A PERILOUS CLIMB.
"Is father in?" inquired the young girl of Solomon, as he stood in the
doorway, without moving aside to let Richard pass into the house.
"No, he is not," returned the person addressed, his keen blue eye fixed
suspiciously on the stranger. "As you were so long on your errand, he
gave up his lock-work, and has gone off to the pit. He said he had never
known you loiter so."
"I did not loiter at all," returned the maiden, indignantly; "if it had
not been for the fog, I should have been home an hour ago; but one can't
walk through wool as if it were air. You had the fog here yourselves,
hadn't ye?"
It was strange to note the change in the girl's speech; not only were
her air and tone quite different from what they had been--her modesty or
shyness exchanged for a confidence and even a touch of defiance--but her
phraseology had become blunt and provincial.
"Well, any way he was angered, Harry," returned Solomon, "until I told
him of the new copper lode, as I whispered to you of this morning (you
were the first to learn it, Harry), when off he set, in good-humor
enough with all the world.--You'll come across John Trevethick, if you
want him, young man, over at Dunloppel, though I doubt whether you will
find him much of a customer--unless you are in the iron and steel line."
"I am in the knife-and-fork line just at present," answered Richard,
good-humoredly; "and, if you will be good enough to move aside, I should
like to order my dinner."
"I ax pardon," said Solomon, sulkily, withdrawing himself from the
doorway. "I did not know I was hindering custom.--Who is this young
spark, Harry?" added he, in a low tone, as the other entered the house.
"Well, he's a young gentleman, Solomon, as you could see very well if
you chose," answered the girl, angrily. "He don't look much like a
bagman, I think, any ways. I am sure father would not like you to treat
his customers in that fashion."
"I am sure he wouldn't like your escorting such customers over Turlock
Down alone."
"That's father's business, and not yours, at present, Solomon," retorted
the girl, tartly; "and perhaps it never may be yours. You take as much
upon yourself because of your new copper vein as if it was gold."
"Nay, don't say that, Harry," replied the other, with an admiring look,
from which every trace of ill feeling seemed to have departed. "If it
_were_ gold, I should be more pleased upon your account than my own, you
may depend upon it. You think I am jealous, now, of yonder bit of a lad,
but----"
"I think nothing of the kind," answered Harry, impetuously.
"Well, well," returned Solomon, soothingly; "then we'll say no more
about it. Trevethick wanted me to be away with him to pit, but I said:
'No; I'll wait for Harry, and bring her with me to Dunloppel.' It's a
great find, my girl, and may be the making of us all."
"Nay, a walk to Turlock and back is enough for one day's work, Solomon;
and, besides, I'm wet through with the fog, and must change my
things.--Hannah! Hannah!" and, raising her voice to landlady pitch, she
addressed some one within doors, "didn't you hear the parlor bell
ringing?--So never mind me, Solomon; I dare say I shall hear enough
about the lode when you and father come back;" and with that, and a
careless nod of her shapely head, the young girl pushed past her
disappointed swain, and ran up stairs.
The _Gethin Castle Inn_ was a much better house of entertainment than
might have been looked for in a spot so secluded from the world, and far
from the great arteries of travel. A coast-road passed through the
little village leading from Turlock to the now almost disused harbor at
Polwheel, and that was the sole means of getting to Gethin save on foot
or horseback. There was no traffic--to be called such--in the district.
Dunloppel, always a productive mine, was, like its more famous brother,
Botallack, situated on the sea-coast, so that neither road nor tramway
had been created for its needs; the land about was barren, except in
minerals; and not a tree was to be seen for miles. Indeed, with the
exception of the parson's garden, there was scarcely a cultivated spot
in the whole parish. The graceful sprays of the sea-tamarisk, however,
flourished every where, in lieu of foliage, and in places where
certainly foliage is seldom seen. Not only did it grow luxuriantly on
banks and similar exposed positions, as though the roaring sea-winds,
which cut off all other vegetation, favored and nourished it, but waved
its triumphant pennant upon walls and house-tops. Stony places have a
special attraction for this weed; and it takes root so readily that the
story of its importation into Gethin might have had more foundation in
fact than some other local legends equally credited. Only a few years
back the plant had been unknown there, but a wagoner of the place, on
his return journey, had plucked a sprig of it in some locality where it
grew, to serve the purpose of a whip; and, when he reached home, had
thrown it carelessly on the top of an earthen wall, where it had struck
root, and multiplied.
