They were about equal in height and build, and apparently within a year
of the same age, the one dark, and wearing, what was unusual in those
days, a short crisp beard and moustache; the other fair and
closely-shaven as to lip and chin, but with a full brown whisker
clothing his cheeks.
The former was evidently terribly agitated, for his face worked and he
was very pallid, while the latter looked flushed and nervous, the hand
that grasped his trout-rod twitching convulsively; and he kept glancing
at his companion as they strode along past the cottage.
"What I ask you is"--the darker of the two was saying.
"For Heaven's sake be silent till we get farther on, Rob, and I'll tell
you all you want to know."
There was silence for awhile, and the two young men walked rapidly on,
turning through a woodland path, when the trees caught the rod of the
one addressed as Rob, and he cast it impatiently aside, stopping short
directly after in an opening where the path wound round the brink of a
deep gravel-pit, the wayfarer being protected from a fall by a stout
oaken railing.
"Now, sir," exclaimed the first speaker excitedly; "no one can hear us."
"No," said the fair man in a nervous, hesitating way. "Go on; say what
you have to say."
"It is soon said, James Huish. I have been away with my regiment in
Canada two years. Previous to that chance threw me into the company of
a sweet, pure girl, little more than a child then. I used to come down
here fishing."
"You did!" exclaimed the other hoarsely.
"I did, and visited at that cottage time after time. Man, man, I tell
you," he continued, speaking rapidly in his excitement, "the
recollection of those days has been my solace in many a bitter winter's
night, and I have looked forward to my return as the great day of my
existence."
"Stop!" said the other nervously. "Tell me this, Rob: did she--did she
love you?"
"Love me?" exclaimed the other passionately: "no. How could I expect
it? She was a mere child, budding into maidenhood; but her eyes
brightened when I came, and she was my little companion here in the
happy days that can never be recalled. James Huish, I loved that girl
with all my soul. My love has grown for her, and my first thought was
to seek her on my return, and try to win her for my wife."
"It's deuced unfortunate, Rob," said the other in his nervous way.
Then, with a kind of bravado, he continued half laughingly: "But then,
you see, you have been away two years, and you have stopped away too
long. It's a pity, too, such friends as we were."
Ere he had finished speaking his companion had seized his arm as in a
vice.
"Huish!" he cried hoarsely, "if you speak to me in that tone of voice I
will not answer for the consequences. I do not wish to be rash, or to
condemn you unheard; but this is of such vital import to me that, by
God, if you speak of it in that flippant tone again, I shall forget that
we are gentlemen, and, like some brute beast, I shall have you by the
throat."
"Loose my arm," exclaimed the other, flushing more deeply; "you hurt
me."
"You hurt me," cried the other, trembling with passion--"to the heart."
"If I have wronged you," exclaimed Huish, "even if duelling is out of
fashion, I can give you satisfaction."
"Satisfaction!" cried the other bitterly. "Look here, James Huish. You
have been a man of fashion, while I have been a blunt soldier. If what
I hear be true, would it be any satisfaction for me to shoot you through
the head, and break that poor girl's heart, for I could do it if I
liked; and if I did not, would it be any satisfaction to let you make
yourself a murderer?"
Huish shuddered slightly, and the colour paled in his cheeks.
"Now answer my question. I say, is this true?"
"We are old friends," retorted Huish, "but you have no right to question
me."
"Right or no right, I will question you," exclaimed the other
passionately, "and answer me you shall before you leave this spot."
Huish glanced uneasily to the right and left, and, seeing this, his
companion laid his hand once more upon his arm.
"No," he exclaimed, "you do not go; and for your own sake, do not
provoke me."
The speaker's voice trembled with rage, which he seemed to be fighting
hard to control, while Huish was by turns flushed with anger, and pale
with something near akin to fear.
"I will not answer your questions," he exclaimed desperately.
"You promised me you would, and you shall, James Huish. Look here, sir.
A little over two years ago there was a servant at the cottage--a cold
hard girl. I come back here, and I find this same girl now a woman.
She recognised me when I met her yesterday, and, believing that I was
going to the cottage, she stopped me, and by degrees told me such a tale
as I would I had never lived to hear. I went away again yesterday half
mad, hardly believing that it could be true. To-day I returned, and she
pointed you out to me as the villain--as Mr Ranby--a serpent crawling
here to poison under an assumed name."
"Go on," said the other. "You meant marriage of course."
