THE LAST ESCAPE.
The hour which Beatrice had mentioned in her diary was awaited by
herewith feverish impatience. She had confidence in Asgeelo, and this
confidence was heightened by the fact that Mrs. Compton was going to
accompany her. The very timidity of this poor old creature would have
prevented her from thinking of escape on any ordinary occasion; but now
the latter showed no fear. She evinced a strange exultation. She showed
Philips’s letter to Beatrice, and made her read it over and over again.
It contained only a few words.
“The time has come at last. I will keep my word to you, dear old woman.
Be ready tonight to leave Brandon Hall and those devils forever. The
Hindu will help you.
“EDGAR.”
Mrs. Compton seemed to think far more of the letter than of escaping.
The fact that she had a letter seemed to absorb all her faculties, and
no other idea entered her mind. Beatrice had but few preparations to
make; a small parcel contained all with which she dared to encumber
herself. Hastily making it up she waited in extreme impatience for the
time.
At last two o’clock came. Mrs. Compton was in her room. There was a
faint tap at the door. Beatrice opened it. It was Asgeelo. The Hindu
stood with his finger on his lips, and then moved away slowly and
stealthily. They followed.
The Hindu led the way, carrying a small lantern. He did not show any
very great caution, but moved with a quiet step, thinking it sufficient
if he made no noise. Beatrice followed, and Mrs. Compton came last,
carrying nothing but the note from Philips, which she clutched in
her hand as though she esteemed it the only thing of value which she
possessed.
[ILLUSTRATION: “THE GIGANTIC FIGURE OF ASGEELO STOOD ERECT, ONE ARM
CLUTCHING THE THROAT OF HIS ASSAILANT, AND THE OTHER HOLDING THE KNIFE
ALOFT.”]
In spite of Beatrice’s confidence in Asgeelo she felt her heart sink
with dread as she passed through the hall and down the great stairway.
But no sound disturbed them. The lights were all out and the house was
still. The door of the dining-room was open, but no light shone through.
Asgeelo led the way to the north door. They went on quietly without any
interruption, and at last reached it. Asgeelo turned the key and held
the door half open for a moment. Then he turned and whispered to them to
go out.
Beatrice took two or three steps forward, when suddenly a dark figure
emerged from the stairway that led to the servants’ hall and with a
sudden spring, advanced to Asgeelo.
The latter dropped the lamp, which fell with a rattle on the floor but
still continued burning. He drew a long, keen knife from his breast, and
seized the other by the throat.
Beatrice started back. By the light that flickered on the floor she saw
it all. The gigantic figure of Asgeelo stood erect, one arm clutching
the throat of his assailant, and the other holding the knife aloft.
Beatrice rushed forward and caught the uplifted arm.
“Spare him!” she said, in a low whisper. “He is my friend. He helped me
to escape once before.”
She had recognized Vijal.
The Hindu dropped his arm and released his hold. The Malay staggered
back and looked earnestly at Beatrice. Recognizing her, he fell on his
knees and kissed her hand.
“I will keep your secret,” he murmured.
Beatrice hurried out, and the others followed. They heard the key turn
in the door after them. Vijal had locked it from the inside.
Asgeelo led the way with a swift step. They went down the main avenue,
and at length reached the gate without any interruption. The gates were
shut.
Beatrice looked around in some dread for fear of being discovered.
Asgeelo said nothing, but tapped at the door of the porter’s lodge. The
door soon opened, and the porter came out. He said nothing, but opened
the gates in silence.
They went out. The huge gates shut behind them. They heard the key turn
in the lock. In her excitement Beatrice wondered at this, and saw that
the porter must also be in the secret. Was this the work of Brandon?
They passed down the road a little distance, and at length reached a
place where there were two coaches and some men.
One of these came up and took Mrs. Compton. “Come, old woman,” said he;
“you and I are to go in this coach.” It was too dark to see who it was;
but the voice sounded like that of Philips. He led her into the coach
and jumped in after her.
