"Dinny! You here!"
"Yes, sor--it's me."
"But at liberty?"
"Yes, sor; and I'm to attend on ye as I did avore."
"But--"
"Oh, it's all right, sor! The captain's a bit busy, and I'm not to be
hung at present. I'm to be kept till there's a big holiday, and be
strung up then. It's the fashion out in this part of the counthry."
"My poor fellow," cried Humphrey, "I am glad to see you safe again!"
"Safe, sir! and d'ye call it safe, whin the first time, perhaps, as the
skipper gets in a passion I shall be hung up in all me youth and beauty,
like one o' the big drooping flowers on a tree!"
"Nonsense, man!"
"Oh, it's sinse, sor; and I shall droop, too, wid all my moight!"
"No, no," said Humphrey, as he pondered upon the past, and saw in
Dinny's reprieve a desire to gratify him. "No, my lad. I appealed to
the captain to spare your life, and this is the result."
"Did ye, now, sor! Sure, an' I thought that the pretty little darlin'
had been down on her knees to him; and, knowing what a timpting little
beauty she is, it made me shiver till I began to consider what sort of a
man the captain is, and how, when the boys have been capturing the
women, and sharing 'em out all round, the skipper niver wance took a
fancy to a single sowl. Faix, and he's always seemed to take to you,
sor, more than to annyone else. Some men's of a marrying sort, and some
ar'n't. The skipper's one of the ar'n'ts."
Humphrey looked at the man curiously, but it was evident that he had no
hidden meaning.
"Sure, sor," continued Dinny, "when I think about you two, it has always
seemed to me as if the captain wanted to be David to your Jonathan, only
the other way on, for the skipper isn't a bit like King David."
"Have you suffered much!"
"Suffered, sor!"
"I mean in prison."
"Divil a bit, sor! I've lived like a foighting-cock. They always fade
a man up well in this part of the counthry before they finish him off."
"You may make your mind easy, Dinny," said Humphrey, thoughtfully; "the
captain will not take your life unless he takes mine too."
"An' is it mak me moind aisy, sor, when I can't get spache of the
darlin', and that Black Mazzard in hiding somewhere and freckening the
poor sowl to death!"
"Surely, there is nothing to fear from him now?"
"Faix, and I don't know that same. I shall always be freckened about
him till a dacent praste has tied us two together toightly, and then I
sha'n't be happy till I know that Black Mazzard's nailed up bechuckst
four boards; and if I've annything to do wid it they shall be as thick
as trees and nailed wid screws."
"He has made his escape somewhere?"
"Not he, sor; and I don't like the look o' things. I've been too much
shut up to see annything, being more like a cockroach in a whishky
bottle and the cork tied down than annything else. But I'm skeart,
captain darlin'; and if annything happens--whisht! have ye kept my
saycret?"
He put his lips close to the prisoner's ears, and whispered as he gave a
knowing look at the couch.
"It is a secret still, Dinny."
"Good luck to ye, sor! Thin, if annything happens, just you go there
and lie shnug till I come to ye; and if ye'll tak' my advice ye'll keep
on putting a dhrop o' wine in the cellar and shtoring up a bit o' food;
and if it isn't wanted, why ye're no worse off."
"Explain yourself, my lad," said the prisoner, for the lively chatter of
the Irishman relieved the tedium of his confinement.
"Hist!"
"Murther!" ejaculated Dinny, as a faint signal came from overhead.
"Sure an' I was niver cut out for a prophet afther all."
"Dinny!--Captain Armstrong!" came from above.
"Good luck to ye, darlin'! kape on shpaking," whispered Dinny,
excitedly. "It does me good to hear ye; but niver mind the captain,
darlin'. Shpake to me."
"I came here--at great risk," came down, as if the speaker was panting
heavily. "There's something wrong--I want to put you on your guard.
Tell the captain. Quick! I dare not stay."
"But, darlin', what's wrong? Whisht! shpake out, and let's hear ye.
Look at that, now! Why, she's gone!"
For there was a faint rustling overhead, and then all was silence once
again.
"Sure, sor, would ye look at me," cried Dinny, with a most perplexed
expression of countenance, "and tell me if I'm awake or it's only a
dhrame."
"Dinny," said Humphrey, "she would not have come in such haste if there
had not been good cause. Go and warn the captain. Quick!"
The day passed without news, and, weary with his tedious pacing of his
great cell, Humphrey Armstrong threw himself upon his couch, where he
lay, with the great solemn face of the old stone idol seeming to loom
down mysteriously from above.
