As in a dream, Marguerite followed on; the web was drawing more and moretightly every moment round the beloved life, which had become dearerthan all. To see her husband once again, to tell him how she hadsuffered, how much she had wronged, and how little understood him, hadbecome now her only aim. She had abandoned all hope of saving him: shesaw him gradually hemmed in on all sides, and, in despair, she gazedround her into the darkness, and wondered whence he would presentlycome, to fall into the death-trap which his relentless enemy hadprepared for him.
The distant roar of the waves now made her shudder; the occasionaldismal cry of an owl, or a sea-gull, filled her with unspeakable horror.She thought of the ravenous beasts--in human shape--who lay in wait fortheir prey, and destroyed them, as mercilessly as any hungry wolf,for the satisfaction of their own appetite of hate. Marguerite was notafraid of the darkness, she only feared that man, on ahead, who wassitting at the bottom of a rough wooden cart, nursing thoughts ofvengeance, which would have made the very demons in hell chuckle withdelight.
Her feet were sore. Her knees shook under her, from sheer bodilyfatigue. For days now she had lived in a wild turmoil of excitement;she had not had a quiet rest for three nights; now, she had walked ona slippery road for nearly two hours, and yet her determination neverswerved for a moment. She would see her husband, tell him all, and, ifhe was ready to forgive the crime, which she had committed in her blindignorance, she would yet have the happiness of dying by his side.
She must have walked on almost in a trance, instinct alone keeping herup, and guiding her in the wake of the enemy, when suddenly her ears,attuned to the slightest sound, by that same blind instinct, told herthat the cart had stopped, and that the soldiers had halted. They hadcome to their destination. No doubt on the right, somewhere close ahead,was the footpath that led to the edge of the cliff and to the hut.
Heedless of any risks, she crept up quite close up to where Chauvelinstood, surrounded by his little troop: he had descended from the cart,and was giving some orders to the men. These she wanted to hear: whatlittle chance she yet had, of being useful to Percy, consisted inhearing absolutely every word of his enemy's plans.
The spot where all the party had halted must have lain some eighthundred metres from the coast; the sound of the sea came only veryfaintly, as from a distance. Chauvelin and Desgas, followed by thesoldiers, had turned off sharply to the right of the road, apparentlyon to the footpath, which led to the cliffs. The Jew had remained on theroad, with his cart and nag.
Marguerite, with infinite caution, and literally crawling on her handsand knees, had also turned off to the right: to accomplish this she hadto creep through the rough, low shrubs, trying to make as little noiseas possible as she went along, tearing her face and hands againstthe dry twigs, intent only upon hearing without being seen or heard.Fortunately--as is usual in this part of France--the footpath wasbordered by a low rough hedge, beyond which was a dry ditch, filled withcoarse grass. In this Marguerite managed to find shelter; she was quitehidden from view, yet could contrive to get within three yards of whereChauvelin stood, giving orders to his men.
"Now," he was saying in a low and peremptory whisper, "where is the PereBlanchard's hut?"
"About eight hundred metres from here, along the footpath," said thesoldier who had lately been directing the party, "and half-way down thecliff."
"Very good. You shall lead us. Before we begin to descend the cliff, youshall creep down to the hut, as noiselessly as possible, and ascertainif the traitor royalists are there? Do you understand?"
"I understand, citoyen."
"Now listen very attentively, all of you," continued Chauvelin,impressively, and addressing the soldiers collectively, "for after thiswe may not be able to exchange another word, so remember every syllableI utter, as if your very lives depended on your memory. Perhaps theydo," he added drily.
"We listen, citoyen," said Desgas, "and a soldier of the Republic neverforgets an order."
"You, who have crept up to the hut, will try to peep inside. If anEnglishman is there with those traitors, a man who is tall above theaverage, or who stoops as if he would disguise his height, then givea sharp, quick whistle as a signal to your comrades. All of you," headded, once more speaking to the soldiers collectively, "then quicklysurround and rush into the hut, and each seize one of the men there,before they have time to draw their firearms; if any of them struggle,shoot at their legs or arms, but on no account kill the tall man. Do youunderstand?"
"We understand, citoyen."
"The man who is tall above the average is probably also strong above theaverage; it will take four or five of you at least to overpower him."
There was a little pause, then Chauvelin continued,--
"If the royalist traitors are still alone, which is more than likely tobe the case, then warn your comrades who are lying in wait there, andall of you creep and take cover behind the rocks and boulders round thehut, and wait there, in dead silence, until the tall Englishman arrives;then only rush the hut, when he is safely within its doors. But rememberthat you must be as silent as the wolf is at night, when he prowlsaround the pens. I do not wish those royalists to be on the alert--thefiring of a pistol, a shriek or call on their part would be sufficient,perhaps, to warn the tall personage to keep clear of the cliffs, and ofthe hut, and," he added emphatically, "it is the tall Englishman whom itis your duty to capture tonight."
"You shall be implicitly obeyed, citoyen."
"Then get along as noiselessly as possible, and I will follow you."
"What about the Jew, citoyen?" asked Desgas, as silently like noiselessshadows, one by one the soldiers began to creep along the rough andnarrow footpath.
