Chapter III: Book THE FIRST: Mildred (2)

“He has no voice in the matter,” replied the lady. “My husband left the entire control of his property to me.”

“A wise man!--a very wise man!” cried the captain.

“Chetwynd Calverley has been very wild and extravagant,” said the widow. “It was necessary, therefore, to tie up the property.”

“Quite necessary!--quite proper!” remarked the captain. “Though I shouldn't like it myself,” he thought. “Is Chetwynd satisfied with the arrangement, may I ask?”

“Very much the reverse,” she replied. “But that is immaterial.”

“He doesn't know what is good for him,” said the captain. “None of us do,” he mentally ejaculated.

“Then you approve of the course I am about to pursue, Captain Danvers?”

“Entirely, my dear madam--entirely,” he replied. “I think it most judicious.”

“And now you have asked me a good many questions, let me ask you one in return?” said Mrs. Calverley.

“Delighted to answer any questions you may put to me,” he replied, wondering what she was going to say.

“But don't answer this, unless you like,” she observed.

“Let me hear it,” he rejoined, fearing something unpleasant was coming.

“How is it that your lovely cousin, Emmeline, has not married? I know she has had several very good offers.”

“'Pon my honour, I can't tell. I fancy--but mind its only fancy--she has had some disappointment.”

“I should think that scarcely possible,” observed Mrs. Calverley. “Why, she is an only child, and will be a great heiress!”

“Well, that's the only solution I can give of the mystery. I know Lord Bollington proposed to her, and I know my uncle would have liked the match to take place, but the young lord was refused.”

“Possibly she has an attachment,” observed Mrs. Calverley, thoughtfully. “If so, it's a great pity.”

“Here she comes, with Miss Calverley,” said Captain Danvers, as the two young ladies were seen advancing along the terrace.

XII. BRACKLEY MERE.

|By this time, all traces of tears had disappeared, and Emmeline's dark eyes looked lustrous as ever.

Judging from her lively manner, no one would have dreamed that she nourished a secret attachment. But she kept it carefully locked up in the recesses of her heart, and had no confidante except Mildred.

Captain Danvers rose to meet them, but Mrs. Calverley retained her seat.

“We shall see now how he acts,” she thought.

He did not leave her long in doubt. He immediately began an animated conversation with Mildred, and kept by her side as they walked round the garden, leaving Emmeline to amuse Mrs. Calverley.

No doubt the handsome captain could make himself extremely agreeable if he chose, and he now exerted himself to the utmost, and succeeded.

Having expatiated upon the beauty of the formal old garden they were surveying, and saying how much he preferred it to the landscape style, he turned the discourse to the amusements and gaieties of London, and soon found that Mildred was really anxious to spend a season in town; whereupon he expressed the greatest satisfaction, as he should frequently have an opportunity of meeting her.

By this time Lady Barfleur had made her appearance, and as she could report nothing of Sir Leycester, she suggested a visit to the mere.

“It is a nice shady walk there through the wood,” she said; “and if you have not seen the mere, I think you will be struck by it.”

“Not by its beauty, mamma,” remarked Emmeline, “but rather by its blackness.”

“Well, such blackness as that water boasts _is_ a beauty,” said Captain Danvers. “In my opinion, the mere is well worth seeing.”

“There are all sorts of legends attached to it,” said Emmeline. “Amongst others, there is a superstition, that when anything is about to happen to our house, a great piece of black oak, that has been sunk for ages at the bottom of the lake, floats to the surface.”

“An idle story,” remarked Lady Barfleur.

“You excite my curiosity,” said Mrs. Calverley. “I should like to see this mysterious lake.”

“You must excuse my accompanying you,” said Lady Barfleur. “Captain Danvers will conduct you there.”

“With the greatest pleasure,” said the captain. “I hope you will go too, Miss Calverley?”

“Oh, of course!” she replied.

So they all set off, with the exception of Lady Barfleur, who rarely got beyond the garden.

In a very few minutes, they had plunged into a wood, through which a narrow road led to the mere.

