THE CAVE
I had been on the island three months, and as yet had found no clew as
to why I was kept there, or who was responsible for my detention.
I was free in a sense. I wandered all around the country, and had
visited the native settlement, some five miles from the mansion, as I
called DeNortier's palatial home; had tramped over the island, which
was about fifteen miles square, and had seen about all that there was
to see upon it.
But I had not been able to discover where the adventurer kept the
treasure which he took from the vessels that he scuttled. I knew that
the galleon on which the Donna DeCarnova had been, carried treasure for
the Spanish crown; knew that he had taken many other ships laden with
gold.
My life went on much as usual. DeNortier had been gone for two months,
but I saw no change in my condition; the servants were at my beck and
call, always ready to wait upon me. I spent my days in roaming over the
island, my nights in exploring the great house.
Somewhat discouraged I was, as I wended my way homeward this February
evening. The air was fresh and balmy, despite the fact that it was
winter and the people in England were huddled over the fires, and were
wrapped in their great-coats and furs. I had spent the day hunting, and
two natives who trotted in front of me carried the spoils of the day, a
lordly stag; a third Indian carried my musketoon.
The last three months had been spent profitably in a way; the time had
been passed in the open air, and my muscles were like steel. I could
spend the whole day in the chase, and at night be fresh and untired. I
had also devoted a good deal of my time to learning the language of the
Indians, and had gotten such a fair idea of it that I could carry on an
intelligible conversation.
But I was low-spirited and downcast. Would I ever see England
again--and Margaret? At the thought I groaned aloud, and the sound
caused the Indians to look back at me.
Shouting to them to go on, I quickened my footsteps and followed
faster. They were rapidly getting out of speaking distance, and
breaking into a long, swinging trot, they turned in among some trees,
and were lost to my view.
I resumed my train of thought. What did Margaret think had become
of me--or did she care? England I would fain see again, but more
than England, more than all else, I longed for a sight of her whom
I worshiped, as the heathen worship the sun. She was my sun. As the
captive longs for a sight of the sun, when shut up for weary months in
some deep dungeon far below the prison walls, so I longed for one sight
of the Lady Margaret Carroll, and with it I would have been content.
What had become of Steele and the lovely Spanish maiden? Were they safe
in Spain, or had the pirate but cozened me with his promise, and were
they not now in some prison like my own? If Steele had reached England
safely, had he delivered my message to my lady? What would she say to
such a greeting as that? These and many other thoughts filled my mind,
as I walked briskly on to overtake my carriers.
Descending a steep hillock overgrown with brush and undergrowth, I
saw far below me, some one hundred yards away, the mansion, from the
windows of which the light streamed down and brightened up the dusk
below--for it was beginning to grow dark.
I had almost reached the foot of the hill, when I stopped. The dull
murmur of conversation caught my ear, and I looked around me; there
was no one in sight. Where could the sound come from? It was near
me somewhere. I turned, and retraced my steps a few feet, the voice
becoming plainer. Stepping cautiously, for I did not know what I was
running into, I peered around.
The noise seemed to come from the ground beneath me. A thick hedge
of bushes was at my elbow, and from this the sound proceeded. Softly
pushing them aside, I looked behind them. Below me I could see a light;
that was where the people were, evidently, and talking in English.
I crawled under the bushes, and found myself in a low cave. Quietly
moving forward, I looked down. The soft dirt on which I stood came
abruptly to an end, and a sheer fall of fifteen feet was directly
beneath me.
Sitting together, facing each other, a candle between them, were
Herrick and the old priest, Father Francis. Herrick was talking, and I
bent forward to hear what he said.
"Yes, the captain has gone forward to meet him now. They will come back
together."
"A curse on them both!" Francis replied. "What do we care whether they
come back or not?" and he leaned forward to peer at Herrick; but the
pirate's face was inscrutable. He straightened back with a sigh, and
looked up to where I lay.
"It is a shame," the priest went on, "to keep so gallant a gentleman
here in this hole. If he loves the maid, let him have her, and be
hanged to him."
"Thou wilt sing a different tune, when I tell the Count what thou hast
said," Herrick answered, and he leaned back calmly against the rock.
"Hell and the furies!" cried the old rogue, his face white with terror.
"Thou wouldst not tell what I have said in jest?"
"Why not?" answered the sailor. "I could get a handful of gold for it."
