Chapter XV

CONSTERNATION AT THE CASTLE--FRIGHT AT THE LANDING.

Two days passed after our hero’s removal to the inn, and not a sign from old Donald. Percy had visited the castle and reported progress to the earl. He told how the pirate chief had been arrested, and how he had made his escape with two bullets in his arm.

“He must have had help,” said the old nobleman, “or the officers who took him did not wish to keep him. The story sounds to me like a fable of his own invention. You say he is trying to make his men your enemies?”

“Yes, my lord. He is leaving no stone unturned that can work to my injury.”

“Then, depend upon it, the story of the arrest is all a sham, and so are his wounds. I know our Headlandshire constables better than that. But wait till we have him in sight.”

“It can not be long, my lord.”

“I pray it may not be.”

Late on the evening of this second day, so late that Percy had retired to his chamber at the inn for the night, as he sat by his small table reading, he was disturbed by a rap on his door, and upon bidding the applicant to enter, the door was opened by the rosy-faced host, who ushered into the room Donald Rodney.

“My dear old friend!” as soon as the landlord had gone and closed the door, “what now? You know I am glad to see you under any circumstances, but something unusual must have happened to bring you hither at such an hour.”

“Something unusual has happened, Percy, and I thought you’d like to know. This evenin’, along about eight, or just when it was fairly dark, a boat from the landing came alongside with Abel Jackman in it. He, ye know, is Cap’n Tryon’s servant. He came aboard with orders for three men--Gurt Warnell, Bryan Vank, and Jack Dormer--to come with him and join the cap’n on shore. P’raps ye know, and p’raps ye don’t, them is three of the very worst--the bloodiest villains of the lot. Well, they went ashore with Jackman, but where they’ve gone or what it all means I’ve no more idea than the man in the moon. All is, I made an excuse that I’d got business ashore that couldn’t be put off, and here I am.”

“You don’t know whether Tryon is here in town or not?”

“No, I’m not sure anything about it; but the fancy kind o’ strikes me that he is. Something that Abel Jackman said give me the idea that he couldn’t be a great way off.”

“And you know nothing more about him?”

“Not a thing, my dear boy. If anything comes to my knowledge, you shall hear of it.”

Percy called for a bowl of punch, which the old seaman preferred to wine, and after a social chat on various matters, but chiefly on the subject of the pirate chief, and his possible intentions for the future, the visitor took his leave.

Our hero, when left alone, paced to and fro in his chamber, far from satisfied with the appearance which matters connected with Ralph Tryon had assumed. He did not like it at all. Why had the villain thus come back under cover of night? And why had he sent off his servant to the brig, instead of going himself? And, further still, what did he want with those three men? He remembered them very well. They were comparatively young men, young in years, but evidently old in crime.

They were strong, muscular, brutish fellows, in all probability from the slums of the metropolis. These were the men whom the chief had called to his aid. Once more, what did he want with them?

For a full hour the young man remained up, a prey to various and conflicting emotions, and not until he had become too worn and weary to think further did he seek his pillow.

On the morning of the following day he was up with the sun, and he asked of the landlord that he might have an early breakfast.

He had promised Cordelia that he would come up to the Castle, and go with her to the river if the day was fair. He had run his best boat up to the Park landing, as it had been their intention to enjoy a sail. He feared now, however, that they might have to postpone it. The news he had received of the presence in the neighborhood of Ralph Tryon made a difference.

He did not feel that he ought, for any length of time, to be beyond easy reach of Donald Rodney. But he would go to the castle, as he had promised, and explain the situation; and he had no doubt that the proposed sail would be given up cheerfully.

After that he would see the earl, and inform him what had happened; and then he might return to the village and await further intelligence from his friends of the brig. About this, however, he could not decide until he had seen Cordelia and the earl.

Good Martin had his young guest’s breakfast ready for him about as soon as he was ready to sit down; and, as a matter of sociality, ate with him. But he found not a very entertaining companion. There was too much in the youth’s mind--too much that was perplexing and harrowing--to admit the introduction of new topics to his thoughts.

The old publican understood, and gave him full sympathy; so the meal passed off very cheerfully after all.

And then, away for the castle. He went on foot; but many horses would have gone more slowly. He covered the ground as does one who walks for a wager, or on whose speed depends momentous results. In fact, he was very anxious; and there was no particular reason, known to him, why he should be.

He knew very well that his darling would not complain at the loss of her sail, when she came to know the cause of its postponement. Yet he was anxious.

It was not eight o’clock when he reached the castle. His watch said, ten minutes of it.

“Ho, Master Percy! the young lady and her maid have been gone this half-hour. Her ladyship said we were to tell you that they’d be found at the landing, where your boat is, or so near by that you can’t miss ’em.”

So said old Michael, the steward, who was the first person our hero saw on his arrival.

“You are sure she said to the landing, Michael?”

“Of course I am. I put up the luncheon for ’em; and she told me how she was going when I gave it to Mary.”

“She knows which landing it was that I left my boat at?”

