"But what do you make of all that?" asks Ryecroft, the narrator having +paused to gather himself for other, and still stranger revelations. +"How can it give you a belief in the girl being still alive? Quite its +contrary, I should say." + +"Stay, Captain! There be more to come." + +The Captain does stay, listening on. To hear the story of the planted +and plucked up flower; of another and later visit made by Wingate to the +cemetery in daylight, then seeing what led him to suspect, that not only +had the plant been destroyed, but all the turf on the grave disturbed! +He speaks of his astonishment at this, with his perplexity. Then goes +on to give account of the evening spent with Joseph Preece in his new +home; of the waifs and strays there shown him; the counterfeit coins, +burglars' tools, and finally the shroud--that grim remembrancer, which +he recognised at sight! + +His narrative concludes with his action taken after, assisted by the old +boatman. + +"Last night," he says, proceeding with the relation, "or I ought to say +this same mornin'--for 'twar after midnight hour--Joe an' myself took +the skiff, an' stole up to the chapel graveyard; where we opened her +grave, an' foun' the coffin empty! Now, Captain, what do ye think o' +the whole thing?" + +"On my word, I hardly know what to think of it. Mystery seems the +measure of the time! This you tell me of is strange--if not stranger +than any! What are your own thoughts about it, Jack?" + +"Well, as I've already sayed, my thoughts be, an' my hopes, that Mary's +still in the land o' the livin'." + +"I hope she is." + +The tone of Ryecroft's rejoinder tells of his incredulity, further +manifested by his questions following. + +"But you saw her in her coffin? Waked for two days, as I understood +you; then laid in her grave? How could she have lived throughout all +that? Surely she was dead!" + +"So I thought at the time, but don't now." + +"My good fellow, I fear you are deceiving yourself. I'm sorry having to +think so. Why the body has been taken up again is of itself a +sufficient puzzle; but alive--that seems physically impossible!" + +"Well, Captain, it's just about the possibility of the thing I come to +ask your opinion; thinkin' ye'd be acquainted wi' the article itself." + +"What article?" + +"The new medicine; it as go by the name o' chloryform." + +"Ha! you have a suspicion--" + +"That she ha' been chloryformed, an' so kep' asleep--to be waked up when +they wanted her. I've heerd say, they can do such things." + +"But then she was drowned also? Fell from a foot plank, you told me? +And was in the water some time?" + +"I don't believe it, a bit. It be true enough she got somehow into the +water, an' wor took out insensible, or rather drifted out o' herself, on +the bank just below, at the mouth o' the brook. But that wor short +after, an' she might still a' ben alive not with standin'. My notion +be, that the priest had first put the chloryform into her, or did it +then, an' knew all along she warn't dead, nohow." + +"My dear Jack, the thing cannot be possible. Even if it were, you seem +to forget that her mother, father--all of them--must have been cognisant +of these facts--if facts?" + +"I don't forget it, Captain. 'Stead I believe they all wor cognisant o' +them--leastways, the mother." + +"But why should she assist in such a dangerous deception--at risk of her +daughter's life?" + +"That's easy answered. She did it partly o' herself; but more at the +biddin' o' the priest, whom she daren't disobey--the weak-minded +creature most o' her time given up to sayin' prayers and paternosters. +They all knowed the girl loved me, and wor sure to be my wife, whatever +they might say or do against it. Wi' her willing I could a' defied the +whole lot o' them. Bein' aware o' that their only chance wor to get her +out o' my way by some trick--as they ha' indeed got her. Ye may think +it strange their takin' all that trouble; but if ye'd seen her ye +wouldn't. There worn't on all Wyeside so good lookin' a girl!" + +Ryecroft again looks incredulous; not smilingly, but with a sad cast of +countenance. + +Despite its improbability, however, he begins to think there may be some +truth in what the waterman says--Jack's earnest convictions +sympathetically impressing him. + +"And supposing her to be alive," he asks, "where do you think she is +now? Have you any idea?" + +"I have--leastways a notion." + +"Where?" + +"Over the water--in France--the town o' Bolone." + +"Boulogne!" exclaims the Captain, with a start. "What makes you suppose +she is there?" + +"Something, sir, I han't yet spoke to ye about. I'd a'most forgot the +thing, an' might never a thought o't again, but for what ha' happened +since. Ye'll remember the night we come up from the ball, my tellin' ye +I had an engagement the next day to take the young Powells down the +river?" + +"I remember it perfectly." + +"Well; I took them, as agreed; an' that day we went down's fur's +Chepstow. But they wor bound for the Severn side a duck shootin'; and +next mornin' we started early, afore daybreak. As we were passin' the +wharf below Chepstow Bridge, where there wor several craft lyin' in, I +noticed one sloop-rigged ridin' at anchor a bit out from the rest, as if +about clearin' to put to sea. By the light o' a lamp as hung over the +taffrail, I read the name on her starn, showin' she wor French, an' +belonged to Bolone. I shouldn't ha' thought that anythin' odd, as there +be many foreign craft o' the smaller kind puts in at Chepstow. But what +did appear odd, an' gied me a start too, wor my seein' a boat by the +sloop's side wi' a man in it, who I could a'most sweared wor the Rogue's +Ferry priest. There wor others in the boat besides, an' they appeared +to be gettin' some sort o' bundle out o' it, an' takin' it up the +man-ropes, aboard o' the sloop. But I didn't see any more, as we soon +passed out o' sight, goin' on down. Now, Captain, it's my firm belief +that man must ha' been the priest, and that thing, I supposed to be a +bundle o' marchandise, neyther more nor less than the body o' Mary +Morgan--not dead, but livin'!" + +"You astound me, Wingate! Certainly a most singular circumstance! +Coincidence too! Boulogne--Boulogne!" + +"Yes, Captain; by the letterin' on her starn the sloop must ha' belonged +there; an' _I'm goin' there myself_." + +"I too, Jack! We shall go together!" + +Volume Three, Chapter XVI. + +A STRANGE FATHER CONFESSOR. + +"He's gone away--given it up! Be glad, madame!" + +Father Rogier so speaks on entering the drawing-room of Llangorren +Court, where Mrs Murdock is seated. + +"What, Gregoire?"--were her husband present it would be "Pere;" but she +is alone--"Who's gone away? And why am I to rejoice?" + +"_Le Capitaine_." + +"Ha!" she ejaculates, with a pleased look, showing that the two words +have answered all her questions in one. + +"Are you sure of it? The news seems too good for truth." + +"It's true, nevertheless; so far as his having gone away. Whether to +stay away is another matter. We must hope he will." + +"I hope it with all my heart." + +"And well you may, madame; as I myself. We had more to fear from that +_chien de chasse_ than all the rest of the pack--ay, have still, unless +he's found the scent too cold, and in despair abandoned the pursuit; +which I fancy he has, thrown off by that little rock-slide. A lucky +chance my having caught him at his reconnaissance; and rather a clever +bit of strategy so to baffle him! Wasn't it, _cherie_?" + +"Superb! The whole thing from beginning to end! You've proved yourself +a wonderful man, Gregoire Rogier." + +"And I hope worthy of Olympe Renault?" + +"You have." + +"_Merci_! So far that's satisfactory; and your slave feels he has not +been toiling in vain. But there's a good deal more to be done before we +can take our ship safe into port. And it must be done quickly, too. I +pine to cast off this priestly garb--in which I've been so long +miserably masquerading--and enter into the real enjoyments of life. But +there's another, and more potent reason, for using despatch; breakers +around us, on which we may be wrecked, ruined any day--any hour. Le +Capitaine Ryecroft was not, or is not, the only one." + +"Richard--_le braconnier_--you're thinking of?" + +"No, no, no! Of him we needn't have the slightest fear. I hold his +lips sealed, by a rope around his neck; whose noose I can draw tight at +the shortest notice. I am far more apprehensive of Monsieur, _votre +mari_!" + +"In what way?" + +"More than one; but for one, his tongue. There's no knowing what a +drunken man may do or say in his cups; and Monsieur Murdock is hardly +ever out of them. Suppose he gets to babbling, and lets drop something +about--well, I needn't say what. There's still suspicion abroad--plenty +of it,--and like a spark applied to tinder, a word would set it ablaze." + +"_C'est vrai_!" + +"Fortunately, Mademoiselle had no very near relatives of the male sex, +nor any one much interested in her fate, save the _fiance_ and the other +lover--the rustic and rejected one--Shenstone _fils_. Of him we need +take no account. Even if suspicious, he hasn't the craft to unravel a +clue so cunningly rolled as ours; and for the _ancien hussard_, let us +hope he has yielded to despair, and gone back whence he came. Luck too, +in his having no intimacies here, or I believe anywhere in the shire of +Hereford. Had it been otherwise, we might not so easily have got +disembarrassed of him." + +"And you do think he has gone for good?" + +"I do; at least it would seem so. On his second return to the hotel--in +haste as it was--he had little luggage; and that he has all taken away +with him. So I learnt from one of the hotel people, who professes our +faith. Further, at the railway station, that he took ticket for London. +Of course that means nothing. He may be _en route_ for anywhere +beyond--round the globe, if he feel inclined to circumnavigation. And I +shall be delighted if he do." + +He would not be much delighted had he heard at the railway station of +what actually occurred--that in getting his ticket Captain Ryecroft had +inquired whether he could not be booked through for Boulogne. Still +less might Father Rogier have felt gratification to know, that there +were two tickets taken for London; a first-class for the Captain +himself, and a second for the waterman Wingate--travelling together, +though in separate carriages, as befitted their different rank in life. + +Having heard nothing of this, the sham priest--as he has now +acknowledged himself--is jubilant at the thought that another hostile +pawn in the game he has been so skilfully playing has disappeared from +the chess-board. In short, all have been knocked over, queen, bishops, +knights, and castles. Alone the king stands, he tottering; for Lewin +Murdock is fast drinking himself to death. It is of him the priest +speaks as king:-- + +"Has he signed the will?" + +"_Oui_." + +"When?" + +"This morning, before he went out. The lawyer who drew it up came, with +his clerk to witness--" + +"I know all that," interrupts the priest, "as I should, having sent +them. Let me have a look at the document. You have it in the house, I +hope?" + +"In my hand," she answers, diving into a drawer of the table by which +she sits, and drawing forth a folded sheet of parchment; "_Le voila_!" + +She spreads it out, not to read what is written upon it, only to look at +the signatures, and see they are right. Well knows he every word of +that will, he himself having dictated it. A testament made by Lewin +Murdock, which, at his death, leaves the Llangorren estate--as sole +owner and last in tail he having the right so to dispose of it--to his +wife Olympe--_nee_ Renault--for her life; then to his children, should +there be any surviving; failing such, to Gregoire Rogier, Priest of the +Roman Catholic Church; and in the event of his demise preceding that of +the other heirs hereinbefore mentioned, the estate, or what remains of +it, to become the property of the Convent of --, Boulogne-sur-mer, +France. + +"For that last clause, which is yours, Gregoire, the nuns of Boulogne +should be grateful to you, or at all events, the abbess, Lady Superior, +or whatever she's called." + +"So she will," he rejoins with a dry laugh, "when she gets the property +so conveyed. Unfortunately for her the reversion is rather distant, and +having to pass through so many hands there may be no great deal left of +it, on coming into hers. Nay!" he adds in exclamation, his jocular tone +suddenly changing to the serious, "if some step be not taken to put a +stop to what's going on, there won't be much of the Llangorren estate +left for any one--not even for yourself, madame. Under the fingers of +Monsieur, with the cards in them, it's being melted down as snow on the +sunny side of a hill. Even at this self-same moment it may be going off +in large slices--avalanches!" + +"_Mon Dieu_!" she exclaims, with an alarmed air, quite comprehending the +danger thus figuratively portrayed. + +"I wouldn't be surprised," he continues, "if to-day he were made a +thousand pounds the poorer. When I left the Ferry he was in the Welsh +Harp, as I was told, tossing sovereigns upon its bar counter, `Heads and +tails, who wins?' Not he, you may be sure. No doubt he's now at a +gaming-table inside, engaged with that gang of sharpers who have lately +got around him, staking large sums on every turn of the cards--Jews' +eyes, ponies, and monkeys, as these _chevaliers d'industrie_ facetiously +term their money. If we don't bring all this to a termination, that +will you have in your hand won't be worth the price of the parchment +it's written upon. _Comprenez-vous, cherie_?" + +"_Parfaitement_! But how is it to be brought to a termination. For +myself I haven't an idea. Has any occurred to you, Gregoire?" + +As the ex-courtesan asks the question, she leans across the little +table, and looks the false priest straight in the face. He knows the +bent of her inquiry, told it by the tone and manner in which it has been +put--both significant of something more than the words might otherwise +convey. Still he does not answer it directly. Even between these two +fiends in human form, despite their mutual understanding of each other's +wickedness, and the little reason either has for concealing it, there is +a sort of intuitive reticence upon the matter which is in the minds of +both. For it is murder--the murder of Lewin Murdock! + +"_Le pauvre homme_!" ejaculates the man, with a pretence at +compassionating, under the circumstances ludicrous. "The cognac is +killin' him, not by inches, but ells; and I don't believe he can last +much longer. It seems but a question of weeks; may be only days. +Thanks to the school in which I was trained, I have sufficient medical +knowledge to prognosticate that." + +A gleam as of delight passes over the face of the woman--an expression +almost demoniacal; for it is a wife hearing this about her husband! + +"You think only _days_?" she asks, with an eagerness as if apprehensive +about that husband's health. But the tone tells different, as the +hungry look in her eye while awaiting the answer. Both proclaim she +wishes it in the affirmative; as it is. + +"Only days!" he says, as if his voice were an echo. "Still days count +in a thing of this kind--aye, even hours. Who knows but that in a fit +of drunken bravado he may stake the whole estate on a single turn of +cards or cast of dice? Others have done the like before now--gentlemen +grander than he, with titles to their names--rich in one hour, beggars +in the next. I can remember more than one." + +"Ah! so can I." + +"Englishmen, too; who usually wind up such matters by putting a pistol +to their heads, and blowing out their brains. True, Monsieur hasn't any +much to blow out; but that isn't a question which affects us--myself as +well as you. I've risked everything--reputation, which I care least +about, if the affair can be brought to a proper conclusion; but should +it fail, then--I need not tell you. What we've done, if known, would +soon make us acquainted with the inside of an English gaol. Monsieur, +throwing away his money in this reckless fashion must be restrained, or +he'll bring ruin to all of us. Therefore some steps must be taken to +restrain him, and promptly." + +"_Vraiment_! I ask you again--have you thought of anything, Gregoire?" + +He does not make immediate answer, but seems to ponder over, or hang +back upon it. When at length given it is itself an interrogation, +apparently unconnected with what they have been speaking about. + +"Would it greatly surprise you, if to-night your husband didn't come +home to you?" + +"Certainly not--in the least. Why should it? It wouldn't be the first +time by scores--hundreds--for him to stay all night away from me. Aye, +and at that same Welsh Harp, too--many's the night." + +"To your great annoyance, no doubt; if it did not make you dreadfully +jealous?" + +She breaks out into a laugh, hollow and heartless, as was ever heard in +an _allee_ of the Jardin Mabille. When it is ended she adds gravely:-- + +"The time was when he might have made me so; I may as well admit that. +Not now, as you know, Gregoire. Now, instead of feeling annoyed by it, +I'd only be too glad to think I should never see his face again. _Le +brute ivrogne_!" + +To this monstrous declaration Rogier laconically rejoins:-- + +"You may not." Then placing his lips close to her ear, he adds in a +whisper, "If all prosper, as planned, _you will not_!" + +She neither starts, nor seeks to inquire further. She knows he has +conceived some scheme to disembarrass her of a husband, she no longer +care? for, to both become inconvenient. And from what has gone before, +she can rely on Rogier with its execution. + +Volume Three, Chapter XVII. + +A QUEER CATECHIST. + +A boat upon the Wye, being polled upward, between Llangorren Court and +Rugg's Ferry. There are two men in it, not Vivian Ryecroft and Jack +Wingate, but Gregoire Rogier and Richard Dempsey. + +The _ci-devant_ poacher is at the oars; for in addition to his new post +as gamekeeper, he has occasional charge of a skiff, which has replaced +the _Gwendoline_. This same morning he rowed his master up to Rugg's, +leaving him there; and now, at night, he is on return to fetch him home. + +The two places being on opposite sides of the river, and the road round +about, besides difficult for wheeled vehicles, Lewin Murdock moreover an +indifferent horseman, he prefers the water route, and often takes it, as +he has done to-day. + +It is the same on which Father Rogier held that dialogue of sinister +innuendo with Madame, and the priest, aware of the boat having to return +to the Ferry, avails himself of a seat in it. Not that he dislikes +walking, or is compelled to it. For he now keeps a cob, and does his +rounds on horseback. But on this particular day he has left his +roadster in its stable, and gone down to Llangorren afoot, knowing there +would be the skiff to take him back. + +No scheme of mere convenience dictated this arrangement to Gregoire +Rogier. Instead, one of Satanic wickedness, preconceived, and all +settled before holding that _tete-a-tete_ with her he has called +"cherie." + +Though requiring a boat for its execution and an oarsman of a peculiar +kind--adroit at something besides the handling of oars--not a word of it +has yet been imparted to the one who is rowing him. For all, the +ex-poacher, accustomed to the priest's moods, and familiar with his +ways, can see there is something unusual in his mind, and that he +himself is on the eve of being called upon for some new service or +sacrifice. No supply of poached fish or game. Things have gone higher +than that, and he anticipates some demand of a more serious nature. +Still he has not the most distant idea of what it is to be; though +certain interrogatories put to him are evidently leading up to it. The +first is-- + +"You're not afraid of water, are you, Dick?" + +"Not partickler, your Reverence. Why should I?" + +"Well, your being so little in the habit of washing your face--if I am +right in my reckoning, only once a week--may plead my excuse for asking +the question." + +"Oh, Father Rogier! That wor only in the time past, when I lived alone, +and the thing worn't worth while. Now, going more into respectable +company, I do a little washin' every day." + +"I'm glad to hear of your improved habits, and that they keep pace with +the promotion you've had. But my inquiry had no reference to your +ablutions; rather to your capabilities as a swimmer. If I mistake not, +you can swim like a fish?" + +"No, not equal to a fish. That ain't possible." + +"An otter, then?" + +"Somethin' nearer he, if ye like," answers Coracle, laughingly. + +"I supposed as much. Never mind. About the degree of your natatory +powers we needn't dispute. I take it they're sufficient for reaching +either bank of this river, supposing the skiff to get capsized and you +in it?" + +"Lor, Father Rogier! That wouldn't be nothin'! I could swim to eyther +shore, if 'twor miles off." + +"But could you as you are now--with clothes on, boots, and everything?" + +"Sartin could I, and carry weight beside." + +"That will do," rejoins the questioner, apparently satisfied. Then +lapsing into silence, and leaving Dick in a very desert of conjectures +why he has been so interrogated. + +The speechless interregnum is not for long. After a minute or two, +Rogier, as if freshly awaking from a reverie, again asks-- + +"Would it upset this skiff if I were to step on the side of it--I mean +bearing upon it with all the weight of my body?" + +"That would it, your Reverence; though ye be but a light weight; tip it +over like a tub." + +"Quite turn it upside down--as your old truckle, eh?" + +"Well; not so ready as the truckle. Still 'twould go bottom upward. +Though a biggish boat, it be one o' the crankiest kind, and would sure +capsize wi' the lightiest o' men standin' on its gunn'l rail." + +"And surer with a heavier one, as yourself, for instance?" + +"I shouldn't like to try--your Reverence bein' wi' me in the boat." + +"How would you like, somebody else being with you in it--_if made worth +your while_?" + +Coracle starts at this question, asked in a tone that makes more +intelligible the others preceding it, and which have been hitherto +puzzling him. He begins to see the drift of the _sub Jove_ confessional +to which he is being submitted. + +"How'd I like it, your Reverence? Well enough; if, as you say, made +worth my while. I don't mind a bit o' a wettin' when there's anythin' +to be gained by it. Many's the one I've had on a chilly winter's night, +as this same be, all for the sake o' a salmon, I wor 'bleeged to sell at +less'n half-price. If only showed the way to earn a honest penny by it, +I wouldn't wait for the upsettin' o' the boat, but jump overboard at +oncst." + +"That's game in you, Monsieur Dick. But to earn the honest penny you +speak of, the upsetting of the boat might be a necessary condition." + +"Be it so, your Reverence. I'm willing to fulfil that, if ye only bid +me. Maybe," he continues in tone of confidential suggestion, "there be +somebody as you think ought to get a duckin' beside myself?" + +"There is somebody, who ought," rejoins the priest, coming nearer to his +point. "Nay, must," he continues, "for if he don't the chances are we +shall all go down together, and that soon." + +Coracle sculls on without questioning. He more than half comprehends +the figurative speech, and is confident he will ere long receive +complete explanation of it. + +He is soon led a little way further by the priest observing-- + +"No doubt, _mon ancien braconnier_, you've been gratified by the change +that's of late taken place in your circumstances. But perhaps it hasn't +quite satisfied you, and you expect to have something more; as I have +the wish you should. And you would ere this, but for one who +obstinately sets his face against it." + +"May I know who that one is, Father Rogier?" + +"You may, and shall; though I should think you scarce need telling. +Without naming names, it's he who will be in this boat with you going +back to Llangorren." + +"I thought so. An' if I an't astray, he be the one your Reverence +thinks would not be any the worse o' a wettin'?" + +"Instead, all the better for it. It may cure him of his evil courses-- +drinking, card-playing, and the like. If he's not cured of them by some +means, and soon, there won't be an acre left him of the Llangorren +lands, nor a shilling in his purse. He'll have to go back to beggary, +as at Glyngog; while you, Monsieur Coracle, in place of being +head-gamekeeper, with other handsome preferments in prospect, will be +compelled to return to your shifty life of poaching, night-netting, and +all the etceteras. Would you desire that?" + +"Daanged if I would! An' won't do it if I can help. Shan't if your +Reverence'll only show me the way." + +"There's but one I can think of." + +"What may that be, Father Rogier?" + +"Simply to set your foot on the side of this skiff, and tilt it bottom +upwards." + +"It shall be done. When, and where?" + +"When you are coming back down. The where you may choose for yourself-- +such place as may appear safe and convenient. Only take care you don't +drown yourself." + +"No fear o' that. There an't water in the Wye as'll ever drown Dick +Dempsey." + +"No," jocularly returns the priest; "I don't suppose there is. If it be +your fate to perish by asphyxia--as no doubt it is--strong tough hemp, +and not weak water, will be the agent employed--that being more +appropriate to the life you have led. Ha! ha! ha!" + +Coracle laughs too, but with the grimace of wolf baying the moon. For +the moonlight shining full in his face, shows him not over satisfied +with the coarse jest. But remembering how he shifted that treacherous +plank bridging the brook at Abergann he silently submits to it. He may +not much longer. He, too, is gradually getting his hand upon a lever, +which will enable him to have a say in the affairs of Llangorren Court, +that they dwelling therein will listen to him, or, like the Philistines +of Gaza, have it dragged down about their ears. + +But the ex-poacher is not yet prepared to enact the _role_ of Samson; +and however galling the _jeu d'esprit_ of the priest, he swallows it +without showing chagrin, far less speaking it. + +In truth there is no time for further exchange of speech, at least in +the skiff. By this they have arrived at the Rugg's Ferry landing-place, +where Father Rogier, getting out, whispers a few words in Coracle's ear, +and then goes off. + +His words were-- + +"A hundred pounds, Dick, if you do it. Twice that for your doing it +adroitly!" + +Volume Three, Chapter XVIII. + +ALMOST A "VERT." + +Major Mahon is standing at one of the front windows of his house waiting +for his dinner to be served, when he sees a _fiacre_ driven up to the +door, and inside it the face of a friend. + +He does not stay for the bell to be rung, but with genuine Irish +impulsiveness rushes forth, himself opening the door. + +"Captain Ryecroft!" he exclaims, grasping the new arrival by the hand, +and hauling him out of the hackney. "Glad to see you back in Boulogne." +Then adding, as he observes a young man leap down from the box where he +has had seat beside the driver, "Part of your belongings, isn't he?" + +"Yes, Major; my old Wye waterman, Jack Wingate, of whom I spoke to you. +And if it be convenient to you to quarter both of us for a day or two--" + +"Don't talk about convenience, and bar all mention of time. The longer +you stay with me you'll be conferring the greater favour. Your old room +is gaping to receive you; and Murtagh will rig up a berth for your +boatman. Murt!" to the ex-Royal Irish, who, hearing the _fracas_, has +also come forth, "take charge of Captain Ryecroft's traps, along with +Mr Wingate here, and see all safety bestowed. Now, old fellow, step +inside. They'll look after the things. You're just in time to do +dinner with me. I was about sitting down to it _solus_, awfully +lamenting my loneliness. Well; one never knows what luck's in the wind. +Rather hard lines for you, however. If I mistake not, my pot's of the +poorest this blessed day. But I know you're neither _gourmand_ nor +_gourmet_; and that's some consolation. In!" + +In go they, leaving the old soldier to settle the _fiacre_ fare, look +after the luggage, and extend the hospitalities of the kitchen to Jack +Wingate. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Soon as Captain Ryecroft has performed some slight ablutions--necessary +after a sea voyage however short--his host hurries him down to the +dining-room. + +When seated at the table, the Major asks-- + +"What on earth has delayed you, Vivian? You promised to be back in a +week at most. Its months now! Despairing of your return, I had some +thought of advertising the luggage you left with me, `if not claimed +within a certain time, to be sold for the payment of expenses.' Ha! +ha!" + +Ryecroft echoes the laugh; but so faintly, his friend can see the cloud +has not yet lifted; instead, lies heavy and dark as ever. + +In hopes of doing something to dissipate it, the Major rolls on in his +rich Hibernian brogue-- + +"You've just come in time to save your chattels from the hammer. And +now I have you here I mean to keep you. So, old boy, make up your mind +to an unlimited sojourn in Boulogne-sur-mer. You will, won't you?" + +"It's very kind of you, Mahon; but that must depend on--" + +"On what?" + +"How I prosper in my errand." + +"Oh! this time you _have_ an errand? Some business?" + +"I have." + +"Well, as you had none before, it gives reason to hope that other +matters may be also reversed, and instead of shooting off like a comet, +you'll play the part of a fixed star; neither to shoot nor be shot at, +as looked likely on the last occasion. But speaking seriously, +Ryecroft, as you say you're on business, may I know its nature?" + +"Not only may, but it's meant you should. Nay, more, Mahon; I want your +help in it." + +"That you can count upon, whatever it be--from pitch-and-toss up to +manslaughter. Only say how I can serve you." + +"Well, Major, in the first place I would seek your assistance in some +inquiries I am about to make." + +"Inquiries! Have they regard to that young lady you said was lost-- +missing from her home! Surely she has been found?" + +"She has--found drowned!" + +"Found drowned! God bless me!" + +"Yes, Mahon. The home from which she was missing knows her no more. +Gwendoline Wynn is now in her long home--in Heaven!" + +The solemn tone of voice, with the woe-begone expression on the +speaker's face, drives all thoughts of hilarity out of the listener's +mind. It is a moment too sacred for mirth; and between the two friends, +old comrades in arms, for an interval even speech is suspended; only a +word of courtesy as the host presses his guest to partake of the viands +before them. + +The Major does not question further, leaving the other to take up the +broken thread of the conversation. + +Which he at length does, holding it in hand, till he has told all that +happened since they last sat at that table together. + +He gives only the facts, reserving his own deductions from them. But +Mahon, drawing them for himself, says searchingly-- + +"Then you have a suspicion there's been what's commonly called foul +play?" + +"More than a suspicion. I'm sure of it." + +"The devil! But who do you suspect?" + +"Who should I, but he now in possession of the property--her cousin, Mr +Lewin Murdock. Though I've reason to believe there are others mixed up +in it; one of them a Frenchman. Indeed, it's chiefly to make inquiry +about him I've come over to Boulogne." + +"A Frenchman. You know his name?" + +"I do; at least that he goes by on the other side of the Channel. You +remember that night as we were passing the back entrance of the convent +where your sister's at school, our seeing a carriage there--a hackney, +or whatever it was?" + +"Certainly I do." + +"And my saying that the man who had just got out of it, and gone inside, +resembled a priest I'd seen but a day or two before?" + +"Of course I remember all that; and my joking you at the time as to the +idleness of you fancying a likeness among sheep; where all are so nearly +of the same hue--that black. Something of the sort I said. But what's +your argument?" + +"No argument at all, but a conviction, that the man we saw that night +was my Herefordshire priest. I've seen him several times since--had a +good square look at him--and feel sure 'twas he." + +"You haven't yet told me his name?" + +"Rogier--Father Rogier. So he is called upon the Wye." + +"And, supposing him identified, what follows?" + +"A great deal follows, or rather depends on his identification." + +"Explain, Ryecroft. I shall listen with patience." + +Ryecroft does explain, continuing his narrative into a second chapter, +which includes the doings of the Jesuit on Wyeside, so far as known to +him; the story of Jack Wingate's love and loss--the last so strangely +resembling his own--the steps afterwards taken by the waterman; in +short, everything he can think of that will throw light upon the +subject. + +"A strange tale, truly!" observes the Major, after hearing it to the +end. "But does your boatman really believe the priest has resuscitated +his dead sweetheart and brought her over here with the intention of of +shutting her up in a nunnery?" + +"He does all that; and certainly not without show of reason. Dead or +alive, the priest or some one else has taken the girl out of her coffin, +and her grave." + +"'Twould be a wonderful story, if true--I mean the resuscitation, or +resurrection; not the mere disinterment of a body. That's possible, and +probable where priests of the Jesuitical school are concerned. And so +should the other be, when one considers that they can make statues wink, +and pictures shed tears. Oh! yes; Ultramontane magicians can do +anything!" + +"But why," asks Ryecroft, "should they have taken all this trouble about +a poor girl--the daughter of a small Herefordshire farmer,--with +possibly at the most a hundred pounds, or so, for her dowry? That's +what mystifies me!" + +"It needn't," laconically observes the Major. "These Jesuit gentry have +often other motives than money for caging such birds in their convents. +Was the girl good looking?" he asks after musing a moment. + +"Well, of myself I never saw her. By Jack's description she must have +been a superb creature--on a par with the angels. True, a lover's +judgment is not much to be relied on, but I've heard from others, that +Miss Morgan was really a rustic belle--something beyond the common." + +"Faith! and that may account for the whole thing. I know they like +their nuns to be nice looking; prefer that stripe; I suppose, for +purposes of proselytising, if nothing more. They'd give a good deal to +receive the services of my own sister in that way; have been already +bidding for her. By Heavens! I'd rather see her laid in her grave!" + +The Major's strong declaration is followed by a spell of silence; after +which, cooling down a little, he continues-- + +"You've come, then, to inquire into this convent matter, about--what's +the girl's name?--ah! Morgan." + +"More than the convent matter; though it's in the same connection. I've +come to learn what can be learnt about this priest; get his character, +with his antecedents. And, if possible, obtain some information +respecting the past lives of Mr Lewin Murdock and his French wife; for +which I may probably go on to Paris, if not further. To sum up +everything, I've determined to sift this mystery to the bottom--unravel +it to its last thread. I've already commenced unwinding the clue, and +made some little progress. But I want one to assist me. Like a lone +hunter on a lost trail, I need counsel from a companion--and help too. +You'll stand by me, Mahon?" + +"To the death, my dear boy! I was going to say the last shilling in my +purse. As you don't need that, I say, instead, to the last breath in my +body!" + +"You shall be thanked with the last in mine." + +"I'm sure of that. And now for a drop of the `crayther,' to warm us to +our work. Ho! there, Murt! bring in the `matayreals.'" + +Which Murtagh does, the dinner-dishes having been already removed. + +Soon as punches have been mixed, the Major returns to the subject, +saying-- + +"Now then; to enter upon particulars. What step do you wish me to take, +first?" + +"First, to find out who Father Rogier is, and what. That is, on this +side; I know what he is on the other. If we can but learn his relations +with the convent it might give us a key, capable of opening more than +one lock." + +"There won't be much difficulty in doing that, I take it. All the less, +from my little sister Kate being a great pet of the Lady Superior, who +has hopes of making a nun of her! Not if I know it! Soon as her +schooling's completed she walks out of that seminary, and goes to a +place where the moral atmosphere is a trifle purer. You see, old +fellow, I'm not very bigoted about our Holy Faith, and in some danger of +becoming a `vert.' As for my sister, were it not for a bit of a legacy +left on condition of her being educated in a convent, she'd never have +seen the inside of one, with my consent; and never will again when out +of this one. But money's money; and though the legacy isn't a large +one, for her sake I couldn't afford to forfeit it. You comprehend?" + +"Quite. And you think she will be able to obtain the information, +without in any way compromising herself?" + +"Pretty sure of it. Kate's no simpleton, though she be but a child in +years. She'll manage it for me, with the instructions I mean giving +her. After all, it may not be so much trouble. In these nunneries, +things which are secrets to the world without, are known to every +mother's child of them--nuns and novices alike. Gossip's the chief +occupation of their lives. If there's been an occurrence such as you +speak of--a new bird caged there--above all an English one--it's sure to +have got wind--that is inside the walls. And I can trust Kate to catch +the breath, and blow it outside. So, Vivian, old boy, drink your toddy, +and take things coolly. I think I can promise you that, before many +days, or it may be only hours, you shall know whether such a priest as +you speak of, be in the habit of coming to that convent; and if so, what +for, when he was there last, and everything about the reverend gentleman +worth knowing." + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Kate Mahon proves equal to the occasion; showing herself quick witted, +as her brother boasted her to be. + +On the third day after, she is able to report to him; that some time +previously, how long not exactly known, a young English girl came to the +convent, brought thither by a priest named Rogier. The girl is a +candidate for the Holy Sisterhood--voluntary of course--to take the +veil, soon as her probation be completed. Miss Mahon has not seen the +new novice; only heard of her as being a great beauty; for personal +charms make noise even in a nunnery. Nor have any of the other +_pensionnaires_ been permitted to see or speak with her. All they as +yet know is, that she is a blonde, with yellow hair--a grand wealth of +it--and goes by the name of "Soeur Marie." + +"Sister Mary!" exclaims Jack Wingate, as Ryecroft at second-hand +communicates the intelligence--at the same time translating the "Soeur +Marie." + +"It's Mary Morgan--my Mary! An' by the Heavens of Mercy," he adds, his +arms angrily thrashing the air, "she shall come out o' that convent, or +I'll lay my life down at its door." + +Volume Three, Chapter XIX. + +THE LAST OF LEWIN MURDOCK. + +Once more a boat upon the Wye, passing between Rugg's Ferry and +Llangorren Court, but this time descending. It is the same boat, and as +before with two men in it; though they are not both the same who went +up. One of them is--Coracle Dick, still at the oars; while Father +Rogier's place in the stern is now occupied by another; not sitting +upright as was the priest, but lying along the bottom timbers with head +coggled over, and somewhat uncomfortably supported by the thwart. + +This man is Lewin Murdock, in a state of helpless inebriety--in common +parlance, drunk. He has been brought to the boat landing by the +landlord of the "Welsh Harp," where he has been all day carousing; and +delivered to Dempsey, who now at a late hour of the night is conveying +him homeward. His hat is down by his feet, instead of upon his head; +and the moonbeams, falling unobstructed on his face, show it of a sickly +whitish hue; while his eyes, sunk deep in their sockets, have each a +demi-lune of dark purplish colour underneath. But for an occasional +twitching of the facial muscles, with a spasmodic movement of the lips, +and at intervals, a raucous noise through his nostrils, he might pass +for dead, as readily as dead drunk. + +Verily, is the priest's prognosis based upon reliable data; for by the +symptoms now displayed Lewin Murdock is doing his best to destroy +himself--drinking suicidally! + +For all, he is not destined thus to die. His end will come even sooner, +and it may be easier. + +It is not distant now, but ominously near, as may be told by looking +into the eyes of the man who sits opposite, and recalling the +conversation late exchanged between him and Father Rogier. For in those +dark orbs a fierce light scintillates, such as is seen in the eyes of +the assassin contemplating assassination, or the jungle tiger when +within springing distance of its prey. + +Nothing of all this sees the sot, but lies unconscious, every now and +then giving out a snore, regardless of danger, as though everything +around were innocent as the pale moonbeams shimmering down upon his +cadaverous cheeks. + +Possibly he is dreaming, and if so, in all likelihood it is of a grand +gas-lighted _salon_, with tables of _tapis vert_, carrying packs of +playing cards, dice cubes, and ivory counters. Or the _mise en scene_ +of his visionary vagaries may be a drinking saloon, where he carouses +with boon companions, their gambling limited to a simple tossing of odd +and even, "heads or tails." + +But if dreaming at all, it is not of what is near him. Else, far gone +as he is, he would be aroused--instinctively--to make a last struggle +for life. For the thing so near is death! + +The fiend who sits regarding him in this helpless condition--as it were +holding Lewin Murdock's life, or the little left of it, in his hand--has +unquestionably determined upon taking it. Why he does not do so at once +is not because he is restrained by any motive of mercy, or reluctance to +the spilling of blood. The heart of the _ci-devant_ poacher, +counterfeiter, and cracksman, has been long ago steeled against such +silly and sensitive scruples. The postponement of his hellish purpose +is due to a mere question of convenience. He dislikes the idea of +having to trudge over miles of meadow in dripping garments! + +True, he could drown the drunken man, and keep himself dry--every +stitch. But that would not do. For there will be another coroner's +inquest, at which he will have to be present. He has escaped the two +preceding; but at this he will be surely called upon, and as principal +witness. Therefore he must be able to say he was wet, and prove it as +well. Into the river, then, will he go, along with his victim; though +there is no need for his taking the plunge till he has got nearer to +Llangorren. + +So ingeniously contriving, he sits with arms mechanically working the +oars; his eyes upon the doomed man, as those of a cat having a crippled +mouse within easy reach of her claws, at any moment to be drawn in and +destroyed! + +Silently, but rapidly, he rows on, needing no steerer. Between Rugg's +Ferry and Llangorren Court he is as familiar with the river's channel as +a coachman with the carriage-drive to and from his master's mansion; +knows its every curve and crook, every purl and pool, having explored +them while paddling his little "truckle." And now, sculling the larger +craft, it is all the same. And he pulls on, without once looking over +his shoulder; his eyes alone given to what is directly in front of him; +Lewin Murdock lying motionless at his feet. + +As if himself moved by a sudden impulse--impatience, or the thought it +might be as well to have the dangerous work over--he ceases pulling, and +acts as though he were about to unship the oars. + +But again he seems suddenly to change his intention; on observing a +white fleck by the river's edge, which he knows to be the lime-washed +walls of the widow Wingate's cottage, at the same time remembering that +the main road passes by it. + +What if there be some one on the road, or the river's bank, and be seen +in the act of capsizing his own boat? True, it is after midnight, and +not likely any one abroad--even the latest wayfarer. But there might +be; and in such clear moonlight his every movement could be made out. + +That place will not do for the