"Herrick," the priest implored, his face ashy with fright, "ask what
thou wilt. I will do anything, if thou wilt but keep secret what I have
said to thee here, only in jest," and he arose, a look of terror awful
to behold upon his face.
"Well, I will keep silent," the pirate answered, seemingly enjoying the
fright of his companion, "but only upon one condition, which I will
tell thee in a moment. But what said thou awhile ago?--that the Count
was half-crazy. Why dost thou say that?"
Francis hesitated; then he answered: "Did I not see him walk the floor
in agony only a few days ago, and cry out as if in pain? Would a man in
his senses do that, thinkest thou?"
"It may be that he has something upon his mind that thou dost not know
of," the sailor replied, his face grim and stolid.
The priest smiled, his wrinkles deepening. "Or perhaps it is more
likely this devil of an Englishman that he has upon his hands. A
thousand fiends fly away with them both to perdition!" the priest
continued, his face flushing with anger. "Betwixt them, I am 'between
the devil and the deep blue sea.' The Count swears that he will burn me
alive, if I so much as intimate to this fellow what I know about his
imprisonment; the Englishman will kill me if I do not tell. Between
them I do not know what to do," he finished in a wail of agony.
Herrick still looked at him unmoved. I thought I could even discern,
from where I lay, a faint trace of irony about his mouth.
"And thou wouldst have lost thy head," he rejoined, "if we had not come
upon thee in the nick of time, one night three months ago."
"What wouldst thou have?" Father Francis cried. "The fool had me
fuddled with wine, and offered one a king's ransom. What could I do?"
The seaman shrugged his shoulders. "What matter! It is done. We saved
thee--and now what other strange thing hast thou seen the Count do
lately? Thou art like a cat, creeping silently about the house, thy paw
in the cream of all."
"The Count sighs for some lady love," the priest continued
deliberately, eying his companion, to see what effect this announcement
would have upon him. "Why, even on the night I tell thee of, did I not
hear him call out once, twice, 'Margaret! Margaret!'" and he chuckled
to himself in glee at the thought.
I started in my hiding place, and a lump of dirt dislodged itself and
rolled down to where the villains sat. They started; Francis sprang to
his feet in terror.
"What is that?" he cried, and he peered uneasily up to where I crouched.
His companion kept his seat unmoved.
"Art thou a fool," he said, "to be scared out of thy wits by a clod
of dirt falling? Thou art even as if thou hadst seen a ghost," and he
laughed at his ally's fright.
The priest resumed his seat, still gazing up to where I lay.
"I fancy Sir Thomas Winchester is after me in every breeze I hear," he
muttered, as he reseated himself.
"Calm thy mind," the seaman rejoined. "He is safe at his supper long
ere this, dreaming over the king's wine," and he grinned.
"What foolishness is this? The Count yearning for some fair lady!
Dost thou take me for a schoolboy, that I should believe this? Did he
pine for some maid, he would bestir himself and take her; quietly, if
possible--if not, then by force. Faith! thou little knowest him, if
thou thinkest he would pine over any maiden."
"All the same, comrade, I saw him wring his hands, with my own eyes,
but three short months ago, and cry out, as I have told thee, the name
Margaret. Who could this Margaret be, if not a lady?"
All this time I was craning my neck to catch every word that was
uttered, my mind in a tumult. Why did the Count cry Margaret? There was
but one Margaret--pure, innocent, sweet. As soon would I have expected
a worm to raise his eyes to the far-distant stars, as that this
bloodstained villain should raise his evil eyes to her--so far above
him.
And yet would this not explain my detention? Perhaps the pirate
expected to lure Margaret from her home, and bring her here to torture
me with the sight of her in his arms, before he should make away with
me.
Yes, it was like him. He would exult in such exquisite anguish as this,
and at the thought I ground my teeth together, and felt for the hilt of
my sword. Happen what might, this should not come to pass. Rather would
I, with one swift blow, put an end to her misery, and fall upon my own
sword, than to witness such a scene as this--death would be a boon
beside it.
Perhaps DeNortier was even now returning with her on his ship, that
evil smile upon his face as he thought of my anguish and his triumph.
He had been gone three months; and I had heard one of the men say only
the day before, that the Count would return now almost any time.
I bent forward again; they had resumed their conversation.
