CHAPTER VI.THE UNDERGROUND PASSAGE.
“’Tis sure some dream, some vision wild!What,I, of rank and wealth the child,AmIthe wretch that bears this shame,Deprived of freedom, friends and fame?”
“’Tis sure some dream, some vision wild!What,I, of rank and wealth the child,AmIthe wretch that bears this shame,Deprived of freedom, friends and fame?”
“’Tis sure some dream, some vision wild!What,I, of rank and wealth the child,AmIthe wretch that bears this shame,Deprived of freedom, friends and fame?”
“’Tis sure some dream, some vision wild!
What,I, of rank and wealth the child,
AmIthe wretch that bears this shame,
Deprived of freedom, friends and fame?”
The chamber in which Lady Leaton had died, and where Eudora was imprisoned, had, in the olden time, been the abbot’s apartment. It was a vast, dark, gloomy room, now dimly lighted by a lamp that stood upon the mantelshelf.
For a long time after Malcolm Montrose, Dr. Watkins and the constables had withdrawn from the chamber, Eudora remained, crushed back in the depths of the large chair, with her head bowed upon her bosom, her black ringlets falling forward, and half veiling her beautiful dark face, her left hand, that Malcolm had resigned, falling listlessly down by her side, and her right hand still clasped in that of Tabitha, who continued to stand by her side. No word was spoken between them as yet. Eudora was buried in profound, agonizing and bewildering thought, such as always overwhelms the sensitive victim of any sudden and crushing misfortune. The shock of the thunderbolt that had just fallen upon her, devastating her inner life, and leaving the outer so still, and black, and threatening: the vast, dark, sombre room; the dead silence around her—all combined to shake her reason to its centre. In the confusion wrought among nerves, head and brain by this inner storm of sensation, thought and suffering, she was fast losing confidence in heaven, trust in the reality of external circumstances, and even faith in her own identity.
Suddenly she threw herself forward, and tightened her clasp upon Tabitha’s hand, with convulsive tone, exclaiming:
“Wake me! wake me, Tabitha! I have the nightmare, and cannot rouse myself. Oh, wake me! wake me, for the love of Heaven!”
Tabitha, whom respect for her mistress’s sorrow had hitherto kept silent, now became alarmed for her sanity.
Bending over her with an almost reverential tenderness, she whispered:
“Dear young lady, try to be composed and collect your thoughts, and remember yourself.”
“Oh, Heaven! I remember too well! too well!” cried Eudora, in a piercing voice, dropping her face into her hands, and shuddering through her whole frame. “It is no horrible illusion! It is an awful reality! My aunt and cousin are really dead, and I am arrested upon the charge of poisoning them! Oh, horrible! most horrible! Oh, I shall go mad! I shall go mad!” she exclaimed, starting from her chair, casting up her arms, and throwing herself forward upon the floor.
For a moment Tabitha gazed in dismay upon this exhibition of violent emotion in one whom she loved and honored almost to adoration, and then kneeling down beside her, she gently put her arms around her waist to raise her up, whispering in a low, respectful voice:
“Dear young lady, try to recollect yourself, your dignity, your rank, and, above all, your innocence, and put your trust in God!”
Put your trust in God. It was the best advice the simple country-girl could give, but the Archbishop of Canterbury could not have given any better.
Eudora suffered herself to be lifted up and replaced in the deep chair, into which she sank helplessly, and where she remained, with her head propped upon her breast, and her arms fallen upon her lap, in the stupor of despair to which the violence of her anguish had yielded.
Tabitha kneeled at her feet, took her hands, and gazing pleadingly up into her face, said:
“Dear Miss Eudora, look up and hope; all is not lost that is in danger! Have faith in Him who delivered the three innocent children from the fires of the furnace seven times heated. Come, now, let me undress you and help you to bed.”
“Into that bed—into that bed whencehercorpse has just been removed? Oh, never, never! Besides, I could not sleep with the prospect of to-morrow before me, when I shall be taken to the common gaol. How could I sleep? I shall never sleep again! Good girl, leave me to my own thoughts,” said Eudora, with a trembling voice and quivering face.
Tabitha spoke no more, but drawing a footstool, she sat down at her mistress’s feet, and silently held one of her listless hands.
Some time they sat thus: the heavy minutes seemed drawn out to the length of hours. The house was still as death, and the mantle clock was on the stroke of eleven when the quick ears of Tabitha caught a slight, cautious, grating sound in the wainscoted wall on the left of the fire-place. She raised her head, and turned her eyes quickly in the direction of the sound, and with a half-suppressed shriek and a throbbing heart, she saw one of the oak panels slide away, and an anxious face and a warning hand appear at the opening.
The smothered cry of her woman had attracted Eudora’s attention; and with the apathy of one plunged so deeply in wretchedness as to fear no farther evil, the unhappy girl followed, with her listless glance, the frightened gaze of her attendant.
