Mark bathed the sufferer's face again, but there was no return to
consciousness, and growing more and more alarmed, he hurried to his
father's chamber and woke him, Sir Edward as he leaped up, still
dressed, snatching eagerly at his sword. "You, Mark?" he cried. "The
enemy?"
"Yes--no, father. Come quickly. Young Darley's here, dying."
"Young Darley here!"
"Yes, in my room," cried Mark wildly. "I've sent for Master Rayburn,
but come and do something; we mustn't let the poor fellow die."
And in a wild incoherent way, he told Sir Edward all he knew.
"Then in their disappointment they went on down there," cried Sir
Edward, as excited now as his son. "The fiends! the monsters!" he
continued, as he entered his son's room. "Poor boy! Oh, Mark, lad, but
for God's mercy, this might have been you. Oh! who can think about the
old family enmity now? How long is it since you sent for old Rayburn?"
"Ever so long, father. Oh, I say, don't--don't say you think he'll die,
father!"
"Heaven forbid, my boy," said Sir Edward softly, and he laid his hand
gently on the wounded lad's brow--and kept it there as Master Rayburn
entered the room.
"You've heard, then!" he cried, throwing down his hat and stick, and
beginning to examine his patient.
"Yes, Mark tells me. Is it all true?"
"True, yes," growled Master Rayburn. "I find they attacked you, were
beaten, and then went across and round by the down to Cliff Castle.
When I got there it was in ashes, burnt out, and the wretches had gone
back with what plunder they could save, and two prisoners to their den."
"Two prisoners?"
"Yes--put your finger here, Mark, while I clip off his hair. Here's a
bad cut--Sir Morton badly hurt, and his sweet young child, Minnie."
"Oh!" cried Sir Edward excitedly. "But is this true--are you sure?"
"I had it from one of his men, Nick Garth. Badly wounded too. But he
and three others broke out of their window where they were prisoned, in
a tower chamber, and out of revenge, to keep the enemy from keeping the
place, as they were going to do, they set it on fire."
"Who did?" said Sir Edward sharply.
"Nick Garth and Ram Jennings. He's wounded too. A fine chance for you
now, Eden. You can march in and take possession of your enemy's lands."
"I'll march in and take possession of that cursed den that my boy here
tried to take, and failed," raged out Sir Edward. "Mark, we can do
nothing here. Off with you, and muster every man we have. I can't show
mercy now. Tell Daniel Rugg to get ready an ample supply of powder and
fuses, and I'll blow up the hornets' nest, and let them stifle where
they lie. Rayburn, you'll stay with this poor lad; and Heaven help you
to save his life."
"Amen," said Master Rayburn softly.
"His father--his sister--carried off by these demons," muttered Sir
Edward, and seizing his son's arm, he hurried with him to give his
orders himself.
Mark Eden followed his father, feeling half stunned. The one thought
which seemed to stand out clear above a tangle of others, all blurred
and muddled, in his brain, was that these troubles--the attack on the
Black Tor, and the hundred times more terrible one upon Cliff Castle--
were caused by him. Certainty Ralph Darley had something to do with it,
but he was badly wounded and out of the question now, so that he, Mark
Eden, must take all the blame.
Then, too, he could not understand his own acts. It all seemed so
absurd, just such a confused sequence of events as would take place in a
dream, for him to be listening to Ralph's appeal for help, and to begin
pitying him, his natural enemy, feeling toward him as if he were his
dearest friend; and then, with his heart burning with rage against those
who had injured him and his, to follow his father, panting to get ready
an expedition whose object was to drive Captain Purlrose and his
murderous, thieving crew off the face of the earth.
That was not the greatest puzzle which helped to confuse Mark Eden, for
there was his father's conduct, so directly opposed to everything which
had gone before; but at last, after fighting with his confusion for some
time, his head grew clearer, and he drew a long deep breath.
"I know how it is," he said to himself, with a curious smile, mingled of
pleasure and pain; "the old trouble's dead. This business has killed
it, and I'm jolly glad."