“She said the Park landing, and there is but one that I know of by that name.”

“That is so,” the young man nodded, and then, without stopping for further remark, he turned about and started toward the river.

His course was in a northerly direction, and the distance to the landing three-quarters of a mile. Not quite two-thirds of the way was down the gentle slope of the open, velvety park, and beyond was a belt of woods, but entirely free from wildwood or the tangle of underbrush.

The trees, however, were of the old forest growth, standing near together, forming a solitude grand and imposing. The woods extended to the river’s bank, and the path which Percy was following led directly to the landing.

He began to look for his darling and to call her by name as soon as he had entered the strip of forest, but he saw nothing nor did he receive any answer.

Pretty soon he was at the landing--a platform of chestnut plank, built out to deep water, so that vessels of goodly draught could lie alongside it.

His boat was there as he had left it, but empty.

He looked up the bank and down, and he called aloud, in the end shouting with all his might--and his voice was powerful--but no response did he receive.

At length he thought of looking for the girls’ footsteps, and he found them very soon. At only a short distance from the river was a place where a bed of fine yellow sand had been spread entirely across the path, and here, as plain and distinct as could be, were the footprints of the two girls, and freshly made. He compared them with the prints which his own feet had made on the previous day, when he had brought up his boat, and then with those which he had made on this present crossing. The result convinced him that the girls had crossed only a short time before.

And they had not gone back! No; they had gone down toward the river, as their footprints showed, but there was no sign of their feet going in the other direction.

Where could they have gone? He went back to the landing, and there shouted once more. Then he started upon a swift run up the stream. On the way he happened to think that there were spots where tracks would be found if they had gone in that direction. He looked, and found none.

Then he went down the shore, and with the same result. Not anywhere could he find a sign beyond the landing. The girls had certainly made their way to that point. Aye, he found their tracks close to its inner edge. He stood upon the outer edge of the platform, looking about him, when his eye chanced to droop, and suddenly he caught sight of a white object like a bit of fine lace or linen fluttering upon one of the posts below.

He got down to it as quickly as possible and brought it up. It was a fine, lace-bordered handkerchief with the monogram worked with crimson silk in one corner--“C. C.”

Merciful heaven! What did it mean? Had she fallen into the flood? Had one of them fallen in, and the other nobly followed to save her companion? Again he searched in the new direction.

The current in the river was not rapid. He could row his boat against it without great labor. Yet it was sufficient to sweep a human body away if its owner could not swim.

The anxious, half-frenzied man now cast free his boat, and floated down the stream until he knew there could be no use in his going further, and he had seen no sign either in the water or on the bank.

Slowly he pulled back and made his boat fast again. What could he now do better than to return to the castle? Perhaps he would find them there. Something might have frightened them and sent them back; or Cordelia might have felt unwell and gone home for that cause.

If he did not find them he could give the alarm and set the servants of the household upon the search. And the sooner that was done the better.

So back to the castle he went. It was near ten o’clock when he arrived. Had Lady Cordelia come home? was his first question. The old steward looked at him in wonder. How did he expect her to come home, when she had gone away on purpose to sail with him in his boat? No. She hadn’t come.

While they were speaking--they were in the main hall--the earl joined them. He had heard, and recognized, young Maitland’s voice, and he was anxious to know what had brought him back so soon, and, he was sure, alone. The story was quickly told.

The old man was in agony. That some direful calamity had befallen he was sure.

“Oh, Percy! Percy! We must find her! You will not forsake me in this great need?”

“Forsake you, my lord; I would give my life at this moment, were she in danger, to rescue her from it! My hand and my heart are yours until she shall be found. We shall find her, sir. I am sure we shall find her--though it may take time. Oh, no one could harm her! Who could have the heart?”

“Oh, Percy, those dreadful pirates! They know that I have been ordered to put forth my hand against them; and this may be a means they have adopted for gaining a powerful hold upon me!” And from that moment the earl seemed to look upon the smuggler’s son as his one stay and support.

Percy’s thoughts took a different direction from those of the earl. He was inclined to regard Lord Oakleigh as the villain whose hand had thus been laid upon them.

Look at it in what way he might, he could not put away the belief. Not only the young lord’s character--his heartlessness, his recklessness, and his desire to possess the lady--pointed him out as the probable culprit; but he had made threats--he had sworn to the girl herself, with a horrible oath--that he would make her his own very soon.

Yes. Percy believed Lord Oakleigh to be the man; but he would not say so yet. Time should show. First, however, they must gain some sign--some token of the whereabouts of the missing ones.

The servants had collected and a general interchange of opinions had taken place--as weak and aimless as such interchanges usually are--when the earl, after a time of painful thought, looked toward the smuggler’s son, and finally went up to him and laid his trembling hand on his shoulder.

“Percy Maitland, find my darling! I am old; I am shaken. I am not what once I was. Oh, find her! find her!” And he then turned to the servants and instructed them that to Maitland they were to look for direction, and he charged them to obey him in every particular. And so the search commenced, the earl himself going with them. He could not lead, nor could he remain behind.

