Beau Brocade: A Romance
Page 19
CHAPTER XIX
HIS OATH
Patience's first thought as soon as she reached the road was for Betty;she helped the poor girl to her feet and tried to get some coherentexplanation from her.
"I was listening to the tune, my lady, and leaning my head out of thewindow," moaned Mistress Betty, who was more frightened than hurt, "whensuddenly the carriage door was torn open, I was dragged out and leftscreaming on the ground.... That's all I know."
But one glance at the interior of the coach had revealed the whole awfultruth. It had been ransacked, and the receptacle beneath the cushions,where had lain the all-important letters, was now obviously empty.
"The letters! oh, the letters!" moaned Patience in an agony of miseryand remorse. "Philip, my dear, dear one, you entrusted your preciouslife in my hands, and I have proved unworthy of the trust."
Her spirit wholly broken by the agony of this cruel thought, she coweredon the step of the carriage, her head buried in her hands, in a passionof heart-broken tears.
"My lady..."
She looked down, and by the dim light of the moon she saw a figure onits knees, dragging itself with a visibly painful effort slowly towardsher.
In a moment she was on her feet, tall, haughty, a world of scorn in hereyes; she looked down with horror at the prostrate figure before her.
"Nay, sir," she said with icy contempt, "an you have a spark of honourleft in you, take off that mask, let me at least see who you are."
The agony of shame was more than she could bear. She who had deemedherself so proud, so strong, that she should have been thus fooled,duped, tricked, and by this man! this thief! this low class robber whohad dared to touch her hand! All the pride of race and caste rose inrevolt within her. Who was he that he should dare to have spoken to heras he did? Her cheeks glowed with shame at the memory of that voicewhich she had loved to hear, the tender accent in it, and oh! she hadbeen his plaything, his tool, for this infamous trick which had placedher dear, dear brother's life in peril worse than before.
Meekly he had obeyed her, his own proud spirit bent before her grief.His face--ashy pale now and drawn with pain and weakness--looked up inmute appeal for forgiveness.
"A poor wretch," he murmured feebly, "whose mad and foolish whim..."
But she turned from him in bitter loathing, drawing herself up to herfull height, trying by every means in her power to show the contemptwhich she felt for him. So absorbed was she in her grief andhumiliation, in her agony of remorse for her broken trust, that she didnot realise that he was hurt, and fainting with loss of blood.
"You ... you..." she murmured with horror and contempt. "Nay! I prayyou do not speak to me.... You ... you have duped and tricked me, and I... I ... Oh!" she added with a wealth of bitter reproach, "what wronghad I or my dear brother done to you that you should wish to do him somuch harm? What price had his enemies set upon his head that you should_sell_ it to them?"
He tried to interrupt her, for her words hurt him ten thousand timesmore than the wound in his shoulder: with almost superhuman effort hedragged himself to his feet, clinging to the bracken to hold himselfupright. He would not let her see how she made him suffer. She! hisbeautiful white rose, whom unwittingly he had, it seemed, so grievouslywronged. Her mind was distraught, she did not understand, and oh! itwas impossible that she _could_ realise the cruelty of her words, morehard to endure than any torture the fiendish brain of man could devise.
"I'd have given you gold," she continued, whilst heavy sobs choked thevoice in her throat, "if 'twas gold you wanted.... Here is the purseyou did not take just now! Two hundred guineas for you, sir, an youbring me back those letters!"
And with a last gesture of infinite scorn she threw the purse on theground before him.
A cry escaped him then: the terrible, heart-rending cry of the wildbeast wounded unto death. But it was momentary; that great love he boreher helped him to understand. Love is never selfish--always kind. Love_always_ understands.
He could scarcely speak now, and the seconds were very precious, butwith infinite gentleness he contrived to murmur faintly,--
"Madam! I swear by those sweet lips of yours now turned in angeragainst me that you do me grievous wrong. My fault, alas! is great! Icannot deny it, since in this short, mad hour of the dance my eyes wereblind and mine ears deaf to all save to your own dear presence."
"Aye! 'twas a clever trick," she retorted, lashing herself to scorn,wilfully deaf to the charm of that faint voice, turning away from thetender appeal of his eyes: "a trick from beginning to end! Yourchivalry at the forge! your _role_ of gallant gentleman of the road! thewhile you plotted with a boon companion to rob me of the very lettersthat would have saved my brother's life."
"Letters? ... that would have saved your brother's life? ... Whatletters?..."
"Nay, sir! I pray you fool me no further. Heaven only knows how youlearnt our secret, for I'll vouch that John Stich was no traitor. Thoseletters were stolen, sir, by your accomplice, whilst you tricked me intothis dance."
