About six o'clock on the evening of the same day, the cottage of Mrs.
Clare was empty. The good widow herself stood at the garden gate, and
looked up the road into the wood, along which the western sun was
streaming low. After gazing for a moment in that direction, she turned
her eyes to the left, and then down the edge of the wood, which
stretched along in a tolerably even line till it reached the farther
angle. The persevering dragoons were patrolling round it still; and
Mrs. Clare murmured to herself, "How will he ever get out, if they
keep such a watch?"
She was then going into the cottage again, when a hurried step caught
her ear, coming apparently from the path which led from the side of
Halden to the back of the house, and thence round the little garden
into the road.
"That sounds like Harding's step," thought the widow; and her ear had
not deceived her. In another minute, she beheld him turn the corner of
the fence and come towards her; but there was a heated and angry look
upon his face, which she had never seen there before; and--although
she had acted for the best, and not without much consideration, in
sending Kate upon Mr. Radford's commission, and not going herself--she
feared that her daughter's lover might not be well pleased his bride
should undertake such a task. As he came near, the symptoms of anger
were more apparent still. There was the cloudy brow, the flashing eye,
the hurried and impetuous walk, which she had often seen in her own
husband--a man very similar in character to him who now approached
her--when irritated by harsh words; and Widow Clare prepared to do all
she could to soothe him ere Kate's return.
But Harding did not mention her he loved, demanding, while yet at some
distance, "Where is Mr. Radford, Mrs. Clare?"
"He is not here, Mr. Harding," replied the widow; "he has not been
here since the morning. But what makes you look so cross, Harding? You
seem angry."
"And well I may be," answered Harding, with an oath. "What do you
think they have set about?--That I informed against them, and betrayed
them into the hands of the dragoons: when, they know, I saw them safe
out of the Marsh; and it must have been their own stupidity, or the
old man's babbling fears, that ruined them--always trusting people
that were sure to be treacherous, and doubting those he knew to be
honest. But I'll make him eat his words, or cram them down his throat
with my fist."
"Why, he spoke quite kindly of you this morning, Harding," said the
widow; "there must be some mistake."
"Mistake!" cried the smuggler, sharply; "there is no mistake.--It is
all over Hythe and Folkestone already; and every one says that it came
from him. Can you not tell me where he is gone?--Which way did he
turn?"
"Towards his own house," replied Mrs. Clare; "but you had better come
in, Harding, and get yourself cool before you go to him. You will
speak angrily now, and mischief may come of it. I am sure there is
some mistake."
"I" will not sit down till I have made him own it," answered the
smuggler. "Perhaps he is up at Harbourne. I'll go there. Where is
Kate, Mrs. Clare?"
"She has gone towards Harbourne House," said the widow, not choosing,
in the excited state of his feelings, to tell him her daughter's
errand; "but she will be back in one minute, if you will but come in."
"No," he replied; "I will come back by-and-by. Perhaps I shall meet
her as I go;" and he was turning towards the wood, when suddenly, at
the spot where the road entered amongst the trees, the pretty figure
of Kate Clare, as trim, and neat, and simple as a wild flower,
appeared walking slowly back towards the cottage. But she was not
alone. By her side was a tall, handsome young man, dressed in full
military costume, with his heavy sword under his arm, and a star upon
his breast. He was bending down, talking to his fair companion with a
friendly air, and she was answering him with a gay smile.
A pang shot through Harding's bosom: the first that ever the poor girl
had caused; nor, indeed, would he have felt it then, had he not been
irritated; for his was a frank and confiding heart, open as the day,
in which that foul and dangerous guest, Suspicion, usually could find
no lurking place. At first he did not recognise, in the glittering
personage before his eyes, the grave, plain-looking stranger, who, a
week or two before, had conversed with him for a few minutes on the
cliffs near Sandgate; but he saw, as the two came on, that Kate raised
her eyes; and as soon as she perceived him standing by her mother, a
look of joy lighted up her face, which made him murmur to himself,
"I'm a fool!"
The stranger, too, saw him; but it made no change in his demeanour;
and the next moment, to Harding's surprise, the officer came forward
somewhat more quickly, and took Widow Clare by the hand, saying, with
a grave smile, "Do you not know me, Mrs. Clare?"