It was not until the next morning that he saw Dinny again. The night
had passed quietly, and the day found Humphrey still watching. He,
however, dropped into a pleasant slumber as the sun rose, in which sleep
he was still plunged when Dinny came.
"Jist nawthing at all, sor," he said. "The darlin' must have got a
craze in her head, for when I told the captain he trated me wid scorn,
and Bart asked me if I was playing the fool."
"Then there is no danger!"
"Divil a bit, sor, that I can think out," said Dinny.
"But Mistress Greenheys."
"What about her, sor?"
"What did she say?"
"Sure an' you heard it all, sor. I couldn't repate it now if I thried."
"But you have seen her since?"
"Sin her! Bedad I'd only like to--if it was only to shpake wan word to
her wid me oi. No, sor, I can't get spache of her."
"But is all quiet in the place?"
"An' is it quiet? Why, a tomb in Aygypt is a lively place to it. The
schooner's getting rotting for want o' work, and the men do nothing but
dhrink and shlape, and the captain's shut up all alone whin he isn't
down in the forest saying his prayers."
"Is it the calm that comes before the storm, Dinny?" said Humphrey.
"Sure an' I don't know, sor; but I'll kape watch if I can, and give ye
word if there's annything wrong; but me poor head's in a mix, and since
I've been out of prishn I seem to see nothing but Black Mazzard
shwarming all over the place and takkin' me darling away. Did ye
intersade wid the captain, sor?"
"Dinny, I have not seen him again," said Humphrey, frowning.
"Not seen him, sor! Why, he has been here half a dozen toimes."
"Been here? No."
"Sure and I saw him wid me own ois, sor. Twice he came to the windy
there and four toimes along by the big passage. Sure I thought ye'd
been colloguing."
"I was not aware of it," said Humphrey, calmly; but his words did not
express the feelings that were raging within his breast, and as soon as
he was alone he tried to analyse them.
He must flee. He could do nothing else, and growing momentarily more
excited, he tried to force himself to act and think.
The old temple. He would flee there for the present, he said. It would
remove him from Mary's pursuit, for she would never dream of his seeking
refuge there, and from that place he might perhaps be able to open up
communication with Dinny.
He had no weapon, so he caught up a large table-knife and stuck it in
his waistband. It was not much, but something, and at that moment he
recalled Mary Dell's history--how she had told him that they had begun
with a canoe; through that captured a larger boat; that larger boat had
enabled them to take a vessel; and so on till the swift schooner had
been obtained.
In the same way that knife should grow into a sword, he said to himself;
and then he felt a sensation of half-blind rage at himself for making
the comparison.
"What is this hateful unsexed creature to me!" he said, angrily, as he
stood thinking as to his next step.
Food! He must have food. In his excitement and the fury of the haste
that was upon him, the trouble of taking it angered him; but he knew
that he must have it, and gathering together what he could, he paused
once more to think and listen.
All was silent, and the drawing aside of the great curtain proved that
Bart was not on guard, for there was no dull, yellow gleam of his
lantern at the end of the corridor, and once more it came over the
prisoner as a feeling of wonder that he should not again and again have
taken such steps as these. Almost unguarded, his prison doors and
windows always open, and freedom given him to wander about the ruins,
and yet like a pinioned bird he had stayed.
"They know that the sea before, the forest and mountain behind, are
stronger than bolt and bar," something seemed to whisper to him as he
stood hesitating.
"But not to a determined man, ready to do or die!" he cried, as if
forced to answer aloud; and he set his teeth as he still hesitated and
paused before hurrying out of the great dark place.
He stopped. What would she do when she found that he had gone? What
would she say of the man whom, with all her faults, she evidently dearly
loved, and would sacrifice all to win?
Humphrey Armstrong stamped fiercely upon the old stone flooring, making
the vaulted roof echo as he thrust his fingers into his ears in a
child-like attempt to shut out and deafen himself to the silent
whisperings which assailed him.
He gave one glance round, trying to penetrate the darkness, and
hesitated no longer, but strode away, passing out of the long corridor
out among the ruins, and, well accustomed to the place now, making
straight for the pathway which, at its division, turned toward the old
temple.
All was still; but it seemed lighter away to his left than he could
quite account for, and he was starting again when a distant shout as of
many voices came through the silence of the night and died away.
"Carousing," he muttered, and he hesitated again.
If the men were carousing the watch kept would be less strict, and there
might be some chance of obtaining a boat.
"To start alone on a cruise," he said, half aloud. "What madness!"
