After parting with Sir Edward Digby at Woodchurch, Henry Leyton had ridden on at a quick pace to Park-gate, and thence along the high road, to Cranbrook. He himself was habited in the undress of his regiment, though with pistols at his saddle, and a heavy sword by his side. One of his servants followed him similarly accoutred, and an orderly accompanied the servant, while by the young officer's side appeared our good friend Mr. Mowle, heavily armed, with the somewhat anomalous equipments of a riding officer of Customs in those days. At a little distance behind this first group, came Cornet Joyce, and his party of dragoons; and in this order they all passed through Cranbrook, about nine o'clock; but a quarter of a mile beyond the little town they halted, and Mowle rode on for a short way alone, to the edge of Hangley Wood, which was now close before them. There he dismounted, and went in amongst the trees; but he was not long absent, for in less than five minutes he was by the colonel's side again. "All's right, sir," he said, "the boy assures me that they were all there still, at six this morning, and that their captain, Radford, does not move till after dark, to-night. So now we shall have the worst fellows amongst them--the two Ramleys and all."
"Well, then," answered Leyton, "you had better go on at once with the party, keeping through the wood. I will remain behind, coming on slowly; and if wanted, you will find me somewhere in the Hanger. Cornet Joyce has his orders in regard to surrounding the house; but of course he must act according to circumstances."
No more words were needed: the party of dragoons moved on rapidly, with Mowle at their head; and Leyton, after pausing for a few minutes on the road, dismounted, and giving his rein to the servant, walked slowly on into the wood, telling the two men who accompanied him, to follow. There was, at that time, as there is now, I believe, a broad road through Hangley Wood, leading into the cross-road from Biddenden to Goudhurst; but at that period, instead of being tolerably straight and good, it was very tortuous, rough, and uneven. Along this forest path, for so it might be called, the dragoons had taken their way, at a quick trot; and by it their young colonel followed, with his arms crossed upon his chest, and his head bent down, in deep and anxious meditation. The distance across the wood at that part is nearly a mile; and when he had reached the other side, Leyton turned upon his steps again, passed his servant and the orderly, and walked slowly on the road back to Cranbrook. The two men went to the extreme verge of the wood, and looked out towards Iden Green for a minute or two before they followed their officer, so that in the turnings of the road, they were out of sight by the time he had gone a quarter of a mile.
Leyton's thoughts were busy, as may be well supposed; but at length they were suddenly interrupted by loud, repeated, and piercing shrieks, apparently proceeding from a spot at some distance before him. Darting on, with a single glance behind, and a loud shout to call the men up, he rushed forward along the road, and the next instant beheld a sight which made his blood boil with indignation. At first, he merely perceived a girl, struggling in the hands of some five or six ruffians, who were maltreating her in the most brutal manner; but in another instant, as, drawing his sword, he rushed forward, he recognised--for it can scarcely be said, he saw--poor Kate Clare. With another loud shout to his men to come up, he darted on without pause or hesitation; but his approach was observed--the ruffians withdrew from around their victim; and one of them exclaimed, "Run, run! the dragoons are coming!"
"D--me! give her a shot before you go," cried another, "or she'll peach."
"Let her," cried young Radford--"but here goes;" and, turning as he hurried away, he deliberately fired a pistol at the unhappy girl, who was starting up wildly from the ground. She instantly reeled and fell, some seconds before Leyton could reach her; for he was still at the distance of a hundred yards.
All this had taken place in an inconceivably short space of time; but the next minute, the panic with which the villains had been seized subsided a little. One turned to look back--another turned--they beheld but one man on the road; and all the party were pausing, when Leyton reached poor Kate Clare, and raised her in his arms. It might have fared ill with him had he been alone; but just at that moment the orderly appeared at the turn, coming up at the gallop, with the young officer's servant behind him; and not doubting that a large party was following, Radford and his companions fled as fast as they could.
"On after them, like lightning!" cried Leyton, as the men came up. "Leave the horse, leave the horse, and away! Watch them wherever they go, especially the man in the green coat! Take him if you can--shoot him dead if he resist. Ah, my poor girl!" he cried, with the tears rising in his eyes, "this is sad, indeed!--Where has he wounded you?"
"There," said Kate, faintly, taking away her hand, which was pressed upon her right side; "but that was his kindest act.--Thank God, I am dying!"
"Nay, nay," answered Leyton, "I trust not!" But the blood poured rapidly out, staining all her dress, which was torn and in wild disorder, and so rapidly did it flow, that Leyton clearly saw her words would probably prove too true. "Who was that villain?" he cried; "I will punish him if there be justice on earth!"
"Don't you know him?" said Kate, her voice growing more and more low. "I thought you were seeking him--Richard Radford."
"The atrocious scoundrel!" said Leyton; and drawing his handkerchief from his breast, he tied it tightly over her side, trying, though he saw it was nearly in vain, to stanch the blood, while at the same time he supported her against his knee with one arm thrown round her waist. Poor Kate closed her eyes with a faint shudder; and for a moment Leyton thought she was dead. She appeared to be reviving again, however, when a loud voice, not far distant, exclaimed, "Ha,--halloo! What the devil is this?"
Leyton looked suddenly up--for his eyes had been bent upon the poor girl's face for several minutes--and then beheld, hurrying up the road with a look of fury in his countenance, Kate's promised husband, Harding. With a violent oath the man rushed on, exclaiming, "Kate, what is all this?--Villain, have you misused the girl?"
