Chapter Fifteen.Wife to a Convict.Sir Mark awoke the next morning thoroughly convinced that he had been the victim of a scoundrel, but he kept his word, and did everything possible in the way of providing able legal assistance for his son-in-law. He had taken Myra and her cousin at once to a retired seaside place within easy reach of town, and made James Dale’s case the sole business of his life.It was a two days’ business, that trial, owing to the efforts made by the counsel for the defence, who fought their client’s cause gallantly. But it was a losing game from beginning to end; the proofs were utterly crushing. James Dale had obtained a large income from the forgeries for years, and his companion in the iniquity had purchased property extensively. The West Indian estates were certainly in existence, and belonged to a family named Barron, but in the prisoner’s case the name was assumed, and in his real patronymic he, with his confederate, was sentenced to seven years’ penal servitude.“Deserved it, every hour,” said Sir Mark, with a sigh of relief, as he drove away from the court with Guest. “Now for a few months of quiet abroad, and then I shall have to see the lawyers again.”Guest looked at him inquiringly.“Eh? What do I mean? Well, I don’t understand much about such matters, but surely under the circumstances the laws of England will not keep my child tied to such a rascal as that.”Guest was about to speak, but the old man interrupted him.“Fancy, my lad, after an apprenticeship of seven years to a convict’s life that fellow knocking at my door, and Andrews coming up to say that he had called for his wife.”Guest shuddered: the idea was horrible.“No, no, my lad; that would not do at all. But there, say no more about it now. By and by I shall hear what the lawyers think about a divorce.”They shook hands and parted, the admiral going home, and Guest straight to his friend’s chambers, where he knocked, but there was no answer.Brettison came out, though, from the adjoining room.“He has not come back yet from the trial,” Brettison said.“Indeed! I looked round the court, but could not see him there. You have heard, of course?”“The verdict? Yes, I was there.”The two men looked inquiringly into each others’ eyes, and just then a step was heard upon the stairs.“Here he is,” whispered Guest, and the next minute, looking very calm and self-possessed, Stratton joined them, and asked them in; but Brettison declined, and went back to his own chambers, while Guest followed his friend into his room, thinking, as he entered the quiet, retired place, of how his coming had changed the current of Stratton’s career.“Sit down, old fellow,” said Stratton cheerfully, and he opened the closet by the fireplace to reach down a box of cigars, which he handed to Guest, and then took one himself.“Now for it,” thought Guest as Stratton sat back, looking pale still and thin from his illness; but he only went on smoking, apparently waiting for his friend to speak.“And I don’t know what to say,” thought Guest.He was relieved from his embarrassment at last by Stratton beginning to talk about one of the current topics of the day, and he left the chambers at last without there having been the slightest reference to the trial.Guest found his way to Bourne Square the next afternoon, and was startled to find all the shutters closed and the blinds drawn in the upper rooms.“Out of town” seemed written plainly all over the house, for that nothing serious was the matter was evident from a friendly chat going on at the area gate between two maids, who had dispensed with the hated headgear of slavery—caps—and were laughing with a rustic looking young milkman.Guest took a cab and drove to Miss Jerrold’s, in Bayswater, to find that lady at home and ready to welcome him.“Gone, my dear boy,” she said. “Gone to Rome first, and the best thing too. Ugh! I never liked that man, Percy Guest. He looked like silver, but I could feel that he was only electro-plate. Well, poor Myra had a terrible escape. It was, of course, her money, and he looked for some of mine.”“But when are they coming back, Miss Jerrold?”“Oh, not for a long time, I hope. It will be the best thing in the world for poor Myra, and I have been thinking that I shall go and join them soon. Not till they have all had time to calm down. There is nothing to mind till then.”She said these last words so meaningly that Guest gave her an inquiring look, and the old lady smiled.“You want to know why I said that,” she said, “Well, I’ll tell you, Percy Guest. Old women can speak pretty plainly, and I can trust you to be discreet. The fact is, my brother is one of the best men that ever breathed, and at sea he had few officers who were his equal, but on shore he is one of those men whom any clever, designing scoundrel could impose upon, and if I don’t go to them and play the dragon of watchfulness we shall be having a foreign count without a penny, or some other dreadful swindler, hoodwinking him till there is another engagement, and poor Myra driven half-mad.”“What, after such a lesson as this has been, Miss Jerrold?”“Of course. Poor Mark will think the best thing for Myra to do will be to marry, so as to get rid of the ambiguous position in which she is placed. Wife to a convict serving his time. Poor child, it gives me a shudder every time I think of it. There, I will not think of it any more. I’ve made my mind up, and I shall go.”“I would,” said Guest eagerly.“Eh? And pray why, sir?” cried the old lady sharply.“I thought it would be better,” said Guest confusedly.“For someone we know, eh? No, no, sir. That’s all over now. Some people had better treat their lives as schoolboys do their slates: sponge them neatly, make them clean, and begin all over again.”
Sir Mark awoke the next morning thoroughly convinced that he had been the victim of a scoundrel, but he kept his word, and did everything possible in the way of providing able legal assistance for his son-in-law. He had taken Myra and her cousin at once to a retired seaside place within easy reach of town, and made James Dale’s case the sole business of his life.
It was a two days’ business, that trial, owing to the efforts made by the counsel for the defence, who fought their client’s cause gallantly. But it was a losing game from beginning to end; the proofs were utterly crushing. James Dale had obtained a large income from the forgeries for years, and his companion in the iniquity had purchased property extensively. The West Indian estates were certainly in existence, and belonged to a family named Barron, but in the prisoner’s case the name was assumed, and in his real patronymic he, with his confederate, was sentenced to seven years’ penal servitude.
“Deserved it, every hour,” said Sir Mark, with a sigh of relief, as he drove away from the court with Guest. “Now for a few months of quiet abroad, and then I shall have to see the lawyers again.”
Guest looked at him inquiringly.
“Eh? What do I mean? Well, I don’t understand much about such matters, but surely under the circumstances the laws of England will not keep my child tied to such a rascal as that.”
Guest was about to speak, but the old man interrupted him.
“Fancy, my lad, after an apprenticeship of seven years to a convict’s life that fellow knocking at my door, and Andrews coming up to say that he had called for his wife.”
Guest shuddered: the idea was horrible.
“No, no, my lad; that would not do at all. But there, say no more about it now. By and by I shall hear what the lawyers think about a divorce.”
They shook hands and parted, the admiral going home, and Guest straight to his friend’s chambers, where he knocked, but there was no answer.
Brettison came out, though, from the adjoining room.
“He has not come back yet from the trial,” Brettison said.
“Indeed! I looked round the court, but could not see him there. You have heard, of course?”
“The verdict? Yes, I was there.”
The two men looked inquiringly into each others’ eyes, and just then a step was heard upon the stairs.
“Here he is,” whispered Guest, and the next minute, looking very calm and self-possessed, Stratton joined them, and asked them in; but Brettison declined, and went back to his own chambers, while Guest followed his friend into his room, thinking, as he entered the quiet, retired place, of how his coming had changed the current of Stratton’s career.
“Sit down, old fellow,” said Stratton cheerfully, and he opened the closet by the fireplace to reach down a box of cigars, which he handed to Guest, and then took one himself.
“Now for it,” thought Guest as Stratton sat back, looking pale still and thin from his illness; but he only went on smoking, apparently waiting for his friend to speak.
“And I don’t know what to say,” thought Guest.
He was relieved from his embarrassment at last by Stratton beginning to talk about one of the current topics of the day, and he left the chambers at last without there having been the slightest reference to the trial.
Guest found his way to Bourne Square the next afternoon, and was startled to find all the shutters closed and the blinds drawn in the upper rooms.
“Out of town” seemed written plainly all over the house, for that nothing serious was the matter was evident from a friendly chat going on at the area gate between two maids, who had dispensed with the hated headgear of slavery—caps—and were laughing with a rustic looking young milkman.
Guest took a cab and drove to Miss Jerrold’s, in Bayswater, to find that lady at home and ready to welcome him.
“Gone, my dear boy,” she said. “Gone to Rome first, and the best thing too. Ugh! I never liked that man, Percy Guest. He looked like silver, but I could feel that he was only electro-plate. Well, poor Myra had a terrible escape. It was, of course, her money, and he looked for some of mine.”
“But when are they coming back, Miss Jerrold?”
“Oh, not for a long time, I hope. It will be the best thing in the world for poor Myra, and I have been thinking that I shall go and join them soon. Not till they have all had time to calm down. There is nothing to mind till then.”
She said these last words so meaningly that Guest gave her an inquiring look, and the old lady smiled.
“You want to know why I said that,” she said, “Well, I’ll tell you, Percy Guest. Old women can speak pretty plainly, and I can trust you to be discreet. The fact is, my brother is one of the best men that ever breathed, and at sea he had few officers who were his equal, but on shore he is one of those men whom any clever, designing scoundrel could impose upon, and if I don’t go to them and play the dragon of watchfulness we shall be having a foreign count without a penny, or some other dreadful swindler, hoodwinking him till there is another engagement, and poor Myra driven half-mad.”
“What, after such a lesson as this has been, Miss Jerrold?”
“Of course. Poor Mark will think the best thing for Myra to do will be to marry, so as to get rid of the ambiguous position in which she is placed. Wife to a convict serving his time. Poor child, it gives me a shudder every time I think of it. There, I will not think of it any more. I’ve made my mind up, and I shall go.”
“I would,” said Guest eagerly.
“Eh? And pray why, sir?” cried the old lady sharply.
“I thought it would be better,” said Guest confusedly.
“For someone we know, eh? No, no, sir. That’s all over now. Some people had better treat their lives as schoolboys do their slates: sponge them neatly, make them clean, and begin all over again.”
