Chapter XXXI: To the Rescue

For the first mile I rode almost without heeding the direction I was taking, or thinking of what was the best way to proceed.

My mind was too full of terror. Perhaps even then Wilfred with his devilish cunning was weaving a net from which my darling could not escape. Aided by the villain with whom he had been so friendly, he might destroy my happiness for ever. And so, unthinkingly, I allowed the mare to carry me whither she would. It did not matter, however. By a strange instinct, which I am sure some animals possess, she seemed to divine the road I wanted to go, and plunged forward joyfully.

I was no light weight to carry. It is true that the past year's sorrow had worn me very much, so that there was but little flesh on my great, gaunt frame; but I still weighed nine score pounds, and thus would tire any horse that had to carry me a long distance. I could not have ridden a more noble animal, however; I think she united all the qualities of strength and speed, and tore along the road as though she felt my weight no more than if I had been a feather. It was but little I had done in riding during the eleven years I had been away, but I found I had not lost my old skill, and soon I was able to bring Black Bess into entire subjection, and settled down into a good swinging trot.

I longed to gallop the gallant animal all the way, so anxious was I to reach Morton Hall; but I knew that she could not hold out at such a speed, so I patted her neck and gave her a few kind, caressing words, at which she whinnied a little and tossed her head proudly, as if to tell me she was prepared to go as fast as I liked.

Thirty-five miles. It was a long stretch of land, and difficult to cover quickly. In most places it was very hilly, which would often check our speed. I calculated, however, to get to Morton village in four hours. It was just after two o'clock when we started; by six we should get there if nothing was amiss. It was in the month of October, so that the day would be nearly gone ere I should see the old village church, which a year before had been the scene of such a wonderful event.

After riding an hour I was able to think more clearly, and to form some idea as to the steps I should take. I remembered that I had a cunning, unscrupulous man to deal with, one who, in his disappointment and jealousy, would stop at nothing. There were but little data on which I could build my theories, or form my plans. The first question that appealed to me was, What was Wilfred likely to do? What steps would he take?

From what Bill Tregargus had told me I gathered that he was going to tell her that I was dead, and again press upon her his suit, and then if she would not listen to him to--well, I knew not what.

But I was sure he would not dare to harm her in her own home, where she would be surrounded by so many servants and friends. No, he would seek to lure her away alone; where I could not guess; but knowing Wilfred as I did, I felt sure that this would be his plan. The execution of this plan would, however, be delayed till dark, so my hope lay in arriving before sunset.

Let no one think, then, that I was riding on a scheme of vengeance; on the contrary, my intention was to save. I hoped to save Wilfred from committing a dark deed, I longed to save Ruth from becoming a villain's prey. I had no desire to hurt either Wilfred or his accomplice. No good could come of that. To meet evil with evil is useless for any good purpose.

At length my heart began to beat loudly, for I knew I was nearing Morton Hall. I passed by the farm where a year before a buxom maiden had given me some new milk, and when I had ridden a little farther I saw a great clump of trees which I knew surrounded Morton Church. It was well that the journey was nearly over, for Black Bess was covered with foam, and by her spreading nostrils and hard breathing I knew she would be glad to rest.

Knowing nothing of Wilfred's schemes, I had no definite plans made; but I had been revolving a dozen in my mind, and determined, if necessary, not to hesitate to take bold action.

Just before coming to the village, I decided that it would not be wise to go to the inn. My brother would very likely stable his horses there and for aught I knew might have watchers on every hand. Where should I go, then, so as not to be noticed?

When last there, I discovered that there was no need for me to go into the village in order to reach Ruth's house. Perhaps it would be better to ride there direct, and make the necessary inquiries. Perhaps--God knows how I hoped it--she was still in the house, Wilfred not having been able to concoct a plan sufficiently plausible to get her away alone. If so, I should meet her, and be able to warn and protect her.

This I would do, then, but I dared not go dusty, dishevelled, travel-stained as I was. So I got off my horse, and washed myself in a streamlet that trickled beside the road. Then I picked up a wisp of straw and rubbed down the mare. It was but little I could do for her, but I wiped the foam from her, and made her look less conspicuous than she had been before. This done, I mounted again and rode direct to the Hall.

