COLONEL BLOOD HAS HIS REVENGE—STORMY INTERVIEW—MEETING IN THE
WOOD—A STARTLING INCIDENT—DISCOVERY OF THE VICTIM—THE DEATH-BED
CURSE.
It was a bold thing for Wildfire Ned to do, but he had sworn to
accomplish the rescue of Ellen Harmer, and the gallant deed was
accomplished.
Outside the palace gardens stood a carriage and four noble horses,
ready to convey the fair Ellen to her father’s home.
Bob Bertram was the driver, and outside waiting for Ned Warbeck stood
Lieutenant Garnet.
“Bravo, Ned!” said Garnet. “You have got the girl safe?”
“Yes,” said Ned; “but, as I expected, not without opposition and a
sharp fight. I met Colonel Blood, and we crossed swords. He fell
in less than a minute. I pushed my way up the back staircase, and
rescued the maiden right under the nose, and in open defiance of the
king.”
“I fear you will suffer for all this, Ned.”
“No matter. I care not for king or any one when virtue and honor are
at stake. Drive on, Bob, with all your might.”
Bob Bertram did not want bidding twice.
He lashed up his four horses, and away went Ellen Harmer towards
Darlington at full speed, whither Sir Edward Warbeck and her father
had gone before her.
When she arrived there, Ellen was thoroughly exhausted with the
length of the journey, and retired to rest immediately; and in her
slumbers did not dream of the cruel fate which awaited her.
In the morning she was much better, and was visited by her foster
sister, whom she loved more dearly perhaps than any one on earth.
This foster sister told her all that had transpired in the house
since the fatal night of her abduction.
When she heard of Andrew’s mishap in being desperately wounded, and
thrown from the bridge by some unknown man, Ellen wept bitterly; for
in her heart she knew the villain must and could be none other than
the cold-hearted, treacherous, Colonel Blood.
But when her foster sister told her also that Andrew, her old and
faithful lover, was now a confirmed lunatic, she sank into a chair
and sobbed aloud.
“Nay, do not weep, Ellen!” said her father, the old miller, who now
entered the apartment, and stood before the two girls with a pale
face. “Nay, do not weep for him, Ellen, but weep for me—for your
honor and mine is gone forever.”
“Gone!” said Ellen, rising with a flushed face. “Nay, father, say not
so! Your daughter is as spotless as on the night when she was cruelly
carried away by a ruthless villain!”
“The world will not believe it, Ellen; but if I thought for a moment
you had disgraced me and mine, I would rather see you dead at my
feet.”
Nelly wept and sobbed by turns; but the cruel words of her father
brought the hot blood to her fair cheeks, and she vindicated herself
most eloquently from the foul aspersions of all idle, gossipping
village scandal.
What at first, then, had been a stormy meeting between her father and
herself (see cut in No. 18), closed as such meetings always should
close between parents and children. Ellen threw herself into her
father’s arms, and, with beating heart, told him all her trials and
troubles.
“God bless you, child, God bless you!” said the old miller, as he
tenderly kissed her and left the room.
Two days after this meeting of father and daughter, Ellen,
accompanied by two female friends, strolled through the woods of
Darlington, in order to call upon and console Andrew, who was
reported to be dying raving mad.
They had enjoyed their walk, and were much flushed with exercise,
when they were startled by a strange sight (see cut in No. 21).
In the distance, and partly concealed by the deep undergrowth of the
forest, they perceived two men engaged in a hostile meeting.
So unlooked for was this strange sight, that the timid girls could
have fainted; but, seized with horror and fright, they turned
somewhat from their own path and ran swiftly away.
Still the clinking of swords sounded in their ears and it was long
ere they could breathe freely again.
However, Ellen and her friends pursued their way towards the cottage
of Andrew’s mother, but were greatly surprised to find that instead
of dying, Andrew was not at home, but was well and hearty, except in
mind, and had left the cottage rather suddenly a few nights before in
pursuit of a strange horseman, whom he appeared to recognise as an
enemy.
Since that time nothing had been seen or heard of the poor deranged
youth, his old weeping mother said; nevertheless she did all that lay
in her power to make her lady visitors as comfortable as possible.
But the good old dame wept very bitterly, for she was a widow, and
since her son’s fatal accident she had fallen very rapidly in worldly
circumstances, and was on the brink of great poverty, if, indeed, not
of absolute want.
Ellen and her friends returned to the village, and did not fail to
give an account of the duel which had taken place in Darlington Wood.
Miller Harmer and other villagers went forth, with their guns and
swords, to see what had happened.
They scoured the woods thoroughly in all directions, but did not
discover anything noteworthy.
As they were about to give up the search, however, old Harmer came
upon a retired spot, and there found a large pool of blood.
The grass all round about had been trodden down as if men had been
engaged in deadly combat.
But nobody was found, nor the least vestige of clothing which might
have directed any further search or led to the discovery of the
unknown persons.
A few days afterwards, however, Ellen Harmer, feeling sore at heart,
and fretful in mind, went across the fields and through Darlington
Woods to visit Andrew’s mother, and to ascertain, if possible,
whether she or her father could do any good for the poor widow and
her demented son.
She arrived at the cottage, but no tidings had been heard of poor
Andy, and his mother was well-nigh broken-hearted.