Chapter Sixteen.“I shall have to go.”A year passed rapidly away, during which time Guest’s visits were pretty constant to Benchers’ Inn, or to that institution where the new curator seemed to have thrown himself with so much spirit into his work that Guest often came to the conclusion that he must have treated his past after the fashion suggested by the admiral’s sister. For there were no friendly confidences, and it was only a supposition that Stratton might be well informed as to the doings of the family abroad.At last one morning, after being expectant and on thorns for weeks, Guest made his way to Bayswater, sending the cabman by a circuitous route, so as to pass through Bourne Square.The family had not returned, but there were painters at work; and excited by this, he rang at Miss Jerrold’s, was shown up, and as soon as he had shaken hands the old lady tightened her lips and shook her head at him.“All my good advice thrown away, boy,” she said. “Now no deceit; you’ve heard news?”“Indeed, no,” he cried. “I only came through the square.”“On purpose?”“Well, yes, and saw that there were men at work painting.”“Pooh!” ejaculated Miss Jerrold. “That may mean my brother is going to let the house.”“But Sir Mark is not going to let the house, Miss Jerrold?”“Of course not. Yes; you are right: they will be back in about a week.”“In a week?” cried Guest joyously.“Yes. I wanted to see you, though. How about your friend, Mr Stratton: he has forgotten all that mad nonsense, I suppose?”Guest was silent for a few moments while the old lady looked at him inquiringly.“You do not know Malcolm Stratton as I do,” he said sadly. “He has never mentioned Miss Myra Jerrold’s name—”“Mrs Dale’s or Barron’s,” said the lady sternly, but Guest shook his head.“Since the wedding day, but if I know anything of my friend she has never since been out of his thoughts.”The tears started to Miss Jerrold’s eyes.“Poor boy,” she said sadly. “But he must not think of her. My brother had certain thoughts about getting the marriage cancelled, but Myra will not hear of it.”“Surely she does not care for this man?”“I don’t know, my dear boy. She is a mystery to me. I tried to talk to her several times when I was near, but she closed my lips at once. I am nobody now. I can pretty well manage her father, but—who in the world can this be?” she cried hastily. “I’m not at home.”She rose to ring the bell, but there were steps already on the stairs, and the servant, looking a little startled, opened the door.“Mr Stratton, ma’am. He says—”Stratton was already at the door, looking pale, but with a red spot burning in each cheek.“You here, Guest!” he said excitedly. “Miss Jerrold, pray ask your niece to see me, if only for a minute.”“My niece, Mr Stratton,” said the old lady coldly, “is in Paris.”“No, no,” he cried. “They reached Charing Cross not half an hour ago.”“Stratton, old man,” whispered Guest, “for goodness sake, contain yourself. Indeed they are not here.”“Hah!” cried Stratton excitedly as a cab drew up to the door; and he grasped how he had, in his excitement, outstripped with a fast hansom the slow four-wheeled cab; and without giving aunt or friend another thought he dashed downstairs and out to the cab door.Myra was looking eagerly up at the house as the front door opened, and Edie heard her give a hoarse gasp as she shrank back into the corner of the seat with her face convulsed by a spasm at the unexpected sight of Stratton.It was only momentary. By the time he reached the cab door, flung it open, and held out his hand, she had drawn herself up, and it was a calm, dignified, graceful woman of the world who gave the trembling man her hand to help her to alight.“Ah, Mr Stratton,” she said, and her voice thrilled him, “I did not expect to see you here. I hope you have quite recovered from your illness. Thanks. Mr Guest too. Yes, you may take my wrappers. Ah, there is aunt. Aunt dear, we have taken you quite by storm. Papa had letters yesterday which he said must be attended to personally at once. Can you take us in, or must we go to an hotel?”This last in the hall, to which, trembling at the meeting, Aunt Rebecca had come down to embrace her nieces.“Yes, yes, my dear; come in. So glad—so very glad. Mr Guest, would you mind—the cabman?”She handed the young man her purse, but Myra checked her.“No, no, aunt dear; papa did see to that. So kind of you to have old friends here as a surprise.”“No, no, my dear, an accident; and—and—they were just going away.”“Yes,” said Stratton in a strange voice as he held out his hand and gazed with agonised eyes wistfully in those which looked so calmly in his; “we were just going—Miss Jerrold.”“Mrs Barron, Mr Stratton,” said Myra quietly, with just a suspicion of reproach in her voice, as she gave him her hand. “Papa was talking about you the other day. I am sure he will be glad to see old friends again.”She turned from him and shook hands with Guest, while Edie, with tears in her eyes, approached Stratton.“So—to see you again, Mr Stratton,” she whispered, with the “glad” inaudible, but it was of no consequence, being quite out of place.He shook hands with her mechanically, but he did not seem to see her or hear her words, and she caught Guest’s arm.“Get him away,” she whispered. “It was madness. Pray go, for everyone’s sake.”Guest nodded, took his friend’s arm, and the pair walked slowly away in silence till Stratton uttered a low, strange laugh, and as Guest met his wild eyes:“No, old fellow,” he said quietly. “I am not going mad—unless it was madness to obey the promptings of my poor, weak nature. Better come with me to my rooms, for something seems to keep on asking me if life is not all one great mistake.”Meanwhile at Miss Jerrold’s house, the moment the door was closed, Myra had caught wildly at her cousin’s hand.“Quick!” she cried in a hoarse whisper, “take me to our room,” and with wild energy she hurried her cousin upstairs to close and lock the door before she gave vent to the wild, hysterical burst of agony that was struggling for exit.“So cruel—so heartless,” she sobbed as she paced the floor, wringing her hands and rejecting every attempt at consolation on her cousin’s part. “He must have known. Oh, it’s maddening.”“Myra, be calm, be calm.”“Calm!” cried Myra wildly, “it is not possible. Do you think me made of stone instead of flesh and blood like yourself? You—my father—my aunt—all treat me as if I were a child whom a word or two will set free. I tell you again I am that man’s wife. In my weakness and folly, blind to what I called my duty, I went headlong into that gulf of despair. I swore before the altar to be his wife till death should us part. It is my fate, and there can be no change.”“But Myra—dear cousin!”“I tell you, Edie, there is not an hour passes without my seeing him once more before me holding my hand, with his eyes telling me that I am his wife, and,” she cried passionately as a low tapping was heard at the door, “I am waiting for the day when he will be released and come, wherever I may be, to claim me and bid me follow him, whatever may be his future. And I shall have to go—I shall have to go.”“Myra,” whispered Edie, throwing her arms about her cousin’s neck, “hush, pray! Pray hush! Auntie is at the door; she must not hear you talk like this. These terrible fits are only for me to hear; my own sister, pray, pray be calm.”Her touch, her kisses, had the desired effect; and as the tapping at the door was resumed, Myra sank down sobbing on a chair, and buried her flushed face in Edie’s breast.
A year passed rapidly away, during which time Guest’s visits were pretty constant to Benchers’ Inn, or to that institution where the new curator seemed to have thrown himself with so much spirit into his work that Guest often came to the conclusion that he must have treated his past after the fashion suggested by the admiral’s sister. For there were no friendly confidences, and it was only a supposition that Stratton might be well informed as to the doings of the family abroad.
At last one morning, after being expectant and on thorns for weeks, Guest made his way to Bayswater, sending the cabman by a circuitous route, so as to pass through Bourne Square.
The family had not returned, but there were painters at work; and excited by this, he rang at Miss Jerrold’s, was shown up, and as soon as he had shaken hands the old lady tightened her lips and shook her head at him.
“All my good advice thrown away, boy,” she said. “Now no deceit; you’ve heard news?”
“Indeed, no,” he cried. “I only came through the square.”
“On purpose?”
“Well, yes, and saw that there were men at work painting.”
“Pooh!” ejaculated Miss Jerrold. “That may mean my brother is going to let the house.”
“But Sir Mark is not going to let the house, Miss Jerrold?”
“Of course not. Yes; you are right: they will be back in about a week.”
“In a week?” cried Guest joyously.
“Yes. I wanted to see you, though. How about your friend, Mr Stratton: he has forgotten all that mad nonsense, I suppose?”
Guest was silent for a few moments while the old lady looked at him inquiringly.
“You do not know Malcolm Stratton as I do,” he said sadly. “He has never mentioned Miss Myra Jerrold’s name—”
“Mrs Dale’s or Barron’s,” said the lady sternly, but Guest shook his head.
“Since the wedding day, but if I know anything of my friend she has never since been out of his thoughts.”
The tears started to Miss Jerrold’s eyes.
“Poor boy,” she said sadly. “But he must not think of her. My brother had certain thoughts about getting the marriage cancelled, but Myra will not hear of it.”
“Surely she does not care for this man?”
“I don’t know, my dear boy. She is a mystery to me. I tried to talk to her several times when I was near, but she closed my lips at once. I am nobody now. I can pretty well manage her father, but—who in the world can this be?” she cried hastily. “I’m not at home.”
She rose to ring the bell, but there were steps already on the stairs, and the servant, looking a little startled, opened the door.
“Mr Stratton, ma’am. He says—”
Stratton was already at the door, looking pale, but with a red spot burning in each cheek.
“You here, Guest!” he said excitedly. “Miss Jerrold, pray ask your niece to see me, if only for a minute.”
“My niece, Mr Stratton,” said the old lady coldly, “is in Paris.”
“No, no,” he cried. “They reached Charing Cross not half an hour ago.”
“Stratton, old man,” whispered Guest, “for goodness sake, contain yourself. Indeed they are not here.”
“Hah!” cried Stratton excitedly as a cab drew up to the door; and he grasped how he had, in his excitement, outstripped with a fast hansom the slow four-wheeled cab; and without giving aunt or friend another thought he dashed downstairs and out to the cab door.
Myra was looking eagerly up at the house as the front door opened, and Edie heard her give a hoarse gasp as she shrank back into the corner of the seat with her face convulsed by a spasm at the unexpected sight of Stratton.
It was only momentary. By the time he reached the cab door, flung it open, and held out his hand, she had drawn herself up, and it was a calm, dignified, graceful woman of the world who gave the trembling man her hand to help her to alight.
“Ah, Mr Stratton,” she said, and her voice thrilled him, “I did not expect to see you here. I hope you have quite recovered from your illness. Thanks. Mr Guest too. Yes, you may take my wrappers. Ah, there is aunt. Aunt dear, we have taken you quite by storm. Papa had letters yesterday which he said must be attended to personally at once. Can you take us in, or must we go to an hotel?”