"Hush, hush!" cried Leyton, with a stern gesture of his hand; "she is dying!--I would have saved her if I could; but alas, I came too late!"
The whole expression of Harding's countenance changed in an instant. Grief and terror succeeded to rage; and, catching her franticly in his arms, he exclaimed--"Kate, Kate, speak to me!--Tell me, who has done this?"
"I can tell you," answered Leyton--"Richard Radford."
While he was speaking, Kate Clare opened her eyes again, and gazed on Harding's face, moving her right hand faintly round and placing it upon his.
"Give me that handkerchief from your neck," said Leyton; "if we can stop the blood, we may save her, yet. I have seen very bad wounds recovered from----"
"No, no!" said Kate Clare; "thank God, I am dying--I would rather die!--Harding, I am not in fault--they caught me in the wood--oh, they treated me horribly. Mr. Radford said it was revenge--God forgive him, God forgive him! But I would rather die thus in your arms--do not try to stop it--it is all in vain."
Leyton and Harding still persisted, however, and bound another handkerchief tight over the wound, in some degree diminishing the stream of blood, but yet, not stopping it entirely.
"Let us carry her to some house," cried Leyton, "and then send for assistance. See! her lips are not so pale."
"I will carry her," cried Harding, raising her in his powerful arms.
"To my aunt's, then--to my aunt's, Harding," murmured Kate; "I would sooner die there than in any other place." And on Harding sped, without reply, while Leyton, sheathing his sword, which he had cast down, followed him, inquiring, "Is it far?"
"But a step, sir," answered the smuggler. "Pray, come with us.--This must be avenged."
"It shall," replied Leyton, sternly; "but I must stay here for a minute or two, till you can send somebody to me, to take my place, and let my men know where I am when they return."
Harding nodded his head, and then turned his eyes upon the face of the poor girl whom he bore in his arms, hurrying on without a moment's pause, till he was lost to the young officer's sight.
It is needless to describe the feelings of a high-minded and noble man like Leyton, when left alone to meditate over the horrible outrage which had been committed under his very eyes. He gave way to no burst of indignation, indeed, but with a frowning brow walked back upon the road, caught his horse without difficulty, and mounting, remained fixed near the spot where poor Kate had received her death-wound, like a soldier upon guard. In less than ten minutes, a lad ran up, saying, "Mr. Harding sent me, sir."
"Well, then, walk up and down here, my good boy," replied Leyton, "till some one comes to inquire for me. If it should be a servant, or a single soldier, send him down to the place which you came from, and wait where you are till a larger party of dragoons come up, when you must tell them the same--to go down to me there. If the party come first, wait for the servant and the soldier."
Having given these directions, he was turning away, but paused again to inquire his way to the place where Harding was; and then pointing to a bundle that lay upon the road, he said--"You had better bring that with you."
Following the boy's direction, as soon as he issued out of the wood, Sir Henry Leyton turned through a little field to the left; and seeing a small farm-house at some distance before him, he leaped his horse over two fences to abridge the way. Then riding into the farm-yard, he sprang to the ground, looking round for some one to take his charger. Several men of different ages were running about with eagerness and haste in their faces. Horses were being led forth from the stable; guns were in the hands of several; and one of them--a fine, tall, powerful young fellow--exclaimed, as soon as he saw Leyton--"We will catch them, sir--we will catch them! and by----they shall be hanged as high as Haman for hurting the poor dear girl. Here, take his honour's horse, Bill."
"Is she still living?" asked Leyton.
"Oh dear, yes, sir!" cried the young man; "she seemed somewhat better for what mother gave her."
"Well, then," rejoined the young officer, "if you are going to search for these scoundrels, gallop up to the wood as fast as you can; you will find my servant and a trooper watching. They will give you information of which way the villains are gone. I will join you in a minute or two with a stronger force."
"Oh, sir, we shall do--we shall do," cried William Harris; "we will raise the whole county as we go, and will hunt them down like foxes. Do they think that our sisters and our wives are to be ill-used and murdered by such scum as they are?" and at the same time he sprang upon his horse's back. Leyton turned towards the house, but met the old farmer himself coming out with a great cavalry sword in his hand, and the butt end of a pistol sticking out of each pocket. "Quick, quick! to your horses!" he cried, "they shall rue the day--they shall rue the day!--Ah, sir, go in," he continued, seeing Leyton; "she is telling my wife and Harding all about it; but I can't stop to hear.--I will have that young Radford's blood, if I have a soul to be saved!"
"Better take him alive, and hand him over to justice," said Leyton, going into the house.
"D----n him, I'll kill him like a dog!" cried the farmer; and mounting somewhat less nimbly than his son, he put himself at the head of the whole party assembled, and rode fast away towards Hangley Wood.
In the meantime, Leyton entered the kitchen of the farm; but it was quite vacant. Voices, however, were heard speaking above, and he ventured to go up and enter the room. Three or four women were assembled there round good Mrs. Harris's own bed, on which poor Kate Clare was stretched, with Harding on his knees beside her, and her hand in his, the hot tears of man's bitterest agony, coursing each other down his bronzed and weather-beaten cheek.
"There, there!" said Mrs. Harris; "don't take on so, Harding--you only keep down her spirits. She might do very well, if she would but take heart. You see she is better for the cordial stuff I gave her."
