It was the morning of the fifth day after the escape of Talbot and his
companion. The land breeze, like the breath of expiring humanity, had
become more and yet more faint, until it ceased entirely, and the flag
that was wont to wave over the ramparts of the Moro Castle hung listless
beside the staff which supported it. Into the cavernous recesses worn by
the friction of the water, in the foundations of the massive structure,
the sluggish waves tumbled with a dull and deafening sound. In the near
offing lay the frigate, rolling slowly on the unbroken surface of a
light ground swell, while the sails flapped against the masts, as if
impatient for the breeze. In various directions, a number of vessels,
differing in size and appearance, like the frigate awaited a wind to
waft them to their various destinations. Beyond them, and until it
blended with the distant horizon, save here and there a sea-gull
noiselessly skimming its surface, there was nothing visible on the
far-stretching and pellucid sea. Like a slumbering giant, the very
heavings of that sea told of the latent power that dwelt within it, and
conveyed a forcible idea of the might and majesty of the Great Being
that made it.
On the after part of the deck of the frigate, screened from the sun by
an awning overhead, sat Miss Gillespie and her brother. She, with an air
of unmitigated sadness; he, chafing at a captivity which he deemed
illegal, and impatient to reach the shore and obtain his freedom. He had
never understood for what purpose the soporific incense had been burned,
or, boy as he was, he would have attempted the life of their insidious
foe. He had imagined that it was an attempt on their lives, (for the
disaster of the count had been carefully concealed from them,) and his
sister had shrunk from undeceiving him. Her pure nature could itself
with difficulty comprehend such baseness, but was absolutely incapable
of conveying an idea of it to another, particularly one whose
disposition was naturally as unsuspecting as her own. She therefore
determined to avoid exciting his suspicions, and even forbore to
interfere further than by advice, when the steward, at the instance of
his master, now able to sit up, represented that so far from designing
injury, the object was to soothe their nerves, those of the lady in
especial, after the anxiety and alarm of the evening previous. He also
persuaded Frank that the count would exert himself to obtain their
speedy liberation when they reached the port; and, that having found
them on board of a privateer of the enemy, a class of vessels not in the
habit of conveying passengers, he was, by the strict tenor of his
orders, bound, although most reluctantly, to detain them. These
representations so far operated upon the youth, that he was several
times prevailed upon to visit the designing count. But his sister
pertinaciously refused to see, or receive any message from her
persecutor, and might have departed from her resolution and told Frank
sufficient to prevent him from leaving her alone, but that in her fears
for Talbot she had forgotten every thing else.
Although a prisoner, confined apart and denied all intercourse, the mere
presence of her lover in the same vessel gave her a sense of security.
But now he was gone, whither and wherefore she could not tell, and she
felt as if she were abandoned to the dreadful fate which so long had
threatened her. To do her justice, too, her bitterest source of grief
was in anxiety for the safety of Talbot. Had she heard nothing of him,
she would have concluded that he was still among the prisoners, and by
the strict vigilance of his guards denied the opportunity of
communicating with her. But her persecutor was too malignant, was also
too shrewd not to know that if he could persuade her of her lover’s
desertion, he might more reasonably hope for success. She was therefore
but too soon informed of the escape, of which the missing boat was
sufficient proof; and through others every representation was made,
calculated to impair her confidence and weaken her attachment. But, like
a mail of proof, her own integrity protected her, and the malicious
shafts fell harmless, creating no pain, and scarce attracting notice.
Although young and inexperienced, scarce more than a nestling that had
for the first time fledged its wing, this girl possessed the noblest
attributes of her sex, and hers was more than the ordinary love of
woman. True, deep, fervent love, such as that sex alone can feel, cannot
harbor a doubt. Undying and unchangeable in itself, it cannot comprehend
that, of the existence of which it is unconscious. Often placed
unhappily, often denied the communion for which it yearns, it looks
beyond the grave for the fruition of its hopes.
“They sin who tell us love can die.”
She had listened to the soft and hesitating whisper of proffered love,
and her gushing eye and mantling cheek and throbbing breath had
confessed that love to be requited. Her soul had mingled with another’s
in the dearest and the noblest union which adorns and irradiates
existence—the union of manly strength with shrinking beauty; of the
clear eye to look upon, and the bold heart to encounter peril, with the
step hesitating and timid as a fawn! of skill to do and will to dare,
with affection to sustain and fortitude to endure; of man, fashioned in
comeliness and radiant with virtue, with woman, the celestial link that
binds him to a purer state! With a pledge as dear as it was enduring,
they had sworn to preserve that union until it should be merged into
that most glorious, holiest and most beautiful of all, which is effected
in death—when their souls, stripped of the mortal coils which
encumbered them, and wafted on the wings of love, should soar upward and
onward, until side by side, inseparable as in life, and inseparable
forever, they intoned their hymns of praise with the choir which
surrounds the Eternal!
