CHAPTER IX.

THE MILLER’S DAUGHTER—COLONEL BLOOD FALLS INTO ROUGH HANDS—THE MURDER ON THE BRIDGE.

The reason that Colonel Blood was so far from London is easily explained by what took place in Darlington the second night of his visit.

The miller of the village, Hugh Harmer, had a very pretty daughter named Ellen, who was the pride and the toast of the surrounding country.

Like a hawk poised in the air, gazing on his intended prey below, did Colonel Blood hover around Hugh Harmer’s house close by the bubbling and splashing mill-stream.

He had espied Ellen by chance, and in her saw not the virtuous village maiden, but a beautiful object for his master, the Merry Monarch, who, Blood knew, would pay any price to gratify his beastial passions.

Captain Jack and his rough party had left the inn but half-an-hour, when a card was brought to Blood by some one old Horn had never seen before.

“Admit the stranger, landlord,” said Blood.

A sorrowful-looking fellow walked in, hat in hand. He was very wet from head to foot, and his clothes were in rags around him.

“Have you seen her?”

“Her answer is here,” said the stranger, producing a small note out of his breast pocket.

Blood tore it open, and read it.

His eye sparkled with fire, and his handsome features twitched as he perused its contents, which ran as follows:—

“Sir,—Our first meeting, I fear, has caused much uneasiness and unhappiness to both.“But, notwithstanding your constant letters and frequent visits to Darlington, I fear that your intentions cannot be so disinterested towards me as your eloquent notes would have me believe.“This thought has often occurred to my mind since I first imprudently met you, and is more and more confirmed by the fact that you impress upon me the necessity of keeping our correspondence a secret from my dear old father, which no person, having honourable intentions, would ever propose to a simple country girl.“As a last favour I beg that you will no more insult me with your proposals of eloping from my father’s roof, or ever again presume to throw yourself purposely in my path to pour poisonous councils into my ears.“In fine, sir, I fear I have too long been the dupe of your designs, and until, as a virtuous girl, I can sign my name on the marriage register of the village church, I will never leave my father’s home, even should I love the man ever so much who bade me act otherwise.“Your humble servant,“Ellen Harmer.”

“Sir,—Our first meeting, I fear, has caused much uneasiness and unhappiness to both.

“But, notwithstanding your constant letters and frequent visits to Darlington, I fear that your intentions cannot be so disinterested towards me as your eloquent notes would have me believe.

“This thought has often occurred to my mind since I first imprudently met you, and is more and more confirmed by the fact that you impress upon me the necessity of keeping our correspondence a secret from my dear old father, which no person, having honourable intentions, would ever propose to a simple country girl.

“As a last favour I beg that you will no more insult me with your proposals of eloping from my father’s roof, or ever again presume to throw yourself purposely in my path to pour poisonous councils into my ears.

“In fine, sir, I fear I have too long been the dupe of your designs, and until, as a virtuous girl, I can sign my name on the marriage register of the village church, I will never leave my father’s home, even should I love the man ever so much who bade me act otherwise.

“Your humble servant,“Ellen Harmer.”

“Clever as she’s pretty; but quick and sharp as a needle,” thought Blood. “So much the better for King Charles.”

“Did you miss the old man as usual?” asked Blood.

“No, sir; for once he caught me,” said the servant, with a very rueful face.

“Then you had an adventure. What said he to you?”

“‘Oh! it’s you, is it? Here again, eh, and always when I’m out,’ says he, flourishing his walking, stick, and then he shouted to the dogs, ‘On to him Rover! give it him, Spot! hold tight, Jip!’ and all the while he was laying on to me with his thick stick without mercy.

“Quite a pleasant affair,” said Blood, with a smile.

“Yes, sir, to think about; but not very agreeable if you have to go through it.”

“Well, well, I don’t wonder why old Harmer takes so much care of her, for she’s one of the daintiest little maidens that ever trod the earth,” said Blood. “No matter, if he had her locked up in a castle it would be all the same, she must be the king’s. To-night is the last time she’ll sleep under her father’s roof. Come, Jonas,” for such was his shivering servant’s name; “go change your clothes, and have a stiff glass of brandy, I shall want you about midnight to go to the miller’s house with me.”

“Again to-night, sir?” gasped Jonas. “Why, only you look here,” and as he turned round he exhibited to his master the seat of his trousers, his cloak, and other parts of his attire all in ribands.

“Never mind, Jonas, you always had a reputation for courage; here’s a guinea for you. Go, prepare yourself.”

Midnight was passed, and at an appointed time Jonas met his master, and both proceeded towards the miller’s.

Colonel Blood sauntered along in the silence of the night towards Harmer’s house, as handsome, bold, and cool-handed a knave as ever lived.

He had just reached the narrow mill bridge, when he perceived the dark figure of a young man leaning over the hand-rail, and gazing in the shining water. Directly he heard the approach of footsteps, he turned, and his eyes sparkled with fierce delight.

“’Tis he!” said the young man, “I cannot be mistaken. I have long desired this meeting. I came to bury myself beneath these shining waters, but ere I do, let me crush the skull of this villain, who has ruined me and blasted all my happiness; for, before his accursed shadow darkened our village, I was happy: but now, alas! Ellen Harmer’s heart is another’s.”

Colonel Blood approached, and had reached the centre of the bridge, when the youth suddenly confronted him with boldness and flashing eyes.

“What, Andrew Gamble!” said Blood, starting back a step or two in surprise.

“Aye!” said Andrew, with a quivering lip. “Does that name startle your wicked heart?”

