Within two hours after the events of which I have just spoken, the
family of Lord Woodhall, that is to say, himself, his son, and
daughter, took leave of the Duke of Norfolk, and, followed by a great
mob of servants, mounted on horseback as was the custom in those days,
set out in the family coach on the road to London. Robert Woodhall
remained behind upon some one of the many excuses for any thing that
he liked to do, which he was never without. He waited for a full hour,
however, before he proceeded to take advantage of the absence of his
family, remaining quietly in his own room all the morning, and
cogitating with considerable satisfaction upon the probable result of
the arrangements he had made.
About noon, however, he called his servant Roger, gave him the
challenge, and told him to carry it to Mr. Ralph Woodhall. He did not
choose to take it himself; for Ralph, he knew was somewhat impetuous,
and the pass of a sword between them might soon have given an entirely
new face to the whole state of affairs. He was cautious, too--very
cautious; and in giving the letter into the hands of his servant, he
said, "You need not tell him that I am still here. Let him think that
I have gone with the rest, as he was not about when they departed. If
he asks, you may say I will certainly be back to-night."
"I understand, sir, I understand," replied Roger, and away he went
with the letter.
On knocking at Ralph Woodhall's door--carrying this time the letter
openly in his hand--Roger was once more encountered by Gaunt Stilling,
who received him very graciously, and asked him to come into the
ante-room.
"What have you got there?" asked Stilling, pointing to the letter.
"An epistle for your master," replied Roger, with a certain
significant smile, "which is to be delivered immediately, Master
Stilling."
"Mr. Ralph Woodhall is not here now," replied the other; "he was sent
by the duke to escort Lady Danvers on her way home."
"I know that as well as you do," answered Roger; "I saw him go some
time before our people; but I only obey orders, Master Stilling. Did
you give him the message I left?"
"Certainly," replied Stilling; "and he answered as became him, 'that
if your master had any thing to say to him, he must wait his time and
convenience.'"
"Proud!" said Roger, with a laugh; "proud, but quite right! I must
give you the letter, however, though I suspect it will not reach him
in time for its purpose."
"He will be back before nightfall," replied Gaunt Stilling,
emphatically; "of that you may assure your master. Pray, what is the
purport of the letter, as you seem to know all about it?"
"A challenge--nothing but a challenge," replied Roger, with a jaunty
air.
"Time and place appointed?" asked Stilling, quite quietly; "I suppose
you know that too?"
"Oh yes," replied Roger; "I do not think my master ought to have any
secrets from so faithful a person as myself, and therefore, to the
best of my abilities, I remedy his negligence when he forgets to tell
me any thing. You see the letter is very convenient--folded up in
haste, and the ends quite open. Just take a peep. There you will
see--Place, the fish-pond at the end of the wilderness--Time, ten
o'clock to-night, when the moon is well up--Length of sword,
twenty-eight inches."
"Ralph Woodhall will not stand upon an inch or two," replied Gaunt
Stilling, with a grim smile. "You may tell your master, on my
assurance, that Mr. Ralph will be back before sundown, and will not
fail to be on the spot named at the hour appointed. Is your master
here?"
Roger had the greatest possible inclination, for once in his life, to
tell the truth; but the reader will remark, that the telling of the
truth in this instance would have been nearly equal in value to
telling a lie, as it was a betrayal of his master's confidence, which
might have been as satisfactory to him. However, the fear of something
occurring to expose his disobedience overweighed other considerations,
and he replied, "No, he has gone away, but he will come back with Mr.
Henry to-night."
"Good," said Gaunt Stilling, "good--a pleasant afternoon to you,
Master Roger."
"What?" asked the servant, in some apparent surprise at the
valediction.
"I only said good afternoon to you," answered Gaunt Stilling, coolly.
"I wish to be left alone."
