It was a bright and cheerful morning; and the scenery round Ale would
have been in its greatest beauty, had but one cloud floated in the sky
to chequer the landscape with moving light and shadow. But there was
not the slightest stain upon the heaven; and the sun in his hot noon,
was shining over the flat, waveless sea, and over brown, high-topped
hills and deep dells round about. The trees were in their rich
foliage, green and full; no speck of road side dust--no particle of
soot--smurched the pure leaves; and underneath their branches might be
found cool shade, and pure refreshing air, breathing lightly from the
sea.
There was a clump of ten or twelve beeches perched upon a little
knoll, overhanging the road which led to the nearest town from Ale
Manor and village. A few were decayed and hollowed out, leaving little
but the bark standing, with two or three long branches stretching
forth, and still bearing the verdant livery of youth, even in their
extreme old age. Others were in their vigorous prime, too regular and
rounded to be very picturesque; while one or two were in that state of
half-decay which casts this peculiar tree into the most fantastic
forms.
Sitting under one of those nearest to the road, from which it might be
distant about fifty yards, was Emmeline Newark. She was shaded from
the sun in the position which she had assumed, and, at the same time,
caught any wind that was stirring; for, blowing, as I have said, very,
very lightly from the sea, it came up the deep dell from Ale Bay and
along the course of the stream, seeming to pause, as if in sport,
amongst the beeches, and whirling round the wooded knoll. She had a
book in her hand; I know not well what it was; it might have been
Pope, or Addison, or any of those stars that were setting or rising
about that time--never mind a mixed metaphor, dear critic. She was in
one of her musing moods, however, and the book lay unnoticed on her
knee, as, leaning slightly on one side, with her shoulder supported
against the smooth bark of the beech, and her eyes peeping out from
under the branches towards the opposite hill and the blue sky above
it, she lay, rather than sat, in an attitude of exquisite grace.
The sun was very near the meridian, and his brightness would have been
oppressive to the eye, had it not been that the cool colouring of the
scene around, the green trees, the brown hills, and the grey rocks,
seemed to drink up the rays, or return them softened and mellowed to
the eye.
She had sat there some time, without seeing a living creature or a
moving thing, except a large bird of prey, which kept whirling in
immense circles far over head. But now a man on horseback, in the garb
of a servant, leading another horse by the bridle, passed slowly along
the road, without noticing her, and took his way up towards the old
Manor House. She gazed after him with that feeling of curiosity which
is generated by a solitary state of life. She marked him along the
road till it was lost in the wood, and, as she did so, some one on
foot was heard to pass along under the trees, as if coming up a very
steep path from the little village.
"It is Richard," she thought, peeping under the branches. "Poor boy!
he has not gained much during the last twelvemonths. He will be a
child all his life, I fear."
She then turned to the pages of her book, and began to read.
Suddenly the page grew somewhat dim; and she looked up, saying to
herself--"There are clouds coming over." But, though she could not
actually see the sun, the sky was bright and clear. She read on; but
the page grew more and more dim, till at length she could with
difficulty distinguish the words.
"A thunder storm must be coming," she thought, shutting the book and
rising to take her way home; but, on stepping from beneath the
branches of the old beech tree, not a cloud was to be seen upon the
sky. All was clear, though the light had diminished to the faintest
gleam of twilight; yet it did not resemble either the morning or the
evening light. There was no rosy glow, no golden tint, in east or
west; a dim grey shadow had spread over earth and sky; and Emmeline
could see here and there a star gleaming faintly in the deep concave
above, as if night had just fallen, while a dark shadow occupied the
place of the sun, with the exception of a narrow crescent of light
still remaining at one edge. A sudden and instinctive feeling of
terror seized her before reason had time to act. She knew not what she
feared; and yet this sudden darkness, this unexpected extinction, as
it were, of the great light of the heavens, seemed something very
awful. Her heart beat, and her breath came thick. The next instant,
however, she said to herself; "It is an eclipse. How strange and
wonderful! It is not surprising that men in other days looked upon
these things as portents. I could well nigh be superstitious myself
under that black sky at noon-day. The sun is now taking the form of a
ring of light, with a dark globe in the centre."