Harding made no reply; but Kate Clare faintly shook her head; and Leyton, after having gazed on the sad scene for a moment, with bitter grief and indignation in his heart, drew back, thinking that his presence would only be a restraint to Kate's family and friends. He made a sign, however, to one of the women before he went, who followed him out of the room.
"I merely wish to tell you," he said, in a low voice, when the woman joined him at the top of the stairs, "that I am going back to the wood, to aid in the pursuit of these villains; for I can be of no use here, and may be there. If any of my people come, tell them where to find me; bid them follow me instantly, and stop every man on foot they see quitting the wood, till he gives an account of himself.--But had you not better send for a surgeon?"
"One is sent for, sir," replied the woman; "but I think she is not so bad as she was.--I'll take care and tell your people. I do hope they will catch them, for this istoobad."
Without more words Leyton went down, remounted his horse, and galloped back towards the edge of the wood. The news of what had happened, however, seemed to have spread over the country with the speed of lightning; for he saw four or five of the peasantry on horseback, already riding in the same direction across the fields. Two stout farmers joined him as he went, and both were already full of the story of poor Kate Clare. Rage and indignation were universal amongst the people; but as usual on such occasions, one proposed one plan, and another the other, so that by want of combination in their operations, all their resolution and eagerness were likely to be fruitlessly employed.
Leyton knew that it was of little use to argue on such points with undisciplined men; and his only trust was in the speedy arrival of the soldiers from Iden Green. When he reached the edge of the wood, however, with his two companions, they came upon farmer Harris's party, now swelled to twelve or thirteen men; and at the same moment his own servant rode round, exclaiming, as soon as he saw his master, "They are still in the wood, sir, if they have not come out this way. They dispersed so that we could not follow them on horseback, and we galloped out by different ways to watch."
"They haven't come here," cried Farmer Harris, "or we should have seen them. So now we have them safe enough."
"Ride off towards Iden Green," said Leyton to the servant, "and direct Cornet Joyce to bring down his men at the gallop to the edge of the copse. Let him dismount twelve on the north side of the wood, and, with all the farm-servants and country people he can collect, sweep it down, while the rest of the mounted men advance, on a line, on either side.--Stay, I will write;" and tearing a leaf out of his pocket-book, he put down his orders in pencil.
The man had just galloped away, when the young farmer, William Harris, shouted, "There they go--there they go! After them!--after them! Tally ho!" and instantly set spurs to his horse. All the rest but Leyton followed at full speed; but he paused, and, directing his eyes along the edge of the wood, clearly saw, at the distance of somewhat more than half a mile, three men, who seemed to have issued forth from amongst the trees, running across the fields as fast as they could go. It would seem that they had not been aware of the numbers collected to intercept them, till they had advanced too far to retreat; but they had got a good start; the country was difficult for any but well-trained horses; and darting on, they took their way towards Goudhurst, passing within a hundred yards of the spot where the victim of their horrid barbarity lay upon the bed of death.
Taking the narrow paths, leaping the stiles and gates, they at first seemed to gain upon the mass of peasantry who followed them, though their pursuers were on horseback and they on foot. But, well knowing the country, the farmers spread out along the small bridle-roads; and, while the better mounted horsemen followed direct across the fields, the others prepared to cut off the ruffians on the right and left. Gradually a semi-circle, enclosing them within its horns, was thus formed; and all chance of escape by flight was thus cut off.
In this dilemma, the three miscreants made straight towards a farm-house at which they occasionally received hospitality in their lawless expeditions, and which bears the name of "Smuggler Farm" to this day; but they knew not that all hearts had been raised against them by their late atrocities, and that the very tenant of the farm himself was now one of the foremost in pursuit. Rushing in, then, with no farther ceremony than casting the door open, they locked and barred it, just as some of the peasantry were closing in upon them; and then, hurrying to the kitchen, where the farmer's wife, his sister, and a servant was collected, Ned Ramley, who was the first, exclaimed, "Have you no hide, good dame?"
"Hide!" replied the stout farmer's wife, eyeing him askance--"not for such villains as you! Give me the spit, Madge; I've a great mind to run him through." Ned Ramley drew a pistol from his pocket; but at that moment the window was thrown up, the back door of the house was cast open, and half-a-dozen of the stout yeomanry rushed in. The smugglers saw that resistance would be vain; but still they resisted; and though, in the agitation of the moment, Ned Ramley's pistol was discharged innocuously, he did not fail to aim it at the head of young William Harris, who was springing towards him. The stout farmer, however, instantly levelled him with the ground by a thundering blow upon the head; and the other two men, after a desperate struggle, were likewise taken and tied.
"Lucky for you it was me, and not my father, Master Ramley," said William Harris. "He'd have blown your brains out; but you're only saved to be hanged, anyhow.--Ay, here he comes!--Stop, stop, old gentleman! he's a prisoner; don't you touch him.--Let the law have the job, as the gentleman said."
"Oh, you accursed villain--oh, you hellish scoundrel," cried old Harris, kept back with difficulty by his son and the rest. "You were one of the foremost of them. But where is the greatest villain of them all?--where's that limb of the devil, young Radford?--I will have him! Let me go, Will--I will have him, I say!"
Ned Ramley laughed aloud: "You wont, though," he answered, bitterly; "he's been gone this half hour, and will be at the sea, and over the sea, before you can catch him.--You may do with me what you like, but he's safe enough."
