HOW BROOKE AND TALBOT TAKE TO FLIGHT.
Brooke was roused from his meditations by a light footstep close
beside him. He looked up, and saw Miss Talbot standing before him in
her new costume. As he looked he rose to his feet and gazed at her
fixedly without a word.
The change was wonderful.
It was no longer a young lady that he saw--it was a young priest. The
broad hat came down low upon the head, and beneath it there was a
face full of sweet dignity and gentle grace--a face serene, and
noble, and pure. Such a face Raffaelle loved to reproduce while
portraying the Angel of the Visitation, where youth, and radiant
beauty, and unsullied purity, and divinest grace all appear combined
in one celestial visage.
Brooke looked for some time with the an intent gaze, and in utter
silence.
"How do you think I look?" asked Miss Talbot.
"Look?" repeated Brooke. He hesitated as if at a loss, and then went
on in a way that was peculiarly his own. "Look? Oh, first-rate--very
well--very well indeed. In fact, I had no idea that you could
transform yourself so completely. I believe I was on the point of
saying something about a vision of angels, but I'll be commonplace.
All I can say is, that if I were to meet such a priest in real life,
I'd down on my knees at once, make a confession, and--No, I wouldn't;
I'd try to become a priest myself, so as to be always somewhere near
him. And if he were a monk, I'd join the same monastery; and if he
were a missionary, I'd go with him to the uttermost ends of the
earth; if the cannibals ate him up, I'd make them eat me too; and, in
any event, I should feel that in such company I should be nearer
heaven than anywhere else. For, you see, you've always lived in a
serene atmosphere, where you have known nothing of the evil of the
world, and so your face has on it the stamp of Heaven itself, which
it first received, and which has never been effaced. So, you see,
you're just the one to go about as a priest. Oh, it's a great
advantage to be as you are, and to have that angelic face! Like the
old man in the song:
"'Oh, he never got drunk and he never swore,
And he never did violate the lor;
And so we buried him underground,
And the funeral-bell did merrily sound
Ding! Dong! Dell!'"
Thus far Brooke had rattled on in a strange, dry fashion; but
suddenly he stopped, and then exclaimed,
"Good Heavens!"
"What's the matter?" asked Miss Talbot, who had seemed much amused at
all this nonsense.
"Why, what have you done with your hair?"
Miss Talbot raised her hat from her head, and looked at him. Again he
looked at her in silence.
Yes, it was all gone! That glorious hair, which awhile ago had been
folded in great masses round her head, was there no longer. She had
cut it off! It was short now, like the hair of a young man, and hung
loose in wavy curls over her forehead. Yet so far from her appearance
being marred or disfigured by such a mutilation, the result was
actually more becoming to her as she stood there in her new costume.
Few could have made such a sacrifice without serious injury to their
appearance; but in this case there was merely a change from one
character to another, and all the beauty and all the subtle
fascination still remained.
"I couldn't have believed it," said Brooke, at length.
"What?"
"Oh, well--several things. In the first place, I couldn't have
believed that any living girl could have made the sacrifice. In the
second place, I couldn't have believed that the one who had passed
through such an ordeal could come forth more glorious than ever. But
the sacrifice was too much. However, it's done. Nay--never shake your
gory locks at me. Thou cans't not say I did it. But where is it all?"
"It? what?"
"As if you don't know! Why, the treasure that you threw
overboard--the child that you flung to the wolves, Russian mother!"
"Oh, you mean the hair! Why, I left it in there."
She pointed carelessly to the tower. At this Brooke went over and
entered it. He saw a mass of hair lying there on the stone floor,
where she had carelessly thrown it after cutting it off. This he
gathered up very carefully and even tenderly, picking up even small
scattered locks of it. Then he rolled it all up into the smallest
possible space, after which he bound it tight in his handkerchief and
put it in his pocket. He was, as usual, singing to himself snatches
of old songs which expressed nothing in particular:
"The maiden she says to him, says she,
Another man's wife I've got to be;
So go thy ways across the sea,
For all is over with you and me.'"
Which words had certainly no particular application to present
circumstances.
When he came out again, Miss Talbot was seated on the tree in a
meditative mood.
"I was just picking up the hair," said Brooke, in an indifferent
tone. "If we were tracked here and pursued it might tell tales, and
it would tell too much."
"Oh, how thoughtless of me!" said she. "But really I did intend to go
back and throw it down into the torrent. You see, I was so anxious to
know if my disguise was right, that I hurried out at once to show
you."
"Oh, it's all the same. I've disposed of it better than you would
have done."
"I shall try not to be so thoughtless again."
Brooke said nothing, but seated himself near her on the log.
"I'm sorry you don't smoke," said he, after a pause; "but I hope you
don't object to my taking a small whiff now and then."
"Oh no," said Miss Talbot. "I like to see you smoking."
"Do you know," said Brooke, after he had again filled and lighted his
inevitable pipe--"do you know, I think your character is almost
perfect."
"Why, because I don't object to smoking?" asked Miss Talbot, with a
smile.
"Well, I take that as one of the many straws which show how the wind
blows. But do you really mean to tell me that you don't regret what
you have done?"
"What, with my hair? What a question! Regret it? Not at all. It will
grow again--in time. To use your own figure, when the sailor is
struggling for life against the storm, he doesn't regret the treasure
that he has flung overboard so as to lighten the ship. And do you
think that I am so weak as to hesitate for a moment when your safety
as well as my own is concerned? For, you see, I have to remember that
while I am with you, you too are in danger. So, no hesitation is
possible. How could I have the heart to ask you to help me, if I
persisted in keeping up any kind of dress that might endanger both of
us?"
Brooke made no reply, but sat puffing out great clouds of smoke.