She paused to gaze upon it; and strange wandering thoughts came
through her mind, engrossing all her attention. She saw not that, from
the edge of the wood, behind and above her--where it stretched out
with a sort of spur upon the hill side, leaving a space of about two
hundred yards of clear soft turf, only broken by that knoll and clump
of beech trees between itself and the road--she saw not that there
stole quietly forth, first one figure, and then another, and, with
stealthy steps over the soft herbage, came creeping down towards her,
keeping the beeches between her and them. The light indeed was hardly
sufficient to show her their movements, even had not those trees
formed a sort of leafy screen; but, as it was, they were completely
hidden; and, not till their steps were close to her, was she aware
that she was not alone on the hill-side. She started at the sound of a
footfall, and turning round beheld two strangers with their faces
blackened. She would have run away towards the house; but, at the same
moment, one man caught her by the arm, and the other seized her
shoulder.
"_Parde, nous l'avons!_" cried one of them.
The other said nothing, but strove to draw her away in a different
direction from that of the house.
All the warnings she had received now flashed upon her memory; all the
terrors which Sir John Newark had instilled took possession of her in
full force; and, without pausing to question or remonstrate, she
screamed aloud for help, while the two men, in spite of her
resistance, forced her on in the path which they had chosen.
"They won't hear," said the one to the other, in French. "The wind
blows the other way. This eclipse was a lucky chance."
Still, however, Emmeline screamed; and the one who had as yet said
nothing put his hand over her mouth to smother her cries, whispering,
at the same time, but still in French, what seemed persuasions to come
quietly, and promises which she neither heard nor understood.
Freeing her lips, she screamed again and again; and then--oh, blessed
sound!--she heard the noise of a horse's feet upon the road.
"It is my guardian," she thought; and another long piercing cry
succeeded.
It caught the ear of the horseman on the road. He checked his horse,
and beheld by the light, which was becoming now more strong, two men
dragging a woman up the hill. There was a steep bank between the road
and the turf above; but he struck his spurs fiercely into his horse's
sides; and, with a straining effort, the fine powerful beast overcame
the obstacle, reached the turf, and sprang forward. Stretching out, as
if running a race, the horse, in a few seconds, brought him up to the
spot where Emmeline was, and even a little beyond it, before his
career could be checked. The latter circumstance, however, was
favourable; for it placed the rider between the men and the wood, and
also showed him, in passing, that they were determined to resist his
interference. As soon as they perceived that the intruder upon their
enterprise was alone, the swords of both were drawn; and one of them
said to the other, in a low voice, and in French,
"Keep him off, while I take her on. Three hundred yards farther, and
we shall be within hail of the boat's crew."
But the stranger was not so easily to be disposed of. His horse was
wheeled rapidly; his sword was out of the sheath in a moment; and in
another instant he was upon the two men, from whom Emmeline was
struggling hard to free herself. As if he at once divined their plan,
he suffered the one who had let go his hold of the lady to advance,
sword in hand, and aim a blow at him, unreturned, merely making his
horse swerve to avoid it; and, pressing hard upon the other, who still
held the poor girl in his strong grasp, he forced him to turn and
defend himself. The rescuer was obliged to play a wary game, however;
for the other man ran up behind, as if to strike him from his horse;
but, practised in every military exercise, although the animal he rode
had never been trained in the _manège_, he governed his steed with
perfect ease with the hand and heel, wheeling him now upon one, now
upon the other, parrying a blow here, aiming a blow there; and, in the
end, compelled the one who had still the young lady in his grasp, to
quit his hold in self-defence.
At the same moment, the loud deep barking of a large dog was heard;
and one glance showed the gentleman on horseback an enormous hound,
followed quickly by a human figure, running over the hill towards them
from the lower wood in which the road seemed to lose itself.
