LURED TO HIS DOOM.
Leicester came striding down, apparently unconscious of the scene and
the actors.
As he passed the group, who drew back to let him go by, he turned his
head slightly, and frowned at Jem, who had suddenly become sober, and
stood, with hangdog head, looking upward from the corners of his evil,
little eyes.
"Seems cut up about summut," said one of the men.
"Crossed in love," said Job, with a laugh. "But that's no business o'
ours, lads."
The men, with Job and Willie at their head, ran down to the beach, and
again the captain saw the signal fly out into the night.
"No time to lose," he muttered. "Now, will this drunken fellow get out
of the way and let me get to work?"
As if he had heard the unspoken question, Jem stopped suddenly, and,
after looking round cunningly, turned off to the right and commenced
ascending the steep path which led to the cliffs.
He was following in the immediate wake of Leicester Dodson.
The arch plotter, who had pulled all the wires which had moved the
passions of both men, softly and swiftly followed up behind, to make
the murderer's task easy and effective!
Panting and breathless, the captain at last descried the thickset
figure of Jem crouching on the path. With a stealthy caution, the
captain crept up to him, and whispered his name.
With a guilty start, and a smothered oath, the ruffian turned.
"Hush!" said the captain. "I've followed you----"
Before he could proceed, the idea of treachery and capture had taken
hold of Jem's mind, and, with a livid face, he sprang upon his late
master.
In an instant they were locked in each other's arms, and struggling for
dear life, afraid to speak for fear of alarming their joint victim, who
stood, or lay, on the grass farther up the cliff, and out of sight.
With a fearful tensity, they rocked to and fro, struggling each to get
the upper hand of the other.
Nearer and nearer they approached the edge of the cliff.
The captain's brain grew dizzy--he felt himself falling, but, by an
effort gigantic and overwhelming, called up all his strength to play a
feint.
With a slight cry, he glared over Jem's shoulder, as if he saw some one
or something.
The feint took effect. For half an instant Jem relaxed his hold, and
turned his head.
In that stroke of time the captain had freed one arm.
A knife flashed through the night and buried itself in Jem's breast.
With a muffled cry and a gasp, he threw up his arms, then fell like a
log on the sward.
Instantly the captain bent down, and, opening one thick, clammy hand,
pressed into it the white, crushed lily which he wore in his buttonhole.
The dying man's hand closed on the flower, and his eyes opened, with a
glare of hate and distrust. Then, as the light died out of them, the
captain dragged the body of his accomplice and tool to the edge and
hurled it over.
So short, though deadly, had been the struggle for the mastery
that nothing, not a coat, or collar, was torn, and, after passing
his handkerchief over his brow, he was about to hurry on, when he
remembered the knife, which, in the excitement, had slipped from his
hand.
He went on his hands and knees and searched carefully, but could not
find it.
"It must have gone over with him," he muttered, and he decided, after a
still more careful examination of the ground, that it had.
All further search for it was rendered impossible by the sound of
footsteps.
Looking up, he saw the stalwart figure of Leicester Dodson coming
swiftly down toward him.
Instantly, he called out, and without anxiety:
"Is that you, Mr. Leicester?"
"It is," came back Leicester's deep, stern voice.
"I am so glad," replied the captain. "I have been looking for you
everywhere!"
"Were you sent to find me?"
"I should not have come on my own account, much as I esteem your
society," said the captain, with a grave laugh. "I have come from the
woman to whom you have lost your heart, and whom you have lashed and
tortured by your romantic upbraidings and reproaches. Don't be offended
with me. I have had my days of romance and sentiment, though I am not
much older than you. Why, how much older am I? A few years only, if
any."
Leicester moved impatiently.
"For Heaven's sake, do not keep me in suspense!" he cried. "You say
that Violet--Miss Mildmay--sent for me? Where is she?"