This last in the hall, to which, trembling at the meeting, Aunt Rebecca had come down to embrace her nieces.
“Yes, yes, my dear; come in. So glad—so very glad. Mr Guest, would you mind—the cabman?”
She handed the young man her purse, but Myra checked her.
“No, no, aunt dear; papa did see to that. So kind of you to have old friends here as a surprise.”
“No, no, my dear, an accident; and—and—they were just going away.”
“Yes,” said Stratton in a strange voice as he held out his hand and gazed with agonised eyes wistfully in those which looked so calmly in his; “we were just going—Miss Jerrold.”
“Mrs Barron, Mr Stratton,” said Myra quietly, with just a suspicion of reproach in her voice, as she gave him her hand. “Papa was talking about you the other day. I am sure he will be glad to see old friends again.”
She turned from him and shook hands with Guest, while Edie, with tears in her eyes, approached Stratton.
“So—to see you again, Mr Stratton,” she whispered, with the “glad” inaudible, but it was of no consequence, being quite out of place.
He shook hands with her mechanically, but he did not seem to see her or hear her words, and she caught Guest’s arm.
“Get him away,” she whispered. “It was madness. Pray go, for everyone’s sake.”
Guest nodded, took his friend’s arm, and the pair walked slowly away in silence till Stratton uttered a low, strange laugh, and as Guest met his wild eyes:
“No, old fellow,” he said quietly. “I am not going mad—unless it was madness to obey the promptings of my poor, weak nature. Better come with me to my rooms, for something seems to keep on asking me if life is not all one great mistake.”
Meanwhile at Miss Jerrold’s house, the moment the door was closed, Myra had caught wildly at her cousin’s hand.
“Quick!” she cried in a hoarse whisper, “take me to our room,” and with wild energy she hurried her cousin upstairs to close and lock the door before she gave vent to the wild, hysterical burst of agony that was struggling for exit.
“So cruel—so heartless,” she sobbed as she paced the floor, wringing her hands and rejecting every attempt at consolation on her cousin’s part. “He must have known. Oh, it’s maddening.”
“Myra, be calm, be calm.”
“Calm!” cried Myra wildly, “it is not possible. Do you think me made of stone instead of flesh and blood like yourself? You—my father—my aunt—all treat me as if I were a child whom a word or two will set free. I tell you again I am that man’s wife. In my weakness and folly, blind to what I called my duty, I went headlong into that gulf of despair. I swore before the altar to be his wife till death should us part. It is my fate, and there can be no change.”
“But Myra—dear cousin!”
“I tell you, Edie, there is not an hour passes without my seeing him once more before me holding my hand, with his eyes telling me that I am his wife, and,” she cried passionately as a low tapping was heard at the door, “I am waiting for the day when he will be released and come, wherever I may be, to claim me and bid me follow him, whatever may be his future. And I shall have to go—I shall have to go.”
“Myra,” whispered Edie, throwing her arms about her cousin’s neck, “hush, pray! Pray hush! Auntie is at the door; she must not hear you talk like this. These terrible fits are only for me to hear; my own sister, pray, pray be calm.”
Her touch, her kisses, had the desired effect; and as the tapping at the door was resumed, Myra sank down sobbing on a chair, and buried her flushed face in Edie’s breast.
Chapter Seventeen.Breaking the Cage.Night at The Foreland—and a dark night; the moon not due for hours, and when she rose not likely to be seen for the heavy clouds which blotted out the stars. Lights were out in the great building, which stood up by day gloomy, many-windowed, and forbidding on the huge promontory, crossed by wall and works, and with sentries between the convict establishment and the mainland. The other three sides had the waves, which washed the nearly perpendicular precipices, for warders, and it was only here and there that an active man well acquainted with the cliffs could descend to the sea, and such an acquaintanceship was not likely to be made by the wretched men marched out, fettered and guarded, to the great quarries day after day, and then carefully watched back to their cells.At times the sentinel duty outside the building could easily be relaxed on the sea side, for the billows came thundering in, smiting the polished rocks and flying high in air with a deafening din; but on a calm, warm, dark night, when it was possible for a boat to approach close in, a stricter watch was kept, lest one of the more hardened prisoners should contrive to elude the vigilance within the buildings and make a desperate effort to win his freedom.But, as a rule, attempts at evasion were made when the men were marched out to the quarries, when a dash would be made during a sea fog, or a convict would crawl into some hollow among the freshly hewn stones, and lie there, hoping not to be missed till he had made good his escape.On this particular night a young member of the warder guard stood, rifle on shoulder, looking out to sea from the mere shelf of level rock near the top of the cliff.A great steamer was making her way down channel, and her lights shone like stars away on the black waters.“West Indy or South America; and a Dutch boat, I should say,” muttered the sentry; and he turned his eyes to where, well up under the shelter of the great promontory, the lights of several vessels showed where they lay at anchor.“This is a miserable dog’s life,” muttered the man, “and I get precious sick of it, but I think I’d rather be here than there. One can feel bottom and be safe—sailors can’t. That one nighest in is the little man-o’-war, I suppose, and yon’s the big one. How dark it is!”He stood there trying to pierce the blackness, out of which the anchor lights of the ships stood like stars, but he could see nothing save a faint bluish-greeny gleam now and then far below, where the phosphorescence of the sea washed gently, like so much luminous oil, over the bases of the cliffs and played among the masses of seaweed lying awash.“How unked the sea is of a dark night. Fancy going sailing right away yonder, not knowing what you may hit upon next. Shore’s good enough for me, even if it’s being at Foreland convict prison, with a day out now and then.”He turned his face shoreward, looking across the bay, dotted with faint lights, to where the red lamps of the harbour shone out with their lurid glow.“That’s better,” he said as he followed the curve of the shore, with the faint golden gleam sent up by the gas lamps which dotted the bow like so many bright beads strung along the shore, on and on by the line of houses facing the sea front, till they ran out for a short distance to sea, and ended in quite a cluster, out of which flashed one with a bluish glare, whose rays cut the darkness, for it was the electric light at the end of the pier.“Band’s playing,” said the man, listening intently; but the distance across the curve to the town pier was too great, and he could make out nothing but a stray note of a cornet now and then.“Come, play up louder, old man; can’t hear. Nothing like a bit of music now and then. That’s one good in being a soldier: you do have a band, while we poor beggars have to carry a rifle without. But there, a man can drop this when he likes, and a soldier can’t.”He took a turn or two up and down, and stopped again to look up the steep cliff slope running high above him from the shelf on which his duty lay, this being over one of the spots where it would be possible for a daring cragsman to get down to the sea.“Shouldn’t mind a glass of beer,” he thought. “Salt in the air, I suppose. Well, I can get that by and by. Lord, what’s a fellow got to grumble about? How would it be to do one’s bit inside! Some of ’em pays pretty dear for their little games, and one can’t help feeling sorry for one now and then. Bah! lot’s of ’em are best there. They’d think no more of coming behind me in the dark and chucking me into the sea than kissing their hands. Ugh!” he ejaculated, with a shudder, as he gripped his piece more tightly, and gave a sharp glance; round and up above him at the black crags. “What a fool I am to think of such things, only a chap can’t help it in such a lonesome place. Well, one side is safe,” he muttered, with a half laugh. “So are the others, stupid poor devils! Not much chance for any of them coming out for a quiet pipe to-night.”A faint note or two from the distant band on the pier, floated to the warder, and he went on musing:“Now, I dessay if I was over yonder having a smoke and listening to that music I should think nothing of it, and be for getting back somewhere to have a bit o’ supper; but because I’m here and can’t get near it every tootle of that old cornet sounds ’eavenly; and the lights seem grand. It was just the same down at home; there was our big old apple tree, the Gennet-Moyle, as I could get up when I liked, or knock as many down as I pleased with mother’s clothes props—good apples they was, too; but they wouldn’t do—one always wanted to get over Thompson’s walls to smug those old hard baking pears, which was like nibbling the knobs off the top of the bedposts.”He laughed until his shoulders shook.“Poor old Thompson!” he said half aloud. “Said he’d have some of us put in prison for stealing. Wonder whether some of these poor beggars began that way and then went on. Humph! maybe. Well, they should have known better.”He continued his march up and down for a while, and then stopped once more, grounded his piece, and stood there quite invisible to anyone a few yards away. He went on thinking about the town at the head of the bay, and the music, and of how time was going; and then his thoughts went back to the great body of dangerous criminals shut up in the huge, grim buildings, and of how much depended on the care and diligence of those in charge—a mere handful compared to those they guarded.“Only we’ve got the law on our side and they haven’t,” he thought; and as the thought ran through his brain he felt the blood pulsate sharply and there was a heavy throb at his heart, for there was a peculiar sound away to his right, high up the steep slope of the cliff, as if a stone had been dislodged and had slipped down a few yards before stopping in a cleft. He stood listening intently, but the sound was not repeated—all was still as death; but the man’s pulses had been stirred, and his heart beat in a manner that was painful.It was not that he was particularly wanting in courage, but, shut in there by the darkness, it was impossible to keep back the thought that a desperate man who had stolen out or hidden might be lurking close by ready to spring upon him in an unguarded moment, drive him off the cliff shelf which formed his beat, and all would be over in an instant. For a fall there meant death by drowning or the fearful crash on to the rocks below.“They shan’t take me unawares,” he thought, and then he hesitated as to whether he should give the alarm by firing his piece.In an instant he had raised it and his finger was on the trigger, but he did not make its flash cut the darkness for a moment and its report run re-echoing along the cliffs.“What for?” he said to himself; “bring the fellows here to laugh at me because I heard a rabbit on the move. I should never hear the last of it.”He again grounded his piece, but very softly, and stood with his back to the sea, straining his eyes in the direction from whence the sound had come, but the stones that towered up were all blurred together into one black mass, and though he fancied several times over that he could make out the figure of a man half-hidden by some projection, he was fain to confess directly after that it was all fancy.