CHAPTER IXTELLS HOW NORTHMOUR CARRIED OUT HIS THREAT
I SHOULD have the greatest difficulty to tell you what followed nextafter this tragic circumstance. It is all to me, as I look back upon it,mixed, strenuous, and ineffectual, like the struggles of a sleeper in anightmare. Clara, I remember, uttered a broken sigh and would havefallen forward to earth, had not Northmour and I supported her insensiblebody. I do not think we were attacked; I do not remember even to haveseen an assailant; and I believe we deserted Mr. Huddlestone without aglance. I only remember running like a man in a panic, now carryingClara altogether in my own arms, now sharing her weight with Northmour,now scuffling confusedly for the possession of that dear burden. Why weshould have made for my camp in the Hemlock Den, or how we reached it,are points lost for ever to my recollection. The first moment at which Ibecame definitely sure, Clara had been suffered to fall against theoutside of my little tent, Northmour and I were tumbling together on theground, and he, with contained ferocity, was striking for my head withthe butt of his revolver. He had already twice wounded me on the scalp;and it is to the consequent loss of blood that I am tempted to attributethe sudden clearness of my mind.
I caught him by the wrist.
“Northmour,” I remember saying, “you can kill me afterwards. Let usfirst attend to Clara.”
He was at that moment uppermost. Scarcely had the words passed my lips,when he had leaped to his feet and ran towards the tent; and the nextmoment, he was straining Clara to his heart and covering her unconscioushands and face with his caresses.
“Shame!” I cried. “Shame to you, Northmour!”
And, giddy though I still was, I struck him repeatedly upon the head andshoulders.
He relinquished his grasp, and faced me in the broken moonlight.
“I had you under, and I let you go,” said he; “and now you strike me!Coward!”
“You are the coward,” I retorted. “Did she wish your kisses while shewas still sensible of what she wanted? Not she! And now she may bedying; and you waste this precious time, and abuse her helplessness.Stand aside, and let me help her.”
He confronted me for a moment, white and menacing; then suddenly hestepped aside.
“Help her then,” said he.
I threw myself on my knees beside her, and loosened, as well as I wasable, her dress and corset; but while I was thus engaged, a graspdescended on my shoulder.
“Keep your hands of her,” said Northmour fiercely. “Do you think I haveno blood in my veins?”
“Northmour,” I cried, “if you will neither help her yourself, nor let medo so, do you know that I shall have to kill you?”
“That is better!” he cried. “Let her die also, where’s the harm? Stepaside from that girl! and stand up to fight”
“You will observe,” said I, half rising, “that I have not kissed heryet.”
“I dare you to,” he cried.
I do not know what possessed me; it was one of the things I am mostashamed of in my life, though, as my wife used to say, I knew that mykisses would be always welcome were she dead or living; down I fell againupon my knees, parted the hair from her forehead, and, with the dearestrespect, laid my lips for a moment on that cold brow. It was such acaress as a father might have given; it was such a one as was notunbecoming from a man soon to die to a woman already dead.
“And now,” said I, “I am at your service, Mr. Northmour.”
But I saw, to my surprise, that he had turned his back upon me.
“Do you hear?” I asked.
“Yes,” said he, “I do. If you wish to fight, I am ready. If not, go onand save Clara. All is one to me.”
I did not wait to be twice bidden; but, stooping again over Clara,continued my efforts to revive her. She still lay white and lifeless; Ibegan to fear that her sweet spirit had indeed fled beyond recall, andhorror and a sense of utter desolation seized upon my heart. I calledher by name with the most endearing inflections; I chafed and beat herhands; now I laid her head low, now supported it against my knee; but allseemed to be in vain, and the lids still lay heavy on her eyes.
“Northmour,” I said, “there is my hat. For God’s sake bring some waterfrom the spring.”
Almost in a moment he was by my side with the water. “I have brought itin my own,” he said. “You do not grudge me the privilege?”
“Northmour,” I was beginning to say, as I laved her head and breast; buthe interrupted me savagely.
