CHAPTER IV.MUTUAL EXPLANATIONS.
From a distance a man had been watching us steadily—I had observed him before—and now he came quickly and with an air of bravado to where we stood. He was about my own age, but a little shorter and slighter, clean-shaven, with dark eyes and thick, black hair. Though handsome in a way, the stamp of an evil and unscrupulous nature was on his bronzed features. His dress was that of a gentleman.
“Can I be of any service to you, Miss Hatherton?” the fellow began, darting an impertinent glance at the captain and myself.
The girl shrank from him with aversion in her eyes.
“I need no assistance,” she replied. “And I thought we had spoken the last word on the ship, Mr. Mackenzie.”
“I was no party to that agreement, you will remember,” the man answered, looking at her with fierce admiration. “I have been searching for you, and when I caught sight of you but a moment ago, I judged that these gentlemen were paying you unwelcome attentions. Certainly they were on the point of an altercation.”
I looked to Captain Rudstone to take the matter up, but to my amazement he bowed and walked away, whispering at my ear as he passed me:
“Be prudent. I will join you at the Silver Lily.”
To put his desertion down to cowardice was the only construction open.
I held my ground, wondering what strange thing would happen next. The dark man eyed me insolently for a moment, evidently expecting and hoping that I would follow my companion. Then he bent closer to Miss Hatherton.
“Why will you persist in this folly?” he asked. “You are alone in a strange land—in a strange town. I urge you to accept the shelter of my sister’s house. It is but a short distance from here.”
“And I refuse!” the girl cried indignantly. “I wish no further speech with you, Mr. Mackenzie. I am not friendless, as you think. I am going with this gentleman.”
“It’s a devilish bad choice!” the man exclaimed angrily.
“What do you mean by that?” I cried, ruffling up.
“Miss Hatherton, I beg you to listen to me,” he went on, ignoring my demand. “It is for your own good—”
“Not another word, sir,” she interrupted, edging nervously toward me as she spoke.
“You shall hear me!” he insisted; and with that he caught her brutally by one arm.
The girl struggled in his grasp and gazed at me with such mute and earnest pleading, with such fear and distress in her lovely eyes, that I must have been more than human to resist taking her part. I was in a hot rage, as it was, and I did not hesitate an instant. I shot out with my right arm—a straight, hard blow from the shoulder that took the ruffian between the eyes. He reeled and fell like a log.
The deed was no sooner done than I regretted—for Miss Hatherton’s sake—that I had gone to such extremities. But I made the best of it by quickly leading the girl away, and she clung tightly to my arm as we hurried through the curious group of people on the quay. To my relief, no one stopped us, and indeed the incident had attracted little attention. Looking back, I saw that Mr. Mackenzie was on his feet, the center of a small crowd who were bent on preventing him from following us.
It was not long before we were off the quay, and in the shelter of the quiet streets of the town. By a few words Miss Hatherton gave me to understand that she was aware of the arrangements made for her, and that the trunk was to be sent to the Silver Lily. Then she looked into my face with a sad and grateful smile that set my heart to fluttering.
“I am glad to have found such a friend and protector,” she said. “You have done me a great service, and one that I will not forget, Mr. Carew—I think that is your name. But I fear you have not seen the last of Mr. Mackenzie.”
“He will be wise to let the affair drop,” I replied. “I count it an honor and a pleasure, Miss Hatherton, that I had the opportunity of helping you. If the man seeks satisfaction, he shall have it.”
She glanced at me with some surprise, and with a tinge of amusement, I fancied.
“Are you a Canadian?” she asked.
“A native-born child of My Lady of the Snows,” said I.
“And you have never been in England?”
“No nearer than Quebec,” I answered.
“I should not have believed it,” she replied. Then, after a pause: “I met Cuthbert Mackenzie on board the Good Hope. He sailed with me from London, and from the first I disliked him. He constantly forced hisattentions upon me, though he saw that they were hateful to me; and when I refused to have anything to do with him, he even went so far as to threaten. I hope I have seen the last of him.”
“He shall not annoy you again,” said I.
She was silent for a moment.
“Shall we find Captain Rudstone at the hotel?” she asked.
“I believe so,” I answered, hiding my annoyance at the question. “He made an abrupt departure, Miss Hatherton.”
“Perhaps he had good reasons,” she replied; and with that the matter dropped.
The rest of the distance was all too short for me. It was a novel thing that I, who had scarce spoken ten words to a woman before in my life, should be playing the gallant to as pretty a girl as could be found in Quebec. But she had put me quite at my ease, and mightily proud I felt when I gave her into the care of Madame Ragoul, though the thought that she was the promised bride of old Griffith Hawke seemed to bring a lump to my throat. I bade her good-by for the present in the upper hall of the house, and going downstairs, I sauntered into the room behind the bar. There sat Captain Rudstone, a glass of wine before him.
“You have just come?” said I.
“But a moment ago,” he answered coldly, and with a sour look. “What is the meaning of this strange affair, Mr. Carew?”