"Gracious Heaven!" cried the widow, drawing back and gazing at him,
"Can it be you, sir?"
"Yes, indeed!" he answered. "Why, Kate here knew me directly, though
she was but ten or eleven, I think, when I went away."
"Oh, that was because you were always so fond of her, Mr. Henry,"
replied Widow Clare. "Gracious! how you are changed!"
Harding was talking to Kate while these few words passed, but he heard
them; nor did he fail to remark that two mounted dragoons, one leading
a horse by the rein, followed the young officer from the wood. He now
recognised him also; and by his dress perceived the rank he held in
the army, though Mrs. Clare called him "Mr. Henry."
"Yes, I am changed, indeed!" replied Leyton, to the widow's last
remark, "in body and health, Mrs. Clare, but not in heart, I can
assure you; and as I was obliged to visit this wood, I resolved I
would not be so near you without coming in to see how you were going
on, with your pretty Kate here."
"My pretty Kate, very soon!" said Harding, aloud; and the young
officer turned suddenly round, and looked at him more attentively than
before.
"Ah, Mr. Harding!" he exclaimed, "is that you? We have met before,
though perhaps you don't remember me."
"Oh yes, I do, sir," replied the smuggler, drily. "But I must go,
Kate;" and he added, in a low tone, "I shall be back by-and-by."
Thus saying, he walked away; but before he had taken ten steps, Leyton
followed, and took him by the arm. "What do you want with me, sir?"
asked the smuggler, turning sharply round, and putting his hand in the
bosom of his coat.
"Hush!" replied the young officer; "I seek no harm to you--merely
one word. For Heaven's sake, Harding, quit this perilous life of
yours!--at least, before you marry that poor girl--if I have
understood you rightly, that you are about to marry her. I speak as a
friend."
"Thank you, sir!" answered the smuggler, "I dare say you mean it kind;
but it was hardly fair of you, either, to come and talk with me upon
the cliff, if you are, as I suppose, the Sir Henry Leyton all the
folks are speaking about."
"Why, my good friend, my talking with you did you no harm," replied
the young officer; "you cannot say that I led you to speak of anything
that could injure either you or others. Besides, I have nothing to do
with you gentlemen of the sea, though I may with your friends on land.
But take the advice of one well disposed towards you; and, above all,
do not linger about this place at present, for it is a dangerous
neighbourhood for any one who has had a share in the late
transactions."
"That advice I shall take, at all events," answered Harding, bluntly;
"and perhaps the other too, for I am sick of all this!" And thus
saying, he walked away, passing close by the two dragoons, who offered
no obstruction.
In the meanwhile Leyton, returning to Widow Clare and her daughter,
went into the cottage, and talked to them, for a few minutes, of old
days. Gradually, however, he brought the conversation round to the
inhabitants of Harbourne House, and asked if either the widow or Kate
ever went up there.
"Oh, Kate goes twice every day, sir," said Mrs. Clare, "for we have
all the finest of the poultry to keep down here. But are you not going
there yourself, Mr. Henry?"
"Alas, no!" answered Leyton, with a sigh. "Those days have gone by,
Mrs. Clare; and I am now a stranger where I was once loved."
"Don't say so, sir," replied the widow, "don't say so! For, I am sure,
where you were best loved of all, there you are best loved still."
"That I believe," answered Leyton; "but, at all events, I am not going
there at present; and if Kate would do me a service, she would, the
first time she sees Miss Zara Croyland alone, tell her, that if ever
she rides or walks out along the road by the Chequers, she will find
an old friend by the way."
"Miss Zara, sir, did you say?" asked Widow Clare.
"Yes, mother--yes," cried Kate; "you forget Miss Edith is not there
now; she is down at Mr. Croyland's."
"But remember, Kate," continued Leyton, "I do not wish my name
mentioned to many persons in the house. Indeed, it will be better not
to speak of me at all to any one but Zara. It must be soon known that
I am here, it is true; but I wish to let events take their course till
then. And now, Mrs. Clare, good evening. I shall see you again some
day soon; and you must let me know when Kate's wedding-day is fixed."
The mother looked at her daughter with a smile, and Kate blushed and
laughed. "It is to be this day week, sir," answered Mrs. Clare.
Leyton nodded his head, saying, "I will not forget," and, mounting his
horse at the door, rode away.