"And now," said Herrick, "I will tell the price of my silence. Answer
the question that I ask, and the grave shall be no more silent than
I; refuse, and I will go to DeNortier immediately upon his arrival,
and tell him what thou hast said to me. Thou hast thy choice," and he
looked carelessly at the other, as though he would not give a farthing
which course he pursued.
Father Francis was moistening his white lips with his tongue. "Thou
knowest I must answer," he said sullenly. "Why trifle with me? What is
thy question?"
"Who is it behind this plot to keep Sir Thomas Winchester here?"
Herrick asked quietly, and leaning back, he gazed up at the wall of the
cave above him.
His companion was trembling with fear. "'Tis as much as my life is
worth to tell thee!" he cried excitedly. "I durst not! Anything but
this--anything! I implore thee to ask me some other question. Herrick,
I have been thy friend; have stood by thee through thick and thin, when
others would have forsaken and left thee to thy fate. For God's sake!
ask not this of me. Dost thou remember Gromas? Did I not save thy life
there, when the very breath of thy body hung by but a thread, and I
could have slain thee with a word? For the sake of this spare me!" And
with clasped hands he looked at the other.
"It is as much as thy life is worth not to tell me," boldly answered
the adventurer. "Rememberest thou the tender mercies of our
captain--the Indian burned alive at the stake; the mutineer crucified;
the slave branded with red-hot irons; the----?"
"Hush!" cried the poor priest, his eyes almost starting from their
sockets. "Thou makest my very blood run cold. Lean forward, and I will
whisper it in thy ear--the very walls have ears in this place."
Herrick leaned forward, his eyes sparkling. The priest bent over
to whisper to him. In my eagerness to hear, I leaned forward
further--further over the edge of the ledge, and Dame Fortune, with a
twist of her wheel, turned the propitious fates aside. For even as I
bent forward, my ears strained to catch the slightest whisper, the soft
earth under me gave way, and in a perfect avalanche of dirt, shrubbery,
and rocks, I rolled down into the camp of my enemies.
With a yell--shrill, loud, and piercing, which rang through the cave
like the blast of a trumpet, the priest sprang up. With one spring like
a wild goat, he was upon the ledge from which only one short moment ago
I had fallen. I heard him tear through the bushes, and run down the
hill outside, as though the furies were after him. The sound died away
in the distance--he was gone.
But the other rogue was of sterner mold. With an oath, he whipped out
his cutlass, and was upon me as I was rising from the ground. Well it
was that I had on my light steel breastplate, for the blade, coming
viciously down, struck full upon it, and glanced off harmlessly, or I
would not have been here to tell the tale. In an instant I had drawn my
sword and was on guard.
"I have against thee a goodly account to settle, Master Herrick," I
said. "The night wanes, and we must to business."
"Aye," he cried, "I will rid the world of one rascal," and he pressed
upon me, thrusting, cutting, striking with such fury that, had my blade
not been a good one, it would have broken sheer off, from the very
force of the blows.
I let him come on, contenting myself with parrying his thrusts, for by
and by I knew that he would exhaust himself, and then I would force
from him the secret of my imprisonment; for the priest had whispered it
into his ear before I had rolled down upon them.
Of Father Francis I had no fear. He would not bring help to his
comrade. No, I knew him too well to think that he would fail to protect
himself. It was to his interest that Herrick should be silenced, now
that he knew so much, and he was too shrewd not to know what was best
for his own interest.
So I held my own, and let him exhaust himself with his fruitless
efforts. Back he came upon me, striking down blow after blow with his
blade, any one of which, had it gone home, would have split me like a
herring. I could have run him through at any moment, for he left his
whole breast exposed in his insane fury; but I merely waited, calmly,
coolly meeting every thrust, parrying every cut with a wrist of steel.
Five minutes passed, and the smile which at first had been upon his
face died away. The great beads of sweat began to gather upon his
forehead, as he saw his every trick and maneuver met easily, without an
effort; and how fresh I was, and knew that he was rapidly exhausting
himself.
Another little trick he tried, but I read what was coming in his eyes,
even before he thrust, and met him, parried his blade, and thrusting
back, laid open his cheek--the first time that I had drawn blood.
Then slowly I began to advance towards him, thrusting faster, faster,
faster--surrounding him with a flaming wall of steel, which, try as he
might, he could not penetrate. Backwards--backwards I pressed him.