At this moment the hand at the opening was extended in an encouraging gesture, and a familiar voice murmured, quickly and softly:
“Hist! hist, Tabitha! Don’t be afraid! It is I.”
And the next instant the man came through the opening, and Malcolm Montrose stood within the room. He extendedhis hand in a warning manner as he approached, saying:
“Hist! hist! for Heaven’s love, control yourselves! be composed, and all will be well!”
By this time he stood before the mistress and the maid, who gazed upon him in astonishment indeed, but not in alarm.
“Let us speak in whispers, and then, thanks to the thickness of these walls and doors, we shall not be heard by the policemen on guard. Listen—there are bolts on this side of the chamber doors. Are they drawn fast?”
“No, sir,” replied Tabitha, in a hushed voice.
With a sign that they should remain silent and motionless, Malcolm glided on tip-toe, first to one door and then to the other, and cautiously slid the bolts into their sockets, making them both as fast on the inside as they were on the outside.
He then returned to the side of Eudora, and stood for a moment listening intently, and then apparently satisfied that all was well, he murmured:
“Peace be with the worthy king or bishop who built these walls so solidly! The sentinels without have heard nothing.”
Then turning to the curious, anxious, and expectant waiting-maid he whispered:
“Tabitha, my good girl, I can depend upon you to aid me in freeing your young lady?”
“Depend upon me? Oh, sir, don’t you know and doesn’t she know that I would throw myself between her and all that threatens her, and meet it in her stead, if so be I could?” said the brave and devoted girl, in a vehement whisper.
“Indeed it will be but little less than that which will be required of you, my good Tabitha.”
“Don’t doubt me, sir, but try me!” said the young woman, stoutly.
“Well, then, Tabitha, you have first to prepare youryoung lady for a hasty journey—thanks to the secret passage leading from the abbot’s apartments—to the ruins of the neighboring nunnery, which scandal declares to have been once put to a less worthy use. I have been able to provide the means for her escape. But you, my good girl, will have to remain here to cover her retreat, to face those who will come to seek her in the morning, and to withstand all questions as to how or with whom she left her prison. Are you firm enough for the duty, Tabitha?”
“Let ’em try me, that’s all, sir; and if they don’t find out as they’re met their match this time, I’m not a woman, but a muff. They may send me to prison, or they may hang me if they like. But I defy them to make me speak when I don’t want to speak!”
“They can do you no real harm, my girl, be sure of that. They would only threaten and frighten you at most.”
“Frighten who? Lawks, sir, you don’t know me; I aint made of frightenable stuff. But, sir, how we talk! won’t they know at once that my young lady got off through that secret passage of which you speak?”
“No; for its very existence is unknown or forgotten. It was only accident that discovered it to me some years ago, when I was delving among the ruins of the convent, and found in one of the cellars its other terminus. I entered it to thread its mazes; I should have been smothered but for the many crooked crevices in its rocky roof that let in the air. I found that it led to a steep narrow staircase; ascending it, I found myself opposite a panel, the character of which I could see by means of the narrow lines of light around its old and shrunken frame, light that evidently came from the opposite side. Curiosity got the better of discretion, and I worked away at the panel and slipped it aside, when, to my dismay, I found myself looking in upon the privacy of Lady Leaton’s sleeping-chamber, which was fortunately then empty. It was this, which was in theolden time the apartment of the Abbot. I was but a boy then, and being frightened at what I had done, I hastily replaced the panel and retreated, and never mentioned my adventure to any one. Afterwards, consulting the guidebook, I found that there was a mere tradition of a secret passage leading from the Abbey to the Convent, which scandal asserted to have been used by the master here when going to rendezvous with some fair nun; but of the precise locality of this secret passage, or even of its actual existence, the book did not pretend to speak with authority. Once I mentioned the tradition to my uncle and aunt, but they disregarded it as mere romance, and I kept my own counsel, and deferred the mention of my discovery to some future occasion. But to-night I have turned my knowledge of the secret passage to some account; to-night, once more I have threaded its mazes, and find myself in this chamber. I shall conduct Miss Leaton through this passage to the other outlet in the cellars of the ruined convent; there I have a chaise to carry her off. Farther than this, I need not tell you. And I have told you this much, first, because I believe you fully worthy of the confidence, and secondly, that being possessed of the real facts, you may be on your guard against cross-questioning as well as against threats, and so be able to baffle inquiry as well as to withstand browbeating,” said Malcolm Montrose.
“Oh, never you fear me, sir; I will never give Miss Leaton’s enemies the satisfaction of knowing as much as I know,” said Tabitha, firmly.
The young man had addressed himself first to the maid, not only to secure her immediate sympathy and co-operation, but also to afford Miss Leaton time to recover from her surprise, compose her spirits and collect her thoughts.
