TRAPPED.
"You trust a woman who puts forth
Her blossoms thick as summer's?"
--MRS. BROWNING.
Not a word was spoken as he lifted her to the ground, and when they
turned to walk back to her companions, it was the tall Loyalist who led
her horse. She listened as in a daze to the talk going on around her,
answering briefly the questions of the solicitous group. But the
presence behind her was the one she felt, and yet she dared not look
backward until they were close upon the company at the boulders; then,
lest she seem ungrateful, and also with a definite purpose to warn him,
she turned to speak to him. He was not among those who followed in the
rear. She breathed more freely, scarcely able to restrain a cry of
relief, for surely he had escaped; and presently she said to the tall
man:--
"Methinks I thanked not your companion sufficiently for the service he
did me. Will you bear him a message of gratitude?"
"I will speak with him as soon as the parade is over."
It was best to end the matter thus, than to see him again face to face;
for she felt she dared not trust her shaken nerves in another interview,
lest the warning she wished to convey turn into a betrayal. He must have
realized his danger, and gone at once.
Her escape was the subject of much rejoicing; even Lord Cornwallis, to
whom an account of the accident was carried, sent his aide with
congratulations, and Barry came back at a lope, looking like a ghost
with anxiety. She heard not a half of what was said, her mind was in
such a tumult of perplexity as to her rightful course and of anxiety for
her Clevering friends. Naturally her companions attributed her silence
and abstraction to her recent fright, and gave no thought to it. She was
infinitely relieved when the parade was over, and they were once more on
the homeward road. Her horse had recovered from his panic, and was
moving along quietly.
"If he had to run away, why could he not have given me the chance to
save you?" Barry said, with much chagrin, longing to show his devotion
and gain some hold upon her thoughts.
"Perhaps he knew that with you at hand he would have no chance," she
answered with a forced smile, dragging her mind from the dread that
haunted it.
It was mid-winter; the remnants of a snowstorm still bleached in the
sheltered places among the fields, and whiter yet on the sloping sides
of the mountains behind which the sun had just set, leaving them framed
and fringed with yellow fire. The river at their base was hidden in its
banks and could only be guessed at; but the nestling town had caught a
reflection of radiance from the sunset banners flying above it, and
stood out like some sculptured bas-relief against the downward-dropping
hills. Like the fine colours in an opal, the lights came and went,
brightened and faded. Joscelyn's pulse had begun to beat normally under
the spell of the ethereal beauty of the scene, when suddenly far up the
mountain road her keen eyes descried a moving figure. The trees were
nude of foliage, and the snow lying along the winding road was as a
reflector to show up the dark moving object, which for a moment was seen
and then lost to sight behind a clump of cedars. Was it a cow, or a man
on horseback? A strange curiosity took hold of the girl; she thought she
alone saw it, and all sorts of speculations were in her mind when her
reverie was rudely broken by the officer on her right.
"Linsey," he said in a whisper which Joscelyn's straining ears caught,
at the same time lifting his finger toward the mountain; "Linsey, an I
mistake not, yonder goes our spy; gallop at once to Colonel Tarleton,
and bid him warn his scouts."
The aide touched his cap and was gone ere Joscelyn's startled breath
came back.
"Why, you are again all of a tremble," Barry said, leaning over to
touch her hand, a world of anxiety in his eyes.
"I--I suppose it was the sound of that other horse's hoofs," she said,
angry with herself for her weakness. "You see I am not a soldier and
used, like you, to face death every day."
"Thank Heaven you are not," he answered, holding one rein of her bridle
with the joy of a strong man protecting beautiful womanhood. And thus
near to her he whispered many tender things in her ear,--his tense,
young voice vibrant with the awakened passion of his heart; and the
girl's pulses stirred with a strange, sweet quiver.
So it was they rode home. There in her own room she went over this whole
dread matter, with a womanish longing in her heart to talk to some
one,--to ask advice; but her mother was too timid, and a glance at Aunt
Clevering's dark house decided her that it would be cruel to arouse
anxiety there. Then Barry's manly face and frank eyes came before her,
and in a sudden fit of foolish hysteria, she put her face in her hands
and cried. If she could only go to Barry! But that would have one of two
effects,--it would either put him on Richard's trail, or else make him
false to his cause by winning him to shield the fugitive. She could not
risk either alternative. And what was true of Barry applied with equal
force to Eustace. She would not, if she could, tempt him, through his
love for Betty, to do anything that would dishonour him among his
fellows. And besides, he would not be here to-night with the company
she had invited, for he had said he was going with the relief guard to
one of the outposts. No, there was no one to counsel her; she must think
and act for herself. At first two torturing questions tore her judgment
in twain. The Spartans gave up their nearest and dearest for the cause
of their country, and should she withhold the identity of this man who
had no claim of blood upon her, and who carried perhaps to the king's
enemies information that would defeat the cause? Should she say, "I know
him"; or should she keep her peace and let him go his way? Then she
realized that her knowledge was too meagre to be of any benefit; his
name was all she could surrender, and that were nothing to his pursuers,
who knew more than she of his work and movements. And besides, there
were Betty and Aunt Clevering and Richard himself. No, she could not
play the part of the Spartan; she wanted to be of use to her cause, but
she was keeping back no treasonable knowledge. And with this comforting
assurance, she put the matter aside and dressed herself for the evening,
lacing the brocade over the brilliant petticoat with a smile to think
what Barry would say. Not for a moment did she believe Richard would be
caught; he had the start, and he knew the country much better than his
pursuers, and would outstrip them in the race.
