It was terrible work to sit there in that profound silence, listening
and wondering where she was; and at last it was with a feeling of relief
that Anne awoke to the fact that she must be out in the daylight; for
suddenly the mournful caw of a rook passing far overhead fell upon her
ear.
Then the place did not seem so solitary, for a wandering wind swept
softly by her, stirring the leaves which rustled together, as it cooled
her cheek, and soon after there was the pleasant chirp of a woodland
bird, followed by the familiar little prattle of the yellow-hammer.
She began now to realise that she must be in some deep ravine, one of
the many that gashed the primeval forest, and felt half ready to laugh
at her fears, as she uttered a short cough, which came back repeated
strangely from the opposite wall of the rock.
"Frightened by an echo," she muttered, "and--oh, what a weak-pated fool
am I, and how I do let that wicked old beldame play upon me. It is
absurd. She has no such power as she pretends; and here have I let her
bring me here to sit like a shallow-brained, love-sick girl, with my
eyes shut, waiting to see my lover. Eyes shut! How can I see my love.
I'll open them. Nay; there may be truth in the spell after all, and, if
there is, why should I spoil it when I have gone so far. I wonder
whether he will come. How my poor heart beats!"
"Coo--coo--oo--oo. Coo--coo--coo--coo--coo--oo," came from somewhere
far below.
"That's a lover's cry," she said, half laughing, to herself; "but he
will not come to me in the form of a dove, unless my heart's set on
Jupiter himself. How absurd I am."
Quite a quarter of an hour passed away, and still with a wonderful power
over her desires she sat upon the piece of sandrock waiting for the
fulfilment of Mother Goodhugh's promises.
"I'll wait no longer," she cried at last, petulantly. "I cannot keep my
eyes closed like this. Where am I? How am I to find my way back home?
Oh, what a sorry idiot am I! I'll open my eyes at once, and put an end
to this mystery. Hark, what's that?"
A low doleful wail was heard overhead, and as she listened it was
repeated.
"It was a seamew," she whispered, "and that wicked hag must have brought
me nearer the shore. What's that?"
She bent down a little, listening, for she fancied that she heard a
voice, but the sound was not repeated. Then there was a gentle rustle
of a leaf, as if some rabbit had passed by, but still she kept her eyes
closed, with a lingering faith that the old woman's words might prove
true, and all the while her heart went throb throb against the flask
containing the love philtre in her bosom.
All silent as the grave once more, and she trembled as she heard her own
voice.
"I'll count a hundred," she whispered to herself, "and then--"
She did not finish her sentence, but began slowly under her breath to
count one, two, three, four, five, six, and so on right away, heedless
of a faint rustle repeated again and again, close at hand, and she went
on getting slower and slower in a disappointed manner, as she
reluctantly felt that she must keep her word, and open her eyes; and at
last it was, "Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred,
and--Help, help, help! Oh!"
Mistress Anne's voice was smothered, and she felt herself tightly held
by strong hands. For as she came to the end of her counting task, and
sharply opened her eyes, it was to gaze at a broad handkerchief held by
two brown hands, drawn tightly across the next moment and secured behind
her head, while a second stifled her cries as it was tied over her
mouth.
"There, my little birdie," said a rough voice, "that will stop your
singing for the present. If you can't breathe, give a kick, and we'll
ease it off. There, there, don't struggle like that, or you'll rumple
your plumage."
"Got her, lads?" said another voice.
"Got her, ah! I see her sitting on the stone there, fast asleep, crope
up the bank, and off with my handkerchief, and clapped it over her eyes,
while Morgan covered her mouth."
"What are you going to do with her?"
"Help her to old Wat, I think," said the first voice. "He always wants
a wife."
"Nay, lads; I shall keep her myself. Steady, lass! it's no use to
struggle."
Anne Beckley's heart sank within her breast as she wondered into whose
hands she had fallen, and she trembled so that she could scarcely stand.
The conversation that ensued the next moment, though, served as a
stimulus, and she waited with bated breath, and without struggling, as
the principal speaker considered the question, holding her tightly the
while by the arm.
"Where be going to take her?" said a fresh voice.
"Oh, up yonder," was the reply.
"Nay, nay; that won't do. The skipper won't stand these games, my lad."
"The skipper!"
Those two words sent a thrill of hope through the heart of the girl as
she asked herself could it be Captain Gil.
"Yes, yes; it must be," she thought directly after; and these were some
of the rough, adventurous men of whom she heard whispers at the Moat--
the crew of bold, daring fellows, who sailed round the world and braved
all dangers, even laughing at the laws; for one of Captain Gil's men had
been taken before her father for some offence, and when the worthy
baronet was about to condemn him to fine and imprisonment, amercing him
in coin as well as time, he had leaned forward and whispered that in the
justice's ears which had made him reconsider the case and dismiss the
prisoner in the end.
It was into the hands of these men she had fallen she felt sure, and
should Captain Gil find out what was done she knew she had nothing to
fear, unless, finding her in his power, he should carry her off to his
ship somewhere in the little river and bear her away to be a rover's
bride.
The silly little heart of Anne Beckley, full as it was of trouble, was
ready to make room for this romantic notion, and she gave up all thought
of resistance as her captors led her away, merely pointing to the
bandage across her mouth, which half stifled her.
"Ah, you shall have that off, my dear, if you will not squeal," said the
same voice; and the girl breathed more freely as the wrapper was taken
away.
"Now, be careful how you come or you'll break your pretty neck, and
then--Curse it, here be the skipper."
"What's this?" cried a well-known voice. "Whom have you here? Mistress
Anne Beckley?"
"Oh, Captain Gil, save me--save me," cried the girl, stretching out her
hands in the direction of the voice, and nestling close to him as his
strong arm was thrown round her.
