Chapter VIII: Meeting--Flight

Again came the muffled chime of the antique clock down-stairs; the quarter-hour.

Strange sight--the sentinel in the East Room moves. He cautiously lays aside his cutlass; his brogans he had taken off, as if to ease his feet, when he sat down.

Like a thief, he walks from his stool to the bed, then to the sofa. The sleepers are as those dead. He goes to the old door of the strong-room and lays his ear to each crevice.

"Too well-joinered yet," he says to himself, "for me to try opening my lips from here, were he close beside it. Will he hear this, I wonder!"

Gradually augmenting the sound, he imitates with his nails the scratch of a rat in the wall. But no responsive signal traverses the barrier. Nevertheless, when he repeats it he fancies that there filters to his ear, from the stillness within, a faint, prolonged whistle.

"It is the only way," he decides, raising himself from the floor.

The bolt is on the hall-door, as Captain Jermain directed. Our disguised knight need dread no interruption thence. He advances again, on tiptoe, to the motionless figure on the bed.

Drunken Roxley! Shake off your stupor, for one instant! Turn over, man! Murmur; do something that will startle this robber who is picking your pocket with the caution and address of one who realizes that his life is between his thumb and finger. But no; you merely snore, Roxley, and you do not start at the hand that by quarters of inches draws the key from its hiding-place. It is too late now; for he has glided from your side with it.

"Harmless sot!" thought Lord Geoffry, contemptuously. "Had my Lady Macbeth drugged his posset he could not be safer! Now, pray Heaven, Andrew left the lock as well-oiled as Boyd thought!"

The candle stood so that it had lighted him in his attempt, though screened from the eyelids of Roxley and Dawkin.

Once more he made his former signal. Then he inserted the key. It moved readily in the wards. He softly pushed open the door. There was no sound yet from the occupant. He stole back to the candle, returned with it, sheltering the flame with his palm, and, after a parting glance backward around the shadowy East Room, entered the cell, tiptoe.

The object of his scrutiny lay in a corner, where he had been secured to a staple, by a rope, in addition to his pinioned legs and arms. He had started into a semi-upright attitude and was maintaining it, despite his cords, leaning forward with a most miserably eager and despairing expression upon his wild countenance.

Lord Geoffry partially closed the door as he came in. He advanced with one hand raised, to remind the other of those so near them.

The prisoner showed that he appreciated the perilous situation by a nod. Another step or two brought the knight to his side.

"Do they sleep, out there?" whispered the captive, hoarsely.

"As if they were dead. Two in that room; the rest elsewhere. Did you hear my scratching? You expected me?"

"Yes, but I could make no louder answer. I caught Boyd's warning. Where is he?"

"Waiting until the half-hour strikes; with that he comes to the door of that outer room, and I can tell him whatsoever be these tidings you bring. What are you--a refugee? Ah, so I supposed. Trust me, then, with what you have to say. In a moment I will tell you why you may. We are all friends here."

"Great God!" interrupted the prisoner, in a bewilderment increasing each instant, despite the many emotions of the situation. "You are no servant of Boyd's! Are you his kinsman? I have heard your voice, seen you before! For the love of Heaven lean forward where I can see your countenance clearly. I am called Hugh Chisholm."

Lord Armitage complied. He must have expected, indeed, some special recognition; for at the sound of that low-spoken name, "Hugh Chisholm," he bent toward the other man, and in a distinct tone and with a piercingly anxious glance he repeated it--"Hugh Chisholm? Can it be the same Chisholm? And if you be from the Braes of Glenmoriston, and are sent to find in high-road or hedge one Lord Geoffry Armitage, and answer to his challenge of the Lost Cause"--and he whispered it--"I am he whom you seek, he who has despaired of meeting you or your fellows since he left Sheilar."

The self-control of the other seemed for an instant nearly overthrown. He murmured some words in a foreign tongue, with so passionate an inflection that Lord Armitage checked him.

"'Tis as I scarcely dared hope!" said the latter, continuing in the fluent French which his overjoyed interlocutor seemed entirely to understand. "Yes, you find me here. And that it should be you, and I, I not recognize you at sight! Did Patrick Grant send to Sheilar? I see; I had left the house before the message could get thither. Here, let me cut those thongs--the hounds, to so tighten them!"

Lord Armitage severed them; and he who had endured them was with difficulty prevented from kneeling at his feet, in what may have been a thrill of delight and gratitude--or another feeling. But there was only too much employment for the few moments, any one of which was liable to fatal interruption. As it was, some outside sound made their hearts stop beating; but all remained calm again, and they spoke on in lower and quicker voices.

