MARK WYLDER'S SLAVE.
Nearly two hours had passed before they returned. As they did so, Rachel
Lake went swiftly and silently before her brother. The moon had gone
down, and the glen was darker than ever. Noiselessly they re-entered the
little hall of Redman's Farm. The candles were still burning in the
sitting-room, and the light was dazzling after the profound darkness in
which they had been for so long.
Captain Lake did not look at all like a London dandy now. His dress was
confoundedly draggled; the conventional countenance, too, was wanting.
There was a very natural savagery and dejection there, and a wild leer in
his yellow eyes.
Rachel sat down. No living woman ever showed a paler face, and she stared
with a look that was sharp and stern upon the wainscot before her.
For some minutes they were silent; and suddenly, with an exceeding bitter
cry, she stood up, close to him, seizing him in her tiny hands by the
collar, and with wild eyes gazing into his, she said--
'See what you've brought me to--wretch, wretch, wretch!'
And she shook him with violence as she spoke. It was wonderful how that
fair young face could look so terrible.
'There, Radie, there,' said Lake, disengaging her fingers. 'You're a
little hysterical, that's all. It will be over in a minute; but don't
make a row. You're a good girl, Radie. For Heaven's sake, don't spoil all
by folly now.'
He was overawed and deprecatory.
'A slave! only think--a slave! Oh frightful, frightful! Is it a dream? Oh
frightful, frightful! Stanley, Stanley, it would be _mercy_ to kill me,'
she broke out again.
'Now, Radie, listen to reason, and don't make a noise; you know we
agreed, _you_ must go, and _I can't_ go with you.'
Lake was cooler by this time, and his sister more excited than before
they went out.
'I used to be brave; my courage I think is gone; but who'd have imagined
what's before me?'
Stanley walked to the window and opened the shutter a little. He forgot
how dark it was. The moon had gone down. He looked at his watch and then
at Rachel. She was sitting, and in no calmer state; serene enough in
attitude, but the terribly wild look was unchanged. He looked at his
watch again, and held it to his ear, and consulted it once more before he
placed the tiny gold disk again in his pocket.
'This won't do,' he muttered.
With one of the candles in his hand he went out and made a hurried,
peeping exploration, and soon, for the rooms were quickly counted in
Redman's Farm, he found her chamber small, neat, _simplex munditiis_.
Bright and natty were the chintz curtains, and the little toilet set out,
not inelegantly, and her pet piping-goldfinch asleep on his perch, with
his bit of sugar between the wires of his cage; her pillow so white and
unpressed, with its little edging of lace. Were slumbers sweet as of old
ever to know it more? What dreams were henceforward to haunt it? Shadows
were standing about that lonely bed already. I don't know whether Stanley
Lake felt anything of this, being very decidedly of the earth earthy. But
there are times when men are translated from their natures, and forced to
be romantic and superstitious.
When he came back to the drawing-room, a toilet bottle of _eau de
cologne_ in his hand, with her lace handkerchief he bathed her temples
and forehead. There was nothing very brotherly in his look as he peered
into her pale, sharp features, during the process. It was the dark and
pallid scrutiny of a familiar of the Holy Office, bringing a victim back
to consciousness.
She was quickly better.
'There, don't mind me,' she said sharply; and getting up she looked down
at her dress and thin shoes, and seeming to recollect herself, she took
the candle he had just set down, and went swiftly to her room.
Gliding without noise from place to place, she packed a small black
leather bag with a few necessary articles. Then changed her dress
quickly, put on her walking boots, a close bonnet and thick veil, and
taking her purse, she counted over its contents, and then standing in the
midst of the room looked round it with a great sigh, and a strange look,
as if it was all new to her. And she threw back her veil, and going
hurriedly to the toilet, mechanically surveyed herself in the glass. And
she looked fixedly on the pale features presented to her, and said--
'Rachel Lake, Rachel Lake! what are you now?'
And so, with knitted brows and stern lips, a cadaveric gaze was returned
on her from the mirror.
A few minutes later her brother, who had been busy down stairs, put his
head in and asked--
'Will you come with me now, Radie, or do you prefer to wait here?'
'I'll stay here--that is, in the drawing-room,' she answered, and the
face was withdrawn.
In the little hall Stanley looked again at his watch, and getting quietly
out, went swiftly through the tiny garden, and once upon the mill-road,
ran at a rapid pace down towards the town.