Then passionately: "It all seems madness, and I can do nothing but drift
with fate."
Fighting down the strange hesitancy which kept assailing in various
forms, especially now in that of conjuring up difficulties in the way of
escape, he plunged sturdily into the forest path, and, as fast as the
darkness allowed, went on straight for the old temple, a grim place of
refuge, with its ghastly relics; of Abel Dell lying, as it were, in
state; and the horrible, haunting recollections of the huge cavernous
cenote where the would-be assassin had met his fate, and the other had
been consigned as to his tomb.
It was painful work. Every now and then some thorny creeper of rapid
growth hung across and tore his skin; at some sudden turn he came in
contact with tree-trunk or mouldering stone; but the greater the
difficulties in the darkness, the greater the rest seemed to Humphrey
Armstrong's brain, and he kept on till a sudden turn brought him close
to the fork, where one path went winding to the left toward the men's
and the captain's quarters, the other to the temple.
As he approached he became conscious of a rustling sound, as of a wild
creature passing through the forest, and he snatched his knife from his
waist, ready to strike for life if attacked; but, firmly convinced that
there were no denizens of the wild there but such as were more likely to
avoid him, he kept on again, to reach the dividing path just as he
became aware that it was no creature passing through the wilderness of
trees, but someone, like himself, hurrying along the track from the
men's quarters so rapidly, that they came in contact, and a hand seized
him by the throat, and the point of some weapon seemed to be pressed
against his breast, as a voice exclaimed in a hoarse whisper--
"Make the slightest sound and it is your last."
And as these words seemed to be hissed into his face, a shout arose from
some distance along the path, and the tramping of feet and rustling of
branches intimated that people were rapidly coming in pursuit.
"You!" exclaimed Humphrey, hoarsely, as he stood with hand uplifted to
strike, but suspended in the act as if every muscle had suddenly become
stone.
"Humphrey Armstrong!"
The hand that had grasped his throat dropped nerveless, and the weapon
fell from his breast as the shouting of men increased.
"Well," said Humphrey, bitterly, as if he were forcing himself to say
words that he did not mean, "why do you not strike? I was escaping.
Call up your gang of cut-throats and end it all."
"Hush! For Heaven's sake, hush! You will be heard."
"Well," said Humphrey, aloud, and as if in defiance; but a warm soft
hand was placed over his lips, and its owner whispered--
"You were trying to escape, or did you know?"
"Know!" said Humphrey, involuntarily speaking lower. "Know what? I was
escaping."
"To the old temple! No, no, they are going there."
"Your hounds!"
"Silence, man, for your life!" was whispered close to his ear, and the
hand once more sought his lips.
"Come on, my lads!" came out of the darkness ahead. "I know where to
find him, snivelling yonder among the old images. Come on!"
There was a shout, and it seemed as if the leader of a body of men,
beneath whose feet the rotten branches that bestrewed the path crackled,
had suddenly halted for his companions to close up before saying a few
final words of encouragement.
"Now then," the voice said in thick, husky tones, "stand by me, my lads.
He's gone on there, and there's no getting back. One good, bold blow
and we'll scotch him like a snake. Then fair share and share alike of
all there is hidden away, and start straight. He's no good now, and the
others'll join in when he's gone. Ready?"
"Ay, ay!" came in hoarse, drunken tones; and as Humphrey felt himself
pressed back into the pathway by which he had come, there was a
staggering of feet, and a dull trampling, as about a dozen men passed
on, leaving behind them the thick reek of hot, spirit-laden breath.
"Now!" as the steps passed on. "Now," was whispered in Humphrey's ear;
"this way."
"Ah!" arose in a fierce growl, as some one of the party who had not gone
on with the rest made a dash at and seized the buccaneer captain.
"Prisoner! Who is it? Here, hi mates, I've--"
He said no more. Without pause or thought why he did this--why he
sought to save his companion--Humphrey Armstrong made a spring in the
direction of the voice, his hands came in contact with a coarse bull
throat, and its owner was driven backwards, to fall with his head
striking a projecting piece of stone, dragging the buccaneer in the
fall.
The man was stunned, and lay perfectly inert as Humphrey and his
companion struggled to their feet, panting with exertion, and listening
for the return of the party who had gone on.
But they had not heard the noise of the struggle, the maze-like turnings
of the path had shut it out, and their voices came now muffled and soft,
as if from a distance.
Then Humphrey felt his hand gripped firmly.
"This way."
"What! Are you going to take me back to prison?" said Humphrey
mockingly.
"Do you wish to go straight to death?"