"Mark, boy," said his father just then, and it seemed to the lad that
his father must have been thinking and feeling in a similar way, "I
daresay you think my conduct strange, after all the teachings of the
past, but nature is sometimes stronger than education, and after what
has taken place we must, as English gentlemen, forget all old enmity,
and behave toward the Darleys as--as--as--"
"I'm sure Ralph and his father would have behaved towards us, if we had
been in such a terrible state."
"Yes, my boy--thank you--exactly," cried Sir Edward, with a sigh of
relief. "I was afraid you would think it half mad and strange of me to
be doing this, when--when you see we could go over and take possession
of the Darley's place, and hold it for our own."
"But we couldn't now, father," cried Mark. "If it had been a challenge,
and we had gone and attacked them, and conquered, it would have been
grand, but the Edens couldn't go and fight wounded men--hit people when
they are down."
"No, my boy," said Sir Edward firmly; "the Edens could not do that."
A busy day followed, with the men collected in a state of the wildest
excitement, those who had been wounded in the attack upon the cavern and
the bitter encounter between the allies for the most part declaring
their readiness to bear arms again.
"But you're not fit, Dan," said Mark, as he stood talking to the head
miner.
"Not fit, Master Mark?" cried the sturdy old fellow, showing his teeth;
"I'm going to show that gang of murderous wolves that I am very fit
indeed. My arm won't go very well, and I turn a bit sick and swimming
whenever I turn my head."
"Then you mustn't go," cried Mark.
"Mustn't, Master Mark," said the man grimly, "but I must. The lads'll
fight as well again with me there. And look here: I won't use my right
hand, and I won't turn my head; so I shall be all right, and I'm not
going to fight."
"Then what is the use of your coming?"
The man half shut one eye.
"Powder!" he whispered--"powder. You know what that will do, eh?"
"Yes, you can manage that, Dan," said Mark thoughtfully.
"Better than any one else, my lad, and that aren't boasting. Look here,
Master Mark; I've been having it over with the lads, and we all think
the same. The Darleys are about as bad a lot as ever stepped, and
they've done us a lot o' wrong, and deserved all we could give 'em, but
they aren't deserved this, and we are going to forgive 'em a bit. Who's
going to stand still and see a lot o' ragged rapscallions come and
attack our enemies, and try to take that castle? It aren't to be borne,
Master Mark; now is it?"
"No, Dan, it is not to be borne."
"Right, sir. I've heered everything now: how they'd took the castle,
and was wineing and beering theirselves, and going to stop there, when
Nick Garth--ah! I do mort'ly hate that fellow--sets fire to the place,
and burns 'em out. Makes me feel as if I could half forgive him all old
scores. My pick! It was a fine idea."
"A grand idea, Dan."
"And don't you see, Master Mark, as they missed getting Cliff Castle,
they'll just wait their time, and catch us napping, and get this place."
"Never," cried Mark hotly.
"Never, it is, Master Mark. Me and the lads'll blow the old place up
first."
"Mark, my boy," cried Sir Edward just then; "here, I want you."
The lad hurried to his father's side, and a strong hand was clapped upon
his shoulder, Sir Edward looking him full in the face, but with his eyes
thoughtful and fixed.
"No," he said suddenly, "they could not think that if you go alone."
"Who, father? Where?" said Mark, staring.
"I've been thinking, boy," said Sir Edward. "We can make up a good
muster, but we ought to be as strong as we can, and it is only right to
give Sir Morton's poor fellows who are left a chance of striking a blow
for their master and young mistress. Would you mind riding over to the
enemy's camp, and asking all who can to come and join us in our
expedition this evening?"
"Mind? No, father: I should like to."
"Then go at once."
"Yes, father."
"And bring back with you all you can. If it's only four or five sturdy
fellows, it is worth while; and I hope they will be willing to come
under my command--no, this will be better: ask them if they will follow
you."
"I think I can bring them," cried Mark, flushing.
"Then off. Tell them we have plenty of arms."