The cliffs, and the sea, and, above all, the ruined castle upon the
rock, were the sole attractions then which Gethin possessed--and that
they _did_ attract was an unceasing subject of wonder to its
inhabitants. Whatever could the fine folk see in a heap of stones or a
waste of water, to bring them there for hundreds of miles, was a mystery
unexplained; but the villagers were no more unwilling than professional
spiritualists to take a practical advantage of the Inexplicable. In the
winter they reaped the harvest of the sea, or explored the bowels of the
earth; in the summer they transformed themselves into "guides," and set
up curiosity-shops of shells and minerals; while, to supply
accommodation to the increasing throng of Visitors, John Trevethick, who
had always a keen eye for profit, had leased the village beer-house, and
enlarged it to the dimensions of a respectable inn. Even now, however,
the house exhibited a curious ignorance or disregard of the tastes of
those for whose use it was built--the windows of all its sitting-rooms
opened upon the straggling street, while the glorious prospect of cliff
and ocean which it commanded behind was totally ignored. Thus Richard
Yorke found himself located in an apartment which, though otherwise
tolerably comfortable, might as well have been in Bloomsbury for the
view which it afforded. The walls were ornamented by colored pictures of
the Royal Exchange and of the Thames Tunnel, London; and upon the
mantel-piece was an equestrian figure (in china) of Field-marshal the
Duke of Wellington as he appears upon the arch of Constitution Hill. The
only attempt at "local coloring" was found in the book-case--composed of
two boards and a cat's cradle--in which three odd volumes of the "Tales
of the Castle" had been placed, no doubt with reference to the grand old
ruin whose tottering walls beckoned "the quality" to Gethin.
His simple meal of bacon and eggs having been dispatched, and gratitude
failing to invest with interest the lean pigs that searched in vain for
cabbage-stalks, or the dyspeptic fowls that were moulting digestive
pebbles in the street without, Richard lit a cigar, and prepared to
saunter forth. The fog had vanished; all the sky was blue and bright.
The keen and gusty air increased in him that elasticity of spirit with
which luncheon at all stages of their life-journey inspires mankind.
"I suppose," said he, looking in at the window of the room he had just
left, and where Hannah, who was waiting-maid as well as cook, except "in
the season," was clearing away the remnants of the repast, "one can get
to the castle without a guide?"
"Nay, Sir; you must get the key first, for the man don't bide at the
cottage, except in summer-time, and the gate has got spikes at the top.
Miss Harry has got it somewheres, if you'll wait a minute."
Miss Harry herself brought it out to him. She had changed her attire for
what was an even more becoming one than that she had worn before, and
her bright brown hair was arranged with greater care, and perhaps with
more view to effect.
"The guide has not begun his duties yet, Sir," she explained, with a
smile; "and so we keep the key here. You can't fail to find the road;
but the precipice-path is a bit awkward in a wind like this, and you
must be careful to take the right one; the old ledge was broken in by
the storm last month, and has an ugly gap."
"But why not show me the way yourself, Miss Harry?" pleaded the young
fellow. "You know how easily I lose myself; and if I should come to
harm, by taking the wrong turning, you would be sorry, I'm sure."
"Indeed I should, Sir," returned the young girl, simply; "and I doubt
whether you will find any body else in the village. This news from the
mine has taken them all off, it seems; and you wouldn't know rock from
castle, unless you had one to tell you, they are so alike."
The fact was that Harry's conscience smote her for her wish to be of
service to this handsome young fellow, since she had just refused to
accompany Solomon to Dunloppel, on the score of fatigue. It was level
walking, or nearly so, to the pit-mouth, and it was a climb of many
hundreds of feet to the ruin. Still, she felt no longer tired, if she
had done so a while ago, and the stranger _might_ come to harm without a
guide.
"But you're not coming without a bonnet?" exclaimed Richard.