"Some one ride off and tell the officer what he says!" cried the farmer. But when the intelligence was conveyed to Sir Henry Leyton, he was already aware that some of the men must have made their escape unobserved; for his servant had met Cornet Joyce and the party of dragoons by the way, and with the aid of a number of farm servants from Iden Green and its neighbourhood, the wood had been searched with such strictness, that the pheasants, which were at that time numerous there, had flown out in clouds, as if a battue had been going on. He mistrusted Ned Ramley's information, however; knowing that the hardened villain would find a sort of pride in misleading the pursuers of young Radford, even though taken himself. Riding quickly across to the farm, then, together with Mowle and the Cornet, he interrogated the men separately, but found they were all in the same story, from which they varied not in the least--that Richard Radford had crept out by the hedges near the wood, and had gone first to a place where a horse was in waiting for him, and thence would make straight to the sea-side, where a boat was already prepared. Instant measures to prevent him from executing this plan now became necessary; and Leyton directed the Cornet to hasten away as fast as possible in pursuit, sending information from Woodchurch to every point of the coast where the offender was likely to pass, spreading out his men so as to cover all the roads to the sea, and only leaving at the farm a sufficient guard to secure the prisoners.
On hearing the latter part of this order, however, Farmer Harris exclaimed, "No, no, sir; no need of that. We've taken them, and we'll keep them safe enough. I'll see these fellows into prison myself--ay, and hanged too, please God! and we'll guard them sure, don't you be afraid."
Leyton looked to Mowle, saying, "I must abide by your decision, Mr. Mowle." But the officer answered: "Oh, you may trust them, sir, quite safely, after all I hear has happened. But I think, Mr. Harris, you had better have just a few men to help you. You've got no place to keep them here; and they must be taken before a magistrate first, before they can be committed."
"Oh, we'll keep them safe enough," replied the farmer. "We'll put them in Goudhurst church, till we can send them off, and, in the meantime, I'll have them up before Squire Broughton. My son's a constable, so they are in proper hands."
"Very well," answered Leyton; "in this case I have no right to interfere; but, of course, you are responsible for their safe custody."
"I say, Mowle," cried Ned Ramley, in his usual daring manner, "bid them give me something to drink, for I'm devilish thirsty; and I'll give you some information, if you will."
Mowle obtained some beer for him, and then demanded, "Well, what is it, Ned?"
"Why, only this," said Ned Ramley, after they had held the beer to his lips, and he had taken a deep draught--"you will have your brains blown out, before ten days are over."
"I am not afraid," replied Mowle, laughing.
"That's right," answered Ned Ramley. "But it will happen; for fifty of us have sworn it. We have had our revenge of your spy, Harding; and we have only you to settle with now."
"Harding!" cried Mowle. "He's no spy of mine.--It was not he that peached, you young scoundrel; it was one of those whom you trusted more than him."
"Ah, well," answered Ned Ramley, indifferently; "then he'll have a sore heart to-night, that he didn't work for. But you'll have your turn yet, Mr. Mowle, so look that you make good use of your brains, for they wont be long in your skull."
"You are a hardened villain," said Sir Henry Leyton. "You had better march them off as fast as you can, my good friends; take them before a magistrate; and above all things, get them to prison ere nightfall, or we may have another rescue."
"No fear, no fear!" answered Farmer Harris. "To rescue a smuggler is one thing--I never liked to see them taken myself--but bloodthirsty villains like these, that would ill use a poor, dear, good girl, and murder her in cold blood,--why, there is not a man in the county would not help to hang them. But I wish, sir, you would go yourself, and see and stop that other great villain. If he isn't hanged too, I don't think I shall ever rest in my bed again."
"I will do my best, depend upon it," replied Leyton; "but I must first, Mr. Harris, go to your house, and see the state of that poor girl. I have known her since she was a child, and feel for her almost as if she were a sister."
"Thank you, sir--thank you!" cried old Harris, shaking him by the hand. "There, boys," he continued, dashing away the tears from his eyes--"make a guard, and take these blackguards off in the middle of you. We'll have them up to Squire Broughton's at once; and then I must go back, too."
On his way to the farm, Leyton desired Mowle to return to Woodchurch, and to wait for him there, taking every step that he might think necessary, with the aid of Captain Irby. "I will not be long," he added.
"Pray don't, sir," rejoined Mowle; "for we have other business to do to-night;" and, sinking his voice to a whisper, he added, "I've got the information I wanted, sir. A part of the goods are certainly at Radford Hall, and if we can seize them there, that, with the deposition of the men at Woodchurch, will bring him in for the whole offence."
"I shall, very likely, overtake you by the way," replied Leyton. "But, at all events, I shall be there before four."
Most such calculations are vain, however. Leyton turned aside to the Harris's farm, where he found poor Kate Clare sinking rapidly. The curate of the parish had been sent for, and, by his advice, Mr. Broughton, the magistrate, who had entered the house but two or three minutes before Leyton himself. Though her voice now scarcely rose above a whisper, she made her dying declaration with clearness and accuracy. It is not necessary here to give any of the details; but, as she concluded, she turned her faint and swimming eyes towards Leyton, saying, "That gentleman, who has always been such a good friend to me and mine, can tell you more, sir, for he came up to my help, just as they shot me."
The magistrate raised his eyes, and inquired, in a low tone, "Who is he?"