“I had to knock the impertinent rascal down,” I replied.
“I do not refer to that,” said he, with a grim smile. “I witnessed the whole trouble.”
“From a distance?” I ventured.
His eyes flashed.
“Have a care,” he muttered. “I am not in a trifling mood. Tell me, what took you to the quay this morning to meet Miss Hatherton?”
“I might ask you the same question,” I replied.
“Will you answer me, sir?”
“There is no reason why I should not,” said I. “Miss Hatherton was sent over to become the wife of the factor of Fort Royal. I met her in accordance with my instructions, and we are to take the first ship that sails for Hudson’s Bay.”
Captain Rudstone’s hard expression softened; he looked astonished and relieved.
“I am glad the matter is cleared up,” he said. “It is plainly a case of killing two birds with one stone. I will be equally frank, Mr. Carew. I was directed by the governor of the company to await the arrival of the Good Hope, and to receive from Miss Hatherton a packet of important dispatches secretly intrusted to her in London by Lord Selkirk.”
It was my turn to be amazed. I saw that each of us had suspected the other without cause.
“I also sail on the first ship for the Bay,” the captain went on. “I am charged with the duty of delivering Lord Selkirk’s letters of instructions to the northern forts. This is a serious matter, Mr. Carew. There is trouble brewing, and it may break out at any time. So the head office is zealously preparing for it. By the bye, do you know who this Mr. Mackenzie is?”
I shook my head.
“He is an official and a spy of the Northwest Company,” said Captain Rudstone, “and he has been in London working for the interests of his people. I was aware of this when he approached us on the quay, and I hurried away so that he might be the less suspicious as to my dealings with the young lady.”
“I did you an injustice,” said I. What I had just heard caused me much uneasiness, and I foresaw possible unpleasant complications.
“It was a natural mistake,” replied Captain Rudstone. “I overlook it. But speaking of Mackenzie—the letters would be of the utmost value to him if he could get hold of them. I don’t believe he suspected the girl during the voyage, or he would have robbed her; but I am afraid he saw her withdraw the packet from her bosom. I made her put it back at once.”
“He was standing near us on the quay for some time,” said I, “does he know who you are?”
“It is quite likely! Hang it all, Mr. Carew, I don’t like the look of things! I’m going to do a little spying about the town on my own account; but, first it is important that I should see Miss Hatherton.”
I did not relish the idea of disturbing the girl so soon after her arrival, and I was about to say as much. But just then appeared Madame Ragoul with a request that my companion would accord an interview to Miss Hatherton. He departed with alacrity, and I took it with an ill grace that I should be left out of the matter. I waited for a long time, seeking consolation in the thought that I alone would be the girl’s protector in future, and at length Captain Rudstone returned.
“I have the dispatches,” he announced, tapping his breast.
“You were an hour about it,” said I petulantly.
“Oh, ho!” he laughed; “so the wind blows from that quarter! But I am no lady’s man, Mr. Carew. And Miss Hatherton is not for either of us, rare beauty though she is—ay, and a girl of pluck and spirit. She is bound by a sacred promise—a promise to the dead—to marry that old fossil, Griffith Hawke. I knew him seven years ago. A fine husband indeed for such a maid!”
The captain’s foolish insinuation angered me, and I felt myself blushing furiously, but I said nothing.
“It is a sad story,” he went on. “I persuaded the girl to give me her confidence. It seems that her father, a gentleman of good family, was a friend of Lord Selkirk. Some months ago he lost every shilling he had in the world through unwise speculation, and the shock killed him. On his deathbed he sent for Selkirk, and begged him to care for his daughter, who would be left quite alone in the world. The old rascal persuaded the father that the girl could not do better than go out to the Canadas and marry the factor of Fort Royal—he had received Hawke’s application for a wife at about this time. The result was that Flora yielded and consented—I daresay there was no way out of it—and Selkirk took advantage of the opportunity to send these important letters with her; he knew she was the last person that would be suspected of having them. This much may be put in Selkirk’s favor: he visited Canada some years ago, and took a fancy to Hawke.”
“The factor is a gentleman born,” said I, “but he is past fifty. And think of the life! It is a sad pity for the girl.”
“She knows what is before her,” replied the captain, “and she seems to be resigned. To tell the truth, though, I half-believe there is something at the back of it all—that some deeper cause drove her out here. Nothing to her discredit, I mean.”
“What makes you think so?” I asked.
“A chance remark that she let fall,” he answered.
I would have questioned Captain Rudstone more closely, but just then he drained his glass and rose with an air of sudden determination.
“I have work to do,” he said gravely, as he put on his hat. “I must keep track of Cuthbert Mackenzie. Miss Hatherton knew nothing of his real character, and I am satisfied that he knew as little of her while they were at sea. But what he may have learned since landing is a different matter. I will come back here this evening, and meanwhile I would advise you to remain in the hotel. There is a ship sailing for the Bay in a week as you probably know, and I shall be heartily glad when we are at sea. Cuthbert Mackenzie is a serpent that stings in the dark.”