It was a grim, weird scene. The white, bare walls of the cave lit up by
the gleam of one little candle; the shadows coming and going upon the
sides, as the air from above flared the wick of the candle. Now we were
in the light; now in darkness.
The wind was rising outside; already it wailed and moaned, like the
souls of the lost. There was not a sound to break the stillness that
reigned throughout the cave, save only that--for we had fought in grim
silence--only the sound of our feet upon the stones, as we moved and
turned hither and thither, and the quick panting of our hot breath.
There, within the walls of the cavern, we fought out the last hard
battle, that sooner or later, in some guise or other, comes to all of
mortal flesh; that grim, silent struggle in darkness and agony, and in
that despair that wrings the heart, as we run the last race, with Life
in the balance, and the specter, Death, holding in his fleshless hand
the scales.
I could feel his presence that night, as he stalked about us, his
garments almost touching us, as we struggled to and fro--shut off from
the world, with only the feeble rays of one little candle. Life seemed
far away and unreal; Death seemed near and omnipresent.
Strange thoughts crossed my mind, as I cut and thrust at the grim
pirate. I recalled how my mother had looked, twenty years ago, as she
lay in state in the great hall at Richmond Castle. My years seemed to
fall from me as a mantle, and I was again the little boy, innocent and
fresh, as, holding my nurse's hand, I looked down upon the cold, waxen
features of one whom I had known and loved.
I remembered the thrill of fear--or was it only dread of the
unknown?--that filled my mind, as I looked upon the change that had
been wrought by the hand of the great destroyer. The calm, serene
features, lovely with a beauty not of earth; with that look of majesty
which death brings to the face of mortals, as they lie wrapped in the
embrace of the last foe.
It is as if he would erase the lines and wrinkles that sorrow and care
had wrought--which the toil and pain of this cold sphere had imprinted
upon that patient face--and instead would imprint upon its calm
lineaments that great mystery which none but the immortal can know.
It all came back to me, and I could remember how I had turned away in
the throes of my first real grief. Ah! many since then had old "Time"
brought me, but none so bitter as the first.
Strange thoughts to think, as I pressed the sea rover back nearer the
wall.
Ah! I had him--but he sprang nimbly aside, and my blade passed under
his arm.
I had forgotten my scheme to spare his life; the blood thirst was upon
me; the blood of the fighting Richmonds was up. Angered by the long
fight, angered at myself that I had not slain him when I had a chance,
I pressed him harder and harder, with no thought but to run him through.
And now his back was against the wall; he could retreat no further.
He turned in despair, as I have seen some hunted thing do when driven
to its lair; as I have seen some lone wolf when brought to bay by the
hunters, and hope has fled, determined to strike one last blow, and
then if need be, to go down with its face to its foes, and its teeth
clinched in the throat of some good hound.
The adventurer sprang at me in such fury that I was compelled to give
back a pace or two, or be cut to pieces. But his strength was gone; he
was exhausted--the end had come.
I know not at that last moment, whether I would have spared his life--I
cannot tell; but Fate, who ever stands patiently at our side, awaiting
a favorable opportunity to interfere, took the matter out of my hands.
For even as I drew back to end the matter by one home thrust, my feet
slipped upon the stone and I stumbled.
With a cry, he thrust full at my breast, a blow that would have
finished me; but he was too much exhausted to strike true. The blade
slipped between my arm and my shoulder, and caught for an instant--it
was enough. Recovering myself, I made one good lunge. He had on no
armor, and the blade striking him full in the breast, right above the
heart, passed entirely through his body and stood out a foot behind his
back.
With a shout, he threw up his hands and dropped like a log, the force
of the fall wrenching the blade from his body. I stood holding the
dripping sword in my hand, and looked down at him, as he lay upon the
floor. A slight shudder passed over his body; one deep, long sigh came
from his lips--and then he lay motionless.
That figure, which but a short moment before had been animated with
hatred and thirst for my life, was now powerless to help or hurt me.
Only a moment ago he had been a man, with a man's soul; had loved and
sorrowed; had rejoiced and mourned; had toiled and striven--now he was
but a lump of senseless clay. He had fought a good fight; he had his
faults, but he was a man. Peace to his ashes!
Picking up what remained of the candle from the floor, I walked back
further into the cave. It seemed to me to be the work of nature; and at
the further end a long, dark passageway led deeper into the earth.
