"COUSINS!"
Like the shock from a galvanic battery did that sound breathe life into
my frozen limbs. Holding a chair before my face I literally burst
through the high French windows, crashing the glass and splintering the
framework into a thousand pieces. With the cry of a wild beast I
dashed across the lawn and leaped over the privet hedge. Maud, my
Maud, was scarcely a dozen yards from me, struggling in the grasp of
the man who had come to rob me of his confession, with his great hand
pressed against her wild, beautiful face to stop her cries.
They heard me coming, and he half released her, and with his other hand
pointed a revolver at me. But passion must have lent me wings, for
before he could pull the trigger I had dashed it into the air, where it
exploded harmlessly, and with my clenched fist I struck him such a blow
as I had never struck before or since. He was a powerful man, with a
thick, bullet-shaped head, but he went down like a log, and well-nigh
never rose again. His companion, without a word, turned and ran across
the park like a hare, and I let him go.
Maud was in my arms, sobbing hysterically, Maud with the moon shining
down on her blanched but exquisite face, and her white arms thrown
around my neck. If she were the daughter of a prince of hell she was
still the woman I loved; and I stooped and covered her cold face and
lips with passionate kisses. Then I caught her up in my arms, for she
was shivering, and ran with her to the house.
Every one had been roused by the sound of my exit, and the report of
the revolver. Marian, with her dressing-gown loosely wrapped around
her, was standing trembling at the head of the stairs, and behind her
were the servants more frightened even than she. When she saw me cross
the hall with Maud's lifeless form (for her faint seemed almost the
faint of death) in my arms, she gave vent to one cry of blank amazement
and horror, and then hurried down to us.
"Hugh, Hugh," she whispered, clinging to me as I laid my burden down on
the sofa, and fell on my knees by its side. "Maud here! Maud out in
the park at this time of night! What has happened, Hugh? What does it
all mean?"
"Can't you see?" I muttered hoarsely, never withdrawing my eyes from
the white, cold face. "She has had a fright, and has fainted!"
"But what on earth has brought her here--out at this time of night?
And in her slippers, too!"
I was on the point of saying that I knew no more than she, but suddenly
the truth flashed into my mind. Maud had walked out in her sleep! I
had heard her say that for a long time she had been obliged to have her
maid in her room at night, and sleep with locked doors; and that when
Sir Francis lay dangerously ill not many years ago, nearly every night
when she had gone to bed thinking of him, she had risen in her sleep
and tried to make her way to his room. Then she must have been
thinking of me! A sudden thrill of joy passed through me at the
thought, and Marian looked at me in stupefied bewilderment to see the
smile which for a moment parted my lips.
"She must have come out in her sleep, Marian," I whispered. "There
were some men hanging about outside--poachers I suppose--and they have
frightened her. Get some brandy, quick! and tell one of the girls to
light a fire. We must have some hot water."
She hurried away, and the door had scarcely closed when Maud changed
her position slightly, and her lips moved. I bent my ear close over
her, and this is what I heard:
"Hugh! Hugh!"
My heart throbbed with a great joy. Suddenly I stooped down and kissed
her half-open lips passionately. Then I drew back and stood upright,
for I saw that she was fast recovering consciousness.
First her breathing became deeper and less fitful. Then, with a little
sigh, she opened her eyes and raised herself a little on her elbow.
She looked around in blank bewilderment. Then her eyes fell upon me,
and the hot colour rushed into her cheeks.
"Mr. Arbuthnot! Why, where am I? How did I come here? and those men,"
she added, with a shudder, "those fearful men; was it all a dream?"
She raised her hand to her forehead and looked at me appealingly. I
hardened my voice as much as possible, and avoided meeting her eyes.
"I think I can explain to you what has happened," I said. "You must
have got up in your sleep, and walked down through the copse. There
were some men outside; I believe they were going to try and break in
here, and one of them must have caught hold of you, for when I heard
your scream and ran out, you were struggling in his grasp. I knocked
him down, and the other one ran away. Then I carried you here, and
here you are. Marian has just gone out to fetch some brandy."