There was another figure there. He advanced in silence, and motioned to
the coach without a word. Beatrice followed; the coach door was opened,
and she entered. Asgeelo mounted the box. The stranger entered the coach
and shut the door.
Beatrice had not seen the face of this man; but at the sight of the
outline of his figure a strange, wild thought came to her mind. As he
seated himself by her side a thrill passed through every nerve. Not a
word was spoken.
He reached out one hand, and caught hers in a close and fervid clasp. He
threw his arm about her waist, and drew her toward him. Her head sank in
a delicious languor upon his breast; and she felt the fast throbbing
of his heart as she lay there. He held her pressed closely for a long
while, drawing quick and heavy breaths, and not speaking a word. Then he
smoothed her brow, stroked her hair, and caressed her cheek. Every touch
of his made her blood tingle.
“Do you know who I am?” said at last a well-known voice.
She made no answer, but pressed his hand and nestled more closely to his
heart.
The carriages rushed on swiftly. They went through the village, passed
the inn, and soon entered the open country. Beatrice, in that moment of
ecstasy, knew not and cared not whither they were going. Enough that she
was with him.
“You have saved me from a fate of horror,” said she, tremulously; “or
rather, you have prevented me from saving myself.”
“How could you have saved yourself?”
“I found poison.”
She felt the shudder that passed through his frame. He pressed her again
to his heart, and sat for a long time in silence.
“How had you the heart to let me go back when you could get me away so
easily?” said she, after a time, in a reproachful tone.
“I could not save you then,” answered he, “without open violence. I
wished to defer that for the accomplishment of a purpose which you know.
But I secured your safety, for all the servants at Brandon Hall are in
my pay.”
“What! Vijal too?”
“No, not Vijal; he was incorruptible; but all the others. They would
have obeyed your slightest wish in any respect. They would have shed
their blood for you, for the simple reason that I had promised to pay
each man an enormous sum if he saved you from any trouble. They were
all on the look out. You never were so watched in your life. If you had
chosen to run off every man of them would have helped you, and would
have rejoiced at the chance of making themselves rich at the expense of
Potts. Under these circumstances I thought you were safe.”
“And why did you not tell me?”
“Ah! love, there are many things which I must not tell you.”
He sighed. His sombre tone brought back her senses which had been
wandering. She struggled to get away. He would not release her.
“Let me go!” said she. “I am of the accursed brood--the impure ones! You
are polluted by my touch!”
“I will not let you go,” returned he, in a tone of infinite sweetness.
“Not now. This may be our last interview. How can I let you go?”
“I am pollution.”
“You are angelic. Oh, let us not think of other things. Let us banish
from our minds the thought of that barrier which rises between us. While
we are here let us forget every thing except that we love one another.
To-morrow will come, and our joy will be at an end forever. But you,
darling, will be saved! I will guard you to my life’s end, even though I
can not come near you.”
Tears fell from Beatrice’s eyes. He felt them hot upon his hand. He
sighed deeply.
“I am of the accursed brood!--the accursed!--the accursed! You dishonor
your name by touching me.”
Brandon clang to her. He would not let her go. She wept there upon his
breast, and still murmured the words, “Accursed! accursed!”
Their carriage rolled on, behind them came the other; on for mile after
mile, round the bays and creeks of the sea, until at last they reached a
village.
“This is our destination,” said Brandon.
“Where are we?” sighed Beatrice.
“It is Denton,” he replied.
The coach stopped before a little cottage. Asgeelo opened the door.
Brandon pressed Beatrice to his heart.
“For the last time, darling,” he murmured.
She said nothing. He helped her out, catching her in his arms as she
descended, and lifting her to the ground. Mrs. Compton was already
waiting, having descended first. Lights were burning in the cottage
window.
“This is your home for the present,” said Brandon. “Here you are safe.
You will find every thing that you want, and the servants are faithful.
You may trust them.”
He shook hands, with Mrs. Compton, pressed the hand of Beatrice, and
leaped into the coach.
“Good-by,” he called, as Asgeelo whipped the horses.
“Good-by forever,” murmured Beatrice through her tears.