HOW JANUARY CHANGED TO JUNE.
Now I had never seen the elder John Polperro, but I remembered his son,
and as I rode along I thought how unlike the two men were. So unlike
were they, indeed, that no one on seeing them together would suspect
them to be related. I paid but little attention to this, however, but
rather set to wondering why he was going to see Hugh Boscawen. Had news
of any sort reached him? Knew he aught of the plots afoot? After this I
felt certain I had seen the man somewhere. Some of the features I could
not recall; but the eyes and the protruding brows above them were not
ordinary. The possessor of those keen gray penetrating orbs was not of
the common type of humanity.
"Where have I seen those eyes before?" I thought; and then my side
burned and ached fearfully, just as I had felt it immediately after Otho
Killigrew had shot at me. My blood also coursed madly through my veins,
and I became much excited.
"Uncle Anthony!" I said aloud, and I was sure I was not mistaken.
Presently I cooled down again, and I was able to think calmly. Here then
were the facts. He was visiting Hugh Boscawen under the guise of the
elder John Polperro. He had, doubtless, become acquainted with the
success of Otho's search after me, and had gone to Tregothnan to confer
with the master thereof concerning the coming of the Pretender.
Moreover, I was sure that he would not go there unless some subtle plan
had formed itself in his cunning old brain. I knew that Hugh Boscawen
was no match for him, and that unless he were checkmated the King's
cause would perchance be ruined.
This being so what ought I to do? My first impulse was to ride back to
Tregothnan and inform Hugh Boscawen of my conviction; but I refrained. I
remembered the kind of man with whom I had to deal. Uncle Anthony would
know of my coming, and would naturally guess that I had penetrated his
disguise. This would allow him time to resort to other means in order to
carry out his purposes. After this I thought of writing a note to
Boscawen, telling him to arrest Uncle Anthony; but this I could not do.
I remembered the old man's kindness to Nancy, I thought of the evident
love he had for her. No, no--I could not do this, even although I knew
him to be the most dangerous plotter in the country. And yet I dared not
allow him to have his way with the man who was championing the cause of
the reigning king. After much thinking, therefore, I wrote a note in the
gatekeeper's lodge and commissioned the man to take it to his master.
This is what I wrote:
"_Act as though your visitor of this morning, who gives his name at
your lodge as John Polperro, had not called. I have powerful
reasons for this. At the same time listen to him as though you
desired to fall in with his plans. His information is not
trustworthy, of this I am sure._
"ROGER TREVANION."
This note I reflected would frustrate Uncle Anthony's designs, but would
not lead Boscawen to arrest the old man or do him any injury. So I
mounted my horse again and rode northward. I had no definitely formed
plans of my own, except that, despite the danger, I would go to
Restormel and seek to find Mistress Nancy. I could not help believing
that Otho Killigrew, notwithstanding the critical work he had to do,
would still find time to hunt down my love and work her harm. That he
knew of her being at Restormel was manifested by what he had said to me,
and I was sore afraid. Moreover, I had promised Hugh Boscawen that I
would meet his men in the woods, near the only spot a boat could well
land, at Veryan Bay. He had, he told me, arranged with his henchmen that
they should gather as many as possible of those who had taken up arms
for King George at this place, and that they should come as far as
possible, stealthily and after dark. His hope was that, though the
information I had given him came very late, at least two thousand men
would be lying among the woods at eleven o'clock that night.
As I have said, the danger was doubtless great in going to Restormel. If
the Killigrews could get hold of me I should fare badly. And yet this
very danger might make my entrance possible. They would never think I
should venture there that night, and thus they might be unprepared for
me. Moreover, I hoped that they would all be away at Veryan Bay,
regarding the welfare of a hapless maid as unworthy of their notice.
Anyhow, I made my way towards Restormel, and having fastened the horse I
had taken from Otho to a tree some distance from the house, I crept
silently towards it. No light shone from the windows, no sound reached
my ears. Seemingly the place was deserted.
I strained both ears and eyes without avail; it would seem as though no
form of life existed behind the dark walls of the house. Did not this
mean that Otho was still ignorant of the whereabouts of Nancy? Might she
not be still safe and well in that part of the house, the secrets of
which were unknown to the Killigrews. I had reason to know how
self-reliant and far-seeing she was, and I knew how faithful and shrewd
was Amelia Lanteglos her serving-maid. My heart beat loud with joy at
the thought.
