CHAPTERCXXIX.AFTER THE TRAGEDY.Lord Ethalwood had some misgivings respecting the inmates of the chateau he was about to enter. He did not know very well what to say to the widow or her daughter. Being perfectly well assured the fatal deed would be the subject of conversation with everybody in the neighbourhood, and that the whole circumstances would on the following day become known to Theresa and her mother, it was not possible for him to remain silent on the subject. He therefore stood irresolute at the garden gate, not knowing very well what course to take.To all appearance the inmates of the establishment had retired to rest, for he could not see any light gleam from the window of the sitting-room, and all was as silent as the grave.The earl at this time felt like some guilty wretch who had returned red-handed from the perpetration of an act of violence.He strove as best he could to muster an air of intrepidity to his brow, but his heart beat audibly as he passed into the little garden surrounding the house. He observed the faint glimmer of light over the doorway; this proceeded from the small window above the entrance.He paused for a few moments, and then gently tapped at the door, which was opened by Agatha, who, pale as ashes, started back at beholding him.“Agatha, dear, what ails you?” inquired the earl, not knowing at the time what to say. “You seem scared, my lass.”“Oh, my lord,” exclaimed the maid, “you have returned. Heaven be praised for that!”“Where is madame?” was the next question.“She is out—gone to attend upon a neighbour who is dangerously ill. She will not return till the morning.”The earl was thankful for this piece of information.“Well, it is very good of her,” said he, entering the parlour.“And you——” cried the maid, glancing at him with a look of wonderment.“I am right enough. Where is Mademoiselle Theresa?”“She has retired to rest—has been watching and waiting for you till she is fairly worn out.”“It is not so very late, Agatha.”“I don’t say it is, but—”“Well, what, girl?”“My young mistress has passed a miserable time since you left.”“And why, pray?”“I cannot tell you any more than she has had a foreboding of evil—a presentiment that something dreadful would happen to-night.”“And you?”“I have been much the same. But you are safe?”“Yes, and your fears are groundless, you see.”The girl flung herself into the arms of Lord Ethalwood and burst into tears.He strove as best he could to comfort her, and presently she dried her eyes and gave a faint smile.“You should not give way to idle fancies, my darling,” said the earl. “What is the matter?”“You seem so strange—your manner is so different—you do not appear to be like your former self.”“Bah! mere fancies. I am just the same as I always have been since you first knew me.”“Are you?” said Agatha, seating herself in a chair and endeavouring to collect her thoughts, which, to say the truth, at that particular period were in rather a deranged state.The sound as of a low moan, sigh, or wail, fell upon the ears of the earl; it seemed to proceed from one of the upper rooms.Upon the impulse of the moment he rushed upstairs. On reaching the first landing he stumbled over something. Upon recovering himself he discovered that it was a prostrate figure of a human being, and upon closer inspection he found it to be the senseless form of Theresa Trieste, who had from some cause or other swooned.Lord Ethalwood stooped down and raised the senseless Theresa, whom he carried into an adjoining room. He was so overcome with terror and anxiety that he did not know very well how to act, but after a moment’s reflection he laid her on a sofa and then sought for some vessel containing water. When this was found he bathed her forehead and temples. She heaved two or three deep-drawn sighs, and then opened her eyes.“It is you, my lord. The saints be praised you are alive and well,” she ejaculated.“Yes, dearest—I have returned, as you see. And you?”Ah, my lord—my dear Reginald, I have passed a miserable time, and thought some terrible misfortune had befallen you. For mercy’s sake tell me where you have been, and what has happened.”“I have been to De Monpres, as I told you.”“Ah! nowhere else?”“Why do you ask? I am here by your side. Be satisfied.”“I am more than satisfied.”He knelt by her side, and gazed upon her wan features. He did not remember her ever looking so beautiful as she did at that time. He was absorbed in contemplating her expressive and charming face. The terrible incidents of the night were for a moment or so effaced from his memory—he thought only of Theresa.He leant over her and embraced her tenderly.Theresa’s large eyes were bent upon Lord Ethalwood, upon whom she gazed with an expression of dreamy astonishment, and at first he was half disposed to think that she intended to repulse him, but in this he was mistaken. Tears came to her relief, and in piteous accents she exclaimed—“I have reason to be thankful, to rejoice—for you are safe. Gracious heaven! it is almost more than I have expected.”Her companion made no reply, but wound his arms lovingly around her.She entwined her arms about his neck with anabandonthat proved her heedlessness of the peril in which she was placing herself, but her love for the English nobleman was so strong that she was thereby held in bondage, and prudence was forgotten.It would indeed have been better for her had she been more circumspect and less demonstrative, but she was impulsive by nature and had not as yet learnt to put a restraint upon her actions.She had