deed of darkness he is contemplating; and +he trembles to think how near he has been to committing himself! + +Thus warned to the taking of precautions hitherto not thought of, he +proceeds onward; summoning up before his mind the different turns and +reaches of the river, all the while mentally anathematising the moon. +For, besides convenience of place, time begins to press, even trouble +him, as he recalls the proverb of the cup and the lip. + +He is growing nervously impatient--almost apprehensive of failure, +through fear of being seen--when rounding a bend he has before him the +very thing he is in search of--the place itself. It is a short straight +reach, where the channel is narrow, with high banks on both sides, and +trees overhanging, whose shadows meeting across shut off the hated +light, shrouding the whole water surface in deep obscurity. It is but a +little way above the lone farm-house of Abergann, and the mouth of the +brook which there runs in. But Coracle Dick is not thinking of either; +only of the place being appropriate for his diabolical design. + +And, becoming satisfied it is so, he delays no longer, but sets about +its execution--carrying it out with an adroitness which should fairly +entitle him to the double reward promised by the priest. Having +unshipped the oars, he starts to his feet; and mounting upon the thwart, +there for a second or two stands poised and balancing. Then, stepping +to the side, he sets foot on the gunwale rail with his whole body's +weight borne upon it. + +In an instant over goes the boat, careening bottom upwards, and spilling +Lewin Murdock, as himself, into the mad surging river! + +The drunken man goes down like a lump of lead; possibly without pain, or +the consciousness of being drowned; only supposing it the continuation +of his dream! + +Satisfied he has gone down, the assassin cares not how. He has enough +to think of in saving himself, enough to do swimming in his clothes, +even to the boots. + +He reaches the bank, nevertheless, and climbs up it, exhausted; +shivering like a water spaniel, for snow has fallen on Plinlimmon, and +its thaw has to do with the freshet in the stream. + +But the chill of the Wye's water is nought compared with that sent +through his flesh, to the very marrow of his bones, on discovering he +has crawled out upon the spot--the self-same spot--where the waves gave +back another body he had consigned to them--that of Mary Morgan! + +For a moment he stands horror-struck, with hair on end. The blood +curdling in his veins. Then, nerving himself to the effort, he hitches +up his dripping trousers, and hurries away from the accursed place--by +himself accursed--taking the direction of Llangorren, but giving a wide +berth to Abergann. + +He has no fear of approaching the former in wet garments; instead knows +that in this guise he will be all the more warmly welcomed--as he is! + +Mrs Murdock sits up late for Lewin--though with little expectation of +his coming home. Looking out of the window, in the moonlight she sees a +man, who comes striding across the carriage sweep, and up into the +portico. + +Rushing to the door to receive him, she exclaims in counterfeit +surprise-- + +"You, Monsieur Richard! Not my husband!" + +When Coracle Dick has told his sad tale, shaped to suit the +circumstances, her half-hysterical ejaculation might be supposed a cry +of distress. Instead, it is one of ecstatic delight, she is unable to +restrain, at knowing herself now sole owner of the house over her head, +and the land for miles around it! + +Volume Three, Chapter XX. + +A CHAPTER DIPLOMATIC. + +Another day has dawned, another sun set upon Boulogne; and Major Mahon +is again in his dining-room, with Captain Ryecroft, his sole guest. + +The cloth has been removed, the Major's favourite after-dinner beverage +brought upon the table, and, with punches "brewed" and cigars set +alight, they have commenced conversation upon the incidents of the day-- +those especially relating to Ryecroft's business in Boulogne. + +The Major has had another interview with his sister--a short one, +snatched while she was out with her school companions for afternoon +promenade. It has added some further particulars to those they had +already learnt, both about the English girl confined within the nunnery +and the priest who conveyed her thither. That the latter was Father +Rogier is placed beyond a doubt by a minute description of his person +given to Miss Mahon, well known to the individual who gave it. To the +nuns within that convent the man's name is familiar--even to his +baptismal appellation, Gregoire; for although the Major has pronounced +all the sacerdotal fraternity alike, in being black, this particular +member of it is of a shade deeper than common--a circumstance of itself +going a good way towards his identification. Even within that sacred +precinct where he is admitted, a taint attaches to him; though what its +nature the young lady has not yet been able to ascertain. + +The information thus obtained tallies with the estimate of the priest's +character, already formed; in correspondence, too, with the theory that +he is capable of the crime Captain Ryecroft believes him to have +abetted, if not actually committed. Nor is it contradicted by the fact +of his being a frequent visitor to the nunnery, and a favourite with the +administration thereof; indeed an intimate friend of the Abbess herself. +Something more, in a way accounting for all: that the new novice is not +the first _agneau d'Angleterre_ he has brought over to Boulogne, and +guided into that same fold, more than one of them having ample means, +not only to provision themselves, but a surplus for the support of the +general sisterhood. + +There is no word about any of these English lambs having been other than +voluntary additions to the French flock; but a whisper circulates within +the convent walls, that Father Rogier's latest contribution is a +recusant, and if she ever become a nun it will be a _forced_ one; that +the thing is _contre coeur_--in short, she protests against it. + +Jack Wingate can well believe that; still under full conviction that +"Soeur Marie" is Mary Morgan; and, despite all its grotesque strangeness +and wild improbability, Captain Ryecroft has pretty nearly come to the +same conclusion; while the Major, with less knowledge of antecedent +circumstances, but more of nunneries, never much doubted it. + +"About the best way to get the girl out. What's your idea, Mahon?" + +Ryecroft asks the question in no careless or indifferent way; on the +contrary, with a feeling earnestness. For, although the daughter of the +Wyeside farmer is nought to him, the Wye waterman is; and he has +determined on seeing the latter through--to the end of the mysterious +affair. In difficulties Jack Wingate has stood by him, and he will +stand by Jack, _coute-qui-coute_. Besides, figuratively speaking, they +are still in the same boat. For if Wingate's dead sweetheart, so +strangely returned to life, can be also restored to liberty, the chances +are she may be the very one wanted to throw light on the other and alas! +surer death. Therefore, Captain Ryecroft is not all unselfish in +backing up his boatman; nor, as he puts the question, being anxious +about the answer. + +"We'll have to use strategy," returns the Major; not immediately, but +after taking a grand gulp out of his tumbler, and a vigorous draw at his +_regalia_. + +"But why should we?" impatiently demands the Captain. "If the girl have +been forced in there, and's kept against her will--which by all the +probabilities she is--surely she can be got out, on demand being made by +her friends?" + +"That's just what isn't sure--though the demand were made by her own +mother, with the father to back it. You forget, old fellow, that you're +in France, not England." + +"But there's a British Consul in Boulogne." + +"Aye, and a British Foreign Minister, who gives that Consul his +instructions; with some queer ideas besides, neither creditable to +himself nor his country. I'm speaking of that jaunty diplomat--the +`judicious bottle-holder,' who is accustomed to cajole the British +public with his blarney about `Civis Romanus sum.'" + +"True, but does that bear upon our affair?" + +"It does--almost directly." + +"In what way? I do not comprehend." + +"Because you're not up to what's passing over here--I mean at +headquarters--the Tuilleries, or St. Cloud, if you prefer it. There the +man--if man he can be called--is ruled by the woman; she in her turn the +devoted partisan of Pio Nono and the unprincipled Antonelli." + +"I can understand all that; still I don't quite see its application, or +how the English Foreign Minister can be interested in those you allude +to?" + +"I do. But for him, not one of the four worthies spoken of would be +figuring as they are. In all probability France would still be a +republic instead of an empire, wicked as the world ever saw; and Rome +another republic--it maybe all Italy--with either Mazzini or Garibaldi +at its head. For, certain as you sit there, old boy, it was the +judicious bottle-holder who hoisted Nap into an imperial throne, over +that Presidential chair, so ungratefully spurned--scurvily kicked behind +after it had served his purpose. A fact of which the English people +appear to be yet in purblind ignorance! As they are of another, equally +notable, and alike misunderstood: that it was this same _civis Romanus +sum_ who restored old Pio to his apostolic chair; those red-breeched +ruffians, the Zouaves, being but so much dust thrown into people's +eyes--a bone to keep the British bull-dog quiet. He would have growled +then, and will yet, when he comes to understand all these transactions; +when the cloak of that scoundrelly diplomacy which screens them has +rotted into shreds, letting the light of true history shine upon them." + +"Why, Mahon! I never knew you were such a politician! Much less such a +Radical!" + +"Nothing much of either, old fellow. Only a man who hates tyranny in +every shape and form--whether religious or political. Above all, that +which owes its existence to the cheapest--the very shabbiest chicanery +the world was ever bamboozled with. I like open dealing in all things." + +"But you are not recommending it, now--in this little convent matter?" + +"All! that's quite a different affair! There are certain ends that +justify certain means--when the Devil must be fought with his own +weapons. Ours is of that kind, and we must either use strategy, or give +the thing up altogether. By open measures there wouldn't be the +slightest chance of our getting this girl out of the convent's clutches. +Even then we may fail; but, if successful, it will only be by great +craft, some luck, and possibly a good deal of time spent before we +accomplish our purpose." + +"Poor fellow!" rejoins Ryecroft, speaking of the Wye waterman, "he won't +like the idea of long waiting. He's madly, terribly impatient. This +afternoon as we were passing the Convent I had a difficulty to restrain +him from rushing up to its door, ringing the bell, and demanding an +interview with the `Soeur Marie'--having his Mary, as he calls her, +restored to him on the instant." + +"It's well you succeeded in hindering that little bit of rashness. Had +he done so, 'twould have ended not only in the door being slammed in his +face, but another door shut behind his back--that of a gaol; from which +he would never have issued till embarking on a voyage to New Caledonia +or Cayenne. Aye, both of you might have been so served. For would you +believe it Ryecroft, that you, an officer of the boasted H.B.R.A.; rich, +and with powerful friends--even you could be not only here imprisoned, +but _deporte_, without any one who has interest in you being the wiser; +or, if so, having no power to prevent it. France, under the regime of +Napoleon le Petit, is not so very different from what it was under the +rule of Louis le Grand, and _lettres de cachet_ are now rife as then. +Nay, more of them now written, consigning men to a hundred Bastilles +instead of one. Never was a people so enslaved as these Johnny Crapauds +are at this present time; not only their speech fettered, but their very +thoughts held in bondage, or so constrained, they may not impart them to +one another. Even intimate friends forbear exchanging confidences, lest +one prove false to the other! Nothing free but insincerity and sin; +both fostered and encouraged from that knowledge intuitive among +tyrants; that wickedness weakens a people, making them easier to rule +and ride over. So, my boy, you perceive the necessity of our acting +with caution in this business, whatever trouble or time it may take-- +don't you?" + +"I do." + +"After all," pursues the Major, "it seems to me that time isn't of so +much consequence. As regards the girl, they're not going to eat her up. +And for the other matters concerning yourself, they'll keep, too. As +you say, the scent's become cold; and a few days more or less can't make +any difference. Beside, the trails we intend following may in the end +all run into one. I shouldn't be at all surprised if this captive +damsel has come to the knowledge of something connected with the other +affair. Faith, that may be the very reason for their having her +conveyed over here, to be cooped up for the rest of her life. In any +case, the fact of her abduction, in such an odd outrageous way, would of +itself be damning collateral evidence against whoever has done it, +showing him or them good for anything. So, the first work on our hands, +as the surest, is to get the waterman's sweetheart out of the convent, +and safe back to her home in Herefordshire. + +"That's our course, clearly. But have you any thoughts as to how we +should proceed?" + +"I have; more than thoughts--hopes of success--and sanguine ones." + +"Good! I'm glad to hear it. Upon what do you base them?" + +"On that very near relative of mine--Sister Kate. As I've told you, +she's a pet of the Lady Superior; admitted into the very _arcana_ of the +establishment. And with such privilege, if she can't find a way to +communicate with any one therein closeted, she must have lost the mother +wit born to her, and brought thither from the `brightest gem of the +say.' I don't think she has, or that it's been a bit blunted in +Boulogne. Instead, somewhat sharpened by communion with these Holy +Sisters; and I've no fear but that 'twill be sharp enough to serve us in +the little scheme I've in part sketched out." + +"Let me hear it, Mahon?" + +"Kate must obtain an interview with the English girl; or, enough if she +can slip a note into her hand. That would go some way towards getting +her out--by giving her intimation that friends are near." + +"I see what you mean," rejoins the Captain, pulling away at his cigar, +the other left to finish giving details of the plan he has been mentally +projecting. + +"We'll have to do a little bit of burglary, combined with abduction. +Serve them out in their own coin; as it were