THE FEARFUL VISITANT.
Two or three days had passed, during which Mary had ascertained the
fact that every door affording egress from the house was kept
constantly locked, and that the new servants, as well as Blarden and
his companions, were perpetually on the alert, and traversing the lower
apartments, so that even had the door of the mansion laid open it would
have been impossible to attempt an escape without encountering some one
of those whose chief object was to keep her in close confinement,
perhaps the very man from whose presence her inmost soul shrank in
terror--she felt, therefore, that she was as effectually and as
helplessly a prisoner as if she lay in the dungeons of a gaol.
Often again had she endeavoured to see the man to whom she had confided
her letter to Major O'Leary, but in vain; her summons was invariably
answered by the others, and fearing to excite suspicion, she, of
course, did not inquire for him, and so, after a time, desisted from
her endeavours.
Her window commanded a partial view of the old shaded avenue, and hour
after hour would she sit at her casement, watching in vain for the
longed-for appearance of her uncle, and listening, as fruitlessly, for
the clang of his horse's hoofs upon the stony court.
"Oh! Flora, will he ever come?" she would exclaim, with a voice of
anguish, "will he ever--ever come to deliver me from this horrible
thraldom? I watch in vain, from the light of early dawn till darkness
comes--I watch in vain, for the welcome sight of my friend--in vain--in
vain I listen for the sound of his approach--heaven pity me, where shall
I turn for hope--all--all have forsaken me--all that ever I loved have
fallen from me, and left me desolate in this extremity--has he, too, my
last friend, forsaken me--will they leave me here to misery--oh, that
I might lay me down where head and heart are troubled no more, and be
at rest in the cold grave. He'll never come--no--no--no--never."
Then she would wring her hands, still gazing from the casement, and
hopelessly sob and weep.
She knew not why it was that Nicholas Blarden had suffered her, for a
day or two, to be exempt from the dreaded intrusions of his hated
presence. But this afforded her little comfort; she knew not how
soon--at what moment--the monster might choose to present himself
before her under circumstances of horror so dreadful as those of her
present friendless and forsaken abandonment to his mercy--and when
these imminent fears were for an instant hushed, a thousand agonizing
thoughts, arising from the partial revelations of her late servant,
Carey, occupied her mind. That the correspondence between her and
O'Connor had been falsified--she dreaded, yet she hoped it might be
true--she feared, yet prayed it might be so--and while the thought that
others had wrought their estrangement, and that the coolness of
indifference had not touched the heart of him she so fondly loved
visited her mind, a thousand bright, but momentary hopes, fluttered her
poor heart, and, for an instant, her dangers and her fears were all
forgotten.
The day had passed, and its broad, clear light had given place to the
red, dusky glow of sunset, when Mary Ashwoode heard the measured tread
of several persons approaching her room. With an instinctive
consciousness of her peril, she started to her feet, while every tinge
of colour fled entirely from her cheeks.
"Flora--stay by me--oh, God, they are coming!" she said, and the words
had hardly escaped her lips, when the door of the boudoir, in which she
stood, was pushed open, and Nicholas Blarden, followed by Gordon
Chancey, entered the room. There was in the countenance of Blarden none
of his usual affectation of good humour; on the contrary, it wore a
scowl of undisguised and formidable menace, the effect of which was
enhanced by the baleful significance of the malignant glance which he
fixed upon her, and as he stood there biting his lips in ominous
silence, and gazing with savage, gloating eyes, upon the affrighted
girl, it were not easy to imagine an apparition more intimidating and
hideous. Even Chancey seemed a little uneasy in the anticipation of
what was coming, and the sallow face of the barrister looked more than
usually sallow, and his glittering eyes more glossy than ever.
"Go out of the room, _you_--do you mind," said Blarden, grimly,
addressing Flora Guy, who had placed herself a little in advance of her
young mistress, and who stood mute and thunderstruck, looking upon the
two intruders--"are you palsied, or what--quit the room when I command
you, you brimstone fool;" and he clutched her by the shoulder, and
thrust her headlong out of the chamber, flinging the door to, with a
crash that made the walls ring again.