He pulled himself together with a vigorous effort of will, forcinghimself to speak quietly and firmly, conquering the faintness anddizziness which was rapidly overpowering him.
"Madam!" he said gently, "dare I hope that you will believe me when Isay that I know naught of those letters? ... John Stich, as you know, isloyal and true ... not even to me would he have revealed your secret ...nay, more! ... it seems that I too have been tricked to further avillain's ends. Will you not try and believe that had I known whatthose letters were I would have guarded them, for your sweet sake, withmy last dying breath?"
She did not reply: for the moment she could not, for her tears chokedher, and there was the magic of that voice which she could not resist.Still she would not look at him.
"Sir!" she said a little more calmly, "Heaven has given you a gentlevoice, and the power of tender words, with which to cajole women. Iwould wish to believe you, but..."
She was interrupted by the sound of voices, those of Thomas and Timothy,her men, who had kept a lookout for John Stich. The next moment thesmith himself, breathless and panting, came into view. He had riddenhard, for Jack o' Lantern's flanks were dripping with sweat, but therewas a look of grave disappointment on the honest man's face.
"Well?" queried Beau Brocade, excitedly, as soon as John had dismounted.
"I'm feared that I've lost the scoundrel's track," muttered John,ruefully.
"No?"
"At first I was in hot pursuit, he galloping towards Brassington;suddenly he seemed to draw rein, and the next moment a riderless horsecame tearing past me, and then disappeared in the direction of Aldwark."
"A riderless horse?"
"Aye! I thought at first that maybe he'd been thrown; I scoured theHeath for half a mile around, but ... the mist was so thick in thehollow, and there was not a sound.... I'd have needed a blood-hound totrack the rascal down."
An exclamation of intense disappointment escaped from the lips of LadyPatience and of Beau Brocade.
"Do you know who it was, John?" queried the latter.
"No doubt of that, Captain. It was Sir Humphrey Challoner rightenough."
"Sir Humphrey Challoner!" cried Patience, in accents of hopelessdespair, "the man who covets my fortune now holds my brother's life inthe hollow of his hand."
Excitedly, defiantly, she once more turned to Beau Brocade.
"Nay, sir," she said, "an you wish me to believe that you had no part inthis villainy, get those letters back for me from Sir HumphreyChalloner!"
He drew himself up to his full height, his pride at least was equal toher own.
"Madam! I swear to you..." he began. He staggered and would havefallen, but faithful Stich was nigh, and caught him in his arms.
"You are hurt, Captain?" he whispered, a world of anxiety in his kindlyeyes.
"Nay! nay!" murmured Beau Brocade, faintly, "'tis nothing! ... help meup, J
ohn! ... I have something to say ... and must say it ... standing!"
But Nature at last would have her will with him, the wild, brave spiritthat had kept him up all this while was like to break at last. He fellback dizzy and faint against faithful John's stout breast.
Then only did she understand and realise. She saw his young face, onceso merry and boyish, now pale with a hue almost of death; she saw hisonce laughing eyes now dimmed with the keenness of his suffering. Herwoman's heart went out to him, she loathed herself for her cruelty, herheart, overburdened with grief, nearly broke at the thought of what shehad done.
"You are hurt, sir," she said, as she bent over him, her eyes swimmingin tears, "and I ... I knew it not."
The spell of her voice brought his wandering spirit back to earth and toher.
"Aye, hurt, sweet dream!" he murmured feebly, "deeply wounded by thosedear lips, which spoke such cruel words; but for the rest 'tis naught.See!" he added, trying to raise himself and stretching a yearning handtowards her, "the moon has hid her face behind that veil of mist ... andI can no longer see the glory of your hair! ... my eyes are dim, or isit that the Heath is dark? ... I would fain see your blue eyes onceagain.... By the tender memory of my dream born this autumn afternoon,I swear, sweet lady, that your brother's life shall be safe! ... WhilstI have one drop of blood left in my veins, I will protect him."
With trembling hand he sought the white rose which still lay close toher breast: she allowed him to take it, and he pressed it to his lips.
Then, with a final effort he drew himself up once more, and said loudlyand clearly,--
"By this dear token I swear that I will get those letters back for youbefore the sun has risen twice o'er our green-clad hills."
"Sir ... I..."
"Tell me but once that you believe me ... and I will have the strengththat moves the mountains."
"I believe you, sir," she said simply. "I believe you absolutely."
"Then place your dear hand in mine," he whispered, "and trust in me."
And the last thought of which he was conscious was of her cool, whitefingers grasping his fevered hand. Then the poor aching head fell backon John's shoulder, the burning eyes were closed, kindly Nature hadtaken the outlaw to her breast and spread her beneficent mantle ofoblivion over his weary senses at last.
PART III
BRASSINGTON