"I tell you, man, I never had a thought for that poor girl that was not
pure and true. If I had spoken so soon, it might have checked an
intercourse that was to me the happiest of my life. Now I come back and
find that the peace of that little home is blasted--that the woman I
have loved has been made the toy of your pleasure; that you whom I
believed to be a gentleman, a man of honour, have proved to be the
greatest of villains upon this earth."
"Have a care what you say," said Huish hotly.
"I will have a care," cried the other. "I will not condemn you on the
words of others; I would not so condemn the man who was my closest
friend. Speak, then; tell me. I say, is this all true?"
"You have no right to question me."
"I say, is this true, James Huish?"
"Look here. What is the use of making a fuss like this over a bit of an
affair of gallantry."
"What!" cried the other, grasping the arm of Huish once more tightly.
"An affair of gallantry? Is it, then, an affair of gallantry to come
upon a home like a blight--to destroy--yes, blast the life of a pure,
trusting, simple-hearted girl, who believes you to be the soul of
honour? James Huish, I do not understand these terms; but tell me
this," he continued in a voice that was terrible in its cold measured
tones, "is this true?"
"Is what true?" said the other, with an attempt at bravado.
"You know what I mean--about Mary Riversley."
"Well, there, yes, I suppose it is," said Huish, with assumed
indifference; "and now the murder's out."
"No," exclaimed the other, with the rage he had been beating down
struggling hard for the mastery; "not murder: it is worse. But look
here, Huish. This girl is fatherless," he continued in a voice quite
unnaturally calm. "I loved her very dearly, but, poor girl, her
affection has gone to another. She cannot be my wife, but I can be her
friend and I will. You will marry her at once."
"Not likely," was the scornful reply, as Huish tried to shake his arm
free.
"I say, James Huish, you will marry this poor girl--no, this dear,
sweet, injured lady--at once. The world would call her fallen; I say
she is a good, true woman, as pure as snow, and in the sight of God
Almighty your own wife. But we have customs here in England that must
be observed. I say again, you will marry Ruth Riversley--at once?"
"I--will--not!" said Huish slowly and distinctly, the pain he suffered
bringing a burning spot in each cheek, and his temper now mastering the
dread he felt of his companion.
"I say again," said the other, in the same strange unnatural tone, "you
will marry Miss Riversley--at once."
"And I say," cried Huish, now half mad with rage and pain, "I will not.
Marry her yourself," he said brutally, "if--"
"Damned traitor?" cried the other, choking the completion of the
sentence, as, active as a panther, he caught Huish by the throat. "Dog!
coward! scoundrel! Down on your knees, and swear you will marry her, or
I will not answer for your life!"
Huish in his dread half wrenched himself free, and a wild, strange cry
escaped his lips. Then, nerved by his position, he turned upon his
assailant, and a deadly struggle commenced.
They were well matched, but the young officer, hardened by a rough life,
was the more active, and as they swayed to and fro in a fierce embrace,
he more than once seemed on the point of forcing his adversary to the
ground; but Huish putting forth his whole strength recovered himself,
and the struggle was renewed with greater violence than before.
It was an aimless encounter, such as would result from two men engaging
when maddened with rage. Their cheeks were purple, their veins stood
out in their temples, and their eyes flashed with the excitement of the
encounter. The danger they risked in their proximity to the deep pit
was not heeded, and more than once as they wrestled to and fro, they
nearly touched the fence that ran along the brink; but neither seemed to
be aware of its existence, the short grass and heather by the side of
the path was trampled, the bushes rustled and the twigs were broken as
the antagonists in turn seemed to gain the mastery, and then for a few
moments they paused, each gripping the other tightly, and gazing angrily
in one another's eyes.
There was the low sobbing pant of labouring breath, the heaving of
strong men's breasts, and then without a word being spoken the struggle
recommenced.
It soon became evident that Huish was trying all he could to throw his
adversary, the idea uppermost being that if he could get Captain Millet
to the ground, he might hold him there till help came. On the other
side Millet's main thought was to put into execution his threat; force
Huish to his knees, and there make him humbly ask pardon and take such
an oath as he should prescribe.
The upshot of the struggle was very different, though, from what either
had imagined, and one that strongly influenced their future lives.
