A HASTY EXIT
The afternoon following the soldier's departure from the patroon
village went by all too slowly, his jaded horse's feet as heavy as the
leaden moments. That he had not long since overtaken the coach was
inexplicable, unless Susan had been a most tardy messenger. True, at
the fork of the road he had been misled, but should before this have
regained what he had lost, unless he was once more on the wrong
thoroughfare. As night fell, the vastness of the new world impressed
the soldier as never before; not a creature had he met since leaving
the patroon village; she whom he sought might have been swallowed up
in the immensity of the wilderness. For the first time his task seemed
as if it might be to no purpose; his confidence of the morning had
gradually been replaced by consuming anxiety. He reproached himself
that he had not pressed his inquiries further at the patroon village,
but realized it was now too late for regrets; go on he must and
should.
Along the darkening road horse and rider continued their way. Only
at times the young man pulled at the reins sharply, as the animal
stumbled from sheer weariness. With one hand he stroked encouragingly
the foam-flecked arch of the horse's neck; the other, holding the
reins, was clenched like a steel glove. Leaving the brow of a
hill, the horseman expectantly fixed his gaze ahead, when suddenly on
his right, a side thoroughfare lay before him. As he drew rein
indecisively at the turn, peering before him through the gathering
darkness, a voice from the trees called out unexpectedly:
"Hitch up in here!"
At this peremptory summons the soldier gazed quickly in the direction
of the speaker. Through the grove, where the trees were so slender and
sparsely planted the eye could penetrate the thicket, he saw a band of
horsemen dismounting and tying their animals. There was something
unreal, grotesque even, in their appearance, but it was not until one
of their number stepped from the shadow of the trees into the clearer
light of the road that he discerned their head-dress and garb to be
that of Indians. Recalling all he had heard of the masquerading,
marauding excursions of the anti-renters, the soldier at once
concluded he had encountered a party of them, bent upon some nefarious
expedition. That he was taken for one of their number seemed equally
evident.
"Come!" called out the voice again, impatiently. "The patroon is at
the manor with his city trollop. It's time we were moving."
An exclamation fell from the soldier's lips. The patroon!--his
ill-disguised admiration for the actress!--his abrupt reappearance
the night of the temperance drama! Any uncertainty Saint-Prosper
might have felt regarding the identity of him he sought, or the
reason for that day's work, now became compelling certitude. But for
the tenants, he might have ridden by the old patroon house. As it
was, congratulating himself upon this accidental meeting rather than
his own shrewdness, he quickly dismounted. A moment's thought, and he
followed the lease-holders.
In the attack on the manor, his purpose, apart from theirs, led him to
anticipate the general movement of the anti-renters in front of the
house and to make his way alone, aided by fortuitous circumstances, to
the room where the land baron had taken refuge. As he sprang into this
chamber the young girl's exclamation of fear was but the prelude to an
expression of gladness, while Mauville's consternation when he found
himself disarmed and powerless, was as great as his surprise. For a
moment, therefore, in his bearing bravado was tempered with
hesitancy.
"You here?" stammered the land baron, as he involuntarily recoiled
from his own weapon.
The soldier contemptuously thrust the revolver into his pocket. "As
you see," he said coldly, "and in a moment, they"--indicating the
door--"will be here!"
"You think to turn me over to them!" exclaimed the other violently.
"But you do not know me! This is no quarrel of yours. Give me my
weapon, and let me fight it out with them!"
The soldier's glance rested for a moment on the young girl and his
face grew stern and menacing.
"By heaven, I am half-minded to take you at your word! But you shall
have one chance--a slender one! There is the window; it opens on the
portico!"
"And if I refuse?"
"They have brought a rope with them. Go, or hang!"
The heir hesitated, but as he pondered, the anti-renters were
effectually shattering the heavy door, regaling themselves with
threats taught them by the politicians who had advocated their cause
on the stump, preached it in the legislature, or grown eloquent over
it in the constitutional assembly.
"The serfs are here! The drawers of water and hewers of wood have
arisen! Hang the land baron! Hang the feudal lord!"
A braver man than Mauville might have been cowed by that chorus. But
after pausing irresolutely, weighing the chances of life and death,
gazing jealously upon the face of the apprehensive girl, and
venomously at the intruder, the heir finally made a virtue of
necessity and strode to the window. With conflicting emotions
struggling in his mind--fury toward the lease-holders, hatred for the
impassive mediator--he yet regained, in a measure, an outwardly calm
bearing.
[Illustration]
"It's a poor alternative," he said, shortly, flashing a last glance at
the actress. "But it's the best that offers!"