“But fancy or not,” he said to himself, “I don’t mean to be taken on the grand hop,”—and he did not stir from his position where he stood on the very edge of the cliff shelf, but kept on glancing to right and left along the stone path, and sweeping the slope in front.Ten minutes passed like this—ten long-drawn intervals of time—and then the man threw up his rifle and stood ready, fully expecting an attack, certain now that there had been good reason for the dislodgement of the stone. For from high up on the top of one of the ranges of prison buildings a sound rang out which sent a thrill through the watcher’s nerves.It was the alarm bell, which might mean the escape of prisoners or an attack from a deadly enemy; but it could not be the latter, for there was no reflection of a fire.“Now for it!” muttered the man, with his finger on the trigger, prepared for the rush of a man or men, and he thought over the formula he must utter before he fired.“I don’t want to hurt anybody,” he said softly, “but no one shall drive me over without getting something first. It’s that Ratcliff Highway chap at his games again. I wish they’d hang him or send him somewhere else.”And he thought of a warder who had been disabled for life, and another who was absent twelve months, both from injuries inflicted by a savage brute whom all the men feared.Another instant and all doubts were at an end, for there was a bright flash, and directly after the heavy, reverberating roar of a gun.“Sharp’s the word!” said the man softly as, taught by training, his fingers involuntarily drew forth aloud clicking from the lock of the piece he held; and as he stood there, breathing hard, every nerve and muscle was on the strain, for he could hear steps coming rapidly in his direction, and they must pass him—there was no other way; and it meant a desperate attack made by men armed with hammers and bars, perhaps only stones, and on the warder’s part duty and self defence.“Someone’s number crossed out,” he muttered fiercely, for there was no feeling of dread now.Then a change came over him as, with an intense feeling of satisfaction, he grasped the fact that the measured beat of feet was that of their more disciplined men.He challenged, and there was the reassuring response.“Anyone been this way?” cried a sergeant breathlessly as he halted four men.“No.”“Three of ’em got out and half killed two warders. They came along here, we think.”“Nobody been this way.”“Keep a sharp lookout, then. We’re going on. Challenge, of course, but if they don’t stand let them have it. They won’t spare you. Ready, there; we’ll go on to the next post, and come back directly.”“Stop!” said the sentry huskily; “I thought I heard a stone roll down from up yonder a few minutes ago.”“They are there, then,” cried the sergeant, “safe enough. Now, then,” he shouted; “the game’s up, my lads. Give in. No stones, or I’ll give orders to fire. Ready, there; present!”There was a dead silence.“Nobody could get over the cliff here,” growled one of the men. “Monkeys might, perhaps.”“Silence!” cried the sergeant. “They must be there. Now, then, will you come down, or are we to pick you off?”“Hush! What’s that?”The unmistakable rattling of stones and a scrambling sound as if someone had slipped.“Hah! that’s good enough. Now, then, is it surrender?”Silence again, and the darkness in front blacker than ever.“You will have it, then,” cried the sergeant. “One and four, a dozen paces right and left.”The evolution was performed, and then with a man on each side of him the sergeant once more shouted to the convicts to give in.“Hi, look out!” roared one of the warders.“In the queen’s name, surrend—”A dull, heavy blow, and a groan were heard almost together, cutting short the sergeant’s challenge, for a heavy piece of rock struck him full in the face, while a couple more blocks whizzed by the others, to fall heavily far below where they stood. Simultaneously three dark figures bounded on to the edge and made at the little group.The attack was so sudden and direful in its results that the warders gave way right and left, while the convicts stooped, literally glided over the edge of the path, and began to descend the horribly steep cliff.“Don’t keep together,” cried a hoarse voice from below. “Every man for himself now.”“Fire!” shouted one of the warders; and almost together three rifles flashed out their contents, followed by a derisive laugh.Then the warder who had been ordered off to the right fired, and as the shot echoed along the cliff there was a terrible cry, followed by a rush as of something falling.“Now, then, surrender!” cried one of the warders, who was reloading rapidly, just as rapid steps were heard coming along the path.“Where are they?” shouted an authoritative voice as ten or a dozen more men were now halted on the shelf-like path.“Right below here, sir. One of ’em down.”“Halt, there! Do you hear, men? Surrender at once; you can’t escape.”No reply, but those above could hear the scuffling noise of those descending and the rattle of a heavy stone, followed by a dull plunge.“Your blood be on your own heads, then,” said the officer who had now come up. “Once more: in the queen’s name, surrender!”No answer, but the hurried rustle of the descending fugitives.Sharp orders were given, and then came the fatal word:“Fire!”Several rifles rattled out their deadly challenge now, and as the warders peered over into the darkness, up through the heavy smoke came a peculiar snarl, more like the cry of a savage beast than the utterance of a human throat, while directly after, sending a thrill of horror through the men who were looking down, there was the sound of the heavy plunge as of something falling from a great height into the sea.Then silence, save that the heavy breathing of the warders was audible as they listened for the cry, “Help!” which they expected to hear from the water when the wounded man rose to the surface, not one of the guard daring in his own mind to think upon either of the shots fired as being fatal.At that moment there was a flash from off the sea a quarter of a mile away, and a few moments later another glare, both sending a brilliant path of light across the smooth water. And now, plainly seen in the midst of a bluish halo on the black night, there stood out the rigging and hull of a ship, with figures moving here and there; two boats were lowered down, and directly after the water flashed and sparkled as oars were dipped, and the man-of-war cutters, with their armed crews, were rowed in toward the rocks.By this time there were fresh arrivals on the cliff path, the firing having drawn there men bearing lanterns, and the officer in charge shouted:“Got them?”“No, sir,” said the first officer respectfully. “Sergeant Liss is down badly hurt with a stone, and Raddon’s shoulder is hurt.”“But the prisoners, man?” cried the newcomer, evidently one high in authority.“I’m afraid, sir—”“The prisoners?”“Below here somewhere, sir—two of them.”“Yes, and the other?”“We were obliged to fire, sir, and there was a cry, and we heard one fall into the sea.”
Night at The Foreland—and a dark night; the moon not due for hours, and when she rose not likely to be seen for the heavy clouds which blotted out the stars. Lights were out in the great building, which stood up by day gloomy, many-windowed, and forbidding on the huge promontory, crossed by wall and works, and with sentries between the convict establishment and the mainland. The other three sides had the waves, which washed the nearly perpendicular precipices, for warders, and it was only here and there that an active man well acquainted with the cliffs could descend to the sea, and such an acquaintanceship was not likely to be made by the wretched men marched out, fettered and guarded, to the great quarries day after day, and then carefully watched back to their cells.
At times the sentinel duty outside the building could easily be relaxed on the sea side, for the billows came thundering in, smiting the polished rocks and flying high in air with a deafening din; but on a calm, warm, dark night, when it was possible for a boat to approach close in, a stricter watch was kept, lest one of the more hardened prisoners should contrive to elude the vigilance within the buildings and make a desperate effort to win his freedom.
But, as a rule, attempts at evasion were made when the men were marched out to the quarries, when a dash would be made during a sea fog, or a convict would crawl into some hollow among the freshly hewn stones, and lie there, hoping not to be missed till he had made good his escape.
On this particular night a young member of the warder guard stood, rifle on shoulder, looking out to sea from the mere shelf of level rock near the top of the cliff.
A great steamer was making her way down channel, and her lights shone like stars away on the black waters.
“West Indy or South America; and a Dutch boat, I should say,” muttered the sentry; and he turned his eyes to where, well up under the shelter of the great promontory, the lights of several vessels showed where they lay at anchor.
“This is a miserable dog’s life,” muttered the man, “and I get precious sick of it, but I think I’d rather be here than there. One can feel bottom and be safe—sailors can’t. That one nighest in is the little man-o’-war, I suppose, and yon’s the big one. How dark it is!”
He stood there trying to pierce the blackness, out of which the anchor lights of the ships stood like stars, but he could see nothing save a faint bluish-greeny gleam now and then far below, where the phosphorescence of the sea washed gently, like so much luminous oil, over the bases of the cliffs and played among the masses of seaweed lying awash.
“How unked the sea is of a dark night. Fancy going sailing right away yonder, not knowing what you may hit upon next. Shore’s good enough for me, even if it’s being at Foreland convict prison, with a day out now and then.”
He turned his face shoreward, looking across the bay, dotted with faint lights, to where the red lamps of the harbour shone out with their lurid glow.
“That’s better,” he said as he followed the curve of the shore, with the faint golden gleam sent up by the gas lamps which dotted the bow like so many bright beads strung along the shore, on and on by the line of houses facing the sea front, till they ran out for a short distance to sea, and ended in quite a cluster, out of which flashed one with a bluish glare, whose rays cut the darkness, for it was the electric light at the end of the pier.
“Band’s playing,” said the man, listening intently; but the distance across the curve to the town pier was too great, and he could make out nothing but a stray note of a cornet now and then.
“Come, play up louder, old man; can’t hear. Nothing like a bit of music now and then. That’s one good in being a soldier: you do have a band, while we poor beggars have to carry a rifle without. But there, a man can drop this when he likes, and a soldier can’t.”
He took a turn or two up and down, and stopped again to look up the steep cliff slope running high above him from the shelf on which his duty lay, this being over one of the spots where it would be possible for a daring cragsman to get down to the sea.
“Shouldn’t mind a glass of beer,” he thought. “Salt in the air, I suppose. Well, I can get that by and by. Lord, what’s a fellow got to grumble about? How would it be to do one’s bit inside! Some of ’em pays pretty dear for their little games, and one can’t help feeling sorry for one now and then. Bah! lot’s of ’em are best there. They’d think no more of coming behind me in the dark and chucking me into the sea than kissing their hands. Ugh!” he ejaculated, with a shudder, as he gripped his piece more tightly, and gave a sharp glance; round and up above him at the black crags. “What a fool I am to think of such things, only a chap can’t help it in such a lonesome place. Well, one side is safe,” he muttered, with a half laugh. “So are the others, stupid poor devils! Not much chance for any of them coming out for a quiet pipe to-night.”