The same sight met Emmeline's eye also; and, finding herself free, she
sprang forward towards the new comer; but, exhausted with struggling
and with terror, she fell upon the green turf before she had gone
twenty yards.
"Run, run, Matthew!" cried the man who had last retained his grasp of
Emmeline, still speaking in French; and then, with one of the
blasphemous and horrid oaths of which that language has a copious
vocabulary, he added; "She has escaped us! Through the wood and by the
path round at the back! I will show you the way down the cliff."
Thus saying, he turned to fly with his companion; but still he retired
with a sort of sturdy cautiousness, stopping short every ten or twelve
paces, and turning round, ready for defence. The stranger, however,
seemed in no degree disposed to follow him. His object was
accomplished in freeing a lady from the hands of two ruffians; he had
no knowledge of the circumstances; and, after pausing for an instant
to make sure that the scoundrels had no intention of returning, he
sprang from his horse and approached the poor girl, who was now
raising herself upon her arm.
"I hope you are not hurt, madam," he said. "Do not be alarmed. The
villains have fled, and will not return in a hurry, I think. At all
events, I have marked one of them, so that we shall know him in time
to come."
"Oh, thank you, thank you! How much I owe you, sir!" was all that
Emmeline could utter. At the same time, the great deerhound rushed
forward as if to spring at the stranger; but, with that peculiar and
marvellous instinct by which dogs of a noble race distinguish friends
from foes, he suddenly checked himself in full career, dropped his
tail and ears, and, turning from him with a shy and wary glance, as if
yet not quite satisfied, approached the lady and licked her hand,
fixing his large bright eyes upon her face.
"Let me assist you to rise," said the stranger, offering Emmeline his
hand; "here comes some one under whose protection, doubtless, you can
be quite safe. Ha, my young friend, Richard Newark! You have made your
appearance to help us just at the happy moment."
The young lad caught his hand and shook it heartily, exclaiming:
"What is the matter? What is the matter? I heard Emmeline screaming,
and saw you fighting with two men, and just slashing one of them upon
the forehead. Why, what a gay coat you've got on! You were dressed in
brown in London."
"If it had not been for this gentleman's assistance," said Emmeline,
rising slowly, "I should have been carried away, I know not
whither--over the seas, I think; for they talked of a boat."
"Ay, he always comes up to help people when they are in need," replied
the lad, gazing with a look of affectionate regard at Smeaton. "This
is the gentleman, Emmeline, who came and made a jelly of the big
footman who knocked me down. There are some people that have the luck
of it. I should like to do such things too; but I am always too late.
I came out to meet him; for his servant and baggage arrived a minute
or two ago; but I thought he would come along the road, else I should
have been upon the hill-side in time. That brute, Brian, too, ran
after a hare; and I sat down and reasoned with him, asking him if it
were decent, in a gentleman of his high degree, to run after small
game like that. He was too much ashamed of himself to make any answer;
but he lifted up his great hairy nose, and wagged his tail, as much as
to say, 'Don't talk any more about it.' Carried you away, Emmeline!"
he continued, in his rambling manner. "Where could they want to carry
you? They did not hurt you, did they?"
"They pinched my wrists till they will be black and blue, I am sure,"
replied Emmeline, simply. "But we had better make haste to the house,"
she continued, "for there may be more of them." Then turning, with a
graceful inclination, to Smeaton, while she leaned upon Richard's arm,
she added, "My guardian, Sir John Newark, will be most grateful to
you, sir, as I am; for, had it not been for your courage and kindness,
a scheme, against which he has often warned me, would probably have
proved successful, notwithstanding all his precaution."