So saying, he sprang upon the balcony--none too soon, for a moment
later the door burst open and an incongruous element rushed into the
room. Many were attired in outlandish head-dresses, embroidered
moccasins and fringed jackets, their faces painted in various hues,
but others, of a bolder spirit, had disdained all subterfuge of
disguise. Not until then did the soldier discover that he had
overlooked the possible unpleasantness of remaining in the land
baron's stead, for the anti-renters promptly threw themselves upon
him, regardless of his companion. The first to grapple with him was a
herculean, thick-ribbed man, of extraordinary stature, taller than the
soldier, if not so well-knit; a Goliath, indeed, as Scroggs had deemed
him, with arms long as windmills.
"Stand back, lads," he roared, "and let me throw him!" And Dick, the
tollman, rushed at Saint-Prosper with furious attack; soon they were
chest to chest, each with his chin on his opponent's right shoulder,
and each grasping the other around the body with joined hands.
Dick's muscles grew taut, like mighty whip-cords; his chest expanded
with power; he girded his loins for a great effort, and it seemed as
if he would make good his boast. Held in the grasp of those arms,
tight as iron bands, the soldier staggered. Once more the other heaved
and again Saint-Prosper nearly fell, his superior agility alone saving
him.
Then slowly, almost imperceptibly, the soldier managed to face to the
right, twisting so as to place his left hip against his adversary--his
only chance; a trick of wrestling unknown to his herculean, but clumsy
opponent. Gathering all his strength in a last determined effort, he
stooped forward suddenly and lifted in his turn. One portentous
moment--a moment of doubt and suspense--and the proud representative
of the barn-burners was hurled over the shoulder of the soldier,
landing with a crash on the floor where he lay, dazed and immovable.
Breathing hard, his chest rising and falling with labored effort,
Saint-Prosper fell back against the wall. The anti-renters quickly
recovering from their surprise, gave him no time to regain his
strength, and the contest promised a speedy and disastrous conclusion
for the soldier, when suddenly a white figure flashed before him,
confronting the tenants with pale face and shining eyes. A slender
obstacle; only a girlish form, yet the fearlessness of her manner, the
eloquence of her glance--for her lips were silent!--kept them back for
the instant.
But fiercer passions were at work among them, the desire for
retaliation and bitter hatred of the patroon, which speedily
dissipated any feeling of compunction or any tendency to waver,
"Kill him before his lady love!" cried a piercing voice from behind.
"Did they not murder my husband before me? Kill him, if you are men!"
And pressing irresistibly to the front appeared the woman whose
husband had been shot by the deputies. Her features, once soft and
matronly, flamed with uncontrollable passions.
"Are only the poor to suffer?" she continued, as her, burning eyes
fell on the young girl. "Shall she not feel what I did?"
"Back woman!" exclaimed one of the barn-burners, sternly. "This is no
place for you."
"Who has a better right to be here?" retorted the woman.
"But this is not woman's work!"
"Woman's work!" Fiercely. "As much woman's work as for his trull to
try to save him! Oh? let me see him!"
Gently the soldier, now partly recovering his strength, thrust the
young girl behind him, as pushing to the foreground the woman regarded
him vengefully. But in her eyes the hatred and bitter aversion faded
slowly, to be replaced by perplexity, which in turn gave way to
wonder, while the uplifted arm, raised threateningly against him, fell
passively to her side. At first, astonished, doubting, she did not
speak, then her lips moved mechanically.
"That is not the land baron," she cried, staring at him in disappointment
that knew no language.
"The woman is right," added a masquerader. "I know Mauville, too, for
he told me to go to the devil when I asked him to wait for his rent."
At this unexpected announcement, imprecations and murmurs of
incredulity were heard on all sides.
"Woman, would you shield your husband's murderer?" exclaimed an
over-zealous barn-burner.
"Shield him!" she retorted, as if aroused from a trance. "No, no! I'm
not here for that! But this is not the patroon. His every feature is
burned into my heart! I tell you it is not he. Yet he should be here.
Did I not see him driving toward the manor?" And she gazed wildly
around.
For a moment, following this impassioned outburst, their rough glances
sought one another's, and the soldier quickly took advantage of this
cessation of hostilities.
"No; I am not the land baron," he interposed.
"You aren't?" growled a disappointed lease-holder. "Then who the devil
are you? An anti-renter?" he added, suspiciously.
"He must be an enemy of the land baron," interrupted the woman,
passing her hand across her brow. "He was with us in the grove. I saw
him ride up and took him to be a barn-burner. He crossed the meadow
with us. I saw his face; distinctly as I see it now! He asked me about
the patroon--yes, I remember now!--and what was she like, the woman
who was with him!"
