"My dear Wilton," wrote Mrs. Bullivant to her half-brother a couple of days subsequently to the events recorded in the last chapter, "I have some very singular news for you which I lose no time in communicating; but whether--bearing in mind the peculiar features of the case--you will be inclined to stigmatize it as bad news or to bless it as good, seems to me somewhat problematical, and I at once confess that I am myself at a loss to know in which light to regard it.
"Although my disappointment in the matter of Mr. Cortelyon's will was so extreme as almost for a time to drive me beyond myself, and to stir up within me feelings and passions to which I had been a stranger aforetime, and although I took a silent oath that, come what might, I would be revenged for what I then regarded, and still regard, as the vile trick of which I was made the victim; yet am I inclined to think that had it not been for your persistent fanning of the flame which just then burnt so fiercely within me, my passion would gradually have cooled down, my reason would have again found its equipoise, and I should never have given my sanction to a certain step, the rashness and futility of which I recognized almost from the moment of agreeing to it.
"Mind, in writing this I am not imputing any blame to you; or, if there is any, we share it on equal terms. Your own disappointment was bitter enough in all conscience to goad you on to do things from which, at another time and in your calmer moments, you would have turned away as being not merely useless, but impolitic.
"From the moment you placed young Cortelyon in my hands my almost insane longing to be revenged for the foul wrong his grandfather had done me slackened and grew faint, and I recognized with overwhelming clearness what a blunder we had made and with what a burden I had saddled myself. Now that I had got the child into my keeping what was I to do with him? There was the rub. As for carrying out the dark hint you one day let drop--only by way of trying me, I feel sure, and with no thought that I would agree to act on it--as you know, I shrank from it aghast. I have a child of my own, and I could not forget it; and, little cause as I had to love young C., whatever else might happen to him his life was absolutely safe so long as he remained under my roof. But the perplexing question of how to dispose of him was one which allowed me no rest.
"As you are aware, from the date of the lad's arrival at Homecroft I put him into the sole charge of Mrs. Balchin (whom, as I have good reason for knowing, I can thoroughly trust), and kept him wholly secluded from the rest of the household, for whose benefit I invented a little fable explanatory of my reasons for acting as I did, but to what extent they believed it I have no means of knowing.
"If I had been uncomfortable before, you may imagine what effect your letter had on me in which you informed me that a reward of five hundred pounds was offered for the recovery of the missing heir. For the next few days I was like a distracted woman, turning over in my mind a dozen schemes, each one more wild and impracticable than the last.
"Then, all at once, the black clouds opened and a way of escape lay clear before me.
"As I daresay you may remember, not only Mrs. Balchin, but her husband, is in my service, the latter having acted as my coachman ever since my marriage. Well, a few mornings ago Balchin received a letter from a firm of lawyers in New York informing him that a legacy equivalent to five hundred pounds of English money had been left him by an uncle lately deceased, but that it would be requisite for him to go over to the States, and be prepared to prove his identity, before the money could be paid him. When he came to me and showed me his letter, and told me all this, I could have found it in my heart to embrace him.
"Can you guess,mon cher frère, what were the first words I said to myself? They were these: 'Balchin's wife shall keep him company on the voyage, and with them they shall take young Cortelyon.But they shall come back alone?
"There is no need to trouble you with details. It will be enough to state that by the evening of the second day after Balchin's receipt of the letter all arrangements had been made, and the little party of three were ready to start. They were to have the use of my carriage as far as Tuxford, where they would join the night coach for the south on their way to Liverpool, from which port they would sail by the first available packet for New York, Balchin is a capable man, and I had no fear about his failing to carry out the instructions laid down for him. Of course the expenses of the journey, so far as his wife and the child were concerned, were to be defrayed by me.
"I ought to mention here that I had often heard Mrs. Balchin refer to her numerous clan of cousins in America, and when I put the case before her she readily engaged, for a hundred pounds paid down, to get the boy permanently adopted by one of them. As you know, I could ill spare any such sum, but I would have made a still greater sacrifice rather than let the opportunity go by of ridding myself of what had latterly become the incubus of my life.
"The clocks were striking nine when they started, which would leave them an hour and a-half for the journey to Tuxford. Balchin was on the box, with the stable-boy beside him, whom it was necessary to take in order that he might bring back the carriage. Inside were Mrs. Balchin and the child, the latter soundly asleep under the influence of a narcotic. You can but faintly imagine with what an intense feeling of relief I watched the carriage disappear in the soft darkness of the autumn night.
