DESCRIBES MY JOURNEY FROM LAUNCESTON CASTLE TO A LONELY MANSION
ACCOMPANIED BY TWO WOMEN.
The events I have just described happened so suddenly that I was too
excited to think seriously who my deliverer could be. I knew that
Jenkins would arouse the other jailers, and that in a few minutes the
governor of the prison would be acquainted with the fact of my escape. I
was sure, moreover, that much as I believed he sympathized with me, he
would seek to do his duty as the constable of the castle and bring me
back to the prison again. It is true Otho Killigrew had promised to
arrive the next morning with a warrant from Hugh Boscawen to set me at
liberty, but upon this I could not depend. I knew, moreover, that should
I be brought to trial the fact of my attempted escape would go against
me. We had several things in our favour. I imagined that we were mounted
moderately well. My horse carried me with seeming ease, although it was
too small of bone to keep up speed through a long journey. The steeds of
my companions kept breast to breast with mine. In any case, it must take
Hugh Pyper some considerable time to get horses in order to follow us.
Then the wind blew from the northeast, and thus the sound of our horses'
hoofs would be wafted away from my late prison. It would be, therefore,
difficult for him to determine which way we had gone, especially as
about a mile out of the town there were several branch roads. The night
was dark, too, and thus to track us would be impossible, at any rate,
until morning came.
On the other hand, however, I was unarmed and practically alone. As far
as I knew my companions were two women, and although one of them had
effected my escape in a marvelous way, I suspected that if fighting
became necessary they would be a hindrance rather than a help.
This led me to think who they might be, and to wonder who it was that
had impersonated the witch Jezebel Grigg who had been buried in the
tower where I had been confined. For, once out in the free open air, all
superstitious dread had departed. That it was Uncle Anthony I could no
longer believe. True, the veiled figure was quite as tall as Jenkins, my
jailer; perhaps taller, but in no way did it remind me of the lonely
hermit with whom I had talked so long on the top of Roche Rock, and whom
I had left sick and wounded in the ruined chapel in the parish of St.
Mawgan.
Presently every fibre of my body quivered with a great joy, my blood
fairly leaped in my veins, and I could have shouted aloud for joy. My
deliverer was the maid Nancy! She had heard of my arrest, had traced me
to my prison, and had provided means for my escape. Hitherto I had been
the deliverer, I had schemed and fought for her escape from Endellion;
now all had changed. She had entered my prison walls and set me at
liberty, not for any selfish purposes of her own, but because of the
kindness of her heart.
The thought was joy unspeakable; at the same time it filled me with
shame. She whom I had been willing to betray into the house of Peter
Trevisa for a bribe, had dared a thousand things to save me from danger
and possible death.
A thousand questions flashed into my mind to ask her, but a weight was
upon my lips. She rode by my side, still covered with the dark mantle,
and still hooded. The other was doubtless her faithful serving-maid,
Amelia Lanteglos. True, her face was hidden and she spoke not, but even
in the darkness I thought I recognized her strong figure, recognized the
easy way she rode, even as hundreds of girls of her class rode in my
native county.
Meanwhile the horses dashed along freely, the road was good, and nothing
impeded our progress. When we came to the junction of roads close by
Lewannick, she did not ride straight forward towards Altarnun, but
turned to the left through Lewannick village, until we came to four
crossways, called Trevadlock Cross. Soon afterwards we reached another
church town, North Hill by name, close by which a friend of my father
lived, at a house named Trebartha Hall. But we did not stay here, much
as I should have liked under ordinary circumstances to have spoken to my
father's friend. We crossed the River Lynher, a clear flowing stream
which rushes between some fine rugged hills, and then continued on our
journey until we reached the parish of Linkenhorne.
"If we keep on at this speed, we shall be in the town of Liskeard in a
little more than an hour," I said presently, feeling that I could keep
silence no longer. Indeed I wondered much afterwards how I could have
been speechless so long, feeling sure as I did that the woman I loved
was by my side.
No reply, however, was made to me; and my companions never so much as
moved their hoods from their faces.
By this time our horses showed signs of fatigue; especially was mine
becoming spent, for I was no light weight to carry.
"It will be well to rest at Liskeard," I said, "if only for the sake of
the horses."
"No, we must not stay there."
She tried to speak in the same tone as when she had commanded John
Jenkins to open the door of the Witch's Tower, but I thought I detected
the voice I had learned to love in spite of the hoarse whisper.
"I have not spoken to you, Mistress Nancy Molesworth," I replied
quietly, "for I thought you desired not speech, and I would not have
said aught to you now; only in an hour it will be daylight, and my horse
cannot carry me many miles farther."