“Startleme, knave!” said Blood, with an air of great contempt. “Make way, there! why do you cross my path again?”

“Because you’ve crossed mine, and shall die,” said Andrew, advancing.

“Make way, there, I say!” said Blood, drawing his sword. “Let me pass, I like not your looks—there is murder in your eyes. Make way, I tell ye, before I cleave ye to the ground.”

NOTICE TO OUR READERS.

Remember!—A most valuable present is in preparation, and will be presented to all our regular Subscribers with an early Number. Full particulars will be announced in No. 6.

THE FIGHT BETWEEN WILDFIRE NED AND THE SKELETON CREW.

“Ha! ha!” laughed Andrew, “you can flourish your toasting-fork, I see, just as cleverly as I can my father’s flail; but you don’t frighten me, for all that, fine gentleman as you are.”

“Once, for all, make, way fellow! or I’ll cleave your skull,” said Blood. “I cannot afford to waste valuable time in parleying with a country clown.”

He had scarcely spoken the word, when Andrew Gamble rushed suddenly upon his enemy and disarmed him in an instant.

Colonel Blood was thunderstruck.

The action had been so sudden, and the weapon so cleverly wrenched from his grasp, that he stood gaping in surprise.

“Make way there,” said Andrew, flourishing the sword in a malicious manner, much as a rustic would a stout oak cudgel.

Colonel Blood retired a pace or two in evident fear of his brawny antagonist.

“Villain! you quail,” said Andrew, with a savage laugh; “you quail and turn pale before the very man you just now threatened; but fear not, I will not, as you would have done, raise my weapon against a defenceless man. I could take thy life; for, until the unlucky day your shadow darkened our village, I was happy. Happy! aye, as happy as a king. I loved, and was loved in return, but your hellish schemes and flattery have torn her from me; you have poured poison into my loved one’s ear, you have taught her to despise the one who would willingly have laid down his life for her. Listen, villain, your rascality has long been known to me, but chance has never thrown me in your way until now, and here upon the mill bridge, in the stillness of the night, let me tell you that one or both of us mustdie!”

These words were uttered by Andrew Gamble with a great effort.

His manly breast heaved, and his voice became tremulous as, in a few words, he disclosed the secret, and the cause of his enmity to the stranger.

“Die!” said Blood, calmly, but with a trembling lip.

He seemed charmed and fixed to the spot by the fierce brilliancy of Andrew’s eyes.

“Die!” he muttered again, half aloud.

“Yes,die!” said young Gamble, with a fiery pride. “Think you I care to live and see Ellen Harmer given to another? Could I, can I live, now that the only charm life had for me is snatched away?”

“I never harmed you,” said Blood, coolly and collectedly.

“’Tis false, villain!” the youth replied. “Have you not had spies around her? have you not dazzled her with your dishonest words and manner? have you not written dozens of letters to her inviting her to run from her father’s home, and become a lady in London? Why not show your face at her father’s house like any honest man? Why traduce me? Am I not as good as you? If you are a man so am I; we are equal; the tinsel and ribbons of your court-cut coat makes you no better gentleman than Andrew Gamble, the farmer’s son. Nay, curl not your lip, but hear me. This meeting: it is our first and last. You see this sword,” said Andrew, passionately; “there is but one between us, we will divide it.”

So saying, he placed the weapon across his knee, and snapped it in twain.

“Choose,” said Andrew, “the hilt or point, whiche’er you will.”

“You are bent upon bloodshed,” said the colonel; “you are rash, wild, and know not what you do; neither do you know me, if you did you would tremble at such an encounter. I am the best swordsman in all England.”

“And I the worst,” said Andrew; “it matters not, come on.”

Colonel Blood took the point half of the broken sword and wrapped his handkerchief round the thick end for a handle.

Andrew had the thick half.

The two blades met.

Blood was as cool as ice.

There was upon his handsome face a smile of confidence and contempt for his rustic rival.

Andrew, on the contrary, was all on fire, and trembled with haste and excitement.

In an encounter between two such swordsmen the result could not for a moment be doubtful.

Andrew made a lunge that was prettily stopped by Colonel Blood.

His next attempt, however, was more successful.

Andrew rushed to closer distance, and pricked the arm, from which blood flowed copiously.

“Damnation!” swore the infuriated swordsman. “To be beaten by this country clown is a lasting disgrace; nevertheless, he shan’t live to boast of it!”

He gathered himself together for a final stroke, which would have proved fatal to the brave rustic, but Andrew turned the colonel’s point.

A desperate struggle now ensued on the narrow bridge.

They seized each other by the throat.

Their weapons were in dead lock.

A single moment would decide all.

The strength of each was about equal, and giant-like were their struggles.

But a trick saved Blood.

He quickly placed one foot behind Andrew’s leg and back-heeled him.

This was fatal to Andrew.

He fell.

In the act of falling Colonel Blood stabbed him.

The brave rustic threw up his hands with a sharp cry of pain, and rolled into the shining river.

“Fool!” said Colonel Blood, with a contemptuous oath, as he looked into the bright waters beneath him, rippling and eddying in the moonlight. “Fool! How dare the village dolt to cross my path; so be it with all who dare cross the path of Colonel Blood.”

He threw the red blade into the small narrow river stream, and bound up his arm with his handkerchief.

“Now for the pretty wench,” said he. “If I succeed in carrying her forth, my fortune is made. Stop! what was that sound?”

He stood and listened.

“Help! help!” cried a distant voice. “Murder! Help! help!”

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