"You will be wondering by this time as to the nature of the singular news which I began this letter by telling you I had to communicate. You shall now be told it, what I have written so far being merely the needful introduction thereto.
"Imagine, then, if you can, my feelings of mingled amazement and alarm when, shortly after ten o'clock, my maid came to tell me that the carriage had just returned, and that Balchin was very anxious to speak to me. I ordered him to be at once admitted, and the moment I set eyes on his face I knew that something had gone amiss, although the mere fact of his presence there was enough to convince me on that point.
"Without giving him time to speak, I said quickly: 'Where is the child? Nothing has happened to him I hope?'
"'Only this, ma'am, that we've been robbed of him,' was his reply.
"And so it proved to be. As they were crossing Blaydon Heath they had been stopped by a masked horseman carrying a pistol in one hand and a small lantern in the other, who had bidden Balchin bring the carriage to a halt, on pain of instant death. Naturally the man was much frightened, seeing that in his wife's purse was not merely the passage-money for all three, but the hundred pounds given by me for the purpose just named. But in that respect his fears proved to be unfounded. Riding up to the carriage window, the horseman first turned his lantern full on Mrs. Balchin and then on the face of the sleeping child. 'As I thought, madam, as I thought,' he said. 'I find you here in possession of property which does not belong to you. With your good pleasure I will relieve you of it. Nay, no demur, or you will find it the worse for you. Child-stealing, allow me to remind you, is a crime punishable with a long term of transportation. Hand the boy over to me at once, and thank your lucky stars that you are allowed to escape so easily.'"
p185"The compliments ofCaptain Nightshade."
"What could the woman do but comply? Indeed, as she has since told me, she was nearly frightened out of her wits. Without dismounting, the horseman opened the carriage door, and the child, still sleeping soundly, was transferred to him. Placing the boy in front of him, with one arm round him, he backed his horse from the carriage, and then addressing Balchin, said, 'You can drive back home, and when you get there give my compliments to your mistress--the compliments of Captain Nightshade--and tell her she ought to go down on her knees and thank me for having saved her from the consequences of a most shameful crime.' With that he waved his hand, set spur to his horse, and cantered off.
"Such was the story brought back by Balchin.
"Captain Nightshade, I must tell you, is a notorious highwayman who for two or three years past has been the terror of this part of England. For the last six or seven months, however, nothing has been heard of him, and everybody was hoping that he had seen fit to transfer his attentions elsewhere.
"Now, tell me this if you can. How did he, of all people in the world, succeed in discovering that young C. was hidden under my roof, and that he was about to be smuggled away at that particular time? It is a question which the oftener I ask it, the more bewildered I become. Somebody must have acted the part of spy and traitor, but who is that somebody? and through what mysterious channel did he or she succeed in communicating my intentions to the highwayman? I have my suspicions in the matter, but I refrain from inflicting them upon you.
"Captain Nightshade's motive in getting hold of the boy is as plain as a pikestaff. He will restore him to his friends, and claim the reward offered for his recovery.
"And after such an ignominious fashion has the scheme of revenge hatched by you, and in a weak moment acceded to by me, collapsed and crumbled to pieces. That I should ever have allowed myself to be mixed up with any such affair seems to me, writing now, wholly inconceivable; but it merely serves to prove to what lengths a woman will go when blinded by passion, spite, and the overthrow of her most cherished hopes.
"Somehow, I have not much fear that the friends of young C., even should the facts of the case be made known to them, will take any further steps in the affair. They will not, I am quite sure, if Miss Baynard has any say in the affair. I could love that girl, Wilton, were it in my nature to love anybody. And to think that not a shilling of her great-uncle's wealth will come to her! It is most shameful.
"But enough, I am tired, and must leave till another day my answers to certain questions which you ask in your last letter.
"Your affectionate sister,
"Onoria Bullivant."
All this time Miss Baynard was waiting at Stanbrook for the news which seemed so long in coming.
