TORN ASUNDER.
When Dacres made his attempt upon the house he was not so unobserved
as he supposed himself to be. Minnie and Mrs. Willoughby happened at
that time to be sitting on the floor by the window, one on each side,
and they were looking out. They had chosen the seat as affording some
prospect of the outer world. There was in Mrs. Willoughby a certain
instinctive feeling that if any rescue came, it would come from the
land side; and, therefore, though the hope was faint indeed, it
nevertheless was sufficiently well defined to inspire her with an
uneasy and incessant vigilance. Thus, then, she had seated herself by
the window, and Minnie had taken her place on the opposite side, and
the two sisters, with clasped hands, sat listening to the voices of
the night.
At length they became aware of a movement upon the bank just above
them and lying opposite. The sisters clasped one another's hands more
closely, and peered earnestly through the gloom. It was pretty dark,
and the forest threw down a heavy shadow, but still their eyes were by
this time accustomed to the dark, and they could distinguish most of
the objects there. Among these they soon distinguished a moving
figure; but what it was, whether man or beast, they could not make
out.
This moving figure was crawling down the bank. There was no cover to
afford concealment, and it was evident that he was trusting altogether
to the concealment of the darkness. It was a hazardous experiment, and
Mrs. Willoughby trembled in suspense.
Minnie, however, did not tremble at all, nor was the suspense at all
painful. When Mrs. Willoughby first cautiously directed her attention
to it in a whisper, Minnie thought it was some animal.
"Why, Kitty dear," she said, speaking back in a whisper, "why, it's an
animal; I wonder if the creature is a wild beast. I'm sure I think
it's very dangerous, and no doors or windows. But it's _always_ the
way. He wouldn't give me a chair; and so I dare say I shall be eaten
up by a bear before morning."
Minnie gave utterance to this expectation without the slightest
excitement, just as though the prospect of becoming food for a bear
was one of the very commonest incidents of her life.
"Oh, I don't think it's a bear."
"Well, then, it's a tiger or a lion, or perhaps a wolf. I'm sure _I_
don't see what difference it makes what one is eaten by, when one
_has_ to be eaten."
"It's a man!" said Mrs. Willoughby, tremulously.
"A man!--nonsense, Kitty darling. A man walks; he doesn't go on
all-fours, except when he is very, very small."
"Hush! it's some one coming to help us. Watch him, Minnie dear. Oh,
how dangerous!"
"Do you really think so?" said Minnie, with evident pleasure. "Now
that is really kind. But I wonder who it _can_ be?"
Mrs. Willoughby squeezed her hand, and made no reply. She was watching
the slow and cautious movement of the shadowy figure.
"He's coming nearer!" said she, tremulously.
Minnie felt her sister's hand throb at the quick movement of her
heart, and heard her short, quick breathing.
"Who _can_ it be, I wonder?" said Minnie, full of curiosity, but
without any excitement at all.
"Oh, Minnie!"
"What's the matter, darling?"
"It's so terrible."
"What?"
"This suspense. Oh, I'm so afraid!"
"Afraid! Why, I'm not afraid at all."
"Oh! he'll be caught."
"No, he won't," said Minnie, confidently. "I _knew_ he'd come. They
_always_ do. Don't be afraid that he'll be caught, or that he'll fail.
They _never_ fail. They always _will_ save me. Wait till your life has
been saved as often as mine has, Kitty darling. Oh, I expected it all!
I was thinking a little while ago he ought to be here soon."
"He! Who?"
"Why, any person; the person who is going to save me this time. I
don't know, of course, who he is; some horrid man, of course. And
then--oh dear!--I'll have it all over again. He'll carry me away on
his back, and through those wretched woods, and bump me against the
trees and things. Then he'll get me to the road, and put me on a
horrid old horse, and gallop away. And by that time it will be
morning. And then he'll propose. And so there'll be another. And I
don't know what I _shall_ do about it. Oh dear!"
Mrs. Willoughby had not heard half of this. All her soul was intent
upon the figure outside. She only pressed her sister's hand, and gave
a warning "Hus-s-s-h!"
"I know one thing I _do_ wish," said Minnie.
Her sister made no reply.
"I do wish it would turn out to be that nice, dear, good, kind Rufus
K. Gunn. I don't want any more of them. And I'm sure he's nicer than
this horrid Count, who wouldn't take the trouble to get me even a
chair. And yet he pretends to be fond of me."
"Hus-s-s-h!" said her sister.
But Minnie was irrepressible.
"I don't want any horrid stranger. But, oh, Kitty darling, it would be
so awfully funny if he were to be caught! and then he _couldn't_
propose, you know."
By this time the figure had reached the house. Minnie peeped over and
looked down. Then she drew back her head and sighed.
"Oh dear!" she said, in a plaintive tone.
"What, darling?"
"Why, Kitty darling, do you know he really looks a little like that
great, big, horrid man that ran with me down the volcano, and then
pretended he was my dear papa. And here he comes to save me again. Oh,
what _shall_ I do? Won't you pretend you're me, Kitty darling, and
please go yourself? Oh, ple-e-ease do!"
But now Minnie was interrupted by two strong hands grasping the
window-sill. A moment after a shadowy head arose above it. Mrs.