A faint note or two from the distant band on the pier, floated to the warder, and he went on musing:
“Now, I dessay if I was over yonder having a smoke and listening to that music I should think nothing of it, and be for getting back somewhere to have a bit o’ supper; but because I’m here and can’t get near it every tootle of that old cornet sounds ’eavenly; and the lights seem grand. It was just the same down at home; there was our big old apple tree, the Gennet-Moyle, as I could get up when I liked, or knock as many down as I pleased with mother’s clothes props—good apples they was, too; but they wouldn’t do—one always wanted to get over Thompson’s walls to smug those old hard baking pears, which was like nibbling the knobs off the top of the bedposts.”
He laughed until his shoulders shook.
“Poor old Thompson!” he said half aloud. “Said he’d have some of us put in prison for stealing. Wonder whether some of these poor beggars began that way and then went on. Humph! maybe. Well, they should have known better.”
He continued his march up and down for a while, and then stopped once more, grounded his piece, and stood there quite invisible to anyone a few yards away. He went on thinking about the town at the head of the bay, and the music, and of how time was going; and then his thoughts went back to the great body of dangerous criminals shut up in the huge, grim buildings, and of how much depended on the care and diligence of those in charge—a mere handful compared to those they guarded.
“Only we’ve got the law on our side and they haven’t,” he thought; and as the thought ran through his brain he felt the blood pulsate sharply and there was a heavy throb at his heart, for there was a peculiar sound away to his right, high up the steep slope of the cliff, as if a stone had been dislodged and had slipped down a few yards before stopping in a cleft. He stood listening intently, but the sound was not repeated—all was still as death; but the man’s pulses had been stirred, and his heart beat in a manner that was painful.
It was not that he was particularly wanting in courage, but, shut in there by the darkness, it was impossible to keep back the thought that a desperate man who had stolen out or hidden might be lurking close by ready to spring upon him in an unguarded moment, drive him off the cliff shelf which formed his beat, and all would be over in an instant. For a fall there meant death by drowning or the fearful crash on to the rocks below.
“They shan’t take me unawares,” he thought, and then he hesitated as to whether he should give the alarm by firing his piece.
In an instant he had raised it and his finger was on the trigger, but he did not make its flash cut the darkness for a moment and its report run re-echoing along the cliffs.
“What for?” he said to himself; “bring the fellows here to laugh at me because I heard a rabbit on the move. I should never hear the last of it.”
He again grounded his piece, but very softly, and stood with his back to the sea, straining his eyes in the direction from whence the sound had come, but the stones that towered up were all blurred together into one black mass, and though he fancied several times over that he could make out the figure of a man half-hidden by some projection, he was fain to confess directly after that it was all fancy.
“But fancy or not,” he said to himself, “I don’t mean to be taken on the grand hop,”—and he did not stir from his position where he stood on the very edge of the cliff shelf, but kept on glancing to right and left along the stone path, and sweeping the slope in front.
Ten minutes passed like this—ten long-drawn intervals of time—and then the man threw up his rifle and stood ready, fully expecting an attack, certain now that there had been good reason for the dislodgement of the stone. For from high up on the top of one of the ranges of prison buildings a sound rang out which sent a thrill through the watcher’s nerves.
It was the alarm bell, which might mean the escape of prisoners or an attack from a deadly enemy; but it could not be the latter, for there was no reflection of a fire.
“Now for it!” muttered the man, with his finger on the trigger, prepared for the rush of a man or men, and he thought over the formula he must utter before he fired.
“I don’t want to hurt anybody,” he said softly, “but no one shall drive me over without getting something first. It’s that Ratcliff Highway chap at his games again. I wish they’d hang him or send him somewhere else.”
And he thought of a warder who had been disabled for life, and another who was absent twelve months, both from injuries inflicted by a savage brute whom all the men feared.
Another instant and all doubts were at an end, for there was a bright flash, and directly after the heavy, reverberating roar of a gun.
“Sharp’s the word!” said the man softly as, taught by training, his fingers involuntarily drew forth aloud clicking from the lock of the piece he held; and as he stood there, breathing hard, every nerve and muscle was on the strain, for he could hear steps coming rapidly in his direction, and they must pass him—there was no other way; and it meant a desperate attack made by men armed with hammers and bars, perhaps only stones, and on the warder’s part duty and self defence.
“Someone’s number crossed out,” he muttered fiercely, for there was no feeling of dread now.
Then a change came over him as, with an intense feeling of satisfaction, he grasped the fact that the measured beat of feet was that of their more disciplined men.
He challenged, and there was the reassuring response.
“Anyone been this way?” cried a sergeant breathlessly as he halted four men.
“No.”
“Three of ’em got out and half killed two warders. They came along here, we think.”
“Nobody been this way.”
“Keep a sharp lookout, then. We’re going on. Challenge, of course, but if they don’t stand let them have it. They won’t spare you. Ready, there; we’ll go on to the next post, and come back directly.”
“Stop!” said the sentry huskily; “I thought I heard a stone roll down from up yonder a few minutes ago.”
“They are there, then,” cried the sergeant, “safe enough. Now, then,” he shouted; “the game’s up, my lads. Give in. No stones, or I’ll give orders to fire. Ready, there; present!”
There was a dead silence.
“Nobody could get over the cliff here,” growled one of the men. “Monkeys might, perhaps.”
“Silence!” cried the sergeant. “They must be there. Now, then, will you come down, or are we to pick you off?”
“Hush! What’s that?”
The unmistakable rattling of stones and a scrambling sound as if someone had slipped.
“Hah! that’s good enough. Now, then, is it surrender?”
Silence again, and the darkness in front blacker than ever.
“You will have it, then,” cried the sergeant. “One and four, a dozen paces right and left.”
The evolution was performed, and then with a man on each side of him the sergeant once more shouted to the convicts to give in.
“Hi, look out!” roared one of the warders.
“In the queen’s name, surrend—”
A dull, heavy blow, and a groan were heard almost together, cutting short the sergeant’s challenge, for a heavy piece of rock struck him full in the face, while a couple more blocks whizzed by the others, to fall heavily far below where they stood. Simultaneously three dark figures bounded on to the edge and made at the little group.
The attack was so sudden and direful in its results that the warders gave way right and left, while the convicts stooped, literally glided over the edge of the path, and began to descend the horribly steep cliff.
“Don’t keep together,” cried a hoarse voice from below. “Every man for himself now.”
“Fire!” shouted one of the warders; and almost together three rifles flashed out their contents, followed by a derisive laugh.
Then the warder who had been ordered off to the right fired, and as the shot echoed along the cliff there was a terrible cry, followed by a rush as of something falling.
“Now, then, surrender!” cried one of the warders, who was reloading rapidly, just as rapid steps were heard coming along the path.
“Where are they?” shouted an authoritative voice as ten or a dozen more men were now halted on the shelf-like path.
“Right below here, sir. One of ’em down.”
“Halt, there! Do you hear, men? Surrender at once; you can’t escape.”
No reply, but those above could hear the scuffling noise of those descending and the rattle of a heavy stone, followed by a dull plunge.
“Your blood be on your own heads, then,” said the officer who had now come up. “Once more: in the queen’s name, surrender!”
No answer, but the hurried rustle of the descending fugitives.
Sharp orders were given, and then came the fatal word:
“Fire!”
Several rifles rattled out their deadly challenge now, and as the warders peered over into the darkness, up through the heavy smoke came a peculiar snarl, more like the cry of a savage beast than the utterance of a human throat, while directly after, sending a thrill of horror through the men who were looking down, there was the sound of the heavy plunge as of something falling from a great height into the sea.
Then silence, save that the heavy breathing of the warders was audible as they listened for the cry, “Help!” which they expected to hear from the water when the wounded man rose to the surface, not one of the guard daring in his own mind to think upon either of the shots fired as being fatal.
At that moment there was a flash from off the sea a quarter of a mile away, and a few moments later another glare, both sending a brilliant path of light across the smooth water. And now, plainly seen in the midst of a bluish halo on the black night, there stood out the rigging and hull of a ship, with figures moving here and there; two boats were lowered down, and directly after the water flashed and sparkled as oars were dipped, and the man-of-war cutters, with their armed crews, were rowed in toward the rocks.
By this time there were fresh arrivals on the cliff path, the firing having drawn there men bearing lanterns, and the officer in charge shouted:
“Got them?”
“No, sir,” said the first officer respectfully. “Sergeant Liss is down badly hurt with a stone, and Raddon’s shoulder is hurt.”
“But the prisoners, man?” cried the newcomer, evidently one high in authority.
“I’m afraid, sir—”
“The prisoners?”
“Below here somewhere, sir—two of them.”
“Yes, and the other?”
“We were obliged to fire, sir, and there was a cry, and we heard one fall into the sea.”