Creeping nearer and nearer the road, I determined to try and find the
door from which I had come early that morning. It was hidden by
evergreens and difficult to find, but I fancied that if I went there and
knocked, either she or old Adam Coad would come to me. In any case, I
hoped I should hear news concerning her, for, as may be imagined, my
heart was torn with many fears, especially when I remembered what Otho
had said.
Presently I stopped, for I heard approaching footsteps; they came not
from the house, but from the lodge gates. I listened intently, and
before long heard the murmur of men's voices.
"You join us not then?" It was Otho Killigrew who spoke.
"No, I am no fighter. I do not see what I should gain now that the
affair has gone so far; besides it matters not to me who is king."
I detected young Peter Trevisa's voice, and instantly my mind was on the
alert. What had these two worthies been planning? I remembered that
Treviscoe was but a few miles from Restormel. Had Otho been visiting the
Trevisas? If so, Nancy had been the subject of their discussion.
"But the other matter is settled?"
"Yes."
"Then good-night. I have much to do ere midnight. But I can trust you?
And you can trust your men?"
"To be sure. They will do aught that I tell them."
"Mind, if you betray me or fail me----" this was spoken in a threatening
voice.
"I will see that my part is done, if you do yours."
"And I will."
The men separated. Their words conveyed but little meaning to me. That
together they had concocted some plan concerning Nancy I was sure.
I saw Otho stand still, as if thinking deeply, after young Peter Trevisa
had gone; then he made his way towards the shrubbery through which I
had come early that morning. Silently I followed. I ill liked the part I
was playing, but I thought of my love, and determined that I would do
all a man could. For my love grew stronger each hour, even although I
had no hope that she I loved cared aught for me. How my heart hungered
for some token of a possible affection for me no words of mine can
write. Again and again I tried to comfort myself with the thought that
did she not care for me more than ordinary she would never have braved
the dangers of helping me to escape from Launceston Castle, that she
would not have been so anxious for my welfare. But I remembered again
how she had told me that what she had done for me she would have done
for any one who rendered a service. Nevertheless, I knew that if she
could never care for me, I had still given my life to her, and that
until my limbs lay cold in death I must seek to serve her. For when a
man who is past thirty really loves for the first time, it is love
forever. True, I loved my country, and I had espoused the cause of
liberty and truth, because I could not help it, but Nancy's welfare was
more to me than these.
Thus I could not help following Otho Killigrew, and although my wound
pained me, I knew that strength would not fail.
Presently Otho walked down the very path along which I had come, and
made his way towards the door which Nancy had thought secret. Evidently
he knew the road well, for he hesitated not. Having reached the door, he
knocked three times, just as Mistress Nancy had told me to knock. What
did this mean? How did any one know of this?
I did not spend much time in surmising concerning the matter, for I knew
that Otho would have many ways of finding out things unknown to most
men.
The door opened as if by magic. I heard no footsteps nor noise of any
sort. Evidently the sound of his knock must have reached some one who
knew the secret of the opening thereof.
Without hesitating a second he entered, and immediately the door closed
behind him, leaving me outside. At this moment I knew not what to do. I
dared not make a sound, for I knew not who might be near. Perhaps a
dozen men might be lurking near the house, and if I made a noise they
would shoot me down like a rabbit or take me prisoner. And yet I longed
to know whither Otho went. I wanted to understand his purpose in
entering. I reflected that Nancy must be within. If the Killigrews had
not discovered that this was her hiding-place, she would naturally
remain there as she had said, and if they had found her out, no place
could have served their purpose better. Had she opened the door quickly,
thinking it was I who had knocked? Had she been expecting to hear my
footsteps? The thought filled me with joy even in spite of my anxiety;
and yet I stood among the shrubs powerless and alone.
Presently I heard the sound of voices. I could detect no words, but I
knew people talked near me. Their voices became louder and louder, and
by and by a cry like that of a woman in pain reached me. This came from
within the house, and once I was sure I detected Otho's voice, not soft
and gentle-spoken as was generally the case, but harsh and strident.