"Ah, yes; I had forgotten about the Jew," said Chauvelin, and, turningtowards the Jew, he called him peremptorily.
"Here, you . . . Aaron, Moses, Abraham, or whatever your confounded namemay be," he said to the old man, who had quietly stood beside his leannag, as far away from the soldiers as possible.
"Benjamin Rosenbaum, so it please your Honour," he replied humbly.
"It does not please me to hear your voice, but it does please me to giveyou certain orders, which you will find it wise to obey."
"So it please your Honour . . ."
"Hold your confounded tongue. You shall stay here, do you hear? withyour horse and cart until our return. You are on no account to utterthe faintest sound, or to even breathe louder than you can help; nor areyou, on any consideration whatever, to leave your post, until I give youorders to do so. Do you understand?"
"But your Honour--" protested the Jew pitiably.
"There is no question of 'but' or of any argument," said Chauvelin, in atone that made the timid old man tremble from head to foot. "If, whenI return, I do not find you here, I most solemnly assure you that,wherever you may try to hide yourself, I can find you, and thatpunishment swift, sure and terrible, will sooner or later overtake you.Do you hear me?"
"But your Excellency . . ."
"I said, do you hear me?"
The soldiers had all crept away; the three men stood alone togetherin the dark and lonely road, with Marguerite there, behind the hedge,listening to Chauvelin's orders, as she would to her own death sentence.
"I heard your Honour," protested the Jew again, while he tried to drawnearer to Chauvelin, "and I swear by Abraham, Isaac and Jacob that Iwould obey your Honour most absolutely, and that I would not move fromthis place until your Honour once more deigned to shed the light of yourcountenance upon your humble servant; but remember, your Honour, I ama poor man; my nerves are not as strong as those of a young soldier. Ifmidnight marauders should come prowling round this lonely road, Imight scream or run in my fright! And is my life to be forfeit, is someterrible punishment to come on my poor old head for that which I cannothelp?"
The Jew seemed in real distress; he was shaking from head to foot.Clearly he was not the man to be left by himself on this lonely road.The man spoke truly; he might unwittingly, in sheer terror, utt
er theshriek that might prove a warning to the wily Scarlet Pimpernel.
Chauvelin reflected for a moment.
"Will your horse and cart be safe alone, here, do you think?" he askedroughly.
"I fancy, citoyen," here interposed Desgas, "that they will be saferwithout that dirty, cowardly Jew than with him. There seems no doubtthat, if he gets scared, he will either make a bolt of it, or shriek hishead off."
"But what am I to do with the brute?"
"Will you send him back to Calais, citoyen?"
"No, for we shall want him to drive back the wounded presently," saidChauvelin, with grim significance.
There was a pause again--Desgas waiting for the decision of his chief,and the old Jew whining beside his nag.
"Well, you lazy, lumbering old coward," said Chauvelin at last, "youhad better shuffle along behind us. Here, Citoyen Desgas, tie thishandkerchief tightly round the fellow's mouth."
Chauvelin handed a scarf to Desgas, who solemnly began winding it roundthe Jew's mouth. Meekly Benjamin Rosenbaum allowed himself to be gagged;he, evidently, preferred this uncomfortable state to that of being leftalone, on the dark St. Martin Road. Then the three men fell in line.
"Quick!" said Chauvelin, impatiently, "we have already wasted muchvaluable time."
And the firm footsteps of Chauvelin and Desgas, the shuffling gait ofthe old Jew, soon died away along the footpath.
Marguerite had not lost a single one of Chauvelin's words of command.Her every nerve was strained to completely grasp the situation first,then to make a final appeal to those wits which had so often been calledthe sharpest in Europe, and which alone might be of service now.
Certainly the situation was desperate enough; a tiny band ofunsuspecting men, quietly awaiting the arrival of their rescuer, whowas equally unconscious of the trap laid for them all. It seemed sohorrible, this net, as it were drawn in a circle, at dead of night, on alonely beach, round a few defenceless men, defenceless because they weretricked and unsuspecting; of these one was the husband she idolised,another the brother she loved. She vaguely wondered who the others were,who were also calmly waiting for the Scarlet Pimpernel, while deathlurked behind every boulder of the cliffs.
For the moment she could do nothing but follow the soldiers andChauvelin. She feared to lose her way, or she would have rushedforward and found that wooden hut, and perhaps been in time to warn thefugitives and their brave deliverer yet.
For a second, the thought flashed through her mind of uttering thepiercing shrieks, which Chauvelin seemed to dread, as a possible warningto the Scarlet Pimpernel and his friends--in the wild hope that theywould hear, and have yet time to escape before it was too late. But shedid not know if her shrieks would reach the ears of the doomed men.Her effort might be premature, and she would never be allowed to makeanother. Her mouth would be securely gagged, like that of the Jew, andshe, a helpless prisoner in the hands of Chauvelin's men.
Like a ghost she flitted noiselessly behind that hedge: she had takenher shoes off, and her stockings were by now torn off her feet. She feltneither soreness nor weariness; indomitable will to reach her husbandin spite of adverse Fate, and of a cunning enemy, killed all sense ofbodily pain within her, and rendered her instincts doubly acute.