This significant hint was sufficient, and Roger took his departure to
inform his master that Mr. Ralph Woodhall would undoubtedly return
before night, and would be at the place appointed. Robert was well
satisfied, but Gaunt Stilling was not completely so. He walked up
and down the room several times, thinking deeply, and often muttering
to himself, "One push of a sword," he said, "and the account is
settled--God speed the good lad's arm. Oh, if he had but used the
sword as much as I have! Yet he seems to fence well."
He then looked very hard at the letter several times, as if he had a
strong inclination to pry into the contents; but at length he
muttered, "No, no, I remember what he said upon the road. I will not
do a dirty action." Then, after having thought for a minute or two
more, and felt, perhaps, very eager to see the whole, he exclaimed,
"Nay, I will put it on his table. There he will find it when he comes
back."
Let us pass over a few hours; for long details will not suit the
conclusion of a chapter, and we must hurry to the end of the first act
of this strange, eventful history.
It was night, and nearly ten o'clock. There were two persons in Robert
Woodhall's room, and his servant Roger standing on the outside of the
door.
"No, no," said Henry Woodhall, whose face was somewhat pale and
haggard, "I go alone. I insist that you do not come with me, Robert,
nor follow me. Push over the light; I wish to seal this letter."
"For whom is it intended?" asked his cousin, somewhat eagerly.
"For the Duke of Norfolk," replied Henry; and he then added, in a calm
and easy tone, "The issue of such encounters is always uncertain. The
night is darker than I expected; and I may chance to fall. If so, I
wish the duke to know all about this affair. If I live, I can explain
all myself."
"I will take care that it shall be delivered to him in case of such
unlooked-for misfortune," replied Robert, in a tone of very well
simulated apprehension.
"Your pardon, my good cousin," said Henry; "my own servant is below,
and shall have orders to give it to the duke if I do not return.
There, there," he continued, seeing that his cousin was about to
remonstrate, "I will have my way, and have not time to dispute."
He took out his watch and said, "Eight minutes." Then sealing the
letter, he lifted his hat from the table, made sure that his sword
moved easily in its sheath, and, shaking his cousin's hand, without
another word quitted the room.
Robert opened the door and listened, and it were vain to say that his
heart did not beat. As soon as he heard his cousin's step upon the
stairs, he drew his servant into the room, and whispered, with a
ghastly look and eager eye, "Follow him, Roger, follow him at a
distance, to the fish-pond at the end of the wilderness. See what
happens, and bring me information instantly of the result."
The man departed without reply, but there was a curious sort of smile
upon his lip as he walked along the corridor. A quarter of an hour
passed, during which Robert continued to stride slowly up and down his
room, with his hands clasped tight together, his eyes straining upon
the floor as if they would have burst from his head, and his cheek of
an ashy paleness. The spirit of Cain was in his heart. He felt--he
knew, that at that moment he was committing murder. But the fiery
torture of that deed--commencing generally in rage and ending in
remorse, with but one momentary point for act between them--was to him
protracted through all those long, long minutes. At length he heard a
step coming with lightning speed up the stairs, and the next instant
his servant burst into the room. There was no smile upon his face now.
It was ghastly and full of horror: he panted for breath.
"Speak! speak!" cried his master; "what has happened?"
"He is killed, sir," replied the man.
"Who? who?" demanded Robert, aloud, forgetting all caution.
"Mr. Henry, I believe--nay, I am sure," answered Roger; "the night is
dark: there is a thin mist all over the ground by the side of the
river: I could see nothing till I got very near; but I heard the
swords grating. After I came in sight, there were but three passes,
and then Mr. Henry fell and lay quite still. Mr. Ralph is the taller,
is he not?"
"Yes--yes," replied his master; "Henry was my height, Ralph much
taller."
"Then Mr. Henry is gone," replied the man, "for it was the short one
who fell. The business must have got abroad, for a number of the
duke's people were hurrying out--Hark! they are bringing him up
hither."
"Take the body to the room where he slept last night," said the voice
of the chamberlain upon the stairs; "I will go and inform my lord
duke."