"I am no friend of his," continued the soldier in a firm voice. "You
had one purpose in seeking him; I, another! He carried off this lady.
I was following him, when I met you in the grove."
"Then how came you here--in this room?"
"By the way of a tree, the branch of which reaches to the window."
"The land baron was in this room a moment ago. Where is he now?"
For answer Saint-Prosper pointed to the window.
"Then you let him--"
"We're wasting time," impatiently shouted the barn-burner who had
disclaimed the soldier's identity to the patroon. "Come!" With an
oath. "Do you want to lose him after all? He can't be far away. And
this one, damn him! isn't our man!"
For a second the crowd wavered, then with a vengeful shout they shot
from the room, disappearing as quickly as they had come. Led by Little
Thunder, who, being a man of peace, had discreetly remained without,
they had reached the gate in their headlong pursuit when they were met
by a body of horsemen, about to turn into the yard as the anti-renters
were hurrying out. At sight of this formidable band, the lease-holders
immediately scattered. Taken equally by surprise, the others made
little effort to intercept them and soon they had vanished over field
and down dell. Then the horsemen turned, rode through the avenue of
trees, and drew up noisily before the portico.
From their window the soldier and his companion observed the abrupt
encounter at the entrance of the manor grounds and the dispersion of
the lease-holders like leaves before the autumn gusts. Constance, who
had breathlessly watched the flight of the erstwhile assailants, felt
her doubts reawakened as the horsemen drew up before the door.
"Are they coming back?" she asked, involuntarily clasping the arm of
her companion.
She who had been so courageous and self-controlled throughout that
long, trying day, on a sudden felt strangely weak and dependent. He
leaned from the narrow casement to command the view below, striving to
pierce the gloom, and she, following his example, gazed over his
shoulder. Either a gust of air had extinguished the light in the
candelabra on the mantel, or the tallow dip had burnt itself out, for
the room was now in total darkness so that they could dimly see,
without being seen.
"These men are not the ones who just fled," he replied.
"Then who are they?" she half-whispered, drawing unconsciously closer
in that moment of jeopardy, her face distant but a curl's length.
Below the men were dismounting, tying their horses among the trees.
Like a noisy band of troopers they were talking excitedly, but their
words were indistinguishable.
"Why do you suppose they fled from them?" she continued.
Was it a tendril of the vine that touched his cheek gently? He
started, his face toward the haze in the open borderland.
"Clearly these men are not the lease-holders. They may be seeking
you."
She turned eagerly from the window. In the darkness their hands met.
Momentary compunction made her pause.
"I haven't yet thanked you!" And he felt the cold, nervous pressure of
her hands on his. "You must have ridden very hard and very far!"
His hand closed suddenly upon one of hers. He was not thinking of the
ride, but of how she had placed herself beside him in his moment of
peril; how she had held them--not long--but a moment--yet long
enough!
"They're coming in! They're down stairs!" she exclaimed excitedly.
A flickering light below suddenly threw dim moving shadows upon the
ceiling of the hall. As she spoke she stepped forward and stumbled
over the debris at the door. His arm was about her, almost before the
startled exclamation had fallen from her lips; for a moment her
shapely, young figure rested against him. But quickly she extricated
herself, and they picked their way cautiously over the bestrewn
threshold out into the hall.
At the balustrade, they paused. Reconnoitering at the turn, they were
afforded full survey of the lower hall where the latest comers had
taken possession. Few in numbers, the gathering had come to a dead
stop, regarding in surprise the broken door, and the furniture
wantonly demolished. But amid this scene of rack and ruin, an object
of especial wonder to the newcomers was the great lifting-stone lying
in the hall amid the havoc it had wrought.
"No one but Dick, the tollman, could have thrown that against the
door!" said a little man who seemed a person of authority. "I wonder
where the patroon can be?"
With unusual pallor of face the young girl stepped from behind the
sheltering post. Her hand, resting doubtfully upon the balustrade,
sought in unconscious appeal her companion's arm, as they descended
together the broad steps. In the partial darkness the little man ill
discerned the figures, but divined their bearing in the relation of
outlines limned against the obscure background.
"Why," he muttered in surprise, "this is not the patroon! And here, if
I am not mistaken, is the lady Mr. Barnes is so anxious about."
"Mr. Barnes--he is with you?"
It was Constance that spoke.
"Yes; but--"
"Where is he?"
"We left him a ways down the road and--"
The sound of a horse's hoof beats in front of the manor, breaking in
on this explanation, was followed by hurried footsteps upon the porch.
The newcomer paused on the threshold, when, with an exclamation of
joy, Constance rushed to him, and in a moment was clasped in the arms
of the now jubilant Barnes.