She heard nothing save the soft and measured footsteps of Percy'senemies on in front; she saw nothing but--in her mind's eye--that woodenhut, and he, her husband, walking blindly to his doom.
Suddenly, those same keen instincts within her made her pause in her madhaste, and cower still further within the shadow of the hedge. The moon,which had proved a friend to her by remaining hidden behind a bank ofclouds, now emerged in all the glory of an early autumn night, and in amoment flooded the weird and lonely landscape with a rush of brilliantlight.
There, not two hundred metres ahead, was the edge of the cliff, andbelow, stretching far away to free and happy England, the sea rolled onsmoothly and peaceably. Marguerite's gaze rested for an instant on thebrilliant, silvery waters; and as she gazed, her heart, which had beennumb with pain for all these hours, seemed to soften and distend, andher eyes filled with hot tears: not three miles away, with white sailsset, a graceful schooner lay in wait.
Marguerite had guessed rather than recognized her. It was the DAY DREAM,Percy's favourite yacht, and all her crew of British sailors: herwhite sails, glistening in the moonlight, seemed to convey a messageto Marguerite of joy and hope, which yet she feared could never be. Shewaited there, out at sea, waited for her master, like a beautiful whitebird all ready to take flight, and he would never reach her, neversee her smooth deck again, never gaze any more on the white cliffs ofEngland, the land of liberty and of hope.
The sight of the schooner seemed to infuse into the poor, wearied womanthe superhuman strength of despair. There was the edge of the cliff, andsome way below was the hut, where presently, her husband would meet hisdeath. But the moon was out: she could see her way now: she would seethe hut from a distance, run to it, rouse them all, warn them at anyrate to be prepared and to sell their lives dearly, rather than becaught like so many rats in a hole.
She stumbled on behind the hedge in the low, thick grass of the ditch.She must have run on very fast, and had outdistanced Chauvelin andDesgas, for presently she reached the edge of the cliff, and heard theirfootsteps distinctly behind her. But only a very few yards away, and nowthe moonlight was full upon her, her figure must have been distinctlysilhouetted against the silvery background of the sea.
Only for a moment, though; the next she had cowered, like some animaldoubled up within itself. She peeped down the great rugged cliffs--thedescent would be easy enough, as they were not precipitous, and thegreat boulders afforded plenty of foothold. Suddenly, as she gazed,she saw at some little distance on her left, and about midway down thecliffs, a rough wooden construction, through the wall of which a tinyred light glimmered like a beacon. Her very heart seemed to stand still,the eagerness of joy was so great that it felt like an awful pain.
She could not gauge how distant the hut was, but without hesitationshe began the steep descent, creeping from boulder to boulder, caringnothing for the enemy behind, or for the soldiers, who evidently had alltaken cover since the tall Englishman had not yet appeared.
On she pressed, forgetting the deadly foe on her track, running,stumbling, foot-sore, half-dazed, but still on . . . When, suddenly, acrevice, or stone, or slippery bit of rock, threw her violently to theground. She struggled again to her feet, and started running forwardonce more to give them that timely warning, to beg them to flee beforehe came, and to tell him to keep away--away from this death-trap--awayfrom this awful doom. But now she realised that other steps, quickerthan her own, were already close at her heels. The next instant ahand dragged at her skirt, and she was down on her knees again, whilstsomething was wound round her mouth to prevent her uttering a scream.
Bewildered, half frantic with the bitterness of disappointment, shelooked round her helplessly, and, bending down quite close to her, shesaw through the mist, which seemed to gather round her, a pair of keen,malicious eyes, which appeared to her excited brain to have a weird,supernatural green light in them. She lay in the shadow of a greatboulder; Chauvelin could not see her features, but he passed his thin,white fingers over her face.
"A woman!" he whispered, "by all the saints in the calendar."
"We cannot let her loose, that's certain," he muttered to himself. "Iwonder now . . ."
Suddenly he paused, after a few moments of deadly silence, he gave fortha long, low, curious chuckle, while once again Marguerite felt, with ahorrible shudder, his thin fingers wandering over her face.
"Dear me! dear me!" he whispered, with affected gallantry, "this isindeed a charming surprise," and Marguerite felt her resistless handraised to Chauvelin's thin, mocking lips.
The situation was indeed grotesque, had it not been at the same timeso fearfully tragic: the poor, weary woman, broken in spirit, and halffrantic with the bitterness of her disappointment, receiving
on herknees the BANAL gallantries of her deadly enemy.
Her senses were leaving her; half choked with the tight grip round hermouth, she had no strength to move or to utter the faintest sound. Theexcitement which all along had kept up her delicate body seemed at onceto have subsided, and the feeling of blank despair to have completelyparalyzed her brain and nerves.
Chauvelin must have given some directions, which she was too dazed tohear, for she felt herself lifted from off her feet: the bandage roundher mouth was made more secure, and a pair of strong arms carried hertowards that tiny, red light, on ahead, which she had looked upon as abeacon and the last faint glimmer of hope.
CHAPTER XXIX TRAPPED
The Scarlet Pimpernel Page 28