He bade me good morning and was gone.
CHAPTER V.THE ALARM IN THE NIGHT.
It was about eleven o’clock of the forenoon when Captain Rudstone departed. I smoked a quiet pipe, and then sought out Baptiste; he had a little box of a room over the hotel kitchen. I found the rascal but half-sobered, so heavily had he liquored on the previous night, and I angrily bade him stay in bed for the rest of the day. Miss Hatherton did not come down to dinner, and I had for company in the coffee room Mr. Christopher Burley; there were no other guests in the house at the time.
Neither of us was in a talkative mood, and very brief speech passed between us. But shortly after the meal I met him again at the bar, where he was paying his account. He looked ready for a journey, having his hat on and a portmanteau in his hand.
“You are leaving, sir?” I asked politely.
“I return to Montreal to-day,” he replied, “and later I go West. You, I believe, are bound shortly for the North?”
I nodded assent.
“We may meet in the future,” he went on; “and meanwhile I trust you will remember that name—Osmund Maiden.”
“I will bear it in mind,” I promised, “and I wish you every success in your errand.”
With that we parted, the law clerk thanking me warmly and giving me his hand. That I should ever see him again, or run across the man of whom he was in search, were things so utterly improbable that I gave them no second thought. But I was to learn in later days how small a place the world really was.
I spent the afternoon in the hotel, for I was satisfied that Captain Rudstone’s caution against venturing in the streets was not to be despised. He had gone up several degrees in my estimation since the little cloud of mutual suspicion had cleared away. I did not doubt that he was as zealous for the interests of the company as myself, and, moreover, I felt that he would prove a trusty friend should Mr. Cuthbert Mackenzie try to give me any trouble. That the captain was to sail on the same ship to the Bay was a matter less to my liking, though I hardly knew why. He was of a type that a youngster like myself usually looks up to, and he had flattered me by giving me his full confidence: but he never seemed quite at ease in my presence, or inclined to stare me straight in the eyes, which I could not account for.
The time passed listlessly. I chatted for awhile with Monsieur Ragoul, and watched the customers who came in to drink. I could not put Miss Hatherton out of my mind. As often as I remembered that she was to share the long sea voyage with me, the joy of it was marred by the picture of old Griffith Hawke waiting at Fort York for his bride. I was angry at myself for taking the thing so much to heart—uneasy because a woman could thus interest me.
I had hoped to see her that afternoon, but she did not make her appearance until the late supper-time. We sat down to table together, and it gave me a strange thrill to see her sitting opposite. She looked more lovely than ever without her bonnet, and in a black gown relieved by some touches of creamy lace. I fear I stared at her stupidly, and was dull of conversation; but she chatted freely of the wonderful things to be seen in London, and I was sorry when the meal was over. Miss Hatherton then offered me a dainty hand and bade me good-night, saying that she had not been able to sleep all day, and intended to retire early.
I finished my bottle of wine, and went upstairs to my room on the third and top floor of the hotel—a meager little hole where I, used to a blanket and fir boughs, had always felt cramped and stifled. But now I wished to be alone, and for some hours I sat there without a light, smoking and thinking. A distant clock had just pealed eleven when I heard the unbolting of a door downstairs—the house had been closed for the night. A little later, after the stir and sound of voices had died away, light footsteps fell on my ear, and there was a rap at the door. I hurriedly lit a candle.
“Come in!” I cried, thinking I knew what it meant.
Captain Rudstone entered, closing the door softly behind him. With a nod he threw himself into a chair, helped himself to a pipeful of my tobacco, and looked inscrutably at me through a cloud of smoke.
“So you are still up?” he began. “I expected to find you in bed. Have you been away from the hotel?”
“Not outside of the door,” I replied.
“I have left my old lodging,” he went on, “and Monsieur Ragoul has given me a room next to yours.”
“I rejoice to hear it,” I said politely. “And have you learned anything to-day?”
“Mr. Mackenzie will demand satisfaction for that blow,” the captain answered coolly.
“He shall have it,” said I.
“He is a skilled swordsman and a deadly shot, Mr. Carew.”
“I will meet him with either weapon,” I declared hotly.
“There must be no fighting, if it can be avoided,” replied the captain.
“That is a matter which rests with me,” said I. “But how do you know all this?”
“I put a man on the track,” was the reply. “He overheard Mackenzie talking with two boon companions who are as deep in the plotting of the Northwest Company as himself. Unfortunately, he learned no more than I have told you, and he lost the trail at an early hour this evening in the upper town.”
“I shall depend on you to see me through the affair,” said I.
“I fear there is mischief brewing in another quarter,” the captain replied. “To be frank, Mr. Carew, you and I, and Miss Hatherton are in a decidedly unpleasant situation. Or, to leave the girl out of it, you andI must decide a very delicate question. Shall we stand by our honor, or shall we choose the best interests of the company we serve?”
“Make your meaning plainer,” said I. “As yet I am in the dark.”
