"Why do you let him go?"
"Because I am a woman. I am not a man, and strong like you."
"Curse him! I'll kill him," he snarled.
"What good would that do?"
"Eh?"
"If I were a man like you, do you know how I would act?"
"No," he said; "how could I?" and his lips parted, to show his white
teeth in a peculiar laugh, before he gave a quick look to right and
left, to satisfy himself that they were not seen.
"I'd have revenge."
"How? With a gun?"
"And be hung for murder. No!"
She leaned towards him, and she too gave a furtive look round, as, with
her face flushed strangely, she whispered a few words to him--words that
he listened to with his eyes half-closed, and then he turned upon her
quickly.
"Why? To bring him back to you?" he said, with a mocking laugh. "You
love him?"
"I hate him," she said slowly.
"Yes," he said; "and you hate Judy Hayle, too, like the gipsy women hate
sometimes. Why don't you stop it?"
"Because I am helpless," she said bitterly. "Loose my arm. I knew it:
you are a coward."
"Am I?" he said, with an ugly smile. "Is this a trap?"
"If you think so, let it be," she said contemptuously; and she tried
again to shake her arm free, but the grasp upon it tightened.
"Perhaps I am a coward," he said; "but I will. He wouldn't marry her
then, and it would be serving him out. Not for nothing, though," he
added, with a laugh. "What will you give me?"
"Pah!" she said contemptuously; "how much do you want?"
He laughed and leaned forward, gazing full in her face.
"Perhaps I shall get into trouble again for it," he said, "and be shut
up for a year--perhaps for more. It's to play your game as well as
mine, and I must be paid well."
"Well, I will pay you," she said. "Tell me what you want."
"A kiss," he said; and before she could realise what he had said, his
left arm was about her waist, and he held her tightly to him. "A kiss
from a lady who is handsomer than Judy Hayle," he whispered.
"How dare you!" she cried, in a low voice.
"No," he said, laughing, "you won't call for help. Come, it isn't much
to give me, and I swear I will."
Marjorie gazed at him wildly, as she realised her position; there,
alone, in this man's power, and no one at hand to defend her. Then,
utterly careless of herself, as she thought of the bitter revenge she
had planned, she held back her face, and, with a faint laugh and her
voice trembling, she said,--
"No, I will not call for help. There is no need. Keep your word and I
will pay you--as you wish."
The blood crimsoned her cheeks as she spoke.
"No," he said, with a laugh; "you shall pay me now," and the next moment
his arms were fast round her, and his lips pressed to hers.
Marjorie started away, angry and indignant, but her furious jealousy
made her diplomatise, and she stood smiling at the good-looking,
gipsy-like ne'er-do-weel, and said laughingly,--
"That was not fair; I promised you that as a reward, and now you have
cheated me and will not keep your word."
"Yes, I will," he cried, as he seized her again eagerly; but she kept
him back. "I'll do anything you ask me. Curse Judith Hayle! She isn't
half so beautiful as you."
Madge's heart beat heavily, for admiration was pleasant, even from this
low-class scoundrel. His words were genuine, as she could see from his
eager gaze, the play of his features, and the earnestness in his voice.
"I've made a slave," she said to herself, forgetting for a moment the
cost, "and he'll do everything I bid him."
"Don't talk nonsense," she said, playfully. "You do not suppose I
believe what you say."
"What!" he cried, in a low, excited whisper, "not believe me. Here,
tell me anything else to do. Why, I'd kill anyone if you'll look at me
like that."
"I do not want you to kill anyone, and do not want you even to look or
speak to me again if you are so rude as that. You forget that I am a
lady."
"No, I don't," he cried, as he feasted on her with his eyes. "You're
lovely. I never saw a girl so beautiful as you are before."
He tried to catch her in his embrace again, but she waved him off.
"There," she said coldly, "that will do. I see I must ask someone else
to do what I want."
"No, no, don't," he whispered. "I didn't mean to make you cross. I
didn't want to offend you, but when you looked at me like you did, with
your shiny eyes, I couldn't help myself. I was obliged."
"Silence! How dare you," she cried indignantly, as, with her heart
throbbing with delight, she felt how very strong a hold she was getting
upon Caleb's will. "You forget yourself, sir."