Could a woman capable of conceiving such a pledge ever falter, much less
prove unfaithful? Never. And Miss Gillespie was as unmoved by the
insinuations of those around her, as is the calm and placid moon by the
howlings of a hungry wolf.
As the two orphans sat apart, occasionally exchanging a few words, and
then relapsing into silence, the first lieutenant, an old and worthy
officer, who, from the want of family influence, had long been denied
promotion, touched by the sadness of the fair captive, approached and
respectfully accosted them. He first confined himself to inquiries
respecting their health and comfort, and made some cheering observations
on their prospects of liberation. He then, after musing a few moments,
left them and whispered a few words to the officer of the deck. The
latter nodded intelligence, and immediately gave an order which required
those of the crew hovering about to go forward to aid in its execution.
The lieutenant then returning said, “Young lady, may I speak a few words
with you?” and leading her a few steps from where her brother sat,
continued, “I have two daughters at home, one of them about your age,
and when I think how I should feel if either of them were in your almost
unprotected situation, I sympathize deeply with you. Indeed I am not the
only one. There is a general feeling among the officers to protect you
if need be. You may rely upon our disposition to serve you—and now
answer me frankly—Does your extreme sadness proceed solely from your
detention here, and the escape and apparent desertion of your friend?”
“Oh no, sir!” cried she, immeasurably relieved by his words, “whatever
may have induced Mr. Talbot to leave us, I am sure that he has acted for
the best. You judge rightly,” she added, “in supposing that I have other
cause of anxiety than what proceeds from our detention, which, if we be
not most unjustly dealt by, must terminate so soon. I have not dared to
tell my brother what horrid fears distract me, for I know he would
attempt something violent, that would most probably separate us, and I
love my only protector.”
“Our fears then are not unfounded, and the mystery of that night is
partly solved,” said the lieutenant, in a soliloquizing tone.
“What night? Of what mystery do you speak?” exclaimed the lady.
“Of the night you came on board. But is it possible you are ignorant of
what I allude to?”
“I have not the most remote idea; Frank and I slept soundly the whole
night, and did not awake until late the next morning. I remember that at
first we thought that an attempt was being made to stupefy or smother us
with something that was burned, but, as we were not molested, we
concluded that we had been mistaken. For God’s sake, tell me what
happened?”
“Young lady,” he answered, “I have ever since sought an opportunity to
speak to you; why is it that you have confined yourself below?”
“We often wished to come up,” she replied, “but were told that the count
was too ill to be consulted, and that without his permission we could
not leave the cabin. But do tell me all about that night, I implore
you.”
The lieutenant then informed her of the condition in which the count was
found the next morning, and the general belief of the officers that his
villainous design had been frustrated by Talbot or Gonzalez, who must
have been concealed in the cabin. They conversed for some time, and
before leaving her, he advised her, as the count was nearly well, to
keep always near her brother, and to write a note to the American Consul
in Havana, claiming his protection, promising that if she would send her
note to him he would forward it at once to its destination.
With diminished fear, and in a comparatively cheerful mood, Miss
Gillespie returned to the cabin, and repeated to her brother such parts
of her conversation with the lieutenant as she thought she could safely
confide to him.
About the usual hour the breeze set in, and sailing “majestically slow,”
by the towering fortress on the one hand, and the gay and beautiful
structures of the town, with its crowded wharves and numerous shipping
on the other, the frigate, early in the afternoon, had anchored in the
upper harbor of Havana.
Frank Gillespie, who was no longer restricted to the cabin, watched his
opportunity and slipped into the old lieutenant’s hand the note with
which his sister had entrusted him. Soon after the ship had cast her
anchor, the Captain of the Port came on board to pay his official visit.
The lieutenant, who was on intimate terms with him, invited him down to
his state-room, and there giving him the note, with the assurance that
it was of very great importance, exacted a promise that he would
transmit it without delay to the American Consul. The officer promised
to attend punctually to the commission, and the kind-hearted lieutenant
with great satisfaction saw him, a short time afterward, take his
departure for the shore.