"Sir Henry Leyton," replied the poor girl, loud enough for that officer to hear; and thinking that she asked for him, he approached nearer, and stood by Harding's side. Kate raised her hand a little from the bedclothes, as if she would have given it to him; and he took it kindly in his, speaking some words of comfort.
"Thank you, sir--thank you, for all your kindness," said Kate. "I am glad you have come, that I may wish you good-bye, and ask you to be kind to poor Harding, too. It will soon be over now; and you had better all leave me. Not you, Harding--not you.--You must close my eyes, as my poor mother is not here."
A groan burst from the stout seaman's breast; and giving way to all his feelings, he sobbed like a child. According to her desire, Leyton and Mr. Broughton retired from the room; and the young officer informed the magistrate, that the prisoners who had been taken were waiting for examination at his house.
"We shall want your evidence, Sir Henry," said the magistrate. "It is absolutely necessary, if, as I understand, you were eye-witness to the murder."
Leyton saw the propriety of the magistrate's demand, and he yielded immediately. But the investigation was prolonged by several circumstances; and, what between the time that it took up, and that which had been previously spent in the pursuit of the murderers, it was past three o'clock before Leyton mounted his horse at Mr. Broughton's door. He paused for an instant at the gate of the Harris's farm-yard, where a girl was standing with tears in her eyes; but before he could ask any question, she replied to that which was rising to his lips. "She is gone, sir," said the girl--"she is gone. She did not last half-an-hour after you were here."
With a sad heart, Leyton rode on, passing at a quick pace through Harbourne Wood, and not trusting himself to stop at Mrs. Clare's cottage. The windows, however, were closed; and the young officer concluded from that circumstance, that the tidings of her daughter's fate must by this time have reached the childless widow. Not far beyond her gate, he was met by Sir Edward Digby's servant; but eager to arrive at Woodchurch, Leyton did not stop to speak with him, and Somers, turning his horse with the orderly and his old companion, Leyton's servant, gleaned what information he could from them as he went.
Notwithstanding all the speed he could use, however, it was half-past four before Leyton reached Woodchurch; and, on inquiring for Mr. Warde, he found that gentleman had called, but gone away again, saying he would return in an hour.
Such as we have described in the last chapter, were the fatal events to which Sir Edward Digby had alluded in the few words he had spoken to Zara Croyland; and it may be needless to explain to the reader, that he had learned the tale from his servant just before he came down to dinner.
Sir Robert Croyland, as we have shown, after some agitation and hesitation, quitted the drawing-room to meet,--the first time for many years--the son of a man, whom, at the instigation of others, he had cruelly persecuted. He paused as soon as he got into the passage, however, to summon courage, and to make up his mind as to the demeanour which he should assume--always a vain and fruitless task; for seldom, if ever, do circumstances allow any man to maintain the aspect which he has predetermined to affect. Sir Robert Croyland resolved to be cold, stately, and repulsive--to treat Sir Henry Leyton as a perfect stranger, and if he alluded to their former intimacy, to cut the conversation short by telling him that, as all the feelings of those days were at an end, he did not wish to revive their memory in any shape. He did not calculate, indeed, upon the peculiar state of Leyton's mind, at the moment--nay, nor even upon the effect of his former favourite's personal appearance upon himself; and when he entered the library and saw the tall, powerful, dignified-looking man, the pale, thoughtful, stern countenance, and the haughty air, he felt all his predeterminations vain.
Leyton, on his part, had done the same as Sir Robert Croyland, and in setting out from Woodchurch had made up his mind to see in the man he went to visit, nothing but Edith's father--to treat him kindly, gently, and with compassion for his weakness, rather than anger at his faults; but as he rode along, and conversed with one who accompanied him thither, the memory of much that Sir Robert Croyland had done in former days, came painfully back upon him, and combining with his treatment of Edith, raised up bitter and indignant feelings that he could have wished to quell. The scenes which he had passed through that day, too, had given a tone of sternness to his mind which was not usual; and the few minutes he had waited in the library, when every moment seemed of value, added impatience to his other sensations.
The baronet entered as firmly as he could, bowing his head and motioning coldly to a chair. But Leyton did not sit down, gazing for an instant on the countenance of Sir Robert, struck and astonished by the change that he beheld. That steadfast gaze was painful to its object, and sank his spirit still farther; but Leyton, the moment after, began to speak; and the well-known tones of his clear, mellow voice, awakened the recollection of the days when they were once pleasant to hear.
"Sir Robert Croyland," he said, "I have come to you on business of importance, in which it is necessary for you to act immediately in your magisterial capacity."
"I have no clerk with me, sir," answered the baronet, in a hesitating manner; "at this late hour, it is not usual, except under circumstances----"
"The circumstances admit of no delay, Sir Robert Croyland," replied Leyton. "As the nearest magistrate, I have applied to you in the first instance; and have done so for many other reasons besides your being the nearest magistrate."
"Well, sir, what is your application?" demanded Edith's father. "I wish, indeed, you had applied to somebody else, at this time of night; but I will do my duty--oh, yes, I will do my duty."
"That is all that is required, sir," answered the young officer. "My application is for a warrant to search the house of one Richard Radford; and I have to tender you, on oath, information that customable goods, which have been introduced without the payment of duty, are concealed on his premises.--One moment more, if you please--I have also to apply to you, upon similar evidence, for a warrant to search his house for his son, Richard Radford, charged with murder; and, in the end, if you would allow me to advise you, you would instantly mount your horse, and superintend the search yourself."
