ON THE ROOF OF ENDELLION CASTLE.
As I have said, the task I had set myself was not an easy one. First of
all, I should have to leap several feet to a ledge, which was by no
means wide, and then I should have to grasp the pipe, as well as some
ivy which had climbed up by its side. If I failed to reach the ledge I
should fall, I knew not how far; or if the pipe yielded to my weight,
the same thing would happen. But I did not hesitate. My blood was hot,
and the spirit of adventure overmastered me. Besides--and I must
confess it if I will tell my story truly--in spite of my hatred of
women, I felt a great desire to see the maid I had promised to take to
Treviscoe. I recked not of consequences--nay, I had a sort of pleasure
in dangerous deeds.
So I made the leap without hesitation, although a curious feeling
possessed me as I thought of the yawning darkness underneath me. I
reached the ledge in safety, and the thing I grasped held firm. Then,
without waiting a second, I started to climb. It was weary work, for the
ivy yielded, and the crevices wherein I could stick my feet were few.
But I had often attempted this kind of thing as a boy, and before long I
placed my arm round one of the huge merlons which the ancient Killigrews
had caused to be placed there; and in a few seconds I lifted myself up
so that my head was raised some distance above the stonework. I had
scarcely done this when I heard a slight scream, which came so suddenly
that I was in danger of relaxing my hold. Instinctively divining what
this meant, however, I made a low sound suggesting silence, and before
long stood on the roof.
It had been a hard climb, and I panted freely, looking round meanwhile
for the one who had screamed. At first I could see nothing but chimneys;
but presently I saw two dark forms hiding by a portion of the roof which
stood somewhat higher than the rest. I walked slowly towards them.
Even now I am conscious of a strange feeling at heart as I remember
that night. For there in the bright moonlight appeared a spectacle which
was almost awesome. The sight of the sea and the rock-bound coast burst
suddenly upon me. Below, hundreds of feet down, the waves cast
themselves on the beach, which was studded with huge masses of rock. The
sea shone in the light of the moon, and behind the crest of every wave
was a great streak of silver lustre, fair to behold. Far out, I could
see the waves a-dancing, while here and there the lights of distant
vessels shone. Away to the right, Tintagell, perchance the mightiest
coast-rock in England, lifted its hoary head, while to the left the
bare, rugged cliffs, in spite of the soft moonbeams, looked chill and
drear.
And I was there--behind the battlements of the home of the
Killigrews--alone save for the presence of two helpless women. All this
came to me quickly--I seemed to realize it in a moment; and then I shook
the feeling from me, for I remembered I had work to do.
"'Tis he," I heard a voice say, which I recognized as that of Amelia
Lanteglos. And then I saw the other maid, whose face was partly hidden,
turn towards me.
"Be not afraid," I said as gently as I could; for though I would have
little to do with them, I loved not to frighten women.
"What would you, sir?" said a voice, low and sweet. "Amelia, my
serving-maid, hath persuaded me to come here to-night. It is against my
better judgment I have come, but----" then she stopped as though she
knew not how to finish what she had begun to say.
I cannot deny it, I felt something like pity for the maid. Her voice was
sad and plaintive. It suggested weariness, loneliness--and no man is
unmoved by such things. I felt ashamed, too. I had promised to take her
to Treviscoe, to be the wife of Peter Trevisa; for I had little doubt
but that if those two men once got her there, they would try to frame
arguments strong enough to make her yield to their wishes. But this was
only for a moment. I reflected that women were as little to be trusted
as April weather, and would veer around like a weathercock. I remembered
my own love affair, and called to mind the words the girl Boscawen had
said to me only a few days before she threw me over for Prideaux.
"I would speak to you alone for a few minutes," I said, wiping the sweat
from my forehead.
"Your hand is bleeding," she said kindly; "and--and how did you get
here?"
"I climbed from the old castle wall."
"But it is impossible--it could not be! No one could do it!" This she
said in low, broken whispers, but like one frightened.