"I am more than sufficiently rewarded by having rendered you a
service," replied Smeaton, in a very common-place tone; but the next
instant he fell into a fit of musing, which was only interrupted by
young Newark exclaiming, with a laugh--
"I would sooner do a day's work at digging, under a hot sun, than
have to catch your horse on this hill side. He'll be at Exeter before
to-morrow morning. Talking of the sun, Emmeline, did you ever see
anything look so funny as that great shining gentleman did just
now--just as if he were sick of a surfeit. He's not much better yet,
and looks black enough at the world, though he has now got a
cocked-hat of light set on one side of his head. Old Barbara tells me
it is an eclipse, and that it's all very curious. She saw one just
like it, in the reign of King William, of blessed memory, when all the
birds went to roost, and the pigs hid their heads in the straw. I
think it more disagreeable than curious. But look! he has caught his
horse! He'll catch anything or anybody--perhaps you, my pretty bird,
before he has done."
A slight blush came upon Emmeline's face.
"Where are your wits rambling, Richard?" she said. "You should have
helped him, Richard."
"Should I?" said the boy, with a start. "I am sorry I did not, then;
for I would willingly help him in anything. He is a fine fellow; but I
never know what I ought to do, Emmeline. So you must tell me, while he
is here."
"Does your father expect him?" asked Emmeline. "He never mentioned it
to me."
"Expects him as sure as he does Christmas," replied the lad; "but,
like a wise man as he is, he held his tongue, knowing the quality of
expectation, which, like a bad sword-blade, breaks through the middle
when you most rely on it.
"That is not your own, Dick," observed Emmeline, smiling. "You have
borrowed it from some one."
"Stole it, dear Emmy," returned Richard, laughing; "pilfered it from a
player in a lace jacket, who strutted about, periwigged, in a barn at
Putney last year, and called himself Her Majesty's Servant. But here
comes Colonel Smeaton again, with his horse in tow, as the fishermen
say. How I should like to be a colonel! I wonder if I shall ever be a
colonel, Emmy?"
Before the young lady could answer, Smeaton had rejoined them, and now
walked by their side towards the house. He had cast off his fit of
musing, and conversed with his two young companions gaily and easily,
from time to time asking Emmeline questions in regard to the shameful
attack which had been made on her, and endeavouring to ascertain if
she had any knowledge of the persons concerned, or the motives by
which they were actuated. She was obliged to confess her ignorance,
however, merely telling him that her guardian had often warned her
that such an attempt was likely, but had entered into no explanations.
It seemed now to have become Richard Newark's turn to muse; and they
had very nearly reached the house before he opened his lips. Then,
looking up suddenly, he brought forth the fruit of his meditation.
"I've been thinking, Smeaton," he said, "whether we ought not to get
all the servants together, and see if we cannot catch these
kidnappers."
"They are gone, I am afraid, beyond recall," answered Smeaton,
gravely.
"Not they," cried the boy. "They cannot get away except by the river,
and we can stop them at the mouth. They took the path up to the top of
Ale Head; and, unless they have got wings, they cannot get down there.
If I unchain the bloodhound and put him on the scent, he'll find them
out for us in a minute."
"Nay, don't, Richard," said Emmeline. "You must not leave the house
without defence; for no one can tell how many there may be."
Neither did Smeaton give any encouragement to the boy's proposal. He
looked grave and thoughtful; and the matter seemed to drop of itself.
The three entered the house together; and Emmeline led the way into
the smaller saloon, where Sir John Newark was accustomed to sit in the
morning. While, with a timid grace, Emmeline was performing the
various offices of hospitality towards Smeaton, Richard Newark slipped
quietly out of the room, hurried to the great courtyard, and ran
towards an immense bloodhound, which was chained to a kennel near the
stable-door. The beast bounded up on his hind legs, tugging at his
chain, to caress his young master, who, kneeling down unceremoniously
in the dirt, threw one arm about the hound's thick throat, and, while
the animal licked his face all over, struggled to unfasten the chain
from the collar.
"Don't unchain the dog, Master Richard," said a groom from the stable.
"He'll hurt some one, if you don't mind."
"That is just what I want him to do, Bill," replied the lad. "You come
along with me. Two men have been trying to carry off Emmeline; and
Brian, who hunts by eye, was of no use."