"Now, did you find him, Kate?" asked Mrs. Clare, in a low tone, the
moment Sir Henry Leyton was gone.
"Oh yes," replied her daughter; "the dragoons did not follow me, as
you thought they would, mother; and I set down the basket close to the
willow. At first he did not answer when I asked if he wanted anything;
but when I spoke again, he said, 'No. A thousand thanks for what you
have brought;' and he spoke kind and civilly. Then, just as I was
going away, he said, 'Kate, Kate! let me know when the soldiers are
gone.--If you could bring me a woman's dress, I could easily get
away.' I should not be afraid of going any more, mother," the girl
continued; "for he seems quite changed by his misfortune, and not rude
and jesting as he always used to be, whenever I saw him before."
The idea of the woman's clothes seemed to strike Mrs. Clare very much;
and the good widow and her daughter set their wits to work, to
consider how all that was necessary could be procured; for a very
serious impediment thrust itself in the way of either mother or child
lending him a suit of their own apparel. Neither of them were very
tall women; and though young Radford was himself not above the middle
height, yet Kate's gown would not have fallen further than half way
down his leg; and the poor girl laughed merrily, to think of what a
figure he would make dressed in her garments. It would have been the
old story of the wolf in sheep's clothing, assuredly.
"If we could but accomplish it, and enable him to escape," thought
Mrs. Clare, "especially after Harding has just been up here, it would
show Mr. Radford, clearly enough, that John had nothing to do with
informing against him." But the question, of where fitting apparel was
to be procured, still remained unsettled, till Kate suggested, that
perhaps her aunt's, at Glassenbury, might do. "She is very tall,"
continued the girl, "and I am sure she would lend them to me; for she
and my uncle have always been so kind. Suppose I walk over early
to-morrow, and ask her."
Now the little farm which Mrs. Clare's brother held, was somewhat more
than seven miles off, on the other side of Cranbrook. But still, what
is the exertion which woman will not make for a fellow-creature in
distress; and Mrs. Clare determined that she would rise betimes, and
go to William Harris's herself, certain of a kind reception and ready
consent from those who had always displayed towards her, in adversity,
the feelings of affection, which the more worldly-minded generally
shower upon prosperity alone.
It was far for her daughter to walk, she thought; and besides, Harding
might come, and it would not do for Kate to be absent. Thus had she
settled it in her own mind, when Mr. Radford entered the cottage to
inquire after his son.
High were the praises that he bestowed upon Kate and Mrs. Clare, for
their kindness; and he expressed his warm approval of their little
scheme. Nevertheless, he turned the matter in his mind, in order to
see whether he could not save Mrs. Clare the trouble of going nearly
to Goudhurst, by obtaining the necessary articles of female apparel
somewhere else. His own women servants, however, were all short and
stout; the only other persons whom he could think of, as at all
approaching his son in height, he did not choose to trust; and
therefore it was, at length, determined that the original plan should
be followed. But the worthy gentleman laid strict injunctions upon
Mrs. Clare, to be early in her proceedings, as he feared much, from
all he had gathered, that the wood might be more strictly searched, in
the course of the following day.
When this was settled, and Mr. Radford had expressed his thanks, more
than once, Mrs. Clare thought it a good opportunity of turning the
conversation to Harding; and she asked Mr. Radford if he had seen him,
adding, "He has gone to look for you, sir, and seems very quick and
angry, because the people down about his place have got a report that
he informed about the run; and he fancies you have said so."
"Pooh, nonsense, Mrs. Clare, I never said anything of the kind!"
replied Mr. Radford. "It is a story put about by the Custom-House
officers themselves, just to cover the persons from whom they had the
information. But we shall discover them some day, and pay them
handsomely. Tell Harding not to mind what people say, for I never
thought of such a thing."
"That I will, sir," replied the widow; "for I'm sure it will set his
mind at rest.--You must know very well, sir, that he's as honest a man
as ever lived."
"To be sure--to be sure," answered Mr. Radford, with great warmth of
manner; "no one knows that better than I do, Mrs. Clare."
But whether Mr. Radford really felt the warmth which he assumed, may
be another question. His seemings were not always the best indications
of his real sentiments; and when he left Mrs. Clare's cottage, after
all had been arranged, his first thought was, "We will reckon with Mr.
Harding by-and-by.--The account is not made up yet."