been plunged into almost hopeless despair while he was away—now her spirit seemed to rebound, and she forgot all else save the happy present. The man she loved was by her side, and demonstrating the strongest affection for her.Alas! a thousand times better had it been for her had her innocence been less perfect. How many tears of unavailing anguish might have remained unshed by her? How many years of bitter remorse might have been spared Lord Ethalwood?But neither the young maiden nor her lover viewed the subject by the cold light of reason. It is true, however, that the earl had at this time some qualms of conscience he could not fail to acknowledge to himself estranging the affection of a young maiden whom he could not under any circumstances consent to view in the character of a lawful wife.The earl was not at this time a heartless seducer, but he was so enamoured of the fair Theresa that passion got the better of his judgment and reason. The end may be readily imagined.“You have not been candid,” said Theresa. “I feel assured that something dreadful has happened. Do not conceal anything from me; I charge you as you love me to tell me all. You have met Gerome Chanet, I feel assured of that.”“Well, what if I have?” returned Lord Ethalwood, turning from her. “Suppose I admit it—what then?”“You cannot do otherwise than admit it, my lord. What has happened?”“We had a hostile meeting.”“I knew it. I felt assured of that. And how did it end?”Upon this the earl made a clean breast of it, and made Theresa acquainted with every minute particular connected with the tragedy in which he had played so conspicuous a part.His companion listened to the harrowing details with forced calmness.She did not betray outwardly any great emotion, but a heavy weight seemed to fall upon her, and she was supremely miserable.“What a dreadful ending—what a terrible calamity! Poor Gerome! He was true to the last, then?”“He was determined to have my life if possible; failing that, he was prepared to render up his own. The end was inevitable. Do not blame me, Theresa.”“I do not blame you, but what a risk you have run! Alas, you did not know the sort of man you had to deal with. Gracious Heaven! how very terrible is all this! But you must not stay in this neighbourhood. His death will be avenged. There are those who will watch and wait for you—those who will not scruple to slay you without pity or remorse. Oh, my dear Reginald, beware in time. Take heed of what I say ere it is too late. Your life may be sacrificed without a moment’s notice. You do not know the sanguinary nature of those who watch and waylay unwary travellers in the mountain fastnesses. You are utterly heedless of the risk you run. They would not scruple to take your life to make reprisals for the loss of their comrade. You must not remain here. It would be madness to do so. But oh, how terribly hard it is for me to part with you. But it must be done, indeed it must, dearest. Consider——”“I have considered,” exclaimed the earl; “and I am well capable of taking care of myself.”“You are powerless in such a case as this. No man can guard against treachery—not the most valiant. You must not—nay, you shall not—remain here.”“Whither would you have me fly, then?”“It matters not—your own country, or to France, anywhere you please, but don’t stay here. Oh, Reginald, for my sake promise me to go away.”No.68.Illustration: PEACE BARGAINING WITH JEW.PEACE BARGAINING WITH THE JEW RECEIVER.“You take a dark view of the aspect of affairs.”“It is not more dark and dismal than actual reality. Oh, this fatal love! How will it end? In death!”As she gave utterance to this last speech she burst into tears, and her limbs trembled with excitement.“Do you hear what I have been saying?” she ejaculated with bitterness.“Of course I have, my own sweet darling, and with me your wishes are law. I will leave the neighbourhood at my earliest convenience.”“At your earliest convenience! At once! You must do so at once.”“Well, at once, then. So be it; but not to-night.”“No, not to-night. It is already morning.”“To-morrow, then, if you desire me to do so.”“I do desire it. Oh, mercy on me, I am overwhelmed with sorrow and sadness. I repent the past, and tremble for the future.”“I will act in accordance with your expressed wishes. Do not give way to needless fear. Come, sweetest, cheer up—be not so downcast. It is a melancholy ending, but, as I before observed, it was inevitable.”He strove as best he could to pacify the wretched Theresa, whose only thoughts were for his safety. He promised to fly on the following day.They remained, exchanging words of love and vows of constancy, till the first few hours of the morning had passed away.When Lord Ethalwood sought his own couch it was with an aching head and a heavy heart that he sought repose. His slumbers were disturbed by hideous dreams, and he arose hot, feverish, and excited.Madame Trieste had returned, and was in the breakfast parlour when he presented himself. She tossed up her hands and heaved a deep sigh as her eyes lighted on him.She told him she knew all—knew of the duel and the death of Gerome Chanet, but she did not upbraid him, or express any dissatisfaction at the line of conduct he had chosen to pursue. On the contrary, she said that she knew it had been forced upon him, and that he had no other alternative than to accept the challenge.The Chevalier de Monpres had taken the precaution of sending to the earl’s residence, with the request that his groom should bring round one of his master’s saddle horses, and the man arrived at the widow’s chateau with a magnificent animal before the inmates of the establishment had finished breakfast.