"But I am here," I replied grimly; "and there was no other way of
getting here from my chamber. One has to risk something if you are to be
saved from the Killigrews."
"What do you know of the Killigrews?" she asked eagerly.
She followed me a few steps out of ear-shot of the serving-maid, still
keeping her face hidden.
"I know that you are to be the wife of Otho Killigrew, unless desperate
measures are taken," I replied. "I know, too, that Benet Killigrew
professes to love you."
"How do you know?"
"You are Mistress Nancy Molesworth, are you not?"
"Yes, and you are Master Roger Penryn, so my maid tells me. But I do not
know you."
She let the shawl with which she had wrapped her head fall, and for the
first time I saw her face. She was but little more than twenty years of
age, and in the moonlight looked younger. As far as I could judge, her
hair was of chestnut hue, and it flashed brightly even in the night
light. Her face appeared very pale, and her eyes shone as though she
were much excited; but she was a very beautiful maid. She was not of the
timid, shrinking kind which some men love, but stood up before me
bravely, for the which even then I was glad. Nor was she little, and
weak; rather she was taller than most women, and shaped with much
beauty.
"It matters but little whether you know me or not, if you will trust
me," I said. "Believe me, I have come to take you away from this den of
cutthroats to a place of safety."
"Where?"
"Where would you go?" I asked.
My head was bare, and my face was plainly to be seen, so bright was the
night. I felt her eyes fastened upon me, and it seemed to me as though
she were reading my innermost thoughts. But I was not to be baulked by
a girl, so I tried to appear unconcerned as she gazed.
"You met John Polperro at the Arundells," I continued. "He has offered
his hand to you in marriage, but your guardian refused. Last night he
came here and repeated that offer, but it was declined. He is a fine
fellow, Polperro, and spoke boldly."
"I know," said she--speaking, as I thought, more to herself than to me.
"After your guardian had refused his request that you might become his
wife," I went on, "he offered you a home in his father's house. He spoke
hotly, indiscreetly, but still as an honest man; that offer was also
refused. Perchance you have been informed of this?"
She did not speak, nor did she make any sign whatever.
"It is impossible for Polperro to help you now. If he again appears in
the neighbourhood, he will receive steel for a welcome. But I admire
him. I am always proud to call such as he my friend; so if I can take
you to his father's house, I shall be doing a good deed, and rendering a
service to one he loves."
This I said in a stammering kind of way, for somehow the girl's eyes
made me feel uncomfortable. I wished she would not look at me so
steadfastly.
"Know you Master John Polperro?" she asked presently.
"Else why should I be here?" I responded, wishing I had adopted some
other plan of action. I hated this underhanded method of work, and the
maid's eyes looked truthful. I should have felt far more at ease could I
have taken her away by force than have subjected myself to this kind of
work. Still, circumstances had made force of such kind impossible. Had
the maid been allowed her liberty, I might have accomplished my purpose
differently; but being a safely guarded prisoner, I had to gain her
confidence.
"And you came here by his wish? You are trying to do what he found
impossible?"
I bit my lip with vexation. Why should she ask such questions. Was I not
planning to take her away from a place where she was unhappy?
"It was no easy thing to get from my bed-chamber here," I replied
evasively. "A single slip, and I should either have been killed or
crippled for life. Neither is it an easy thing to deal with these
Killigrews. But for my promise to the man, I tell you I would not have
attempted it."
"Your promise to whom?" she asked, and I cursed myself for being a fool.
Why could I not have boldly told the necessary lies? I had intended to.
Chance had given me the finest possible opportunity. I found no
difficulty in trying to deceive old Colman Killigrew. Why, then, should
this chit of a maid make me stammer? What could be more easy than to
tell her that I, being a stranger to the Killigrews, and a friend of
John Polperro, had come here to take her to a place of honour and
safety?
"To whom should my promise be given?" I said. "I spoke to your maid that
she might tell you of my desire to meet you. I have risked my life to
get here, and I have a difficult game to play with the Killigrews."
