Martin Lee was right; for, half-choked with rage, his neighbour, Anthony
Bray, had hurried out into the open, glad to get away from a scene of
happiness that tortured and cut him to the heart. What was this
sailor--this mate of a ship--that he should be preferred? Kate Lee had
never looked on him like that, in spite of all his pleading; her face
had never worn those kind smiles, nor been suffused with those rosy
blushes at his approach; and it was cruel work for him to have all his
hopes dashed to the ground in an instant; now hopeful--the next moment,
by the entry of one stranger, plunged into misery and despair.
He hurried away to get his horse, and ride homeward; but after reaching
the shed, he felt that it would look strange and unneighbourly to hurry
away; so he determined to walk on a little until he grew calmer, then to
return and stay till his customary hour, and go, as if nothing unusual
were the matter.
"Fine evening, sir," said a shepherd, returning with his charge.
But Bray heard him not, for the passion he sought to calm down grew
hotter as he proceeded; and when at length he turned to retrace his
steps, he knew that it would be madness on his part to go back to the
house, unless he wished to provoke a quarrel.
The moon was high as he made his way back to where all was peace; the
sunset rays still gilding the snowy tops of the mountains right and
left; and, save for the occasional tinkle of a sheep-bell, or low of
some beast, all was still.
Turning, by preference, from the moonlit turf, he threaded his way
slowly amidst the tree-ferns and undergrowth by the pasture-side, till
he once more approached the house in time to see Mrs Lee leave Katie
and Edward together, when he stood, with burning cheek and knit brow,
watching them, and torturing himself for a full hour, when they slowly
strolled towards where he stood; and then, with a net-work of rays over
them, he gazed upon a picture which seemed to madden him, till, from
being cast down, Katie's face was lifted, so that the moonbeams bathed
it for a moment ere Edward Murray's was bent down, slowly, tenderly, to
press a long, loving kiss upon lips that did not shrink from the caress.
He could bear no more; but flinching backwards, as if, like some wild
animal, he were preparing himself for a spring, he placed more and more
distance between them; and then, forgetting his horse, he turned and
fled furiously down the Gap to the little bay, where lay a small
schooner. But Bray scarcely heeded the strange visitor, but turning the
bend, made his way along the sands for about a mile, where another
valley opened, along which he tore, panting and fierce, mile after mile,
heedless of the intricacies of the path, till he reached his own
dwelling. He took, mechanically, his accustomed round to see that all
was safe; listened to the remarks of his men in a dumb, listless
fashion; and then, throwing himself into a chair, sat, hour after hour,
thinking: now, determining to be revenged--now to act with manly
forbearance and fortitude, trying to crush down the misery in his
heart--but all in vain, he could only recall, again and again, that
moonlit scene; and as the memory of the embrace came upon him, he
writhed in his chair, the veins upon his forehead growing knotted and
hard, and his face black with passion.
His men had long before retired to their quarters; so that when, late in
the night, there was an unusual disturbance amongst the dogs, it should
have fallen to his lot to quiet them had he heard them baying; but he
heard nothing, saw nothing, till a broad palm was laid upon his mouth,
and his chair was dragged fiercely round, so that he was face to face
with half a score of fierce, ruffianly-looking fellows, one of whom
struck him back as he tried to rise to his feet.
"Keep where you are!" cried the ruffian, with an oath; "and tell us
where you keep your powder and things?"
Bray, half-stunned and confused, did not reply to the demand.
"Speak, will you?" cried the fellow, blaspheming furiously as he seized
the young man by the throat.
"I have hardly any," gasped Bray, who was half-suffocated; and then,
trembling for his life, he pointed out the few guns and rifles belonging
to himself and men, noticing, as he did so, that some of his assailants
were well armed, and some provided merely with a knife or axe.
They seized the weapons with almost a savage joy, and took possession of
every scrap of lead and powder they could find, using the most horrible
threats against Bray and his trembling men, whom they had bound, and
dragged into the central room of the hut, if they dared to keep back any
portion of their store. Then, after ransacking the place, they took
every little thing that possessed value in their eyes, before consulting
as to what should be done with their prisoners.