“It is very kind and considerate of the chevalier,” cried Madame Trieste, “and redounds very much to his credit. He, like ourselves, my lord, knows the class of people we have to deal with.”“Yes, I have good reason to be thankful for the active part the chevalier has taken. He has befriended me in a way I had no reason to expect from one whose acquaintance I had so recently made. I owe him a deep debt of gratitude.”“To crown all,” cried the widow, “he must be a most worthy man in addition to being a remarkably clever and courteous one.”“I should very much have liked to introduce him to you,” observed the earl; “and indeed it would be as well, perhaps, to do so now.”“No, no—some other time. A more favourable opportunity will occur,” said Theresa. “Do not linger here for any such purpose.”“Upon my word, mademoiselle, it seems to me that you are in a monstrous hurry to get rid of me,” said the earl, with a sickly smile.“It is only out of consideration for you, my lord,” returned Madame Trieste. “My dear Theresa would not willingly part with you unless the urgency of the case demanded it.”“I am well convinced of that, madame—at least, I flatter myself that such is the case,” returned Lord Ethalwood.The groom informed his master that the Chevalier de Monpres had sent a message, requesting the earl to call at the chateau where he was staying as he proceeded on his road home.“I will do so, Curtis,” said Lord Ethalwood. “Ride on and inform the chevalier that I will be with him in less than an hour from this time.”The groom upon this started off, leaving Lord Ethalwood’s horse ready caparisoned at the garden-gate of the widow’s house.“So you are going to ride over to your residence?” said Madame Trieste, “and without an attendant, it would seem.”“Nay, not so,” observed the earl. “Curtis will attend me.”“But he has gone on to Monsieur de Monpres.”“True, I shall be by myself part of the way.”“And do you not think that very bad policy?”“Why so, madame?”“Suppose two or three ruffians were to attack you—what then?”“I should have to defend myself to the best of my ability—that is all,” returned the earl, with a smile.“You make light of the matter, my lord. I look upon it from a different point of view. I consider your path beset with danger, and that you cannot be too cautious. You ought not to travel without an escort.”“It would be as well, perhaps, to have company on the road, but it is, after all, of no very great moment. I dare say I shall be able to reach home in safety.”“I hope so, I am sure,” said Madame Trieste, “but you don’t know the natives of these parts so well as we do.”“Certainly not. I don’t pretend to do so.”“They are by nature treacherous, and are not to be trusted.”“I don’t intend to put any trust in them, and for this reason I have no confidence in any of the rascals. But, my very dear friend,” said Ethalwood, in an altered tone, “there is now an imperative necessity for me to take my departure. I am constrained by the force of circumstances to leave. Before doing so I have to express to you my deep sense of gratitude for all your kindness—which will be remembered for the remainder of my life. Let me, my dear Madame Trieste, assure you that, although from the force of circumstances I am constrained to take an abrupt leave of you, that I shall bear with me the most lively sense of your motherly kindness, and at the same time that I shall always look upon you as one of my most attached friends, for beneath your roof I have passed the happiest years of my life.”“Oh, my lord,” exclaimed the widow, “I am indeed proud of the encomiums you are pleased to pass upon me; but although we part now from stern necessity we shall, I hope, meet again under happier circumstances.”“I hope so, I am sure,” said the earl, bending over her and imprinting a kiss on her forehead. “And now, my dear Theresa,” he added, “do not think I shall forget you. I shall bear you in my remembrance, and long for the time when we may be reunited.”“Oh, my lord, my heart is too full for me to express myself in words. Be cautious—be mindful of the great peril you are now in, and for the rest let me hear from you. You will not forget your poor unhappy Theresa?”“Never—never! I swear it,” cried the earl, embracing the young maiden with fervour.He was not disposed to prolong the scene, which, to say the truth, was a trying one. He therefore made at once for the garden-gate and mounted his steed; then with another embrace and a blessing on the inmates of the chateau, he trotted off.Theresa Trieste watched the horse and its rider till both were out of sight—then she gave a faint scream and fell back into the arms of her mother.Lord Ethalwood trotted on until he came to a steep hill, with the precipitous rocks on either side. He drew the rein and walked his horse up the acclivity. He was ruminating on past events, and for a short time was lost in a reverie, when all of a sudden he heard the sharp crack of a rifle, which reverberated with a thousand echoes through the rocks overhead. A bullet was flattened against a stone wall which stood within a few paces from him.Aroused to a sense of the danger, which was so immediate, he clapped spurs to the flanks of his steed, and galloped up the hill.