Now he turned to Eudora, who had been much agitated by the infusion of new hope into her despair, but who now controlling herself, sat quietly, though intently listening, and addressing her with reverential tenderness, he said:
“And now, dearest Eudora, rouse yourself; collect all your energies, and prepare for your immediate flight.”
She looked at him intently for a moment, and then in a faltering voice said:
“But oh, is it right? Ought I, who am as innocent as a child of that which they charge me with, ought I, like a guilty creature, to fly from justice? Think of it well, and then answer me, for I can rely upon your wisdom as well as upon your honor.”
“Eudora,” said the young man in a solemn voice, “it is not fromjusticethat I counsel you to fly, for you are innocent as you say, and the innocent have nothing to fear from justice; if there was a shadow of a hope that you would meet justice, my tongue should be the last to advise, my hand the last to assist your escape. No, Eudora, it is not fromjustice, but from the cruelest injustice—from murder, from martyrdom that I would snatch you!”
“Yet still think once more. You grant that I am innocent. Conscious of that innocence, ought I not to have courage enough to meet the trial, and faith enough to trust in God for deliverance?” inquired the girl gravely.
“Trust in God, by all means, through all things, and to any extent: but exercise that trust by wisely embracing the means He has provided for your escape rather than by madly remaining to meet swift and certain destruction.”
“But yet—but yet it seems weak and wrong for the innocent to fly like the guilty!” said Eudora, hesitatingly.
“Does it? Then I will give you Scripture warrant and example for the course! When Herod sent forth and slew the infants in Galilee, did the parents of the child Jesus tarry in Bethlehem because he was innocent and even Divine? No; warned by the angel, they fled into Egypt. In after years, when Jesus went about preaching and teaching through Jerusalem, and when the high priests sought Him to kill Him, did He tarry in deadly peril because He was innocent, holy, and Divine? No! He withdrew into theMount of Olives, or entered a ship, and put off from the land, because His hour had not yet come! Oh, Eudora! it is not faith but presumption that tempts you to remain and face sure and sudden ruin,” urged the young man, in impassioned earnestness, while he gazed in an agony of anxiety upon her countenance.
Eudora shuddered through her whole frame, but remained silent.
“Oh, Heaven, Eudora!” he continued, “why do you still hesitate? Must I set the truth before you in all its ghastly realities? I must, I must, for time presses, and the danger is imminent! Listen, most unhappy girl! You are here a prisoner, charged with the most atrocious crime that ever cursed humanity; that charge is supported by a mass of evidence that would crush an archangel! To-morrow morning you will be removed from this room to the common gaol. Next week the assizes will be held; you will be brought to trial; you will be overwhelmed beneath an avalanche of evidence! and then—oh, Heaven, Eudora! but two short weeks will elapse between the sentence of the judge and the execution of the prisoner! In less than one little month from this you will be murdered—martyred!” exclaimed the young man in thrilling, vehement, impassioned whispers, while the agitation of his whole frame, and the perspiration that streamed from his flushed brow, exhibited the agony of his anxiety.
With a smothered shriek, the unhappy girl fell back in her chair, and covered her face with her hands, as though to shut out the scene of horror that had been called up before her imagination.
“Fly, Eudora! fly at once! fly with me, and I will place you in safety, where you may remain until Providence shall bring the truth to light, the guilty to justice, and your innocence to a perfect vindication! Fly! fly, Eudora! It would be madness to stay!”
“I will! I will fly!” she exclaimed, in a hurried whisper, as she started up.
Tabitha snatched up the black bonnet and shawl that had been brought in on the preceding evening for a far different purpose, and hastily assisted her mistress to put them on. She tied the little bonnet strings under her chin, and tied the black crape veil over her face. Then she wrapped the shawl carefully around her form, doubling its folds twice over her chest to protect it from the chill of the night air, for Eudora’s Asiatic temperament would ill bear exposure in this climate of cold mists, and pronounced her ready for her journey.
As Malcolm looked anxiously upon her, he saw that her simple, plain dress of deep mourning was admirably well calculated for her escape and her journey, for it revealed nothing of her social position, since the wearer of such a dress might be the daughter of a tradesman or the child of an earl.
“And now, my good girl, we must take leave of you at once. Remember that no one can harm you; therefore be firm in refusing to give any clue to the manner of Miss Leaton’s escape,” said Malcolm Montrose, shaking hands with the faithful attendant.
“Never you doubt, sir; they shall draw me apart with wild horses before they draw any information from me,” said Tabitha, firmly.
“Good-bye, dear girl; I hope, and trust, and pray that you may come to no evil through your devotion to me,” said Eudora, kissing her humble friend.
“Never you fear, Miss; if any body comes to grief in this chase, it won’t be her as is hunted, but them as hunts, which is as much as to say it won’t be Tabitha Tabs!” said the latter, valiantly.
After once more pressing the hand of her faithful maid, Eudora followed Malcolm through the secret opening, leaving the brave Tabitha alone in the chamber.