"I would have been here early this afternoon but for this luckless meeting with Jermain and his men on the road, and their capture of me. I had a companion with me, Rab Kaims, but he escaped in the forest. I was in despair when they bound me; but scarcely could I believe my senses when I found that they had turned to Windlestrae, the very place where Grant expected us to find you! I was able to breathe part of my tidings in the ear of that lad--Boyd's son, I fancy--awhile since. He told you? So! My security rested in my feigning to be more wretched and wounded than I am. But, oh, Heaven! your daring, my gracious lord, bewilders me. Suppose that----"

"Suppose nothing, Chisholm! Long ago in Paris I used to tell you that destiny would support me through any peril. But what brings Danforth here so unlooked for?"

"In Neith, the garrison and he have suddenly suspected Boyd's politics to be quite mistaken hereabouts. Danforth gathered that a refugee had taken flight from Sheilar Manse in this direction. Yesterday Patrick Grant had word from Neith that Danforth was for riding over here after sunrise, examining Boyd and formally searching this manor. He comes; and you must be far away!"

"I far away, Chisholm? Truly. But where? Surely you cannot convey me to--to the place of which you and I know, in the short time between now and day-break?"

"I can! Why not? Morning must find us both there, in safety and among loyal hearts. Naught prevents. It is more than likely that Grant has provided for our being met on the way. The man Kaims is fleet. They will all rely on my escaping, be sure."

"Hark! No; that was not the half-hour. Concerning Boyd, one word." And Lord Geoffry spoke a sentence that made Chisholm open his wild eyes still wider and exclaim, "Impossible! But, for the love of Heaven, why?"

"Because I so chose--I scarce know why myself," answered Sir Geoffry. "And I _still choose;_ it must not be otherwise yet. But come; be it as you say! We will get away from this den of peril. God help Boyd and his household, when Jermain awakes and Danforth rides up to join him; for it will be found that two birds instead of one have flown."

"Aha!" returned the other, with a diabolic glitter flashing in his eyes that at once revealed the savage nature below, "but why must they wake, my liege? Are not these in our hand? One knife does their business before we quit this roof--saves Boyd--eh?"

Lord Armitage recoiled at the bloody suggestion.

"_Mort de Dieu!_ Would you slay the sleeping?" he cried. "Never--never. It were as foul murder as a Virginian savage could bring himself to do. Speak of it again, and I will cry out and we both shall perish! You chill the blood in my veins."

Chisholm looked at him curiously. But he recognized the determination in Lord Geoffry's attitude and accent and yielded, murmuring, "So be it. But because it is thy will. They would serve us thus, be sure."

"Chisholm, what will become of Boyd and his people when we are sought for? Oh, the thought is intolerable to me. Go you alone. I cannot leave them."

"If we stayed, it were no aid to Boyd," responded Chisholm, rising after him and taking his shoes in his hand; "and think of what your death"--the rest of the sentence he finished in Lord Armitage's ear, plucking the young nobleman imperatively onward. The outlaw locked the low door behind them with a cool and cautious hand and put the key into his own pocket, with a scornful smile.

Cautious of the candle's flickering light in the sleepers' eyelids, they emerged into the East Room. Boyd came in view as Sir Geoffry permitted his companion to pass through into the hall, where a lantern swung. The startled Master clasped his strong hands in consternation at beholding, not only the expected knight, but with him the prisoner, released from his fetters and walking upright, with so altered a mien. Evidently some new move had been found necessary. Boyd's cheek paled as he realized what would occur if Roxley should spring from his bed and cry out. He beckoned the fugitives away.

In a few low-uttered sentences Armitage described his successful attempt; and in the same breath disclosed the necessity for his instant flight from the Manor, along with the mysterious messenger. But more than that he had a private knowledge of Chisholm, and was positive that he could rely upon his efficient help, the fugitive seemed not to think it proper to disclose. However, Boyd had heard often enough of that singular brotherhood of loyalty and marauding, whose names and exploits have since become part of the history of the troubled time, and whose cruelty and courage in skirmish and raid terrified even the Tory troopers in relating--the Seven Men of Glen Moriston! Who, in turning over the pages of the chronicle of the "Forty-five," has not paused to admire the daring with which a handful of desperate spirits maintained themselves in a mountain fastness, defied pursuit, and, at last, their country restored to peace, died in their beds?*

With the Men of Glen Moriston, two of them acquaintances, Boyd had already had dealings; and he needed not now to be informed as to their fidelity and strength.