I hesitated a moment, as I peered into it. Then I listened, but could
hear nothing, so I plunged boldly into the tunnel, the candle in my
left hand, my drawn sword before me in my right, its red blade still
dripping. Stopping I wiped the blood off upon my kerchief, and passed
on down the narrow way.
Where it led I did not know; nor with what secret traps it was filled.
It might be that I would learn the mystery of my captivity at the end;
it might be that I would meet with such a fate as Herrick.
Probably this tunnel led to some place where the pirates gathered to
discuss the plans for their expeditions and forays; or it was possible
that DeNortier had his treasure concealed somewhere within its dark
depths, and even now these two men whom I had seen had been sent to
watch it. I must be careful, or I would walk full into the pirates'
arms.
I had walked perhaps a hundred feet, when I stopped. Two paths diverged
here--one to the right, the other to the left; both yawned dark,
gloomy, and mysterious before me. I had long since passed out of the
natural part of the cave, and this was plainly the work of man, for I
could see upon its sides the mark of the pick and shovel.
Both ways looked alike to me. Hesitating a moment, I drew a coin from
my pocket. If the Queen's head fell uppermost, I would go to the right;
if the reverse, to the left. I tossed the coin into the air and bent
over it as it fell. It had fallen upon its face, and turning to the
left, I passed on down the path about one hundred and fifty feet more.
I stopped again. Before me, shining down from the top of the rock
overhead, a few yards away, there gleamed a light. Moving cautiously
forward, I blew out my candle, and in a moment came upon a flight of
stone steps. Looking up, I could see that what had appeared to me to be
a light was simply an opening in the wall above me, which led into a
lighted room.
Ascending the steps, I stood in the bed-chamber of DeNortier. I had
never been in it before. It was the only room in the house, so far as I
knew, that I had never entered; but the door was always fastened when I
tried it, and I could find no key that would fit the lock.
Heavy tapestry lined the walls, and as I stood in the room I was
concealed from view by the embroidered arras, which hung directly in
front of the trap-door, hiding it from the sight of the occupants of
the chamber.
The floor was of polished wood, as was the rest of the house, and
bending down I closed the aperture through which I had come, noting
as I did so how cunningly it fitted into the wood, so as to be
indiscernible to the eye.
A thought struck me. I had best leave the trap-door ajar; it might be
that those who had left it open might wish to go through it again. It
would arouse suspicion were it found closed. Bending down I endeavored
to again open the door, but in vain. It was evidently worked by some
secret spring, and desisting from the vain attempt, I peered through
the hangings into the brilliantly lighted room.
The same golden candelabra suspended from the wall; the same heavy,
elegant furniture and luxurious couches; the same soft rugs and skins
upon the floors; even the identical odor of flowers, tropical and
sweet-scented.
Upon a little table stood a bottle of that same delicious nectar that I
had drunk before; even the very golden goblets were there, from which
DeNortier and I, and also Father Francis, had sipped the amber juice.
I had not tasted such wine as that since the fat priest had drunk with
me, that night which had proved so near his undoing. DeNortier had
sailed the next day, where, I did not know; the burly Francis I had not
seen since, until this evening in the cave; only Herrick, the grim,
with a few hardy ruffians, had remained behind.
I had already stepped into the room, thinking to let myself out of
the door and into the great hall, when the soft thud of approaching
footsteps caused me to dodge back behind the friendly tapestry. A key
grated in the lock; the door swung open, and I heard the tread of
footsteps across the threshold.
The key turned again, and the voice of DeNortier broke the silence.
"Come, my dear Lord, thou art safe here. Be seated, pray."
The noise of some heavy article being pushed over the floor, and I
could hear them throw themselves upon the couches.
Only one man with the Count, whom, I did not know. I had only heard him
growl out a brief "Thank thee," as he took the proffered seat. A man
of rank, too, evidently, for DeNortier had said, "My Lord." What did a
noble in this part of the world? English, too, by his voice. I had as
soon expected to see an elephant here as an English lord.
The stranger spoke. "Where is our prisoner?" he said in a low, clear
voice. "I care not to meet him during my brief stay here."
Where had I heard that voice before? It sounded as familiar to me as
my own. In London, surely, but I could not for my life remember whose
it was. Could I but peer out from my hiding-place without detection, I
would soon find out who the visitor was.