“Ah,” he murmured, “a narrow escape. Theresa was right; there are murderous villains prowling about, and the chances are that this may not be the only shot that will be fired.”He did not give much time for his assailant or assailants to take deliberate aim, but put out his high-mettled steed to the utmost, and was thankful when the house in which the chevalier was located came within view. He found his groom awaiting his appearance at the entrance gates, which were thrown open, whereupon the earl rode at once into the yard. The gates were then closed.De Monpres presented himself, and was overjoyed to see his friend, whom he at once conducted into the interior of the chateau.“Well,” said the old Frenchman, “what news? How goes it?”“The scoundrels are afoot. I was fired at, and a bullet was flattened against the wall beside the road.”“I guessed it would be so,” returned the chevalier. “I was a fool to let you come alone. My dear friend, you don’t know what those fellows are. The greatest caution is now needed, for I believe one or more of them have sworn to have your life, but we will baffle them. The worst is now over, and for the rest——”“Well, how about the rest?” inquired the earl.“It’s just this—you must cut and run. Don’t imagine for a moment that such a course of action is discreditable to you; on the contrary, it is most wise and discreet. Of what avail is it seeking to hunt down or bring to justice a parcel of lawless miscreants who lie in ambush? My good fellow, I know what a guerilla war is—have gone through it: they pick you off before you know where you are; and, mind you, they would take a pride in making dogs’ meat of you. No, no, my lord, we won’t risk that, and to remain here to be a mark for sharp-shooting—why, it would be madness. They have sworn to have your life.”“Have they?”“Do you doubt it?”“I don’t know what to say—am in perfect ignorance of their movements.”“I think you have already had proof sufficient. I tell you that they lie concealed in all parts. The first question that occurs to me is, how you are to reach your chateau in safety.”“I will ride there.”“You will do no such thing.”“Why not?”“Because I won’t let you—that’s why.”“But what would you have me do then?”“That depends upon circumstances. We will, if you please, hold a council of war.”As the chevalier made this last observation, a stout, good-humoured-looking gentleman entered the room.“Ah,” cried De Monpres, “I am glad you have come back, Monsieur. This is my friend, Earl Ethalwood, of whom you have heard me speak. My lord,” said he in continuation, addressing himself to the earl, “Monsieur Jantie, my friend and host.”“I am proud to make your acquaintance,” said Jantie, “and have to express my regret that it is not under more favourable circumstances, as I shall not have the pleasure of your society for long.”“No, no, not for long,” said the chevalier with a laugh, “you may rest assured of that. The wolves are prowling about, seeking whom they may devour, and my friend, Ethalwood, is a marked man.”“Ah, surely you are taking an unfavourable view of the case,” remarked the earl.“Bah! don’t be so dubious,” cried De Monpres. “I had it upon the best authority that a group of mountaineers—unscrupulous desperadoes—swore over the dead body of their comrade, Gerome Chanet, to have your life. What more do you need in confirmation of my statement?”“Is it possible?”“Possible—it is a fact beyond all controversy.”“And how came this to your knowledge?”“Well, I don’t know that I am bound to secrecy. Monsieur Vasseralt, who after all turns out to be a good fellow enough, gave me the information. Now are you satisfied?”“Perfectly. Monsieur Vasseralt—eh?”“Yes, he was my informant; but, mark you, this unholy and sanguinary proceeding was not countenanced or approved of by him. He has, however, given me a caution, a timely warning, which we shall do well to remember.”“The infamous wretches!”“Ah, but they think it a praiseworthy action. It all depends upon how men view these matters.”“I am beset with difficulties, it would seem,” said the earl.“We’ll pull you through—leave the matter in my hands. An old soldier like myself will prove too much for these fellows, I expect,” said De Monpres.“You must place yourself in De Monpres’ hands,” observed Monsieur Jantie, addressing himself to the earl.“I have the utmost confidence in the chevalier,” observed the latter—“I wish I had his experience and wisdom.”The chevalier bowed courteously, and the conversation was continued in a lively strain. Monsieur Jantie treated the earl with marked politeness and attention, and begged of him as a personal favour to spend the remainder of the day with him. This honour, however, Lord Ethalwood declined, upon the plea that there was an imperative necessity for him to be at his own chateau.It was ultimately arranged that Ethalwood and the chevalier were to be driven home in one of the close carriages ofM.Jantie. The reason for this may be readily imagined.The sharpshooters from the surrounding hills would be baffled. It was just possible, however, that an attempt might be made by a lawless band to stop the carriage. There was no telling how far the audacity of the men might carry them. It was, therefore, upon the advice of Vasseralt, Chanet’s second, that the carriage was drawn under the escort of some half-a-dozen lusty yeomen retainers of Monsieur Jantie. These persons carried loaded weapons, and were otherwise armed to the teeth, and so, with these precautionary measures, Earl Ethalwood and his friend the Chevalier de Monpres contrived to arrive home in safety.On the following day the earl set out on his journey, and made the best of his way to his native country.