"Have they got her, then?" cried the man, starting forward.
"No, no. Colonel Smeaton came up and broke their noddles," replied
Richard; "but I want to catch them. So I have left the three--that is
to say, the lady, the colonel, and the dog--in the house, and have
come for old Bellmouth, here, to help me. You come along with me,
Bill, and make haste. We'll put the hound upon their steps. Then, if
he tears them to pieces, it's their affair and his, not mine."
As he spoke, he took his way out of the gates, the dog bounding on
before. The groom caught up a stout stick and followed, asking his
young master a number of questions, to which he got no satisfactory
answer. By the shortest way, partly through the wood, and partly over
the hill-side, young Richard Newark soon reached the spot where he had
seen Emmeline on first being alarmed by her cries. Here, thrusting the
dog's nose to the ground with both his hands, he cried,
"Seek, Bellmouth, seek!"
The enormous brute snuffed round and round, for a moment, without any
other noise but the snorting of his nostrils as they were pressed upon
the turf; and then the lad called him forward, a few paces higher up,
still repeating the cry--
"Seek, Bellmouth, seek!"
The dog obeyed, moving hither and thither, still keeping its muzzle to
the ground--and, at length, with a loud yell, sprang forward in the
exact direction which the men had taken. Richard Newark and the groom
followed as fast as their feet would carry them, cheering on the dog
with loud cries; but, dashing away without a fault, he soon
outstripped them, giving tongue from time to time, as if to lead them
on. He took his course straight through the spur of wood, over the
brown hill beyond, and up in a direct line towards the top of Ale
Head. The two pursuers caught sight of him again, as soon as they had
passed the wood, rushing in a straight line towards the crags; and the
groom remarked,
"We shall catch them now, Master Richard, or the dog will have them
into the sea."
The moment after, however, the dog disappeared; for Ale Head, before
it breaks off into the abrupt rocky promontory which actually beetles
over the waters, is capped, as it were, with a rise in the ground,
from which the turf slopes down to the edge of the cliff. So that what
was beyond that highest point, and between it and the precipice, could
not be seen. On reaching the top, the dog was not visible; but they
heard a loud baying from some distance below; and Richard Newark ran
forward to the edge of the cliff, while the groom exclaimed--"For
God's sake, take care, Master Richard!" and followed with greater
caution.
When they gained the edge, however, what had taken place became
visible. On a point of rock, close above the water, and reached by an
exceedingly narrow path, broken, irregular, covered with loose stones,
and interrupted by chasms, which, to an eye above or below, seemed
impassable, stood the large bloodhound, baying with a furious
disappointed bark, mingled with a sort of shrill whine; while, at the
distance of about half a mile from the point, was seen a small boat
rowing towards a cutter-rigged vessel lying-to about a couple of miles
from the coast.
Richard Newark had paused suddenly at the edge of the cliff, and
remained perfectly silent; but the groom, when he came up,
exclaimed--"They have got off, sir! We are too late."
"Ay," said the lad, in a thoughtful tone, "they must have known the
place well, Bill. I did not think there was a man in England knew that
way down, except myself and young Jemmie Harrison, the fisherman's
son. It is not the first time they have been here. Here, Bellmouth!
Mind your footing, old boy. It's the first time you ever were down
there, and you've got no map."
It was some time before he could induce the dog to quit his station on
the rock below and begin the ascent. Perhaps the animal did not hear
the voice from above at that great distance; but assuredly he saw his
young master looking over; for, from time to time, he raised his head
towards him, with an angry howl, as if to intimate that the object of
their chase had escaped. At length, however, he began to ascend; and,
with difficulty, and not, apparently, without fear, for his steps were
slow and uncertain, he made his way up to the top of the precipice
again, and then gave himself a great and satisfactory shake, and
looked up in Richard's face. The boy patted his head, but said
nothing, and took his way back to the house in silence.