A SECRET MEETING.
The night was pitch dark. There was not even a star in the sky to look
down upon Ruth Heritage as she crept quietly ont of her house and went
swiftly down the walk towards the lodge gate.
She was bound on an errand of love and mercy. She was going to see old
Dame Huntley, the sexton’s widow, who lay dying down in the low-lying
district, where the fever and ague had been busy of late. The servants
knew that their mistress was bound to Dame Huntley’s, the squire knew
it, and the lodge-keeper, who opened the gates, knew it, otherwise they
might have wondered at Ruth going out alone at such a time.
Outside the lodge gates the woman who had given Gertie the letter was
waiting.
Ruth trembled violently now.
She half hoped the woman would not be there.
Instinctively she paused.
‘Don’t be afraid, madam,’ said the mysterious woman, in a sweet,
reassuring voice; ‘I only wanted a few words with you. I may not tell
you who I am, but I have heard your story, and I pity you.’
‘You pity me!’ said Ruth, astonished. ‘Why?’
‘Because I know what is in store for you.’
They had walked along by the side of the park, away from the lodge
gates to a place where the hedge grew thickly over a low-lying wall.
‘Do not speak in riddles,’ exclaimed Ruth. ‘If your object is a
friendly one—as something in your manner tells me it is—speak freely
and let me know the worst. You said my husband’s liberty was
threatened—by whom?’
‘By justice.’
Ruth started back. The old suspicion rushed back upon her, and her face
flushed hot, and then went deadly pale.
‘By justice?’ she stammered. ‘I do not understand.’
‘Listen to me, madam, for my time is short. There are those to whom the
history of your husband’s past life is known. Soon they will accuse him
openly. One of his former associates will turn Queen’s evidence against
him. His deadliest enemy knows all. I tell you this now, because I have
suffered myself, and I do not wish to be a party to that which will be
a life-long separation between husband and wife. I am doing wrong, but
I cannot help it.’
‘Yes—yes!’ cried Ruth, ‘I believe you. But what am I to do?’
‘Bid your husband leave this place to-night. Tell him that the secret
of the great gold robbery is known to Mr. Gurth Egerton, and that
to-morrow he may be arrested.’
Ruth gave a cry of horror—a cry which died away on her lips as a loud
rustling by the hedge announced the presence of some one—some one who
had perhaps overheard all.
Ruth and her informant walked quickly away.
‘Go now,’ said the woman. ‘You have no time to lose. Let your husband
fly at once. To-morrow it will be too late.’
‘Yes; I will! I will!’ cried Ruth, almost fainting with horror and
grief. ‘But tell me how you know this.’
‘How I know it!’ said the woman, passionately flinging up her veil.
‘Look at me well—you, whose husband I have saved—and remember me. I am
the wife of George Heritage. I am the rightful mistress of these broad
lands. My husband is a convict—a hunted felon. He was the victim of a
vile plot, which your husband concocted. I know all now; and yet I
forgive him for your sake. I want no wife’s agony on my head if it can
be spared. Your husband ruined mine. I have come to save yours!’
Ruth buried her face in her hands as Bess poured out her wild
words—words wrung from her heart.
‘Remember,’ said the woman, ‘to-morrow it will be too late.’
As she spoke she walked rapidly away, leaving Ruth rooted to the spot.
As soon as her limbs would obey her will, terrified and heartbroken,
Ruth staggered, rather than walked, back to the hall.
Coming down the walk she met her husband.
‘Edward!’ she cried, ‘where are you going?’
‘Hush, Ruth!’ he exclaimed, seizing her arm. ‘Don’t say a word. I have
heard all. I followed you. God forgive me for dragging you down to
this! I will save you yet if I can.’
‘Oh, Edward! what would you do?’ she cried.
‘You call me Edward still?’ he said, with a look of gratitude in his
eyes—‘you, who are so pure and good, though you know now the secret
that has preyed upon and been slowly killing me for years? Ruth, can
you ever forgive me for my base treachery in letting you link yourself
with a God-forsaken wretch?’
‘Yes, Edward, I forgive you. You are my husband—my kind, loving
husband—still.’
‘Thank God for those words, Ruth!’ he said. ‘Kiss me.’
He bent over her in the dark night, and his trembling lips pressed
hers.
‘Where are you going?’ she said. ‘Let me go with you.’
‘No; there is only one chance now. I must find out Egerton at once. He
is the enemy who is doing this. I believe I can silence him yet. If I
can’t I must leave the country at once. Ruth, if we never meet again,
God bless you!’
He tore himself from her agonized embrace, and went swiftly down the
walk and along the road to the station.
All that night there was a faint light burning in Ruth’s room—the room
where everything reminded her of the husband who had set out on a
perilous journey from whence he might never return.
And all that night, with tears and sobs, Ruth knelt and prayed—prayed
as she had never prayed before to the God she worshipped—for help and
succour in this, the darkest hour of her life.
Late that evening Squire Heritage called at Mr. Seth Preene’s house.
Seth started up in astonishment.
‘Why, whatever brings you up to town?’
‘The worst,’ answered the squire. ‘Gurth Egerton is back, and knows
all. He will split to-morrow.’
‘How do you know?’ gasped Preene,
‘A woman has split on the plot,’ answered the squire. ‘There s only one
chance now. Do you know where Egerton is?’
‘Yes, at his house—at Birnie’s that is now.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. I followed him from Heckett’s only yesterday. I wondered what he
was doing there.’
‘At Heckett’s!’ gasped the squire. ‘Is Heckett still—still—alive?’
‘Yes,’ answered Preene, looking steadily at his companion; but he won’t
do much more mischief. He’s in a galloping consumption.’
The squire heaved a deep sigh. At least he was free from the brand of
Cain.
‘I’ve been going to write to you once or twice about the goings-on
there,’ said Preene; ‘only you agreed to see Heckett, last time you
were here, and square him, and as I never heard any more from you, I
concluded you had. There’s some people staying in his house, and I
can’t make out who they are.’
The squire scarcely heard what Preene said. He was turning over a
desperate scheme in his mind. If he could secure Gurth, he could secure
Heckett too. He would brave the worst and see Egerton at once.
‘By Heaven!’ he muttered to himself, ‘I’ll play my last card, ‘and
hazard all upon it. Let Garth Egerton look to himself, for now it is a
struggle to the death. I will not fall alone.’