Carefully, very carefully, I drew aside a fold of the arras and looked
out. There facing me and looking down at DeNortier, who sat opposite, a
grin of pleasure upon his face, sat the Viscount James Henry Hampden.
The same piercing gray eye, dark brown hair and pointed beard; the same
nose and broad, wide mouth; the same cold, hard expression upon his
face. As though he were at Lady Wiltshire's ball, instead of upon a
wild island in the unknown Western seas, he sat there, gay and careless.
So this was the explanation that I had sought so long. He should pay
dearly for this deed. I had a heavy reckoning against him, but it could
wait for a while. Perhaps I would learn something of interest to me
to-night.
Luckily this part of the room (I was in the furthest corner) was in the
shadow, for the tapestry hung some six or eight inches from the wall,
and I could move stealthily behind it without being seen from the room.
But the Count was speaking. "No fear of that, my Lord. I inquired from
one of the servants as I came in, and he informed me that our prisoner
had not returned from a long hunt. He is probably sleeping in the hut
of some native to-night. Have no fear--he cannot hear of thy arrival."
And now he proceeded to fill one of the golden goblets with wine;
pushing it toward Hampden, and filling another for himself, he said,
"Let us drink a toast in this rare old wine. What shall it be? I await
thy pleasure," and he rose to his feet and bowed.
The Viscount hesitated; for a moment he sat as if undecided. But the
wine he had drunk before had mounted to his head, and he too arose to
his feet and extended his glass.
"I give thee a toast!" he cried, his colorless cheek warming. "One
for gods and men! Drink with me to the fairest of earth's mortals,
as divinely beautiful and as innocent as an angel; one upon whose
slightest word all London hangs--to the Lady Margaret Carroll!" And he
drained the great golden goblet in a draught.
"The Lady Margaret Carroll!" rejoined the sea rover, lifting the goblet
to his lips. "May she be the bride of the bravest gallant!" and he too
drained his cup to the dregs.
The Viscount still stood staring at him as the Count finished his cup
and set it upon the table. "Yes," said he finally, with a frown, "may
the bravest man win her." And following the example of DeNortier, he
resumed his reclining position upon the couch.
"And now, my Lord," the adventurer continued, "how long since is it
that thy noble uncle died, and thou didst come into the possession of
the title and estate?"
"Only a bare two months ago," answered Hampden, with a growl. "I
thought the old fool would never die. He hung on to the estates and
title as though he thought that he could carry them in his doublet
with him, when he passed out of this world. I had thought that I would
finally have to end his sufferings with my dagger, but he at last saved
me that trouble. The Saints be praised!"
With a devout sigh at the thought of such sin and wickedness, he put to
his lips the goblet that the Count had refilled, and drank off half of
its contents with a gulp. Then putting it down once more on the table,
he continued:
"I had been here long since had it not been for that; but from day to
day I kept waiting for the old Lord to die. Each day we thought would
be his last, but he held on for months," and looking up at the golden
candelabra, he sighed again.
"And what effect had the titles and estates upon thy lady love?" asked
DeNortier, with a slight smile. "Surely, Lord Dunraven, the possessor
of an ancient title and lordly estates, would be a fit mate for any
lady, barring none. Even the Queen would not stoop did she unite her
fate with so noble a line."
Lord Dunraven frowned blackly. "It is true many a titled lady would
be proud to be Lady Dunraven, wife of one of the greatest noblemen of
England, but the foolish girl is as obstinate as a donkey. She would
have none of it; told me she would be my friend ever, but I could never
hope for more. The foul fiend fly away with such a friend!" he cried,
his anger, stimulated by the rich wine, arising at the thought.
"I believe that she loves this Sir Thomas Winchester, so I had thee to
bring him here."
My heart gave a great bound of joy as I heard this. Was it possible
that Lady Margaret Carroll, courted and admired, with the choice of
England's nobility before her, herself the bearer of a proud name, and
with great estates, did she--could she--love and remember a gentleman
spurned by his own family, penniless, an outcast from his home? Was she
true to me, or was it only maidenly coyness, but used to heat my lord's
passion, that she repulsed him thus?
"If I cannot win, he shall not!" and rising to his feet, Dunraven began
to pace the floor.
The pirate's face wore a serious air, and fingering the goblet before
him, he spoke to Lord Dunraven, who was tramping restlessly to and fro.
"If thou fearest that, my Lord, why not say the word? A dagger in the
back, and thy rival would be out of thy way forever."