There was a marked and peculiar emphasis on the last few words, which Sir Robert Croyland did not understand. The manner was not agreeable to him; but it was scarcely perhaps to be expected that it should be; for there had been nothing in his own, to invite that kindly candour, which opens heart to heart. All that had of late years passed between him and Sir Henry Leyton, had been of a repulsive kind. For one youthful error, he had not only repelled and shut his house against the son, but he had persecuted, ruined, and destroyed the father, who had no part in that fault. Every reason too, which he had given, every motive he had assigned, for his anger at Henry Leyton's pretensions to Edith's hand, he had set at nought, or forgotten in the case of him whom he had chosen for her husband. Even now, although his manner was wavering and timid, it was cold and harsh; and it was a hard thing for Henry Leyton to assume the tone of kindness towards Sir Robert Croyland, or to soften his demeanour towards him, with all the busy memories of the past and the feelings of the present thronging upon him, on his first return to the house where he had spent many happy days in youth. I am painting a man, and nothing more; and he could not, and did not overcome the sensations of human nature.
His words did not please Sir Robert Croyland, but they somewhat alarmed him. Everything that was vague in his present situation, did produce fear; but after a moment's thought, he replied, coldly, "Oh dear no, sir, I do not see that it is at all necessary I should go myself. I really think the application altogether extraordinary, seeing that it comes from, I am led to imagine, the lieutenant-colonel, commanding the ---- regiment of dragoons, quartered in this district, who has no primary power, or authority, or even duty in such affairs; but can only act as required by the officers of Customs, to whom he is so far subordinate.--But still I am ready to receive the informations tendered, and then shall decide in regard to my own conduct, as the case may require."
"You are wrong in all respects, but one, Sir Robert Croyland," answered Leyton, at once; "I am empowered to act very differently from any officer who has been in command here before me. If my powers are beyond that which the law authorizes, those who gave them are responsible to their country; but, for an extraordinary case, extraordinary means are requisite; and as I require of you nothing but what the law requires, I shall not pause to argue, whether I am exactly the proper person to make the application. It might easily be made by another, who is without: but I have reasons for what I am doing--and reasons, believe me," he added, after a moment's pause and reflection, "not unfriendly to Sir Robert Croyland."
Again his words and manner were peculiar. Sir Robert Croyland began to feel some apprehension lest he might push his coldness too far. But he did not see how he could change his tone; and he was proceeding, with the same distant reserve, to repeat that he was ready to receive the information in a formal manner, when Leyton suddenly interrupted him, after a severe struggle with himself.
"Sir Robert Croyland," he said, "let us speak as friends. Let griefs and complaints on both sides be forgotten for the moment; let us bury, for the time, seven years in oblivion. Look upon me, if it be but for a few minutes, as the Henry Leyton you knew before anything arose to produce one ill feeling between us; for, believe me, I come to you with kindly sentiments. Your own fate hangs in the balance at this hour. I would decide it favourably for you, if you would let me. But--you must shake off doubt and timidity; you must act boldly and decidedly, and all will be well."
"I do not understand what you mean, sir," cried Sir Robert Croyland, astonished at his change of tone, and without time to collect his ideas, and calculate the probabilities. "My fate!--How can you affect my fate?"
"More than you are aware," answered Leyton; "even now I affect your fate, by giving you the choice of at once proceeding in the line of your duty, against a bad man who has overruled your better nature, too long,--by allowing you to conduct the search, which must be instituted either by yourself or others.--In one word, Sir Robert Croyland, I know all; and would serve you, if you would let me."
"You know all!" exclaimed Edith's father, in a dull, gloomy tone--"you know all! she has told you, then! That explains it--that shows how she retracted her consent--how she was willing to-day to sacrifice her father. You have seen her--you have taught her her part!--Yes, she has betrayed her parent's confidence."
Leyton could bear no more. Himself, he could have heard slandered calmly; but he could not hear such words of her he loved: "It is false!" he said; "she did not betray your confidence! She told me no more than was needful to induce me to release her from bonds she was too faithful and true to break. From her I have heard nothing more--but from others I have heard all; and now, Sir Robert Croyland, you have chosen your part, I have but to call in those who must lay the required information. Our duty must be done, whatever be the consequences; and as you reject the only means of saving yourself from much grief--though, I trust, not the danger you apprehend--we must act without you;" and he rose and walked towards the door.
"Stay, Leyton--stay!" cried Sir Robert Croyland, catching him eagerly by the arm--"yet a moment--yet a moment. You say you know all. Do you know all?--all?--everything?"
"All!--everything!" answered Leyton, firmly; "every word that was spoken--every deed that was done--more than you know yourself."
"Then, at least, you know I am innocent," said the old man.
A calm but grave serenity took the place, on Sir Henry Leyton's countenance, of the impetuous look with which he had last spoken. "Innocent," he said, "of intentional murder; but not innocent of rash and unnecessary anger; and, oh! Sir Robert Croyland--if I must say it--most culpable in the consequences which you have suffered to flow from one hasty act. Mark me; and see the result!--Your own dear child, against your will, is in the hands of a man whom you hate and abhor. You are anxious to make her the wife of a being you condemn and despise! The child of the man that your own hand slew, is now lying a corpse, murdered by him to whom you would give your daughter! Your own life is----"
"What, Kate!--Kate Clare!" exclaimed Sir Robert Croyland, with a sudden change coming over his countenance--"murdered by Richard Radford!"