I thought I saw her start as I mentioned her name, while her companion
made a quick movement. But neither gave answer to my words. Silently we
sped along, my steed panting much but still holding out bravely.
Presently we came to a steep hill, and in mercy to the poor animals we
had to allow them to slacken speed; indeed I sprung from my saddle and
walked by my horse's head.
"We have ridden so hard that I have not had a chance to thank you for
this great service, Mistress Molesworth," I said; "indeed we had gone
several miles before I divined who you were. Words are poor, and they
cannot tell the gratitude I feel."
She made no answer to my words.
"At first I dared not believe it could be you; indeed I knew of no one
who could bring me deliverance;" and still she kept her hood closely
around her head, answering nothing.
"Your heart is kind," I went on, "and unlike women generally, you are
not afraid of danger. Believe me, I am not ungrateful. I am your servant
for life. I am afraid you are still in danger, and I rejoice that I am
free to help you."
Daylight was now dawning, indeed I could see the colour of her gray
cloak plainly.
"Will you not pull aside your hood?" I said, scarcely thinking of my
words.
She did not obey me, but I noticed her gloved hand tremble. I saw, too,
that she reeled in her saddle.
"You are ill!" I cried, and then I rushed to her side, for she was
falling from her horse. During the hours of danger and hard riding she
had shown no sign of weakness, but now the danger was far behind, her
woman's weakness overcame her.
As I caught her, she fell in my arms like one in a dead faint; so I
laid her carefully on the grassy bank beside the road. By this time the
other woman had dismounted and had come to her side.
"Watch here, while I go and fetch some water," I cried, and then seeing
a pool near by, I stooped and scooped some in the hollow of my hand.
When I came back, however, she was sitting up, and both women had drawn
their hoods more closely around their faces. If it were Mistress Nancy,
she did not wish me to recognize her. But it must be she, for who else
would have gone through so much to come to me? She must have travelled
with her companion some sixty miles through a lonely part of the country
in order to get to Launceston, and when there must have braved all sorts
of dangers in order to effect my liberty. The thought made my heart
swell with such pride and joy that my bosom seemed too small to contain
it. In spite of my baseness in selling myself to Peter Trevisa, she
could not altogether despise me. I knew now that I had never loved the
maid to whom I thought I had given my heart as a boy. My feeling for her
was only a passing passion, of no more importance than chaff, and as
light as thistledown. But all was different now. I was thirty-two years
of age, and I had given all the strength of my life to her. True, my
tongue was tied. I could not tell her of the fire that burned in my
heart--I was, I knew, unworthy. By that fatal confession, as we rode by
Tregothnan Gates through Tresillian, I had forever made it impossible
that she could think of me as I thought of her. Besides, I was homeless
and landless. Looking at her as she sat there on the dewy bank that
early spring morning, I would rather have lost my right arm than take
the wages of my service to Peter Trevisa. The purity and truth of her
life roused within me the nobility of my race. Better be a beggar from
door to door than accept the prize of base service. I who had ceased to
believe in the goodness of women, now realized that this maid made me
ashamed of all the past and caused to arise in me a longing for the pure
and the true. But my love for her was none the less hopeless. How could
it be, when I was minute by minute dogged by the memory of the hour when
I promised to be a Judas?
"Are you better?" I asked as gently as I could, for I knew how boorish I
had become through the years.
"Yes, yes; we must hasten on. We may be followed." This she said like
one afraid.
"But whither?" I asked. "If you would tell me your plans, your wishes, I
could perchance carry them out. But you are overwrought--you need rest."
"No, no, I am quite strong. I can easily ride another thirty miles," and
her voice was hoarse and unnatural.
"Even if you could, my horse is not fit to carry me so far," was my
reply.
"But you are not out of danger."
"We must be thirty miles from Launceston Town," I said, "and no one
could find me with ease even here. But to what spot did you intend that
I should go?"
It seemed strange even then that I should be following the plans of a
woman; strange that a simple maid, as I believed her to be, should
provide for me a safe hiding-place.
"I would rather not tell you," she replied; "that is, I think I had
better not. You can trust me?" This she said wistfully, I thought.
"In everything," I answered eagerly, "but will you trust me, too? You
are not fit to travel further, and after a few hours' rest we shall all
be better. Let us go to yonder farmhouse and ask for food and shelter."
"Such an act might be dangerous."
"No. All our Cornish folk are hospitable; besides, my money has not been
taken from me. I can pay the good folk well."
She eagerly caught at my proposal, so eagerly that I wondered at her
swift change of opinion. A few minutes later, therefore, I stood
knocking at a farmhouse door, asking for food and shelter for man and
beast.
