Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman

by Stanley J Weyman

  “Are you afraid?” she asked.

  The taunt did not affect me. “No,” I said, “but a ferry at night, if it is seldom worked, and the man is old too, — well, it is not the safest of ventures.”

  “A ferry in good moonlight!” she cried in scorn. “Are you afraid, sir? When the risk is mine and if I do not reach the High Hills in time it will not be you who will pay the penalty?”

  I could not meet that argument, nor the passion in her voice. Yet I remember that I hesitated. The place was forbidding. We were halfway down the slope that led to the river, and below us stretched the marshes that fringed the stream, marshes always dreary and deceitful, and at night veiled in poisonous mists. At the foot of the sign-post, which rose pale and stark against a background of pines, there was something which had the look of a newly-dug grave; while halfway up the mast a wisp of stuff, the relic, perhaps, of a flag which had been nailed up and torn down, fluttered dismally in the wind. I looked along the main road but no one was stirring. The lights of the hamlet were not in sight.

  I suspected that, quietly as she sat her horse, she was in suspense until I answered, and I gave way. “Very well,” I said reluctantly. “But you must not blame me if we go wrong. God knows I only want to do the best for you?”

  I do not know why my words displeased her, but they seemed to prick her in some tender spot.

  “The best?” she cried, “and you boast of that? You!”

  “God forbid,” I said, breaking in on her speech. “If there were more I could do, I would do it and gladly, but—”

  “Don’t! Don’t!” she said, pain in her tone. And she turned her horse’s head and plodded down the side-road in silence. I followed.

  Still I was uneasy. The night, the loneliness, the scene, all chilled me; and this tardy suggestion, this change of plan at the last moment had an odd look. However I reflected that I had nothing to lose; the loss was hers if we were not in time. And though a one-armed man in an old and rotten ferry-boat — so I pictured the craft we were to enter — is not very happily placed, if she did not see this, I could not raise the point.

  My perplexity grew, however, when twenty minutes’ riding failed to bring us to the river, though the road had by this time sunk to the marshes, and ran deep and foundrous, lapped on either side by sullen pools. The time came when I drew rein — I would go no farther; the air was laden with ague, I felt it in my bones. “I don’t think we are right,” I said.

  “You would do so much!” she cried bitterly. “But you won’t do this for me.”

  “I will do anything that will be of service, Miss Wilmer,” I said firmly, “but to waste our time here will not be of serivce.”

  “What will?” she wailed. “Will anything?” Then, stopping me as I was about to answer, “There! a light!” she cried. “Do you see? There is a light before us! We can inquire.”

  She was right, there was a light. Nay, when we had advanced a few yards we saw that there were two lights, which proceeded from the windows of some building. I was grateful for the discovery, grateful for anything that put an end to the contest between us; and “Thank God!” I said as cheerfully as I could. “Now we shall learn where we are, and we can decide what to do.”

  “More, there is the river,” she added; and a moment later I, too, caught the gleam of moonlight on a wide water, that flowed on the farther side, as it seemed to me, of the spot whence the lights issued.

  I was glad to see it, and I said so. I could discern the building now — a gaunt, dark block set high against the sky; a mill apparently, for a skeleton frame of ribs rose against one end of it. The lights that we had seen issued from two windows at some distance from the ground and not far apart. As well as I could judge, the building stood between road and river on piles, with a rood or so of made ground to landward, and a few wind-bent cypresses fringing the river bank behind. It was a lonely house, and dark and forbidding by night; but by day it might be cheerful enough.

  “I will inquire,” I said, briskly slipping from my saddle. “You had better wait here while I go,” I added.

  I was in the act of leading my horse towards the door, when she thrust out her hand and seized my rein. “Stop!” she said. And then for a moment she did not speak.

  I obeyed; for the one word she had uttered conveyed to me, I don’t know how, that a new peril threatened us. “Why?” I muttered. “What is it?” I looked about us. I could see nothing alarming. I turned to her.