Chapter Eighteen.Free!It was a slim, grey-haired, military looking man who listened to these words with the light of one of the lanterns full upon his face, which contracted into a heavy frown.“You challenged them—warned them well?”“Again and again, sir. It was not until they were right down here, after the sergeant had been hurt, that we fired.”The governor, for he it was, shrugged his shoulders and gave his orders. Then four of the most active of the warders began to descend, lanterns in hand, each looking like a spark on the face of the black rock.The task was so perilous that at the end of a few minutes the governor ordered the men to halt, while ropes were fetched, and in due time these were brought and secured to the climbers’ waists, the ropes being paid out by the warders on the shelf, the light of the lanterns being now supplemented by the blue lights held in the sterns of the fast approaching cutters.“Ahoy, there, ashore!” was shouted by the officer in one of the boats; “men escaping?”“Yes; three,” was shouted back. “Row to and fro, and see if you can make out a man swimming.”“Right! Swimming, indeed! Where’s he to swim to?” grumbled the officer; and at a word then the boats separated, and were rowed slowly along at a short distance from the shore.Then came a hall from below, and a man bearing one lantern began to climb sidewise to where another had become stationary.“Well?” from the shelf.“One of ’em, sir.”“Mind. Wait for help and look out for treachery.”“He won’t show no treachery,” muttered the warder, holding the lantern over a ghastly face contorted by agony. “Well, mate, I’d give in now.”“Yes,” said the man with a groan. “I’m sick as a dog. Hold me. I shall go into the sea. Get me back. The doctor.”He said no more. His grasp of the rock to which he clung relaxed, and he began to slide down sidewise till the warder thrust his leg beneath him and grasped one arm.“Look sharp!” he said to his companion. “Set the lantern down, and mine too.”“Can you hold him?”“Yes; all right. Now untie the rope from round me, and make it fast under his arms.”“Where’s he hurt?” said the second warder.“Leg, I think. His things are all wet with blood. Look sharp.”The knots were untied, and as the insensible, wounded man was held up, the rope was made fast under his arms, and at the word, the unfortunate wretch was carefully hauled up.But before he was half-way to the shelf there was a second hail from close down the water side.“Here’s another of ’em, sir.”“Hurt?”“Yes, sir, or else shamming.”“Wait till another man gets down to you,” cried the governor. “Be careful!”The man who had given up his rope was not far above the spot where the second convict lay; and he managed to lower himself down, holding his lantern the while in his teeth, and soon after adding its light to that of the other warder’s.“Think he’s shamming?” asked the man who had found him.The fresh comer stooped down without hesitation, in spite of the warning from above; and after looking fixedly in the convict’s closely shaven face, passed his hand here and there about the prison clothes.“Don’t feel nothing,” he said, “but this isn’t shamming. Here, hold up, my lad. Where are you hurt?”There was no reply, and the cleanly cut, aristocratic features of the man looked very stony and fixed.“I don’t think he’s shamming, mate,” whispered the warder, “but cover him with your piece; I don’t want to be hurt.”It was an awkward place to use a rifle, but the warder addressed altered his position a little, and brought the muzzle of his piece to bear on the convict’s breast.“Well, you two below there,” shouted the governor. “What do you make out?”“One moment, sir. Ugh! No shamming here, mate. Feel his head.”“Take your word for it,” said the other gruffly.“Let’s have your rope, then, and send him up.”“Badly hurt?” cried the governor.“Very, sir,” shouted the warder who was manipulating the rope. “Wait a minute,” he continued, and, stripping off his tunic, he threw it over the injured man’s head, and passed the sleeves under the rope about his chest.“Mind what you’re doing, or he’ll slip away.”“He’ll slip away if I do mind,” muttered the warder. “Here, steady, mate; I only wanted to keep the rocks from chafing you.”For the convict had suddenly torn at the tunic; but his hands dropped again directly, word was given to haul gently, and holding on by either side of the loop about the prisoner’s breast, the warders climbed as the rope was hauled, and kept the unfortunate man’s head from the rock.This last was a slower process than the sending up of the first prisoner, but the rest of the warders were searching about still, especially down close to the edge of the sea, in the expectation of seeing the third man hiding among the rocks half covered with the long strands of the slimy fucus that fringed the tide-washed shore. And all the while the two boats made the water glisten, and the blue lights threw up the face of the rock so clearly that, unless he had found some deep, dark, cavernous niche, there was but little chance for an escaping convict to cling anywhere there unseen.By the time the second man was taken to the shelf a fresh arrival was upon the scene in the person of the jail surgeon, who, fresh from attending sergeant and warder, made a rapid examination of the first prisoner, and then began to open a case by the light of one of the lanterns.“Dangerous?” said the governor sharply.“No. Bullet clean through one thigh and the other regularly ploughed. Send for stretchers.”He knelt down as he spoke, and with the convict groaning piteously he rapidly plugged one of his wounds, and bandaged both.“Now the other,” he said; and he turned to the second patient, who was lying, talking quickly, a few yards away.Just then the governor hailed the men below.“You must find him, my lads,” he cried. “Who heard him plunge in?”“I did, sir,” came back.“Well, then, he is ashore again somewhere, holding on by the rocks; no man would swim out to sea with such a tide on. He would be carried right away. Keep a good lookout, and if he’s wise he will surrender. Well, doctor, this one much hurt?”“Yes, horribly. Head crushed.”“Not by a bullet?”“No: fall. How long are those stretchers going to be?”“Some distance for the men to go, doctor,” said the governor quickly. “You forget they were being used for the sergeant and the man.”“Poor fellows! yes,” said the doctor, rapidly continuing his manipulations; “there, that is all I can do.”He rose from his knee and stood looking out at the boats below turning the water into silvery blue as port fire after port fire was burned, while others lit up the man-of-war from which the boats had come.“I’m glad it was not a bullet,” said the governor quietly, as his men below searched the rocks and shouted—now to their companions who paid out the rope, now answered hails from the boats.“Yes; one man’s enough to shoot a night,” said the surgeon grimly.“Beg pardon, sir,” said a warder, coming up, lantern in hand, and saluting.“Yes; what is it?”“I don’t think you’ll find the other poor chap, sir.”“Why?”“Blades, who was one of the men here first, and tired, says there was a shriek just before they heard the splash in the water.”“Tut—tut—tut!” ejaculated the governor. “Poor wretch! Where is Blades?”“Here, sir,” said a man who was holding one of the ropes.“Why didn’t you say this before, man?”“Didn’t like to, sir; and besides, I thought the others knew.”“One does not seem to have been enough,” whispered the surgeon. “Aynsley, I did not know your men could shoot so well. Hah! the stretchers.”For lanterns were seen approaching, and directly after a party came up with the ambulance apparatus. The two convicts were lifted on and borne off along the path traversed only a short time before by their victims—one of them groaning piteously; the other lying silent and calm, gazing straight up at the black darkness, while his lips moved slightly from time to time.“Most unfortunate! most unfortunate!” muttered the governor as soon as he was left alone with his subordinates. “Poor, blind fools! how they rush upon their fate! Well,” he shouted, “see him?”“No, sir. Boats are coming back, sir.”This was plain enough, and a few minutes later both rowed up in close with fresh blue lights illuminating the scene.“Ahoy! Who’s up yonder?” shouted a naval officer.“I am,” cried the governor.“Oh, you, Sir William! Well, sir, I’ll keep my men on if you like, but no swimmer could have got to shore from hereabouts. If there is a man living he must be somewhere on these rocks.”“My men say they have searched thoroughly,” said the governor. “Every ledge and crack is well known. There can be no one here.”“Shall we patrol the place a little longer?”The governor was silent for a few moments, and then, feeling that all possible had been done, he gave the word for the search to be given up, but sent half a dozen men to patrol the road leading to the mainland, feeling all the while that it was a hopeless task.By this time the last man had climbed up from the dangerous cliff side, the ropes were coiled, and the party marched off toward the prison—the governor last—leaving the sentinel warder to his beat with the company of another man.These two stood in silence till the footsteps had died out on the rocky path and the last blue light had ceased to send golden drops into the hissing water as the boats made for the man-of-war.“Black night’s work this, Jem,” said the companion sentry. “Two of ’em gone and three wounded.”“No, no; not so bad as that.”“Yes, bad as that. Yon chap on the stretcher won’t see to-morrow morning, and that other poor chap who shrieked when we fired went into the water like a stone. It was your shot did that.”“Ugh! I hope not,” said the warder, with a shudder. “Seems to me time I tried another way of getting my bread and cheese. Hark!”“What at?”“That. Someone hailed off the water. Quite low and faint, like a man going down.”The clouds were lifting slowly in the east, and the misty, blurred face of the moon began to show in the east, over the brimming water’s rim.
It was a slim, grey-haired, military looking man who listened to these words with the light of one of the lanterns full upon his face, which contracted into a heavy frown.
“You challenged them—warned them well?”
“Again and again, sir. It was not until they were right down here, after the sergeant had been hurt, that we fired.”
The governor, for he it was, shrugged his shoulders and gave his orders. Then four of the most active of the warders began to descend, lanterns in hand, each looking like a spark on the face of the black rock.
The task was so perilous that at the end of a few minutes the governor ordered the men to halt, while ropes were fetched, and in due time these were brought and secured to the climbers’ waists, the ropes being paid out by the warders on the shelf, the light of the lanterns being now supplemented by the blue lights held in the sterns of the fast approaching cutters.
“Ahoy, there, ashore!” was shouted by the officer in one of the boats; “men escaping?”
“Yes; three,” was shouted back. “Row to and fro, and see if you can make out a man swimming.”
“Right! Swimming, indeed! Where’s he to swim to?” grumbled the officer; and at a word then the boats separated, and were rowed slowly along at a short distance from the shore.
Then came a hall from below, and a man bearing one lantern began to climb sidewise to where another had become stationary.
“Well?” from the shelf.
“One of ’em, sir.”
“Mind. Wait for help and look out for treachery.”
“He won’t show no treachery,” muttered the warder, holding the lantern over a ghastly face contorted by agony. “Well, mate, I’d give in now.”
“Yes,” said the man with a groan. “I’m sick as a dog. Hold me. I shall go into the sea. Get me back. The doctor.”
He said no more. His grasp of the rock to which he clung relaxed, and he began to slide down sidewise till the warder thrust his leg beneath him and grasped one arm.
“Look sharp!” he said to his companion. “Set the lantern down, and mine too.”
“Can you hold him?”
“Yes; all right. Now untie the rope from round me, and make it fast under his arms.”
“Where’s he hurt?” said the second warder.
“Leg, I think. His things are all wet with blood. Look sharp.”
The knots were untied, and as the insensible, wounded man was held up, the rope was made fast under his arms, and at the word, the unfortunate wretch was carefully hauled up.
But before he was half-way to the shelf there was a second hail from close down the water side.
“Here’s another of ’em, sir.”
“Hurt?”
“Yes, sir, or else shamming.”
“Wait till another man gets down to you,” cried the governor. “Be careful!”
The man who had given up his rope was not far above the spot where the second convict lay; and he managed to lower himself down, holding his lantern the while in his teeth, and soon after adding its light to that of the other warder’s.
“Think he’s shamming?” asked the man who had found him.
