SELF-DEFENCE.
He did _not_ thank him. The Charlatan, who had closely shaven his
venerable beard, and adopted, with their reserved demeanour, the precise
and sombre habit of the Jesuits, was sitting down to an excellent stew,
whereof the savour, notwithstanding his preoccupation, rose gratefully
to the Parson's nostrils. But his business admitted of no delay, even
for such temptation as a mess of game and venison cooked gipsy-fashion;
and, laying his heavy hand on the other's shoulder, he addressed him by
name, bidding him shortly "rise and get to the saddle, since a patient
was dying for want of him. And even to those who knew it best, 'twas a
sorry pastime riding the moor in the dark!"
Katerfelto started, looking about uneasily, for Dick Boss and his
satellites. "Hush! good Master Gale," said he; "a man may have more
names than one, and I am known as Father Constant here. The person you
speak of fled the country a week ago. You owe him some gratitude, or I
am mistaken. 'Twould be a scurvy trick to lay the bloodhounds on his
track."
"Never fear, man!" answered the Parson, heartily. "Safe and undisturbed
as a November stag shalt thou remain, so long as thou harbourest with
us? 'Tis but a cast of thy trade I am asking thee, as though I bade Fin
Cooper do me a bit of tinkering on a worn-out kettle. We must have thee
down at Porlock to stop a hole in a man's life. Fin is putting a saddle
on the sure-footed roan even now. I take no denial, Master Katerfelto.
If you come not of good will, I shall carry you thither by force."
"Needs must, when the devil drives," answered the other; "and the
proverb seems to hold good with a West-country parson. But, I pray you,
let us ride softly and fairly. Lancets and scalpels are none the better
for shaking, and I had as lief be hanged by King George, as break my
neck in a Devonshire bog!"
Nervous of temperament, loving his ease, and unaccustomed to the saddle,
there yet lurked in Katerfelto that professional instinct which seems to
pervade every disciple of the healing science. He left his dinner
unfinished for a scamper over the moor, regretful indeed, yet with
admirable promptitude in the hope of saving a fellow-creature's life. He
had practised medicine and surgery before he took to conspiracy and
imposition, entertained sufficient confidence in his own skill,
believing it greater than it was; and, but for the Parson's reckless
speed, and the rough nature of the ground they traversed, would have
experienced a doctor's gratification in the excitement of a new case,
and the exercise of his art. But that rushing, reckless, headlong ride
put to flight all thoughts save those of immediate self-preservation.
Fin Cooper's roan, no matter how he came by it, was a swift and
sure-footed galloway, with a hard mouth and a determined will of its
own. The Parson had no sooner mounted, than he urged his horse to a
gallop, and proceeded at that pace up and down the steepest hills, along
the most broken paths, over the roughest ground, and through the tallest
heather without pause or hesitation; while the galloway, not to be
outdone, followed close in its leader's track, now leaping a hidden
ditch, now swerving sharply aside to avoid a ravine, anon plunging
through a bog up to its girths, with snorts of emulation and defiance.
Finally, when the Parson came to an abrupt halt in the gloom of Horner
Woods, it bumped against his horse's quarters with a jerk, that fairly
shot Katerfelto out of the saddle on its neck and ears.
"I pray you give me a moment's breathing space," urged the discomfited
rider as he shuffled back into his seat, "else I warn you, Master Gale,
you will bring the dead to heal the living when we arrive at our
patient's door!"
"Where there's life, there's hope," answered the Parson, who, in his
abstraction, regarded his companion's distress no more than the
difficulties in their way. "We are close at hand now. I can hear the
tide whispering in the bay. Oh! Master Katerfelto, rescue me this one
man from the grasp of death, and ask Abner Gale what you will in return.
I am not so bad as you think, and--and--bad as I am, I never went back
from my word!"
"I'll do my best," promised the other, observing, with exceeding
gratification, that their horses' hoofs now rang on a sound, hard road,
and that the scanty lights which marked the village of Porlock were
within a quarter of a mile.
Dismounting at old Carew's door, the Parson ushered Katerfelto into
Nelly's presence, and while he felt reassured to learn that her
grandfather was still alive, could not but mark with deep concern the
ravages a few hours of distress and vexation had made on the sweet face
of his promised wife. He seemed, however, to recognise one consolation
in the midst of all his troubles and anxieties--John Garnet must be far
enough off by this time, and there was nothing more to fear from the
rival, whose absence he had purchased at the price of his own revenge.
In his self-satisfaction, the Parson almost fancied himself a benevolent
and forgiving man, with virtues only now coming to maturity, who
deserved to be happy because he was good.
Establishing the Doctor in Carew's house, under his grand-daughter's
care, Abner Gale had the grace to take his own departure without delay,
and rode home through the dark, elated at the successful issue of his
enterprise, and the matrimonial prospects opening before him, but
unmoved by Nelly's wan looks and obvious misery, as by the north wind
that blew so keen at his back in angry gusts, powdering the sleeves of
his riding-coat with something whiter than sleet, something, that a
month later in the year he would have called snow.
"She never could live a week in that old house," muttered the Parson,
turning his collar up to his ears, "unprotected and alone. She would
come home to Abner Gale's roof, for sure, as kind and willing as a bird
to the nest. It won't be long first, my beauty, for, if this is to be
winter in earnest, the cold will bring the old man down like an apple
off a tree!"
And the Parson was right. Carew's life was indeed ebbing swiftly and
surely away; yet much had to come and go, even at this quiet village of
Porlock, before his shattered storm-worn bark could reach her peaceful
moorings in that Fair Haven--"where the wicked cease from troubling and
the weary are at rest."
