We have said that Wilton Brown paused and gazed through the mist at
the figure of a man advancing towards him, and to the reader it need
not be told who the person was that thus came forward. To Wilton,
however, the conviction was brought more slowly; for though he had
heard the sound of a familiar voice, yet it seemed so improbable that
voice should be the voice of Lord Sherbrooke, that the idea never
struck him, till the figure became so distinct as not to leave a
doubt.
"Good God, Sherbrooke!" he exclaimed, advancing towards him at
length--"can it be you?"
"And I may well ask, Wilton, if it be you," said Lord Sherbrooke, in
a tone so sharp and angry, so unlike his usual voice and manner of
speaking, that Wilton drew back astonished, imagining that he had
given his friend some unknown offence. But Lord Sherbrooke grasped his
arm, exclaiming, "Hark! There they are! They are close upon us,
Wilton! I have fallen in with a nest of Jacobites, I fancy, ready for
an outbreak, and they are after me. Have you any arms?"
"Here are plenty of pistols, my lord," said the Messenger, who knew
him.
"Ah, Arden, is that you?" he exclaimed. "Give me a pistol!" and he
took one from the Messenger's hand. "Here are three of us now,
Wilton," he exclaimed, with a laugh, "and one of us a Messenger:
enough surely for any dozen Jacobites in England."
There was something wild, hasty, and strange in Lord Sherbrooke's
manner, which startled and alarmed Wilton a good deal.
"For Heaven's sake, Sherbrooke," he said, "do nothing rashly. Let us
see who they are before you act."
"Oh, I will do nothing rash," replied Sherbrooke. "But here they
come! just like Jacobites, gabbling at every step. Who goes there,
my masters?" he exclaimed, at the same moment. "Don't advance, don't
advance! We are armed! The first man that advances, I shoot upon the
spot!"
"Those are the men! those are the men!" cried a loud voice from the
other party, who were now seen coming up in a mass. "Rush upon them!
Rush upon them, and tie the Messenger!"
"Oh, oh!" cried Arden. "They have found me out, have they! Stand by
me, my lord! Stand by me, Mr. Brown! They are rushing on!"
"Then here's for the midst of them!" cried Lord Sherbrooke; and
instantly levelling his pistol, he fired, though Wilton was in the
very act of holding forth his hand to stop him.
The moment the fatal flash had taken place, there was a reel back
amongst the advancing party, though they were at several yards'
distance when the pistol was fired. A confusion, a gathering together,
a murmur, succeeded; and while Lord Sherbrooke was in the very act of
exclaiming, "Give me another pistol, Arden!" there was heard, from
amongst the party who had been approaching, a loud voice, exclaiming,
"By, he has shot the lady!--and she was only fainting, after all. See
how the blood flows!"
The words were perfectly distinct. Lord Sherbrooke's hand, which had
just seized the other pistol that the Messenger had held out to him,
suddenly let it drop upon the ground. It was not possible to see the
expression of his face fully, for his head was turned away; but
Wilton felt him grasp his arm, as if for support, trembling in every
limb.
"Good God! What have you done, Sherbrooke?" exclaimed his friend.
"I have killed her! I have killed her!" cried Lord Sherbrooke,
gasping for breath--"I have killed the dear unfortunate girl!" and
letting go Wilton's arm, he rushed forward at once into the midst of
the other party, exclaiming, "Stand back! Let me forward! She is my
wife! Stand out of my way! How, in the name of Heaven, did she--"
He left off, without concluding; and nobody answered. But the tone of
bitter grief and agony in which Lord Sherbrooke spoke was not to be
mistaken: there was in it the overpowering energy of passionate
grief; and everybody made way for him. In a moment he bad snatched
the form of the unhappy lady from the man who held her in his arms,
and supporting her himself, partly on his knee, partly on his bosom,
he kissed her again and again vehemently, eagerly, we may almost say
frantically, exclaiming, "And I have killed thee, my Caroline! I
have killed thee, my beloved, my wife, my own dear wife! I have
killed thee, noble, and true, and kind! Oh, open your eyes, dear
one, open your eyes and gaze upon me for a minute! She is living, she
is living!" he added wildly--"she does open her eyes!--Quick, some
one call a surgeon!--A hundred guineas to the first who brings me a
surgeon!--God of Heaven! how has this happened?--Oh yes, she is
living, she is reviving!--Wilton, for pity's sake, for mercy's sake,
help me!"