  She sat low in the saddle, her head sunk on her breast, and for a moment I fancied that she was ill. Then in a low, despairing tone, “I cannot,” she muttered, speaking rather to herself than to me, “I cannot do it.” —

  I stared at her. To fail now, to succumb now — she who had borne up so well, gone through so much, endured so bravely! “I am afraid I do not understand,” I said. “What is the matter, Miss Wilmer?”

  Her head sank lower. By such light as there was I could see that the spirit had gone out of her, that her courage had left her, and hope. “I cannot do it,” she said again. “God forgive me!”

  “What? What cannot you do!” I asked, carried away by my impatience.

  “Let us go back,” she said. “We will go back.” And she began to turn her horse’s head.

  But that was absurd, and out of the question, now that we were here; and in my turn I caught her rein. Here was the ferry, here were persons who could direct us. Had we traveled so far, and were we at the last moment, because a house looked dark and lonely, to lose heart and retrace our steps? “Go back?” I said. “Surely not without some reason, Miss Wilmer? Surely not without knowing—”

  “Without knowing what?” she replied, cutting me short. “Why we are here?” And then in a different tone, “Do you know, sir, why we are here?”

  “No,” I said, in astonishment. For she who had all day been so calm, so cool, so steadfast, now spoke with a wildness that alarmed me. “Why?”

  “To put you,” she replied, “into the power of those with whom you will fare as my father fares! Do you understand, sir? To make you a hostage for him, your life for his life, your freedom for his freedom! Do you know that there are those, in yonder house, who are waiting for you, — who are waiting for you, and who, if my father suffers, will do to you as your friends do to him? Do you know that it was for that that I brought you hither; yes, for that! And now, now that I am here, I cannot do it—” her voice sank to a whisper— “even to save my father!”

  A dry painful sob shook her in the saddle. She clung to the pommel, the reins fell from her hands, the tired horse under her hung its head. “Good Lord!” I whispered. “Good Lord! And you brought me here for that.”

  “Yes,” she said, “for that.”

  “And — and Lord Cornwallis — you knew that you had nothing to expect from him?” She bowed her head. “But did you not know, Miss Wilmer, that this — this, too, was hopeless? Insane, mad? Did you not know that Lord Rawdon would as soon depart from his duty in order to save me, as the sun from his course?”

  “Men have been saved that way,” she cried, with something of her old spirit. “And you are his friend, sir, you have influence, you have rank, oh, he would do much to save you! Yes, I might have saved my father! I might have preserved him — and now!” her chin sank again upon her breast.

  “It was a mad plot!” I said.

  “But it might have saved him,” she whispered. “My lord spoke warmly of you, he shewed me your sword on the table. Yes, I might have saved my father — but I could not do it. And now—” Her voice died away.

  “It was a mad plot,” I repeated. However strong her belief, I, of course, knew that such a step was hopeless; that no danger in which I might stand would turn Rawdon from his duty, but on the contrary would stiffen him in it. It was a mad plan. But apparently she had believed in it, apparently she had trusted in it; and at the last she had been unable to harden her heart to carry it through! Why? I asked myself the question.

  She sighed, and the sound went
to my heart. She gathered up her reins. “We had better go, sir,” she said, in a lifeless tone, “before they discover our presence. They may hear our voices.”

  She had not had the strength to carry it through! Why? My heart beat more quickly as I pondered the question. I no longer felt the fog on my cheek, the ague in my bones. The note of the bull-frog lost its melancholy, the sigh of the wind across the marshes its sadness. Warmth awoke in me, and with it hope, and a purpose — a purpose, wild it might be, high-strained it might be, and extravagant, but deliberate. For as certainly as I loved her, as certainly as my heart-strings were torn for the tenderness of her body broken by so many fatigues, for the agony of her spirit which had borne her so far, as certainly as she was heaven and earth to me — and she loved me, I believed it now! — so surely did I know that there was but one bridge which could cross the gulf that divided me from her! There was one way, and one way only, which could bring me to her.

