Chapter XXXII: Two Hearts

More than eleven years of seafaring life had accustomed me to danger. During the two years I sailed in the pirate ship I had often been within the jaws of death, for as all the world knows pirates are not dealt leniently with. I had been mixing with men of all nationalities, and had been engaged in all kinds of fray. Thus, I was never unprepared for a struggle. To be ready to meet danger was second nature with me.

Almost instinctively I settled on my plan of attack. They were two to one, so stratagem was required as well as strength. Noiselessly as possible, and with no parleying, I seized Wilfred, mastered him, and bound him, before he was capable of resisting. No sooner had I done this than I saw Jake Blackburn coming towards me, as if wondering what was the matter, but seeing a man almost twice as big as himself confronting him he took to his heels.

The struggle was so soon over that Ruth scarcely realised what was done. Wilfred, however, understood only too well.

"Jake, Jake," he shrieked, "help!"

"Jake is gone, Wilfred," I answered. "He will not help you."

"Roger, Roger," cried Ruth, "is that you?"

"It is Roger," I said, as calmly as I could, "but danger is not over yet. Will you lead the way to the high road, and then on to the Hall as quickly as you can?"

The servant came up just then. She had contrived to free herself, and now ran to assist her mistress.

Wilfred writhed and struggled, but I held him fast. This I had little difficulty in doing, as his hands were firmly tied behind him. Meanwhile Ruth, as if in a dream, led the way home. Silently, yet swiftly, we went on, I wondering all the time, not whether Jake Blackburn would return with his accomplices, if he had any, to carry out Wilfred's design, but whether Ruth still loved me.

I dared not speak to her. My tongue seemed tied, while she moved on like one in a trance.

Presently we came to the churchyard gates, and as we did so I could scarcely help shuddering. Like lightning the events of a year before flashed through my mind. Vividly I remembered going down the churchyard path and opening the old church door, in order to gaze on the face of the dead. But Ruth seemed perfectly unconscious of that which haunted me. A look of expectancy was on her face, and by and by she gave a glad exclamation as we heard the sound of wheels. In a minute more a carriage drove up and stopped at our side. I still held Wilfred by the arm, and he, doubtless feeling that resistance was useless, submitted quietly.

"Roger," said Ruth huskily, "you will come home with me?"

In reply I was about to enter the carriage with Wilfred by my side; but no sooner did she see this than she exclaimed as if in horror,

"Not him, Roger; no, not him."

"Then I will ride on the box by the driver," I said. "I will not let him go yet."

"But will you be safe?" she said, anxiously.

"Perfectly safe, Ruth," I answered.

Then she allowed the servant to help her into the carriage as if she were dazed, while I mounted the box with Wilfred.

We were not long in reaching Morton Hall, I realising more clearly each minute the position in which I was placed and the hopes dearest to my heart.

The old servant I had seen on my first visit was delighted as well as relieved at our advent, but looked strangely at Wilfred, and at my request silently opened the door of a room, and left us together.

I did this because, as I descended from the carriage, Ruth said:

"Say what you must say to him quickly, Roger, I cannot bear for him to be in the house. I cannot bear to see him again!"

And so he and I stood alone in the room into which we had been ushered, and in the flickering light I saw that his face was pale as death.

"You have won again," he said between his set teeth.

"Be thankful I have won, Wilfred," I said. "Supposing it had been otherwise, and you had succeeded in your designs. Would you have been any happier? Would you not have been haunted with the thought that you had ruined her life, besides condemning her to the hell of a loveless marriage?"

"And would I have cared for that?" he retorted, "My chief thought was to baulk you, to crush you, as the younger brother should crush the elder, when the elder has been unworthy of his name. To do this I would suffer hell, here and hereafter; to do this I would allow myself to be buffeted, scorned, hated; I would be as I have been, the vile plotter and cunning villain. And why? I hate you, partly because you have stepped into the place I longed for, but more because my mother taught me to do so. Ay, and I will hate you, and I will curse you."

"Wilfred," I said, "do not goad me too far. I wish you no harm; nay, I only wish you good. I have in the past sacrificed much for you; but if you plot against Ruth again, or if you lift a finger against her, I shall be obliged to crush you as I would an adder, not because I hate you, but because I care for others."

"And that's your love for me, is it?" he sneered.

"Yes, it is my love," I answered; "for I will not allow you to be more a devil than you are while I can prevent it. Remember, Wilfred, there is a law in England, and to that law I will appeal, and if that law will not give me justice, then, Wilfred, you know me, I will take you in hand, and I will lock you up as a fiend, a moral madman, that should not be at large. I will imprison you as I would a mad dog. I want no revenge, for I have no wish for it in my heart, although God only knows what I should have felt had you succeeded in your designs to-night. As it is, I only tell you to beware."

"And what do you intend doing with me now?" he said.

"Nothing," I said. "At first I held you to keep you from doing harm, but when I saw the carriage I brought you here, that I might give you this warning."

"And do you think I care for your warning?"

"I do not know, Wilfred; but in roving round the world for more than eleven years I have learnt to take care of myself. Depend upon it, I shall use that knowledge, not only to care for myself, but for others. Be careful then. Justice is sometimes as strong a feeling as revenge, and if needs be I shall take terrible means that justice may be done."

Upon this I cut the handkerchief with which I had bounds his hands, and he was at liberty. He snapped his fingers in my face.