As one slow day followed another without bringing the longed-for tidings her heart grew sick within her. Perhaps the boy had been spirited out of the country, and she should never set eyes on him again; perhaps something worse even than that had befallen him. Mr. Piljoy came over on business connected with the estate, but brought no comfort with him. Till some tidings of the missing heir should come to hand no steps whatever could be taken with reference to the settlement of the property. After his receipt of Nell's letter containing the news of the abduction he had communicated direct with the authorities in London, but, beyond a reply to the effect that the case was already in hand and having their best attention, he had heard nothing. He had more than one question to put to Miss Baynard having reference to Mr. Geoffrey Dare, to which she contented herself with replying that Dare had been her cousin's bosom friend, and was the missing boy's godfather, and had promised poor Dick to look after him as if he were his own son. What would have been Mr. Piljoy's horror and amazement had he been told that Mr. Geoffrey Dare and the notorious Captain Nightshade were one and the same person! Nell could not help laughing a little to herself as her imagination conjured up the picture.
But our heroine's state of soul-wearing suspense was not destined to last much longer.
On the evening of the second day after Mr. Piljoy's return home a letter was brought her which caused her to start with amazement the moment her eyes fell on it. The address was in the same writing as that of the packet in which her lost mask had been returned to her. For a space of some seconds she stood staring at it like one fascinated; then with fingers that shook a little she broke the seal and tore open the letter. Here is what she read: "Mr. Cope-Ellerslie presents his compliments to Miss Baynard, and has much happiness in informing her that news has reached him not only of the safety but of the whereabouts of her young relative, Master Evan Cortelyon.
"Should Miss Baynard think it worth her while to come as far as Rockmount, Mr. Ellerslie will be pleased to tell her all that has come to his knowledge in connection with the affair, in which case the bearer of this letter is instructed to act as her guide and escort on the journey."
She could hardly make out the last few lines for the happy tears which already dimmed her eyes, and so had to read them again.
Go to Rockmount! Of course she would. Had it been to the end of Europe she would have gone, and ten minutes later she was ready to start. Day was already drawing to dusk, and timorous-hearted Mrs. Budd would fain have persuaded her to put off her journey till morning. But timid counsels had never prevailed with Nell, and it was not in the least likely that they would in a case like the present.
She had at once sent word to have her mare saddled and brought round, and it was waiting for her, in charge of John Dyce, by the time she was ready. Nell was hardly surprised at finding that the man who had brought the letter, and who was waiting for an answer to it, was the one who on the occasion of her first sojourn at Rockmount had acted as her guide as far as the Whinbarrow road. Would he recognize in her the young spark whom he had then escorted? It seemed hardly likely that he would, and in any case, it did not matter greatly. It was far more probable that he would recognize her mare Peggy.
"I am going back with you to Rockmount," she said to him.
"All right, mum," he replied, with a tug at his forelock. "You couldn't have a finer evenin' for a ride."
Neither man nor horse had lacked for refreshment while waiting. And so presently they set out, Miss Baynard leading the way by about a dozen yards. This lasted till they had gone some six or eight miles, and had reached a point where it became necessary to diverge from the great highway they had hitherto been traversing and take to one of the tortuous cross-country roads which branched off into the desolate region of fells and moors. Then the position of the two was reversed, and it was the man who led the way.
It was quite dark by the time they reached Rockmount, or as nearly so as it ever is on a clear, starlit autumnal night. As Miss Baynard drew rein in front of the house, her mind was busy with the incidents of that other night, now many months old, when one whom she had since learnt to love in secret with all the fervency of a first great passion had brought her to the door of Rockmount and had there left her. How full of incident for her those months had been! What a changed life, both inwardly and outwardly, had hers become between then and now!
Her guide, having dismounted, gave a resounding knock on the great oaken door and then helped Miss Baynard to alight. When that was done he led the horses away towards the back premises, and the same instant there was the sound of bolts and bars being unloosened one by one. So remote and lonely was the house that it was no wonder the inmates looked carefully to their fastenings.
Then the door was opened, disclosing the same sour-visaged old serving-man, carrying a lighted candle, whom Nell had seen on the first occasion.
"Be good enough to tell your master that Miss Baynard is here," she said.
Making an arch of one of his knotted hands, he peered at her for a moment or two from under it. Then he said: "The Master is expecting yo. Will yo be pleased to come in?"
And so for the second time, Nell crossed the threshold of Rockmount. The door having been shut behind her, the old fellow led the way across the hall, and so brought her presently to the same sparsely furnished room with which she was already so well acquainted. Then she was left alone.
As Nell looked round the room she could have fancied that only a few hours had gone by since she was last there. The candles were alight, a cheerful fire was burning in the grate; the heavy curtains of faded red moreen were closely drawn; nothing was changed. From moment to moment she looked to see Mr. Cope-Ellerslie enter.