Lord Ethalwood had some misgivings respecting the inmates of the chateau he was about to enter. He did not know very well what to say to the widow or her daughter. Being perfectly well assured the fatal deed would be the subject of conversation with everybody in the neighbourhood, and that the whole circumstances would on the following day become known to Theresa and her mother, it was not possible for him to remain silent on the subject. He therefore stood irresolute at the garden gate, not knowing very well what course to take.
To all appearance the inmates of the establishment had retired to rest, for he could not see any light gleam from the window of the sitting-room, and all was as silent as the grave.
The earl at this time felt like some guilty wretch who had returned red-handed from the perpetration of an act of violence.
He strove as best he could to muster an air of intrepidity to his brow, but his heart beat audibly as he passed into the little garden surrounding the house. He observed the faint glimmer of light over the doorway; this proceeded from the small window above the entrance.
He paused for a few moments, and then gently tapped at the door, which was opened by Agatha, who, pale as ashes, started back at beholding him.
“Agatha, dear, what ails you?” inquired the earl, not knowing at the time what to say. “You seem scared, my lass.”
“Oh, my lord,” exclaimed the maid, “you have returned. Heaven be praised for that!”
“Where is madame?” was the next question.
“She is out—gone to attend upon a neighbour who is dangerously ill. She will not return till the morning.”
The earl was thankful for this piece of information.
“Well, it is very good of her,” said he, entering the parlour.
“And you——” cried the maid, glancing at him with a look of wonderment.
“I am right enough. Where is Mademoiselle Theresa?”
“She has retired to rest—has been watching and waiting for you till she is fairly worn out.”
“It is not so very late, Agatha.”
“I don’t say it is, but—”
“Well, what, girl?”
“My young mistress has passed a miserable time since you left.”
“And why, pray?”
“I cannot tell you any more than she has had a foreboding of evil—a presentiment that something dreadful would happen to-night.”
“And you?”
“I have been much the same. But you are safe?”
“Yes, and your fears are groundless, you see.”
The girl flung herself into the arms of Lord Ethalwood and burst into tears.
He strove as best he could to comfort her, and presently she dried her eyes and gave a faint smile.
“You should not give way to idle fancies, my darling,” said the earl. “What is the matter?”
“You seem so strange—your manner is so different—you do not appear to be like your former self.”
“Bah! mere fancies. I am just the same as I always have been since you first knew me.”
“Are you?” said Agatha, seating herself in a chair and endeavouring to collect her thoughts, which, to say the truth, at that particular period were in rather a deranged state.
The sound as of a low moan, sigh, or wail, fell upon the ears of the earl; it seemed to proceed from one of the upper rooms.
Upon the impulse of the moment he rushed upstairs. On reaching the first landing he stumbled over something. Upon recovering himself he discovered that it was a prostrate figure of a human being, and upon closer inspection he found it to be the senseless form of Theresa Trieste, who had from some cause or other swooned.
Lord Ethalwood stooped down and raised the senseless Theresa, whom he carried into an adjoining room. He was so overcome with terror and anxiety that he did not know very well how to act, but after a moment’s reflection he laid her on a sofa and then sought for some vessel containing water. When this was found he bathed her forehead and temples. She heaved two or three deep-drawn sighs, and then opened her eyes.
“It is you, my lord. The saints be praised you are alive and well,” she ejaculated.
“Yes, dearest—I have returned, as you see. And you?”
Ah, my lord—my dear Reginald, I have passed a miserable time, and thought some terrible misfortune had befallen you. For mercy’s sake tell me where you have been, and what has happened.”
“I have been to De Monpres, as I told you.”
“Ah! nowhere else?”
“Why do you ask? I am here by your side. Be satisfied.”
“I am more than satisfied.”
He knelt by her side, and gazed upon her wan features. He did not remember her ever looking so beautiful as she did at that time. He was absorbed in contemplating her expressive and charming face. The terrible incidents of the night were for a moment or so effaced from his memory—he thought only of Theresa.
He leant over her and embraced her tenderly.
Theresa’s large eyes were bent upon Lord Ethalwood, upon whom she gazed with an expression of dreamy astonishment, and at first he was half disposed to think that she intended to repulse him, but in this he was mistaken. Tears came to her relief, and in piteous accents she exclaimed—
“I have reason to be thankful, to rejoice—for you are safe. Gracious heaven! it is almost more than I have expected.”
Her companion made no reply, but wound his arms lovingly around her.
She entwined her arms about his neck with anabandonthat proved her heedlessness of the peril in which she was placing herself, but her love for the English nobleman was so strong that she was thereby held in bondage, and prudence was forgotten.
It would indeed have been better for her had she been more circumspect and less demonstrative, but she was impulsive by nature and had not as yet learnt to put a restraint upon her actions.
She had been plunged into almost hopeless despair while he was away—now her spirit seemed to rebound, and she forgot all else save the happy present. The man she loved was by her side, and demonstrating the strongest affection for her.