As the struggle was resumed, the better training of Millet, who was hard
and spare, began to tell upon Huish, whose life of ease had not fitted
him for so arduous an encounter. His breath was drawn heavily, and at
rapid intervals; his grasp of his adversary was less firm; the big drops
stood upon his face, and a singing noise began to sound in his ears,
while the thought which made him feel infuriate seemed about to be
realised, and in imagination he saw himself humbled before his friend.
In fact, the latter nearly had him at his mercy as they now swayed to
and fro, and tightening his grasp with one hand, he suddenly lowered the
other, and catching Huish at a disadvantage, he would in another instant
have thrown him, when, maddened by desperation, Huish dashed himself
forward to forestall his antagonist's effort, Millet's heel caught in a
furze-bush, and the two men fell heavily against the rough fence.
There was a sharp crack made by the breaking wood, the rushing noise of
falling earth and stones, and the next moment Huish was clinging to the
rough stem of a bunch of golden broom, hanging at arm's length over the
gravel-pit, while from beneath him came up a dull, heavy thud as of some
fallen body.
Faint, sick, breathless, and ready to loose his hold, Huish clung there
in an agony of desperation for a few moments. The trees, the clouds
above him, seemed to be whirling round, and he closed his eyes
preparatory to falling in his turn.
Then came the reaction, and, how he afterwards hardly knew, he made two
or three desperate efforts to find rest for his feet, but only at first
to send down avalanche after avalanche of stones and earth. Then one
foot rested on a piece of old stump, and he was able to take some of the
strain off his arms, resting there panting, and with a strange creeping
sensation assailing his nerves as he thought that in a few minutes at
most he must fall.
He glanced down once, to see that the stones were some thirty or forty
feet below; and in his then position the height seemed dreadful, and
with a shudder he wrenched his gaze away and looked up, thinking now of
escape.
The stem he clung to was pretty strong, but the shrub was only rooted in
the gravelly side of the pit, and at any moment it might be torn out by
his weight. In fact, it seemed already to be giving way. But now his
breath came in less laboured fashion, and the power to act began to
return, the result being that he took in at a glance his situation, and,
stretching out one of his feet, he found for it a more secure
resting-place, one which enabled him to get hold of a stronger and
tougher shrub, and draw himself to where he could stand in comparative
safety, with the fence only some five feet above his hands.
Could he reach that, or must he descend?
He glanced down again.
Descent was impossible, for the side of the pit was eaten away by the
weather, and receded from him, so once more with a shudder he looked up.
Yes, there was a clump of furze a foot or two higher, just on the edge
where the grass reached before the gravel began to recede. Could he
reach that?
For a few moments he hesitated to make the attempt--it was so hazardous,
for, even should he reach it, the roots might give way. Then, rendered
desperate by his position, and feeling sure that his fall must be the
work of a few minutes if he stayed where he was, he gathered himself
together, drew a long breath, made a tremendous effort, and got hold of
the stout stem of the furze-bush, which tore and scarified his wrists.
But that was not heeded, and drawing his feet up, he struggled vainly
for a few moments to get some place of rest for them, but only for the
gravel and stones to keep crumbling away.
Another minute of such effort and he must have fallen. It was only by
letting himself hang by his hands with outstretched arms that he could
just rest one foot upon a great stone embedded in the face of the pit.
Small as it was, though, it was rest, and he remained quiescent once
more.
As he hung there with nerves throbbing, and a strange aching sensation
beginning to numb his muscles, he felt once more that he must fall, and
so overpowering was the thought that he nearly loosened his hold. But
the dread of death prevailed, and, making a fresh effort, he drew
himself up quickly, gained a hold for the toe of one boot, made a snatch
at a root a little higher, then at another, and his feet rested upon the
furze stem. Another effort, and he had hold of one of the posts of the
open fence, and the next minute he had crawled through the broken
portion, struggled to his feet, and sunk down upon the heath, giddy,
exhausted and ready to faint.
In a few minutes he had recovered himself, and getting up, he was fain
to take off the stout bottom joint of his fly-rod, which, with its
spear, made a sturdy support as he went to the edge of the pit, and with
a shrinking sensation that he could not master, gazed down below.
He turned shuddering away, and walked a dozen paces to where he could
made his way down through the trees to the bottom of a slope, where,
parting the bushes, he directly after stood in the cart-track, now grown
over with grass and heather, but which had once been the way used by
those who carted the gravel.