  And that way lay through the door of the mill. Yet first — first, strong as my purpose was, I had to fight the temptation to pay myself a part of that which fate might withhold from me. To clasp her knees as I stood beside her, to draw her down to me, to hold her on my breast, to cover her face, white and woe-begone in the moonlight, with kisses, to tell her that I loved her — this had been heaven to me! But I had to forego it. I might not pay myself beforehand. Afterwards — but I dared not think of afterwards. I dared not think of what lay between the present and the future. I must act, not think.

  “We had better go,” she repeated dully.

  “And you thought it might save him?” I said.

  “I thought that I could do it!” she answered. She shivered.

  “You shall do it,” I replied. “Come!”

  I led my horse towards the door, and had travelled half the space that lay between us and the threshold before she grasped my meaning; before she moved. Then, “Stop!” she cried. She pressed her horse abreast of me. “Don’t you understand?” she cried. “Don’t you see—”

  “Yes,” I said, “I see.” And for a moment, as we passed from the moonlight into the shadow, and the horses’ shoes clattered on the stones before the door, I let my hand rest on her knee. “I see. But I also remember. I remember that your father saved my life. I remember that I delivered him up to death. I remember — many things. And if any risk of mine may avail to save him, God knows that I take the hazard cheerfully!”

  She cried, “No!” with a sort of passion, and she tried to draw me back. But it was too late. I was at the door. I kicked it.

  “House!” I cried. “House!” My mind was made up. Whatever came of it, whatever the issue, I would go through with the venture.

  Immediately a light shone under the door, a voice cried, “Halloa!” And while, stammering words half-heard, the girl still tried to turn me from my purpose, the door was opened, and a light was flashed in my face. A man confronted me on the threshold, two others slipped by me into the darkness. Probably the purpose of the latter was to cut off my retreat, but I paid no heed to them.

  “Can you direct us to the ferry?” I said.

  “Why not?” the man drawled. “Step inside, sir. Ben will hold your horse. And a lady? Well, we did not expect to see company and we’ll do the best we can. We shall not be for letting you go in a hurry,” he added with meaning in his tone.

  It was not my cue to notice the sneer, or to show suspicion, and I followed the man into the lower room of the mill, a damp stable-like place, where the light fell on the shining, startled eyes of a row of horses tethered at a rack. I ran my eye along them; it was well to know what force I had against me. There were six. We passed behind their heels, and picking our way over the filthy floor followed the man up a ladder to what appeared to be the living-room of the place. As I climbed I heard above me a sharp question and an exultant answer; and, I confess, my heart sank, for I recognized the voice that put the question. It was with no surprise, and certainly it was with no pleasure, that emerging from the trap I found myself face to face with my old acquaintance, Levi.

  There were two more of the gang with him — I knew them again. The three men were seated on boxes before a fire, the smoke from which found a leisurely exit through a broken chimney of clay. The walls were formed of squared logs, the shingled roof was festooned with cobwebs. In one corner lay a heap of dirty cornstraw, in another a pile of driftwood. The floor was a litter of broken casks and cases, with some rotting gear and fishing-nets, and a keg or two.

  Levi made me a mock bow. “Evening, Major,” he said, “Well, well, you surely never know your luck! Never know when you’re going to meet old friends! I’m d — d if we’ll part this time as easily as we did last time!”

  “We only want the ferry,” I said, playing out my part.

  “Oh!” he cried rudely. “Our duty to you, and hang the ferry! We’ve wanted you mightily, Major, and now you are here we mean to keep you. Here, sirree, get up,” he continued, kicking the box from under one of the other men, “Let the lady sit down. Cannot you see that she’s dog-weary?”

  The man moved awkwardly out of the way.

  “The Captain will have a high opinion of you, Ma’am,” Levi continued in an oily tone that made me long to wring his neck. “If you’ll be bidden by me, you will allow me to offer you a sup of Kentucky whisky. It’s the queen of liquors to bring the color back to your cheeks.”