Alas! a thousand times better had it been for her had her innocence been less perfect. How many tears of unavailing anguish might have remained unshed by her? How many years of bitter remorse might have been spared Lord Ethalwood?
But neither the young maiden nor her lover viewed the subject by the cold light of reason. It is true, however, that the earl had at this time some qualms of conscience he could not fail to acknowledge to himself estranging the affection of a young maiden whom he could not under any circumstances consent to view in the character of a lawful wife.
The earl was not at this time a heartless seducer, but he was so enamoured of the fair Theresa that passion got the better of his judgment and reason. The end may be readily imagined.
“You have not been candid,” said Theresa. “I feel assured that something dreadful has happened. Do not conceal anything from me; I charge you as you love me to tell me all. You have met Gerome Chanet, I feel assured of that.”
“Well, what if I have?” returned Lord Ethalwood, turning from her. “Suppose I admit it—what then?”
“You cannot do otherwise than admit it, my lord. What has happened?”
“We had a hostile meeting.”
“I knew it. I felt assured of that. And how did it end?”
Upon this the earl made a clean breast of it, and made Theresa acquainted with every minute particular connected with the tragedy in which he had played so conspicuous a part.
His companion listened to the harrowing details with forced calmness.
She did not betray outwardly any great emotion, but a heavy weight seemed to fall upon her, and she was supremely miserable.
“What a dreadful ending—what a terrible calamity! Poor Gerome! He was true to the last, then?”
“He was determined to have my life if possible; failing that, he was prepared to render up his own. The end was inevitable. Do not blame me, Theresa.”
“I do not blame you, but what a risk you have run! Alas, you did not know the sort of man you had to deal with. Gracious Heaven! how very terrible is all this! But you must not stay in this neighbourhood. His death will be avenged. There are those who will watch and wait for you—those who will not scruple to slay you without pity or remorse. Oh, my dear Reginald, beware in time. Take heed of what I say ere it is too late. Your life may be sacrificed without a moment’s notice. You do not know the sanguinary nature of those who watch and waylay unwary travellers in the mountain fastnesses. You are utterly heedless of the risk you run. They would not scruple to take your life to make reprisals for the loss of their comrade. You must not remain here. It would be madness to do so. But oh, how terribly hard it is for me to part with you. But it must be done, indeed it must, dearest. Consider——”
“I have considered,” exclaimed the earl; “and I am well capable of taking care of myself.”
“You are powerless in such a case as this. No man can guard against treachery—not the most valiant. You must not—nay, you shall not—remain here.”
“Whither would you have me fly, then?”
“It matters not—your own country, or to France, anywhere you please, but don’t stay here. Oh, Reginald, for my sake promise me to go away.”
No.68.
Illustration: PEACE BARGAINING WITH JEW.PEACE BARGAINING WITH THE JEW RECEIVER.
PEACE BARGAINING WITH THE JEW RECEIVER.
“You take a dark view of the aspect of affairs.”
“It is not more dark and dismal than actual reality. Oh, this fatal love! How will it end? In death!”
As she gave utterance to this last speech she burst into tears, and her limbs trembled with excitement.
“Do you hear what I have been saying?” she ejaculated with bitterness.
“Of course I have, my own sweet darling, and with me your wishes are law. I will leave the neighbourhood at my earliest convenience.”
“At your earliest convenience! At once! You must do so at once.”
“Well, at once, then. So be it; but not to-night.”
“No, not to-night. It is already morning.”
“To-morrow, then, if you desire me to do so.”
“I do desire it. Oh, mercy on me, I am overwhelmed with sorrow and sadness. I repent the past, and tremble for the future.”
“I will act in accordance with your expressed wishes. Do not give way to needless fear. Come, sweetest, cheer up—be not so downcast. It is a melancholy ending, but, as I before observed, it was inevitable.”
He strove as best he could to pacify the wretched Theresa, whose only thoughts were for his safety. He promised to fly on the following day.
They remained, exchanging words of love and vows of constancy, till the first few hours of the morning had passed away.
When Lord Ethalwood sought his own couch it was with an aching head and a heavy heart that he sought repose. His slumbers were disturbed by hideous dreams, and he arose hot, feverish, and excited.
Madame Trieste had returned, and was in the breakfast parlour when he presented himself. She tossed up her hands and heaved a deep sigh as her eyes lighted on him.
She told him she knew all—knew of the duel and the death of Gerome Chanet, but she did not upbraid him, or express any dissatisfaction at the line of conduct he had chosen to pursue. On the contrary, she said that she knew it had been forced upon him, and that he had no other alternative than to accept the challenge.
The Chevalier de Monpres had taken the precaution of sending to the earl’s residence, with the request that his groom should bring round one of his master’s saddle horses, and the man arrived at the widow’s chateau with a magnificent animal before the inmates of the establishment had finished breakfast.