“Oh, you hush up!” he said. “The best thing you can do is to saynothing.”
I had certainly no desire to talk, my mind being swallowed up in concernfor my dear love and her condition; so I continued in silence to do mybest towards her recovery, and, when the hat was empty, returned it tohim, with one word—“More.” He had, perhaps, gone several times upon thiserrand, when Clara reopened her eyes.
“Now,” said he, “since she is better, you can spare me, can you not? Iwish you a good night, Mr. Cassilis.”
And with that he was gone among the thicket. I made a fire, for I hadnow no fear of the Italians, who had even spared all the littlepossessions left in my encampment; and, broken as she was by theexcitement and the hideous catastrophe of the evening, I managed, in oneway or another—by persuasion, encouragement, warmth, and such simpleremedies as I could lay my hand on—to bring her back to some composure ofmind and strength of body.
Day had already come, when a sharp “Hist!” sounded from the thicket. Istarted from the ground; but the voice of Northmour was heard adding, inthe most tranquil tones: “Come here, Cassilis, and alone; I want to showyou something.”
I consulted Clara with my eyes, and, receiving her tacit permission, lefther alone, and clambered out of the den. At some distance of I sawNorthmour leaning against an elder; and, as soon as he perceived me, hebegan walking seaward. I had almost overtaken him as he reached theoutskirts of the wood.
“Look,” said he, pausing.
A couple of steps more brought me out of the foliage. The light of themorning lay cold and clear over that well-known scene. The pavilion wasbut a blackened wreck; the roof had fallen in, one of the gables hadfallen out; and, far and near, the face of the links was cicatrised withlittle patches of burnt furze. Thick smoke still went straight upwardsin the windless air of the morning, and a great pile of ardent cindersfilled the bare walls of the house, like coals in an open grate. Closeby the islet a schooner yacht lay to, and a well-manned boat was pullingvigorously for the shore.
“The _Red Earl_!” I cried. “The _Red Earl_ twelve hours too late!”
“Feel in your pocket, Frank. Are you armed?” asked Northmour.
I obeyed him, and I think I must have become deadly pale. My revolverhad been taken from me.
“You see I have you in my power,” he continued. “I disarmed you lastnight while you were nursing Clara; but this morning—here—take yourpistol. No thanks!” he cried, holding up his hand. “I do not like them;that is the only way you can annoy me now.”
He began to walk forward across the links to meet the boat, and Ifollowed a step or two behind. In front of the pavilion I paused to seewhere Mr. Huddlestone had fallen; but there was no sign of him, nor somuch as a trace of blood.
“Graden Floe,” said Northmour.
He continued to advance till we had come to the head of the beach.
“No farther, please,” said he. “Would you like to take her to GradenHouse?”
“Thank you,” replied I; “I shall try to get her to the minister’s atGraden Wester.”
The prow of the boat here grated on the beach, and a sailor jumped ashorewith a line in his hand.
“Wait a minute, lads!” cried Northmour; and then lower and to my privateear: “You had better say nothing of all this to her,” he added.
“On the contrary!” I broke out, “she shall know everything that I cantell.”
“You do not understand,” he returned, with an air of great dignity. “Itwill be nothin
g to her; she expects it of me. Good-bye!” he added, witha nod.
I offered him my hand.
“Excuse me,” said he. “It’s small, I know; but I can’t push things quiteso far as that. I don’t wish any sentimental business, to sit by yourhearth a white-haired wanderer, and all that. Quite the contrary: I hopeto God I shall never again clap eyes on either one of you.”
“Well, God bless you, Northmour!” I said heartily.
“Oh, yes,” he returned.
He walked down the beach; and the man who was ashore gave him an arm onboard, and then shoved off and leaped into the bows himself. Northmourtook the tiller; the boat rose to the waves, and the oars between thethole-pins sounded crisp and measured in the morning air.
They were not yet half-way to the _Red Earl_, and I was still watchingtheir progress, when the sun rose out of the sea.
One word more, and my story is done. Years after, Northmour was killedfighting under the colours of Garibaldi for the liberation of the Tyrol.
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