Womanlike, her first thought was of her appearance, and she sat up and
looked at herself eagerly. Evidently she had fallen asleep before
preparing to retire, for the only change in her dress since the evening
was that she had exchanged her dinner-gown for a long white
dressing-robe, and let down her hair. Nevertheless, she blushed as she
sat up, and looked at me, pushing back the waves of hair from her face.
"I remember falling asleep in the easy chair," she said, slowly, "and
after that everything seems like a horrid dream. Those men's fearful
faces, and you--oh, how fierce you looked! But it all seems very
indistinct."
Then Marian came in, and she turned to her smiling.
"Miss Arbuthnot, I'm afraid you'll think this a very unceremonious
morning call. You didn't know I was a sleep-walker, did you?"
Marian put down the decanter she was carrying with a little cry of
relief.
"Oh, dear, I'm so glad to see you all right again. What an awful
adventure you've had!"
Maud smiled placidly. She was her old self again, stately and composed.
"It might have been a great deal worse but for your brother," she
acknowledged; "I wonder if they've found out at the Court. They'll be
getting a little anxious if they have."
"Unless I'm very much mistaken they've found out," I answered.
"Listen."
I went out and threw open the hall door. Clearly enough we could hear
the alarm bell at the Court clanging out with shrill, quick strokes,
and the whole of the park seemed dotted with men carrying lanterns,
looking like will-o'-the-wisps, and making the soft night air echo with
their hoarse shouts. Two figures were rapidly approaching the cottage,
and I hailed them.
"Have you seen anything of Miss Devereux?" called out Groves, the head
butler. "She's out in the park somewhere a-walking in her sleep."
"She is here," I answered, and then I went in and told Maud that they
had come for her.
Marian left us to find a warmer cloak and thicker shoes, and for a
moment we were together. She turned to me at once with a sweet, sad
smile on her lips, and a look of regret shining out of the azure depths
of her dim eyes.
"Mr. Arbuthnot, I had quite forgotten, in all this excitement, what
happened in the picture gallery. We are cousins, are we not?"
I shook my head.
"It is not a relationship which I shall claim," I answered, slowly.
"If I should see you again before I go, Miss Devereux, it will be as
Mr. Arbuthnot."
Her eyes were speaking to me--speaking words which her lips could not
utter, but I avoided them.
Eager voices were hurrying through the garden, and Maud held out her
hand with a hurried gesture.
"At any rate, you will let me thank you for your timely aid this
evening. But for you I don't know what might not have happened."
I took her hand and raised it to my lips. Then I let it drop, and
moved towards the door.
"I think I ought to thank you rather," I answered, with a pretence at a
laugh, "for giving me the alarm. If those fellows had got into the
house and taken me by surprise, things might have been worse for me, at
any rate."
I opened the door and admitted Groves and several of the other
servants. Francis Devereux was there, too, but he stood on the pathway
outside, without offering to enter, neither did I invite him. Maud
went out to him at once, and then I explained to the gaping little
crowd what had happened.
"What became of the one you knocked over, sir?" asked Groves, after the
little chorus of wondering exclamations had subsided.
"There now, most likely," I answered, with a start. "I'd forgotten all
about him."
We all trooped over to the spot, and there he lay, doubled up in the
underwood, his face drawn with pain, and still unconscious. To say
that I was sorry for him would have been a lie; nay, if Rupert Devereux
had lain by his side I should have been only the better pleased. But
he lay so still and motionless that I stooped over him anxiously, and
felt his heart. It was beating, though faintly, and I felt distinctly
relieved when I looked up again.
"He's alive," I declared, "but only just. Better get him some brandy."
They brought him some from the house, and I poured it between his lips.
He revived at once.
"We'd a best take him up to the Court, sir," remarked Groves. "You
won't want him down here with only yourself in the house."
So they took him away, and as the long streaks of red light in the east
slowly deepened until the autumn sun rose up from behind the pine-trees
like a ball of glowing fire, I threw myself down on the couch and slept.