"I am going straight to liberty!" cried Humphrey.
"This way, then," whispered his companion; and without a word Humphrey
allowed himself to be led back along the dark arcade, listening to the
heavy panting of his guide, who seemed to be breathing heavily, and as
if in pain.
For some time no word was spoken. Then, as he became aware of his
companion's purpose, Humphrey stopped short.
"You are leading me back to that cursed prison," he said fiercely.
"Loose my hand."
"I am leading you to the only place where you will be safe," was
whispered back. "Have I not suffered enough, man? Do you think I wish
to die with the knowledge that, these dogs will seize and rend you in
their drunken frenzy?"
"Rend me!"
"Yes. They have risen. That wretch, whom I have spared so long in my
weak folly, is at their head. Humphrey Armstrong, believe me, I am
trying to save your life!"
"Then why not make for the shore? A boat! Give me a boat and let me
go!"
"Half the men who were faithful to me are dead, treacherously burned to
death in their quarters. I cannot explain; but the doorway was blocked
by those fiends. The landing-place is guarded by a portion of his
bloodthirsty gang. To go to the shore is to seek your death. Will you
not trust me now?"
"It is to keep me here!" he cried fiercely.
"To keep you here when I would gladly say go! Trust me. Give me time
to think. I was coming to save you when we met. Will you not believe?"
"Yes!" cried Humphrey, hoarsely. "I will trust you!"
"Hah!"
That was all. His hand was gripped more tightly; and, as he yielded it
to his companion, he felt himself led with unerring decision in and out
among the mouldering ruins of the edge of the clearing to the side of
the old amphitheatre, a faint metallic clink from time to time
indicating that a sword was being struck upon the stones to make sure of
the way.
"You are going back there?" said Humphrey.
"Yes," came back hoarsely. "Do not speak. We may be heard."
Humphrey was conscious that his guide had led him to the old altar and
sunk upon it with a moan; but she still tightly clung to his hand.
There they remained in silence as if listening for pursuit; and the
deep, hoarse breathing of both sounded painfully loud in the utter
darkness.
Humphrey essayed to speak again and again, but he felt that he could not
trust himself to utter words.
It was his companion who broke the painful silence as she still clung to
his hand.
"I ought to have acted sooner," she said bitterly. "I might have known
it would come to this; but in my cruel selfishness I could not speak--I
could not let you go. Do not blame me--do not reproach me. It was my
madness; and now the punishment has come."
"I do not understand you," he said huskily.
"You do," she said gently. "But it is no time to think of this.
Listen! These men will search every spot to find and slay me--and you;
but you shall escape. Now, listen? Below this old place there is a
rock chamber, known only to me and Bart--who lies wounded yonder and
helpless; but he will not betray the secret, even if he thinks that you
are there. You will go to the end of your couch, press heavily with
your shoulder against the corner, forcing it in this direction, and then
the great stone will move upon a pivot. There is a way down--"
"You need not tell me," said Humphrey at this point. "I know."
"Thank Heaven!" she ejaculated. "Keep in hiding there till the wretches
are off their guard; and then cautiously make your way by night down to
the landing-place, and by some means seize a boat. There will be no
guard kept when I am gone."
"And my people--my poor fellows?"
"Gone," she said quietly. "They seized a boat and escaped long ago.
All has been confusion here since--since I have been mad," she added
piteously.
"Escaped!"
"Yes; and you will escape. And in the future, when you are away--and
happy--don't curse me--think of me as a poor lost woman, driven by
fate--to what I am--but who saw and loved you, Humphrey Armstrong, as
woman has seldom loved before."
"Oh, hush!" he said huskily. "For Heaven's sake don't speak like that!"
"No," she said gently, after listening for a few moments; but all was
still. "I will not speak. It is nearly over now. You will forgive
me?"
"Forgive you--yes!"
She uttered a low sigh, full of thankfulness, as she still clung to his
hand.
"It is enough," she said. "Now, go! You know the way. Be cautious, be
patient, and bide your time; and then Heaven speed you safely home!--He
has forgiven me," she sighed to herself, and the pressure upon his hand
seemed to increase.
"Well," she said after a few moments' pause, "why do you stay?"
Her voice startled him in its intensity, for it seemed to echo through
the place; and his hand had, as it had been for many minutes past,
grasped hers with crushing force as the tide rose to its fullest height
and bore him on.
"And you!" he said. "What will you do?"
"I!" she said with a faint laugh; "I shall wait here until they come."
"Wait here!" cried Humphrey. "They will kill you!"
"Yes," she said softly.