Would he, when they met, treat her as a stranger, or as one whom he knew already? It was a question she had asked herself more than once while on her way to Rockmount. That he knew the pseudo Mr. Frank Nevill to be none other than Miss Baynard, of Stanbrook, he had himself furnished her with proof positive in the return of her mask; but did he know at the time he gave her a night's lodging who she was, or did he not discover it till afterwards? And, in either case, by what mysterious means had he made the discovery? She had not forgotten, nor was it likely she should forget, that in the chamber assigned her at Rockmount she had found a certain feminine garment, but whether placed there by accident or design she had no means whatever of knowing. If by design, then must Mr. Ellerslie from the first have penetrated the secret of her sex. It was a thought which, even after all this time, caused the blood to tingle in her veins.
But these questions, personal to herself, perplexing though they were, did not cause her for more than a minute or two at a time to lose sight of the main object which had brought her to Rockmount, while wholly at a loss to imagine how it had come to pass that the first news of the lost child should have reached her through Mr. Ellerslie, and neither through Bow Street nor Geoffrey Dare. Not that it mattered greatly, so long as news of him had come to hand. She was all impatience to hear what Mr. Ellerslie had to tell her.
She could not help starting when the door opened, thinking to see him; but it was Mrs. Dobson, the housekeeper, who now came in. Nell had by no means forgotten Mrs. Dobson, and she scrutinized her a little anxiously. Would the housekeeper recognize her? Would there be anything in her manner to betray a knowledge of their having ever met before?
Mrs. Dobson, having shut the door, came forward a little way, crossed her hands in front of her, and made Miss Baynard a respectful curtsey. Then their eyes met, and Nell read nothing in those of the other which she might not have read in the eyes of any stranger. Undisguised admiration they betrayed of a surety, but to that our young lady was so used that she thought nothing of it.
"Madam," began the housekeeper, with the tone and manner of a well-bred dependent, "my master desires me to say that in another room there is a very charming little picture, a view of which he feels sure would please you vastly. If you will be good enough to accompany me I will conduct you to it."
Miss Baynard stared at the housekeeper with wide-set eyes. "A picture!" she said. "Surely Mr. Ellerslie has not asked me to Rockmount merely to show me a picture!"
"That is more than I can say, miss. My business is simply to repeat my master's message. But I feel quite sure that if you knew what the picture is, you would never forgive yourself for having refused to see it. Do come, miss," she added next moment, seeing that Miss Baynard still hesitated.
"Very well, I will go with you," said Nell.
Mrs. Dobson led the way through the gloomy old house to a bedroom on the first floor, but not the one occupied by Miss Baynard on the occasion of her first visit to Rockmount, although differing very little from it in its furniture and appointments, except in one particular. In the middle of the floor stood a couch, to which Nell's eyes travelled instinctively the moment she entered the room. It had been made up temporarily with pillows and coverlets, so as to form a child's bed. A solitary wax candle was alight on the chimney-piece.
A low, inarticulate cry broke from Nell. Brushing past the housekeeper, she went swiftly forward and bent over the couch. The truth had flashed across her as she set foot over the threshold, and now her eyes verified it. There, in rosy slumber, his cheek pillowed on one hand, the other arm flung with graceful abandon outside the coverlet, lay the missing child. This was the picture Mr. Ellerslie had invited her to come and see!
Tears rushed to her eyes and overbrimmed them; a sob broke in her throat. Not for a full minute, for fear of waking him, did she venture to stoop and touch the peach-bloom of his cheek with her lips. Her heart was full, and not till a few more moments had gone by would she trust herself to speak. The housekeeper was at her elbow.
"Who brought him, and how long has he been here?" she asked.
"I found him keeping master company in the library when I came downstairs this morning. Some one had brought him in the course of the night. He has been playing about on the moors a good part of the day--not, of course, without some one to look after him--and came to bed thoroughly tired out. What a dear little gentleman he is! Not a bit like many children I've known, but trying to make friends with everybody. I suppose, miss, that you won't have any objection to sharing this room with him to-night?"
Miss Baynard was startled. "But I have not seen Mr. Ellerslie yet," she objected. "When his message reached me, my only aim was to lose no time in getting here, and certainly I had no thought or intention of staying the night at Rockmount."
"But consider the lateness of the hour, miss; and you would hardly care, I should think, to have the child wakened in order to take him a long journey in the middle of the night."