Bray's heart sank, as he listened to their conference, and he could not
for a moment doubt their readiness to perform any deed of blood. He
felt that his last hour must be come, for all chance of escape seemed
cut off; and, sinking into a sullen, despairing state, he was listening
to the muttered appeals of his men, when a thought flashed across him
which sent a gleam of ferocious joy into his eyes. The ruffians had
come up this valley first, evidently from the schooner he had seen in
the bay; their next foray would be up Golden Gap, when the Moa's Nest
must fall into their hands, and he would be revenged for the treatment
he had received.
And Katie? He shuddered as his heart asked him that question, and he
battled with himself, trying to harden, to steel his feelings against
pity. He would be murdered, no doubt; and in his present state of mind
he hardly wished to live--but Katie? Heavens! what a fate! He must
warn them--put them on their defence. He could have slain Edward
Murray--crushed his heel down upon his open English face; but Katie?--
the woman? Was he a savage, that he had harboured such thoughts?
He bit his lips fiercely, and his eyes wandered eagerly round the
rough-walled room in search of some means of escape; but there were
none. And now, one by one, he saw his four men dragged out, the first
two to go quietly, but the next moment uttering hoarse cries, shrieks
for pity, for help, as if in despair at the fate awaiting them. Then,
as a party of the ruffians seized the remaining two, they had taken the
alarm, and begun to plead for mercy, promising anything--to show the
convicts where there were richer stations--to join them--anything, if
their lives were spared; for the strange silence that now prevailed
outside the house, told that something dread had been enacted.
"Say a word for as, master; try and get us off! We've been good men to
you, master--Not yet! give us a minute!" cried one poor wretch; and he
struggled so fiercely, that the two men who were holding Bray hurriedly
crossed the room, to kick, and help drag the unfortunate man towards the
door.
It was for life; it was a moment not to be lost, and, with one bound,
Bray reached the door leading into another room; dashed at it, so that
it fell from its slight hinges; and then, as the report of a gun rang
out, he leaped through the casement, shivering glass and leadwork to
atoms, and falling heavily on the other side; but he was up in an
instant, gave one glance round to see two of his men swinging in the
moonlight from one of the trees, and then, followed by another shot, he
rushed into the wood in front, and threaded his way rapidly through the
trees, closely followed by his pursuers.
He knew that his only chance of safety was in concealment; for if he
trusted to the open, they would run him down, or shoot him like a dog;
or he might have made his way round by the shore, and then up Golden
Gap, to warn them of the coming danger at the Moa's Nest. He could only
hide himself till the danger was over, and then--He shuddered; for once
more he thought of Katie, as he hurried panting along, tripping over
roots and creepers, climbing blocks of stone, till the shouts behind
ceased, and he paused to take breath, resting upon a fragment of rock,
and drawing heavily his laboured breath as the perspiration streamed
down his face.
What could he do? How could he warn them? He felt that he must try,
even if he did not succeed; though his heart told him that he would be
too late, while the moon would show him as an easy mark for his
pursuers. He must go, he felt, even if he laid down his life; and he
turned to retrace his steps towards the track down the valley, when he
stopped short.
Why could he not climb the mountain, and descend into the valley on the
other side? It would be a long and arduous task; but then it would be
free from enemies. He had never heard of such a feat being done; for it
was the custom always to follow the track to the shore, skirt the end of
the spur, and then ascend the Gap; but why could not this be possible?
He would try, if he died in the attempt; and then, with panting breath,
he began slowly to climb the face of the thickly-wooded mountain,
finding it grow more steep and difficult as he passed every twenty
yards, but fighting his way on--now finding a level spot, now a descent
into a little stream-sheltering rift, which glistened in the moonbeams;
but ever rising higher, till, having reached a crag by means of a long
pendulous vine, he paused to breathe and listen; for a wild shriek, as
from some dying despairing soul, had risen to his ear. He shuddered as
it was repeated; and then shrank back into the black shade cast by a
mass of lava which overhung his head, and listened again; but all was
still.