Meantime where were Cordelia and Mary Seymour?

On that morning Cordelia arose with the sun. Percy had promised her, if the weather should be propitious, that he would have his boat at the Park landing, and take her, with Mary, to sail on the river.

She arose and looked forth; and never had she beheld the promise of a more beautiful day. She called her maid, and bade her go to the steward and have a basket filled with a proper lunch for three persons, after which she repaired to the apartment of the cook and asked for breakfast.

She wanted it at once--for herself and Mary--because she was going away. She was not particular about much cooking. She had eaten cold victuals before, and could do it again.

Everything went to please her, and by the time the sun was two hours high she was ready to set forth. She went in to kiss her grandpa, but he had not arisen; so she left word for him where she was going and with whom. The hands of the old clock in the hall were pointing to quarter-past seven as the two girls passed through, and ere long they were beyond the castle walls, tripping merrily along one of the graveled walks of the park, but the fresh, cool breeze of night had prevented the fall of dew, so they took the velvety sward when the fancy struck them. Percy had said on the previous evening that he would come to the castle for them; but she was confident he would come by way of the river bank and the landing, so it could make no difference, only in this, they would gain so much more time for the sail. If he had not reached the landing on their arrival at that point they would wait there for him.

They had crossed the open slope of the park and entered the woodland path when they heard voices away upon their left--the voices of men, as in ordinary conversation. They stopped for a time and listened. Mary suggested that they should turn back; but her mistress bade her to wait and listen. They stood thus for several minutes, hearing not another sound.

“Ho!” cried Cordelia, in her brave confidence, “what should harm us here? Why! this is a part of the park.”

“But there were men, certainly,” said the maid; “and of course they must have been strangers.”

“Honest men, you foolish girl, who have been out thus early to catch a few fish for breakfast.”

“Then they must be poachers, my lady; and I’m sure they are not honest men.”

Cordelia laughed merrily at her companion’s witty retort, and shortly afterward they started on again toward the river. They reached the landing, where they found the boat in waiting, but no boatman.

“Percy is not here!”

“You did not expect to find him here, did you, lady?”

“Why, no; but I thought we should surely meet him. However, he will soon be here. It is past the time he set.”

“For meeting us at the castle, lady, not here.”

“Pshaw! What do you take me up so quickly for, Mary? You make me quite nervous.”

“Dear lady, pray do not pay any attention to what I say. I suppose I am a little timid. At all events, I can not help wishing we had not come here alone.”

“Well, to tell the plain truth, Mary, I begin to wish so myself. But it is too late to cry now. He will not be long after this. Ah! What’s that? A man! A stranger!”

Yes, as the last words addressed to her companion fell from her lips she was startled by a quick footfall behind her; and on looking around she beheld a man advancing rapidly toward her, and presently she saw that he was not alone.

There was another, and another; aye, and still another, four of them in all; and a more rough and villainous set she had never seen.

In fact, the foremost man--he who seemed to be the leader of the others--was the very worst-looking, the most wicked and cruel looking human being she had ever set eyes upon.

He was a man tall and stout, dressed in the garb of the sea, though the material was rich and costly.

The velvet was of the finest; the silk and satin seemingly of the softest; a massive gold chain around his neck was attached to his watch, while a large diamond of purest water sparkled in the silken kerchief loosely knotted at his throat.

His face reminded her of a wild beast, and nothing else. His full beard, long, thick and shaggy, and the mass of hair that covered his head, were like the mane of a lion in color and character. His eyes, gleaming beneath the overhanging brows, were bright like fire and black as coals.

In an instant Cordelia thought of Ralph Tryon, the pirate chief. Percy had described him to her minutely, and here he certainly was.

With a low, faint cry, and with her two hands clasped over her bosom, she started back, but she could not move far in that direction, as the edge of the platform was directly behind her.

“Sweet lady,” the man said, his voice hoarse, as voices are apt to be that have been long used to rising above the roar of the tempest, “I trust you are not afraid of me.”

He bowed as he spoke, and looked at her with an expression which she could not translate, though it appeared to her one of cruel malevolence.

She noticed now that he carried his right hand pushed inside the bosom of his vest, and she remembered what she had heard of his being wounded in that arm.

“Lady!” he pursued, after a lengthy pause, “have you no word for me? May I not be permitted to hear the sweet music of your voice?”

“Sir!” our heroine returned, struggling with all her might to speak calmly, or at least coherently--“who are you? Why have you thus placed yourself in my way? What would you with me?”

At this point, and before the chief could reply to the lady’s demand, one of those behind--a dark-visaged, low-browed, villainous-looking man--came to his side and whispered something in his ear. His words Cordelia could not distinguish, but she had no difficulty in distinguishing the response.

“Aye, Gurt, you’re right,” the tawny chief said. “The sooner we haul our wind out o’ this the better it may be for us. Bryan! Jack! This way, and lend a hand. Mind now, no roughness! Handle them as lightly as you can.”

And the three men, thus commanded, moved forward.

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