OF A JOURNEY BY NIGHT
The Major stood chin in hand staring at the weather-beaten stile, set a
little back from the road between high hedges and shaded by the
spreading boughs of a great tree; its worn timbers were gnarled and
twisted with years and the rigours of succeeding winters and, in its
length of days, many were the lovers had sighed and kissed and plighted
troth beside it; and yet of them all surely never a one had waited with
more impatience or hearkened more eagerly for the quick, light tread of
approaching feet than Major John d'Arcy, for all his quiescent attitude
and apparent calm, as he stood in the light of the rising moon staring
gravely at the rickety fabric.
It was here he had held her to his breast as night melted into day, it
was here he had kissed her in the dawn--and to-night----The Major's big
hand touched the warped crossbar and rested there a little tremulously.
And standing thus he fell to thinking of love and the never-ceasing
wonder of it and to-night----!
"So dear John to-morrow at nine-thirty of the clock thou shalt meet me
at our stile--where we did watch the dawn and there all thy doubts and
fears shall be resolved and vanish utterly away for ever and ever, and
thou (as I do think) shalt learn to love me even a little better. So
come my John at nine-thirty of the clock but not an instant sooner and
fail not for my sake and thy sake and Love's sweet sake."
How well he remembered those oft-read lines, he knew every twirl and
flourish that her pen had made----
Soft with distance the church clock chimed the hour of nine. Half an
hour to wait! He was earlier than he had thought. The Major sighed
and leaning across the stile, stared away towards the rising moon.
Half an hour and then----?
"Come my John at nine-thirty of the clock but not an instant sooner."
And wherefore not? he wondered. Was it on his account or--? Here he
fell to frowning thought and gradually a vague unease came upon him;
standing erect he half turned, meaning to walk awhile and return at the
appointed time, then paused suddenly to listen.
The night was warm and so very still that sounds carried far and thus
he heard a throb upon the air which his trained senses instantly
recognised as the sound of horse-hoofs coming at a gallop. Wondering,
he moved forward until, standing in the shadow of the high hedge, he
could see the road stretching away white under the moon; and presently
upon the road were two horsemen, travellers these who rode close side
by side, despite their speed. Instinctively the Major stepped back
into the shadow and had reached the stile again when he started and
wheeled swiftly about--above the drumming of rapidly approaching hoofs
he had caught the sound of a laugh, a lazy laugh full of languid
amusement; the Major clenched his fists and standing in the shadow,
watched the oncoming horsemen under knitted brows. Nearer they came
until he could see that one of the riders was a woman; nearer yet until
he could make out the pale, aquiline features of Mr. Dalroyd; on they
came at speed until--the Major's breath caught suddenly for beneath the
lady's riding-hood he saw a face framed in glossy, black curls--the
delicate profile, the long-lashed eye, that sweet, proud, red-curving
mouth--the face of my lady Betty herself.
'So 'twas thus she came to meet him! Well, even so--' he took an
uncertain pace forward. 'But was she there to meet him?' She rode
loose-reined at the same swift pace; twelve yards, six! 'Was she
indeed coming to keep her appointment? No, by God!' For once in his
life the Major's iron self-control was not, a wild rage possessed him;
he wore no sword, but, acting upon blind impulse, unarmed as he was, he
sprang for the head of Dalroyd's horse. A startled, breathless oath, a
wild hurly-burly of stamping hoofs and rearing of frightened horses,
then, whipping out one of his ever-ready pistols, Mr. Dalroyd levelled
it point-blank at his dim-seen opponent, but as he pulled the trigger
his arm was knocked up and the weapon exploded in the air. A desperate
smiting in the shadow then, spurring his rearing horse, Mr. Dalroyd
broke free and the Major, struck by the shoulder of the plunging
animal, was hurled violently into the ditch. When at last he got to
his feet, my lady and her escort were nearly out of sight.
"Ha--d'Arcy was it!" said Mr. Dalroyd a little breathlessly as he
thrust discharged pistol into holster. "Egad, sweetheart, 'tis relief
to know it, I thought 'twas--d'Arcy was it, poor devil. By heaven,
Betty, since you are mine at last I can almost find pity for the poor
devil, he loved you with a death-in-life adoration, sweet Bet,
worshipped you with lowly fervour as you were a saint--you, all warmth
and love and passion. O, 'tis a pitiful lover you'd ha' found him,
sweetheart, 'tis a smug fool and would ha' driven you frantic with his
grave and reverent homage. Now I on the other hand Bet----" Mr.
Dalroyd paused suddenly to glance over his shoulder and rode on for a
few moments, his head aslant in that attitude of patient listening.
"Didst hear aught, sweetheart? A horse galloping?"
"Nay indeed!" voice muffled in her cloak.
"Good!" Hereupon Mr. Dalroyd entered into a full and particular
account of his own virtues as a lover, though more than once he paused
in the recital to glance over his shoulder and to listen.
"Indeed, sweet Bet, 'tis as well you are set on Paris henceforth for
'tis necessary I should quit England for awhile. I had the misfortune
to offend a gentleman some months since and last week the thoughtless
fellow was so mistaken as to die--hence I must to France awhile--but
with thee 'twill be a very paradise." Here Mr. Dalroyd reached out to
touch his companion's hand but in the act of doing so, paused and
glanced over his shoulder and immediately proceeded to change the
pistols in his holsters.