How I restrained myself I do not know. Indeed I feel sure I should have
attempted to break down the door had I not seen it open, seemingly
without hands, as it had opened before. A minute later Otho appeared
again. He did not look around, but hurried along the crooked path
between the shrubs. Now and then I heard him laugh in his low guttural
way, as though he had won a victory. He passed close beside me, so close
that I could easily have stabbed him to death before he had time to
defend himself. Why I did not, I do not know. Since then I have wished
that I had. But I have always loathed striking an unprepared man. So I
let him go, and shortly after I heard the sound of a horse galloping
northward.
When these sounds died away, I made my way to the door, and knocked
three times, even as Otho had knocked. But without effect. Although I
listened intently no sound of any sort reached me. The noise I made
echoed and re-echoed through the house, but no notice was taken. Again I
gave the signal agreed upon by Mistress Nancy and myself; but the house
might be empty for all the answer I got.
Now this troubled me sorely, for I was afraid lest my love should have
suffered some ill at the hands of Otho, and the closed door made it
impossible for me to render any help even if it were necessary. But I
would not be baulked. Rather than go away in suspense I would break down
the door, even though I brought the whole race of the Killigrews to the
spot.
I therefore struck the door loudly, and although I thought I detected
some sounds of movement within, I still remained outside. So I put my
shoulder against the iron-studded barrier and pressed hardly, and
although it yielded somewhat the bolts held firmly. My action, however,
must have told those within that I was determined to enter, for at this
time I heard footsteps coming towards me.
"No, you ca'ant come in," said a voice from within.
"Amelia--Amelia Lanteglos," I said aloud.
"Wait a minnit, Maaster Roger Trevanion," was the reply, spoken as I
thought excitedly, almost feverishly. Then a bolt drew back and the door
opened.
"Forgive me," said Amelia Lanteglos, "but I thought it was--somebody
else. Where did 'ee come from, sur?"
"I can't tell you now, Amelia," I said; "is your Mistress safe?"
"Saafe. Iss, sure; but she've bin purtly frightened."
"Yes."
"Maaster Otho mimicked the knock. Three times ya knaw, and I opened the
door. She ded think t'was he knockin' again."
"That is why I was refused admittance?"
"Iss, sur, that's ev et."
"Can you take me to your mistress now?"
"Iss, sur; come this way."
I followed the maid along dark corridors in perfect silence, she
muttering and laughing in a strange way; I feverishly excited, my side
paining me sorely, yet feeling no weakness.
Presently she stopped, and then knocked timidly at the door of an
apartment.
The only response that I heard was a piteous cry and a sob.
Amelia knocked again.
"I do not wish to be seen. I will not open the door. You can force your
way in if you dare, but you do not come here again with my consent."
And now there was nothing plaintive in the tones of her voice, it was
rather angry--defiant.
"I'll maake sa bould as to oppen the door," whispered Amelia; "she do
think tes Maaster Otho," and without further ado she suited the action
to the word, I entered the apartment, and Amelia left us together.
A lamp stood on the table, which was in the centre of the room, so that
I could see my love plainly. She stood as far away from the door as
possible, and her back was turned upon me. I caught sight of one of her
hands, and saw that the fist was constantly clenching and unclenching
itself. Evidently the poor maid was sore distraught, and the sight of
her sorrow rendered me dumb.
"Do you think, Otho Killigrew," she said slowly, still keeping her back
towards me, "that you can change my mind? You say I am in your power,
and that I have no friend to help me; well, if you had a spark of
manhood in you, you would cease to molest me, for you would know that
your very presence is loathsome. Now go, and leave me to find what peace
I can."
Her words filled my heart with joy and sorrow at the same time. Joy,
because it was not I who was loathsome to her; sorrow, because she stood
there helpless and alone, and because I felt myself unable to help her.
And thus all I could think upon to say, and that in a very husky voice,
was:
"Mistress Nancy."
She turned herself round quickly, and I saw her eyes gleam with the
fires of hatred and anger. Her face was pale and hard, her whole body
was rigid; but as her eyes caught mine, a change came over her as quick
as a flash of light. In a second her eyes became soft and humid, her
hands became unclenched, her form lost its rigidity, and a rosy flush
mantled her face. It was as though a cold cruel night in January had
changed to a smiling June morning.
Her lips parted to speak, but she only uttered one word, but that word
opened the gates of Heaven to me.
"Roger!"
It was a cry of surprise, of infinite relief, of untold joy.