“It is very kind and considerate of the chevalier,” cried Madame Trieste, “and redounds very much to his credit. He, like ourselves, my lord, knows the class of people we have to deal with.”
“Yes, I have good reason to be thankful for the active part the chevalier has taken. He has befriended me in a way I had no reason to expect from one whose acquaintance I had so recently made. I owe him a deep debt of gratitude.”
“To crown all,” cried the widow, “he must be a most worthy man in addition to being a remarkably clever and courteous one.”
“I should very much have liked to introduce him to you,” observed the earl; “and indeed it would be as well, perhaps, to do so now.”
“No, no—some other time. A more favourable opportunity will occur,” said Theresa. “Do not linger here for any such purpose.”
“Upon my word, mademoiselle, it seems to me that you are in a monstrous hurry to get rid of me,” said the earl, with a sickly smile.
“It is only out of consideration for you, my lord,” returned Madame Trieste. “My dear Theresa would not willingly part with you unless the urgency of the case demanded it.”
“I am well convinced of that, madame—at least, I flatter myself that such is the case,” returned Lord Ethalwood.
The groom informed his master that the Chevalier de Monpres had sent a message, requesting the earl to call at the chateau where he was staying as he proceeded on his road home.
“I will do so, Curtis,” said Lord Ethalwood. “Ride on and inform the chevalier that I will be with him in less than an hour from this time.”
The groom upon this started off, leaving Lord Ethalwood’s horse ready caparisoned at the garden-gate of the widow’s house.
“So you are going to ride over to your residence?” said Madame Trieste, “and without an attendant, it would seem.”
“Nay, not so,” observed the earl. “Curtis will attend me.”
“But he has gone on to Monsieur de Monpres.”
“True, I shall be by myself part of the way.”
“And do you not think that very bad policy?”
“Why so, madame?”
“Suppose two or three ruffians were to attack you—what then?”
“I should have to defend myself to the best of my ability—that is all,” returned the earl, with a smile.
“You make light of the matter, my lord. I look upon it from a different point of view. I consider your path beset with danger, and that you cannot be too cautious. You ought not to travel without an escort.”
“It would be as well, perhaps, to have company on the road, but it is, after all, of no very great moment. I dare say I shall be able to reach home in safety.”
“I hope so, I am sure,” said Madame Trieste, “but you don’t know the natives of these parts so well as we do.”
“Certainly not. I don’t pretend to do so.”
“They are by nature treacherous, and are not to be trusted.”
“I don’t intend to put any trust in them, and for this reason I have no confidence in any of the rascals. But, my very dear friend,” said Ethalwood, in an altered tone, “there is now an imperative necessity for me to take my departure. I am constrained by the force of circumstances to leave. Before doing so I have to express to you my deep sense of gratitude for all your kindness—which will be remembered for the remainder of my life. Let me, my dear Madame Trieste, assure you that, although from the force of circumstances I am constrained to take an abrupt leave of you, that I shall bear with me the most lively sense of your motherly kindness, and at the same time that I shall always look upon you as one of my most attached friends, for beneath your roof I have passed the happiest years of my life.”
“Oh, my lord,” exclaimed the widow, “I am indeed proud of the encomiums you are pleased to pass upon me; but although we part now from stern necessity we shall, I hope, meet again under happier circumstances.”
“I hope so, I am sure,” said the earl, bending over her and imprinting a kiss on her forehead. “And now, my dear Theresa,” he added, “do not think I shall forget you. I shall bear you in my remembrance, and long for the time when we may be reunited.”
“Oh, my lord, my heart is too full for me to express myself in words. Be cautious—be mindful of the great peril you are now in, and for the rest let me hear from you. You will not forget your poor unhappy Theresa?”
“Never—never! I swear it,” cried the earl, embracing the young maiden with fervour.
He was not disposed to prolong the scene, which, to say the truth, was a trying one. He therefore made at once for the garden-gate and mounted his steed; then with another embrace and a blessing on the inmates of the chateau, he trotted off.
Theresa Trieste watched the horse and its rider till both were out of sight—then she gave a faint scream and fell back into the arms of her mother.
Lord Ethalwood trotted on until he came to a steep hill, with the precipitous rocks on either side. He drew the rein and walked his horse up the acclivity. He was ruminating on past events, and for a short time was lost in a reverie, when all of a sudden he heard the sharp crack of a rifle, which reverberated with a thousand echoes through the rocks overhead. A bullet was flattened against a stone wall which stood within a few paces from him.
Aroused to a sense of the danger, which was so immediate, he clapped spurs to the flanks of his steed, and galloped up the hill.
“Ah,” he murmured, “a narrow escape. Theresa was right; there are murderous villains prowling about, and the chances are that this may not be the only shot that will be fired.”