Wilton Brown had followed Lord Sherbrooke rapidly; for a sudden
apprehension had crossed his mind immediately the words were
pronounced, "He has shot the lady," lest by some accident Lady Laura
had fallen into the hands of the people who were approaching, and
that she it was who had been wounded or killed by the rash act of his
friend. The moment he came up, however, he perceived that the lady's
face was unknown to him, and he saw also that the men who stood
round, deprived of all power and activity by a horrible event, which
they only vaguely comprehended, were anything but the persons he had
expected to see. They seemed to be almost all common sailors; and
though they were in general evidently Englishmen, they were habited
more in the fashion of the Dutch seamen of that day. They were well
armed, it is true, but still they bore not the slightest appearance
of being connected with Sir John Fenwick and the party to which lie
was attached; and the horror and consternation which seemed to have
taken possession of them all, at the injury which had been inflicted
on the unhappy lady, showed that they were anything but feelingless
or hardened.
One rapid glance over the scene before his eyes had shown Wilton
this; and he now stood beside Lord Sherbrooke, gazing with painful
interest on a picture, the full horror of which he divined better
than the others who surrounded them.
Almost as Lord Sherbrooke spoke, however, and before Wilton could
reply, the lady made a slight movement of her hand, and raised her
head. Her eyes were open, and she turned to Lord Sherbrooke, gazing
on his face for a moment, as if to be certain who he was.
"Oh, Sherbrooke," she said at length, in a faint voice, "fly, fly!--I
was very foolish to faint.--I am better now. The men will be upon
you in a minute--Oh Heaven, they are all round us! Oh how weak it was
to faint and keep you here till they have taken you.--I am better
now," she said, in answer to a whispered inquiry of Lord Sherbrooke,
as he pressed her to his heart. "But I must have hurt my shoulder in
falling, for it pains me very much." And putting her hand towards it,
she drew it suddenly away, exclaiming, "Good Heaven, it is blood!"
"Yes, dearest--yes, beloved," replied Lord Sherbrooke--"it is
blood--blood shed by your husband's hand; but oh, inadvertently,
clear girl. I rashly fired amongst the men that were pursuing me, and
have killed the only woman that I ever loved!" And he struck his hand
vehemently against his forehead, with a gesture of despair that could
not be mistaken.
"Come, come, young gentleman," said a man who seemed the leader of
the bluff sailors around him, "don't take on so. Some one has gone
for a surgeon. There's a clever one at Halstow, I know, and mayhap
the young lady is not so much hurt. At all events, you did not do it
to hurt her, that's clear enough; and I rather fancy we've all been
in a mistake together. For if you were flying from people looking out
to take you, you were not the goods we were after--for we were
looking for people that were coming to take us.
"They came down and said that a gentleman had come down with a
Messenger to look after our little traffic, and have some of us up
for it. Now we intended to plant the Messenger in the bog till we had
got all things ready and the ship off, and it was him and his people
we were after. But come along--bring down the lady to Master
Plessis's. She will be taken good care of there, I warrant you. Here,
Jack Vanoorst!--you're a bit of a surgeon yourself, for you doctored
my head when the Frenchman broke my crown one day. See if you can't
stop the blood, at least till we get the lady to old Plessis's, and
the surgeon comes."
A broad-built elderly man advanced, and, with whatever materials
could be obtained upon the spot, made a sort of bandage and compress
by the dim light, and applied it dexterously enough, while Caroline
lay with her head upon her husband's bosom, and her hand clasped in
his.
Sherbrooke looked down in her face while this was done with agony
depicted in his countenance; nor was that agony rendered the less by
seeing a faint look of happiness come over her face as she thus
rested, and by feeling her hand press gently upon his. It all seemed
to say, "I could willingly die thus."
When the bandage had been applied, Lord Sherbrooke, though he shook
in every limb with agitation and anxiety, took her in his arms and
raised her, saying to the men, "Now show me the way."
But that way was long. The young nobleman put forth his strength too
much at first in the effort to carry her quickly, and after bearing
her on for about a mile, he paused and faltered.
"Let one of our people carry her," said the captain of the vessel,
which was lying in the river at no great distance from Plessis's
house--"there is near a mile to go yet."
Lord Sherbrooke turned and looked round. Wilton was close by his
side.
"Wilton," he said, "Wilton, you take her. With the exception of
herself, you are my best friend. Gently, oh gently! She is my wife,
Wilton, and I know you will not mind the burden."
"Pardon me, lady," said Wilton, as he took her gently out of Lord
Sherbrooke's arms, and she raised her head with a faint look of
inquiry; "it is your husband's sincere friend, and I will bear you as
carefully as if I were your brother."
She made no opposition; but no answer, only stretching forth her left
arm, which was the unwounded one, to Lord Sherbrooke: she let her
hand rest in his, as if she wished him to retain it; and Wilton
remarked, but not displeased, that she suffered not her head to rest
upon his bosom, as it had done upon that of his friend.