"You dogs, how dare you?" roared Gil, while, with a sense of
indescribable joy, Mistress Anne held her head against his broad breast,
heard the resonant utterances which seemed to echo in his chest, and
listened to the firm, strong beating of his heart. She never for a
moment thought of tearing away the bandage; but, when she did raise her
fingers, Gil's stout hand prisoned both of hers and held them tightly,
where they stayed without resistance, nothing loth.
"We couldn't help it, captain," said a voice. "I be coming along here,
and I see my young mistress there seated on yon stone, with her head
bent down, asleep."
"Mother Goodhugh has spoken truth, then," whispered Anne to herself; "I
have not seen, but I have felt, and feel the touch of my future lord."
"Is this truth?" cried Gil, gazing round at his men, who one and all
shrank from his angry eye.
"True, captain? It be true enough," was chorused. "Jack Bray then went
softly behind her and clapped a kerchief over her eyes and mouth, and we
were taking her yonder when you come."
"But how came she here?" exclaimed Gil, looking round at his men, who
stared at one another, but made no reply till their leader angrily
repeated his question.
"Don't know, captain," said the man Anne had first heard speak; "she was
sitting on yonder stone."
"Was no one near? But that will do. Tell me one thing," he said aside
to one of his men, "where were you coming from?"
"We'd been down to the river, captain, and were on the look-out for Mas'
Wat, when--"
"That will do," said Gil sternly. "Now stand aside."
As he spoke he placed his left arm round Anne, and took her hand with
his right.
"Let me lead you back to the path from which you have strayed, Mistress
Beckley," he said. "You are quite safe now. Nay--nay, let that bandage
rest for awhile. The sight of these rough seamen here might startle you
afresh," he added, as the late prisoner raised her hand that was at
liberty to her face.
She lowered it directly with a satisfied sigh, and, leaning heavily upon
her protector's arm, she suffered him to lead her down what seemed to be
a rugged slope, and then amidst trees and bushes, and up one ascent,
down another, and all the while with the bandage upon her eyes, while
Gil looked down at her, half-puzzled, half-amused, and at times annoyed
at the timid, trusting way in which she seemed to have thrown herself
upon him.
He was debating within himself as to whether he should ask her how she
came to be where she was found, little thinking that she had been taken
there almost as thoroughly blindfolded as she had been when brought
away. But Gilbert Carr's heart told him plainly enough without vanity
that he had been the attraction that had drawn her thither, and he bit
his lip with vexation as he heard his companion sigh, and felt her hang
more heavily upon his arm.
Finally he decided that he would say nothing upon the subject, but trust
that she had made no discoveries, though he could not help arguing that
if she had, and he gave her offence, he might find her an angry woman
who would do him a serious ill.
At last by many a devious track he had taken her to where the lane
leading from the Pool-house led through the scattered cottages of the
workers at the furnaces and foundries towards the Moat, and here Gil
paused.
"That thick bandage must be hot and comfortless, Mistress Beckley," he
said; "let me remove it now."
"Oh! no!" she cried quickly, "pray don't take it away. I feel quite
safe with you, Captain Carr;" and she sighed again, and laid her other
hand upon his.
"But you are safe now," he said, smiling, "and close to the lane. There
is nothing more to fear. My unmannerly lads shall be punished for all
this."
"No, no," she said softly, "don't punish them--for my sake. Say you
will forgive them. I beg--I entreat."
"If it is your wish, the punishment shall not take place," he said.
"There, let me remove the kerchief."
Anne would gladly have resisted, for it was very sweet to be so
dependent on Gil Carr. He had been so gentle and kindly towards her
that her heart was filled to bursting with hope that she would win him
after all, though her siege had now lasted for months without avail, and
she had been ready to raise it in favour of the new-comer, Sir Mark.
She felt, though, that she might not be serving her cause by making any
objections, and, resigning herself to her protector's will, she suffered
him to remove the kerchief, but uttered a quick cry of pain, as she
opened and then closed her eyes.
"My poor girl," he cried, holding her tightly, as she clung to him, "are
you injured? Tell me; what is it?"
"It is nothing," said Anne, faintly; "a sudden pang--the intense light--
I shall be well anon."
It did not occur to Gil that the position he occupied was a strange one,
if seen by a looker-on, for he was too much concerned by the apparent
suffering of his charge, and, as her fright had been caused by his
followers, he felt in duty bound to try and make up for their insolence
by his consideration for her weakness. He stood, then, supporting her
as she held her hands pressed to her aching eyes, and smiled
encouragement as she at last looked timidly up at him with a very
pitiful expression of countenance, and ended by catching his hand in
hers in the excess of her gratitude for her deliverance, and kissing it
passionately, as she burst into a storm of sobs and tears.
"Why, come, come, Mistress Timidity," he said, playfully, "where is your
brave little heart? One would think I had been some brave hero of old,
who had rescued you from an angry dragon, instead of a poor sea-captain,
who did nothing but order some insolent mariners to--"
Gil stopped short, his eyes fixed, and a sense of the awkwardness of his
position coming fully upon him, as at the distance of some twenty or
thirty yards there passed Mace Cobbe, leading Sir Mark by the hand.
He saw her only for a few moments, but he knew that Mace had seen him
too, and that Anne Beckley had followed the direction of his eyes, for
he had felt her start, and a red glow had come upon her cheeks.
In his angry excitement he felt ready to dash her from him, but his
better feelings prevailed, and he stood with knitted brow thinking,
while Anne felt careless of having been seen by Sir Mark, since Mace had
seen her too, and reclining in her lover's arms.
Volume 1, Chapter IX.