In some places, the path was overarched by trees, and the branches formed a delightful screen on that hot day.

Captain Danvers led the way with Mildred, and the path being only wide enough for two, the others were obliged to follow. As the wood seemed to inspire such a tone, his accents became low and tender.

Suddenly they burst upon the lake in all its sombre grandeur. The water looked intensely black, but when examined, it was found to be perfectly clear. The broad expanse was surrounded by trees, which, in some instances, advanced beyond the bank.

The surface of the mere was unruffled, for not a breath of wind was stirring, and reflected the trees as in a mirror. Occasionally, however, a fish would leap up, and the smooth water was, for a moment, rippled.

But the effect of the scene was not cheerful. An air of gloom brooded over the place, that impressed the beholder with melancholy. Both Mrs. Calverley and Mildred acknowledged the feeling.

At the point where the visitors had approached it, the lake was shallow, and occupied by a large bed of reeds and bullrushes; but, at the opposite extremity, the water was profoundly deep, and supposed, by the common folk, to be unfathomable.

On the left, and not far from where they stood, was a boat-house, and Captain Danvers offered to row them to the further end of the lake, so that they might have an opportunity of completely surveying it.

The proposal was gladly accepted.

Repairing to the shed, they embarked in a large flat-bottomed boat, better adapted for fishing than moving rapidly through the water.

However, it answered the purpose. Captain Danvers took the sculls, and contrived to get Mildred next him. The clumsy craft moved slowly on, and was now and then stopped that the ladies might look around.

As they drew near the lower end, the lake seemed to become darker, and the trees that shut it in assumed a yet more sombre appearance.

Here it was deepest.

Captain Danvers was tugging at the sculls, but still making very slow progress, when the boat struck against something in the water that gave it a great shock.

The captain ceased rowing, and looking round to see what he had come in contact with, to his surprise and consternation, he beheld the blackened trunk of a huge oak.

Hitherto, the dusky mass had scarcely appeared above the surface, but on being thus forcibly struck, it rolled round in such manner as to display its enormous bulk, and then gradually sank.

All three ladies saw the ill-omened piece of timber at the same time as Captain Danvers.

Uttering a cry of fright, Emmeline stood up, and, pointing to it, exclaimed:

“'Tis the black oak I told you of. One of my father's house is doomed!”

The others looked aghast, but spoke not. Even Captain Danvers seemed struck dumb.

Without a word, he turned the boat's head, and began to row back.

While he was moving round, Emmeline sat down, and covered her eyes, to shut the hideous object from her view.

“It is gone,” said Mildred, in a low tone. “Try not to think about it.”

“I ought to think about it,” rejoined Emmeline, scarcely above her breath. “It is a death-warning!”

“But not to you, dearest girl,” said Mildred.

“I would rather it applied to me than to those I love,” she returned.

Silence prevailed among the party till they landed. No more jesting on the part of the captain. He looked very gloomy.

When they got out of the boat, he tried to cheer up his fair cousin, but did not succeed.

They walked back quietly to the Hall, where a painful surprise awaited them.

XIII. PURSUIT OF THE GIPSIES.

|Sir Leycester Barfleur, as we have shown, had ridden with his attendants to the further side of the morass, where he hoped to intercept the gipsies in their flight, but he could discover nothing of them.

Posting himself with Booth, the coachman, on a little mound near the marsh, he sent off the two grooms to the huts previously mentioned, to ascertain whether the fugitives had taken refuge there; but his emissaries brought him no satisfactory intelligence, and it was the opinion of the turf-cutters who inhabited the huts that the gipsies had gone off altogether.

Sir Leycester, however, felt convinced that the rascals were somewhere about, and ordered his men to make a careful search, directing the turf-cutters to assist them.

Again they were all at fault.

Sir Leycester next tried the wood that skirted the heath, and sent the men on by different routes, fixing a place of meeting in the heart of the thicket..

He himself pursued the main road, attended by Booth.

“It's a pity we didn't bring those two Scotch deerhounds with us, Sir Leycester,” observed the coachman. “If the gipsies have taken shelter in this wood,-we shall never be able to find 'em without a dog of some sort.”