hoisting the priest on his +own petard!" + +"It will be difficult, I fear." + +"Of course it will; and dangerous. Likely more the last than the first. +But it'll have to be done; else we may drop the thing entirely." + +"Never, Mahon! No matter what the danger, I for one am willing to risk +it. And we can reckon on Jack Wingate. He'll be only too ready to rush +into it." + +"Ah! there might be more danger through his rashness. But it must be +held in check. After all, I don't apprehend so much difficulty if +things be dexterously managed. Fortunately there's a circumstance in +our favour." + +"What is it?" + +"A window." + +"Ah! Where?" + +"In the Convent of course. That which gives light--not much of it +either--to the cloister where the girl is confined. By a lucky chance +my sister has learnt the particular one, and seen the window from the +outside. It looks over the grounds where the nuns take recreation, now +and then allowed intercourse with the school girls. She says it's high +up, but not higher than the top of the garden wall; so a ladder that +will enable us to scale the one should be long enough to reach the +other. I'm more dubious about the dimensions of the window itself. +Kate describes it as only a small affair, with an upright bar in the +middle--iron, she believes. Wood or iron, we may manage to remove that; +but if the Herefordshire bacon has made your farmer's daughter too big +to screw herself through the aperture, then it'll be all up a tree with +us. However, we must find out before making the attempt to extract her. +From what sister has told me, I fancy we can see the window from the +Ramparts above. If so, we may make a distant measurement of it by guess +work. Now," continues the Major, coming to his programme of action, +"what's got to be done first is that your Wye boatman write a billet +doux to his old sweetheart--in the terms I shall dictate to him. Then +my sister must contrive, in some way, to put it in the girl's hands, or +see that she gets it." + +"And what after?" + +"Well, nothing much after; only that we must make preparations for the +appointment the waterman will make in his epistle." + +"It may as well be written now--may it not?" + +"Certainly; I was just thinking of that. The sooner the better. Shall +I call him in?" + +"Do as you think proper, Mahon. I trust everything to you." + +The Major, rising, rings a bell; which brings Murtagh to the dining-room +door. + +"Murt, tell your guest in the kitchen, we wish a word with him." + +The face of the Irish soldier vanishes from view, soon after replaced by +that of the Welsh waterman. + +"Step inside, Wingate!" says the Captain; which the other does, and +remains standing to hear what the word was wanted. + +"You can write, Jack--can't you?" + +It is Ryecroft who puts the inquiry. + +"Well, Captain; I ain't much o' a penman; but I can scribble a sort o' +rough hand after a fashion." + +"A fair enough hand for Mary Morgan to read it, I dare say." + +"Oh, sir, I only weesh there wor a chance o' her gettin' a letter from +me!" + +"There is a chance. I think we can promise that. If you'll take this +pen and put down what my friend Major Mahon dictates to you, it will in +all probability be in her hands ere long." + +Never was pen more eagerly laid hold of than that offered to Jack +Wingate. Then, sitting down to the table as directed, he waits to be +told what he is to write. + +The Major, bent over him, seems cogitating what it should be. Not so, +however. Instead, he is occupied with an astronomical problem which is +puzzling him. For its solution he appeals to Ryecroft, asking:-- + +"How about the moon?" + +"The moon?" + +"Yes. Which quarter is she in? For the life of me, I can't tell." + +"Nor I," rejoins the Captain. "I never think of such a thing." + +"She's in her last," puts in the boatman, accustomed to take note of +lunar changes. + +"It be an old moon now shining all the night, when the sky an't +clouded." + +"You're right, Jack!" says Ryecroft. "Now I remember; it is the old +moon." + +"In which case," adds the Major, "we must wait for the new one. We want +darkness after midnight--must have it--else we cannot act. Let me see; +when will that be?" + +"The day week," promptly responds the waterman. "Then she'll be goin' +down, most as soon as the sun's self." + +"That'll do," says the Major. "Now to the pen!" + +Squaring himself to the table, and the sheet of paper spread before him, +Wingate writes to dictation. No words of love, but what inspires him +with a hope he may once more speak such in the ears of his beloved Mary! + +Volume Three, Chapter XXI. + +A QUICK CONVERSION. + +"When is this horror to have an end? Only with my life? Am I, indeed, +to pass the remainder of my days within this dismal cell? Days so +happy, till that the happiest of all--its ill-starred night! And my +love so strong, so confident--its reward seeming so nigh--all to be for +nought--sweet dreams and bright hopes suddenly, cruelly extinguished! +Nothing but darkness now; within my heart, in this gloomy place, +everywhere around me! Oh, it is agony! When will it be over?" + +It is the English girl who thus bemoans her fate--still confined in the +convent, and the same cloister. Herself changed, however. Though but a +few weeks have passed, the roses of her cheeks have become lilies, her +lips wan, her features of sharper outline, the eyes retired in their +sockets, with a look of woe unspeakable. Her form, too, has fallen away +from the full ripe rounding that characterised it, though the wreck is +concealed by a loose drapery of ample folds. For Soeur Marie now wears +the garb of the Holy Sisterhood--hating it, as her words show. + +She is seated on the pallet's edge while giving utterance to her sombre +soliloquy; and without change of attitude continues it:-- + +"Imprisoned I am--that certain! And for no crime. It may be without +hostility on the part of those who have done it. Perhaps, better it +were so? Then there might be hope of my captivity coming to an end. As +it is, there is none--none! I comprehend all now--the reason for +bringing me here--keeping me--everything. And that reason remains-- +must, as long as I am alive! Merciful heaven!" + +The exclamatory phrase is almost a shriek; despair sweeping through her +soul, as she thinks of why she is there shut up. For hingeing upon that +is the hopelessness, almost a dead, drear certainty, she will never have +deliverance! + +Stunned by the terrible reflection, she pauses--even thought for the +time stayed. But the throe passing, she again pursues her soliloquy, +now in more conjectural strain:-- + +"Strange that no friend has come after me? No one caring for my fate-- +even to inquire! And _he_--no, that is not strange--only sadder, harder +to think of. How could I expect, or hope, he would? + +"But surely it is not so? I may be wronging them all--friends-- +relatives--even him? They may not know where I am? Cannot! How could +they? I know not myself! Only that it is France, and in a nunnery. +But what part of France, and how I came to it, likely they are ignorant +as I. + +"And they may never know! Never find out! If not, oh! what is to +become of me? Father in Heaven! Merciful Saviour! help me in my +helplessness!" + +After this frenzied outburst a calmer interval succeeds; in which human +instincts as thoughts direct her. She thinks:-- + +"If I could but find means to communicate with my friends--make known to +them where I am, and how, then--Ah! 'tis hopeless. No one allowed near +me but the attendant and that Sister Ursule. For compassion from +either, I might just as well make appeal to the stones of the floor! +The Sister seems to take delight in torturing me--every day doing or +saying some disagreeable thing. I suppose, to humble, break, bring me +to her purpose--that the taking of the veil. A nun! Never! It is not +in my nature, and I would rather die than dissemble it!" + +"Dissemble!" she repeats in a different accent. "That word helps me to +a thought. Why should I not dissemble? I _will_." + +Thus emphatically pronouncing, she springs to her feet, the expression +of her features changing suddenly as her attitude. Then paces the floor +to and fro, with hands clasped across her forehead, the white attenuated +fingers writhingly entwined in her hair. + +"They want me to take the veil--the _black_ one! So shall I; the +blackest in all the convent's wardrobe if they wish it--aye, crape if +they insist on it? Yes, I am resigned now--to that--anything. They can +prepare the robes, vestments, all the adornments of their detested +mummery; I am prepared, willing, to put them on. It's the only way--my +only hope of regaining liberty. I see--am sure of it!" + +She pauses, as if still but half resolved, then goes on-- + +"I am compelled to this deception! Is it a sin? If so, God forgive me! +But no--it cannot be! 'Tis justified by my wrongs--my sufferings!" + +Another and longer pause, during which she seems profoundly to reflect. +After it--saying: + +"I shall do so--pretend compliance. And begin this day--this very hour, +if the opportunity arise. What should be my first pretence? I must +think of it; practice, rehearse it. Let me see. Ah! I have it. The +world has forsaken, forgotten me. Why then should I cling to it! +Instead, why not in angry spite fling it off--as it has me. That's the +way!" + +A creaking at the cloister door tells of its key turning in the lock. +Slight as is the sound, it acts on her as an electric shock, suddenly +and altogether changing the cast of her countenance. The instant before +half angry, half sad, it is now a picture of pious resignation! Her +attitude different also. From striding tragically over the floor she +has taken a seat, with a book in her hand, which she seems industriously +perusing. It is that "Aid to Faith" recommended, but hitherto unread. + +She is to all appearance so absorbed in its pages as not to notice the +opening of the door, nor the footsteps of one entering. How natural her +start, as she hears a voice, and looking up beholds Soeur Ursule! + +"Ah!" ejaculates the latter, with an exultant air, as of a spider that +sees a fly upon the edge of its web, "Glad, Marie, to find you so +employed! It promises well, both for the peace of your mind and the +good of your soul. You've been foolishly lamenting the world left +behind: wickedly too. What is to compare with that to come? As +dross-dirt, to gold or diamonds! The book you hold in your hand will +tell you so. Doesn't it?" + +"It does, indeed." + +"Then profit by its instructions; and be sorry you have not sooner taken +counsel from it." + +"I am sorry, sister Ursule." + +"It would have comforted you--will now." + +"It has already. Ah! so much! I would not have believed any book could +give me the view of life it has done. I begin to understand what you've +been telling me--to see the vanities of this earthly existence, how poor +and empty they are in comparison with the bright joys of that other +life. Oh! why did I not know it before?" + +At this moment a singular tableau is exhibited within that Convent +cell--two female figures, one seated, the other standing--novice and +nun; the former fair and young, the latter ugly as old. And still in +greater contrast, the expression upon their faces. That of the girl's +downcast, demure, lids over the eyes less as if in innocence than +repentant of some sin, while the glances of the woman show pleased +surprise, struggling against incredulity! + +Her suspicion still in the ascendant, Soeur Ursule stands regarding the +disciple, so suddenly converted, with a look which seems to penetrate +her very soul. It is borne without sign of quailing, and she at length +comes to believe the penitence sincere, and that her proselytising +powers have not been exerted in vain. Nor is it strange she should so +deceive herself. It is far from being the first novice _contre coeur_ +she has broken upon the wheel of despair and made content to taking a +vow of life-long seclusion from the world. + +Convinced she has subdued the proud spirit of the English girl, and +gloating over a conquest she knows will bring substantial reward to +herself, she exclaims prayerfully, in mock pious tone: + +"Blessed be Holy Mary for this new mercy! On your knees _ma fille_, and +pray to her to complete the work she has begun!" + +And upon her knees drops the novice, while the nun as if deeming herself +_de trop_ in the presence of prayer, slips out of the cloister, silently +shutting the door. + +Volume Three, Chapter XXII. + +A SUDDEN RELAPSE. + +For some time after the exit of Soeur Ursule, the English girl retains +her seat, with the same demure look she had worn in the presence of the +nun; while before her face the book is again open, as though she had +returned to reading it. One seeing this might suppose her intensely +interested in its contents. But she is not even thinking of them! +Instead, of a sharp skinny ear, and a steel grey eye--one or other of +which she suspects to be covering the keyhole. + +Her own ear is on the alert to catch sounds outside--the shuffling of +feet, the rattle of rosary beads, or the swishing of a dress against the +door. + +She hears none; and at length satisfied that Sister Ursule's suspicions +are spent, or her patience exhausted, she draws a free breath--the first +since the _seance_ commenced. + +Then rising to her feet, she steps to a corner of the cell, not +commanded by the keyhole; and there dashes the hook down, as though it +had been burning her fingers! + +"My first scene of deception," she mutters to herself--"first act of +hypocrisy. Have I not played it to perfection?" + +She draws a chair into the angle, and sits down upon it. For she is +still not quite sure that the spying eye has been withdrawn from the +aperture, or whether it may not have returned to it. + +"Now that I've made a beginning," she murmurs on, "I must think what's +to be done in continuance; and how the false pretence is to be kept up. +What will _they_ do?