Before I proceed to other scenes, it may be as well to go on with the
part assigned in this history to Mrs. Clare and her daughter, at
least, till the morning of the following day. About eight o'clock at
night, Harding returned, still irritable and discontented, having
failed to find Mr. Radford. The account, however, which the widow gave
of her conversation with that gentleman, soothed him a good deal; but
he would not stay the night, as he had done before, saying that he
must absolutely be at home as soon as possible, and would return,
perhaps, the next day, or, at all events, the day after.
"I must do the best I can, Mrs. Clare," he continued, "to help these
fellows out of the scrape they've run into. Two or three of them are
good men enough; and, as they risk their necks if they are taken, I
should like to get them down, and give them a passage to the other
side. So you see I shall be going about here a good deal, for the next
four or five days, and will look in, from time to time, to see you and
my dear little Kate."
"But are you going to walk all the way back to-night, John?" asked
Kate, as he rose to depart.
"No, my love," he answered, "I've got a horse up at Plurendon; but the
beast cast a shoe as I was coming, and I was obliged to leave him at
the blacksmith's."
No sooner was Harding gone, than a little kindly contest rose between
mother and daughter, as to which should go over to Glassenbury; but
Mrs. Clare persisted, against all her child's remonstrances; and, in
order that they might rise before daylight, both retired to bed early,
and slept calmly and peacefully, unknowing what the morrow, to which
they both looked anxiously forward, was to bring. The sun was yet some
way below the horizon, when Mrs. Clare set out; but she met with no
impediment, and, walking on stoutly, arrived, at an early hour, at a
little farm-house, inhabited by her brother. She found farmer Harris
and his wife, with their two sons and Mrs. Harris's nephew (three
stout, good humoured, young men) seated at their breakfast; and warm
and joyful was the reception of Aunt Clare; one joking her upon Kate's
approaching marriage; another declaring Jack Harding, whom they all
knew, was a capital fellow; and all striving to make her comfortable,
and pressing her to partake of their morning meal.
Every one of the party was eager to obtain some information from her,
who lived so much nearer to the spot, in regard to the late
discomfiture of the smugglers, although none seemed to take any great
interest in them, all declaring that the Ramleys, and their gang, were
the pest of the country, and that young Dick Radford was not a bit
better. Such opinions, regarding that young gentleman, acted as a
warning to Mrs. Clare, not to mention the object of the loan she came
to solicit; and when, after having rested about twenty minutes, she
preferred her petition to Mrs. Harris, it was readily granted by the
tall farmer's wife, although not without some expression of curiosity,
as to what her sister-in-law could want a dress of hers for.
"Kate or I will bring it back to-night or to-morrow morning," replied
Mrs. Clare, "and I'll tell you what we want it for, at the wedding,
which, remember, is to be yesterday week."
"Ay, we will all come down with white favours, and our best buckles,"
said young William, the farmer's eldest son; "and I'll have a kiss of
the bride."
A gown and cloak of Mrs. Harris's, having been brought down--they were
not her best--and neatly folded up in a shawl-handkerchief, Mrs. Clare
set forward on her way home, hurrying her steps as much as possible,
lest any untoward event should prevent the execution of her scheme. A
stout country woman, accustomed to exercise, the widow accomplished
the walk in as short a time as possible; yet it was nine o'clock
before she reached the cottage, and she instantly dispatched her
daughter to the "hide" in the wood, with the clothes folded up in as
small a space as possible, and laid in the bottom of a basket, covered
over with eggs.
The only difficulty was, in regard to a bonnet; and, after earnest
consultation between mother and child, it was determined that, as Mrs.
Clare's head was somewhat larger than Kate's, her bonnet should be put
over her daughter's, which was easily accomplished. Both were of
straw, and both were plain enough; but, to conceal the contrivance
from the eyes of any one whom Kate might meet, Mrs. Clare pinned a
small piece of lace--which had been bought for the wedding--into the
inside of her own bonnet, remarking, that it would do to hide young
Mr. Radford's face a bit.