"Where should she be but in her own house?" said the captain,
banteringly. "Come, my dear fellow, you have made yourself and her
quite miserable enough for one night, and I have come to make you both
happy."
"You came from her?" said Leicester.
"Yes, to tell you that you are mistaken, that your reproaches were
groundless, that she is not heartless, and, as from herself, she bade
me tell you that she required your forgiveness and good will. The word
and the thing needed between you is 'peace'--no more, mind!" he added,
as Leicester wiped the perspiration from his brow. "No more! We do not
say any warmer word! For the present, it is only peace!"
Leicester held out his hand.
"Captain Murpoint," he said, and his voice struggled for calm, "I
have wronged you. You are a good fellow, for no other than an honest,
simple-hearted, good-natured gentleman would have taken so much trouble
to bring happiness to an obstinate, wooden-headed, conceited young
fool----"
"No no," said the captain, disclaimingly, as he shook the hot hand
cordially.
"And she sent for me!" continued Leicester, in a rhapsody of gratitude
and love. "Bless her gentle heart! What a brute I must have seemed to
her! I said more than I meant, captain. I swear I did; I was mad at
the time, mad with jealousy and love and wounded vanity. But enough of
that. Where is she?"
"I left Violet hiding snugly in the old chapel."
Leicester started, and a slight shadow of suspicion clouded his joy.
"Hiding in the old chapel? Why should she do that?" he asked.
"That she can best tell," said the captain. "Of course, she does not
expect to see you, and you are not compelled to come. The fact is, we
were out for a walk, and, finding her low-spirited, I drew from her
the cause. I left her seated on the old tomb, and there she sits now,
depend on it, or I am much out in my estimate of a lover's endurance."
Leicester paused a second.
"You need not come so far," said the captain; "she may have gone on."
"I would go to the end of the world on the chance of seeing her
to-night!" said Leicester.
"Come along, then!" exclaimed the captain. "Take my arm."
Leicester raised his arm; the captain at the same moment raised his,
and, happening to stumble at the moment over a loose stone, his hand
struck Leicester's hat off.
"Tut, tut!" he exclaimed, with annoyance. "How stupid and clumsy of me!
I thought you were going to take my arm, and I stumbled over a stone. I
wonder whether I can get it?" and he neared the edge.
"No, no!" exclaimed Leicester, impatiently. "Confound the hat! What
does it matter? Come away, or you'll stumble again, perhaps, and pop
over. It's death if you do."
"Ah, well, I am afraid it has gone over," said the captain, apparently
much vexed at his own carelessness. "I wish it had been my hat instead
of yours."
"No matter," said Leicester. "Come on; remember that she is waiting
there all alone."
Arm in arm, Captain Howard Murpoint and Leicester Dodson descended the
cliff.
The heart of the latter was beating fast with joy born of hope.
In a few minutes he should be near his sweet Violet; should, perhaps,
clasp her in his arms--for might she not in the excitement of the
moment be won to confess that she returned him love for love?
"Come along!" he said. "Every moment----"
"Gently!" replied the captain, cheerily. "Remember, this path is narrow
and somewhat dangerous; a false step, and over we should be."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Leicester, who felt fit for any mad thing. "I
could run down it blindfolded."
Thus exhorted, the captain quickened his pace.
While going through the village, Leicester nodded toward the "Blue
Lion".
"All quiet now," he said. "As I passed this evening they were just
coming out. By the way, your old servant still remains at Penruddie; he
was drunk, as usual, to-night, and noisy."
"Oh, he is quiet now--I dare say asleep," said the captain, with a
sardonic grin in the darkness.
Leicester made some rejoinder, and he walked on until the chapel came
in sight.
"Strange," mused Leicester; "an hour ago I was longing for Africa; now
I would not exchange England for ten undiscovered worlds."
"The wind shifts rapidly," said the captain, with his soft, treacherous
laugh, "and the weathercock obeys it with all cheerfulness."