Quite late in the afternoon, when the ship was moored, the count, unable
to go himself, sent the first lieutenant to wait upon the admiral and
report the ship. About dusk, and before he returned, a boat came
alongside for Miss Gillespie and her brother. The person who came in
charge stated that the American Consul was absent and would not return
for a day or two, but that his wife had prepared a room for, and would
gladly welcome them. The message ended with an entreaty that they would
come at once. They needed no persuasion, and with alacrity making their
brief preparation, and without meeting obstructions, which to the last
they feared, with indescribable joy they took their seats in the boat
and bade adieu to their late floating prison.
Talbot and Gonzalez, representing themselves as having escaped from a
wreck, were kindly received at the little settlement where they landed,
but instead of accepting the hospitalities which were freely tendered,
they merely asked for a guide to conduct them into the interior, so
fearful were they of being pursued. With much toil and privation, and at
one time exposed to imminent peril, they reached the Reglos, a
settlement opposite to the city of Havana, the very day on which the
frigate arrived.
Afraid to venture out before night-fall, one of them feigned to be sick,
and the other remained as if to keep him company, in the small room of
an obscure fonda, which they occupied. They had remained for a very long
time without seeing or hearing any one, when, about an hour after the
ship had anchored, they heard footsteps on the creaking staircase, and
one called out, “Is there any one above, Marguerita?”
“There were two sailor-looking men there this morning,” replied a female
voice, “but they must have gone out, for I have heard nothing of them
since dinner.”
“We will see,” said the first voice. But Gonzalez was too quick for him.
He had started at the first word, and rising from the bed, which was at
the side of the room, placed himself by the door, and quietly turning
the bolt of the lock, withdrew the key. He then bent his head and
listened attentively, taking care not to place it in a line with the
key-hole.
The party, consisting of three, came up in the meantime, and two of them
proceeded to an adjoining room, while one stopped and tried the door. In
a few moments he rejoined his companions, saying, “All safe, they are
out.”
When Gonzalez started up and hurried to the door, Talbot was struck as
much by the expression of his countenance as by the movement itself, and
he had continued to watch him in silent amazement. But he was soon
convinced that his friend was not insane. When the person who tried the
door had retired, Gonzalez, stepping lightly to the bed, whispered,
“Don’t speak or make the slightest noise, it is the rascally steward,
with some of the cut-throats who resort to this side of the harbor. The
count has some design afoot, and Providence has sent us just in time to
save that unfortunate young lady.”
Talbot needed no more, and with their faculties on the full stretch,
they listened intently, and gathered almost every word of the
conversation in the next room.
It was a festival day in Havana. The clang of the bells had been
incessant since noon, and the air reverberated with the almost
uninterrupted discharge of artillery from the forts and men-of-war.
There was no diminution of light with the setting of the sun, for the
clouds which slowly floated along the sky, threw back the blaze of the
illuminated city, while, like an undulating mirror, the harbor reflected
the myriads of lights interspersed among the spars and rigging of the
men-of-war. Along the shore, in each direction, bonfires were blazing,
and from every point as well of the waters as the land, was heard the
whizzing sound of the sinuous and beautiful rocket, which, exploding
above and around with an unceasing feu de joie, filled the air with its
fiery flakes. The sound of music and the shouts of merriment commingled,
and wafted by the breeze, fell gratefully upon the ear of the boatmen
reclining upon their oars, and the distant sentinels making their
solitary rounds on the ramparts of the castle.
As the boat with Frank and his sister pushed off from the frigate,
another, and much smaller one, that had hovered within the shadow of the
ship, noiselessly pursued the same direction. The first pulled for some
distance up the river, until it had passed the city, and then stopped at
one of the neat villas that lined its banks. The smaller boat, which, as
the reader must have surmised, contained Talbot and Gonzalez, had been
obliged to keep close within the other shore, to avoid observation. When
the larger boat was turned toward the shore, the two friends, unseen
themselves, distinctly saw all that passed.
“I do not understand this movement,” said Gonzalez. “They have stopped
at a Posada, to which the citizens, in their evening rides, usually
resort for refreshment. There must be some change in their plans since
we heard them discuss it.”
In the meantime, the party, (with the exception of one who remained by
the boat,) had landed, and ascending the bank, opened the little
wicker-gate and proceeded through the garden toward the house. Talbot
and Gonzalez were about to pull across, and had nearly reached the line
of light when the latter cried, “Hush! back, back your oars quickly,
they are returning!”