How my heart thumped as I neared the stately old mansion, and how I hoped and prayed that I might be successful in my mission! I thought not of myself now. My one thought was to save Ruth, and to save Wilfred.

Daylight had begun to fade as I rode up to the Hall door. A stable boy had seen and followed me. Without a moment's hesitation I flung myself from the faithful creature who had borne me so gallantly over those long weary miles.

"Take this mare, rub her down well, feed her well, and wrap her up warmly. And, stay--don't give her too much water."

He looked at me in astonishment, then a look of recognition came into his face. Evidently he had seen me before, for he grinned and touched his cap as he said, "I'll zee to 'er proper, sur."

I would have followed him and made sure that he did as I commanded; for, brought up among horses as I had been, I had learnt to care for them, and to see them properly provided for, but now, other matters were more pressing. So I threw him a crown piece, and hurried to the door.

Again the bell clanged through the old hall, again I stood with beating heart waiting for the answer, for now I was nearing the great crisis of my life--at least, it seemed so to me then.

The old servant I had seen a year before met me, and despite the dim light recognised me in a second--joyfully, I thought.

"Mr. Trewinion, sir," he said, quickly, "walk in."

Again I entered the house and with a fast beating heart.

"Is your mistress at home?" I said, hastily.

He looked up at me anxiously, I thought.

"Yes, sir," he replied, "she is at home; that is, sir, she is not at home now, but we expect her home every minute."

"Has she been far away?"

"No, sir; oh, no, she's only gone to the village."

"Do you know why?"

"Why, sir!" he said, looking at me strangely. "She's not gone into the village exactly, but to a little cottage just outside. You see, sir, she's mighty good to the poor, and she do visit 'em and carry things to 'em."

"Do you know the one she's gone to visit now?"

"Oh, yes, sir. She's a bedridden old woman. Mistress has been to see her many a time."

"Did she walk or ride?"

"Walked, sir; you see, she couldn't ride to Mrs. Bray's, her cottage is among the fields, and there's no carriage road."

"She is not gone alone?"

"No, sir," said the man, evidently wondering more and more at my questions, "one of the servants went with her to carry the basket.

"Have there been any callers here to-day?"

"No, sir, no one has been but Mrs. Bray's little maid, who came to say that her grandmother was worse."

"Ah! You are sure it was Mrs. Bray's granddaughter; you know the maid?"

"Know her, sir! Of course, know'd her ever since she was a baby; you don't think that----"

"How long ago did this girl come?"

"About two hours, sir."

"And how long since your mistress left?"

"Directly after the little maid."

"And the servant who is gone with her is trustworthy?"

"Oh, yes, sir; why sir, you don't----"

"Where is this old woman's house? Tell me quickly."

He told me the direction, and assured me that by going across the park I could reach it in less than ten minutes.

"I'll go and meet her," I said, as calmly as I could, "but if she arrives before I do, say nothing of my being here. I shall not be much later than she. But point out the road by which she will come."

He did so, and then wanted to send a servant with me; but of this I would not hear. I wanted no prying, gossiping servants to be around. The truth was I feared Wilfred had succeeded in sending Mrs. Bray's granddaughter on a false errand, or else had watched her and found out hers. At any rate, I felt sure that he would be cognisant of the child's visit, and would use it as a means to carry out his designs.

I hurried across the park like a deer when the hounds are behind it, cleared the fence that lay at its utmost extremity, and struck into a footpath that led to the cottage. The way was very lonely. A few straggling houses formed the village and the cottage was some distance from them. Two weak, defenceless women could easily be met and overpowered and without anyone being the wiser.

Wilfred was not likely to attempt to carry out his designs in daylight, so if the summons to Mrs. Bray's bedside were genuine, the chances were that Ruth would be allowed to pay the visit first. Perhaps she might be there even now, and if I went a little faster I might be in time to see her before she left the cottage. Filled with this thought, I rushed rapidly on to the little thatched house, and knocked at the door.