I was angry beyond measure with myself for telling of any danger I had
encountered. Had I been acting a straightforward part, I should not have
mentioned it; but now I had a feeling that such words were necessary.
"If you will consent to trust me," I went on clumsily, for I felt her
eyes upon me as I spoke, "I will arrange plans whereby I can take you
away. I could be ready by to-morrow night. It could be done without
detection. A rope could be fastened around yon battlements--it is only a
dozen feet or so to the old castle walls. From thence it is not
difficult of descent. I could get horses in readiness, and in a few
hours we could be out of danger."
"And if you were discovered?" she asked abruptly.
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to fight the Killigrews," I
replied grimly.
I knew there was a gulf between us. She did not trust me. She doubted
every word I was saying. I wished the light were not so good, so that
she might not see my face so plainly. And yet I had her at advantage.
She loved not the Killigrews--she hated the thought of wedding Otho.
Probably I appeared as her only hope of escaping from them. I could see
the girl Amelia Lanteglos watching us closely. Doubtless she was
wondering as to the upshot of our conversation.
"Do you think I gain any advantage by coming here?" I went on like a
fool. "I never saw you until this hour. I have no spite against the
Killigrews, they never harmed me. It would not harm me if you were to
marry Otho. Possibly he would make you as good a husband as--as another.
But I--I gave a promise that I would set you free, if I could. However,
if you prefer to fly to the open arms of Otho,--well----" I shrugged my
shoulders, and tried to hum a tune as I looked across the shining sea.
I know I said this brutally; but the maid angered me--angered me by the
truthfulness of her looks, and the way she made me bungle the thoughts I
had in my mind.
She continued to look at me steadfastly. Perhaps she remembered that if
she accepted my offer, and if I succeeded in effecting her escape, she
would have to travel alone with a man of whom she knew nothing.
Presently she seemed to have made up her mind.
"You seem to be a gentleman," she said; "you speak as if you----" she
hesitated as though she could not put her thoughts into words.
I remained silent.
She made a sudden movement forward, and placed her hand on my arm. "I am
alone, helpless," she said. "I am surrounded by those I cannot trust. I
hate--loathe the thought of----" again she stopped suddenly; then,
looking straight into my face, she said: "Are you what you seem to be?"
It came upon me like a clap of thunder, and, like a schoolboy
discovered in theft, I hung my head.
"Is your name Roger Penryn?" she asked.
"No!"
"Do you know John Polperro?"
"No!"
The words came from me like shots from a musket. I could not tell a lie
with the girl's cruel, truthful eyes upon me. They choked the falsehood
in my throat, and I felt myself to be the sport of this maid who knew
nothing of the world. I was glad I had told the truth, and yet I
reproached myself for being beaten at the first definite move in the
game I was playing. Probably the whole thing had been rendered
impossible by my madness. Trevanion was gone from me forever; but, worse
than that, I should have to confess to Peter Trevisa that I had failed
to do the thing I had promised--that I had bungled most miserably.
I turned to go away. I would speak no more with her. She had been too
much for me--she, a simple maid scarcely out of her teens. I had
scarcely taken a step, however, before she stopped me.
"Then you are another tool of the Killigrews," she said. "There are not
enough of them, and they must needs hire you. Not being able to work
their will with me, even although I am a prisoner, they must needs use
some other base means to accomplish their purpose." This she said
passionately, yet with fine scorn.
"There you are wrong, Mistress Nancy Molesworth," I said warmly, for she
had wounded me sorely. "I am not the tool of these people. Nay, my life
is in danger while I stay here. But enough of that. You refuse to accept
my help?"
"How can I accept the help of a man who comes with a lie on his lips?"
she cried;--"who comes professing a false name, and who pretends to be
the friend of a man to whom he never spoke. How can I trust a man whose
every action and every word is a lie?"
"Had I been a liar," I said, "I could have deceived you easily; but
enough. There is no need that I should weary you with my presence. Some
time perhaps----"
"If your name is not Roger Penryn, what is it?" she said; "and why have
you tried to raise my hopes only to deceive me?"