“The point is this,” the captain answered gravely. “If we wait for the company’s ship, which sails in a week, serious things may happen—not to speak of the duel. I happen to know that a trading-vessel leaves the river to-morrow morning for the Bay. The captain is a friend of mine, and he will give the three of us a passage.”
“This is the last proposition I should have looked for from you, Captain Rudstone,” I replied indignantly. “Would you have me slink away like a thief in the night, giving Cuthbert Mackenzie the pleasure of branding me far and wide as a coward? It is not to be thought of, sir.”
The captain shrugged his shoulders, and meditatively blew a cloud of smoke ceilingward.
“I admire your spirit,” he said, “but not your discretion. Am I to understand, then, Mr. Carew, that you choose honor before duty?”
I looked at him speechlessly. He had a cutting way of putting things, and it dawned on me that there was indeed two sides to the question. But before I could find words to reply, the silence of the June night was broken by a shrill scream directly below us. It was followed by a cry for help, and I was sure I recognized Miss Hatherton’s voice.
With one impulse Captain Rudstone and I drew our pistols and sprang to our feet. In a trice we were out in the hall, and plunging recklessly down the stairs. We heard distant calls of alarm from the lower part of the house, and a woman’s voice, ringing loudly and close at hand, guided us to Miss Hatherton’s room. Captain Rudstone burst the door from its fastenings by a single effort, and I followed him over the threshold. The moon was shining through an open window, and by its pale light the girl darted toward us, her snowy night dress trailing behind her, and her disheveled hair flowing about her shoulders.
“Save me!” she cried hysterically. “Save me from Cuthbert Mackenzie!”
CHAPTER VI.PREPARATIONS FOR FLIGHT.
When I heard Mackenzie’s name pronounced by those fair lips and realized that the scoundrel had dared to force his way to Miss Hatherton’s bedchamber, I was put in such a rage as I had never known before. I did not wait for further information, but, brushing past the girl, I leaped through the open window. There was a narrow balcony beyond it—as I knew—which ran along the side of the house, and looked down on a paved courtyard overshadowed by an adjoining building.
Being familiar with the hotel, I was at no loss to account for the means by which the villain had entered and fled. I dashed at once to the end of the balcony, which was within easy reach of the limbs of a tree that grew up from the court. As I peered down from the shadows, I heard a rustling noise, and the next instant I saw a man at the base of the tree; it must have taken him all this time to descend the trunk. I was sure that I recognized Mackenzie, and as he made off I took aim with my pistol and fired. A sharp cry and an oath followed the report, but the fellow sped on to the end of the court, where a passage led out to a back street. Here a voice hailed him; showing that one or more had shared his enterprise.
But a moment had passed since I leaped out of the window, and now I found Captain Rudstone at my side.
“Did you hit him?” he demanded.
“I think so,” I replied; “but he ran like a deer.”
“He’ll not run far if I can get sight of him. To take the scoundrel will be a good card in our hands!”
With that the captain swung himself into the tree, and went down hand over hand, from limb to limb, with the agility of a cat. He was on the ground before I could have counted ten.
“Do not follow me,” he called up: and then he vanished in the shadows across the court.
I would have preferred to take a part in the chase, but I swallowed my disappointment and returned along the balcony. The pistol-shot had raised some clamor in the neighborhood. I could hear men shouting, and several lights were moving in the opposite house. I climbed through the window into the room, where I found Monsieur and Madame Ragoul and their three servants all in a state of excitement. Miss Hatherton had by this time put on a dressing-gown and slippers, and seemed to have entirely recovered from her fright. She blushed prettily as she saw me.
“You have not killed him. Mr. Carew?” she asked.
“I fear not,” I replied; “but Captain Rudstone hopes to take him.”
“It will be a shame if he escapes,” cried Madame Ragoul. “Oh, the pig—the wicked robber! He might have strangled the pretty English mademoiselle!”
The servants were rolling their eyes and shivering with fear, and Monsieur Ragoul was dancing about, with his red nightcap hanging to one ear.
“I am ruined!” he wailed. “The good name of my house is gone! Never—never did such a thing happen before! The officers of the law will enter—they will demand why a pistol is fired to waken the quarter!”
“Coward, be quiet!” snapped his wife. “The affair is no fault of ours.”
I judged it was time to interfere. The distant clamor had not perceptibly increased, and I saw some chance of keeping the matter a secret, which was a thing greatly to be desired.
“Monsieur Ragoul, I think there need be no publicity,” said I. “Will you be so good as to close the window and draw the curtains, and also put out that candle you are holding?”
He obeyed me promptly, and just as the room was darkened Baptiste made a tardy appearance. I explained the situation to him in a few words, and then I turned to Miss Hatherton.
“I trust you are none the worse,” I said. “I deeply regret that you should have suffered such an outrage—”
“And I am sorry to have put you to so much trouble on my account,” she interrupted. “This is twice you have come to my help at a time of need.”