"You have given me warning," he said, hoarsely, "Now I will warn you. First of all I thank you for what you have told me. I will heed your words, and you need not fear that I shall put myself within the reach of the law. Experience has taught me wisdom. But I tell you this again. If there is any power in evil, you shall suffer. If it is possible to sell myself to the devil that I may make you accursed, I will do it; if the curse of a man who hates can avail, your future shall be as black as hell, and your children and your children's children shall suffer too. I have told you this before, and I tell you so again. Not one penny of the money you can get out of Trewinion will I have; but I shall live, and you shall have reason to know it."

With that he went out and I did not seek to hinder him. I saw two of the servants, evidently under orders to do so, follow him as if to see him safely out of the grounds, and thus I was left alone.

I did not think of his words, nor did they have any effect upon me. I seemed to be encased in an impenetrable armour. Sorrow I did feel for him, but fear entered not into my heart.

For some minutes I sat alone, wondering what I should do. I had indeed found Ruth, and yet I knew nothing of her feeling towards me. I knew not whether I might hope, or whether the events of the long weary years had destroyed all her love for me. I longed to go to her, and yet I dared not. I longed to tell her of the great love that burned in my heart, but something hindered me from doing so. What should I do? I was in the same house with her, I had again rescued her from terrible surroundings, she had spoken kindly to me, and yet I remembered the look she gave me more than a year ago, and I could not nerve myself to seek her.

By and by a knock came to the door, and a servant entered.

"Please, sir, your room is ready," he said, and led the way to a bedroom.

I followed him bewilderedly, wondering what the end was to be. Everything was so strange that I scarcely realised what I was doing.

"Miss Morton told me to tell you that she would be in the library," he said as he showed me into the bedroom, and left me.

It will be remembered that I was more than thirty years of age, and yet no lover of eighteen could have felt more nervous than I. For the first time during eleven long years I dared to hope that I might be happy, and yet as I stood outside the door, longing yet not daring to enter, my limbs trembled like those of a woman in great fear.

At length I knocked timidly, and heard Ruth's voice telling me to enter, and in a second more we stood face to face.

She stood by the library table with an eager look upon her face. For a minute we did not speak, but looked steadily at each other.

How beautiful she was in spite of the long years of trouble and disappointment! True, the first blush of maidenhood was gone, for she was only four years younger than I, but she was beautiful beyond description. Little of stature, yet perfectly moulded, her great, grey eyes still possessed their old charm, while her brown hair made a fitting crown for so beauteous a face. To me, the rough sailor, who for more than eleven years had scarcely spoken to another woman, save Salambo's wife and my mother, she seemed like an angel.

All this flashed through my mind as her great eyes met mine.

"Ruth," I said.

"Roger," she sobbed, "thank God you've come."

I could not speak another word just then. I could only open my arms; but with a glad look on her face, and with a joyful cry, she laid her face on my bosom. And I--I was in Heaven. My happiness was beyond all thought, all hope. It was joy unspeakable to feel her in my arms, and to know that no cloud intervened.

"Ruth," I said after a while, "I have loved you all these long years, loved you when all was darkness, and when there was no hope. When my heart was full of hatred for all else, I loved you. Ruth, I have been a sinful man, rejecting God's help, and breaking His laws, but I have loved you."

She did not answer, save to sob as though her heart were too full for utterance.

"Can you not speak some word, to me, Ruth?" I went on. "I know you must have hated me when I left you more than a year ago, for in my madness I thought that I had----"

"No, no, Roger, I never hated you," she said, quickly. "I loved you all the time. I was mad, I think--and I did not know what I was doing, and I thought I should have died when I knew you were gone."

"And now, Ruth?"

"Can you ask, Roger, after--after all you have--no, no I do not love you because of what you have done, but because I cannot help it," and she clung more closely to me.

After that I remembered little that was said, and what still remains with me I cannot write down, for such joy as mine comes to man but rarely, and cannot be told to others.

By and by the dinner bell rang, and Ruth and I entered the dining hall together, where we found Mr. Inch, still stately and upright, but growing very feeble.

He had heard of my arrival, and now gave me a hearty welcome. I learnt afterwards that he had endeavoured to do all in his power to atone for the past, and that no one could be more true and faithful than he, after he had once shaken himself free from Wilfred's coils. And I found, too, that he had constituted himself Ruth's protector, and although she often had friends to cheer her in her loneliness, to the end she regarded him as her adviser and comforter.

When Ruth and I were again alone in the library, she asked me to relate all that had passed since I had left her on that terrible night.

Then I told her of the scene at my home on the night before, of Wilfred's avowal of hatred, and then of what had happened in the morning, and of Bill Tregargus's news. I described the journey to the Hall, and my inquiries of the servant, and at the cottage where I had been directed.

"He told me you were dead," she said hoarsely.

"I heard him," I answered.

"I did not believe him," she went on; "I could not, something told me even then that you were near me, and so I was not afraid--but oh, I shudder at it now."

"Thank God I was in time," I said; "and yet I cannot think he would have dared to do what he threatened."

"I do not know, Roger; I dare not think of it; but what passed between you after you came here?"

Then I told her all, told her of the curse which was said to belong to our race, and related how Wilfred had sworn that if it could reach me I should never know happiness.

"Do you think it is true," I said, at length; "or do you think these stories are only vague rumours and idle tales?"

"I cannot say," she answered. "Your mother told me many wild stories when I used to live at Trewinion Manor, and I thought they were true."

"Then," I said, "if it is true, I cannot allow you to link your life with mine. Why should I bring pain and sorrow on your?"

"I do not know whether these stories are true," she repeated; "but, Roger, I am yours always. If you are to have sorrows, I intend to bear them with you. I do not believe a curse can fall on a heart that is full of love like yours; but if you are to be cursed, Roger, I shall help you to bear it."

And thus there was light, even on the one black cloud of the sky of my life.