A little girl came, with a tallow candle in her hand.

"Does Mrs. Bray live here?" I said, pantingly.

"Iss, sur, she do," replied the child.

"Is she alone?"

"Iss, sur," wonderingly.

"Has any one been to see her this afternoon?"

"Iss, sur. Miss Murten 'ev bin."

"Miss Morton," I said, with a glad feeling at heart. "How long has she been gone?"

"Not more'n 'bout vive or ten minutes, sur."

"Has she gone down the lane?" I said, pointing to the one I took to be that of which the old servant at the Hall had told me.

"Iss, sur," said she, timidly.

Without another word I rushed down the narrow lane which led to a distant farm, then coming to a stile I jumped over it into a field.

Daylight was now quite gone, and I knew that I must be careful. True, I did not know that Wilfred and Blackburn had come to the village at all, but I must be ready for any emergency.

I could dimly see the footpath by the hedgerow, so I ran noiselessly along it, until I reached the end of the field, then I stood upon the stile and listened. All was silent as death.

"Surely," I said. "My fears are in vain. Ruth has gone quietly back to her home. If I am quick I shall overtake her."

With this hope in my heart, yet feeling terribly anxious, I rushed along the hedgeside, and had nearly traversed the length of the field when I heard what I thought was a smothered scream.

The sound was near me, too, it seemed to come from the other side of the fence which was just before me.

With beating heart I went stealthily forward and looked over the hedge into the other field.

In the dim light I saw four figures.

But there was no struggling. They seemed to have only just met, and as I looked I heard a voice that set my every nerve quivering.

"Wilfred," said the voice, which I knew was Ruth's, "how came you here?"

"I came to see you, Ruth," said Wilfred in low, subdued tones.

"But why did you not go to the house? I have been home all day, and my doors are never closed to any one bearing your name."

"I have met you here because I want to see you alone, and because I have some strange things to tell you."

"Well, speak on," she said, haughtily; "here, Clara, come and stand by my side."

"No," said Wilfred, hoarsely, "I want no servants near; I must speak to you alone, here, now. Jake, take this jade a few yards away and stay there."

Jake did as he was told, and the servant, having evidently seen Wilfred before, seemed to think no wrong. I saw Ruth look around her as if in fear, however, while I, scarce knowing why, waited for what should follow next.

"Wilfred," said Ruth, "this is strange acting. Never before has any one dared to treat me so; but you are an old friend, or I should say perhaps that I have known you a very long time, and so I grant your request. Speak, but speak quickly. Meanwhile we will walk home."

"No," said Wilfred, "I say what I want to say here."

"Why?"

"Ruth, I am a desperate man, and I must use desperate means. I am not going to be frightened out of my purposes; nothing shall stay my hand!"

He spoke with the old intense tone of voice that I knew so well, and I knew, as he said, that he was desperate.

"Well, what have you to tell me, Wilfred?" There was no fear in her voice. Evidently, she felt she was on her own land, and that no one would dare to molest her, where she was beloved by all.

"First of all, Ruth," he said hoarsely, "I am come to tell you that Roger is dead. News came last night of his death."

"Died! How?" she gasped.

"Hanged," he said, savagely. "The pirate vessel on which he sailed was captured, and he has been hanged. One or two of the crew were granted a reprieve, but Roger was the most bloodthirsty man among them, and to him no mercy was shown."

She did not speak, and, after being silent a second, he went on.

"I came to tell you that first of all; I thought you might be glad to know that he will plague you no more.

"Then, Ruth," he went on, "I am come to tell you something else. I cannot live without you, Ruth. I have been mad for love of you for long, long years. Oh, if you only knew, if you only knew!"

"Wilfred," she answered, "say no more about that. Surely you know that when I was nearly driven to marry you, the thought of it almost killed me. You cannot come with that petition again."

"But, Ruth, Roger is dead, and now I have come to beseech you to have pity. I am dying for you, Ruth. Oh, if you will only pity me, and if although you do not love me, you will fulfil my father's wish, and your father's wish, and wed me, you will save me. Save me from death here--from death hereafter."