"No, I certainly should not care for that. But when I left home I did not know that Evan had been found, and that I was going to see him; only that Mr. Ellerslie had a message of some kind for me which concerned him."
"Well, miss, master certainly expects you to stay till morning, and asked me hours ago to arrange accordingly. But most likely he will speak to you himself about it. And now, if you are ready, we will go downstairs."
But Nell could not go without another kiss. "He is not left alone while he sleeps," remarked Mrs. Dobson as they left the room; "my niece watches by him."
Downstairs Miss Baynard found the table laid for one person, and three minutes later a dainty little supper was brought in.
"When shall I see Mr. Ellerslie?" she asked, as the housekeeper was on the point of leaving the room.
"He will do himself the honor of waiting upon you in the course of half an hour."
It was very rarely that Nell's appetite failed her, and her long ride through the night air had, if anything, tended to sharpen it on the present occasion. She was a healthy English girl, who came of a healthy stock. She hardly knew that she had such things as nerves. She was neither hysterical, nor anæmic, nor introspective. Nofin-de-sièclequestions troubled her, because the century was yet in its infancy. She was a warm-hearted, warm-blooded creature, somewhat too impulsive perhaps, and too easily led away by her own generous instincts, and although an existence such as hers would nowadays be regarded as intolerably narrow and antiquated, yet was her life an exemplar of several of those minor if homely virtues with which so many of our up-to-date young women profess to be, and probably are, wholly unacquainted, and to regard with silent contempt. At any rate, Miss Baynard did full justice to her supper.
Scarcely had the table been cleared when Mr. Ellerslie entered the room. To Nell it seemed as if she might have parted from him no longer ago than the day before, so wholly unchanged was he from the picture of him which still lived so freshly in her memory. There was the long, grizzled hair parted down the middle, the short Vandyck beard and moustache, the black velvet skull cap, and the dark monkish robe which wrapped him from head to foot. There, too, was the set, mask-like face with its thousands of fine wrinkles, which from a little distance looked as if it were carved out of old ivory, a face which seemed to emphasize the pair of brilliant black eyes that looked out from under their heavy penthouse brows with an illusive something in them which reminded Nell strangely of Geoffrey Dare.
As he entered the room Miss Baynard rose and advanced to meet him with both hands outstretched. "Oh, Mr. Ellerslie!" she said, and in her voice there was a veiled emotion not far removed from tears, "how can I ever thank you enough, how ever be sufficiently grateful to you, for the glad surprise you have given me this evening? Surely you must be a necromancer, or the good wizard of a fairy tale, for to me it seems nothing less than a fairy tale to have one I hold so dear restored to me in this fashion."
Mr. Ellerslie took her hands in his, bent over them, and raised them for a second to his lips. "Nay, nay, my dear young lady," he replied, "if any thanks be due in the matter--though why there should be I fail to see--then must they fall not to my share, but to that of my nephew, Geoffrey Dare."
An involuntary "Oh!" broke from Miss Baynard. His nephew! It was a revelation which seemed to throw light on several things.
"It was Geoff who brought the child here at a late hour last night, asleep and perched on his horse in front of him. As to whom, where, and how he picked the youngster up, I must refer you to him in person."
"But when shall I see Mr. Dare? Is he not here?"
"At present he is not. Some business called him away in the course of the day. But I have his promise that he will be back not later than ten o'clock to-morrow morning."
"And I shall see him then?"
"Certainly you will, my dear Miss Baynard. He will be here immediately after breakfast."
By this time he had led her back to her chair, and had seated himself in another on the opposite side of the hearth.
Miss Baynard hesitated a moment, then she said: "When I left Stanbrook in consequence of your message, Mr. Ellerslie, it was certainly without any design of staying over night at Rockmount."
"But, my dear young lady, as circumstances have fallen out, I fail to see how you can very well help yourself; that is to say, unless it is your intention to leave your young cousin for a time under my charge, a charge, I need scarcely tell you, which I will very gladly undertake."
"You are very good, Mr. Ellerslie, but when I go back Evan must go with me."
"Then permit me to observe that, putting yourself out of the question, the hour is far too late a one for the child to travel." It was the same argument the housekeeper had made use of.
"Besides, where's your hurry?" resumed Mr. Ellerslie. "The boy is restored to you, and that, as I take it, is the main thing. The rest's but leather and prunella."
"You might have added, Mr. Ellerslie, by way of clinching your argument, that it would not be the first time I have slept under the roof of Rockmount."