Furnished with all that was needful, and having had the instructions
which Mr. Radford had left, repeated carefully to her, by her mother,
fair Kate Clare set out upon her expedition, passing one of the
dragoons, who were still patrolling round the wood, near the place
where the road entered it. The man said something to her, as she went
by, but did not attempt to follow; and Kate walked on, looking behind
her, from time to time, till she was satisfied that her proceedings
were unwatched. Then, hurrying on, with a quicker step, she turned to
the path, which led to the back of the gardens of Harbourne House, and
approached the old willow, and the brushwood which covered the place
where Richard Radford was concealed.
"Mr. Radford," she said, as soon as she was quite close, "Mr. Radford!
Here is what you wanted. Take it as fast as you can."
"Is there any one near but you, Kate?" asked the voice of Richard
Radford.
"Oh, no!" she replied; "but the soldiers are still on the outside of
the wood watching."
"I know that," rejoined the voice again, "for I saw them last night,
when I tried to get out. But are you sure that none of them followed
you, Kate?"
"Oh, quite sure," she answered, "for I looked behind all the way!"
"Well, stay and help me to put the things on," said Richard Radford,
issuing forth from behind the bushes, like a snake out of its hole.
Kate Clare willingly agreed to help him, and while the gown and the
cloak were thrown over his other clothes, told him all that his father
had said, desiring him not to come up to Radford Hall till he heard
more; but to go down to the _lone house_, near Iden Green, where he
would find one or two friends already collected.
"Why, these are never your own clothes, Kate!" said young Radford, as
she pinned on the gown for him. "They fit as if they were made for
me."
"Not at the back," answered Kate, laughing, "I cannot get the gown to
meet there; but that will be covered up by the cloak, so it does not
matter.--No, they are my aunt's, at Glassenbury; and you must let me
have them back, Mr. Radford, as soon as ever you have got to Iden
Green; for my mother has promised to return them to-night."
"I don't know howl shall get them back, Kate," answered Richard
Radford; "for none of our people will like to venture up here. Can't
you come down and fetch them? It is not much out of your way."
"No, I can't do that," answered Kate, who did not altogether like
going to the lone house she had mentioned; "but you can send them down
to Cranbrook, at all events; and there they can be left for me, at
Mrs. Tims's shop. They'll be quite safe; and I will call for them
either to-night or to-morrow morning."
"Well, I will do that, my love," replied Richard Radford, taking the
bonnet and putting it on his head.
"Very well, sir," answered Kate, not well pleased with the epithet he
had bestowed upon her, and taking a step to move away, "I will call
for them there."
But young Radford threw his arm round her waist, saying, "Come, Kate!
I must have a kiss before you go.--You give plenty to Harding, I dare
say."
"Let me go, sir!" cried Kate Clare, indignantly. "You are a base,
ungrateful young man!"
But young Radford did not let her go. He took the kiss she struggled
against, by force; and he was proceeding to farther insult, when Kate
exclaimed, "If you do not let me go, I will scream till the soldiers
are upon you.--They are not far."
She spoke so loud, that her very tone excited his alarm; and he
withdrew his arm from her waist, but still held her hand tight,
saying, "Come, come, Kate! Nonsense, I did not mean to offend you! Go
up to Harbourne House, there's a good girl, and stay as long as you
can there, till I get out of the wood."
"You do offend me--you do offend me!" cried Kate Clare, striving to
withdraw her hand from his grasp.
"Will you promise to go up to Harbourne, then?" said Richard Radford,
"and I will let you go."
"Yes, yes," answered Kate, "I will go;" and the moment her hand was
free, she darted away, leaving the basket she had brought behind her.
As soon as she was gone, Richard Radford cursed her for a saucy jade,
as if the offence had been hers, not his; and then taking up the
basket, he threw it, eggs and all, together with his own hat, into the
deep hole in the sandbank. Advancing along the path till he reached
the open road, he hurried on in the direction of Widow Clare's
cottage. Of a daring and resolute disposition--for his only virtue was
courage--he thought of passing the soldiers, as a good joke rather
than a difficult undertaking; but still recollecting the necessity of
caution, as he came near the edge of the wood he slackened his pace,
tried to shorten his steps, and assumed a more feminine demeanour.
When he was within a couple of hundred yards of the open country, he
saw one of the dragoons slowly pass the end of the road and look up;
and, on issuing forth from the wood, he perceived that the man had
paused, and was gazing back. But at that distance, the female garments
which he wore deceived the soldier; and he was suffered to walk on
unopposed towards Iden Green.