Considerably taller, and altogether of a more powerful frame than
Lord Sherbrooke, he bore her with greater ease; but still anxiety
made it seem an age till a glimmering light was seen through the
trees at no great distance.
Lord Sherbrooke was then in the act of proposing to carry her again;
but the good sailor who had spoken before interfered, saying, "No, no,
let him carry her. It will only hurt her to change so. There's the
house close by, and he's stronger than you are; and not knocked down
with fright, you see, either, as you are, naturally enough.--Run on,
boy, run on," he continued, somewhat sharply, to a lad who was with
them--"run on, and tell old Plessis to get down a mattress to carry
the lady up in."
The boy sped away to execute this kind and prudent order; and in a
few minutes more, the whole party stood upon the little stone
esplanade before the dwelling of Monsieur Plessis. That worthy
personage himself was down, and already in a state of great anxiety
and tribulation, being one of those who have an excessive dislike to
anything which may bring upon them too much notice of any kind.
The mattress, too, had been brought down, but when Wilton gazed
through the door, he turned quickly to his friend, saying, "I had
better carry her up at once, Sherhrooke. I can do it easily, and it
will save her the pain of changing her position more than once."
Without waiting for any one's consent, he accordingly began to mount
the staircase, and had just reached the balustrade of the little sort
of square vestibule at top, when the door of an opposite room opened,
and the Lady Helen stood before him.
To Wilton, who knew nothing of all the secrets of Plessis's house,
which the reader is already informed of, the sight was like that of
an apparition; and to the Lady Helen herself, the sight of Wilton
bearing Caroline in his arms, while the light of the lamp that
Plessis carried before them shone upon the pale but still beautiful
countenance of the poor girl, and showed her dress and that of Wilton
both thickly stained and spotted with blood, was not less astounding.
"Oh, Wilton, Wilton," she cried--"what is this?--Caroline, my sweet
Caroline, for Heaven's sake speak!--for Heaven's sake look at me!"
The next moment, however, her eyes fell upon Lord Sherbrooke; his
countenance also as pale as death, his coat, and collar, and face
also bloody.
"Oh young man, young man," she cried, "is it you that have done
this?"
"Yes, Lady Helen," he answered, rather bitterly--"yes, after nearly
killing her in another way, it is I who have shed her blood. But the
first was the criminal act, not the last. The shot was
unintentional: the wounds given by my words were the guilty ones."
"No, no, Sherbrooke!" said Caroline, raising her head faintly, and
again stretching out her hand towards him--"No, no, dear Henry. You
love me; that is enough!"
She could speak no more; and Plessis, whose senses were in a state of
greater precision than those of any other person, exclaimed, eagerly,
"Don't stand here talking about it, but carry the lady to her
bedchamber.--This way, young gentleman; this way, this way!"
And passing by, he led onward to the room in which the unfortunate
lady had received her husband's note that very morning. Wilton laid
her gently on the bed; and closing her eyes for a moment, she gave a
slight shudder, either with chilliness or pain. But a movement in
the apartment caused her to look round again, and she said, eagerly,
"Do not leave me, Sherbrooke! Do not leave me, my husband. You must
stay with me NOW."
"Leave you, my Caroline!" he said, "oh no! I will never leave you
more! I must atone for what I have done. Only promise me, promise
me, Caroline, to live, to forgive, and to bless me."
"I do forgive you, I do bless you, Sherbrooke," she answered.
Before he could reply, a gentleman habited in a riding dress, and a
large red roquelaure, entered the room hastily, threw off his hat and
cloak, and advanced at once with a somewhat rough air to the bedside.
"What is this?" he said, quickly, but not in an ungentle tone. "Where
is the lady hurt?--Bring me linen and water.--You may give her a
little wine too.--She is faint from loss of blood;" and advancing to
the bedside, he took Caroline's hand kindly in his own, saying, "Do
not be alarmed, my dear. These things happen every day in battle;
and women get well better than soldiers, for they are more patient
and resigned. I see where the wound is. Do not be afraid;" and he
put his hand upon her shoulder, running it round on both sides. The
moment he had done so, he looked about him with a bright and beaming
smile upon his lip, and the colour coming somewhat up into his cheek.
"She will do well," he said--"let no one alarm themselves: the ball
has passed upon the right of the artery, and I feel it just above the
scapula. She will do well!"
An audible "Thank God!" burst from every lip around; and Caroline
herself, at the sudden change, from the apprehension of death to the
hope of life, burst into silent tears.
"What are all these men doing here?" demanded the good surgeon,
turning bluffly round. "Leave none but the women with me, and not
too many of them."