"No, I don't; its only because--because--you're so handsome. There, be
cross with me if you like. I couldn't help it."
"And now I suppose you will go and boast in the village taproom that you
met the captain's cousin, and insulted her out in the wood."
"Do you think I'm a fool, miss?" he said sharply. "Do you think I'd
ever go and tell on a girl? Why, I shouldn't tell on a common servant
or a farmer's lass, let alone on a handsome lady like you."
"I don't believe you," she said, half turning away.
"Yes, do, miss, please do," he cried earnestly, "you may trust me. I'd
sooner go and hang myself than tell anybody--there!"
She turned her eyes upon him, and her feeling of delight increased as
she realised the truth of all that Caleb said. Then, as he looked up at
her now, with the appealing, beseeching aspect of a dog in his
countenance, she made a pretence of hesitating.
"No," she said. "I'm afraid I cannot trust you."
"Yes, do, miss, do."
"If I do you will insult me again."
"I didn't know it was insulting of you to love you," he said sullenly.
"Then I tell you it was, sir. If you had waited it would have been
different."
He did not speak, but she could see that he was still feasting upon her
with his eyes, and the worship in his looks was pleasant after Rolph's
cold rebuffs.
"Well," she cried, "why are you looking at me like that?"
He started and smiled.
"I can't help it," he said, "You are so different to every other girl I
know."
"Except Judith Hayle," she said contemptuously.
"You're not like her a bit," he said thoughtfully. "She's very nice
looking, and I used to think a deal of her."
"Oh, yes, she's lovely," said Madge with a spiteful laugh.
"Yes," said Caleb, thoughtfully, "so she is," and he stood looking at
the girl without comprehending the sarcasm in her words. "But she
hasn't got eyes like you have, and she isn't so white, and," he
whispered, approaching her more closely, "if you'll only be kind to me,
and smile at me like you did, and speak soft to me, I'll be like your
dawg."
He looked as if he would, and Marjorie saw it. She had been on the
watch, expecting that he would seize her again, but nothing seemed
further from his thoughts. It was exactly as he said--he was ready to
be like her dog, and had she told him then, he would have cast himself
at her feet, and let her plant her foot upon his neck in token of his
subjugation.
"Well," she said, "I think I will trust you."
"You will?" he cried.
"Yes, if you are obedient, and promise me that you will never dare to be
so rude again."
"I'll promise anything," he cried huskily, "but--"
"But what, sir?"
"You'll keep your word and pay me?" he said with a laugh.
"Wait and see," she said indifferently. "I am going back now."
"But how am I to tell you?" he said.
"I shall be sure to know."
"And how shall I see you again?"
"You will not want to see me again," she said archly.
"Not want to see you," he whispered. "Why, I'd go round the world,
across the seas, anywhere, to hear you talk to me, and look at your
eyes. Tell me when I shall see you again."
"Oh, I don't know," she said carelessly, "perhaps some fine day you'll
see me walking in the wood."
"Yes--yes," he said eagerly. "I'll always be about watching for you as
I would for a hare."
"One of my cousin's," she said, with a contemptuous laugh.
"They're not his," cried Caleb, quietly, "they're wild beasts, and as
much mine as anybody's."
"We will not discuss that," she said coldly. "Good-bye, and I hope you
will keep your word."
"I've sweared it to myself," he said, "and I shall do it. Don't go
yet."
"Why not?"
"Because I could stand and look at you, like, all day, and it will not
seem the same when you are gone."
"Why, I thought you were a poacher."
"Well, I suppose I am. What o' that?"
"You talk quite like a courtier?"
"Do I?" he said eagerly. "Well, you did it; you made me like you."
"I?"
"Yes. I don't know how it was, but you've made me feel as if I'd do
anything for you."
"Ah, well, we shall see," said Marjorie, as she fixed her eyes on his,
glorying in her triumph, and feeling that every word spoken was the
honest truth. Then, giving him a careless nod, she was turning away.
"Don't go like that," said Caleb, huskily.
"What do you mean?"
"Say one kind word to me first."
"Well," said Madge, showing her white teeth in a contemptuous smile, as
his eyes were fixed upon hers, just as her cousin's Gordon setter's had
been a score of times. "Poor fellow, then," she said mockingly, and she
held out her little hand, as she would have stretched it forth to pat
one of the dogs.