He did not give much time for his assailant or assailants to take deliberate aim, but put out his high-mettled steed to the utmost, and was thankful when the house in which the chevalier was located came within view. He found his groom awaiting his appearance at the entrance gates, which were thrown open, whereupon the earl rode at once into the yard. The gates were then closed.
De Monpres presented himself, and was overjoyed to see his friend, whom he at once conducted into the interior of the chateau.
“Well,” said the old Frenchman, “what news? How goes it?”
“The scoundrels are afoot. I was fired at, and a bullet was flattened against the wall beside the road.”
“I guessed it would be so,” returned the chevalier. “I was a fool to let you come alone. My dear friend, you don’t know what those fellows are. The greatest caution is now needed, for I believe one or more of them have sworn to have your life, but we will baffle them. The worst is now over, and for the rest——”
“Well, how about the rest?” inquired the earl.
“It’s just this—you must cut and run. Don’t imagine for a moment that such a course of action is discreditable to you; on the contrary, it is most wise and discreet. Of what avail is it seeking to hunt down or bring to justice a parcel of lawless miscreants who lie in ambush? My good fellow, I know what a guerilla war is—have gone through it: they pick you off before you know where you are; and, mind you, they would take a pride in making dogs’ meat of you. No, no, my lord, we won’t risk that, and to remain here to be a mark for sharp-shooting—why, it would be madness. They have sworn to have your life.”
“Have they?”
“Do you doubt it?”
“I don’t know what to say—am in perfect ignorance of their movements.”
“I think you have already had proof sufficient. I tell you that they lie concealed in all parts. The first question that occurs to me is, how you are to reach your chateau in safety.”
“I will ride there.”
“You will do no such thing.”
“Why not?”
“Because I won’t let you—that’s why.”
“But what would you have me do then?”
“That depends upon circumstances. We will, if you please, hold a council of war.”
As the chevalier made this last observation, a stout, good-humoured-looking gentleman entered the room.
“Ah,” cried De Monpres, “I am glad you have come back, Monsieur. This is my friend, Earl Ethalwood, of whom you have heard me speak. My lord,” said he in continuation, addressing himself to the earl, “Monsieur Jantie, my friend and host.”
“I am proud to make your acquaintance,” said Jantie, “and have to express my regret that it is not under more favourable circumstances, as I shall not have the pleasure of your society for long.”
“No, no, not for long,” said the chevalier with a laugh, “you may rest assured of that. The wolves are prowling about, seeking whom they may devour, and my friend, Ethalwood, is a marked man.”
“Ah, surely you are taking an unfavourable view of the case,” remarked the earl.
“Bah! don’t be so dubious,” cried De Monpres. “I had it upon the best authority that a group of mountaineers—unscrupulous desperadoes—swore over the dead body of their comrade, Gerome Chanet, to have your life. What more do you need in confirmation of my statement?”
“Is it possible?”
“Possible—it is a fact beyond all controversy.”
“And how came this to your knowledge?”
“Well, I don’t know that I am bound to secrecy. Monsieur Vasseralt, who after all turns out to be a good fellow enough, gave me the information. Now are you satisfied?”
“Perfectly. Monsieur Vasseralt—eh?”
“Yes, he was my informant; but, mark you, this unholy and sanguinary proceeding was not countenanced or approved of by him. He has, however, given me a caution, a timely warning, which we shall do well to remember.”
“The infamous wretches!”
“Ah, but they think it a praiseworthy action. It all depends upon how men view these matters.”
“I am beset with difficulties, it would seem,” said the earl.
“We’ll pull you through—leave the matter in my hands. An old soldier like myself will prove too much for these fellows, I expect,” said De Monpres.
“You must place yourself in De Monpres’ hands,” observed Monsieur Jantie, addressing himself to the earl.
“I have the utmost confidence in the chevalier,” observed the latter—“I wish I had his experience and wisdom.”
The chevalier bowed courteously, and the conversation was continued in a lively strain. Monsieur Jantie treated the earl with marked politeness and attention, and begged of him as a personal favour to spend the remainder of the day with him. This honour, however, Lord Ethalwood declined, upon the plea that there was an imperative necessity for him to be at his own chateau.
It was ultimately arranged that Ethalwood and the chevalier were to be driven home in one of the close carriages ofM.Jantie. The reason for this may be readily imagined.
The sharpshooters from the surrounding hills would be baffled. It was just possible, however, that an attempt might be made by a lawless band to stop the carriage. There was no telling how far the audacity of the men might carry them. It was, therefore, upon the advice of Vasseralt, Chanet’s second, that the carriage was drawn under the escort of some half-a-dozen lusty yeomen retainers of Monsieur Jantie. These persons carried loaded weapons, and were otherwise armed to the teeth, and so, with these precautionary measures, Earl Ethalwood and his friend the Chevalier de Monpres contrived to arrive home in safety.
On the following day the earl set out on his journey, and made the best of his way to his native country.