"No," Dunraven said, stopping for a moment his aimless walk. "No;
I reserve him for a more exquisite torture than that; he would not
suffer--a blow, and he would be out of his misery. But to see her in
my arms, his successful rival, to have her cry to him for aid, and he
bound helpless, unable to do aught but writhe in impotent agony--agony
which wrings the soul--ah, my friend! that would be revenge indeed,
such as I long for. Watch over him carefully. I would not have him come
to harm for an earl's ransom. Curse him! How I hate him! When I can
bring him to such a fate as this I shall be content, and not until then
will I rest."
"And what are thy plans?" DeNortier asked, his hands still fingering
listlessly the massive goblet.
The other looked at him keenly with his cold gray eye. "Can I trust
thee?" he asked suspiciously.
The adventurer laughed sardonically. "Thou hast trusted me thus far,"
he answered. "Have I played thee false in aught that thou askest me
this?"
"Forgive me," replied the Viscount. "Forgive me--but there hangs so
much at stake that I fear to trust myself. Listen, and thou shalt learn
my plans and purpose," and drawing up a heavy chair to the table, he
seated himself.
Filling up another goblet of wine, and drinking it down as though it
were a thimbleful, he resumed:
"The lady will not yield to me. I will give her but one more chance to
freely and of her own will become my bride. If she still refuses to
consent, then," a frown, dark and ominous, passed over his face, "I
will by some ruse obtain possession of her and by force carry her on
board one of my ships. Then, ho for Eldorado!"
"Yes," he said, noticing the look of astonishment upon the Spaniard's
face, "Sir Thomas Winchester shall behold her my bride. When he has
suffered enough to satisfy me, I will put him out of the way. We will
stay here until my lady becomes reconciled, and then we will sail back
to England and home," and his eyes, so cold and gray, lighted up with
delight and pleasure as he surveyed the face of the other.
His companion did not at once speak, but sat in silence. "And all
this," he finally said musingly--"all this toil and blood and sweat for
one woman, when a score as beautiful stand at thy elbow. Truly did some
wise man say, 'What fools we mortals be.'"
"Ah!" answered Dunraven, rising from his chair, "thou hast not seen the
Lady Margaret Carroll. Didst thou but lay eyes upon her, thou wouldst
wonder no longer, for she is the daintiest slip of mortality that ever
graced this cold gray earth. Man, half London is wild over her!"
"It may be so," DeNortier replied, yawning behind his hand. "I would,
for my part, prefer some less lovely maid who would be won more easily,
and without all this labor."
"_Tendit ad astra!_" cried my lord. Then bending across the table,
"Thou shouldst see this lady. Did I not fear that she would entangle
that black heart of thine in her golden tresses, I would take thee in
disguise with me to London, and show thee this wondrous beauty."
"No fear of that," rejoined DeNortier, a grim smile of amusement upon
his countenance. "Would the lady prefer a worn old warrior, his neck
resting uneasily upon his shoulders, to a noble of England, handsome,
rich, accomplished?" and he drummed his fingers restlessly upon the
table, his legs sprawled out before him.
"Thou flatterest me, my friend, and underratest thyself. The lady
would look twice before she refused thee." And Dunraven looked at his
companion.
Truly they were a striking pair as they sat together beneath the
candlelight, and thou couldst have searched Europe, and not have found
their match for comeliness and martial bearing. Dunraven, with his
broad shoulders, his striking face, his proud pose, dark brown hair
and beard; the Spaniard, more slender, but quicker, more agile, his
jet-black hair and beard gleaming like the wing of a crow in the light.
They were a dangerous couple. DeNortier was the leopard, restless,
cunning, lurking ready to spring at a moment's warning--not so big
as his bulky companion, but with muscles of steel; Dunraven, bigger,
heavier, clumsier, but more powerful--the bear. Woe to the creature
that he locked in his iron arms; he would crush the life from him, even
as a vise.
They both now sat silent and motionless, wrapped in their own thoughts,
neither breaking the deep silence that reigned in the room.
Quick steps sounded upon the floor outside. A loud rap upon the door,
and then another.
"What is it?" DeNortier cried, springing to his feet and catching up
his sword, which lay upon the floor beside him.
"The sentry swears that he saw the gleam of the moonlight upon a sail,
captain," a gruff voice answered.