They again retreated within the shadows of the opposite bank, and saw
two men, followed by a third, hurrying the lady rapidly toward the boat,
into which they forced her, for it was evident that she was struggling.
The moment she was placed in the boat, they again shoved off from the
shore.
“I now understand it all,” whispered Gonzalez to his companion. “They
have decoyed the brother into the house, and run off and left him. I am
sure, too, that the lady is gagged, for she does not cry out, although
she yet struggles desperately. Stop, stop! What are you about?” he
cried, as he saw Talbot begin to ply his oars with all his might.
“Do you ask me, with such a sight before us,” replied the latter,
indignantly.
“Nay, lay on your oars, I beg, I entreat you. Your precipitation will
ruin all. They are four, and well armed—we are defenceless. They would
slay us before we could cope with them, and then farewell to all hopes
of the lady’s rescue.”
“What shall we do, then?” said Talbot, as he despairingly rested his
oar.
“Follow them, as we at first proposed, and concert our plan after we
have seen the place in which they mean to place her.”
“Gonzalez,” said Talbot, “you have not so much at stake as I in this
matter, and you are therefore less agitated and better qualified to
adopt the course we should pursue. I will not be rash if I can help it;
but, come what may, I will not again lose sight of Mary. She has no
father; her brother is torn from her. I am her sole protector. I will
die before I desert her for an instant.”
“I have told you of my sister, Talbot,” said Gonzalez, “and you must
know I have a motive that impels me, which is as powerful as your own.
Love is your incentive, and revenge is mine. Yours is the most
impetuous, but mine, as the more cautious, is more certain to effect its
object. I pray you be moderate.”
“I will, Gonzalez, with the condition I have named.”
While they were speaking, they had not ceased to watch the movements of
the larger boat, which pulled about half a mile farther up, and landed
on the same side. The smaller boat following their motions with the
utmost caution, was run ashore a short distance below, and the two
friends crept along under cover of the thick brush that lined the bank,
to within a few paces of the ruffians. A carriage was in waiting, the
driver standing beside it. As soon as the latter saw them, he opened the
door, let down the steps, and then ascended his box. Two of the gang
forced the lady into the carriage, and followed after; the third closed
the door and mounted beside the driver. While this was taking place,
Talbot was endeavoring to free himself from the grasp of Gonzalez, who
tried to detain him. With a violent effort he succeeded, and springing
forward, leaped upon the foot-board of the carriage just as the driver
had applied the lash, and the horses started off at half speed. The
remaining ruffian, seeing Talbot rush by, turned to pursue him and give
the alarm, when Gonzalez sprung upon him, and violently struggling, they
fell to the ground.
The patriot, on the eve of a battle which is to decide the fate of his
country; the secreted lover, impatient for the footfall of the mistress
of his affections; the young mother, beside the sick couch of an only
child, are all less vigilant in their watchfulness, than the specious
villain who seeks to hold a fair character with the world, while he
covertly gives full indulgence to his depraved and licentious appetites.
The count had every reason to believe his plot well matured, and in a
fair train for execution, and yet he felt restless and uneasy. The
critical period between the conception and consummation of any
conspiracy, even when the judgment sanctions and the true heart approves
it, is the most trying of all the situations in which human nature can
be placed; but when the object is detestable, the means base and
treacherous, and the agents employed unprincipled, then, the suspense is
torturing—for the slightest accident, the most trivial carelessness may
frustrate, and the faithlessness of the least trusted agents betray the
best concerted plot that was ever laid.
For some days the count had feigned to be weaker than he really was, and
no sooner had Frank and his sister left than he jumped up and leaned out
of one of the ports to see them embark, and to satisfy himself that no
one from the ship accompanied them.
It is said that the Evil One favors his own, and in this instance the
adage was verified. No one had yet descended the side, and as the count
cast his scrutinizing glance in every direction, his quick ear detected
the light splash of an oar. Withdrawing instantly, he extinguished the
lamp and excluded as well as he could, the light of the illumination
which streamed through the opposite ports. Returning then to his first
position, in a few moments, as his eye became accustomed to the
obscurity, he saw indistinctly the small boat which contained Talbot and
Gonzalez. The outlines of the boat were alone visible, and he could not
make out how many persons it contained. It was, he thought, most
probably, the boat of some poor fisherman, compelled to forego present
enjoyment in order to procure tomorrow’s subsistence for himself and
family. Guilt, however, is always suspicious, and without being able to
assign to himself a reason for his misgivings, he summoned his steward
and gave him a few hurried instructions. The latter, immediately leaving
the apartment, slipped through one of the gun-deck ports as Talbot and
Gonzalez had done before him, and, unseen from the upper-deck, descended
into the boat just before it shoved off. The fears awakened (wherefore
he could not tell) by the sight of the tiny boat, had induced the count
to change his entire plan. It was therefore that Talbot, when he found
that the preconcerted plot they had heard discussed was not adhered to,
determined not to lose sight of his mistress.