I opened my arms. I could not help doing so, and I am sure she saw that
my eyes burned with the fires of love. I took two steps towards her, my
arms still extended.
"Nancy," I said.
Then she came towards me and fell upon my shoulder.
"He told me you were in the power of the Killigrews," she sobbed, "and
that to-night you would die."
I held her to my heart a moment, knowing nothing, understanding nothing,
save that I was in Heaven. I had never hoped for this. Did such a mad
fancy enter my mind, I had dispelled it as something as impossible as
Heaven might be to a lost soul. Oh! but I never knew the meaning of life
or joy until that moment. She my dear, dear maid, lay with her head
pillowed on my shoulder, while her shining hair mingled with my own
unkempt locks.
"And did you care?" I said like one in a dream, for truly my joy made me
unable to say the words that were wise.
At this she started back, like one ashamed. I saw the tears trickling
down her cheeks, and a look which I could not comprehend come into her
eyes.
"Oh, it is you, Master Roger Trevanion!" she cried. "Forgive me, I--I
did not know. I think I--I am overwrought. You will pay no heed to the
foolish words and action of--of one--who--who knew not what she was
doing."
But I was eager, fearless, determined now. Knowing my own unworthiness
as I did, I could not forget the look in her eyes as she uttered my
name.
"Nay, Nancy, my love, turn not away!" I cried.
"But--but--I must--I--I did not know. Oh! what must you think of me?"
she sobbed like one ashamed.
"I think you are the best and purest maid God ever sent on earth," I
answered. "I--I--O my love, come to me again!"
But she stood still, her hands trembling and her bosom heaving.
"You--you must forget my foolishness, forget it forever," she said
wildly. "I was so afraid, I did not know what I was doing!"
"No, I shall never forget it," I replied, "never, never! A man cannot
forget Heaven, even though he may have felt it only while he draws one
breath. O my dear, dear maid; come to me again. I love you better than
name, home, liberty, life. I have never dared to tell you before. I am
so unworthy, but I love you, love you!"
"But, but----" she cried piteously.
"No, no," I said, "let there be no buts. I cannot bear that you should
turn away from me now. I have loved you for many weary, weary
days--hopelessly, hopelessly. I dared not tell you till now--but do not
repulse me."
"And do you want me--really want me? That is, you--you do not despise me
because----"
"Mistress Nancy--Nancy, my dear one," I said, growing bolder each
moment, although I wot not what to say, for truly my love made me as
foolish as a child, "all my life is bound up in you; I care for naught
but you, and I mind nothing now you are near me. Even my wound hurts me
not one whit now."
"Your wound?" she cried. "What wound?"
"Oh, it is nothing," I answered, vexed with myself for being such a fool
as to mention it; "my side was only grazed by the pistol-shot."
"What pistol-shot? When? Where?"
"It was only a scratch--this morning--when--when Otho fired at me this
morning."
"Then you are hurt, you are wounded?"
"No, not now. O my love, will you not come to me?"
Then she rushed to me. "But, but you are not--that is, you are not----"
She did not finish the sentence, for she lay sobbing on my shoulder
again, just as a babe might sob on its mother's breast.
"And do you care?" I said again. "Oh, will you not speak to me once
more? Will you not tell me what--what I long to hear?"
"You are safe--that is, you are sure you are not hurt--that is very
badly?"
"No, no; I mind nothing. I am quite well. I shall be happier than words
can tell if you--you will only tell me you love me."
"I--I am afraid I told you too soon," and this she said with a laugh
that had a sob in it, but the sob contained no sorrow, and still I was
not satisfied.
"But my love, tell me," I cried, "tell me really, for I shall never be
content until I hear the words from your own lips."
"Oh, I cannot, I am so ashamed," she sobbed. "I did not mean you should
know until you--had first told me--that is,--O Roger, I am so happy!"
And after that I could doubt no longer, for she lay in my arms
contentedly and as if she knew no fear, and then I cared for nothing.
The dangers which surrounded me I minded no more than the old knight in
armour might mind the threats of children, for although I was homeless
and nearly friendless, my heart throbbed with a joy which until then I
never believed possible.
"Roger," she said again presently, "I am so ashamed, but I could not
help it, and--and I _am_ happy; but--but--tell me again what you told me
just now."