"Eh?" exclaimed Mr. Ellerslie, with a palpable start.
"A certain Mr. Frank Nevill sought and found shelter here one night early in the present year. It may be that you have not quite forgotten the young man in question?"
"I have not by any means forgotten him."
"Furthermore, you have been for some time aware--for how long I do not know--that the aforesaid Mr. Nevill and Miss Baynard, of Stanbrook, were and are one and the same person. And how I happen to know this I will now make clear to you. For a certain reason--which at the time seemed to him all-powerful, but which after-circumstances turned to foolishness--thesoi-disantFrank Nevill chose, for one night, to enact the part of an amateur highwayman, and wound up his adventure by accepting the hospitality of Rockmount. On quitting here next morning, by some oversight he left his mask behind him. Time passed on, and when three or four months had gone by the missing mask was forwarded through the post to Miss Baynard, but without any word of explanation, or any clue to the sender of it. And there the matter rested till this afternoon, when Miss Baynard received a note from Mr. Ellerslie informing her that he had certain news to communicate. To Miss B. the writing seemed not wholly strange, and on comparing it with the address on the sheet of paper, which she had kept, in which the mask had been enclosed, she could not doubt that they had both emanated from one pen. But doubtless much of this is old news to you, Mr. Ellerslie. To Mr. Dare my double identity has for some time been no secret, and he----"
Mr. Ellerslie held up his hand. "Pardon me. Not even to me would my nephew speak of matters which involved a point of honor between himself and another. That which you have just told me has now become a matter of little or no moment, and such being the case, there can be no harm in my confessing that the identity of Miss Baynard with Mr. Frank Nevill was suspected by me almost from the first. Why was the same mare ridden by both, as one of my men, who chanced on Miss Baynard next day when on her way back to Stanbrook, averred to be the fact? But it was my housekeeper who was the first to raise a doubt in my mind with regard to the sex of 'Mr. Frank Nevill.' That young blade had not been ten minutes under my roof before she came to me and said, 'You may take my word for it, sir, that yon young gentleman in the oak parlor is no more a gentleman than I am, and would be far more at home in petticoats than in what he's wearing now.' Evidently Mrs. Dobson knew what she was talking about. She is a woman of penetration, and I have a great respect for her."
Next morning Miss Baynard and Evan breakfasted alone, Mr. Ellerslie remaining invisible. But Nell, who was becoming accustomed to her host's eccentricities, was hardly surprised at his non-appearance. Not much appetite had she this morning. Dare was coming at ten o'clock, and the thought of her forthcoming interview with him disturbed her strangely. They were about to part. When she had given expression to her gratitude, and they had taken leave of each other, and she had gone her way and he his, what chance or likelihood was there of their ever meeting again? By his own confession his business in England was now at an end; in a few days, or a few weeks at the latest, he would have left its shores, never to return; they would have passed out of each other's life, and, except for one thing, all would be as it was before they first met.
Yes, save and except for one thing, but one which to Nell made all imaginable difference. Then she had held her heart fast in her own keeping, but what had become of the poor thing now? She had given it away without having been asked for it. Could anything be more shameful? It was gone from her past reclaiming; lost to her forever; and yet he into whose keeping it had been given knew nothing about it. And he never would know. He would carry it away with him, all unwitting, and to all outward seeming, life with her would go on just as before. She alone would know that she had lost something which nothing else could make up to her, that some of the magic had faded out of existence, and that the sun no longer shone quite so brightly as it had been used to do.
Hardly had the clocks struck ten when there came a tap at the door, which was followed by the entrance of Geoffrey Dare. Young Evan was on the floor busied with some toys which the housekeeper had disinterred for him out of one of the garrets. The moment he saw who the newcomer was, he called out: "Uncle Geoff, come here. One of my horses has only got three legs, and I want you to make me a new one."
"Presently, my dear boy, presently," he replied, as, after pausing for a moment at the door, he went slowly forward, his eyes fixed full on Miss Baynard.
She was standing, supporting herself with one hand on the table and with the other pressed to her side. For a little space her gaze met his without the flicker of an eyelash and then dropped before the ardor of his regard. Her heart was beating tumultuously, while the quick rise and fall of her bosom told of the emotions at work beneath. A lovely flush suffused both face and throat; but Dare was paler than ordinary, and haggard and weary-looking, and might have just risen from a sick bed. Both were putting a strong restraint on themselves, but each showed it in a different way.