"'Twas folly in my lord your brother to choose a different route, Bet,
I have post-horses waiting all along the road and a lugger waiting in a
certain snug cove. If he should be behind----"
"We must wait!" said my lady.
"Wait--aye Bet, we'll wait a reasonable while, though 'tis torment to
an eager lover. To-morrow morning we should reach Boulogne and in
Boulogne you shall wed me and----"
My lady turned and scanned the long road behind.
"Ha--d'ye hear hoofs, Bet--a horseman?" My lady shook her head, but
now Mr. Dalroyd grew silent and rode alert and watchful.
So they rode, staying only to change horses and on again; even when
they paused for refreshment, Mr. Dalroyd spoke little except to urge
haste and often would cross to door or window and stand there, head
aslant, listening.
It was after they had changed horses for the last time that Mr. Dalroyd
lifted his head suddenly and glared back over his shoulder as, faint
and far, but plain to hear, came the rhythmic throb of galloping hoofs.
"Ha!" he exclaimed in a long-drawn breath. "Dost hear aught, Bet?"
"One gallops behind us!" said my lady faintly.
"Art wearied, sweetheart?"
"Nay--not very."
"Then ride--spur!"
"Nay, 'tis Charles--my brother, perchance."
"'Tis not your brother!"
"How can you tell?"
"I know!" said he grimly and lifted his holster-flap. Thus, mile after
mile they rode with never a word between them, yet, despite their
speed, faint and far behind was that rhythmic beat of pursuing hoofs,
now lost, now heard again, faint but persistent, never any nearer yet
never any further off. And often Mr. Dalroyd glared back across his
shoulder and spoke only to encourage his companion to faster pace.
Uphill and down they spurred and across wind-swept levels while the
moon waned and the stars paled to the dawn; and with the first chill
breath of coming day there reached them the sharp, salt tang of the
sea. Mr. Dalroyd uttered a short, fierce laugh and, seizing his
companion's rein, spurred his jaded animal to the hill before them. A
sloping upland, wild and desolate, a treeless expanse clothed with bush
and scrub, with beyond, at the top of the ascent, a little wood.
Spurring still, they reached this wood at last and here Mr. Dalroyd
drew rein, whipped pistols into pockets and dismounting, lifted my lady
from the saddle; then he turned and looked back to see, far away upon
the lonely road, a solitary horseman indistinct in the half-light.
"I can do it yet!" he laughed and, catching his companion's hand,
hurried through the wood, across a short stretch of grass and so to the
edge of a cliff with the sea beyond, where a two-masted vessel rode at
her anchor close inshore, while immediately below them was a little bay
where a boat had been drawn up. Mr. Dalroyd whistled shrilly, at which
signal two men rose from where they had sprawled on the shingle and ran
the boat to the edge of the tide.
Then Mr. Dalroyd turned and laughed again.
"Come Betty--my Betty!" he cried. "Yonder lies France and happiness."
"But Charles----"
"He's aboard like enough."
"But----"
"Come!" he cried, glancing toward the little wood.
But now my lady's petticoats must catch which caused much delay; free
at length she, not troubling for Mr. Dalroyd's hand, went on down the
precipitous path. The sailors, seeing her coming, launched their boat,
and my lady, not waiting for their aid and heedless of wet ankles,
sprang in, motioning them to do the same.
"But th' gentleman, mam--you'll never run off wi'out your fancy man,
lady!" laughed one of the men and pointed to where Mr. Dalroyd yet
stood upon the edge of the cliff, staring back towards the wood.
"Lady do be in a 'urry an' no mistake. Tom, give my lord a hail!"
The fellow Tom hailed lustily whereupon Mr. Dalroyd shook clenched fist
at the little wood and turned to descend the cliff, but in that instant
was a faint report; Mr. Dalroyd staggered, wheeled round, took a
reeling pace towards that dark wood and fell.
"Lord--Lord love me, Tom!" gasped the sailor.
"Shove off!" cried my lady.
"But mam--your ladyship----"
"Shove off, I say." Almost instinctively the men obeyed, shipped the
oars and sat waiting.
"Row!" cried my lady.
"But Lord--Lord love 'ee mam, what o'----"
"Row!" commanded my lady again, "Row and be damned!" And from under
her cloak came a hand grasping a long-barrelled pistol. The little
boat shot away from shore out towards the lugger.
Mr. Dalroyd lay motionless, outstretched upon the grass, one arm hidden
beneath him and with blood welling between his parted lips; and
presently, forth from the shadow of the little wood a masked figure
crept, head out-thrust, shoulders bowed, big hand yet grasping the
smoking pistol; cautiously and slowly the man drew near and stood
looking down on his handiwork. Then Joseph, his obsequiousness gone
for ever, laughed harshly and spurned that limp and motionless form
with the toe of his heavy riding-boot.
With sudden, mighty effort the dying man struggled to his knees and
glaring up into the masked face of his slayer, levelled the weapon he
had drawn and cocked with so much agony and stealth.
"Ha, worm!" he groaned, "I waited and you--came. Die--vermin!"
Steadying himself he pulled the trigger and Joseph, throwing up his
arms, fell and lay staring up, unwinking and sightless, on the pallid
dawn. Then Mr. Dalroyd laughed, choked and sinking slowly to the
grass, moved no more. The death which had pursued him so relentlessly
had caught up with him at last.