After some lapse of time he opened his mouth to speak.
"I wish you had heavier boots," said he.
"Yes," said Miss Talbot, "my boots are my weak point. But, you see, I
never anticipated a walk of twenty or thirty miles. However, my dress
is long, and perhaps my feet will not be noticed."
"Oh, it isn't the fear of their being noticed, but the danger that
they may give way altogether in our rough walk, and leave you
barefoot among the rocks."
"Well, if I find them giving way, I shall wrap rags around them
before they go to pieces altogether."
After a further silence Brooke spoke again.
"There's one thing more," said he, "that may be mentioned. We may
make good our escape to-night, as I hope, but then--we may not. To
provide against occurrences of all sorts, it's as well to adopt
certain fixed characters and act them out. You are a priest--remember
that; never forget it. You have that breviary, which you will do well
to look at from time to time. There's mighty good reading in that
breviary, though I'm sorry to say I never could find it; but no doubt
you'll do more justice to it than I did, especially if you understand
Latin, which I'm afraid you don't. But, you see, it won't do for me
to call you 'Miss Talbot.' We might be captured by fellows who
understand English, and they would at once take the hint. And so
suppose I drop the 'Miss,' and call you simply 'Talbot?'"
"That's a very good suggestion," said Miss Talbot. "The name will be
my own, and familiar, and better than any strange name or title which
you might invent. Oh yes, by all means drop the 'Miss.'"
"You will understand, of course," said Brooke, anxiously, "that in
this proposal there is no disrespect, no attempt at undue
familiarity, no--"
"Surely, surely," said Miss Talbot, earnestly, "it's hardly necessary
to say all that. If you adopt that tone, I shall have to begin and
tell you how deeply grateful I am, how much I owe you, how I long to
do something to--"
"Oh! well. Come, now! if you go on in that way, I am shut up at
once."
He relapsed into silence. After a few minutes he spoke again.
"Talbot," said he, in a strange tone, much softer than his usual
voice.
"Well?" said Miss Talbot, gently.
"As I have dropped the 'Miss,' have you any objections to drop the
'Mister,' and address me by the simple and unconventional name of
'Brooke?' You see, it's very important for us, in our circumstances,
to cultivate this seeming familiarity. If you were really a young
priest, and I were really your friend and travelling companion, we
should address one another in this simple fashion."
"I have no objection whatever," said Miss Talbot, "and I do not see
why you should take such pains to explain. It is enough for you to
ask. Whatever you say I will do."
"Say 'Brooke,' then."
"Brooke," said Miss Talbot, with a little shyness.
"And now, Talbot, I intend to use your surname only in speaking to
you, and I hope that you will do the same with me. This is merely for
practice."
"Certainly, Brooke."
The name came a little awkwardly at first, but after a little further
conversation this difficulty passed away, and the two addressed one
another quite naturally in this simple fashion. And now, as Brooke
has chosen this name for Miss Talbot, I also will drop the "Miss,"
and call her henceforth simply "Talbot."
Brooke made Talbot lie down all the rest of the day, so as to sleep,
if possible, and, at any rate, to lay up a good stock of strength for
the formidable work of the approaching night. With her usual
considerateness and docility, Talbot obeyed; and although she did not
sleep, she certainly obtained an amount of rest of which she stood in
great need.
At length the evening came, and the two ate their repast, after which
Brooke secreted the remainder of the provisions in the tower by way
of precaution. It was not necessary, he said, to carry that load, and
if they were forced to return it would be there for their use.
They started a little after sunset. An hour's walk brought them to
the road, at the spot where they had first met, after which they
turned toward the place where Brooke had left the train on the
previous day. Their pace was a moderate one, for the whole night was
before them, and Brooke was anxious to save Talbot's strength as much
as possible.
For about an hour more they walked along, until they came to where
the country was more open. The moon was shining brightly, and thus
far there had been no signs of life. But at this point there came up
sounds from the road before them which were not a little alarming.
Brooke laid himself upon the ground, and listened for some time.
"People are approaching," said he. "There is quite a large crowd.
They must be Carlists. It will be dangerous for us to go on any
farther. It will be better to hide here until they pass."
"Very well," said Talbot. "I quite agree with you. I should hate to
go back again."
There was on their right, not far from the road, an old windmill,
which stood upon a gently rising ground, and was quite a conspicuous
object. This caught the eye of Brooke as he looked all around.
"There," said he, "is the place for us. These fellows seem to be on
the march. They will soon pass by this and be gone. Let us hide in
the old mill."
Talbot at once assented. They then left the road and crossed the
fields. In a short time they reached the mill. It was deserted, and
the machinery was out of order, but otherwise it was in good
preservation. The door was open, and they entered. Having once
obtained this concealment, they stood in the door-way anxiously
watching. At length they saw a crowd of men come up along the road,
and these they regarded with quick-beating hearts.
"Brooke," said Talbot, in a whisper.
"What?"
"What shall we do if they come here?"
"That's a solemn question," said Brooke. "We ought to have something
to fall back on. Wait."
He went away for a few minutes, and then returned. As he came back to
the door Talbot pressed his arm and pointed. Brooke looked out.
To his horror the whole band had stopped, and some of them were
facing toward the mill as though about to approach it.
"What a mistake we've made!" said Brooke.
"They're coming here!" said Talbot, in a thrilling whisper. "What can
we do? Can we fly?"
"No," said Brooke; "they'll see us. We have only one hope. There's a
ladder here, and we can climb up into the loft. Come."
Taking Talbot's hand, Brooke led her to the ladder, and they climbed
up into the loft, where they sat listening.
Talbot's anticipation was too true. The band approached the mill, and
soon the two fugitives heard them all around.