Nell did not advance with impulsive outstretched hands, as she had done in the case of Mr. Ellerslie. It was as though her limbs refused to move under her. But when Dare came up and held out one of his hands, she laid one of hers in it readily enough. "It did not take long to bring you here, Miss Baynard," he said, "when once you knew that my uncle had tidings of the boy."
After pressing her hand slightly he had withdrawn his own. They might have been the merest casual acquaintances, Nell felt a little bitterly. And yet, unless her feelings had blinded her, as he entered the room, she had detected in his eyes a flame of passionate ardor from which her own had been fain to shrink abashed. Could it be that he was hiding something from her, even as she was hiding something from him? As this question flashed across her she raised her eyes once more to his. But the flame which had so dazzled her a minute before was no longer there. Had it been extinguished? or was it merely that a veil had been temporarily drawn before it?
It was after a scarcely observable pause that she answered his remark. "You may be sure that after Mr. Ellerslie's message reached me I let no grass grow under my feet. I came, looking to have merely some tidings of the boy, whereas it was Evan himself whom I found! But I am only telling you what you know already. When I began to thank your uncle, under the belief that I owed Evan's recovery to him, he stopped me. It seems that you are the person to whom my thanks are due. Believe me, Mr. Dare, they are yours from the bottom of my heart."
Dare bowed. "Not a word more on that score, I beg," he said with a smile. "I need not tell you that it makes me very happy to have been the means of restoring Evan to you; but, as you are aware, I myself have a strong interest in the boy--strong enough to make it impossible for me to leave a stone unturned till he had been found, whether by me or some one else did not greatly matter."
"I am very glad it was you, and not another, who found him."
"And, of course, I am not sorry that such should have been the case."
Miss Baynard had resumed her chair, and Dare had dropped into another no great distance away.
"If there is no secret involved in the affair, and it will be breaking no confidence on your part, I should like you to tell me, not only how you succeeded in discovering Evan's whereabouts, but by what means you contrived to rescue him from the wretches--for wretches they must have been--who, to gratify some vile purpose of their own, stole him away in broad daylight."
"'Tis a story very easily told. To your old friend Captain Nightshade is due the boy's rescue from those who abducted him."
"To Captain Nightshade? Oh!"
"Who once more, and for the last time, revisited the glimpses of the moon. But I am starting my story at the wrong end. I will tell it you from the beginning, since you say you would like to hear it. First of all, however, I must inquire into the state of Master Evan's horse, which seems to be minus one of its legs."
Miss Baynard left Rockmount two hours later, but without seeing Mr. Ellerslie again, who sent his apologies by his nephew. His rheumatism had come on in the night, and this morning he was unable to rise.
Dare rode with Miss Baynard as far as the park gates of Stanbrook, with Evan in front of him. Next day he was going to London, there to complete a few preparations and arrange certain business matters for Mr. Ellerslie, before setting sail for that New World where his home would henceforth be. But this was not to be their final farewell; they would see each other once more in about a fortnight, when Dare would come north in order to bid his uncle good-bye, on which occasion he would not fail to call at Stanbrook. He would not, of course, dream of leaving England without seeing his godson again.
And so they parted, both secretly consumed with love. Dare would not open his lips. In the first place, he was far too poor to marry; and then, to dream that, in any case, the proud and beautiful Miss Baynard would stoop so low as to wed the notorious "Captain Nightshade" was the veriest moonstruck folly. Had he but known how often Nell, with despair gnawing at her heartstrings, murmured sadly to herself, "If only he would say one word!" what a change, little less than miraculous, would have come over him!
But the word was not said, and they separated with nothing warmer than a hand-grasp--torn asunder, not by Fate, but by their own pride, and to the full as wretched as parted lovers are always said, or supposed, to be.
Lady Carradine, having much leisure time on her hands, and being fond of letter-writing, not infrequently obliged her goddaughter with one of her lengthy and somewhat diffusely-worded epistles. To Miss Baynard, in the retirement of Stanbrook, these occasional glimpses of a life so different from her own were always welcome; and as her ladyship had now taken up her permanent residence in London and saw a good deal of company, she had much to tell that was both fresh and interesting.