“Then I am twice honored,” I replied. “But, tell me, was the scoundrel indeed Mr. Mackenzie?”
“I am sure of it, Mr. Carew. I woke suddenly, and saw him standing in the moonlight at the foot of my bed. When I screamed the second time he vanished through the window. It was the shock that unnerved me. I beg you to believe that I am not ordinarily a coward.”
“The adventure would have terrified the bravest of women,” I answered. Bending to her ear, I added, in a whisper: “As for Mr. Mackenzie, I take it he was seeking the dispatches?”
“Yes, he doubtless thought I still had them,” Miss Hatherton replied. “I am afraid he will pay dearly for his folly if Captain Rudstone overtakes him.”
Even as she spoke a startling thing happened. In the silence of the room we all heard the faint report of a pistol. The sound came from some distance away, and in the direction of the upper town.
“That was the captain’s shot,” I declared.
“Or Mr. Mackenzie’s,” the girl suggested, in a tone of alarm.
“The saints save us!” cried Monsieur Ragoul. “This is worse and worse!”
I was for going out to investigate, but Miss Hatherton would have it that such a step meant danger, and I yielded reluctantly to her pleadings. However, I persuaded the little Frenchman to let me into the courtyard, by which way I knew the captain would return if he was able. We went downstairs, accompanied by Baptiste, and Monsieur Ragoul unbarred and opened the side door. .
When I stepped into the court I was relieved to discover that the immediate neighborhood was comparatively quiet. But at a distance, in the direction whence the shot had come, a confused clamor was audible. I had been listening no more than a minute when I heard footsteps, and across the moonlit court came Captain Rudstone. My heart leaped for joyat the sight of him. Without a word he motioned us into the house, and closed and fastened the door. Then I knew that he had bad news.
“Monsieur Ragoul,” he said, “will you go and tell Miss Hatherton to dress at once and to put in a parcel as many of her belongings as she can carry in one hand. Be quick!”
The Frenchman dared not ask any questions. He departed in a state of alarm and mystery, and Baptiste and I were left alone with the captain. The latter rested a hand on my shoulder.
“Mr. Carew,” he said gravely, “you remember the question I put to you an hour ago? You have no longer any choice in the matter; we must leave Quebec at once—within a few minutes. That is, if we can.”
“What do you mean?” I asked hoarsely. “What has happened?”
“Much,” he replied. “In the first place, you wounded Mr. Mackenzie in the right arm. In the second place, I followed the ruffians for a quarter of a mile—there were two of them—and finally came up with them at a lonely spot. I tried to take them both, but they resisted fiercely. To save my own life I shot and killed Mackenzie’s companion, a Northwest man named Tredennis. Mackenzie fled, raising the alarm as he ran, and by a detour I got back to the hotel unobserved.”
“There is likely to be trouble over the affair,” said I; and indeed I felt more alarm than I put into my voice.
“Trouble?” cried the captain, with some irritation. “By Heavens, Mr. Carew, it’s as black an outlook as I ever faced! Mackenzie knows his power, and he will hatch up a devil of a lie. In Quebec feeling runs high against the Hudson Bay people, and the authorities openly favor the Northwest Company. I tell you there will be warrants out for our arrest within the hour—perhaps in less time. And you must perceive what the result will be if we are taken. Lord Selkirk’s dispatches will fall into the hands of our enemies; you and I will be thrown into prison. And God only knows what will become of Miss Hatherton!”
I felt a sensation as of a hand clutching at my heart. I knew that the situation was as dismal as Captain Rudstone had painted it—that we could not expect fair dealing from the authorities of Quebec. And the thought of the girl’s peril, if she should be left to the wiles ofCuthbert Mackenzie, put me in a mind to accept any opportunity of escape that offered.
“What is your plan?” I asked.
“The Yankee ship Speedwell sails for the Bay in the morning,” the captain replied. “She lies anchored a short distance down the river, and we must get on board as soon as possible. I have known her master, Hiram Bunker, of Salem, for several years.”
I made no objection to the arrangement. Baptiste had been listening, and a few sentences put everything clear. He was trusty and I saw a way to utilize him.
“Off with you to the river—to the landing at the foot of Bonaventure Street,” I directed. “There are plenty of boats about. Get possession of one, and wait for us.”
Captain Rudstone warmly approved this step. We let Baptiste into the court, locked the door, and hurried upstairs. In the hall we encountered Miss Hatherton, fully dressed and carrying a small bundle. The brave girl had promptly obeyed instructions, though ignorant of what they meant. When we explained our purpose she showed an admirable pluck and spirit, putting herself entirely in our hands, and urging us to be off without delay. Monsieur Ragoul seemed disposed to give us some trouble at first, but that blew over when we presented him with a few gold pieces, and pointed out to him that our departure was for his own good. Our destination, of course, we did not reveal.
In ten minutes more we were ready to start. My musket was strapped to my back, and the captain and I had each a bundle containing a change of clothes. We came quietly down the dark stairs, monsieur and madame leading the way, and the servants bringing up the rear—traversing the hall, we turned toward the side exit. And just then, on the front door of the hotel we heard a loud and sudden thumping.