Willoughby started back, but through the gloom she was able to
recognize the strongly marked face of Scone Dacres.
For a moment he stared through the darkness. Then he flung his elbow
over.
There arose a noise below. There was a rush. The figure disappeared
from the window. A furious struggle followed, in the midst of which
arose fierce oaths and deep breathings, and the sound of blows. Then
the struggle subsided, and they heard footsteps tramping heavily. They
followed the sound into the house. They heard men coming up the stairs
and into the hall outside. Then they all moved into, the front-room
opposite theirs. After a few minutes they heard the steps descending
the stairs. By this they judged that the prisoner had been taken to
that room which was on the other side of the hall and in the front of
the house.
"There dies our last hope!" said Mrs. Willoughby, and burst into
tears.
"I'm sure I don't see what you're crying about," said Minnie. "You
certainly oughtn't to want me to be carried off again by that person.
If he had me, he'd _never_ give me up--especially after saving me
twice."
Mrs. Willoughby made no reply, and the sisters sat in silence for
nearly an hour. They were then aroused by the approach of footsteps
which entered the house; after which voices were heard below.
Then some one ascended the stairs, and they saw the flicker of a
light. It was Girasole.
He came into the room with a small lamp, holding his hand in front of
the flame. This lamp he set down in a corner out of the draught, and
then turned to the ladies.
"Miladi," said Girasole, in a gentle voice, "I am ver pained to haf to
tella you dat it is necessaire for you to separat dis night--till
to-morra."
"To separate?" exclaimed Mrs. Willoughby.
"Only till to-morra, miladi. Den you sall be togeder foravva. But it
is now necessaire. Dere haf ben an attemp to a rescue. I mus guard
again dis--an' it mus be done by a separazion. If you are togeder you
might run. Dis man was almos up here. It was only chance dat I saw him
in time."
"Oh, Sir," cried Mrs. Willoughby, "you can not--you will not separate
us. You can not have the heart to. I promise most solemnly that we
will not escape if you only leave us together."
Girasole shook his head.
"I can not," said he, firmly; "de mees is too precious. I dare not. If
you are prisonaire se will not try to fly, an' so I secure her de
more; but if you are togeder you will find some help. You will bribe
de men. I can not trust dem."
"Oh, do not separate us. Tie us. Bind us. Fasten us with chains.
Fasten me with chains, but leave me with her."
"Chains? nonsance; dat is impossibile. Chains? no, miladi. You sall be
treat beautiful. No chain, no; notin but affection--till to-morra, an'
den de mees sall be my wife. De priest haf come, an' it sall be
allaright to-morra, an' you sall be wit her again. An' now you haf to
come away; for if you do not be pleasant, I sall not be able to 'low
you to stay to-morra wit de mees when se become my Contessa."
Mrs. Willoughby flung her arms about her sister, and clasped her in a
convulsive embrace.
"Well, Kitty darling," said Minnie, "don't cry, or you'll make me cry
too. It's just what we might have expected, you know. He's been as
unkind as he could be about the chair, and of course he'll do all he
can to tease me. Don't cry, dear. You must go, I suppose, since that
horrid man talks and scolds so about it; only be sure to be back
early; but how I am _ever_ to pass the night here all alone and
standing up, I'm sure _I_ don't know."
"Alone? Oh no," said Girasole. "Charming mees, you sall not be alone;
I haf guard for dat. I haf sent for a maid."
"But I don't want any of your horrid old maids. I want my own maid, or
none at all."
"Se sall be your own maid. I haf sent for her."
"What, my own maid?--Dowlas?"
"I am ver sorry, but it is not dat one. It is anoder--an Italian."
"Well, I think that is _very_ unkind, when you _know_ I can't speak a
word of the language. But you _always_ do all you can to tease me. I
_wish_ I had never seen you."
Girasole looked hurt.
"Charming mees," said he, "I will lay down my life for you."
"But I don't want you to lay down your life. I want Dowlas."
"And you sall haf Dowlas to-morra. An' to-night you sall haf de
Italian maid."
"Well, I suppose I must," said Minnie, resignedly.
"Miladi," said Girasole, turning to Mrs. Willoughby, "I am ver sorry
for dis leetle accommodazion. De room where you mus go is de one where
I haf put de man dat try to safe you. He is tied fast. You mus promis
you will not loose him. Haf you a knife?"
"No," said Mrs. Willoughby, in a scarce audible tone.
"Do not mourn. You sall be able to talk to de prisonaire and get
consolazion. But come."
With these words Girasole led the way out into the hall, and into the
front-room on the opposite side. He carried the lamp in his hand. Mrs.
Willoughby saw a figure lying at the other end of the room on the
floor. His face was turned toward them, but in the darkness she could
not see it plainly. Some straw was heaped up in the corner next her.
"Dere," said Girasole, "is your bed. I am sorra. Do not be trouble."
With this he went away.
Mrs. Willoughby flung herself on her knees, and bowed her head and
wept convulsively. She heard the heavy step of Girasole as he went
down stairs. Her first impulse was to rush back to her sister. But she
dreaded discovery, and felt that disobedience would only make her fate
harder.