Nearly a fortnight had gone by since Nell's return from Rockmount, and she was looking daily for the coming of Dare, when one of Lady Carradine's crossed and recrossed letters--postage in those days was a consideration--came to hand. With only one part of her ladyship's epistle are we in any way concerned. The part in question ran as under:--
"I forget, my dear, whether I ever mentioned to you that among my many acquaintances is numbered Sir Peter Warrendale, a baronet of old family, whose home, when he is at home, is somewhere in your benighted part of the country. Of late years, however, he has been seen a good deal in town. I have a notion that his health is not quite what he would like it to be, and that he has little or no faith in your rural practitioners, which I can't wonder at. But that is his own secret.
"He is now well on for seventy, a tetchy, cross-grained old man, with a good word for nobody behind their back; and I have not the least doubt he pulls me to pieces before others, just as he pulls others to pieces before me. I candidly confess that I don't like him, but he helps to amuse me, and to any one who does that I can forgive much.
"I had not seen him for some little time till one evening about a week ago, when he called upon me, evidently brimful of news, of which it was needful that he should relieve himself to somebody if he wished to escape a fit of apoplexy. I quite expected that I was about to be treated to the latest scandalouson dit, or the most recent morsel of society gossip, which would lose nothing in Sir Peter's telling, but for once I was mistaken. What he had to tell me was the particulars of a somewhat singular incident in which he had figured as one of the chief actors.
"It would appear that several months ago Sir Peter, while travelling in his own chariot, was stopped by a mounted highwayman and relieved, among other things, of a choice snuff-box--an heirloom, and set with brilliants--by which he set great store. Although the affair happened in his own part of the country, when he came to town, a few weeks later, he reported his loss at Bow Street, and handed in a full description of the box. This he did in the faint hope that the box might some day find its way to one of the London pawnbrokers--to each of whom a description of it would have been furnished--and, through him, back to its rightful owner.
"Time went on, and Sir Peter had given up all hope of ever seeing his box again, when he was one day requested to betake himself to Bow Street, and there, sure enough, he set eyes once more on his precious heirloom. It had been found on the person of a low London thief who had been arrested for something altogether different.
"But now comes the most singular feature of the affair. The box had beentwicestolen, once, several months ago, from the person of Sir Peter, and a second time, a few weeks ago, here in London, from the person of a certain Mr. Geoffrey Dare, and both losses had been notified to the authorities.
"Sir Peter having identified the box as his property, it became needful to ascertain through what channel it had come into the possession of Mr. Dare, who seems to be one of those numerous young men of good family about whom one is continually hearing, who seem to think that twenty thousand pounds will go as far as a hundred thousand, and who, after their follies and extravagances have made them the talk of the town for a few seasons, vanish and are no more seen. At any rate, that, some two or three years ago, the young man in question was a well-known figure in London society, and that, with the help of the gaming table--an important factor in nearly all such cases--he dissipated his fortune to the last shilling, are well ascertained facts.
"When inquired for at his lodgings--a couple of cheap rooms in some horrid back street--it was ascertained that he had gone into the country for an indefinite time, without leaving any word where he might be found. Such being the state of affairs, nothing more could be done till he should return, which he did about ten days ago. A message had been left at his lodgings, requesting his attendance at Bow Street, which he seems to have lost no time in obeying. There he was questioned as to how the snuff-box came into his keeping, and, his answers not being deemed satisfactory, he was confronted with Sir Peter.
"In him--although he admitted that the highwayman was masked--the baronet professed to recognize the man who robbed him of his purse and the box; indeed, on being pressed, he actually went so far as to swear to his identity with the robber, although, from what he has confessed to me, I cannot help thinking that the evidence on which he grounds his accusation is of the flimsiest possible kind.
"But be that as it may, after two or three remands at Bow Street, Dare has been committed to take his trial for highway robbery at the next Lanchester assizes, within a few miles of which town Sir Peter was waylaid.
"I had written thus far yesterday when Sir Peter himself rang the bell. He brought me some further news with regard to young Dare which is of a sufficiently remarkable kind.
"It would appear that the authorities have some ground for believing that in him they have laid hands on no less a personage than a certain Captain Nightshade (a sobriquet, of course), whose exploits and adventures as a gentleman of the road in the course of the past two or three years have, according to Sir Peter, formed the fireside talk of half the households in the north of England. It seems, however, that some six or eight months ago he disappeared, and has not been heard of since. But now that the runners have been laid on the scent, 'twill not be their fault if they fail to run their quarry to earth.
"Poor fellow! I can't help feeling sorry for him, although it may be very reprehensible on my part to say so. I am afraid it will go hard with him at his trial. 'Tis said that Captain Nightshade was one of the most chivalrous of men, and never robbed a woman in his life."