CHAPTER VII.THE SKIPPER OF THE SPEEDWELL.
The alarm took us by surprise, for we had expected to get the start on our enemies by at least half an hour. That the officers of the law were at the door none of us doubted. We stood still where we were, and in a whisper the captain admonished us to be quiet. There was a brief silence, and then the rapping began again.
“What am I to do?” whispered Monsieur Ragoul, and so loudly that his wife promptly clapped a hand over his mouth.
“They have come to seize us,” said I, in a low voice. “I fear we are in a trap, with no choice but to yield or fight.”
“Resistance would be folly,” Captain Rudstone replied quickly, “and for Miss Hatherton’s sake we must not be taken. There is a chance for us yet—it is possible that the back way of the house has been left unguarded.”
“Then let us be off at once,” I urged, taking courage from his suggestions.
As I spoke, a lull came in the pounding, and a voice cried loudly, “Open! Open!”
Monsieur Ragoul was fairly beside himself with terror and the servants were as helpless as himself; so the captain and I had to act for ourselves, and that without the loss of another second. We found the side door, opened it, and closed it softly behind us when we stepped into the court. The pounding at the front of the house had started afresh, and there was a clamor off in the distance; but so far as we could see by the moonlight this rear avenue of escape was open.
The captain led the way forward, and I followed with Miss Hatherton at my side; her hand rested on my arm, and I could not detect the slightest tremor in her touch. We glided swiftly across the court, and entered a narrow passage leading to the street beyond. We were just at the end of it when a man appeared abruptly from one side and barred the way.
“Not so fast!” he exclaimed, with a movement to draw a weapon. “Stop, in the name of—”
The fellow got no further, for quickly the captain had him pinned by thethroat. The two fell after a brief scuffle, and I heard somebody’s head give the stone an ugly rap. The captain jumped to his feet, but the other man lay motionless and quiet.
“Is he dead?” Miss Hatherton asked, in a horrified whisper.
I bent over the fellow, and recognized him as one of the town watch.
“He is only stunned,” I replied, “but he got a bad fall, and won’t know anything for a couple of hours.”
Meanwhile Captain Rudstone had ventured out of the passage to reconnoiter, and he called to us sharply to join him. We did so, and were relieved to find that the street was dark and empty.
“I feared the man would have companions with him,” said I. “It seems he came round here alone.”
“Yes, luckily for us,” the captain replied. “There will be a pretty row before long; that scoundrel Mackenzie has wasted no time in showing his hand. But I think we are fairly safe, and if the skipper of the Speedwell is open to reason we shall be going down the river under full sail within the hour.”
“I hope so, indeed,” I replied. “You say the man is a friend of yours?”
“He owes me more than one service, Mr. Carew, but enough of speech! Do you and Miss Hatherton follow me closely, and avoid any appearance of alarm or haste.”
We had already crossed the street that lay in the rear of the Silver Lily, and entered one at right angles to it. There was a great deal of noise behind us, and for this reason there was the more danger to be apprehended from the front, since the alarm had roused some of the inhabitants of the quarter from their beds. Here and there men passed us with sharp glances, and curious faces stared down at us from open windows. But none stopped us, so boldly and with such unconcern did we comport ourselves, and after treading a maze of the straggling and dirty little thoroughfares, we came out on Bonaventure Street at a point close to the river.
And now we made a discovery that was very discomforting. Looking up inthe direction of the hotel, we could see vaguely-moving figures, and there was a sound of shouting and running that swelled louder on the air.
“Our escape has been discovered,” said I.
“Without a doubt,” replied Captain Rudstone; “and what is worse, the chase is coming this way. Some persons whom we met have given information. But the river is close at hand, and our pursuers have barely started from the Silver Lily.”
“Will we escape them?” Miss Hatherton inquired anxiously.
“Assuredly,” said I, in spite of a lurking doubt. “Keep up your courage. We are almost within reach of safety.”
We quickened our pace—this end of the street was deserted—and fifty yards more brought us to the water’s edge. The captain and I felt a fear that neither of us put into words, but happily it proved unfounded; for at the landing-steps, a short distance below, the faithful Baptiste was waiting with a boat—a deep, roomy little craft which he had found near by. At once we got in, Baptiste retreated to the bow, and Miss Hatherton and myself occupied the stern seat. The captain took the oars, and he wisely made the most of the opportunity by pulling straight out from shore and in between the shipping that was anchored hereabouts. It is a wonder we fared so well, for swinging lanterns shed their light upon us, and we passed under decks where men were pacing their night watches. But no inquisitive voices hailed us, and we glided safely through to the open river and turned downstream with the current. The tangle of masts and spars receded behind us, hiding the spot where we had embarked, and for five minutes we drifted on in the moonlight, our hearts too full for speech. Then Miss Hatherton broke the silence.
“Is the ship that we are seeking near or far?” she asked.
