“Yet he beholds her with the eyes of mind--
He sees the form which he no more shall meet;
She like a passionate thought is come and gone,
While at his feet the bright rill bubbles on.”
ELLIOTT _of Sheffield_.
IT was a little more than three weeks after that fearful night, when the
chaise of Maltravers stopped at the cottage door--the windows were shut
up; no one answered the repeated summons of the post-boy. Maltravers
himself, alarmed and amazed, descended from the vehicle: he was in
deep mourning. He went impatiently to the back entrance; that also was
locked; round to the French windows of the drawing-room, always hitherto
half-opened, even in the frosty days of winter,--they were now closed
like the rest. He shouted in terror, “Alice, Alice!”--no sweet voice
answered in breathless joy, no fairy step bounded forward in welcome.
At this moment, however, appeared the form of the gardener coming across
the lawn. The tale was soon told; the house had been robbed--the old
woman at morning found gagged and fastened to her bed-post--Alice flown.
A magistrate had been applied to,--suspicion fell upon the fugitive.
None knew anything of her origin or name, not even the old woman.
Maltravers had naturally and sedulously ordained Alice to preserve that
secret, and she was too much in fear of being detected and claimed by
her father not to obey the injunction with scrupulous caution. But it
was known, at least, that she had entered the house a poor peasant girl;
and what more common than for ladies of a certain description to run
away from their lover, and take some of his property by mistake? And
a poor girl like Alice, what else could be expected? The magistrate
smiled, and the constables laughed. After all, it was a good joke at
the young gentleman’s expense! Perhaps, as they had no orders from
Maltravers, and they did not know where to find him, and thought he
would be little inclined to prosecute, the search was not very rigorous.
But two houses had been robbed the night before. Their owners were more
on the alert. Suspicion fell upon a man of infamous character, John
Walters; he had disappeared from the place. He had been last seen with
an idle, drunken fellow, who was said to have known better days, and who
at one time had been a skilful and well-paid mechanic, till his habits
of theft and drunkenness threw him out of employ; and he had been since
accused of connection with a gang of coiners--tried--and escaped from
want of sufficient evidence against him. That man was Luke Darvil. His
cottage was searched; but he also had fled. The trace of cart-wheels by
the gate of Maltravers gave a faint clue to pursuit; and after an
active search of some days, persons answering to the description of the
suspected burglars--with a young female in their company--were tracked
to a small inn, notorious as a resort for smugglers, by the sea-coast.
But there every vestige of their supposed whereabouts disappeared.
And all this was told to the stunned Maltravers; the garrulity of the
gardener precluded the necessity of his own inquiries, and the name
of Darvil explained to him all that was dark to others. And Alice
was suspected of the basest and the blackest guilt! Obscure, beloved,
protected as she had been, she could not escape the calumny from which
he had hoped everlastingly to shield her. But did _he_ share that
hateful thought? Maltravers was too generous and too enlightened.
“Dog!” said he, grinding his teeth, and clenching his hands, at the
startled menial, “dare to utter a syllable of suspicion against her, and
I will trample the breath out of your body!”
The old woman, who had vowed that for the ‘varsal world she would not
stay in the house after such a “night of shakes,” had now learned the
news of her master’s return, and came hobbling up to him. She arrived in
time to hear his menace to her fellow-servant.
“Ah, that’s right; give it him, your honour; bless your good
heart!--that’s what I says. Miss rob the house! says I--Miss run away.
Oh no--depend on it they have murdered her and buried the body.”
Maltravers gasped for breath, but without uttering another word he
re-entered the chaise and drove to the house of the magistrate. He found
that functionary a worthy and intelligent man of the world. To him
he confided the secret of Alice’s birth and his own. The magistrate
concurred with him in believing that Alice had been discovered
and removed by her father. New search was made--gold was lavished.
Maltravers himself headed the search in person. But all came to the
same result as before, save that by the descriptions he heard of the
person--the dress--the tears, of the young female who had accompanied
the men supposed to be Darvil and Walters, he was satisfied that Alice
yet lived; he hoped she might yet escape and return. In that hope he
lingered for weeks--for months, in the neighbourhood; but time passed
and no tidings.... He was forced at length to quit a neighbourhood
at once so saddened and endeared. But he secured a friend in the
magistrate, who promised to communicate with him if Alice returned, or
her father was discovered. He enriched Mrs. Jones for life, in gratitude
for her vindication of his lost and early love; he promised the amplest
rewards for the smallest clue. And with a crushed and desponding spirit,
he obeyed at last the repeated and anxious summons of the guardian to
whose care, until his majority was attained, the young orphan was now
entrusted.