When the large boat stopped at the posada, the orphans were conducted to
a private room, the steward and two of the gang remaining without, soon
after a servant-maid entered, and said that the consul’s lady was
indisposed, and had sent her to beg that Miss Gillespie would come to
her chamber. With unsuspecting alacrity the poor girl rose up and
followed the maid. At a turn in the passage, she was seized, a gag
instantly applied to her mouth, and then hurried to the boat.
Frank, who, unsuspecting as his sister, sat in patient expectation,
started up as he heard a stifled scream. At the same moment he was
felled to the floor by a blow of the ruffian, who, with a heavy cudgel,
had crept behind him. The miscreant then dragging the body into a closet
opening from the room, hastened after his companions.
The steward, as soon as the party landed at the posada, had dispatched a
sure messenger to direct the carriage to proceed from the place where he
knew it was in waiting, to the spot designated by the count in his last
instructions. It was not distant, and, as we have seen, was at the
appointed place before the boat arrived.
The steward and his party, warned by the count, had kept a vigilant look
out, to ascertain if they were followed by another boat; but, themselves
in the broad glare of light, they could not catch the slightest glimpse
of the one, which, much smaller and screened by the obscurity, hovered
sufficiently near to observe them.
The carriage, with the ruffians, the victim of their toils, and that
victim’s determined champion, was driven at a rapid rate along the road
which ran parallel with the stream for a mile or more, when it turned
into one of the bye-roads on the right, which, as it was less
frequented, they pursued at increased speed for nearly two hours.
Overcome by terror and exhaustion, Miss G. had swooned away some time,
and lay unnoticed on the back seat of the carriage. At length they
stopped at a gate on the left, and the driver’s companion got down to
open it. Heretofore Talbot had remained at little risk, for the carriage
was closed behind, but, as the man who dismounted would certainly wait
until the carriage had passed through, in order to close the gate, he
was exposed to certain peril of detection if he remained. The road was
clear where it passed, and there was a slight ascent from it on the
left, at the summit of which stood the gate. There was no bush or cover
to conceal him, and to descend was out of the question. Beside the gate,
on the right, was a large tree, that stood just within the inclosure.
While Talbot hesitated what to do, the carriage ascended the slope, and
as it passed through the gateway, one of the branches of the tree swept
its roof. On the instant, quick as thought, Talbot caught hold of the
limb, and swung himself into the tree. The rustling noise he made
startled the man who stood beside the gate, and who had certainly been
drinking freely.
“Hallo! what’s that?” he cried, and springing up to the box, called out,
“Drive on! drive on! It’s a wild beast! But I’ll have a shot at it,” he
added, as the carriage rolled on, and turning partly round, he
discharged his pistol into the tree.
The driver, with an imprecation, had called out to his companion not to
fire; but he was too late, and at the report the horses affrighted, ran
off at full speed. The ruffians within the carriage, as well as the one
without, were instantly awakened to a full sense of their danger. They
were all acquainted with the place, and knew that a short distance
ahead, certainly not more than a third of a mile, the road inclined
short to the left, to avoid an old quarry, which had a precipitous fall
of 15 or 16 feet. As cowardly as base, each one thought only of his own
safety. The ruffian in front clambered over the roof and leaped off from
behind; the others forced open a door and precipitated themselves, one
after the other, and all fell with violence and more or less injured to
the ground.
Beside Miss Gillespie within the carriage, the driver alone remained,
and he, with his feet pressed hard upon the foot-board, and with his
body bent forward, bore his whole weight upon the reins. Although they
passed with breathless velocity, he accurately noted every object along
the road, and was prepared, at the critical moment, to turn the horses
from the direction of the perilous chasm. With a quick eye and ready
hand the instant that he saw the turn, with all his might he pulled upon
the left hand rein. This over exertion ensured defeat, the rein snapped
asunder with the strain, and the horses rushing headlong, were with the
carriage precipitated over the bank. The driver fell upon some fragments
of rock, and laid senseless and immoveable. The horses, by their moans,
and the faint efforts they made to extricate themselves, showed that
they were severely bruised. Miss Gillespie laid on the battered side of
the carriage, partially revived from her swoon by the shock she had
sustained and the excruciating pain she felt.