  She did not decline the offer; no doubt she needed support. He put a cloak on the box and she sat down with her back to me, either to play her part the better, or because she could not bear to face me. None the less could I picture the ordeal through which she was passing! Levi, fussing about her, brought out a bottle and drawing the corn-cob cork poured some of the spirit into a small bowl. She drank it and said something to him in a low voice.

  “Pete is saddling his horse now,” he answered. “He’s a mighty good man in the saddle, and he’ll not spare his spurs. He’ll take the message! But we shall need a piece of the fur to prove that the bear is trapped. Here you,” he went on truculently, turning to me, “You are in our power and we are going to hold you as a hostage for Wilmer.

  Do you understand? If your folks hang him, we shall hang you! Do you see? Have I spoken plainly, sir?”

  “Plainly enough,” I said. “But you must be very foolish if you think that that will do Captain Wilmer any good; if you think that a threat of that kind will make Lord Rawdon hold his hand.”

  “D — n my lord and his hand!” he retorted coarsely; and he spat on the floor. “My lord will decide as he pleases. But as he decides, you, Major, will hang or go free. So, by your leave do you write and tell your folks what I say.”

  “If I write,” I replied, “I shall tell his lordship to do his duty.”

  “Major,” he answered. “Do you see that fire? We have means to persuade you and if you try us too far—”

  “I shall not write,” I said. “If I write those are my terms. That is what I shall write. But if it’s only proof that I am in your hands that you require, take my ring. It will be known and will do what you want. Only I warn you, my friend, that the man who carries the message will slip his neck into a noose.”

  “Do you think that we don’t know that!” Levi replied, grinning. “We need no Philadelphia lawyer to teach us our business. This country is ours — ours, Englishman, and it is going to remain ours. We have ten friends where King George has one, and we shall know how to place your ring where we want it. Many is the time that I’ve laughed to think of Wilmer fighting your quails for you, and you putting on the money, and your bird not worth a continental cent!”

  The girl raised her head. She said something that I could not hear.

  “To be sure, Miss,” he answered obsequiously. “To be sure, time is running. Here, give me the ring.” He weighed it a minute in his hand and his eyes sparkled as if he had no mind to part with it. Then he turned to the ladder. The girl rose too. “I will speak to Pete,” she said.

  “We need not trou
ble you,” he answered. “You sit down, Ma’am, and rest.”

  “I will speak to Pete,” she said again, as if he had not spoken. And carefully averting her face from me — I wondered if she knew how deeply, how pitifully I felt for her — she followed Levi down the ladder.

  CHAPTER XII

  THE MILL ON THE WATEREE

  With what a leaden and retarding weight Does expectation load the wing of Time.

  MASON.

  The thing was done, for good or ill; it remained for me to make the best of it. I was in Levi’s power, but I might still by firmness hold my own for a time. Thinking of this, I turned a case on end, dusted it cooly with the skirt of my coat and setting it near the fire, I sat down on it and warmed myself. The men who had been left with me watched me curiously but did not interfere. They were busy, cooking something in a pot by the light of a wick burning in a bowl of green wax. Meantime, the minutes passed slowly; very slowly, while I waited and listened for news of the others. Five, ten, fifteen minutes went by before the clatter of horses’ shoes on the stones of the paved yard told us that Pete had started. A little later Constantia climbed the ladder, and appeared, closely followed by Levi, and by another man who was doubtless one of those who had slipped by me at the door.

  The girl paused on reaching the floor, then deliberately she came forward and chose a seat on the opposite side of the fire and as far from mine as possible. Levi grinned. “Well, Major,” he said “Pete’s gone, whip and spur! If you’ve sense enough you’ll wish him luck.”

  “I do,” I said cooly, “but as that matter is not very pressing, and I am hungry, uncommonly hungry—”

  “It’ll be mighty pressing this time to-morrow,” he grinned. “You’ve twenty-four hours, and may make the most of it! Then, if things don’t go our way!”

  “I understand,” I said. “But in the meantime, my man, I am more interested in my supper. The lady, too, has been riding for six hours—”

  “Oh, the lady?” he sneered. “You bear no malice it seems?”