Madge kissed her child passionately again and again before replacing it
in the cradle. Then she rose to steal to the door, but she could not go
without running back to her helpless infant, which seemed somehow that
night to draw her to its side.
It was as if she felt a presentiment that she was bidding it good-by
forever, and, taking it to her breast once more, she rocked herself to
and fro, sobbing over it silently, as she listened to the voices in the
next room.
"He told Bessie not to let me go out again, I'm sure," she thought to
herself; and, feeling that if she meant to go she must go at once, she
unwillingly laid down the child after a passionate embrace, and went
softly out into the dark night.
She was very weak, and panted with the exertion as she reached the top
of the ascent, but here she felt the sea-breeze, and, glancing round for
a few moments as she tried to regain her breath, she noted one or two
things that pointed to the coming of a storm before many hours had
passed. The lights on the point across the bay loomed up so that they
were plainly to be seen, and her sea-side life made her read tokens of
the tempest in the direction and sound of the wind.
She set off with the intention of going straight along the cliff path to
the town, and then up to An Morlock, where she would see and tell Rhoda
Penwynn all; but she had not gone far before a horrible feeling of dread
began to oppress her. She recalled Tregenna's looks when he had heard
her threat, and she felt now as certain as if she saw him before her
that he would try and stop her.
"And if he does meet me?"
She stopped, shivering. Her blood seemed to run cold, and a nameless
horror crept over her as she thought of what might be the consequences.
The chill of horror increased, for she dreaded that he would kill her,
and now she felt that she would like to live.
Geoffrey Trethick had told her that she should live for the sake of her
little one, and for its sake she would forget the world and its bitter
ways. She had something indeed to live for now, and she blessed
Geoffrey in her heart for awakening her to that fact.
Inspired by this idea, then, she went on cautiously, and with a step as
light as that of some bird; but she saw nothing to cause her fear, and
began to think that the darkness would befriend her, and hide her from
the sight of any watcher who would stop her on her way.
She had already passed the rough path down to the shore, the one up
which Geoffrey Trethick had carried her on that terrible night, at the
recollection of which she shuddered, and still there was no sign of
danger; when suddenly she stopped short, for ahead of her in the
darkness there came, plainly heard, the impatient hiss that one might
make by a hasty drawing-in of the breath.
She knew the sound. She had heard it more than once, when he had been
waiting for her down by Wheal Carnac when it was in ruins, and now he
was waiting for her again by this ruined pit--for what?
For a moment her heart beat wildly, and her imagination told her that,
perhaps, after all, he had come in love to ask her forgiveness, and to
take her once more to his breast.
Then the tumultuous beating gradually grew calmer and then nearly
stopped, as a chill of horror seized upon her. It was not in love that
he had come, but in hate; and trembling, and with her brow wet with
terror, she crept softly back, reached the path, and descended its
dangerous steep to the shore, crept cautiously along and by the mouth of
the old adit, hardly daring to pass it, lest the sound of her step
should go up to where Tregenna was watching for her a couple of hundred
yards away, and ended by reaching the other path down which she had
frantically run to cast herself into the sea, glided softly up it,
reaching the regular cliff way again; and then, but always with the
dread upon her that Tregenna was in pursuit, she hurried onwards towards
Carnac churchtown.
The poor girl shivered as she passed the lane leading up to the cottage,
and there was a longing, yearning look in her eyes as she turned them in
that direction; but she kept steadily on till she reached the gate at An
Morlock, where, after a little hesitation on the part of the servant,
she was admitted, and at length shown into the drawing-room, where Rhoda
stood, cold and stern, silently regarding her, and with her eyes seeming
to do all the questioning part.
For a time they stood gazing at each other, till Rhoda, from her proud
position of vantage, began to feel that there was strength in the
standing-place of her erring sister--the strength that comes from being
hedged round by weakness; and, after a few minutes' silence, there was
that in Madge's large eyes and pallid face that quite disarmed her. The
stern, harsh manner passed away, and she placed a chair for her visitor.
"Will you sit down?" she said softly.
Those few gently-uttered words affected Madge strangely. She took a
couple of steps forward, and then in an instant she was at Rhoda's feet
clinging to the skirt of her dress, and sobbing as if her heart would
break. So violent was her agitation that Rhoda grew at length alarmed,
and had serious thoughts of summoning assistance; but, on trying to move
to the bell, she found Madge clinging to her tightly.
"No, no," sobbed Madge, "don't leave me--don't go away till you have
heard all, and tried to forgive me. Oh, Miss Penwynn, why do you hate
me? Why do you think such evil of me as you do?"