He could not see his homestead from where he rested; for the view was
shut out by the trees below him; but he started, for a vivid flash
suddenly shot up, and then sank; but only to burst out again. And he
ground his teeth, as he knew that they had fired the place, most
probably just before leaving it; and in his mind's eye he could see the
wretches filing off, booty-laden, to make their way down the valley to
the little bay at the end of the Gap.
There was no time to lose. His was not a fourth of the distance to
travel; but the road was fearful, and a cold chilling feeling of despair
fell upon him as, in making a spring upwards, he trod upon some loose
stones, lost his footing, and fell heavily, rolling down some twenty
feet into a rift, where, as he slowly gathered himself together and
began to climb once more, the sobs of anguish forced themselves from his
breast, and tears of weak misery coursed down his cheeks.
And now, grown more cautious--and knowing that, would he reach the
summit, it could only be by husbanding his strength--he climbed on and
on, every minute finding the way more arduous, and tangled with the
majestic luxuriant growth of the country. Far up to the left he could
see the moonbeams glittering on the snowy peaks, while to his right
again towered a high mass. Could he but keep to the path that should
lead him to the rift between, he might be in time--might warn them; but
despair whispered "No" the next moment, as difficulty after difficulty
met him at every step.
Rock, loose stone, thorny undergrowth, which tore his clothes and flesh;
huge ferns, whose old frond stumps tripped him up again and again;
creepers with snake-like branches: all had to be encountered; but the
moon gave him a friendly light, and he was enabled to win his way, now
faster, now slower, till, leaning again to rest upon a moonlit crag,
whence he could look down upon his burning home, he started and shrank
back into the darkness; for a faint noise below struck his ear, was
repeated again and again, and he knew that he was followed.
His breath came thickly, as he felt how unavailing had been his efforts:
but a moment before he had thought that he should win his way to the
top, even if he should only be in time to witness a similar destruction
to that going on at his feet; but now he felt that he was to be shot
down, perhaps dashed into some rift, and stones hurled upon him; and
maddened with despair, he sought for a weapon of defence.
Crash! there was the sound of a piece of rock loosened; and then again
the rustling sound, plainly borne on the night air, as some one forced
his way higher and higher.
What should he do? Wait and close with his adversary unarmed, trying to
take him at some disadvantage, or should he toil on and try to outstrip
him? The last he felt would be folly; for sooner or later, while
passing over some moonlit spot, he would only become a plainer mark for
his foe. He would stay and meet him there, beat him back with one of
the masses of lava at his feet, if he were seen, or else let him pass
on, and then seek out some other way.
The rustling came higher and higher, completely in his track--not
loudly, but gently, as if the one who followed were light and active;
but there was a sadden flash as from the barrel of a gun; and kneeling
down at the edge of a crag, below which the pursuer must come, Bray
waited with a couple of large masses ready at his hand, prepared to hurl
them down when the opportunity should offer; for after deciding to
proceed, he had given up the attempt as vain, and crouched there waiting
for his foe.
He knelt in the shade; but the moonbeams lit up all around, and gave a
distinctness to every object that was almost equal to that of day.
Nearer and nearer came the sounds; the great fronds were being parted
here and there; a long fine stem that had lent him its aid shook and
rattled as it was clasped from beneath. In another instant his foe
would be within reach; and he raised one of the heavy fragments, poised
it, and, as he saw a figure dart beneath, he hurled it down; but only
for it to go crashing below, wakening the echoes in the rifts and
chasms. The next instant he was dashed back, and a strong hand was upon
his throat, a knee upon his chest, and a weapon raised to slay him;
when, with a wild cry of despair, Bray forced his feet energetically
against the rock, and thrust himself away, so that he held his foe half
suspended over the edge of the yawning precipice.
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