"By his own hand, after the most brutal usage," replied Leyton.
Sir Robert Croyland sprang to the bell, and rang it violently, then threw open the door and called aloud--"My horse!--my horse!--saddle my horse!--If it cost me land and living, life and honour, she shall be avenged!" he added, turning to Leyton, and raising his head erect, the first time for many years. "It is over--the folly, and the weakness, and crime, are at an end. I have been bowed and broken; but there is a spark of my former nature yet left. I vowed to God in Heaven, that I would ever protect and be a father to that child, as an atonement--as some--some compensation, however small; and I will keep my vow."
"Oh! Sir Robert," cried Leyton, taking his hand and pressing it in his, "be ever thus, and how men will love and venerate you!"
The barrier was broken down--the chain which had so long bound him was cast away; and Sir Robert returned Leyton's grasp with equal warmth. "Harry," he said, "I have done you wrong; but I will do so no more. I was driven--I was goaded along the road to all evil, like a beast driven to the slaughter. But you have done wrong, too, young man--yours was the first offence."
"It was," answered Leyton--"I own it--I did do wrong; and I will make no excuse, though youth, and love as true as ever man felt, might afford some. But let me assure you, that I have been willing to make reparation--I have been willing to sacrifice all the brightest hope of years to save you, even now. I assured Edith that I would, when she told me the little she could venture to tell; but it was her misery that withheld me--it was the life-long wretchedness, to which she was doomed if I yielded, that made me resist. Nothing else on earth should have stopped me; but now, Sir Robert, the prospect is more clear for you."
"Nay, do not speak of that," replied Sir Robert Croyland; "I will think of it no more--I have now chosen my path; and I will pursue it, without looking at the consequences to myself. Let them come when they must come; for once in life, I will do what is just and right."
"And by so doing, my dear sir, you will save yourself," answered Leyton. "Moved by revenge--with no doubt whatsoever of his motive--after a concealment of six years, this base man's accusation will be utterly valueless. Your bare statement of the real circumstances will be enough to dissipate every cloud. I shall require that all his papers be seized; and I have many just reasons for wishing that they should be in your hands."
"I understand you, Harry, and I thank you," said Sir Robert Croyland; "but with my present feelings I would not----"
"You do not understand me fully, Sir Robert," replied Leyton. "I wish you only to act as you will find just, right, and honourable, and wait for the result. It will be, or I am much mistaken, more favourable to you, personally, than you imagine. Now, as you have decided on the true and upright course, let us lose no time in carrying it into execution. I will call in the men who have to lay the information; and when you have received it, I will place before you depositions which will justify the most vigorous measures against both father and son. In regard to the latter, I must act under your authority in my military capacity, as I have no civil power there; but in regard to the former, I am already called upon, by the officers of the revenue, to aid them in entering his house by force, and searching it thoroughly."
"Call them in, Harry--call them in!" replied Sir Robert Croyland; "every man is justified by the law in apprehending a murderer. But you shall have full authority.--Kate Clare!--How could this have happened?"
"I will explain, as we ride on," answered Leyton, going to the door; and speaking to one of the servants who was standing in the hall, he added, "Desire Mr. Mowle to walk in, and bring the boy with him."
In another minute, Mowle entered the room with another man, holding by the arm the boy Ray, whom the smugglers had chosen to denominate Little Starlight. He came, apparently, unwillingly; for though ever ready, for money, to spy and to inform secretly, he had a great abhorrence of being brought publicly forward; and when on coming to Mowle that evening with more information--he was detained and told he must go before a magistrate, he had made every possible effort to escape.
He was now somewhat surprised, on being brought forward after Mowle had laid the information, to find that he was not questioned upon any point affecting the smuggling transactions which had lately taken place, as the evidence upon that subject was sufficient without his testimony. But in regard to the proceedings of young Radford, and to the place where he was concealed, he was interrogated closely. It was all in vain, however. To obtain a straightforward answer from him was impossible; and although Mowle repeated distinctly that the boy had casually said, the murderer of poor Kate Clare had gone to his father's house, Little Starlight lied and prevaricated at every word, and impudently, though not unskilfully attempted to put another meaning on his previous admission.
As time was wearing away, however, Sir Henry Leyton, at length, interposed--"I think it is unnecessary, Sir Robert," he said, "to push this inquiry further at present. As the whole house and premises must be searched on other grounds, we shall discover the villain if he is there. Mr. Mowle and I have adopted infallible means, I think, to prevent his escaping from any point of the coast; and the magistrates at every port were this evening furnished with such information that, if they act with even a moderate degree of ability, he must be taken."
"Besides, sir," rejoined Mowle, "the frigate has come round; and she will take care that, with this wind, not a boat big enough to carry him over shall get out. We had better set out, your worship, if you please; for if old Radford gets an inkling of what is going on, he will double upon us some way."
"I am quite ready," said Sir Robert Croyland. "I will call my clerk to accompany us as we go, in case of any further proceedings being necessary. We must pass through the village where he lives."