"The fiends!" cried the adventurer. Then turning to Dunraven, who had
risen to his feet, he whispered rapidly, "Down the stairs into the
passageway--quick! Wait for me there; I will join thee as soon as I
can," and he stepped forward to unbolt the door.
Hampden dashed behind the tapestry. "Where?" he cried. "What
passageway?" and he looked at the floor about him.
"I forgot," DeNortier answered, "that thou dost not know the secret."
Crossing the room and pushing aside the tapestry, he knelt a moment
upon the floor and pressed his hand against it. There was a quick
click, and slowly the trap door rose. Hampden sprang through it. I held
my breath, my unsheathed sword in hand. Surely they must see me; but
no, they were too much engaged.
DeNortier sprang up as soon as the trap door yawned open, and rushing
over to the door, unlocked and opened it. It slammed to behind him,
and he ran down the hall, the sailor following.
In an instant I was through the opening beside me, sword in hand. My
enemy was in my grasp. We would fight out the quarrel below, with none
but the dead to interrupt us. One of us would come out perhaps; he
would have the field to himself; however it ended, the matter would
be settled. If my lord fell, I would have the ground to myself; if he
triumphed, it would not disturb me; if I fell beneath his sword, it
could not matter to the dead.
At the sound of my footsteps, he, not knowing who it was that followed,
quickened his own. The dim light through the trap door died out, and we
were treading in total darkness. Guided by the sound of his feet, I ran
on after him. I had no wish to fight under DeNortier's chamber; some
one might hear and interrupt us. I would wait until we got further on
into the cavern, where we would be undisturbed.
Several minutes passed; I judged that we were out of hearing, and
raising my voice shouted: "Why hurry, my Lord? The night is young yet,
and we have much to settle between us. Wait for me but a moment, and I
will join thee."
I heard him stop in the darkness.
"Ha!" he said, "speak of the devil and we hear his wings. So that was
thou who ran down after me into this black hole; thou must have been
behind the arras and have heard all that I said. Well, no matter, dead
men tell no tales," and he laughed, a ring of menace sounding in it.
I thrust out in the darkness before me with my sword; he could not be
far away, by the sound of his voice--but my blade only struck against
the wall, the steel ringing as though struck by a hammer. I heard his
footsteps move on down the tunnel.
"Stop!" I cried, "I have long wished to settle several small matters
with thee. If thou wilt but wait for me an instant, we will go out
into the moonlight, and there we will cross blades and fight out our
difference."
"Why should I fight thee?" he answered, his voice coming from in front
of me. "The game is mine; did I wish thee knifed, a dozen men stand
ready to do it at my command. Why should I risk my life? I do not wish
to kill thee, for I reserve thee for a more delicious fate," and his
laugh, low and smothered, floated back to me.
"Dog!" I cried, my anger getting the best of me--anger at the
taunt--anger that my sword could not reach him. "Boast not, 'there be
many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip.' I may not win my lady but thou
at least shalt not have her. Rather would I see her dead than meet such
a fate."
"When thou beholdest her resting peacefully upon my breast, my arms
around her, my lips pressed close to hers, then, and not till then,
will I be content. Fear not. Only a few months, and thou wilt behold
her mine. Till then--adieu!" and his footsteps moved again. Then
silence.
With a curse I rushed on down the dark passageway, prodding with my
sword the walls, cutting the darkness in front of me wildly. Like a
madman I dashed on until, cracking my head upon the projecting stone, I
staggered back, fell at full length upon the floor, and so was checked
in my mad career.
Getting on my feet again, I called. No answer. "Dunraven!" I cried,
"Where art thou?" But only the echo of my own voice answered me. He was
gone, as though the darkness had swallowed him up to protect him from
my wrath. Truly the devil had taken good care of his own.
I resumed my way on down the cavern, for a gleam of light had caught
my eye, far in front of me. I drew cautiously nearer; it was the moon
shining down at the mouth of the cave, which I had entered a few brief
hours ago.
Stumbling over the body of Herrick as it lay where he had fallen, I
scrambled up the embankment, pushed aside the bushes, and stood once
more in the open air. Far below me lay the mansion, its lights shining
out into the darkness as though to welcome me back once more to life
and hope. Descending the hill, I made my way down to it.
It was midnight when I stood again on the broad veranda between the
great white pillars. No one was in sight, and passing into the hallway
I ascended the stairs to my own room.