At first both the farmer and his wife looked at us suspiciously, but
when I told him of my deliverer's weariness, how that she had fainted
and fallen from her saddle, they gave us a warm welcome. Half an hour
later, I sat with these farmer folk at breakfast, but my companions,
still keeping their hoods tightly drawn around their faces, had followed
the woman of the house into another apartment.
After breakfast the farmer's wife provided me with a couch, in what she
called "the pallor," where I gladly stretched my weary body and
immediately fell asleep. When I awoke the afternoon was well advanced.
Food was again placed before me, and after I had partaken thereof I went
out into the farmyard to look after the horses. I had scarcely reached
the stables when a sound reached my ears that made my heart sink like
lead. It was the noise of many voices, and was not more than a mile
away.
Without waiting a second I threw the saddles on the horses, and then
rushed into the house. The farmer's wife had left the kitchen, leaving
my companions alone. They were still closely hooded.
"Come," I cried, "we must start at this moment!"
"Why?"
"The hue and cry!"
"I am ready," she said, quietly but resolutely.
"Are the horses ready?"
"They are saddled and standing in the yard."
"Come then," and both left the room without another word.
At that moment the farmer's wife came into the kitchen again. Thinking
it would be unwise to tell her our reason for leaving suddenly, I threw
two guineas on the table, and then with a hurried good-bye left.
By this time the sound had become nearer, and my conjecture became
confirmed.
"It may not be you they are after," she said; "they would hardly come so
far."
Perhaps she was right. I remembered that hours ere this papers might
have been placed in Hugh Pyper's hands commanding him to set me at
liberty.
"Still it will be safer farther south," I said.
By this time we had mounted our horses and were galloping along the farm
lane which led to the high road. She whom in my heart I called my love
was still clothed in her long gray cloak, her face still hidden from my
sight. All weakness seemed to have left her now; she was the embodiment
of resolution, and courage, and strength.
The sounds of pursuers became fainter and more distant.
"If we go through Liskeard at this speed we shall attract attention, and
if the people be following us, they will be informed of the direction we
have taken."
"But we will not touch Liskeard," I said. "I know the country well now.
If you will tell me where you wish to go I will guide you by the least
traversed roads."
"Go to Lostwithiel then," she said; "after that I will act as guide."
Wondering at her words, I led the way through the village of St. Cleer,
leaving Liskeard on our left, until after more than two hours' hard
riding we came to the village of Boconnoc.
Arrived here, I stopped suddenly, for a suspicion entered my mind as to
the place she intended to go.
"Look you, my lady," I said, "we are at Boconnoc, five miles only from
Lostwithiel; will you tell me of your intended destination?"
"You said you would trust me," was her reply.
"I remember," I cried, harshly I am afraid, because for the first time
since boyhood the feeling of jealousy made me almost beside myself. "But
let me ask you one question. Is it your intention to go to Polperro?"
"And if I do not desire to go there?" she said, after hesitating a few
seconds, "what then?"
"I will go with you whither you will, asking no questions."
"But you do not desire to go to Polperro?"
I was silent, but I hoped that she understood my feelings.
"In three hours, four at the most, we ought to be at our journey's end
if we ride hard," she said, "until then I ask you to trust me."
With this I was fain to be content, and almost ashamed of myself, we
continued to ride southward. An hour later I saw that my suspicions were
groundless. We were going away from Polperro. After we had passed
Lostwithiel I asked her to be the guide, but she told me to lead on to
St. Austell, after which she would choose the road.
About two hours after dark we entered a part of the country that was
strange to me, but my guide evidently knew the road well, for in spite
of the darkness she never hesitated as to the way we should take.
Presently we came to a lane, down which we rode for some distance, and
then stopped at a small house, which in the darkness looked to me like
a lodge. No sooner did we stop than a light shone, and a minute later I
heard a gate swing on rusty hinges.
"All well?"
"All well," was the reply, which I judged was spoken by an old man.
We passed through the open way, after which I heard some one lock the
gates.
By this time the sky, which had been cloudy all day, cleared. There was
no moon, but the stars shone clearly overhead. As well as I could I
looked around me, and saw that we were riding along what seemed to me a
disused carriage drive. Huge trees bordered the way, the branches of
which nearly met overhead. The leaves were far from fully grown,
however; and thus looking upward I could see the stars twinkling.
The memory of that night will never leave me. Even now the feelings
which possessed me then come back. Everything seemed unreal. The dark
trees on either side of the way looked like tall spectres, the women who
had been with me since the previous night seemed mere phantoms of the
mind. The clank of the horses' hoofs grated on my excited nerves until I
felt like crying out.
Neither of us spoke. I was too much wrought upon. Perhaps they were.
What had seemed reasonable enough in the day appeared like madness now.
In spite of what I had seen and heard I could not believe that the maid
Nancy would expose herself to so much danger in order to rescue me.