The fresh comer stooped down without hesitation, in spite of the warning from above; and after looking fixedly in the convict’s closely shaven face, passed his hand here and there about the prison clothes.
“Don’t feel nothing,” he said, “but this isn’t shamming. Here, hold up, my lad. Where are you hurt?”
There was no reply, and the cleanly cut, aristocratic features of the man looked very stony and fixed.
“I don’t think he’s shamming, mate,” whispered the warder, “but cover him with your piece; I don’t want to be hurt.”
It was an awkward place to use a rifle, but the warder addressed altered his position a little, and brought the muzzle of his piece to bear on the convict’s breast.
“Well, you two below there,” shouted the governor. “What do you make out?”
“One moment, sir. Ugh! No shamming here, mate. Feel his head.”
“Take your word for it,” said the other gruffly.
“Let’s have your rope, then, and send him up.”
“Badly hurt?” cried the governor.
“Very, sir,” shouted the warder who was manipulating the rope. “Wait a minute,” he continued, and, stripping off his tunic, he threw it over the injured man’s head, and passed the sleeves under the rope about his chest.
“Mind what you’re doing, or he’ll slip away.”
“He’ll slip away if I do mind,” muttered the warder. “Here, steady, mate; I only wanted to keep the rocks from chafing you.”
For the convict had suddenly torn at the tunic; but his hands dropped again directly, word was given to haul gently, and holding on by either side of the loop about the prisoner’s breast, the warders climbed as the rope was hauled, and kept the unfortunate man’s head from the rock.
This last was a slower process than the sending up of the first prisoner, but the rest of the warders were searching about still, especially down close to the edge of the sea, in the expectation of seeing the third man hiding among the rocks half covered with the long strands of the slimy fucus that fringed the tide-washed shore. And all the while the two boats made the water glisten, and the blue lights threw up the face of the rock so clearly that, unless he had found some deep, dark, cavernous niche, there was but little chance for an escaping convict to cling anywhere there unseen.
By the time the second man was taken to the shelf a fresh arrival was upon the scene in the person of the jail surgeon, who, fresh from attending sergeant and warder, made a rapid examination of the first prisoner, and then began to open a case by the light of one of the lanterns.
“Dangerous?” said the governor sharply.
“No. Bullet clean through one thigh and the other regularly ploughed. Send for stretchers.”
He knelt down as he spoke, and with the convict groaning piteously he rapidly plugged one of his wounds, and bandaged both.
“Now the other,” he said; and he turned to the second patient, who was lying, talking quickly, a few yards away.
Just then the governor hailed the men below.
“You must find him, my lads,” he cried. “Who heard him plunge in?”
“I did, sir,” came back.
“Well, then, he is ashore again somewhere, holding on by the rocks; no man would swim out to sea with such a tide on. He would be carried right away. Keep a good lookout, and if he’s wise he will surrender. Well, doctor, this one much hurt?”
“Yes, horribly. Head crushed.”
“Not by a bullet?”
“No: fall. How long are those stretchers going to be?”
“Some distance for the men to go, doctor,” said the governor quickly. “You forget they were being used for the sergeant and the man.”
“Poor fellows! yes,” said the doctor, rapidly continuing his manipulations; “there, that is all I can do.”
He rose from his knee and stood looking out at the boats below turning the water into silvery blue as port fire after port fire was burned, while others lit up the man-of-war from which the boats had come.
“I’m glad it was not a bullet,” said the governor quietly, as his men below searched the rocks and shouted—now to their companions who paid out the rope, now answered hails from the boats.
“Yes; one man’s enough to shoot a night,” said the surgeon grimly.
“Beg pardon, sir,” said a warder, coming up, lantern in hand, and saluting.
“Yes; what is it?”
“I don’t think you’ll find the other poor chap, sir.”
“Why?”
“Blades, who was one of the men here first, and tired, says there was a shriek just before they heard the splash in the water.”
“Tut—tut—tut!” ejaculated the governor. “Poor wretch! Where is Blades?”
“Here, sir,” said a man who was holding one of the ropes.
“Why didn’t you say this before, man?”
“Didn’t like to, sir; and besides, I thought the others knew.”
“One does not seem to have been enough,” whispered the surgeon. “Aynsley, I did not know your men could shoot so well. Hah! the stretchers.”
For lanterns were seen approaching, and directly after a party came up with the ambulance apparatus. The two convicts were lifted on and borne off along the path traversed only a short time before by their victims—one of them groaning piteously; the other lying silent and calm, gazing straight up at the black darkness, while his lips moved slightly from time to time.
“Most unfortunate! most unfortunate!” muttered the governor as soon as he was left alone with his subordinates. “Poor, blind fools! how they rush upon their fate! Well,” he shouted, “see him?”
“No, sir. Boats are coming back, sir.”
This was plain enough, and a few minutes later both rowed up in close with fresh blue lights illuminating the scene.
“Ahoy! Who’s up yonder?” shouted a naval officer.
“I am,” cried the governor.
“Oh, you, Sir William! Well, sir, I’ll keep my men on if you like, but no swimmer could have got to shore from hereabouts. If there is a man living he must be somewhere on these rocks.”
“My men say they have searched thoroughly,” said the governor. “Every ledge and crack is well known. There can be no one here.”
“Shall we patrol the place a little longer?”
The governor was silent for a few moments, and then, feeling that all possible had been done, he gave the word for the search to be given up, but sent half a dozen men to patrol the road leading to the mainland, feeling all the while that it was a hopeless task.
By this time the last man had climbed up from the dangerous cliff side, the ropes were coiled, and the party marched off toward the prison—the governor last—leaving the sentinel warder to his beat with the company of another man.
These two stood in silence till the footsteps had died out on the rocky path and the last blue light had ceased to send golden drops into the hissing water as the boats made for the man-of-war.
“Black night’s work this, Jem,” said the companion sentry. “Two of ’em gone and three wounded.”
“No, no; not so bad as that.”
“Yes, bad as that. Yon chap on the stretcher won’t see to-morrow morning, and that other poor chap who shrieked when we fired went into the water like a stone. It was your shot did that.”
“Ugh! I hope not,” said the warder, with a shudder. “Seems to me time I tried another way of getting my bread and cheese. Hark!”
“What at?”
“That. Someone hailed off the water. Quite low and faint, like a man going down.”
The clouds were lifting slowly in the east, and the misty, blurred face of the moon began to show in the east, over the brimming water’s rim.
Chapter Nineteen.Almost by Accident.Time had crept on since the return of the Jerrolds, and by degrees the pain of the meeting between Myra and Stratton grew less, and the wound made that day began to heal.“I’m sorry for him,” Guest would say to himself; “but I can’t keep away because he is unhappy.”So he visited at the admiral’s, where he always found a warm welcome, but made little progress with Edie, who seemed to have grown cold.Then, too, he met the cousins at Miss Jerrold’s, and it naturally came about that one evening, after a good deal of persuasion, Stratton became his companion.Myra was there that night, and once more their hands were clasped, while Stratton felt that it was no longer the girl into whose eyes he looked, but the quiet, thoughtful woman who had suffered in the struggle of life, and that he must banish all hope of a nearer tie than that of friendship.For whatever Myra may have held hidden in her secret heart she was the calm, self-contained friend to her aunt’s guest. Ready to sit and talk with him of current topics and their travels; to play or sing if asked; but Stratton always left the house with the feeling that unconsciously Myra had gravely impressed upon him the fact that she was James Barron’s wife, and that she would never seek to rid herself of that tie.“And I must accept that position.” Stratton would say despairingly, after one of the meetings which followed; and then he would make a vow never to meet Myra again, for the penance was too painful to be borne.The result was that the very next day after making one of these vows he received a letter from Edie, asking him, at her uncle’s wish, to dinner in Bourne Square.For the admiral had said to Edie, on hearing that they had met Stratton at her aunt’s:“Let bygones be bygones. I don’t see why we should not all be friends again. I always liked the boy. He can talk well about scientific things without boring you. Ask him to dinner.”“Uncle wants him to come and wean poor Myra from that terrible business.”But Edie was wrong, for after approaching his daughter several times on the question of the possibility of obtaining a divorce, Myra had stopped the admiral so decidedly that he had been ready to believe she must have cared for Barron after all.“First man who ever told her he loved her,” the old man said to himself, “so, of course, she can’t help feeling a kind of liking for him. But suppose he comes out on ticket-of-leave, don’t they call it? And what if he comes here? Bah! I’ll shoot him before he shall have her. That would bring Myra to book, too. That’s a card I must play—possibility of his coming back. She’ll give in, then. I must hear what a lawyer says.”But, in his unbusinesslike way, Sir Mark did nothing. Home was calm and pleasant again, and he had his little dinners, and his friends; and to him the existence of James Barron, alias Dale, at The Foreland became less and less clear. He was buried, as it were, in a living tomb, and there was no need to think of him for years.Stratton came again and again for dinner, and now and then dropped in of an evening. Always against his will, he told himself; but the attraction was strong enough to draw him there. It was plain, too, that Myra’s eyes brightened when he entered, but he felt that it was only to see her father’s friend.Then came one autumn night when, after a long and busy day, Stratton made up his mind to go to Bourne Square, undid it, made up his mind again, once more undid it, and determined that he would no longer play the moth round the bright candle.He had dressed, and, throwing off his light coat and crush hat, he went out of his rooms and along the landing to Brettison’s.“I’ll go and talk botany,” he said. “Life is too valuable to waste upon a heartless woman.”He knocked; no answer. Again; no reply.“Gone out,” he said. “What shall I do?”Stratton hesitated for a few moments, and then went and fetched his hat and coat, descended, took a cab, and ordered the man to drive to Guest’s, in Grey’s Inn.“Better have stopped at home,” muttered Stratton; “he will talk about nothing else but Bourne Square.” But he was wrong. Guest was out, so descending into the square, and walking out into Holborn, Stratton took another cab.“Where to, sir?”“Bourne Square.”Stratton sank back in his seat perfectly convinced that he had said Benchers’ Inn, and he started out of a reverie when the cab stopped at the admiral’s door.