His giddiness wore off, and gave place to a terrible feeling of dread as
he walked hastily on, parting at last some low-growing twigs of birch,
to stand beside the prostrate body of his adversary.
Millet was lying upon his back with one leg bent under him, and his arm
in an unnatural position, and as James Huish gazed down upon him, the
horrible thought occurred to him that the end of his affair of
gallantry, as he termed it, might be a trial for murder.
As this thought presented itself, bitter repentance attacked him; his
knees shook beneath him, and at last he fell upon them beside the body
of his former friend, to moan in agony.
"God help me, what have I done?"
He took the fallen man's hand, and laid the arm in a natural position.
It was broken.
He then tried to lay his leg in its normal place, but there was
something wrong; he could not tell what. And now he did what he might
have been expected to do first, laid his hand upon the breast to try and
find out if the injured man still lived.
He started to his feet then with the cold perspiration bedewing his
forehead, and gazing sharply round, he exclaimed:
"I call Heaven to witness I never meant him harm."
Then, throwing himself upon his knees, he began to examine the injured
man once more, with feverish haste tearing open his shirt-front, laying
his ear close to his lips, and ending by scooping up some clear water
with both his hands from a little pool hard by, and dashing it in the
prostrate man's face.
"I little thought it would come to this. Rob--can you hear me? My
God!" he groaned, "he must be dead."
At that moment, to his great joy, the injured man moaned slightly, and,
to Huish's great relief, at last opened his eyes, and gazed vacantly
round.
"Can you drink some of this?" said Huish eagerly, as he unscrewed the
top of a small flask, and held it to the other's lips.
Millet swallowed a few drops, and soon the vacant look passed from his
eyes, and he groaned heavily.
"Huish," he said hoarsely. "You've given me--my death-blow--hope
first--now my life."
"No, no--no, no!" exclaimed Huish. "Can you bear for me to leave you
now? I'll run for help."
"Stop," exclaimed Millet, making an effort to rise, and sinking back
with a groan of agony. "Stop! come closer."
Huish obeyed, and held the flask once more to his lips, but it was
pushed aside.
"Is this manslaughter or murder?" he said, with a bitter smile.
"I protest to heaven," began Huish.
"Hush! Listen! That poor girl--Mary--now--quick, at once--swear to me
by all you hold sacred--you will--at once--make her your wife."
Millet's face was ghastly pale, and he spoke with difficulty, but one
hand now grasped the wrist of Huish with a firm hold, and his eyes were
fixed upon those of the man who bent over him with feverish intensity.
"Yes, yes, I will--on my soul, I will," cried Huish, with frantic
vehemence. "Rob, old fellow, if I could undo--"
"You cannot. Quick, man; swear it--you will marry her--at once."
"I swear I will," cried Huish.
"So help you God."
"So help me, God!" exclaimed Huish, "and help me now," he added in
agony, "for he is dying."
"Here--below there--Hi!" shouted a voice from the pathway above.
"What's the matter?"
"Quick, quick, help!" cried Huish, and his appeal was answered by rapid
footsteps, the rustling of bushes, and directly after, a short,
broad-shouldered young man, with a large head and keen grey eyes, was at
his side.
"I say," he cried; "struggle up above, broken fence, man killed!"
Huish started back, staring at him with dilated eyes, and then by an
effort he exclaimed:
"Quick--run--the nearest doctor, man."
"Six miles away," was the sharp reply. "I'm a sucker--medical stoo," he
added; and pulling off his coat, he rapidly rolled it into a pad for a
pillow before proceeding in a business-like way to examine the fallen
man's injuries. "I say, this is bad--arm broken--hip joint out--hold
still, old fellow, I won't hurt you," he said, as his patient moaned.
"You'd better go for help. I'll stay. Leave me that flask; and, I say,
just see if my fishing tackle's all right: I left it up at the top."
Then, as if inspired by the words uttered by the injured man a few
minutes before, he exclaimed: "I say, I don't know that I ought to let
you go; is this manslaughter or murder?"
"No," moaned Millet, unclosing his eyes, and speaking in a hoarse
whisper--"my old friend--an accident--sir--an accident."
"I say, the brandy, man, the brandy," cried the new-comer. "By Jove
he's fainted."
"He's dead--he's dead," groaned Huish frantically, as he sank upon his
knees and caught his friend's hand. "Rob, old fellow, I'd give my life
that this had not happened; but I'll keep my word; I'll keep my word."
Prologue--Chapter III.