No one had seen or knew anything of the poor youth, either in or out
of the village.
For a second time Ellen Harmer returned home.
The old widow offered to accompany her part of the way through the
forest, but Ellen pleasantly declined.
As she journeyed through the wood slowly and thoughtfully, she heard
voices near, and suddenly beheld a large encampment of gipsies.
“Perhaps this swarthy tribe might know or have heard something
regarding poor Andrew,” thought Ellen. “I will question them.”
Boldly advancing right into the gipsy encampment, to the no
small surprise of both men and women, Ellen walked up to a tall,
swarthy-looking man who stood near a covered cart or waggon, and
appeared to be the chief man among them.
“Ellen Harmer is your name?” said the tall, swarthy man.
“It is. How know you that?”
“Ask no questions,” was the gruff answer, “and I will tell you no
lies.”
“Perhaps, if I pay you well, it might be different?”
“Perhaps it might,” said the man, grinning, as he received a piece of
gold offered to him.
“Have you been long encamped in these woods?”
“We have.”
“Did you hear or ascertain anything of a duel which was said to have
taken place here a few days ago?”
“I did.”
“Who and what were the rash gentlemen?”
“They were not gentlemen at all,” answered the gipsy chief.
“Who, then, pray?”
“One was a spy in the pay of Colonel Blood.”
“Colonel Blood?” said Ellen, with a shudder.
“You know him, then? Ha! ha!” laughed the tall vagabond.
“No—yes, that is, I have heard of him, my good man. And who was the
other?”
“A stranger.”
“And which fell?”
“The stranger was killed.”
“Oh, horrible! horrible!” said Ellen, aghast. “And know you not his
name?”
“I do not,” said the gaunt, heartless-looking fellow, with a coarse
laugh. “It matters naught to me. But, if you want to have a look at
the body, here it is,” said he, with a grin, as at the same time
he uncovered and lifted the lid of a rough coffin which was in the
covered cart. (_See cut in No. 19._)
From some strange impulse Ellen Harmer darted forward a step or two,
and looked.
With a loud scream she fainted and fell.
The dead body was that of poor Andrew, her old and faithful lover,
who had been brutally slain out of revenge by Colonel Blood’s spy.
She was led away from the spot in a swooning condition by two men.
“Do not go with them—do not trust yourself with those two ruffians,”
said a haggard-looking old woman who now came upon the scene.
“Hold thy tongue, Hannah,” said the gipsy chief, with an oath.
“I will not, I cannot!” said the old woman; “you mean the girl no
good; you have evil in your eye. Miss Harmer, Miss Harmer, do not go
with them through Darlington Woods. Heed me, hear me, sweet lady,
hear me.”
But before she could utter another word she was struck to the ground
in a brutal manner, and Ellen Harmer, more dead than alive, was borne
through the woods towards her native village.
But alas! she never reached it!
The two gipsy men, obeying the secret injunctions of their leader,
saw her as far as the little wooden bridge—on which Andrew had met
Colonel Blood—and, ere she was aware of any danger, while in the act
of rewarding the two gruff villains for escorting her so far, they
cast her headlong into the river.
Four days afterwards her body was found lying on the river bank by
the same villains, and they were in the act of robbing the body of
everything valuable when they were discovered by Wildfire Ned and
Garnet, who had been out hunting in the woods.
One of the villains, finding that they were discovered, drew forth
his large knife, and looked around to see when and where the
threatened danger was. (See cut in No. 16).
At that instant, however, Ned and Garnet, who had been watching
the gipsies for several days, felt satisfied of the guilt of both
villains.
Without any compunction they took deadly aim and fired at the two
rascals, and killed them on the spot.
But the tragedy did not end here.
Several weeks afterwards a terrible storm arose.
Poor old Hannah the gipsy was lying abed, almost dying, from the
effects of the brutal treatment she had received at the hands of the
gipsy chief.
The wind was howling outside the humble cot in which poor Hannah lay.
Lightning flashed and the thunder rolled.
Rain fell in pitiless torrents, when a horseman, evidently dressed
in disguise, and looking pale and weak, alighted from his horse at
Hannah’s door, and sought shelter from the storm.
A female opened the door for the stranger, who entered.
It was Colonel Blood on his way to Darlington.
For a moment he gazed around him, and then at the swarthy sufferer in
bed.
There was something about poor Hannah which attracted his attention.
He stood and gazed at her as she slept and murmured in her dreams.
Opening her eyes rather suddenly she encountered the fixed look of
the storm-bound stranger.
With a loud laugh Hannah rose up in bed, looking as wild as the
wildest maniac (see cut in No. 22).
With eyes glowing in passion, and with a long, lean arm pointed at
him, she hissed out, rather than said—
“Curses befall you, man of blood! Curses before, behind, and on
every side attend you; for wherever you are, wherever you go, you
despoil the innocent! I have longed to see this hour, Colonel Blood,”
continued Hannah, in a fierce voice; “your hand robbed me of my
husband and my daughters! My children have been dragged into a life
of infamy through you, and my husband slain for defending them! I
have done with life; my time has come. I die satisfied, knowing that
with my last breath I have cursed you and the very ground you tread
upon!”
With these words she fell back into bed and expired!