"Nay, Sir; I should come home without one if I went up yonder in such a
wind as this," answered she, laughing; "and I recommend you to fasten on
_your_ hat, if you wish to see it again."
"But you'll catch cold," urged Richard.
"We don't mind air at Gethin, Sir; and this shawl will cover my head, if
that's all."
It really was Harry Trevethick's custom to go bareheaded in fine weather
about her own home, though, perhaps, the consciousness that she never
looked so well in even her Sunday head-gear, as with her own ample
tresses for a covering, may have influenced her resolve. Chignons were
unknown at that time, and never had the young man beheld such wealth of
gold-tinged locks as that which blew about his fair companion's brow,
and presently streamed out behind her, as they neared the cliffs, and
met the full force of that Atlantic breeze. It blew freshly and shrilly
enough up the winding gorge through which they had to descend to the
foot of the castled rock; but by the time they reached the beach the
wind had risen to a gale. They stopped a minute within shelter of a
hollowed cliff to view the place. It was a noble spectacle. The great
waves came roaring in, and dashed themselves against the walls of slate
in sheets of foam, to fall back baffled and groaning. They had eaten the
cliff away in two dark frowning spots, which his guide said were
caverns, approachable at low-water; but the rock itself on which the
castle stood defied them; they had only succeeded in insulating it,
except for a narrow tongue of land, which now formed the sole access to
it from the shore. Even without any historical or poetic association,
the object before them--rising bare and sheer into the air to such a
height--on which a swarm of gulls, shrunk to the size of bees, were
clanging faintly, was grand and striking; but the place had been the
hold of knights and kings a thousand years ago and more. The young girl
pointed out to Richard where the main-land cliff had once projected so
as to meet the rock, and showed him on the former's brow some fragments
of rude masonry. "That was the ancient barbacan," she said, "once joined
to the castle by a draw-bridge, as was supposed, which, when drawn up,
left Gethin so that neither man nor beast could approach it without
permission of its defenders. Even now, with none to hinder one, it is a
steep and perilous way, especially in a wind like this. Perhaps it would
be better not to venture."
"But you shall take my arm, Harry," said Richard; "only let me pin your
shawl about your head first, lest those long locks of yours blind us
both."
"I can do that myself, Sir, thank you," said Harry, austerely; then
added, with a smile, to reassure him--for why should she be angry?--"you
would only have pricked your fingers, as Solomon does. No man is clever
with his hands, excepting father."
"And you say that to a painter, do you, Miss Harry--a man who lives by
his handiwork?"
"I forgot that," said Harry, penitently; "besides, I was only saying
what Solomon says."
"That was the gentleman who took me for a peddler, eh?" said Richard.
"He is not quite so wise as his namesake--is he?"
"Oh yes, Sir; Solomon Coe has a long head: the longest, father says, of
any in these parts. He has made his own way famously in the world--or,
rather, under it, for he is a miner. He used to work in the coal-pits up
Durham way, but--"
"Is that why he looks so black?" interposed Richard, laughing.
"Nay, Sir, I didn't notice _that_," said Harry, simply. "Very likely he
was down Dunloppel this morning. It half belongs to him, father says;
and if this lode turns out well, he will be very rich."
"And your father would be glad of that, would he not?"
"Yes, indeed, Sir; for Solomon is the son of his old friend and
preserver, as I told you."
"But it would not please _you_ quite so much--eh, Miss Harry?"
"Not so much as father--certainly not," answered the girl, gravely. "It
seems to me folks are rich enough when they don't spend half they get;
just as other folk--like Mr. Carew, who owns all about here--are poor
enough, with all their wealth, who pay out of their purse twice what
comes into it."
"Mr. Carew is known here for a spendthrift, is he, then?"
"Well, Sir, it's only gossip, for he has never set foot here in his
life, I reckon; but, from what we hear, he must fling away his money
finely. However, as father says, there's one excuse for him--he has
neither chick nor child of his own. Eh, but you're looking white, Sir;
Gethin air is apt to nip pretty sharp those who are not accustomed to
it. You had best not try the castle to-day."