He took it in his brown, sinewy fingers, bent over it, and held it
against his cheek. Then, quick as lightning, he had grasped it with a
grip like steel, snatched her from where she stood, and almost before
she could notice it, he was holding her in a crouching position down
behind the bushes, one arm tightly about her waist, and his right hand
over her mouth.
She was too much taken by surprise for the moment to struggle or attempt
to cry out. Then, as her eyes were fixed upon him fiercely, she felt
his hot breath upon her cheek, and his lips pressed upon her ear.
"Don't move, don't speak," whispered the man, "he mustn't see you along
o' me."
Madge strained her sense of hearing, but all was perfectly still, and,
concluding that it was a trick, she gathered herself together for a
strong effort to get free, when there was a sharp crack as of a broken
twig. Then the low brushing sound of dead strands of grass against a
man's leg; and, directly after Rolph came into view, plainly seen
through the brambles, and as he came nearer Marjorie grew faint.
If he should see her--like that--clasped in this man's arms!
Rolph came nearer and nearer, his way leading him so close to where his
cousin crouched that it seemed impossible that he could go by without
seeing her, held there by a man whom he would look upon as the scum of
the earth. The agony of shame and mortification she suffered was
intense, the greater because her presence here was due to the fact that
she had vowed that, in spite of all, she would yet be Rolph's wife, the
mistress of The Warren.
As her cousin came on, and she felt Caleb's arm tightening about her, a
strange giddiness made her brain swim, and the objects about her grew
misty; but clearly seen in advance of this mist was her cousin's face,
his eyes fixed upon the very spot where she was hiding, and plunging
through the leaves to search her out, to drag her forth and upbraid her
with being a disgrace to her sex, a woman utterly lost to all sense of
shame. And all the time, throb, throb, throb, with heavy beat, she
could feel Caleb Kent's heart, and a twitching sensation in the muscle
of his arm, as, influenced by the man's thoughts of flight or violence,
he loosened his grip, or held her more tightly still.
"He must see us," thought Marjorie. "Oh, if I could only die!"
Close up now, and as he came nearer Rolph struck sharply with his stick
at a loose strand which projected half across his path.
He must see them; he could not help seeing them, thought Marjorie; and
then her heart stood still, and the mist began to close her in, for, to
her horror, the culmination of her shame seemed to have arrived. Rolph
stopped short, leaned over, apparently to part the brambles and gaze
through them at the hiding pair, and then muttered something half aloud
as he reached over more and more till his face was not six feet from his
cousin's, staring up at him with her eyes full of horror.
A guilty conscience needs no accuser; so runs the old proverbial saying.
Rolph had caught sight of an extra large blackberry and he had reached
out and picked it, more from habit, fostered by a country life, than
desire, and then passed on.
A long time appeared to elapse, during which Marjorie lay listening to
steps which thundered upon her ear, before a voice, that sounded as if
it came from far away, whispered,--
"It's all right, now. I don't think he saw."
Marjorie looked at the speaker strangely, and then turned away, plunging
into the thickest part of the wood to try and grow calm before making
her way home, and in perfect unconsciousness of the fact that, not
twenty yards away, Caleb Kent was following her, gliding from tree to
tree, and always keeping her in sight.
Sometimes she stopped to rest her hand upon one of the pine trunks,
apparently wrapt in thought; and Caleb Kent drew a long breath and told
himself that she was thinking about him. Then she walked swiftly on
again till she was at the very edge of the wood, where she stepped down
into the sandy lane where he could not follow; but, quickly, almost as a
squirrel, he mounted a tall spruce by its short, dense, ladder-like
branches, to where, high up, he could still keep the girl in sight,
elated by his adventure, and little thinking that she was asking herself
whether it would be very difficult to kill Caleb Kent next time she met
him in the woods, and so silence for ever a tongue whose utterances
might ruin her beyond recovery.
"Something to drink--something to drink," she kept on thinking. "To
drink my health."
Her eyes brightened, and her strange look told of an excitement within
her which made every pulse throb and bound.
"It would be so easy," she said to herself. But the feeling of elation
passed away as she recalled the man's furtive, suspicious nature, and,
in imagination, saw him fixing his keen eyes upon her, and asking her to
drink first.
Volume 2, Chapter V.