Mark hurried away, gave Dummy orders to saddle the cob, and ran in and
up to his own room, whose door he opened softly, to start in surprise on
finding a nurse assisting Master Rayburn, and seated by the head of the
bed, fanning the heated brow of the poor disfigured lad, as he lay
muttering in delirium.
"You here, Mary," said Mark, in a sharp whisper.
"Of course she is, boy," cried the old man testily. "Woman's place--and
girls grow to women--look finer than a queen on a throne, seated by a
sick-bed."
"Yes," assented Mark. "How is he?"
"Couldn't be worse," said Master Rayburn. "There, go and beat the dogs,
and if one of them bites you, we'll make up another bed, and nurse you
too; won't we, Mary?"
"Oh, no, no, Mark dear; don't, pray don't you get hurt," whispered the
girl wildly.
"He won't get hurt much," said Master Rayburn. "Come to stay?"
"No," said Mark, as he made the old man's eyes twinkle by going on
tip-toe to the bedside, and gently taking Ralph's right hand which he
held for a few moments, and then laid it back.
"Needn't put it down in such a hurry, boy," whispered the old man.
"Didn't hurt you, did it?"
"Poor fellow! No," sighed Mark. "But I must go. Father has ordered me
to go down the river to the Cliff, to try and get all the Darley men
together to come and help in the attack."
"What!" cried Master Rayburn; "Sir Edward has told you to do that?"
"Yes," said Mark, flushing hotly. "Well, what have you to say to it?"
"Nothing," said the old man softly; "only, boy, that I wish you God
speed."
There was the clatter of hoofs heard through the open window, and Mark
hurriedly kissed his sister.
"I'll take care," he said, smiling.
"But the Darley men may attack you, Mark," she whispered excitedly.
"I'm not afraid," he said, laughing. "Don't let Ralph Darley die,
Master Rayburn; he isn't such a bad fellow after all."
"Bah! Bad, indeed," said the old man, pressing Mark's arm, and looking
at him proudly, "Deal better fellow than you."
The next minute Mark leaped into the saddle, and the restive cob began
to rear.
"Take me with you, Master Mark," said Dummy, as he held the rein.
"Can't! Must go alone, Dum. You come by my side to-night."
"Got to carry bags of powder."
"Well, I shall be there."
"But s'pose the Darleys fight you, Master Mark?"
"They will not, Dummy," cried Mark. "Let go."
And pressing the cob's sides, the little animal bounded over the narrow
bridge, and would have galloped in a break-neck fashion down the steep
zigzag but for the strong hand at the rein.
The pony had its own way, though, along the rough track by the river, on
past Master Rayburn's peaceful cottage, and away again, till at a bend
of the stream the rider saw a cloud of smoke hanging over the ravens'
cliff, and soon after caught sight of one corner of the castle, with the
glorious beeches and sycamores low down, and birches high up, scorched
and shrivelled; and now he saw through an alley burned by the flames
driven downward by the wind that the beautiful old pile was reduced to a
shell, in whose interior the smoke was still rising from a heap of
smouldering wood.
As he drew nearer, and crossed the ford which led to the steep path up,
he saw on one of the terrace platforms quite a crowd of women and
children, collected from the outlying cottages and farms, all standing
gazing at the smoking ruins; and on one side there was a little group of
men, some standing, others sitting and lying down upon the stones.
"And if it had not been for Dummy our place might have been like this,"
thought Mark, as he rode up. The men, as they caught sight of him,
began to rise to their feet, two or three actively, the others as if in
pain, but all wearing a savage scowl.
But Mark did not shrink. He rode right past the women, and drew rein,
as Nick Garth said fiercely:
"Well, youngster, have you come to enjoy's morning's work?"
"What have I ever done to make you think me such a cowardly brute, Nick
Garth?" said Mark boldly; as the others uttered a menacing growl.
"Well," he continued, "is that all you have to say? What about your
young master?"
The man's face was convulsed by a spasm, and he turned away, pointing
the while at the smoking ruins.
"What does he mean by that?" said Mark to another of the men.
"They killed him," said the man hoarsely. "Burned, poor lad! In
yonder."