“Fate,” he muttered. “It was no doing of mine.” Andrews admitted him as a matter of course, and led the way to the drawing room, where he announced his name.Myra started from a couch, where she had been sitting alone, dreaming; and as Stratton advanced his pulses began to beat heavily, for never had the woman he idolised looked so beautiful as then.There was a faint flush in her soft, creamy cheeks, the trace of emotion in her heaving bosom, as she greeted him consciously; for she had been sitting alone, thinking of him and his proposal to her father, and the next minute the door had been opened, and he stood before her.“It is almost by accident that I am here,” he said, in a low voice full of emotion, which he vainly strove to control. “Your cousin? The admiral?”“Did you not know?” said Myra in a voice as deep and tremulous as his own. “Mr Guest came with tickets for the opera. He knew my father liked the one played to-night—‘Faust.’”“Indeed!” said Stratton huskily.“He goes for the sake of the great scene of the return of the men from the war. I think he would never tire of hearing that grand march.”She left the couch, conscious of a strange feeling of agitation, and, crossing to the piano, seated herself, and began to play softly the second strain in the spirit-stirring composition, gradually gliding into the jewel song quite unconsciously, and with trembling fingers. Then she awoke to the fact that Stratton had followed her to the instrument, against which he leaned, with the tones thrilling his nerves, tones set vibrating by the touch of hands that he would have given worlds to clasp in his own, while he poured forth the words struggling for exit.“It is fate,” he said to himself, as he stood there gazing down at the beautiful head with its glossy hair, the curve of the creamy neck, and the arms and hands whiter than the ivory over which they strayed.So sudden—so wondrous. The only thing in his thoughts had been that he might be near her for a time, and hear her words, while now they were alone in the soft, dim light of the drawing room, and the touch of her fingers on those keys sent that dreamy, sensuous, glorious music thrilling through every fibre of his body. Friend? How could he be friend? He loved her passionately, and, cold as she might ever be, however she might trample upon his feelings, she must always be the same to him—his ideal—his love—the only woman in the world who could ever stir his pulses.And so silent now—so beautiful? If she had spoken in her customary formal, friendly way, it would have broken the spell. But she could not. The chain was as fast round her at that moment, though she longed to speak.She could not, for she knew how he loved her; how his touch stirred each pulse; that this man was all in all to her—the one she loved, and she could not turn and flee.At last, by a tremendous effort, she raised her eyes to his to speak indifferently and break through this horrible feeling of dread and lassitude, but as their eyes met, her hands dropped from the keys, as, with a passionate cry, he took a step forward, caught her to his breast, and she lay for the moment trembling there, and felt his lips pressed to her in a wild, passionate kiss.“Myra!” he panted; “all that must be as a dream. You are not his. It is impossible. I love you—my own! my own!”His words thrilled her, but their import roused in her as well those terrible thoughts of the tie which bound her; and, with a cry of anger and despair, she thrust him away.“Go!” she cried; “it is an insult. You must be mad.”Then, with the calm majesty of an injured woman proud of her honour and her state, she said coldly, as she pointed to the door:“Mr Stratton, you have taken a cruel advantage of my loneliness here. I am Mr Barron’s wife. Go, sir. We are friends no longer and can never meet again.”
Time had crept on since the return of the Jerrolds, and by degrees the pain of the meeting between Myra and Stratton grew less, and the wound made that day began to heal.
“I’m sorry for him,” Guest would say to himself; “but I can’t keep away because he is unhappy.”
So he visited at the admiral’s, where he always found a warm welcome, but made little progress with Edie, who seemed to have grown cold.
Then, too, he met the cousins at Miss Jerrold’s, and it naturally came about that one evening, after a good deal of persuasion, Stratton became his companion.
Myra was there that night, and once more their hands were clasped, while Stratton felt that it was no longer the girl into whose eyes he looked, but the quiet, thoughtful woman who had suffered in the struggle of life, and that he must banish all hope of a nearer tie than that of friendship.
For whatever Myra may have held hidden in her secret heart she was the calm, self-contained friend to her aunt’s guest. Ready to sit and talk with him of current topics and their travels; to play or sing if asked; but Stratton always left the house with the feeling that unconsciously Myra had gravely impressed upon him the fact that she was James Barron’s wife, and that she would never seek to rid herself of that tie.
“And I must accept that position.” Stratton would say despairingly, after one of the meetings which followed; and then he would make a vow never to meet Myra again, for the penance was too painful to be borne.
The result was that the very next day after making one of these vows he received a letter from Edie, asking him, at her uncle’s wish, to dinner in Bourne Square.
For the admiral had said to Edie, on hearing that they had met Stratton at her aunt’s:
“Let bygones be bygones. I don’t see why we should not all be friends again. I always liked the boy. He can talk well about scientific things without boring you. Ask him to dinner.”
“Uncle wants him to come and wean poor Myra from that terrible business.”
But Edie was wrong, for after approaching his daughter several times on the question of the possibility of obtaining a divorce, Myra had stopped the admiral so decidedly that he had been ready to believe she must have cared for Barron after all.
“First man who ever told her he loved her,” the old man said to himself, “so, of course, she can’t help feeling a kind of liking for him. But suppose he comes out on ticket-of-leave, don’t they call it? And what if he comes here? Bah! I’ll shoot him before he shall have her. That would bring Myra to book, too. That’s a card I must play—possibility of his coming back. She’ll give in, then. I must hear what a lawyer says.”
But, in his unbusinesslike way, Sir Mark did nothing. Home was calm and pleasant again, and he had his little dinners, and his friends; and to him the existence of James Barron, alias Dale, at The Foreland became less and less clear. He was buried, as it were, in a living tomb, and there was no need to think of him for years.
Stratton came again and again for dinner, and now and then dropped in of an evening. Always against his will, he told himself; but the attraction was strong enough to draw him there. It was plain, too, that Myra’s eyes brightened when he entered, but he felt that it was only to see her father’s friend.
Then came one autumn night when, after a long and busy day, Stratton made up his mind to go to Bourne Square, undid it, made up his mind again, once more undid it, and determined that he would no longer play the moth round the bright candle.
He had dressed, and, throwing off his light coat and crush hat, he went out of his rooms and along the landing to Brettison’s.
“I’ll go and talk botany,” he said. “Life is too valuable to waste upon a heartless woman.”
He knocked; no answer. Again; no reply.
“Gone out,” he said. “What shall I do?”
Stratton hesitated for a few moments, and then went and fetched his hat and coat, descended, took a cab, and ordered the man to drive to Guest’s, in Grey’s Inn.
“Better have stopped at home,” muttered Stratton; “he will talk about nothing else but Bourne Square.” But he was wrong. Guest was out, so descending into the square, and walking out into Holborn, Stratton took another cab.
“Where to, sir?”
“Bourne Square.”
Stratton sank back in his seat perfectly convinced that he had said Benchers’ Inn, and he started out of a reverie when the cab stopped at the admiral’s door.
“Fate,” he muttered. “It was no doing of mine.” Andrews admitted him as a matter of course, and led the way to the drawing room, where he announced his name.
Myra started from a couch, where she had been sitting alone, dreaming; and as Stratton advanced his pulses began to beat heavily, for never had the woman he idolised looked so beautiful as then.
There was a faint flush in her soft, creamy cheeks, the trace of emotion in her heaving bosom, as she greeted him consciously; for she had been sitting alone, thinking of him and his proposal to her father, and the next minute the door had been opened, and he stood before her.
“It is almost by accident that I am here,” he said, in a low voice full of emotion, which he vainly strove to control. “Your cousin? The admiral?”
“Did you not know?” said Myra in a voice as deep and tremulous as his own. “Mr Guest came with tickets for the opera. He knew my father liked the one played to-night—‘Faust.’”
“Indeed!” said Stratton huskily.
“He goes for the sake of the great scene of the return of the men from the war. I think he would never tire of hearing that grand march.”
She left the couch, conscious of a strange feeling of agitation, and, crossing to the piano, seated herself, and began to play softly the second strain in the spirit-stirring composition, gradually gliding into the jewel song quite unconsciously, and with trembling fingers. Then she awoke to the fact that Stratton had followed her to the instrument, against which he leaned, with the tones thrilling his nerves, tones set vibrating by the touch of hands that he would have given worlds to clasp in his own, while he poured forth the words struggling for exit.
“It is fate,” he said to himself, as he stood there gazing down at the beautiful head with its glossy hair, the curve of the creamy neck, and the arms and hands whiter than the ivory over which they strayed.
So sudden—so wondrous. The only thing in his thoughts had been that he might be near her for a time, and hear her words, while now they were alone in the soft, dim light of the drawing room, and the touch of her fingers on those keys sent that dreamy, sensuous, glorious music thrilling through every fibre of his body. Friend? How could he be friend? He loved her passionately, and, cold as she might ever be, however she might trample upon his feelings, she must always be the same to him—his ideal—his love—the only woman in the world who could ever stir his pulses.
And so silent now—so beautiful? If she had spoken in her customary formal, friendly way, it would have broken the spell. But she could not. The chain was as fast round her at that moment, though she longed to speak.
She could not, for she knew how he loved her; how his touch stirred each pulse; that this man was all in all to her—the one she loved, and she could not turn and flee.
At last, by a tremendous effort, she raised her eyes to his to speak indifferently and break through this horrible feeling of dread and lassitude, but as their eyes met, her hands dropped from the keys, as, with a passionate cry, he took a step forward, caught her to his breast, and she lay for the moment trembling there, and felt his lips pressed to her in a wild, passionate kiss.
“Myra!” he panted; “all that must be as a dream. You are not his. It is impossible. I love you—my own! my own!”
His words thrilled her, but their import roused in her as well those terrible thoughts of the tie which bound her; and, with a cry of anger and despair, she thrust him away.
“Go!” she cried; “it is an insult. You must be mad.”
Then, with the calm majesty of an injured woman proud of her honour and her state, she said coldly, as she pointed to the door:
“Mr Stratton, you have taken a cruel advantage of my loneliness here. I am Mr Barron’s wife. Go, sir. We are friends no longer and can never meet again.”