"There is but one course! You must be off without delay!" he exclaimed to Lord Geoffry. "The great God holds thee in his hand, that he suffers this warning to reach thee and still leaves open the way of escape. There must be no stopping for food or better clothing, or what not--though all that I have, my lord, you know, were at your service. Those to whom you go will supply you. Downstairs at once! I know the door best for your passage out. Come!"

Bewildered still, by want of preparation for this flight, which it was more than probable he would never retrace, Sir Geoffry obeyed. Boyd, who was barefooted, went stealthily to the lantern and took it from its hook. Step by step they descended the staircase after him, the lantern flashing fitfully upon the wall. Opposite the lowest step there chanced to be driven a row of wooden pegs for the hanging up of outside garments.

"It is chilly. We had best not go without better protection," suggested Chisholm, in French; and his eye falling on the pile of damp wraps that Captain Jermain and his men had cast there, the outlaw detained Boyd until he had coolly laid hands upon a couple of fine military cloaks, belonging to the dragoons, and, in spite of Boyd's dumb-show protest, also helped himself to a small leathern pouch which his deft examination showed him contained a purse and sundry trifling matters.

"It makes your false servant who releases me a genuine varlet," the outlaw argued. "Let us spoil the Egyptians."

But Boyd only thought, indignantly: "There shines the real thief-spirit, with a vengeance!" Gilbert gave them his own and Andrew's hats, and, turning through a short passage, led them into a kind of "lean-to" opening into the garden. A rude door, fastened with a stout timber-bar, was all that now interposed between the fugitives and the outside world of liberty.

The solemnity and regret of the instant entered deeply into the spirits of both the young and the elderly man, in spite of the awful possibility of an alarm ringing through the silent house, now, before the confident hands of the outlaw, already on the bolt, should lift it. The generous and grateful soul of the refugee was distressed with the reflection of the tempest sure to descend upon his protector and his household; if not from the negligent Jermain, who for his own sake would hardly dare to make too great a matter of Chisholm's escape, yet from the untimely visitation of the suspicious Danforth.

"We must not be shod until we reach the very end of the garden," cautioned Hugh Chisholm.

Lord Armitage scarcely heard the words. "Would to Heaven I did not thus leave you, Boyd!" said he to Gilbert. "Had I believed that such was to be our parting, I doubt if I had suffered our meeting. After all that you have done, all that I owe to you--Boyd, forgive me!"

"I have nothing to forgive, my lord. You came welcomed; whatever service I have offered has been welcomely tendered--you go to save your life when I cannot. Farewell!"

"But how shall I learn of your fortune after this morning's alarm and search? I cannot turn my back now, thinking that days may pass ere I do."

"Those who receive you will bear us tidings; you from me, I from you, if I live. Fear not for me and mine. The Lord is the Keeper of Windlestrae; we will not fear what man can do unto us. There will hardly be more than rough words and impudent questions."

Ah, self-sacrificing Master of Windlestrae! Even your guest feels that you are generously glozing over other pictures seen in your mind, as you thus encourage him.

"But when shall I see you? Cannot you assure me of that?" implored Lord Geoffry.

"I cannot, in truth. In better times, we must both pray; and better times are not likely soon to break. Come, no more of this! Farewell, my lord--each second is precious." He held the door open. "Go, go!"

The outlaw, indeed, beckoned in impatience. A puff of the chill morning air fluttered out the lantern. In the distance a cock crew shrilly. Lord Geoffry grasped Boyd's hand, and turned away.

"God protect you both!" murmured Gilbert, shivering in the wind. It was clear and cold; the fog in which Jermain had arrived had blown away, stars glittering overhead, and the bright dawn glimmering already in the East, in that region so early aglow. But as Armitage stepped from the stone threshold a sudden, last remembrance rushed over him. How could it have come so tardily?

"Boyd, Boyd!" he exclaimed, softly, in a tone that expressed the pang of remorse and regret assailing him. "Andrew! Where is Andrew? Good God! can I have so nearly forgotten him?"

The idea of departing thus, without a syllable to the lad who had devoted himself to him and exhibited such courage in his protection amid the environment of danger, was unendurable.

"He sleeps," replied Gilbert, chafing at further delay; "sheer weariness all at once overcame him. When I came down he lay on the floor of the attic chamber."

Lord Armitage pulled a ring from his finger. "It is better so. That to him, I beg; that, with my last adieux and my love. Say to him that it must remind him of the hour when we met, of that hour when we shall meet again. Heaven bless your boy! I hold him very dear."

Boyd took the ring. Lord Geoffry vanished after Chisholm in the cold and darkness.

*See Jesse's Lives of the Pretenders, vol. ii., pp. 136-142.