The long street of Gylingden stretched dim and silent before him. Slumber
brooded over the little town, and his steps sounded sharp and hollow
among the houses. He slackened his pace, and tapped sharply at the little
window of that modest post-office, at which the young ladies in the pony
carriage had pulled up the day before, and within which Luke Waggot was
wont to sleep in a sort of wooden box that folded up and appeared to be a
chest of drawers all day. Luke took care of Mr. Larkin's dogs, and
groomed Mr. Wylder's horse, and 'cleaned up' his dog-cart, for Mark being
close about money, and finding that the thing was to be done more cheaply
that way, put up his horse and dog-cart in the post-office premises, and
so evaded the livery charges of the 'Brandon Arms.'
But Luke was not there; and Captain Lake recollecting his habits and his
haunt, hurried on to the 'Silver Lion,' which has its gable towards the
common, only about a hundred steps away, for distances are not great in
Gylingden. Here were the flow of soul and of stout, long pipes, long
yarns, and tolerably long credits; and the humble scapegraces of the town
resorted thither for the pleasures of a club-life, and often revelled
deep into the small hours of the morning.
So Luke came forth.
D-- it, where's the note?' said the captain, rummaging uneasily in his
pockets.
'You know me--eh!'
'Captain Lake. Yes, Sir.'
'Well--oh! here it is.'
It was a scrap pencilled on the back of a letter--
'LUKE WAGGOT,
'Put the horse to and drive the dog-cart to the "White House." Look out
for me there. We must catch the up mail train at Dollington. Be lively.
If Captain Lake chooses to drive you need not come.
'M. WYLDER.'
'I'll drive,' said Captain Lake. 'Lose no time and I'll give you
half-a-crown.'
Luke stuck on his greasy wideawake, and in a few minutes more the
dog-cart was trundled out into the lane, and the horse harnessed, went
between the shafts with that wonderful cheerfulness with which they bear
to be called up under startling circumstances at unseasonable hours.
'Easily earned, Luke,' said Captain Lake, in his soft tones.
The captain had buttoned the collar of his loose coat across his face,
and it was dark beside. But Luke knew his peculiar smile, and presumed
it; so he grinned facetiously as he put the coin in his breeches pocket
and thanked him; and in another minute the captain, with a lighted cigar
between his lips, mounted to the seat, took the reins, the horse bounded
off, and away rattled the light conveyance, sparks flying from the road,
at a devil of a pace, down the deserted street of Gylingden, and quickly
melted in darkness.
That night a spectre stood by old Tamar's bedside, in shape of her young
mistress, and shook her by the shoulder, and stooping, said sternly,
close in her face--
'Tamar, I'm going away--only for a few days; and mind this--I'd rather be
_dead_ than any creature living should know it. Little Margery must not
suspect--you'll manage that. Here's the key of my bed-room--say I'm
sick--and you must go in and out, and bring tea and drinks, and talk and
whisper a little, you understand, as you might with a sick person, and
keep the shutters closed; and if Miss Brandon sends to ask me to the
Hall, say I've a headache, and fear I can't go. You understand me
clearly, Tamar?'
'Yes, Miss Radie,' answered old Tamar, wonder-stricken, with a strange
expression of fear in her face.
'And listen,' she continued, 'you must go into my room, and bring the
message back, as if from me, with _my love_ to Miss Brandon; and if she
or Mrs. William Wylder, the vicar's wife, should call to see me, always
say I'm asleep and a little better. You see exactly what I mean?'
'Yes, Miss,' answered Tamar, whose eyes were fixed in a sort of
fascination, full on those of her mistress.
'If Master Stanley should call, he is to do just as he pleases. You used
to be accurate, Tamar; may I depend upon you?'
'Yes, Ma'am, certainly.'
'If I thought you'd fail me now, Tamar, I should _never_ come back.
Good-night, Tamar. There--don't bless me. Good-night.'
When the light wheels of the dog-cart gritted on the mill-road before the
little garden gate of Redman's Farm, the tall slender figure of Rachel
Lake was dimly visible, standing cloaked and waiting by it. Silently she
handed her little black leather bag to her brother, and then there was a
pause. He stretched his hand to help her up.
In a tone that was icy and bitter, she said--
'To save myself I would not do it. You deserve no love from me--you've
showed me none--_never_, Stanley; and yet I'm going to give the most
desperate proof of love that ever sister gave--all for your sake; and
it's guilt, guilt, but my _fate_, and I'll go, and you'll never thank me;
that's all.'
In a moment more she sat beside him; and silent as the dead in Charon's
boat, away they glided toward the 'White House which lay upon the high
road to Dollington.
The sleepy clerk that night in the Dollington station stamped two
first-class tickets for London, one of which was for a gentleman, and the
other for a cloaked lady, with a very thick veil, who stood outside on
the platform; and almost immediately after the scream of the engine was
heard piercing the deep tatting, the Cyclopean red lamps glared nearer
and nearer, and the palpitating monster, so stupendous and so docile,
came smoothly to a stand-still before the trelliswork and hollyhocks of
that pretty station.