CAPTAIN HEATH WATCHES OVER BLANCHE.
The next day, Blanche kept to her room, pleading illness. Nothing
passed between Cecil and the captain; not even a look. They
studiously avoided each other.
By mere accident, the captain overheard one of the grooms tell
another that he had seen Mr. Chamberlayne at the Crown Inn, that day.
It was a flash of light to him. The visit to the Crown could only
have been for the purpose of securing a post-chaise. He resolved to
watch.
During the evening, Cecil was as gay as usual, if not gayer; but he
was closely watched by the captain, and, when he retired for the
night, he made so many arrangements with Violet and Tom Wincot for
the morrow, that the captain's suspicions were confirmed:--
"They are to elope to-night," he said; and quietly stole out of the
house.
About two hundred yards from the lodge gates, beneath the shade of a
magnificent horse-chestnut, he espied, as he had anticipated, a
post-chaise in waiting. He went up to the post-boy, and, holding up
a crown, he said,--
"Will you answer a question, if paid for it?"
"Why, sir, that depends upon the sort of question."
"You are employed by Mr. Chamberlayne ... I want to know whether you
are going towards London or Bristol. Will you tell me?--five
shillings for you, if you tell me truly; broken bones on your return,
if you deceive me."
"Hm! you're not going to spoil my job?"
"Not I; I wish simply to know the fact."
"Well, then, hand here the money ... it's to London."
The captain trembled:--
"To London! I thought so."
This information seemed to lend him an energy he had not felt for
some time--the energy necessary for a struggle. Had Cecil been going
to Gretna Green, the captain would have suffered him to depart in
peace. But certain suspicions of foul play had tormented him ever
since his meeting with Cecil at his bed-room door.
"The villain!" he said to himself. "He has accomplished her ruin,
and now does not even intend to marry her. But she has a protector,
thank God! ... I will shoot the reprobate this very night."
He moved away; and, retiring behind the hedge, carefully examined his
pistols, which he had brought with him, anticipating some use for
them.
Meanwhile, Cecil was placing the ladder for Blanche to descend.
"Hark ye!" said Captain Heath, again approaching the postilion. "As
London is your route, I propose accompanying you. There is a crown,
to ensure your blindness. I shall get up behind. When you arrive at
the first stage, you will promise to pass the word on to the
postilion who succeeds you; he shall have half-a-crown for his
silence; and so on, till we reach London. Is it a bargain?"
"Ay, surely, sir."
"Well, I will walk on. When you get beyond the village, and reach
the clump of fir trees that skirt the road to the right of Mrs. St.
John's--you know it?"
"Yes, sir."
"There some part of the harness must get out of order, and you must
dismount to set it right. While doing so, I will get up behind, and
then you may drive on as fast as you please. D'ye hear?"
"Yes, sir; all right."
"Let me add, by way of precaution, that, in case you should ride
past, or attempt to betray me, I am very capable of sending a bullet
through your head."
He drew out from his pocket one of his pistols, much to the
postilion's horror, and then replacing it said,--
"Now we understand each other."
He strode rapidly on, as he finished this speech, and was soon out of
sight.
The night is cold, and the postilion gets impatient; the more so as
the recent little conversation has not helped to raise his spirits.
To earn a crown by a facile blindness is tempting enough; but he has
an uneasy apprehension of something unpleasant; he dislikes the
company of one who carries pistols, and seems so determined to use
them on slight provocation.
But why tarry the lovers? It is long past the appointed time.
Can they have been detected?--Is the elopement frustrated?
Captain Heath anxiously asks himself these questions; and perhaps the
reader shares his impatience. He has a readier means of satisfying
his curiosity, however, than the captain had; for he has only to turn
to the next volume.
END OF VOL. I.
London: Printed by STEWART and MURRAY, Old Bailey.