Captain Rudstone turned in his seat, and pointed to a dark object about half a mile below us.
“There lies the Speedwell,” he replied, “a quarter of a mile out from shore, and by herself.”
This was reassuring news, but there were perils to be reckoned with. A great hue and cry was spreading along the town’s edge, mainly in thedirection of the landing-stairs, and we looked for a boat to appear behind us at any moment. Also, to my mind, there was some uncertainty as to the reception the Speedwell’s skipper would give us.
However, there was no sign of pursuit within next five minutes, and by that time we were alongside of the ship, which was a tidy brig of some hundred and fifty tons burden. Her sea gear was rove and her sails stowed. Several heads looked over her bulwarks as we made fast, and a voice hailed us sharply.
“That you, Bunker?” the captain replied.
“Yes. Who are you?” came suspiciously.
“Myles Rudstone.”
There was an exclamation of surprise, and a moment later a rope ladder was thrown down to us. Baptiste and I and the girl preceded the captain, and as he followed us he cast the boat adrift. At the first sight, seeing him on deck by the glare of a lantern, I was favorably impressed by Hiram Bunker. He was a short, thick-set man, with a sandy beard and a shrewd, good natured face. He scanned Miss Hatherton and myself with open amazement, and shook hands heartily with Captain Rudstone.
“Glad to meet you again, sir,” he cried in a nasal voice. “My mate wakened me up to listen to the row over yonder,” pointing to the shore, “and that’s why I’m on deck at this hour. I might have guessed you had a hand in the rumpus. But what does it mean, anyway?”.
The captain explained, making the situation thoroughly clear, and the little skipper listened with thoughtful attention.
“It’s an ugly scrape,” was his grave comment.
“It is that; but you can get us out of it. What do you say?”
“I say I’ll do it,” cried the skipper. “I’m a Hudson Bay man at heart, and I’ll save the lot of you—hang the risk!”
“And you will sail at once?”
“At once. I’ve got my full cargo on board, and I was only waiting fordaylight to start. It’s not far off that now. But, shiver my timbers, if there don’t come the rascals you thought you had slipped!”
He pointed up the river, and I saw a longboat approaching swiftly. It was still a good distance off, but there was not a moment to lose, and the skipper was aware of the fact. He hastily roused the crew, and I never saw a more pleasing sight than that hardy lot of men as they set to work to unfurl the sails and get the vessel under way.
Miss Hatherton stood with me at the bulwark, holding to my arm, and asking me what I thought of the situation. I hardly knew how to answer her, for there was no telling as yet what was going to happen. A stiff breeze was blowing ready for the canvas, and when the anchor was lifted we began to drift. But meanwhile the boat had come up close, and with evident determination to board us. It held ten men, and they were mostly at the oars.
“Sheer off, there!” cried the skipper. “What do you want?”
“You are sheltering fugitives from the law,” a harsh voice replied. “Give them up. It’s a case of murder!”
The skipper refused in plain terms, and catching a sudden gleam of steel, he shouted savagely:
“If you come any nearer or fire a single shot I’ll give you a volley of ten guns!”
By this time the ship was under way and moving with full canvas spread. The pursuing boat fell back, its occupants yelling curses and threats; and so the danger passed. The Speedwell bore swiftly on, leaving a foamy wake dancing on the bosom of the St. Lawrence, and in my delight I felt tempted to throw my arms about Miss Hatherton. Captain Rudstone joined us, and with thankful hearts we watched the lights of Quebec fading in the distance.
CHAPTER VIII.CLOSE TO PORT.
I need make but brief mention of the long cruise that followed our escape, of the days that passed slowly while we worked our way down the mighty St. Lawrence, out to the open Atlantic by the rocky gates of Newfoundland, and thence up the coast of Labrador to Hudson Straits. For the most part wind and weather favored us, yet it was a matter of six weeks before we got into the bay and made sail across that inland waste of water toward our destination, Fort York, which was far down in the southwestern corner. The distance from Quebec by land would have been far less. Our course, as a map will show, was along the three sides of a square.
The Speedwell was a sound little ship, and carried a mixed cargo to be delivered at the Hudson Bay posts. We were well fed and snugly berthed, Miss Hatherton having a cozy cabin all to herself. The crew were good fellows, and Hiram Bunker was a typical New England skipper—bluff, honest and popular. I did not see very much of him, for he and Captain Rudstone became boon companions and stuck well together. It was the same with the captain. Indeed, he seemed to take pains to avoid me, except when others were present, thereby causing me some perplexity and chagrin. And if we happened to find ourselves alone he appeared ill at ease, and would look at me in a strange and shifty manner, as though he had something on his mind. But for all that the time did not hang heavily on my hands, nor was the voyage an uneventful one to me, as I shall relate in a few words.
It came about naturally enough that Miss Hatherton and I spent the long days together. In less than a fortnight we were calling each other by our Christian names. Secluded in some nook of the deck, we would talk for hours, or I would read aloud from one of the few volumes that the skipper’s cabin afforded. She told me much of her life in London. Her father had been a gentleman of some means until speculation wrecked him, and later she confided to me the whole of her sad story.