“I believe you're right, Booth,” replied Sir Leycester. “I don't like hunting men in that way. But what's to be done, if we can't catch them otherwise?”

“It's the only sure plan,” rejoined Booth. “We're wasting time now.”

“Well, go and fetch the hounds,” said Sir Leycester. “Ride to the keeper's lodge as fast as you can. If Rushton shouldn't be at home, go on to the Hall; but use despatch.”

“Shall I bring Rushton with me, as well as the hounds, Sir Leycester?” inquired Booth.

“Ay, do,” replied the baronet.

“And a bloodhound?” asked the coachman, with a grin.

Sir Leycester signified his assent, and Booth galloped off.

He had scarcely started, when the baronet regretted the last order given, and called out to him not to bring the bloodhound.

Booth, however, was out of hearing.

Sir Leycester then proceeded to the centre of the wood, keeping a sharp look-out on either side as he rode along.

The others had already arrived at the appointed spot, but had nothing to tell.

The baronet felt very much inclined to swear; but, just at the moment, a burly farmer, named Marple, who used to hunt with him, came up, mounted on a well-bred horse.

On hearing what was going on, Marple told the baronet he had just seen a couple of gipsies, who appeared to be hiding on the banks of the Weever, and offered to take him to the exact spot.

“No doubt they are the rogues you are looking for, Sir Leycester,” he added.

“No doubt of it!” cried the baronet, joyfully. “Come along!”

He then rode off with Marple, taking the two grooms with him, and leaving the turf-cutters behind, to wait for Booth and the hounds.

The river Weever described a wide half-circle round the east side of the wood, the spot referred to by Marple being about half a mile off.

As they rode at a rattling pace, they were there in a few minutes; but when they approached the river, they proceeded cautiously.

If the gipsies had not decamped, they felt sure of catching them, the Weever being here very deep, while there was no bridge within a mile.

But, cautiously as they came on, they had been descried, and perfectly understanding their design, the gipsies were endeavouring to escape by creeping along the bank of the river, which was here bordered by willows.

Having got nearly to the end of this screen, the fugitives stopped, determined, if hard pressed, to make for the adjoining wood, and being both extremely fleet, they had no doubt of accomplishing their purpose.

XIV. THE BLOODHOUND.

|It soon became manifest to the gipsies that their pursuers were following them, and searching carefully about among the willows; and they were still more alarmed by the report of a pistol, discharged by Sir Leycester, with the view of rousing them from the covert.

Accordingly, they dashed off; and so busily were their pursuers occupied, that a minute or two elapsed before their flight was discovered.

A piece of ground, level as a village green, and a couple of meadows, lay between them and the desired place of shelter, and they had gained the first hedge, and were scrambling through it, when they were perceived by Sir Leycester, who instantly shouted a view-halloo, and the whole party started in pursuit.

But not without reason had the gipsies reckoned upon their own speed.

Before Sir Leycester and his attendants cleared the first obstacle, they had leaped a five-barred gate, and were flying across the second field.

In half a minute more they had plunged into the thicket, and fancied themselves secure.

Sir Leycester, on the other hand, who was close at their heels, knew very well they had run into the trap and chuckled at the thought of their speedy capture.

Causing his companions to disperse, he went towards the centre of the wood, expecting to find Booth with the keeper and the hounds.

Meanwhile, the gipsies, being well acquainted with the thicket, made their way to its inmost recesses, where the brambles and underwood would render it difficult, if not impossible, for the horsemen to follow them.

They heard Marple and the others on their left and right, pushing their way through the trees, and vainly endeavouring to get near them. They, therefore, felt quite safe; the only unpleasantness being that they might be detained there till night.

But this feeling of security was quickly dispelled by some sounds they did not at all like. They first heard voices at a distance, accompanied by the crackling of small branches, announcing that some persons on foot were searching for them, and Ekiel remarked, in a low tone, to his comrade:

“Why, that's Ned Rushton, the keeper's voice. We're not safe here, if he's after us.”