"No, no," cried Mark excitedly. "He escaped, and came up to us--to ask
for help."
"The young master?" cried Nick, turning back to look at the speaker
fiercely; "why, I see him cut down with my own eyes."
"I tell you, he crawled out of the fire. He's badly wounded and burned,
but he's lying in my room, with Master Rayburn by his side."
"Say that again--say that again, youngster!" cried Nick Garth, as he
caught Mark fiercely by the hand, and thrust his blood-smeared and
blackened face close to him.
"There is no need," said Mark. "He is very bad, but he was able to ask
us for help."
A wild _hurrah_! burst from the men, even the worst wounded waving their
hands, as they crowded round the startled pony, which began to rear, and
tried to unseat his rider.
"Quiet!" cried Mark, patting the spirited little animal's neck, and as
soon as it was quiet, turning to the object of his mission.
"Now," he said, "my father starts this evening to crush out this gang of
miscreants and rescue Sir Morton and your young lady. We have plenty of
swords and pikes, and I have come to ask as many of you as can strike a
blow to join us."
"Is this a trap, young gen'leman, to make an end of us now we're weak
and down?"
"Look in my eyes, Nick Garth," said Mark, gazing straight at the sullen
lowering face. "The Edens are gentlemen, not such vile cowards as that.
Now then, who'll come and strike a blow for Sir Morton, your young
lady, and Master Ralph Darley, lying helpless there?"
"All on us, my lad," cried Nick, with a fierce growl--"all on us as can
manage to crawl."
"Ay," rose in a shout.
"It's all right, lads," continued Nick; "the young gen'leman means what
he says. No one could be such a hound as to come down upon us now. I
says it's right, sir. We trust you, and if you'll give us your hand
like a man-like an Englishman should--we'll come."
Mark's hand went out, and his handsome young face shone with the glow
that was at his heart, as he gripped the grimy blackened hand extended
to him.
He held on tightly, and then gazed wonderingly at the man, whose face
turned of a very ashy hue, and he caught at the pony's mane to save
himself from falling.
"What is it?" cried Mark eagerly; "you are faint!"
"Got my hand brent a bit, young master," said the man, recovering
himself with a forced laugh. "Better now."
He drew back, and limped a little.
"But you are badly hurt. I'll get Master Rayburn to run down."
"Nay. We'll come up to him. Let him stop with the young master."
"You are not fit to come."
"What! Not to have a stroke at them devils?" cried the man fiercely.
"I'm a-coming, and so's all as can walk. I'd come if it was half a hour
'fore I was going to die. I did try to burn 'em where they were
drinking together, on'y I was in too great a hurry. I ought to ha'
waited till they was asleep."
Mark shuddered slightly, but he said no more, and proceeded to examine
the men, all of whom, to the number of seven, declared themselves fit to
come.
But, including Nick, there were only five really fit to bear arms; the
rest had unwillingly to give up. Still, there were three quite
uninjured, and these would, Mark felt, be a valuable addition to the
little force at home, for they were burning to try and do something to
help Sir Morton in his terrible strait; and even the women wished to
join. But this was declared impossible, and soon after, feeling the
strangeness of his position, Mark was riding back with his recruits.
Five minutes later, he cried, "Halt!" and sprang from his pony.
"Here, Garth," he cried, "I can't ride and see you limp along with that
wounded leg."
"Can't help my leg being hurt, young sir," cried the man sourly. "I
won't go back, so there!"
"I don't want you to; I want you to strike for your master; but you are
lame. There: up with you. Master Rayburn will make you better able to
walk when we get to the Tor."
"What, me ride on your pony?" said the man, staring.
"Yes: up, and don't lose time."
The man refused again and again, till Mark cried fiercely:
"You said you'd follow me, and I'm in command. Up this minute, sir;"
and the man climbed into the saddle.
It was in this fashion that Mark Eden led the Darley men up the zigzag,
and into the inner court of the Black Tor, where his father's followers
welcomed them with a hearty cheer, for, enemies they might be, but those
assembled felt that they were stricken sore.