With a firm step he moved towards the door; and, strange as it may seem, though for six years, while supposing he was taking the only means of self-preservation, he had lived in constant terror and anxiety, he felt no fear, no trepidation now, when he had determined to do what was right at every personal risk. An enfeebling spell seemed to have been taken off his mind; and the lassitude of doubt and indecision was gone. But such is almost always the result, even upon the nerves of our corporeal frame, of a strong effort of mental energy. It is one thing certainly to resolve, and another to do; but the very act of resolution, if it be sincerely exerted, affords a degree of vigour, which is sure to produce as great results as the means at our disposal can accomplish. Energetic determination will carry men through things that seem impossible, as a bold heart will carry them over Alps, that, viewed from their base, appear insurmountable.
Sir Robert Croyland did not venture into the drawing-room before he went; but he told the butler, who was waiting in the hall, to inform Sir Edward Digby and the family that he had been called away on business, and feared he should not return till a late hour; and having left this message, he went out upon the terrace. He found there a number of persons assembled, with some twenty or thirty of the dragoons. Five or six officers of the Customs were present, besides Mowle; but the darkness was too great to admit of their faces being seen; and Sir Robert Croyland mounted without speaking to any one. Sir Henry Leyton paused for an instant to give orders, that the boy should be taken back to Woodchurch, and kept there under a safe guard. He then spoke a few words to Digby's servant, Somers, and springing on his horse placed himself at Sir Robert Croyland's side.
The night was as dark as either of the two which had preceded it; the same film of cloud covered the sky; not a star was to be seen; the moon was far below the horizon; and slowly the whole party moved on, two and two abreast, through the narrow lanes and tortuous roads of that part of the country. It halted for a minute in the nearest village, while Sir Robert Croyland stopped at his clerk's house, and directed him to follow as fast as possible to Mr. Radford's; and then, resuming their march, the dragoons, and those who accompanied them, wound on for between four or five miles further, when, as they turned the angle of a wood, some lights, apparently proceeding from the windows of a house half way up a gentle slope, were seen shining out in the midst of the darkness.
"Halt!" said Sir Henry Leyton; and before he proceeded to give his orders, for effectually surrounding the house and grounds of Mr. Radford, he gazed steadfastly for a moment or two upon the building which contained her who was most dear to him, and whose heart he well knew was at that moment wrung with the contention of many a painful feeling. "I promised her I would bring her aid, dear girl," he thought, "and so I have.--Thanks be to God, who has enabled me!"
Sir Robert Croyland, too, gazed--with very different feelings, it is true, but still with a stern determination that was not shaken in the least. It seemed, when he thought of Kate Clare, that he was atoning to the spirit of the father, by seeking to avenge the child; and the whole tale of her wrongs and death, which he had heard from Leyton, as they came, had raised the desire of so doing almost to an enthusiasm. Human passions and infirmities, indeed, will mingle with our best feelings; and as he gazed upon Mr. Radford's house, and remembered all that he had endured for the last six years, he said to himself, with some bitterness, "That man shall now taste a portion of the same cup he has forced upon others."
Sir Henry Leyton woke from his reverie sooner than his companion; and turning his horse, he spoke for a few moments with Mowle, somewhat longer with another person wrapped in a dark horseman's coat behind, and then gave various distinct orders to the dragoons, who immediately separated into small parties, and, taking different roads, placed themselves in such positions as to command every approach to the house. Then riding forward with Sir Robert Croyland, the officers of Customs, and one or two soldiers, he turned up the little avenue which led from the road, consulting with Edith's father as he went. At about a couple of hundred yards from the house he paused, turning his head and saying to Mowle, "You had better, I think, all dismount; and, making fast the horses, get behind the nearest laurels and evergreens, while Sir Robert and I ride on alone, and ask admission quietly. When the door is opened, you can come up and make yourselves masters of the servants till the search is over. I do not anticipate any resistance; but if the young man be really here, it may be made."
He then rode on with the baronet at a quicker pace, the noise of their horses' feet, as they trotted on and approached the great doors, covering the sound of the movements of the party they left behind.
The house, to which the actual possessor had given the name of Radford Hall, was an old-fashioned country mansion, and presented, like many another building at that time, several large, iron hooks, standing out from the brickwork on each side of the doorway, on which it was customary for visitors on horseback to hang their rein while they rang the bell, or till a servant could be called to take them to the stable. Sir Robert Croyland was acquainted with this peculiarity of the house, though Leyton was not, and he whispered to his companion--"Let us hook up our horses, before we ring."
This was accordingly done; and then taking the long iron handle of the bell, Leyton pulled it gently. A minute or two after, a step sounded in the hall, and a servant appeared--a stout, red-faced, shrewd-looking fellow, who at first held the great door only half open. As soon, however, as he saw Sir Robert Croyland's face, he threw it back, replying, in answer to the baronet's question as to whether Mr. Radford was at home, "Yes, Sir Robert, he has been home this hour."
Leyton had stood back, and, in the darkness, the man did not see him, or took him for a groom; but when the young officer advanced, and the uniform of the dragoon regiment became apparent, Mr. Radford's servant suddenly stretched his hand towards the door again, as if about to throw it violently to. But Leyton's strong grasp was on his shoulder in a moment. "You are my prisoner," he said, in a low tone; "not a word--not a syllable, if you would not suffer for it. No harm will happen to you, if you are only quiet."
At the same moment, Mowle and the rest came running across the lawn, and, giving the man into their hands, Leyton entered the house with Sir Robert Croyland.