I opened my mouth to tell her my name, but I could not utter the word. I
could not tell her I was a Trevanion, nor relate to her my purpose in
coming hither.
"It is not well I should speak to you further," I said. "But I have
wrought you no harm. Neither would I if you had trusted in me. Nay, as
God is my witness,"--and this I cried out passionately, for somehow the
maid dragged the words from me,--"I would have let no harm have happened
to you!"
With this I walked to the spot where I had ascended, and prepared to
descend.
"Stop!" she whispered. "It will be far more difficult to go down than it
was to come up."
"What of that?" I replied grimly.
"Because,"--and a blush mantled her cheek,--"there is another road
down. Look, yonder is the stairway."
"There is a sentinel."
"He is a lover of my maid," she replied. "She would lead him away a few
steps out of sight while you got to your own chamber."
"But I should have to pass through your apartments."
"Amelia shall show you the way. I will remain here."
"No," I replied, for I was angry with her. "I will not be beholden to
you in any way."
For the first time she looked at me kindly, but I took no heed. I placed
my arm around the merlon, and then, grasping the gutter, lowered myself.
I had often accomplished such feats, and this fact helped me now. In a
few minutes I had reached the ledge, and a little later stood on the old
castle walls again. Arrived there, I stopped and listened; but no sound
reached me. I looked up, and saw that the maid Nancy Molesworth had
followed my descent--saw that she was watching me now. There was an
expression of wonder, of bewilderment, on her face. Doubtless she was
seeking to divine who I was, and why I should come to her. I was sure
she wanted a friend, too. But I knew not what to say--I had forfeited my
right to help her. I suppose I was foolish at the moment, however. Most
men are at times.
"Good-night, Mistress Nancy Molesworth," I said. "Remember that I am
your friend. Perhaps some day I may be able to show it." Then I
squeezed myself into my bed-chamber, feeling ill pleased with myself.
I pulled off my clothes, and got to bed; but I could not sleep. Two
conflicting forces were at war within me. One moment I reproached myself
as a fool for not being able to deceive a slip of a maid without
stammering. The next I found myself pitying her, and calling myself a
traitor to my name for not seeking to rescue her from the Killigrews.
Sometimes I cursed myself for being as easily moved as a boy of
twenty-one, not able to withstand the simple questions of a
convent-school girl; and again I reproached myself for yielding to Peter
Trevisa's wishes, and undertaking a work unfit for a man of honour.
Presently a more serious matter presented itself to me. Should I abandon
Peter Trevisa's commission? The maid had practically rejected my offer.
Should I go back to Treviscoe and tell him that I had failed? Should I
forever carry around with me the memory of the fact that I had made a
promise to do a thing, and then at the first difficulty I had given it
up like a puling girl? I had taken his money, I had given my word that I
would do his work;--could I give it up? Even although Trevanion did not
lie at the end of the business, it were unfair and cowardly to fail in
my undertaking thus. Well, supposing I decided to make a second attempt;
suppose I decided to devise new means to take the maid away--there were
many obstacles in my road. Old Colman Killigrew expected me to depart
the next day. I had promised to take his messages to some Catholic
families in the south of the country, and I should have no excuse for
staying at Endellion. Once outside the house, my power to do anything
would be gone.
"Let it be so," I said to myself angrily. "I will leave the whole
business in the lurch. Let old Peter do his work as best he may, and let
the maid Nancy Molesworth fight her own battles with these Killigrews.
To-morrow I will start for London, and there I will seek for work more
congenial to me. If this Charles comes to England, King George will need
good swords." But even as these thoughts passed through my mind, I was
not satisfied with them. I felt I should be playing a coward's part, and
was seeking some other way whereby to better satisfy myself, when I
heard a low knocking at the door. I did not speak, and the rapping
became louder.
"Who is there?" I asked, like one awaked out of sleep.
"Otho Killigrew," said a voice.