Leicester was too happy to resent the sneer, and the next moment they
entered the chapel.
"Dark as pitch," he said. "Here is the torch. I do not see--where are
you?" he broke off to ask, for the captain had suddenly left his side.
"Here," said the captain.
Leicester turned, but before he could utter another word he felt his
arms pinned to his sides, and a bandage thrown over his mouth.
He struggled hard and furiously to free his arms and mouth, but his
unseen assailants were four to one, and, after a few moments, he gave
up the ineffectual resistance, and knelt, for he had been forced on to
his knees at last, nevertheless glaring impotently round him.
He could see dark figures flitting about, but a dead silence reigned.
It was broken at last by a voice, which he knew well.
It was Job's.
"Maester Leicester, it be of no use to struggle agen too many. Do you
give in quietly?"
Leicester thought a moment, then nodded, pointing to the gag.
"If we take it off, will 'e promise not to shout?" asked Job.
Again Leicester hesitated, and again made a motion in the affirmative.
"Take it off; he'll not break his word," said Job, and some one from
behind slipped off the gag.
"Now, Maester Leicester," said Job, "we've got your word. Mind ye,
you're not to speak till ye get permission."
Leicester nodded.
"Do you know me?" asked Job.
"I do," said Leicester. "You are Job, the carrier, and a scoundrel! Why
am I decoyed here and treated thus?"
"For a good reason, to be sure," said Job. "Maester Leicester, you've
been prying about too much lately, prying into what don't concern you,
and you've discovered summut as you shouldn't a knowed anything of.
Don't I speak the truth?"
"I have discovered nothing," said Leicester. "But, trust me, I will
unmask the villain who lured me here and the scoundrels in his pay!"
There was a threatening movement behind him, but Leicester's courage
did not flinch.
Job shook his head.
"D'ye mean to threaten us, Maester Leicester?" he said. "I'm sorry for
it. I'd hoped we'd come to some terms. Suppose you discovered this
little game--and you've done it, for a certainty--I puts it to you as
a gentleman, what harm can it do to you and yours? Do it matter to you
gentlefolk if a cask o' wine and a bundle o' cigars is run in now and
then without the customs knowing it?"
"Ah!" said Leicester, the whole secret breaking in upon him. "That's
the villainy, is it? So you honest fishermen are a parcel of thieves,
with a scoundrel at your head! That's the key to the mystery, is it?
What! and you dare to ask me to connive at your rascality! Job, you
know me better! You waste time and words; you should know me better.
If there are any others round me who can hear me, they, too, should
know me better than to hope I would make a paltry villain of myself,
even to save myself from their trickery. I repeat it, if I live through
to-night, I will bring you to justice, Job, and all your gang."
"Bah! Waste of time, indeed!" said a smooth voice behind Job.
"You still here!" said Leicester. "I knew you for a villain when I
first saw your vile face and heard your false voice. You triumph
to-night, Captain Murpoint, if that is your name; but, have a care! A
rogue's day is a short one! The gallows lies in your path, and every
little such paltry triumph as this draws you more swiftly down to it!"
"Bah!" said the soft voice, contemptuously. "Fine words, boys. Better
waste no more time. The fool is raving mad with fear, and doesn't know
what he says."
Two or three hands slipped the gag over the captive's mouth, and he was
raised on two pairs of stout shoulders.
"Good-night," said the captain. "I leave you in good hands, Mr.
Leicester Dodson. They'll take care of you. Good-night. I will make
your excuse to the person whom you should have met," and, with another
mocking grin, the captain, having waited until the crowd of figures
were lost in the gloom, turned on his heel and walked rapidly away.
So quietly had the capture and removal of Leicester Dodson been
effected that not a dog about the Park had been roused, and the
captain, standing on the lawn, waited until he saw the signal which
announced the success of the undertaking, then entered the house, and
stepped quietly upstairs.
Not so quietly but that a pair of ears heard him.