"Then why not share my flight? Come with me now while there is time. I
will protect you and take you where you will. I cannot leave you like
this!"
"Not leave me?" she said with a sob.
"No. Do you think me such a cur that I could leave you to the mercy of
these wretches?"
"It is too late," she said. "Go!"
"Go?"
"Yer, while there is time."
"But you can hide as well as I!" he cried excitedly. "Come!"
"It is too late," she said, and he felt her hand tremble in his grasp.
"And leave you?" he cried. "I would sooner die!"
"Then you do love me?" she cried wildly, as she half rose from the
altar, but sank back.
"Love you!" he cried passionately. "I have fought with it, I have
battled with it till I have been nearly mad! Love you, Mary, my brave,
true heroine! I love you with all my heart!"
She uttered a wild cry of joy as he threw himself upon his knees and
clasped her to his heart, his face buried in her breast and her two arms
clung tightly round his neck, as she uttered a low moan of mingled joy
and pain.
"Love you!" he whispered, as he raised his face, and his lips sought
hers; "my darling! words will not tell my love! Come, what is the world
to us? You are my world, my own, my love! Come!"
She clung to him passionately for a few moments.
"At last!" she said softly, as if to herself; "the love of one true
noble man! Ah!"
A low deep sigh escaped her, and then, as if roused to a sense of her
position, she thrust him back and listened.
"Hark!" she said, as a low shout arose. "They are coming back--they
will be here soon! Quick! lose no time! You must escape!"
"And you?" he said, wildly.
She took his hand and laid it slowly upon her bosom, to press it there,
so that he could fool the heavy dull throb of her heart.
For a moment even then he did not realise what she meant. Then, with a
wild cry he leaped to his feet, for his hand was wet with the warm blood
which welled from a terrible wound.
"You are hurt?" he cried.
"To the death, Humphrey. Oh, my love, my love! Take me in your arms
once more and hold me to your heart. Tell me that you will remember me,
and then lay me here, upon this old stone, with your kiss wet upon my
lips. Death will be easy then!"
"Death easy! I leave you! If you must die it shall be together!" he
panted, as he once more enfolded her in his arms.
"This is madness," she whispered, as she struggled feebly in his
embrace. "Go, for pity's sake--go!"
"My place is here!" he said in a low fierce voice, as he took up the
sword she had let fall upon the pavement. "We shall not die alone.
Whose cowardly hand inflicted that wound?"
"You need not ask," she said feebly. "He missed before--the blow was
true this time."
"The fiend! The devil!" groaned Humphrey, as the sword quivered in his
grasp. "Well, we shall want a slave to open the gates of death. His
shall be the task!"
She clung to him with failing strength, and drew herself up by him till
she could once more rest upon his breast, with her arms tightly clasped
about his neck.
"You told me at last you loved me," she panted. "You said the words I
have so hungered to hear--words I thought that I should have died and
never heard pass your lips. Now that I know it, and that it is true, do
not embitter my last moments by showing me that I have tried in vain."
"I could not live without you now!" he cried passionately, as he held
her to him more tightly still.
"They are coming. It is too late for me. Let me die in peace, knowing
that you are saved."
He raised her in his arms and bore her to the great stone, and, as he
laid her gently down, the noise of the coming gang could be heard.
There was not a moment to lose, and any slip in his instructions would
have resulted in destruction; but as he pressed against the stone it
easily revolved, and he stooped once more and raised the fainting woman
in his arms, to bear her down into the tomb-like structure and place her
at the foot of the broad stone stairs which led into the vault.
As he loosened her arms from about his neck and passed quickly up again,
there were heavy steps in the long corridor, and lights flashed through
the openings of the great curtain. So close were the men that Humphrey
saw their faces as he stood on the upper step, and dragged at the slab
by two great hollows underneath, made, apparently, by the olden masons
for the mover's hands.
For the moment Humphrey, as he bent down there beneath the place on
which he had so often slept or lain to think, felt certain that he must
have been seen; but the muffled voices came close up, the steps trampled
here and there, sounding dull and hollow, and there was no seizing of
the great stone, no smiting upon its sides.
He held his breath as he stood bending down and listening for some
indication of danger; but it seemed as if the men had coursed all over
the place, searching in all directions, and were about to go, when, all
at once, there was a shout close to the place where he had raised Mary
from the altar.
The shout was followed by a muffled sound of many voices, and he
listened, wondering what it meant. Some discovery had evidently been
made, but what?
He shuddered, and a chill of horror shot through him, for he knew
directly after.
It was blood.