"Yes, yes; we will go at once," cried Richard, impatiently; and, drawing
the girl's hesitating arm through his own, he moved rapidly along the
wind-swept way. Under the circumstances, there really was some danger;
but, had there been twice the peril, he would not have shrunk from it at
that moment--the chance observation of the young girl about Carew's
having no offspring had turned his blood to a white heat of wrath.
Although his mother had studiously instilled in him how foolish it was
to indulge in any expectations with respect to the Squire, he had always
entertained some secret hopes in that quarter until he had proved their
fallacy by experiment; and the failure of his expedition to Crompton
rankled in his mind. He regarded his father with the bitterest
resentment; he did not altogether forgive his mother for the share which
she had had (through her misrepresentation of her own position in the
register) in depriving him of his birth-right, and he felt himself at
odds with all the world. He had come to Gethin partly on account of what
Parson Whymper had told him of its picturesqueness, but chiefly because
it was an out-of-the-way spot, unfrequented by that society with whom he
had such good grounds for quarrel, and where he was not likely to have
his pride wounded afresh by any reference to his position; and yet he
had not been two hours in the place before the only person in it in whom
he was likely to be interested had galled him keenly. He could not long
be angry with her, however, for her involuntary offense, nor angry at
all in such fair company. She clung to him, perforce, upon the narrow
causeway, and shrank with him into whatever shelter was afforded, here
and there, upon their toilsome path, when they took breath, and gathered
strength together for once again confronting that pitiless blast. If
either of them had known how fierce a gale was imminent, they would not
certainly have ventured upon such an expedition; but, having done so,
they were resolved to go through with it. Harry had plenty of courage,
and fought her way with practiced eye and hand along the winding ledge;
and Richard was not one to own himself vanquished by difficulties before
which a woman did not quail. Twice and thrice, however, they were both
driven back again round some comparatively sheltered corner by the mere
fury of the wind, which battled with them as stubbornly as though it
were the disembodied spirits, of the ancient defenders of the place; and
when, mechanically, and almost of necessity, Richard's arm sought the
young girl's waist, whose garments made it more difficult for her to
advance than for him, she did not reject its welcome aid. Then, just as
his disengaged hand was clinging to a pinnacle of rock, his hat blew
off, exactly as she had predicted, and his dark curls mixed with hers in
wild confusion. Thus, foot by foot, they won their way, and reached at
last the iron-spiked door, the only work of modern hands on that gray
rock. This screened them from the gale; and, as they stood a while to
rest beneath its shelter, she showed him what a handsome key her father
had made for it, with cunning wards, more suitable for a banker's safe
than for such ancient relics as they guarded, and told him how the gate
was put there to exclude the summer visitors, who would otherwise enter
without fee.
"Nay, but I will pay my fee," said Richard, gallantly; and, since their
cheeks were almost touching as it was, the debt was easily discharged on
her ripe lips.
"For shame, Sir!" cried the girl, indignantly; and there was something
in her face and voice which showed him that her anger was not feigned.
"I am sorry I brought you here, mistaking you for a gentleman. Here is
the key, Sir; but I go back alone." And she freed herself roughly from
his arm, and turned to go.
"For Heaven's sake, don't!" cried Richard, earnestly. "You may call me
any thing you please, but do not let my rudeness prove your peril. I
_was_ rude, but, on my honor, I did not intend to be so. I meant no
harm, although I see I have vexed you. Forgive me, pray; I did not mean
to be either ungenerous or ungrateful. Is it thought so very wrong at
Gethin--even with such great temptation--"
"Yes, Sir, it is," she broke in, vehemently; "and I was wrong to come
with you."
"Nay, don't say that," pleaded the young fellow. "How could you be wrong
to do so great a kindness to a stranger as you have done to me? It was
my sense of it--my heartfelt sense, believe me, of the trouble and toil
you have undergone for my sake; and I don't deny, Harry, your beauty
too, of which I have never seen the like. But there, I am offending you
again. Pray, come into the shelter; it makes me sick to see you in such
danger;" and to make room for her, and at the same time to stand as much
apart from her as possible, he stepped back, forgetting the scanty space
on which he stood, and--fell!