There was more than I had known before, as Captain Rudstone suggested. It seems that prior to her father’s death the only son of Lord Selkirk fell in love with the girl. She did not return his affection, and, indeed, she disliked the young man. But the old lord was either ignorant of this fact or would not believe it. He had higher matrimonial views for his son, and so, in order to get Miss Hatherton out of England, he hatched the plot that resulted in the poor girl making her father a sacred promise that she would go to the Canadas and marry GriffithHawke. She had no relatives to interfere, and a cruel disadvantage was taken of her helplessness and poverty. She spoke of the matter only on the one occasion, and it did not come up between us again. Nor had I the heart to mention it, since she was clearly resigned to her future.
But I pitied the girl deeply, and I would have been more than human, with the opportunities afforded, had I not fallen a victim to her charms and loveliness. I did not perceive where I was drifting. I did not realize my danger until it was too late. In short, I, who had hitherto felt but contempt for all womankind, suddenly discovered that I was a slave to the great passion. It was a sharp awakening, and it destroyed my peace of mind. To me Flora Hatherton was a divinity, a goddess. It gave me the keenest torture to think that she would soon be the wife of old Griffith Hawke. I knew that she was as far out of my reach as the stars above, and yet I felt that I should love her passionately all my life—that the memory of her sweet face would shatter all the joys of existence for me.
I could have cursed myself for being such a fool, and I hated the factor for sending me on such a mission. It never entered my head to play him false and try to win Flora, nor did I believe there was any chance of doing so. Day after day we were together, and with Spartan courage I hid my feelings—or, at least, I thought I was hiding them. It was a hard task, for every word or look that the girl gave me seemed to turn my blood to fire. That she was indifferent to me—that she regarded me only as a friend—I was convinced. I was a youngster and inexperienced, and so I was blind to the girl’s pretty blushes, to the averting of her eyes when they would meet mine, and to other signs of confusion that I remembered afterward. To remain at Fort Royal, a witness of Griffith Hawke’s domestic happiness, I knew to be impossible. I determined to seek a new post, or to plunge far into the northern wilderness, as soon as I should have delivered Flora at her destination.
The days slipped by fraught with mingled joy and bitterness, and at sunset one chilly August evening I stood alone on deck by the port bulwark. The wind was rising, and there was a clammy mist on the gray, troubled waters. We were nearly across the bay, and in the morning we expected to sight the marshy shores that lay about Fort York. Flora was in her cabin. She had seemed depressed all day and I remembered that an hour before, when the skipper told her how near we were to land, she had smiled at me sadly and gone below. I had no wish for the voyage to end. The thought of the morrow cut me like a knife, and I was lost in gloomyreflections, when a hand clapped me on the shoulder. I turned round with a start, and saw Captain Rudstone.
“A few hours more, Mr. Carew,” he said, “and we shall have dropped anchor under the walls of the fort. Do you expect to meet your factor there?”
“It is doubtful,” I replied. “He will hardly look for our arrival so soon. We took an earlier ship, you will remember, and our passage has been a swift one.”
“It was a dangerous passage,” he said meaningly—“at least, for you. I take it you will be glad of a few days of grace. But may I ask—I happen to have a curiosity—how this thing is to end?”
“What thing?” I cried, ruffling at once.
“You love Miss Hatherton,” he answered with a smile.
I felt my face grow hot.
“Does that concern you?” I demanded curtly. “I will thank you to mind your own affairs, Captain Rudstone.”
“The girl loves you,” he replied calmly.
“I don’t believe it,” said I.
“Bah! you are a blind fool,” he muttered. “I gave you credit for more perception. But it is just as I said—the girl returns your affection. What are you going to do about it? Will you allow her to marry Griffith Hawke?”
I could have struck the captain for his jesting tone, and yet at the same time I detected a ring of truth in what he had said. It flashed upon me that I had indeed been blind, and the revelation thrilled my heart.
“Miss Hatherton is the promised wife of Griffith Hawke,” I answered hoarsely; “and Griffith Hawke is my superior officer. I am acting under his orders, and I dare not betray my trust. I am a man of honor, and not a knave. I scorn your suggestion, sir.”
“Do you call it honorable,” sneered the captain, “to help this innocent girl, whose heart belongs to you, to marry another man?”
I looked at him with some confusion for, to tell the truth, I had no answer ready to my lips. And just then Hiram Bunker strode up to us, his countenance unusually grave.
“It’s going to be a nasty night, or I’m no mariner,” he exclaimed. “There’s a storm brewing, and we are perilously near the coast. I don’t like the prospect a bit, gentlemen.”
Captain Rudstone made some fitting reply, but I was in no mood to heed the skipper’s words, or to give a second thought to the prophecy of a storm. I left the two together, and with my brain in a whirl I crept down to the seclusion of my cabin.