Having passed out through the gate, Rogier turns along the wall; and,
proceeding at a brisk pace to where it ends in an angle, there comes to
a halt.
On the same spot where about an hour before stopped Mary Morgan--for a
different reason. She paused to consider which of the two ways she
would take; he has no intention of taking either, or going a step
farther. Whatever he wishes to say to her can be said where he now is,
without danger of its being overheard at the house--unless spoken in a
tone louder than that of ordinary conversation. But it is not on this
account he has stopped; simply that he is not sure which of the two
routes she will return by--and for him to proceed along either would be
to risk the chance of not meeting her at all.
But that he has some idea of the way she will come, with suspicion of
why and what is delaying her, his mutterings tell:
"_Morbleu_! over an hour since she set out! A tortoise could have
crawled to the Ferry, and crept back within the time! For a demoiselle
with limbs lithe and supple as hers--pah! It can't be the brandy bottle
that's the obstruction. Nothing of the kind. Corked, capsuled,
wrapped, ready for delivery--in all two minutes, or at most, three! She
so ready to run for it, too--herself proposed going! Odd, that to say
the least. Only understandable on the supposition of something
prearranged. An assignation with the River Triton for sure! Yes; he's
the anchor that's been holding her--holds her still. Likely, they're
somewhat under the shadow of that wood, now--standing--sitting--ach! I
wish I but knew the spot; I'd bring their billing and cooing to an
abrupt termination. It will not do for me to go on guesses; I might
miss the straying damsel with whom this night I want a word in
particular--must have it. Monsieur Coracle may need binding a little
faster, before he consents to the service required of him. To ensure an
interview with her it is necessary to stay on this spot, however trying
to patience."
For a second or two he stands motionless, though all the while active in
thought, his eyes also restless. These, turning to the wall, show him
that it is overgrown with ivy. A massive cluster on its crest projects
out, with hanging tendrils, whose tops almost touch the ground. Behind
them there is ample room for a man to stand upright, and so be concealed
from the eyes of anyone passing, however near.
"_Grace a Dieu_!" he exclaims, observing this; "the very place. I must
take her by surprise. That's the best way when one wants to learn how
the cat jumps. Ha! _cette chat_ Tom; how very opportune his mischievous
doings--for Mademoiselle! Well, I must give _Madame la mere_ counsel
better to guard against such accidents hereafter; and how to behave when
they occur."
He has by this ducked his head, and stepped under the arcading
evergreen.
The position is all he could desire. It gives him a view of both ways
by which on that side the farmhouse can be approached. The cart lane is
directly before his face, as is also the footpath when he turns towards
it. The latter leading, as already said, along a hedge to the orchard's
bottom, there crosses the brook by a plank--this being about fifty yards
distant from where he has stationed himself. And as there is now
moonlight he can distinctly see the frail footbridge, with a portion of
the path beyond, where it runs through straggling trees, before entering
the thicker wood. Only at intervals has he sight of it, as the sky is
mottled with masses of cloud, that every now and then, drifting over the
moon's disc, shut off her light with the suddenness of a lamp
extinguished.
When she shines he can himself be seen. Standing in crouched attitude
with the ivy tendrils festooned over his pale, bloodless face, he looks
like a gigantic spider behind its web, on the wait for prey--ready to
spring forward and seize it.
For nigh ten minutes he thus remains watching, all the while impatiently
chafing. He listens too; though with little hope of hearing aught to
indicate the approach of her expected. After the pleasant
_tete-a-tete_, he is now sure she must have held with the waterman, she
will be coming along silently, her thoughts in sweet, placid
contentment; or she may come on with timid, stealthy steps, dreading
rebuke by her mother for having overstayed her time.
Just as the priest in bitterest chagrin is promising himself that
rebuked she shall be he sees what interrupts his resolves, suddenly and
altogether withdrawing his thoughts from Mary Morgan. It is a form
approaching the plank, on the opposite side of the stream; not hers, nor
woman's; instead the figure of a man! Neither erect nor walking in the
ordinary way, but with head held down and shoulders projected forward,
as if he were seeking concealment under the bushes that beset the path,
for all drawing nigh to the brook with the rapidity of one pursued, and
who thinks there is safety only on its other side!
"_Sainte Vierge_!" exclaims the priest, _sotto voce_. "What can all
that mean? And who--"
He stays his self-asked interrogatory, seeing that the skulker has
paused too--at the farther end of the plank, which he has now reached.
Why? It may be from fear to set foot on it; for indeed is there danger
to one not intimately acquainted with it. The man may be a stranger--
some fellow on teams who intends trying the hospitality of the
farmhouse--more likely its henroosts, judging by his manner of approach?
While thus conjecturing, Rogier sees the skulker stoop down, immediately
after hearing a sound, different from the sough of the stream; a harsh
grating noise, as of a piece of heavy timber drawn over a rough surface
of rock.
"Sharp fellow?" thinks the priest; "with all his haste, wonderfully
cautious! He's fixing the thing steady before venturing to tread upon
it! Ha! I'm wrong; he don't design crossing it after all!"
This as the crouching figure erects itself and, instead of passing over
the plank, turns abruptly away from it. Not to go back along the path,
but up the stream on that same side! And with bent body as before,
still seeming desirous to shun observation.
Now more than ever mystified, the priest watches him, with eyes keen as
those of a cat set for nocturnal prowling. Not long till he learns who
the man is. Just then the moon, escaping from a cloud, flashes her full
light in his face, revealing features of diabolic expression--that of a
murderer striding away from the spot where he has been spilling blood!
Rogier recognises Coracle Dick, though still without the slightest idea
of what the poacher is doing there.
"_Que diantre_!" he exclaims, in surprise; "what can that devil be
after! Coming up to the plank and not crossing--Ha! yonder's a very
different sort of pedestrian approaching it? Ma'mselle Mary at last!"
This as by the same intermittent gleam of moonlight he descries a straw
hat, with streaming ribbons, over the tops of the bushes beyond the
brook.
The brighter image drives the darker one from his thoughts; and,
forgetting all about the man, in his resolve to take the woman unawares,
he steps out from under the ivy, and makes forward to meet her. He is a
Frenchman, and to help her over the footplank will give him a fine
opportunity for displaying his cheap gallantry.
As he hastens down to the stream, the moon remaining unclouded, he sees
the young girl close to it on the opposite side. She approaches with
proud carriage, and confident step, her cheeks even under the pale light
showing red--flushed with the kisses so lately received, as it were
still clinging to them. Her heart yet thrilling with love, strong under
its excitement, little suspects she how soon it will cease to beat.
Boldly she plants her foot upon the plank, believing, late boasting, a
knowledge of its tricks. Alas! there is one with which she is not
acquainted--could not be--a new and treacherous one, taught it within
the last two minutes. The daughter of Evan Morgan is doomed; one more
step will be her last in life!
She makes it, the priest alone being witness. He sees her arms flung
aloft, simultaneously hearing a shriek; then arms, body, and bridge sink
out of sight suddenly, as though the earth had swallowed them!
Volume Two, Chapter III.