Talbot, unharmed by the discharge of the pistol, sprung to the ground,
and hurried at his utmost speed after the carriage, as soon as he saw
that the horses had run away. He passed the bodies of the ruffians on
the road without heeding them, although one, rising up, called out and
limped after him, and reached the spot a few minutes after the accident
occurred. In his excited state, it was but the work of a moment to
extricate his mistress, to press her to his bosom, to examine her hurts,
and to hurry with her yet scarce animate body into the neighboring wood.
His first anxiety was for water, and pursuing the declivity of the
ground in a direction leading from the road, he soon heard the trickling
of a rivulet. He laid his load gently beside it, and on examination
discovered that Mary had received a severe cut in her head, which bled
profusely, and that her left arm was broken. The loss of blood, the
cooling effects of the water, which he freely applied, and the pain she
endured, all accelerated her return to consciousness, and in a little
while, was enabled to thank her lover in expressions, brief, indeed, but
touching, and which, like the stamp of the mint on standard coin, are
treasured by the heart that receives them in imperishable remembrance.
They had no time, however, for interchange of feeling. They were
strangers, and upon the grounds of a powerful and persevering enemy. It
was necessary, therefore, that they should leave the place as soon as
possible, in order that if overtaken, it might be on land not peopled
with the myrmidons or subject to the jurisdiction of the count. With the
simple means at his disposal, the water which babbled at their feet, a
few splints, made of the twigs which grew around them, and the bandages
torn from his own garments, Talbot soon dressed the wounds, and
temporarily assuaged the anguish which his mistress endured. She laid
for some time without a movement or a murmur. The heavy air was laden
with fragrance, and now and then the pattering on a leaf would tell how
abundantly the dew had fallen. He watched her closely, in the hope that
she was in a slumber, but he soon perceived that her features were
occasionally flushed by intensity of pain. In truth, her arm had now
begun to swell, and was exceedingly stiff and sore. He saw that it was
necessary to procure shelter and medical attendance without delay. But
whither should he proceed? The night was now far advanced. The pall of
darkness was just lifting in the east; faint, tremulous lines of light
began to stream along the sky, revealing a succession of ridges of
vapor, through which, with lessening ray, the morning star occasionally
glimmered. The laborers would soon be abroad, and it was indispensably
necessary to proceed. Prevailing upon Mary to make an effort, he was
with the greatest difficulty enabled to support her, while they slowly
threaded their way through the thick undergrowth of the woodland. After
wandering a short time, they came to a hedge of cactus, some of the
plants in full bloom, the brilliant tints of their gorgeous flowers
heightened and suffused by the golden rays of the now rising sun. They
turned into a path which led along the hedge toward the high-road. On
their right, towering above the tangled brushwood, were many trees,
mostly large, and some of them magnificent. The most conspicuous were
the assumah, the ya yati, and the robla,[1] but the grandest and most
beautiful of all, the lordly frangipan, with its deep-green leaves and
thickly studded scarlet blossoms. On the other side of the hedge was an
extensive field of sugar-cane, in all the rich luxuriance of a matured
and abundant crop. An immense mass of foliage, of the liveliest green,
thick and impenetrable in its growth, its tops waved gracefully in the
wind with a rustling sound that was borne onward until it died away in
the distance. On the opposite side, visible through the hedge, the field
was skirted by a forest, which, ascending a slope behind it, and
becoming thinner as it ascended, left only a few trees scattered here
and there along the ridge which bounded the western horizon. But Mary,
striving to conceal her weakness and suppress the moans that were every
instant rising to her lips, and Talbot, who was wholly engrossed by
anxiety for her, could neither of them enjoy the natural beauties of the
scene.
When they had proceeded a few hundred yards, they came to a small gate
set in an opening in the hedge. Talbot soon forced it open, and they
emerged upon a wagon-road which ran between the hedge and the cane. But
Mary could proceed no farther, and seating her on the road-side, Talbot,
himself in a state of indescribable anxiety, endeavored to cheer her
with hopes of speedy relief.
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[1] Spelt as they are pronounced.