Darker and darker became the road, for huge evergreens, laurels, and
rhododendrons grew between the oaks. Moreover, I saw that we were
descending into a valley. The night winds swept among the trees, making
sweet music, but to me it was like the dirge of death. A bat darting to
and fro struck my face with its wing, and an owl hooted dismally.
"How much further?" I asked, more because I wanted to hear the sound of
human voices than from desire to ask questions.
But no reply was given, and but for the love in my heart, I felt, strong
man as I was, like giving way to fear.
Presently I saw a faint twinkling light, and afterwards the dark outline
of a huge building appeared. A few minutes later we had come up close to
an ivy-covered house.
My companions dismounted and motioned me to do the same. Then out of the
shadows came a man and took the horses. I heard a bell clang through a
seemingly empty building, and then the door by which we stood opened.
"Come in."
I obeyed, feeling more than ever that my experiences could not be real.
"This way, please."
I followed my companion without a word along a wide corridor, after
which I descended some steps, until I imagined I must be below the level
of the earth. Then she opened the door of a compartment, and we entered
together.
It was a low-ceiled room, but looked comfortable and well-appointed. A
lamp burned brightly on the table, and a cheerful wood fire burned in
the chimney place. Before the fire a huge armchair was placed.
"Will you sit here and rest? I will return presently."
Mechanically I obeyed, and a moment later I was left alone. The room,
the house--everything was as silent as death. I walked around the
apartment, and stamped my feet to assure myself that I was not dreaming.
I held my hands before the wood fire, and lifted the logs from place to
place so that I might convince myself that I had not entered an
enchanted region, such as I had read about in my boyhood. Then I
examined the room more closely. I could nowhere discover a window. What
did it mean? Had I been removed from one prison to another? Had I been
mistaken as to the identity of my deliverer? Why had she kept her face
hidden? It must have been her. Who else would have undergone so much?
I sat down in the chair, and stretched my legs wearily. Twenty-four
hours before I had sat straining my ears in the Witch's Tower of
Launceston Castle, and now I was immured in a far more lonely spot. I
had asked no questions because I believed that the woman I loved rode by
my side. Had I done right?
A distant rumbling noise reached me. Where was I? To whom did this house
belong? By what right had I been brought here?
I heard a knock at the door, and a second later an old man entered.
"If you will follow me, sir, you shall have change of raiment, and
water to wash with."
Like one in a dream I followed him, and to my astonishment I found in an
adjoining compartment not only clothes but arms. A sword hung by the
wall, a pair of pistols lay on a table. The clothes were well made and
of good quality as befitted a gentleman.
"Here is all you will want, I think, sir. When you have washed and
dressed will you be pleased to go back to the other room?"
A few minutes later I had removed the muddy-stained garments which I had
worn in Launceston Castle, and had clothed myself in those which lay in
the room. They looked quite new, as though they had just come from the
hands of a tailor. They fitted me well, too; and I must confess to a
feeling of pleasure as I beheld myself.
When I returned to the room into which I had at first entered, I found
that the table had been spread for food, but no one was in it. Again I
sat down and tried to think, but my mind seemed a blank--I was dazed
with the experiences of the last twenty-four hours.
Presently my heart beat fast, for I heard light tripping footsteps
outside the room door. This was followed by gentle knocking.
"Come in."
The door opened, and to my joy Mistress Nancy Molesworth entered. She
met me with a smile, but there was, I thought, something distant and
repellant about it.
"Food will be immediately brought, Master Trevanion," she said. "I am
sure you must need it."
"I need something more," I replied.
"And that?" was the response. "Anything in my power to give, you shall
have."
"The removal of mystery," I replied. "I have spent the whole of this day
like one in a dream. I seem to be enveloped in shadows."
"I have much to tell you by and by," she answered.
"And much to ask, too, I trust," I cried. "You have saved me from I know
not what; for I know it is you to whom I owe everything. You will let me
serve you, for verily you need service."
"We will talk of many things at the proper time," she replied, "but food
is being brought."
Both of us stood silent while the old serving-man brought food; then
when he had gone she turned to leave me.
"Mistress Molesworth," I said, "you will not condemn me to eat my food
alone. May I be honoured with your company at supper?"
She hesitated a second. "Thank you," she said, "you will desire quiet
after so much excitement. I will return to you to-morrow."
I sat down with a sad heart, and ate the food with but a poor appetite.
During my meal I heard only one sound. It was that of a clock striking
the hour of midnight.
After supper I went into the bedroom I have mentioned, and fell into a
deep sleep, from which I did not wake till late next day. When I got up
I hoped to see Mistress Nancy at once, and so was mightily disappointed
when the old serving-man brought me a message from her telling me that
she would not be able to visit me till night.