It was a brilliant company that assembled in her drawing-room that
night,--handsome women and splendid officers, and even Cornwallis
himself,--all come to enjoy her hospitality and to inquire concerning
her accident of the afternoon.
"Asked you the name of this brave fellow who saved you?" inquired the
commander-in-chief, with a smile. "Methinks he should be promoted for so
signal a service to his Majesty's loyal subject."
"Nay, your lordship, I asked it not," Joscelyn answered steadily.
"'Twas the fright made her seem so ungrateful," put in her mother.
"And small wonder, Mistress Cheshire, for she was in dire straits. But
'tis of no consequence; the name can be easily ascertained, and I shall
myself make the inquiries. Half my staff are mad with jealousy at his
good fortune, and methinks I myself envy him a bit the sweet thanks he
will receive. Now if Mistress Joscelyn's nerves be not too much shaken,
we will have some music."
So the spinet was opened; and the merriment began and went on far into
the night, while the Cleverings over the way fretted behind their closed
doors in bitter resentment of Joscelyn's conduct.
"Why, she is actually playing at cards!" cried Betty, who was secretly
on the lookout, for the opposite shutters had not been closed nor the
curtains drawn, so the inmates of the lighted room were in plain view.
"Lord Cornwallis is her partner, but that Captain Barry sits beside her
and whispers behind her cards. Mary Singleton is at the other table, but
I do not see--" her voice trailed off into silence, for she never
mentioned Eustace's name to her mother.
Meanwhile Joscelyn was all unconscious and unmindful of this
surveillance and, recovering from her fright, her spirits rose
hourly until she had quite regained her accustomed manner. It was not
until something after ten o'clock that an interruption befell their
pleasure-taking. Then suddenly there came the sound of galloping hoofs
down the stony street; many voices shouted and responded, a pistol shot
rang out, and from somewhere under the darkness a guttural drum growled
out its warning. Every man in the room was on his feet in an instant,
and hands snatched for hats and weapons.
"It is a night surprise!" cried a dozen voices; but even at that moment
the door was thrown open, and an orderly, bowing low, cried out to the
general that the noise was being made by his own men, who had turned
a spy back from the mountains, and chased him into the town where he
was as a rat in a trap, and must immediately be taken. Every heart in
the room ceased its mad beating with relief at this news--every heart
but one. Joscelyn could feel hers pounding against her ribs, and
involuntarily she moved to the window and looked at the dark house
opposite, shuddering as she thought of the grief so soon to enter there.
In ten minutes the hue and cry had swept down the street, and only faint
echoes came back upon the wind. The whole town was astir, and Joscelyn's
guests lingered a few minutes on the veranda, questioning those who came
and went.
"Yes, he went straight down this street, riding like one possessed,"
said one man to Barry.
"He has quit his horse, and the guard have captured it," cried out a
messenger a moment later.
"Ah, well; then will they soon have the man too, even though they search
every house, barn, and hen-coop in the town; Colonel Tarleton does
nothing by halves," laughed his lordship. "Come, Mistress Cheshire, let
us back to our game; ere we end it, the fellow will be in the toils."
They went slowly back into the house, Joscelyn striving to steady her
nerves by long, deep breaths; but as they drew their chairs again about
the tables, there came from the story above a crash as of breaking
chinaware. Everybody looked up expectant, and Mistress Cheshire rose.
"I will go," cried Joscelyn, glad to escape, and pushing her mother
gently back into her chair. "'Tis no doubt that troublesome cat again;
he broke one of my flower jars last week." She tripped upstairs, calling
back to his lordship to deal and have the hands ready for she would be
absent only a moment.
In the upper hall all was silence and semi-darkness. She went first to
her own room, pausing just long enough to press her hands hard upon her
temples before passing from it to her mother's, calling the cat the
while very softly. A fire of logs burned in her mother's fireplace,
so that she wondered at the cold breath of air that smote her as she
entered; then she started,--a back window was open and the pot of plants
which had stood upon the ledge lay shattered on the floor. A swift
annoyance flashed upon her at the maid's neglect, so that she went
forward and closed the sash with a spirited promptness. Picking up a bit
of the broken shard, and facing about from the window in search of the
cat, she suddenly became aware of a man's figure in the shadowy corner
opposite. Instinctively she opened her mouth for a nervous cry, but with
an imperative gesture for silence, he stepped forward, and even in the
dim light she knew it was Richard Clevering. The scream died upon her
lips, and for a moment the objects in the room spun before her.
"You--_you_?" and even in whispering her voice was strained and shaken.
"Yes; it was this or death--they had run me to the wall."
"But the house is full of British soldiers--Lord Cornwallis and his
whole staff--"
"So much the better; the place will be above suspicion."
"Mistress Joscelyn, Mistress Joscelyn!" cried a dozen voices from below,
while chairs were being pushed about, and some one struck a few notes
on the spinet.
"And I myself, sir, am a true Loyalist and cannot harbour--"
There was a footstep on the stair. "Mistress Joscelyn, we be coming up
to help you catch the cat!" cried Barry's voice.
Richard sprang toward her, "My God, Joscelyn! you will not give me up
like that?"
But the steps were halfway up the stair, and she was already turning the
knob of the door, her face like marble in the leaping firelight.
[Illustration: "'MY GOD, JOSCELYN, YOU WILL NOT GIVE ME UP LIKE THAT!'"]