The sailors began to move away at this command, and Wilton followed;
but Lord Sherbrooke kept his place, saying, "I must remain!"
"And why should you remain, sir?" demanded the surgeon. "Who are
you?"
"I am her husband, sir," replied Lord Sherbrooke, firmly and
distinctly.
"Oh, sir, that makes a very great difference," replied the surgeon.
"I make you a very low bow, and have nothing to say; only I hope you
will behave quietly and rationally, and talk as little as possible."
"I will do everything, sir," replied Lord Sherbrooke, with a somewhat
stately look--"I will do everything that may tend to promote the
recovery of one I love so well."
At this moment, Wilton was in the doorway: but the Lady Helen laid
her hand upon his arm, saying, "Wait for me in the neighbouring room,
Wilton. I must speak with you before you go."
Wilton promised to remain, and quitted the chamber. He found at the
top of the stairs the greater part of the sailors whom he had seen
before, and with them Plessis himself and another man.
The sailors were talking with Plessis vehemently; and Wilton soon
found that the worthy Frenchman was using all his powers of
vituperation in various tongues--French and English, with a word or
two of Dutch every now and then, and some quaint specimens of
Portuguese--to express his indignation at the sailors for the unlucky
business in which they had engaged.
The master of the vessel was defending himself stoutly, saying, "Why,
didn't I meet the boy from the Blackamoor's Head at the very door of
the place here? and didn't he tell me that there was a man coming
down with a Messenger of State to seize the ship and the cargo, and
you, and I, and every one else?"
"Poo! nonsense, nonsense!" cried Plessis: "all stuff and
exaggeration. No Messenger, I dare say, at all. So be off, all of
you, as fast as you can go; and get out of the way, for fear of any
inquiries being made."
"Why here's the young gentleman himself!" cried the master: "he don't
look like a Messenger, sure enough. But there was another man that
ran away, he may have been the Messenger."
The man looked to Wilton as he spoke, who instantly replied, "You are
right, sir. He was a Messenger; but neither he nor I came hither
about anything referring to you. Indeed, neither of us even knew of
your existence before we saw you."
At that moment, the stranger who was standing beside Plessis, and who
was very different from the sailors in appearance, stepped forward to
Wilton, and said in a low tone, "May I, sir, ask your name?"
The countersign that Green had given him immediately returned to
Wilton's memory, and he replied, "My name is Brown, sir, but it might
as well have been Green."
"Oh no, sir," replied the stranger, in the same tone, "every man
should keep his right name, and be in his right place, which is the
case with yourself in both respects at present;" and turning to
Plessis, he said, "This is a friend of the Colonel's, Plessis. He
sent me down to meet him and bring him here, because he could not
come himself."
"Oh, oh!" said Plessis, looking wise, "that's all right, then. I saw
that he spoke to the Lady Helen. Take him into the saloon, Captain,
and I'll come to you in a minute, as soon as I've got the house
clear, and everything quiet again. I expect some gentlemen to meet
here to-night, to take their bowl of punch, you know."
"This way, sir," said the person whom the Frenchman had called
Captain, turning to Wilton, and leading him on into the large room,
which was now quite vacant. The moment that he was there, and the
door closed, the stranger came close up to him, saying, "Where is the
Messenger? Had you not a Messenger with you? I waited on the road
for you three-quarters of an hour."
"I rather think," replied Wilton, "that I was misdirected by the
landlord of the inn, and a series of unhappy mistakes has been the
consequence."
"Which are not over yet," exclaimed the other; "for here are we, only
two men, with very likely a dozen or two against us, with no power or
authority to take the lady from out of their hands, and with nothing
but our swords and pistols."
"Oh no!" answered Wilton--"you mistake. I have sufficient authority
both from her father and from the Secretary of State."
"Ay, but not like the face of a Messenger!" replied the other--"that
is the best authority in the world with people like these. By
Heaven, the only way that we can act is to make a bold push for it at
once, to get hold of the young lady, and carry her off before these
men arrive. Plessis is sending away all the sailors: he'll not try
much to oppose us himself. There is one man, I see, at the end of
the other corridor, but we can surely manage him; and very likely we
may get the start of the others by an hour or so."
"Let us lose not a moment," answered Wilton. "I will send for the
Lady Helen, who may give us more information."
"Let me go and get it from Plessis himself," replied the man "I will
be back in a minute. I know how to deal with the rogue of a
Frenchman better than you do. If he comes back with me, take a high
tone with him; determination is everything."
Thus saying, he quitted the room, and for about five minutes Wilton
remained alone meditating over what had passed, if that could be
called meditating, which was nothing but a confused series of
indistinct images, all out of their proper form and order.