A yard--a mile--he scarcely could say which, so overwhelming for the
instant was his sense of peril! He only knew that he was flying through
space. Then, suddenly, his feet found foothold, and his hands clung to
the gray rock, and the driving wind beat on his body ceaselessly, and
seemed to nail him where he clung.
Was it the scream of gull, or piercing cry of some spirit of the air,
that rang through his brain? or was it, indeed, the agonizing shriek of
a woman? He heard it plainly; but Harry never knew whether she had
shrieked or not. She was aware of nothing except that this unhappy man
was perishing--had, perhaps, already perished--for her sake; through
fear for her safety, and his wish not to give her offense. She was on
her knees upon the ledge, and craning over it with horror-stricken face
the next instant, and could see him plainly. His feet had fallen upon
that very part of the old path which the storms of last winter had torn
and jagged away. A few jolting fragments of rock were all that was left
of it--insufficient even for a practiced cragsman to make his way along
on either side. His head--she could not see his face--was but a yard
beneath her; but how could she get at him?
"I am here," she cried. "Be of good courage, Sir."
She had nothing to offer in the way of help at the moment; but she was
well aware of what vital importance it was that he should not lose
heart. She lay down with her face on the bare rock, and strove to reach
him; but, even had her arm been long enough, he had no hand to spare to
clasp her own. The whole force of the gale was full upon her, and
carried her hair to windward like a whip.
"Do not come too near the edge, brave girl," cried Richard, beginning to
be conscious of her efforts. "Is there no rope nor ladder?"
"Yes," answered the girl. "Keep heart. Do not look down. I must be five
minutes gone--not more."
She was up, and with the gate-key in her hand, ere she had done
speaking. Great Heaven! would that door never open? How her trembling
hands missed the keyhole; and when the key was in, how the rusty wards
opposed its turning. Then when the door was opened, it seemed as though
the winds had husbanded their strength behind it for one wild sortie,
with such fury did they rush out to beat her back. But she struggled in
somehow, and on across the howling waste of clifftop to a little hut of
stone, which formed the covering of a well. There, as she expected, she
found a rope coiled up, which was used to draw up water in an iron cup,
to gratify the curiosity of visitors as much as to quench their thirst;
for it was strange, indeed, to meet with fresh water there, the presence
of which, no doubt, had caused the place to be chosen for a fastness in
old time. With this she hurried back; and fixing one end firmly round
the door-post, she looped the other in a slip-knot, and lowered it
carefully to Richard. "Put this beneath your arms," she said; "the rope
is strong and firmly fastened. You must climb up by it, hand over hand."
It was not so easy a task for the young artist as for a Gethin man; but
he was strong and active; and where his chief difficulty lay, which was
at the clifftop, the girl's willing arms assisted him.
"You have saved my life, Harry," were his first words, when he stood in
safety. "How shall I ever repay you?"
Then this brave girl, who had never faltered where action was necessary,
began to sob and cry.
He took her hand and covered it with kisses. "I may kiss this," said he,
plaintively, "may I not?"
She did not withdraw her fingers, but neither did she cease from
weeping. Her grief seemed to be something more than that resulting from
the tension of strong feelings suddenly relaxed.
"Let me go home, let me go home!" was her sole reply to all his
entreaties that she should rest a while, and strive to calm herself. It
was with difficulty that he could support her down the steep, so
violently did she tremble. When they reached the foot of it she turned
to Richard and murmured: "I have one favor to ask of you, Sir. Will you
grant it to me?"
"Most certainly, dear girl. It would be gross ingratitude indeed if I
did not."
"Then never speak," returned she, earnestly, "of what has occurred
to-day. Never show by your manner that you feel--as you say--grateful
for what service I have been able to be to you. Let not father nor
Solomon ever know."
"It will be very hard, Harry, to keep silence--to owe you so great a
debt, without acknowledging it," said Richard, tenderly; "but, since
such is your wish, I will obey it."
"Thank you, Sir. And now I will go home alone. I was deterred by the
wind, the steepness--any thing you please--from accompanying you up
yonder; remember that. You will not mind waiting a while behind me?"
"Surely not," said Richard, wonderingly.
And the next moment she had hurried round an angle of the main-land
cliff, and was gone.