“Keep quiet,” muttered Clynch. “He mayn't come this way.”

Shortly afterwards, a low, ominous growl, not to be mistaken by the experienced, reached their ears, and filled them with alarm.

“Ned has got a bloodhound with him, Ekiel,” said Clynch. “We must kill the brute! Have you got your Spanish knife with you?”

“Ay! but I daren't attack that hound.”

“Give me the knife, then! I'll do it!” cried Clynch. “We must get out of this place as quickly as we can, and run for life.”

“Run where?” demanded Ekiel.

“To the marsh,” replied Clynch. “That's our only chance.”

“That devil of a dog has taken all my strength out of me.”

“Don't be afeared of him!” cried Clynch, unclasping the cuchillo, the point of which was as sharp as a needle.

Just then, a long bay proclaimed that the hound had got the scent, while the voice, stated by Ekiel to be that of Ned Rushton, was heard encouraging him.

The gipsies set off; but had not gone far when the formidable hound burst upon them through the underwood.

Quick as lightening, Clynch turned, and dropping on one knee, faced the enemy with the cuchillo in his hand.

For a moment, the hound fixed upon him a red, deep-seated eye, and then sprang at his throat.

But Clynch, whose gaze had never quitted the terrible animal, received him on the point of the knife, and drove the deadly weapon to his heart. With a fierce yell, the hound fell back.

Having thus liberated himself from his formidable foe, Clynch was making off, when Ned Rushton appeared.

Exasperated by the slaughter of his favourite, he discharged both barrels of his gun at the flying gipsy, but without effect. The shot rattled over the head of the fugitive, but did him no harm. Clynch quickly overtook his comrade; and, as soon as the ground became clear of underwood, they speeded off towards the morass.

XV. THE DEERHOUNDS.

|Meanwhile, Sir Leycester had not been idle.

He had sent off Ned Rushton with the bloodhound to unkennel the gipsies; but would not allow the other hounds to be unleashed.

However, when he heard the shouts, and caught sight of the fugitives, one of them with a bloodstained knife in his hand, running towards the morass, he shouted to Booth to loose the dogs, and, cheering them on, started in pursuit.

The deerhounds quite understood their business, and rushed after the gipsies at a tremendous pace, followed by Sir Leycester, who vainly endeavoured to keep up with them.

Marple, Booth, and the two grooms likewise joined in the exciting chase.

After a good run, Ekiel dropped; and as the hounds had to be pulled away from him, the incident caused a short delay, that enabled Clynch to reach the morass.

There was for no time hesitation, so he took the first path that offered--a narrow footway that seemed to lead towards the middle of the bog.

He soon found he had made a bad choice, for the path grew narrower, and the ground became soft.

But the deerhounds were after him, and behind them came Sir Leycester, who had ventured to ride along the pathway, in spite of the warning shouts of Marple and the others.

Clynch ran on a little further, and then stood at bay, preparing to defend himself against the deerhounds with the cuchillo, which he had never relinquished.

At this juncture, Sir Leycester's horse missed his footing, and slipped into the bog, and in the effort to recover himself, threw his rider over his head, completely engulfing him.

Cries of consternation arose from all who witnessed the accident; but they could render no assistance.

Marple, who had all along been apprehensive of disaster, flung himself from his horse, and hurried to the spot; but only to find that the unfortunate baronet had disappeared.

“Call off these dogs, and I'll help you to get him out!” shouted Clynch.

In the hope of saving the baronet's life, Marple complied; and as soon as he was safe from attack, the gipsy flung away the knife, and, setting to work, did his best.

But his help was of no avail. The horse was got out; but Sir Leycester had sunk, and could not be found.

Plenty of other assistance soon arrived. Booth, the coachman; Ned Rushton, the keeper; the turf-cutters--all were there.

But though every effort was made, and every available appliance used, more than an hour elapsed before the body could be recovered.

It was then conveyed to the Hall--Marple having gone on before, to break the sad intelligence to Lady Barfleur.

END OF THE FIRST BOOK