"Listen to me and mind me, and weigh my words, or you'll rue it," said
he, with a tremendous oath, addressing himself to the speechless and
terrified lady. "I have a bit of information to give you, and then a
bit of advice after it; you must know it's my intention we shall be
married; mind me, _married_ to-morrow evening; I know you don't like
it; but _I_ do, and that's enough for my purpose; and whenever I make
my mind up to a thing, there is not that power in earth, or heaven, or
hell, to turn me from it. I was always considered a tough sort of a
chap when I was in earnest about anything; and I can tell you I'm
mighty well in earnest here; and now you may as well know how
completely I have you under my thumb; there is not a servant in the
house that does not belong to me; there is not a door in the house but
the key of it is in my keeping; there is not a word spoken in the house
but I hear it, nor a thing done that I don't know of it, and _here's
your letter for you_," he shouted, and flung her letter to Major
O'Leary open before her on the table. "How dare you tamper with my
servant's honesty? how _dare_ you?" thundered he, with a stamp upon the
floor which made the ornaments on the cabinet dance and jingle; "but
mind how you try it again--beware; mind how you offer to bribe them
again; I give you fair warning; you're my property now--to do what I
like with, just as much as my horse or my dog; and if you _won't_ obey
me, why I'll find a way to _make_ you; to-morrow evening I'll have a
parson here, and we'll be buckled; make no rout about it, and it will
be better for you, for whatever you do or say, if I had to get you into
a strait-waistcoat and clap a plaister over your mouth to keep you
quiet, married we shall be; husband and wife, and plenty of witnesses
to vouch for it; do you understand me, and no mistake; and if you're
foolish enough to make a row about it, I'll tell you what I'll do in
such a case," and he fixed his eyes with a still more horrible
expression upon her. "I have a particular friend, do you mind--a very
obliging, particular old friend that's a mad-doctor; do you hear me;
not a very lucky one to be sure, for he has made devilish few cures; a
mad-doctor, do you mind?--and I'll have him to reside here and
superintend your treatment; do you hear me? don't stand gaping there
like an idiot; do you hear me?"
Blarden during this address had advanced into the room and stood by the
little table, leaning his knuckles upon it, and stooping forward and
advancing his menacing and hideous face, so as to diminish still
further the intervening distance, when, all on a sudden, like a
startled bird, she darted across the room, and ere they had time to
interpose, had opened the door, and was half-way across the lobby; she
passed Flora Guy, who was sobbing at the door with her apron to her
eyes, and at the head of the stairs beheld Sir Henry Ashwoode, no less
confounded at the rencounter than was she herself.
"My brother! my brother!" she shrieked, and threw herself fainting into
his arms.
Spite of all that was base in his character, the young man was so
shocked and confounded that he turned pale as death, and speech and
recollection for a moment forsook him.
Almost at the same instant Chancey and Blarden were at his side.
"What the devil ails you?" said Blarden, furiously, addressing
Ashwoode, "what do you stand there hugging her for, you white-faced
idiot?"
Ashwoode's lips moved; but he could not speak, and the senseless burden
still lay in his arms.
"Let her go, will you, you d----d oaf? take hold of the girl, Chancey,
and you, you idiot, come here and lend a hand; carry her into her room,
and mind, sweet lips, keep the key in your pocket; and if you want help
tatter the bells; get down, will you, you moon-struck fool?" he
continued, addressing Ashwoode; "what do you stand there for, with your
whitewashed face?"
Ashwoode, scarcely knowing what he did, staggered down the stairs and
made his way to the parlour, where he sat gasping, with his face buried
in his hands. Meanwhile, with many a meek expression of pity, the
lawyer assisted Flora Guy in bearing the inanimate body of her mistress
into the chamber, where, in happy unconsciousness, she lay under the
tender care of her humble friend and servant. Blarden and Chancey
having accomplished the object of their mission, departed to the lower
regions to enjoy whatever good cheer Morley Court afforded.