He spoke with passionate earnestness, which I can never forget. He pleaded for her love as a man fearful of death might plead for his life. But to all his petitions she gave no encouragement.

"I cannot do as you ask, Wilfred," she said, "neither would my father, or your father, if either were alive, have me do it. My eyes have been opened as to their real wishes, and I cannot marry you."

"But, Ruth," he continued, "you do not know. My very existence depends on your answer. Do not think I care for your money; but, driven to madness by your constant refusal of my love, I have acted foolishly, I have blindly engaged in speculation, until Trewinion estate is no longer mine, except in name. If you do not have pity on me it will become the property of strangers, and those who care nothing for us or ours will possess it. My mother will be homeless, and the old rooms, which were my father's and--Roger's will be desecrated by others. For myself I care nothing, but I cannot bear that my mother should have to leave the home of our people."

She seemed moved at this, for in her pure guilelessness I do not believe she ever thought that Wilfred was seeking her for her wealth alone. Hence what he had said appealed to her, as my brother intended it should, as an additional reason for her to accept him. Still, it did not alter her determination.

"I will help you, Wilfred," she said, "if it is in my power to do so. I will see that all shall be well with your mother, but I cannot do as you wish."

"But why?" Wilfred asked hoarsely. "Roger is dead, and even if he were not you could never wed him when you know that his heart is full of murder. You know that he sought my life, and but for a fortunate----"

"I do not know it," she said passionately, "neither do I know that he is dead."

"What!" he exclaimed, savagely, "you believe that I----"

"I know that you have deceived me about him in the past," she said. "I know that you drove him from home. I know that you have tried to make me believe that he sought to murder you, but let me tell you this, Wilfred: If I believed he were dead, which I do not, and if he has been all you say he has, then, knowing you as I do, I cannot, will not, be what you ask. Now, I will go home. Stand aside, please?"

"You refuse, then?"

"Certainly, Wilfred. And now that I have yielded to your wish for this unseemly interview, I wish it to be the end of all such scenes."

"Ay, and it shall be, for I have a few words to say." His tone changed, and he spoke with haughty insolence. "We are in a lonely place," he said, "half a mile from a house. No one will molest us here, and you are in my power. I have begged you to grant my request, now you will have to yield to one of two alternatives. The first is this: The town of ---- is ten miles from here. You will ride there with me this very night, quietly, and remain there until arrangements are made for our marriage."

"What!" she exclaimed, "you seek to force me? You dare not do such a thing."

"I dare do anything," he said, "for I am a desperate man. Will you accede to this?"

"Never. I will die first."

"Then hear my other alternative. There is a vessel lying in the cove yonder. I have got it for this emergency. You will come with me now, and to-night we shall sail for a port where my wishes will be carried out in spite of you. Stop, if you scream or cry for help I will gag you, and Jake will do the same by your girl. He has my orders. Choose which you like, but one of them you shall do."

All this time I had listened as in a dream. For a time I seemed incapable of action. I was stupefied by the villainy of my brother, while my blood surged madly at the sound of Ruth's voice. It seemed so strange that I should have come thus, and be listening to such a conversation. At first I could not think it real, and yet I remembered I had ridden thirty-five miles to prevent whatever schemes he had concocted.

"Choose quickly," he went on after a pause. "I have no time to waste. Either you come to the three bridges, where horses are waiting, and ride to ----, and marry me as soon as it can be arranged, or you come to Pendugle Cove. I care not which, but as I am a maddened, desperate man, it shall be one or the other."

She did not lose her presence of mind. I do not think she realised her danger.

"Wilfred," she said, "I have long known that you were capable of much that was bad, but I never thought you were as bad as this. You have my answer. I will die rather than accede to either of your plans, and you dare not carry them into execution."

"But I will. Then you will wish you had consented. Jake, Pendugle Cove, and gag the girl. I will manage Miss Morton."

He laid his hand on her as he spoke. She gave a slight cry for help, which was instantly choked.

Then all my stupefaction left me. With one bound I cleared the fence, and in another second I was by Ruth's side.