--and think? They'll be suspicious for a while, no +doubt; look sharply after me, as ever! But that cannot last always; and +surely they won't doom me to dwell for ever in this dingy hole. When +I've proved my conversion real, by penance, obedience, and the like, I +may secure their confidence, and by way of reward, get transferred to a +more comfortable chamber. Ah! little care I for the comfort, if +convenient,--with a window out of which one could look. Then I might +have a hope of seeing--speaking to some one--with heart less hard than +Sister Ursule's, and that other creature--a very hag!" + +"I wonder where the place is? Whether in the country, or in a town +among houses? It may be the last--in the very heart of a great city, +for all this death-like stillness! They build these religious prisons +with walls so thick! And the voices, I from time to time hear, are all +women's. Not one of a man amongst them! They must be the Convent +people themselves! Nuns and novices! Myself one of the latter! Ha! +ha! I shouldn't have known it if Sister Ursule hadn't informed me. +Novice, indeed--soon to be a nun! No! but a free woman--or dead! Death +would be better than life like this!" + +The derisive smile that for a moment played upon her features passes +off, replaced by the same forlorn woe-begone look, as despair comes back +to her heart. For she again recalls what she has read in books--very +different from that so contemptuously tossed aside--of girls, young and +beautiful as herself--high-born ladies--surreptitiously taken from their +homes--shut up as she--never more permitted to look on the sun's light, +or bask in its beams, save within the gloomy cloisters of a convent, or +its dismally shadowed grounds. + +The prospect of such future for herself appals her, eliciting an +anguished sigh--almost a groan. + +"Ha!" she exclaims the instant after, and again with altered air, as +though something had arisen to relieve her. "There are voices now! +Still of women! Laughter! How strange it sounds! So sweet! I've not +heard such since I've been here. It's the voice of a girl? It must +be--so clear, so joyous. Yes! Surely it cannot come from any of the +sisters? They are never joyful--never laugh." + +She remains listening, soon to hear the laughter again, a second voice +joining in it, both with the cheery ring of school girls at play. The +sound comes in with the light--it could not well enter otherwise--and +aware of this, she stands facing that way, with eyes turned upward. For +the window is far above her head. + +"Would that I could see out! If I only had something on which to +stand!" + +She sweeps the cell with her eyes, to see only the pallet, the frail +chairs, a little table with slender legs, and a washstand--all too low. +Standing upon the highest, her eyes would still be under the level of +the sill. + +She is about giving it up, when an artifice suggests itself. With wits +sharpened, rather than dulled by her long confinement--she bethinks her +of a plan, by which she may at least look out of the window. She can do +that by upending the bedstead! + +Rash she would raise it on the instant. But she is not so; instead +considerate, more than ever cautious. And so proceeding, she first +places a chair against the door in such position that its back blocks +the keyhole. Then, dragging bed clothes, mattress, and all to the +floor, she takes hold of the wooden framework; and, exerting her whole +strength, hoists it on end, tilted like a ladder against the wall. And +as such it will answer her purpose, the strong webbing, crossed and +stayed, to serve for steps. + +A moment more, and she has mounted up, and stands, her chin resting on +the window's ledge. + +The window itself is a casement on hinges; one of those antique affairs, +iron framed, with the panes set in lead. Small, though big enough for a +human body to pass through, but for an upright bar centrally bisecting +it. + +She balancing upon the bedstead, and looking out, thinks not of the bar +now, nor takes note of the dimensions of the aperture. Her thoughts, as +her glances, are all given to what she sees outside. At the first _coup +d'oeil_, the roofs and chimneys of houses, with all their appurtenances +of patent smoke-curers, weathercocks, and lightning conductors; among +them domes and spires, showing it a town with several churches. + +Dropping her eyes lower they rest upon a garden, or rather a strip of +ornamental grounds, tree shaded, with walks, arbours, and seats, girt by +a grey massive wall, high almost as the houses. + +At a glance she takes in these inanimate objects; but does not dwell on +any of them. For, soon as looking below, her attention becomes occupied +with living forms, standing in groups, or in twos or threes strolling +about the grounds. They are all women, and of every age; most of them +wearing the garb of the nunnery, loose flowing robes of sombre hue. A +few, however, are dressed in the ordinary fashion of young ladies at a +boarding school; and such they are--the _pensionnaires_ of the +establishment. + +Her eyes wandering from group to group, after a time become fixed upon +two of the school girls; who linked arm in arm are walking backward and +forward, directly in front. Why she particularly notices them, is that +one of the two is acting in a singular manner; every time she passes +under the window looking up to it, as though with a knowledge of +something inside in which she feels an interest! Her glances +interrogative, are at the same time evidently snatched by stealth--as in +fear of being observed by the others. Even her promenading companion +seems unaware of them. + +She inside the cloister, soon as her first surprise is over, regards +this young lady with a fixed stare, forgetting all the others. + +"What can it mean?" she asks herself. "So unlike the rest! Surely not +French! Can she be English? She is very--very beautiful!" + +The last, at least, is true, for the girl is, indeed, a beautiful +creature, with features quite different from those around--all of them +being of the French facial type, while hers are pronouncedly Irish. + +By this the two are once more opposite the window, and the girl again +looking up, sees behind the glass--dim with dust and spiders' webs--a +pale face, with a pair of bright eyes gazing steadfastly at her. + +She starts; but quickly recovering, keeps on as before. Then as she +faces round at the end of the walk, still within view of the window, she +raises her hand, with a finger laid upon her lips, seeming to say, plain +as words could speak it-- + +"Keep quiet! I know all about you, and why you are there." + +The gesture is not lost upon the captive. But before she can reflect +upon its significance the great convent bell breaks forth in noisy +clangour, causing a flutter among the figures outside, with a scattering +helter skelter. For it is the first summons to vespers, soon followed +by the tinier tinkle of the _angelus_. + +In a few seconds the grounds are deserted by all save one--the +schoolgirl with the Irish features and eyes. She, having let go her +companion's arm, and lingering behind the rest, makes a quick slant +towards the window she has been watching; as she approaches it +significantly exposing something white, she holds half hidden between +her fingers! + +It needs no further gesture to make known her intent. The English girl +has already guessed it, as told by the iron casement grating back on its +rusty hinges, and left standing ajar. On the instant of its opening the +white object parts from the hand that has been holding it, and like a +flash of light passes through into the darksome cell, falling with a +thud upon the floor. + +Not a word goes with it; for she who has shown such dexterity, soon as +delivering the missile, glides away; so speedily she is still in time to +join the _queue_ moving on towards the convent chapel. + +Cautiously reclosing the window, Soeur Marie descends the steps of her +improvised ladder, and takes up the thing that had been tossed in; which +she finds to be a letter shotted inside! + +Despite her burning impatience she does not open it, till after +restoring the bedstead to the horizontal, and replacing all as before. +For now, as ever, she has need to be circumspect, and with better +reasons. + +At length, feeling secure, all the more from knowing the nuns are at +their vesper devotions, she tears off the envelope, and reads:-- + + "Mary,--Monday night next after midnight--if you look out of your + window you will see friends; among them:-- + + "Jack Wingate." + +"Jack Wingate!" she exclaims, with a look of strange intelligence +lighting up her face. "A voice from dear old Wyeside! Hope of delivery +at last!" + +And overcome by her emotion she sinks down upon the pallet; no longer +looking sad, but with an expression contented, and beatified as that of +the most _devotee_ nun in the convent. + +Volume Three, Chapter XXIII. + +A JUSTIFIABLE ABDUCTION. + +It is a moonless November night, and a fog drifting down from the _Pas +de Calais_ envelopes Boulogne in its damp, clammy embrace. The great +cathedral clock is tolling twelve midnight, and the streets are +deserted, the last wooden-heeled _soulier_ having ceased clattering over +their cobble-stone pavements. If a foot passenger be abroad he is some +belated individual groping his way home from the _Cafe de billars_ he +frequents, or the _Cercle_ to which he belongs. Even the _sergens de +ville_ are scarcer than usual; those seen being huddled up under the +shelter of friendly porches, while the invisible ones are making +themselves yet more snug inside _cabarets_, whose openness beyond +licensed hours they wink at in return for the accommodation afforded. + +It is, in truth, a most disagreeable night: cold as dark, for the fog +has frost in it. For all, there are three men in the streets of +Boulogne who regard neither its chillness nor obscurity. Instead, this +last is just what they desire, and for days past have been waiting for. + +They who thus delight in darkness are Major Mahon, Captain Ryecroft, and +the waterman, Wingate. Not because they have thoughts of doing evil, +for their purpose is of the very opposite character--to release a +captive from captivity. The night has arrived when, in accordance with +the promise made on that sheet of paper so dexterously pitched into her +cloister, the Soeur Marie is to see friends in front of her window. +They are the friends; about to attempt taking her out of it. + +They are not going blindly about the thing. Unlikely old campaigners as +Mahon and Ryecroft would. During the interval since that warning +summons was sent in, they have made thorough reconnaissance of the +ground, taken stock of the convent's precincts and surroundings; in +short, considered every circumstance of difficulty and danger. They are +therefore prepared with all the means and appliances for effecting their +design. + +Just as the last stroke of the clock ceases its booming reverberation, +they issue forth from Mahon's house; and, turning up the Rue +Tintelleries, strike along a narrower street, which leads on toward the +ancient _cite_. + +The two officers walk arm in arm, Ryecroft, stranger to the place, +needing guidance; while the boatman goes behind, with that carried +aslant his shoulder, which, were it on the banks of the Wye, might be +taken for a pair of oars. It is nevertheless a thing altogether +different--a light ladder; though were it hundreds weight he would +neither stagger nor groan under it. The errand he is upon knits his +sinews, giving him the strength of a giant. + +They proceed with extreme caution, all three silent as spectres. When +any sound comes to their ears, as the shutting to of a door, or distant +footfall upon the ill-paved _trottoirs_, they make instant stop, and +stand listening--speech passing among themselves only in whispers. But +as these interruptions are few, they make fair progress; and, in less +than twenty minutes after leaving the Major's house, they have reached +the spot where the real action is to commence. This is in the narrow +lane which runs along: the _enceinte_ of the convent at back; a +thoroughfare little used even in daytime, but after night solitary as a +desert, and on this especial night dark as dungeon itself. + +They know the _allee_ well; have traversed it scores of times within the +last few days, as nights, and could go through it blindfold. And they +also know the enclosure wall, with its exact height, just that of the +cloister window beyond, and a little less than their ladder, which has +been selected with an eye to dimensions. + +While its bearer is easing it off his shoulders, and planting it firmly +in place, a short whispered dialogue occurs between the other two, the +Major saying-- + +"We won't all three be needed for the work inside. One of us may remain +here--nay, must! Those _sergens de ville_ might be prowling about, or +some of the convent people themselves: in which case we'll need warning +before we dare venture back over the wall. If caught on the top of it, +the petticoats obstructing--aye, or without them--'twould go ill with +us." + +"Quite true," assents the Captain. "Which of us do you propose staying +here? Jack?" + +"Yes, certainly. And for more reasons than one. Excited as he is now, +once getting his old flame into his arms he'd be all on fire--perhaps +with noise enough to awake the whole sleeping sisterhood, and bring them +clamouring around us, like crows about an owl, that had intruded into +the rookery. Besides, there's a staff of male servants--for they have +such--half a score of stout fellows, who'd show fight. A big bell, too, +by ringing which they can rouse the town. Therefore, master Jack _must_ +remain here. You tell him he must." + +Jack is told, with reasons given, though not exactly the real ones. +Endorsing them, the Major says-- + +"Don't be so impatient, my good fellow! It will make but a few seconds' +difference; and then you'll have your girl by your side, sure. Whereas, +acting inconsiderately, you may never set eyes on her. The fight in the +front will be easy. Our greatest danger's from behind; and you can do +better in every way, as for yourself, by keeping the rear guard." + +He thus counselled is convinced: and, though much disliking it, yields +prompt obedience. How could he otherwise? He is in the hands of men +his superiors in rank as experience. And is it not for him they are +there; risking liberty--it may be life? + +Having promised to keep his impulsiveness in check, he is instructed +what to do. Simply to lie concealed under the shadow of the wall, and +should any one be outside when he hears a low whistle, he is _not_ to +reply to it. + +The signal so arranged, Mahon and Ryecroft mount over the wall, taking +the ladder along with them, and leaving the waterman to reflect, in +nervous anxiety, how near his Mary is, and yet how far off she still may +be! + +Once inside the garden, the other two strike off along a walk leading in +the direction of the spot, which is their objective point. They go as +if every grain of sand pressed by their feet had a friend's life in it. +The very cats of the Convent could not traverse its grounds more +silently. + +Their caution is rewarded; for they arrive at the cloister sought, +without interruption, to see its casement open, with a pale face in it-- +a picture of Madonna on a back ground of black, through the white film +looking as if it were veiled. + +But though dense the fog, it does not hinder them from perceiving, that +the expression of that face is one of expectancy; nor her from +recognising them as the friends who were to be under the window. With +that voice from the Wyeside still echoing in her ears, she sees her +deliverers at hand! They have indeed come. + +A woman of weak nerves would under the circumstances be excited-- +possibly cry out. But Soeur Marie is not such; and without uttering a +word, even the slightest ejaculation, she stands still, and patiently, +waits while a wrench is applied to the