Katerfelto did his duty, and Nelly scarcely left the patient's bedside
for a minute at a time. If skill and attention could have saved him, old
Carew might have been kept alive for many a week to come; but the last
few grains in the hour-glass seem to dribble away the fastest, and it
was no more obvious to the doctor who watched, than to the girl who
prayed, that with sinking strength and failing vitality, the question
was no longer of days, but of hours.
In this her sore distress, how could John Garnet find it in his heart to
leave the neighbourhood of the woman he loved? How could he bear to
think of her loneliness, protected only by the hateful attentions of
Parson Gale? He lingered on imprudently enough, visiting the house at
frequent intervals for news of the dying man, and pressing many a
crown-piece on the sorrowful servant, who was the only person visible to
answer his inquiries.
Yet his pale and anxious looks had been marked by loving eyes, swimming
in tears because of his constancy, his danger, and the promise that
forbade further warning or expostulation. Herself unseen, Nelly caught a
glimpse of her lover more than once--and so did Katerfelto.
His presence filled the Charlatan with indignation and alarm. They had
been concerned together in a conspiracy against the Government, and
either of them, so argued Katerfelto, could hang the other. If John
Garnet recognised him, it was more than probable that he would endeavour
to secure his own safety, or at least a commutation of capital
punishment, by informing against his confederate.
The grey horse, the arms, the money, all would be traced back to the
master-spirit that originated the plot, and there would be no escape for
him then! John Garnet must be destroyed at once, without scruple and
without delay. The means were close at hand. The Parson made no secret
of his attachment to Nelly Carew, and Katerfelto seemed to know by
instinct that in such a character as Gale's, jealousy once aroused could
be lulled by nothing short of a deadly and final revenge. After all, he
did but act in self-defence! He owed John Garnet a grudge, perhaps, for
the abduction of Waif; but it was no question of petty injuries or
reprisals now. Simply a choice of evils. John Garnet or himself had to
pay the penalty of high-treason at Tyburn. Of course, it must be John
Garnet!
So, when Parson Gale rode down to Porlock on his daily visit of inquiry,
the Charlatan motioned him into the little parlour, and closed the door
on their conference, with a mysterious face.
"My business here," he began, in his dry, sarcastic tone, "lies with
symptoms rather than affections, and concerns the liver more than the
heart. Nevertheless, I can understand men's devices, though I cannot
sympathise with their follies, and I see well enough, Master Gale, there
is no price you would grudge to pay for a pair of blue eyes that are
sore with weeping and watching in the chamber overhead."
"What of that?" asked the other abruptly; for Nelly's persistent
avoidance of him on the plea of her grandfather's danger vexed him to
the heart.
"Not much, in my opinion," answered Katerfelto; "but it may be something
in yours. The same cause produces different effects. You carry a pebble
in your pocket without inconvenience, but put it in your shoe, and I
defy you to walk across the room. You love this girl, Master Gale, and I
know it. Do you want to lose her?"
The Parson must have been very much in earnest, for he neither stormed
nor swore, but only turned a shade paler, and said, in a low, thick
voice, "Lose her!--I had rather lose my own soul!"
"Then look a little closer after her," was the reply. "There's another
man within a stone's-throw who loves blue eyes, may be as well as you
do. He comes to the house daily. Aye, half-a-dozen times a day!"
"What manner of man?" asked the Parson, still in the same low,
concentrated voice.
"A straight, handsome young spark," answered Katerfelto, "with bright
eyes and dark clustering hair. Tush, Master Gale, you know him well
enough--'tis none other than my former patient, 'plain' John Garnet!"
"When was he here last?"
"To-day--not an hour ago--a few minutes before you arrived. Stay,
Master Gale--you seem in a prodigious hurry to be gone. See! you have
forgotten your riding-glove."
"Give it Master Garnet when next he comes," said the Parson, in no
louder tones than before, but with a look in his eyes that made even
Katerfelto's blood run cold, "and tell him from me the harbourer shall
not claim his right next time I set my stag up to bay. He will know what
I mean. Oh! Nelly, Nelly!" he murmured, with a sob, while he unhitched
his bridle from the garden palings, "I would have kept to my bargain if
you had kept to yours!"
The Charlatan, returning to his medical duties perfectly satisfied that
his object was in course of accomplishment, observed that Nelly was not
as usual in attendance on her grandfather. She entered the room,
however, within a minute or two, so pale and calm, that he had not the
least suspicion she could have overheard any part of his conversation
with the Parson.
Nevertheless, that evening, John Garnet found on his supper-table a
letter, the first he had ever received from her, bearing no signature,
and consisting only of the following lines:
"They have resolved on your destruction. Fly at once. Perhaps hereafter
I shall see you again. Think no more of what I said. I will never marry
him. I had rather die first."
That was all, but it set John Garnet acting as well as thinking. His
preparations were soon made, a small valise was packed, his arms were
carefully examined and fresh primed, finally he visited his horse in the
stable, saw to his corn, his shoes, his saddle and bridle, all the
requirements indispensable for the morrow, when, with the first
appearance of day, he would have to ride for his life.
Lastly, he passed once more under Nelly's windows, and watched, with a
strange, sad longing, the point of light that denoted her vigil by the
dying man's bed. Then he turned back to his lodging for a few hours'
rest, more depressed and sick at heart than he had ever felt before. The
north wind howled angrily, stripping their autumn leaves in scores from
the bending boughs of the orchard, while every now and then, an
ungathered apple came to the ground with a thud. It was a dreary night,
pain and sorrow within, cold and desolation without. A hopeless mourner
above, a weary watcher below, for something told John Garnet that old
Carew's life was ebbing away with every passing minute, and that death
was busy up yonder, while here the snow fell thick and fast.