As he passed Violet's door, it opened, and Violet stepped across the
threshold.
"I had hoped that you would not have waited," he said.
Violet knew by his words that he had been unsuccessful in his mission
of peace, and a grayer tint came over her face.
"You have seen him?" she said, in a low, strained voice.
The captain inclined his head.
"Yes," he said, "I have seen Mr. Leicester."
"And you gave him the message? Oh, tell me, please!" and she clasped
her hands, with a gesture of despair.
"I know not how to tell you," said the captain, brokenly. "At least, I
can assure you this, that Mr. Dodson is not worth another thought of
yours. You--and I, also--are utterly mistaken in him. He is neither
generous, noble, nor forgiving."
Violet interrupted by a gesture.
"Will you tell me what he said?"
"When I left you," said the captain, "I walked up to the Cedars, hoping
to find him at home, but a servant told me he had gone for his walk. I
went down to the village, and waited there for some time, and at last
looked for him on the beach. I could not find him there, and, as I was
determined not to return to you until I had seen him, I made my way
back to the village, and waited by the cliff road."
He paused a moment to snuff the candle and to glance at her face.
He could see she was listening attentively, and he wished her to do so.
"I waited some time, and then walked up the hill. There I met him,
and--and--oh, that I could spare you the indignity of this moment!--and
gave him your message. At first he treated me with a specimen of his
incredulity. He was suspicious of I know not what, and it was not until
I took your flower and put it in his hand that he considered I had any
authority to speak to him concerning you."
"He took the flower?" said Violet, faintly.
"Yes; he thrust it in his coat, with a cynical, mocking laugh. 'Tell
her,' said he, 'that I will keep her flower, but will have none of
her love.' You would have me tell you," he added, hurriedly as Violet
staggered slightly and flushed a hot crimson of shame and indignation.
"I did not give you any such message!" she burst forth, with a wail of
wounded pride.
"Nor did I say a word which should call forth such an insult," replied
the captain. "Do not think of it. He was mad at the time, I fully
believe. Mad, raving mad! What could I say or do when he uttered that
insult? I turned and left him. I could have felled him to the ground,
but my mission was one of peace."
"And he said no more?" asked Violet, huskily.
"No more," said the captain. "I watched him as he went down the street
and past the inn. The men were coming out, and I feared that, perhaps,
in his mad, ill-tempered state, he should be so indiscreet as to run
against my man, Starling, for he was among the group. But Mr. Dodson
passed on, and the men dispersed, Starling alone going in the direction
of the cliff."
He paused, to let his words, slowly spoken, carry their full weight,
and make their due impression, then continued:
"Then I came on home, but I could not find heart to see you. I
determined to wait until you had gone to bed; you would be stronger in
the morning to bear the insult."
He paused again.
"With that resolve, I paced up and down the lane, I must confess, with
the hope that Mr. Dodson would return, and, his ill-temper vented, give
me a more satisfactory answer to your gentle, noble message. But he
has not returned--at least, by that road; he may have ascended to the
Cedars by the lower road--and, at last, thinking you must by this time
have retired to rest, I ventured to come in."
There was a silence, unnatural and ghostly in its intensity, then
Violet spoke.
"I thank you," she said. "I thank you from my heart. I did what I
thought right, and, though it has won me nothing but insult, I think it
right still. Mr. Leicester Dodson misunderstood and misjudged me. He
said that I had wronged and injured him. I sent to say that, neither in
thought nor deed, had I intended him harm. So far, I am right; the rest
let him be answerable for."
"Nobly spoken!" exclaimed the captain, in a voice apparently choked
with emotion. "Nobly spoken! Yours is a proud nature, worthy the
daughter of my old friend, John Mildmay. Good-night! You are wearied to
death. Good-night!"
He took her hand, and bowed over it, and, with a gesture as if he were
swallowing tears, hurriedly walked away toward his own room.