rotten bar of iron, soon snapping +it from its support, as though it were but a stick of macaroni. + +It is Ryecroft who performs this burglarious feat, and into his arms she +delivers herself, to be conducted down the ladder; which is done without +as yet a word having been exchanged between them. + +Only after reaching the ground, and there is some feeling of safety, he +whispers to her:-- + +"Keep up your courage, Mary! Your Jack is waiting for you outside the +wall. Here, take my hand--" + +"Mary! My Jack! And you--you--" Her voice becomes inaudible, and she +totters back against the wall! + +"She's swooning--has fainted!" mutters the Major; which Ryecroft already +knows, having stretched out his arms, and caught her as she is sinking +to the earth. + +"It's the sudden change into the open air," he says. "We must carry +her, Major. You go ahead with the ladder, I can manage the girl +myself." + +While speaking he lifts the unconscious form, and bears it away. No +light weight either, but to strength as his, only a feather. + +The Major going in advance with the ladder guides him through the mist; +and in a few seconds they reach the outer wall, Mahon giving a low +whistle as he approachs. It is almost instantly answered by another +from the outside, telling them the coast is clear. + +And in three minutes after they are also on the outside, the girl still +resting in Ryecroft's arms. The waterman wishes to relieve him, +agonised by the thought that his sweetheart, who has passed unscathed, +as it were, through the very gates of death, may after all be dead! + +He urges it; but Mahon, knowing the danger of delay, forbids any +sentimental interference, commanding Jack to re-shoulder the ladder and +follow as before. + +Then striking off in Indian file, the Major first, the Captain with his +burden in the centre, the boatman bringing up behind, they retrace their +steps towards the Rue Tintelleries. + +If Ryecroft but knew who he is carrying, he would bear her, if not more +tenderly, with far different emotions, and keener solicitude about her +recovery from that swoon. + +It is only after she is out of his arms; and lying upon a couch in Major +Mahon's house--the hood drawn back and the light shining on her face-- +that he experiences a thrill, strange and wild as ever felt by mortal +man! No wonder--seeing it is Gwendoline Wynn! + +"Gwen!" he exclaims, in a very ecstasy of joy, as her pulsing breast and +opened eyes tell of returned consciousness. + +"Vivian!" is the murmured rejoinder, their lips meeting in delirious +contact. Poor Jack Wingate! + +Volume Three, Chapter XXIV. + +STARTING ON A CONTINENTAL TOUR. + +Lewin Murdock is dead, and buried--has been for days. Not in the family +vault of the Wynns, though he had the right of having his body there +laid. But his widow, who had control of the interment, willed it +otherwise. She has repugnance to opening that receptacle of the dead, +holding a secret she may well dread disclosure of. + +There was no very searching enquiry into the cause of the man's death; +none such seeming needed. A coroner's inquest, true; but of the most +perfunctory kind. Several habitues of the Welsh Harp; with its staff of +waiters, testified to having seen him at that hostelry till a late hour +of the night on which he was drowned, and far gone in drink. The +landlord advanced the narrative a stage, by telling how he conveyed him +to the boat, and delivered him to his boatman, Richard Dempsey--all true +enough; while Coracle capped the story by a statement of circumstances, +in part facts, but the major part fictitious:--how the inebriate +gentleman, after lying a while quiet at the bottom of the skiff, +suddenly sprung upon his feet, and staggering excitedly about, capsized +the craft, spilling both into the water! + +Some corroboration of this, in the boat having been found floating keel +upwards, and the boatman arriving home at Llangorren soaking wet. To +his having been in this condition several of the Court domestics, at the +time called out of their beds, with purpose _prepense_, were able to +bear witness. But Dempsey's testimony is further strengthened, even to +confirmation, by himself having since taken to bed, where he now lies +dangerously ill of a fever, the result of a cold caught from that +chilling _douche_. + +In this latest inquest the finding of the jury is set forth in two +simple words, "Drowned accidentally." No suspicion attaches to any one; +and his widow, now wearing the weeds of sombre hue, sorrows profoundly. + +But her grief is great only in the eyes of the outside world, and the +presence of the Llangorren domestics. Alone within her chamber she +shows little signs of sorrow; and if possible less when Gregoire Rogier +is her companion; which he almost constantly is. If more than half his +time at the Court while Lewin Murdock was alive, he is now there nearly +the whole of it. No longer as a guest, but as much its master as she is +its mistress! For that, matter indeed more; if inference _may_ be drawn +from a dialogue occurring between them some time after her husband's +death. + +They are in the library, where there is a strong chest, devoted to the +safe keeping of legal documents, wills, leases, and the like--all the +paraphernalia of papers relating to the administration of the estate. + +Rogier is at a table upon which many of these lie, with writing +materials besides. A sheet of foolscap is before him, on which he has +just scribbled the rough copy of an advertisement intended to be sent to +several newspapers. + +"I think this will do," he says to the widow, who, in an easy chair +drawn up in front of the fire, is sipping Chartreuse, and smoking paper +cigarettes. "Shall I read it to you?" + +"No. I don't want to be bothered with the thing in detail. Enough, if +you let me hear its general purport." + +He gives her this in briefest epitome:-- + +"_The Llangorren estates to be sold by public auction, with all the +appurtenances, mansion, park, ornamental grounds, home and out farms, +manorial rights, presentation to church living, etc, etc_." + +"_Tres bien_! Have you put down the date? It should be soon." + +"You're right, _cherie_. Should, and must be. So soon, I fear we won't +realise three-fourths of the value. But there's no help for it, with +the ugly thing threatening--hanging over our necks like a very sword of +Damocles." + +"You mean the tongue of _le braconnier_?" + +She has reason to dread it. + +"No I don't; not in the slightest. There's a sickle too near his own-- +in the hands of the reaper, Death." + +"He's dying, then?" + +She speaks with an earnestness in which there is no feeling of +compassion, but the very reverse. + +"He is," the other answers, in like unpitying tone; "I've just come from +his bedside." + +"From the cold he caught that night, I suppose?" + +"Yes; that's partly the cause. But," he adds, with a diabolical grin, +"more the medicine he has taken for it." + +"What mean you, Gregoire?" + +"Only that Monsieur Dick has been delirious, and I saw danger in it. He +was talking too wildly." + +"You've done something to keep him quiet?" + +"I have." + +"What?" + +"Given him a sleeping draught." + +"But he'll wake up again; and then--" + +"Then I'll administer another dose of the anodyne." + +"What sort of anodyne?" + +"A _hypodermic_." + +"Hypodermic! I've never heard of the thing; not even the name!" + +"A wonderful cure it is--for noisy tongues!" + +"You excite one's curiosity. Tell me something of its nature?" + +"Oh, it's very simple; exceedingly so. Only a drop of liquid introduced +into the blood; not in the common roundabout way, by pouring down the +throat, but direct injection into the veins. The process in itself is +easy enough, as every medical practitioner knows. The skill consists in +the _kind_ of liquid to be injected. That's one of the occult sciences +I learnt in Italy, land of Lucrezia and Tophana; where such branches of +knowledge still flourish. Elsewhere it's not much known, and perhaps +it's well it isn't; or there might be more widowers, with a still larger +proportion of widows." + +"Poison!" she exclaims involuntarily, adding, in a timid whisper, "Was +it, Gregoire?" + +"Poison!" he echoes, protestingly. "That's too plain a word, and the +idea it conveys too vulgar, for such a delicate scientific operation as +that I've performed. Possibly, in Monsieur Coracle's case the effect +will be somewhat similar; but not the after symptoms. If I haven't made +miscalculation as to quantity, ere three days are over it will send him +to his eternal sleep; and I'll defy all the medical experts in England +to detect traces of poison in him. So don't enquire further, _cherie_. +Be satisfied to know the hypodermic will do you a service. And," he +adds, with sardonic smile, "grateful if it be never given to yourself." + +She starts, recoiling in horror. Not at the repulsive confessions she +has listened to, but more through personal fear. Though herself steeped +in crime, he beside her seems its very incarnation! She has long known +him morally capable of anything, and now fancies he may have the power +of the famed basilisk to strike her dead with a glance of his eyes! + +"Bah!" he exclaims, observing her trepidation, but pretending to +construe it otherwise. "Why all this emotion about such a _miserable_? +He'll have no widow to lament him--inconsolable like yourself. Ha! ha! +Besides, for our safety--both of us--his death is as much needed as was +the other. After killing the bird that threatened to devour our crops, +it would be blind buffoonery to keep the scarecrow standing. I only +wish, there were nothing but he between us, and complete security." + +"But is there still?" she asks, her alarm taking a new turn, as she +observes a slight shade of apprehension pass over his face. + +"Certainly there is." + +"What?" + +"That little convent matter." + +"_Mon Dieu_! I supposed it arranged beyond the possibility of danger." + +"Probability is the word you mean. In this sweet world there's nothing +sure except money--that, too, in hard cash coin. Even at the best we'll +have to sacrifice a large slice of the estate to satisfy the greed of +those who have assisted us--_Messieurs les Jesuites_. If I could only, +as by some magician's wand, convert these clods of Herefordshire into a +portable shape, I'd cheat them yet; as I've done already, in making them +believe me one of their most ardent _doctrinaires_. Then, _chere amie_, +we could at once move from Llangorren Court to a palace by some Lake of +Como, glassing softest skies, with whispering myrtles, and all the other +fal-lals, by which Monsieur Bulwer's sham prince humbugged the Lyonese +shopkeeper's daughter. Ha! ha! ha!" + +"But why can't it be done?" + +"Ah! There the word _impossible_, if you like. What! Convert a landed +estate of several thousand acres into cash, _presto-instanter_, as +though one were but selling a flock of sheep! The thing can't be +accomplished anywhere; least of all in this slow-moving Angleterre, +where men look at their money twice--twenty times--before parting with +it. Even a mortgage couldn't be managed for weeks--may be months-- +without losing quite the moiety of value. But a _bona fide_ sale, for +which we must wait, and with that cloud hanging over us! Oh! it's +damnable. The thing's been a blunder from beginning to end; all through +the squeamishness of Monsieur, _votre mari_. Had he agreed to what I +first proposed, and done with Mademoiselle, what should have been done, +he might himself still--The simpleton, sot--soft heart, and softer head! +Well; it's of no use reviling him now. He paid the forfeit for being a +fool. And 'twill do no good our giving way to apprehensions, that after +all may turn out shadows, however dark. In the end everything may go +right, and we can make our midnight flitting in a quiet, comfortable +way. But what a flutter there'll be among my flock at the Rugg's Ferry +Chapel, when they wake up some fine morning, and rub their eyes--only to +see that their good shepherd has forsaken them! A comical scene, of +which I'd like being a spectator. Ha! ha! ha!" + +She joins him in the laugh, for the sally is irresistible. And while +they are still ha-ha-ing, a touch at the door tells of a servant seeking +admittance. + +It is the butler who presents himself, salver in hand, on which rests a +chrome-coloured envelope--at a glance seen to be a telegraphic despatch. + +It bears the address "Rev. Gregoire Rogier, Rugg's Ferry, +Herefordshire," and when opened the telegram is seen to have been sent +from Folkestone. Its wording is:-- + +"_The bird has escaped from its cage. Prenez garde_!" + +Well for the pseudo-priest, and his _chere amie_, that before they read +it, the butler had left the room. For though figurative the form of +expression, and cabalistic the words, both man and woman seem instantly +to comprehend them. And with such comprehension, as almost to drive +them distracted! He is silent, as if struck dumb, his face showing +blanched and bloodless; while she utters a shriek, half terrified, half +in frenzied anger! + +It is the last loud cry, or word, to which she gives utterance at +Llangorren. And no longer there speaks the priest loudly, or +authoritatively. The after hours of that night are spent by both of +them, not as the owners of the house, but burglars in the act of +breaking it! + +Up till the hour of dawn, the two might be seen silently flitting from +room to room--attended only by Clarisse, who carries the candle-- +ransacking drawers and secretaires, selecting articles of _bijouterie_ +and _vertu_, of little weight but large value, and packing them in +trunks and travelling bags. All of which, under the grey light of +morning are taken to the nearest railway station in one of the Court +carriages--a large drag-barouche--inside which ride Rogier and Madame +Murdock _veuve_; her _femme de chambre_ having a seat beside the +coachman, who has been told they are starting on a continental tour. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +And so were they; but it was a tour from which they never returned. +Instead, it was extended to a greater distance than they themselves +designed, and in a direction neither dreamt of. Since their career, +after a years interval, ended in _deportation_ to Cayenne, for some +crime committed by them in the South of France. So said the _Semaphore_ +of Marseilles. + +Volume Three, Chapter XXV. + +CORACLE DICK ON HIS DEATH-BED. + +As next morning's sun rises over Llangorren Court, it shows a mansion +without either master or mistress! + +Not long to remain so. If the old servants of the establishment had +short notice of dismissal, still more brief is that given to its latest +retinue. About meridian of that day, after the departure of their +mistress, while yet in wonder where she has gone, they receive another +shock of surprise, and a more unpleasant one, at seeing a hackney +carriage-drive up to the hall door, out of which step two men, evidently +no friends to her from whom they have their wages. For one of the men +is Captain Ryecroft, the other a police superintendent; who, after the +shortest possible parley, directs the butler to parade the complete +staff of his fellow domestics, male and female. This with an air and in +a tone of authority, which precludes supposition that the thing is a +jest. + +Summoned from all quarters, cellar to garret, and out doors as well, +their names, with other particulars, are taken down; and they are told +that their services will be no longer required at Llangorren. In short, +they are one and all dismissed, without a word about the month's wages +or warning! If they get either, 'twill be only as a grace. + +Then they receive orders to pack up and be off; while Joseph Preece, +ex-Charon, who has crossed the river in his boat, with appointment to +meet the hackney there, is authorised to take temporary charge of the +place; Jack Wingate, similarly bespoke, having come down in his skiff, +to stand by him in case of any opposition. + +None arises. However chagrined by their hasty _sans facon_ discharge, +the outgoing domestics seem not so greatly surprised at it. From what +they have observed for some time going on, as also something whispered +about, they had no great reliance on their places being permanent. So, +in silence all submit, though somewhat sulkily; and prepare to vacate +quarters they had found fairly snug. + +There is one, however, who cannot be thus conveniently, or +unceremoniously, dismissed--the head-gamekeeper, Richard Dempsey. For, +while the others are getting their _mandamus_ to move, the report is +brought in that he is lying on his death-bed! So the parish doctor has +prognosticated. Also, that he is just then delirious, and saying queer +things; some of which repeated to the police "super," tell him his +proper place, at that precise moment, is by the bedside of the sick man. + +Without a second's delay he starts off towards the lodge in which +Coracle has been of late domiciled--under the guidance of its former +occupant Joseph Preece--accompanied by Captain Ryecroft and Jack +Wingate. + +The house being but a few hundred yards distant from the Court, they are +soon inside it, and standing over the bed on which lies the fevered +patient; not at rest, but tossing to and fro--at intervals, in such +violent manner as to need restraint. + +The superintendent at once sees it would be idle putting questions to +him. If asked his own name, he could not declare it. For he knows not +himself--far less those who are around. + +His face is something horrible to behold. It would but harrow sensitive +feelings to give a portraiture of it. Enough to say, it is more like +that of demon than man. + +And his speech, poured as in a torrent from his lips, is alike +horrifying--admission of many and varied crimes; in the same breath +denying them and accusing others; his contradictory ravings garnished +with blasphemous ejaculations. + +A specimen will suffice, omitting the blasphemy. + +"It's a lie!" he cries out, just as they are entering the room. "A lie, +every word o't! I didn't murder Mary Morgan. Served her right if I +had, the jade! She jilted me; an' for that wasp Wingate--dog--cur! I +didn't kill her. No; only fixed the plank. If she wor fool enough to +step on't that warn't my fault. She did--she did! Ha! ha! ha!" + +For a while he keeps up the horrid cachinnation, as the glee of Satan +exulting over some feat of foul _diablerie_. Then his thoughts changing +to another crime, he goes on:-- + +"The grand girl--the lady! She arn't drowned; nor dead eyther! The +priest carried her off in that French schooner. I had nothing to do +with it. 'Twar the priest and Mr Murdock. Ha! Murdock! I _did_ +drown _him_. No, I didn't. That's another lie! 'Twas himself upset +the boat. Let me see--was it? No! he couldn't, he was too drunk. I +stood up on the skiff's rail. Slap over it went. What a duckin' I had +for it, and a devil o' a swim too! But I did the trick--neatly! Didn't +I, your Reverence? Now for the hundred pounds. And you promised to +double it--you did! Keep to your bargain, or I'll peach upon you--on +all the lot of you--the woman, too--the French woman! She kept that +fine shawl, Indian they said it wor. She's got it now. She wanted the +diamonds, too, but daren't keep _them_. The shroud! Ha! the shroud! +That's all they left _me_. I ought to a' burnt it. But then the devil +would a' been after and burned me! How fine Mary looked in that grand +dress, wi' all them gewgaws, rings,--chains, an' bracelets, all pure +gold! But I drownded her, an' she deserved it. Drownded her twice-- +ha--ha--ha!" + +Again he breaks off with a peal of demoniac laughter, long continued. + +More than an hour they remain listening to his delirious ramblings, and +with interest intense. For despite its incoherence, the disconnected +threads joined together make up a tale they can understand; though so +strange, so brimful of atrocities, as to seem incredible. + +All the while he is writhing about on the bed; till at length, +exhausted, his head droops over upon the pillow, and he lies for a while +quiet--to all appearance dead! + +But no; there is another throe yet, one horrible as any that has +preceded. Looking up, he sees the superintendent's uniform and silver +buttons; a sight which produces a change in the expression of his +features, as though it had recalled him to his senses. With arms flung +out as in defence, he shrieks:-- + +"Keep back, you--policeman! Hands off, or I'll brain you! Hach! +You've got the rope round my neck! Curse the thing! It's choking me. +Hach!" + +And with his fingers clutching at his throat, as if to undo a noose, he +gasps out in husky voice: + +"Gone by God." + +At this he drops over dead, his last word an oath, his last thought a +fancy, that there is a rope around his neck! + +What he has said in his unconscious confessions lays open many seeming +mysteries of this romance, hitherto unrevealed. How the pseudo-priest, +Father Rogier, observing a likeness between Miss Wynn and Mary Morgan-- +causing him that start as he stood over the coffin, noticed by Jack +Wingate--had exhumed the dead body of the latter, the poacher and +Murdock assisting him. Then how they had taken it down in the boat to +Dempsey's house; soon after, going over to Llangorren, and seizing the +young lady, as she stood in the summer-house, having stifled her cries +by chloroform. Then, how they carried her across to Dempsey's, and +substituted the corpse for the living body--the grave clothes changed +for the silken dress with all its adornments--this the part assigned to +Mrs Murdock, who had met them at Coracle's cottage. Then, Dick himself +hiding away the shroud, hindered by superstitious fear from committing +it to the flames. In fine, how Gwendoline Wynn, drugged and still kept +in a state of coma, was taken down in a boat to Chepstow, and there put +aboard the French schooner _La Chouette_; carried across to Boulogne, to +be shut up in a convent for life! All these delicate matters, managed +by Father Rogier, backed by _Messieurs les Jesuites_, who had furnished +him with the means! + +One after another, the astounding facts come forth as the raving man +continues his involuntary admissions. Supplemented by others already +known to Ryecroft and the rest, with the deductions drawn, they complete +the unities of a drama, iniquitous as ever enacted. + +Its motives declare themselves; all wicked save one. This a spark of +humanity that had still lingered in the breast of Lewin Murdock; but for +which Gwendoline Wynn would never have seen the inside of a nunnery. +Instead, while under the influence of the narcotic, her body would have +been dropped into the Wye, just as was that wearing her ball dress! And +that same body is now wearing another dress, supposed to have been +prepared for her--another shroud--reposing in the tomb where all +believed Gwen Wynn to have been laid! + +This last fact is brought to light on the following day; when the family +vault of the Wynns is re-opened, and Mrs Morgan--by marks known only to +herself--identifies the remains found there as those of her own +daughter! + +Volume Three, Chapter XXVI. + +THE CALM AFTER THE STORM. + +Twelve months after the events recorded in this romance of the Wye, a +boat-tourist descending the picturesque river, and inquiring about a +pagoda-like structure he will see on its western side, would be told it +is a summer-house, standing in the ornamental grounds of a gentleman's +residence. If he ask who the gentleman is, the answer would be, Captain +Vivian Ryecroft! For the ex-officer of Hussars is now the master of +Llangorren; and, what he himself values higher, the husband of +Gwendoline Wynn, once more its mistress. + +Were the tourist an acquaintance of either, and on his way to make call +at the Court, bringing in by the little dock, he would there see a +row-boat, on its stern board, in gold lettering "_The Gwendoline_." + +For the pretty pleasure craft has been restored to its ancient moorings. +Still, however, remaining the property of Joseph Preece, who no longer +lives in the cast-off cottage of Coracle Dick, but, like the boat +itself, is again back and in service at Llangorren. + +If the day be fine this venerable and versatile individual will be +loitering beside it, or seated on one of its thwarts, pipe in mouth, +indulging in the _dolce far niente_. And little besides has he to do, +since his pursuits are no longer varied, but now exclusively confined to +the calling of waterman to the Court. He and his craft are under +charter for the remainder of his life, should he wish it so--as he +surely will. + +The friendly visitor keeping on up to the house, if at the hour of +luncheon, will in all likelihood there meet a party of old +acquaintances--ours, if not his. Besides the beautiful hostess at the +table's head, he will see a lady of the "antique brocaded type," who +herself once presided there, by name Miss Dorothea Linton; another known +as Miss Eleanor Lees; and a fourth, youngest of the quartette, _yclept_ +Kate Mahon. For the school girl of the Boulogne Convent has escaped +from its austere studies; and is now most; part of her time resident +with the friend she helped to escape from its cloisters. + +Men there will also be at the Llangorren luncheon table; likely three of +them, in addition to the host himself. One will be Major Mahon; a +second the Reverend William Musgrave; and the third, Mr George +Shenstone! Yes; George Shenstone, under the roof, and seated at the +table of Gwendoline Wynn, now the wife of Vivian Ryecroft! + +To explain a circumstance seemingly so singular, it is necessary to call +in the aid of a saying, culled from that language richest of all others +in moral and metaphysical imagery--the Spanish. It has a proverb, _un +claco saca otro claco_--"one nail drives out the other." And, watching +the countenance of the baronet's son, so long sad and clouded, seeing +how, at intervals, it brightens up--these intervals when his eyes meet +those of Kate Mahon--it were easy predicting that in his case the adage +will ere long have additional verification. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Were the same tourist to descend the Wye at a date posterior, and again +make a call at Llangorren, he would find that some changes had taken +place in the interval of his absence. At the boat dock Old Joe would +likely be. But not as before in sole charge of the pleasure craft; only +pottering about, as a pensioner retired on full pay; the acting and +active officer being a younger man, by name Wingate, who is now waterman +to the Court. Between these two, however, there is no spite about the +displacement--no bickerings nor heartburnings. How could there, since +the younger addresses the older as "uncle"; himself in return being +styled "nevvy?" + +No need to say, that this relationship has been brought about by the +bright eyes of Amy Preece. Nor is it so new. In the lodge where Jack +and Joe live together is a brace of chubby chicks; one of them a boy-- +the possible embryo of a Wye waterman--who, dandled upon old Joe's +knees, takes delight in weeding his frosted whiskers, while calling him +"good grandaddy." + +As Jack's mother--who is also a member of this happy family--forewarned +him, the wildest grief must in time give way, and Nature's laws assert +their supremacy. So has he found it; and though still holding Mary +Morgan in sacred, honest remembrance, he--as many a true man before, and +others as true to come--has yielded to the inevitable. + +Proceeding on to the Court the friendly visitor will at certain times +there meet the same people he met before; but the majority of them +having new names or titles. An added number in two interesting olive +branches there also, with complexions struggling between _blonde_ and +_brunette_, who call Captain and Mrs Ryecroft their papa and mamma; +while the lady who was once Eleanor Lees--the "companion"--is now Mrs +Musgrave, life companion not to the _curate_ of Llangorren Church, but +its _rector_. The living having become vacant, and in the bestowal of +Llangorren's heiress, has been worthily bestowed on the Reverend +William. + +Two other old faces, withal young ones, the returned tourist will see at +Llangorren--their owners on visit as himself. He might not know either +of them by the names they now bear--Sir George and Lady Shenstone. For +when he last saw them the gentleman was simply Mr Shenstone, and the +lady Miss Mahon. The old baronet is dead, and the young one, succeeding +to the title, has also taken upon himself another title--that of +husband--proving the Spanish apothegm true, both in the spirit and to +the letter. + +If there be any nail capable of driving out another, it is that sent +home by the glance of an Irish girl's eye--at least so thinks Sir George +Shenstone, with good reason for thinking it. + +There are two other individuals, who come and go at the Court--the only +ones holding out, and likely to hold, against change of any kind. For +Major Mahon is still Major Mahon, rolling on in his rich Irish brogue as +ever abhorrent of matrimony. No danger of his becoming a Benedict! + +And as little of Miss Linton being transformed into a sage woman. It +would be strange if she should, with the love novels she continues to +devour, and the "Court Intelligence" she gulps down, keeping alive the +hallucination that she is still a belle at Bath and Cheltenham. + +So ends our "Romance of the Wye;" a drama of happy _denouement_ to most +of the actors in it; and, as hoped, satisfactory to all who have been +spectators. + +THE END. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Gwen Wynn, by Mayne Reid + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GWEN WYNN *** + +***** This file should be named 35196.txt or 35196.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/1/9/35196/ + +Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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