"I think evil of you?" said Rhoda, with a touch of scorn in her voice
that she could not repress. "Madge Mullion, you had passed out of my
thoughts."
"It is false," cried Madge, looking up sharply. "You think of me every
day, and hate me because you think I came between you and your lover."
"Have you come here to insult me--to tell me this?" cried Rhoda, trying
to release her skirt.
"To tell you, not to insult you," said Madge, clinging the more tightly
as she felt Rhoda's efforts to get free. "It is I who ought to reproach
you, who are blind and mistaken; it is you who have come between me and
mine."
"Will you loose my dress?" panted Rhoda, growing excited now; "will you
leave me?"
"Not till I have told you all," cried Madge. "Miss Penwynn, I don't
think I have long to live. I could not tell you a lie."
"It was mad and foolish to let you be admitted," cried Rhoda, angrily.
"You wicked girl, I thought you had come to me for help, and I would not
send you empty away, but you insult me for my forbearance."
"No," said Madge, hoarsely. "I came to help you, not to ask for help.
I feel free to speak now, and I tell you, Rhoda Penwynn, that you have
cast away the truest man who ever saw the light."
"You wicked girl! Go: leave me," panted Rhoda. "I will not listen;"
but she struggled less hard.
"You shall listen for his sake, if I die in saying it," panted Madge, as
she twisted the stout silk more tightly in her hands, "Mr Trethick
never said word of love to me. He never looked even lovingly in my
eyes, though, in my pique, I tried to make him, for he loved you too
well."
"It is false--he sends you here to insult me," panted Rhoda, "and to
plead for him. I will have you turned from the house."
"It is true," cried Madge; "and you turn from this true, honest
gentleman, whose clear, transparent heart you might read at a glance."
"This is unbearable," cried Rhoda, bending down and catching at Madge's
hands, to try and tear them from her dress.
"You may beat me and fight as hard as you like," cried Madge. "I am
weak and helpless; but I can cling to you till you have heard, and you
shall hear all."
"I will not--I can not hear it; it is too late," cried Rhoda, ceasing to
drag at Madge's hands, and once more trying to leave the room.
But, though she struggled hard, she found that she only drew Madge over
upon her face, and that the poor creature clung to her more tightly than
ever.
"It is too late; I can not--I will not hear you;" and she stood with her
fingers thrust into her ears.
Madge turned her face up to her sidewise, and a sad smile trembled about
her thin, pale lips as she said softly,--
"You must hear me--you cannot help hearing me; and it is not too late.
I tell you that you threw aside that true-hearted gentleman, who is all
that is manly and good, and now you have stepped into my place, to take
to your heart my betrayer, the father of my poor, helpless babe."
Rhoda's hands dropped to her sides. She had heard every word, and,
unable to resist the desire to know more, she went down upon her knees,
caught Madge by the shoulders and gazed fiercely in her eyes.
"This is not true," she cried. "Wicked, false woman, you have come to
blacken Mr Tregenna's character to me."
"Blacken his character!" cried Madge, half scornfully. "You have lived
here all your life, and know all that I knew before I weakly listened to
his lying words, thinking that I was so different from others who had
gone before. Tell me, Rhoda Penwynn, would what I say make his
character much blacker than it is?"
Rhoda groaned, and her hands left Madge's shoulders to clasp each other,
while she raised herself once more erect, to stand with her broad
forehead knotted and wrinkled by her thoughts.
"And yet you listen to him--you consent to be his wife," continued
Madge. "Oh, Miss Penwynn, if not for my sake, for your own, don't let
me leave you to-night feeling that my journey has been in vain."
"It is not true," cried Rhoda, rousing herself once more, and speaking
with stubborn determination not to believe the words she heard, and
fighting hard against her heart, which was appealing so hard for the man
she really loved. "Get up. Leave this house."
Madge stood up now angrily, and faced her.
"Yes," she said, "I'll go, but you have heard the truth; and I'll come
between you at the church, and claim him, for he swore that I, and I
only, should be his wife."
"I'll not believe it," cried Rhoda, passionately. "Oh, would to God I
could!" she moaned.
"You do believe it," continued Madge.
"No, no; I'll not believe it," cried Rhoda. "Mr Trethick must have
sent you here."
The next minute she was gazing down at John Tregenna's ghastly face, as
he lay where he had fallen, while Madge was looking at him cold, stern,
and unmoved.
"Do you believe me now?" said Madge.
Rhoda did not answer, but stared in a horrified way from one to the
other, as Mr Penwynn and a couple of the servants came hurrying in; and
when they had succeeded in reviving the fallen man, Madge had quietly
left the house.
"Let me go home," said Tregenna, hoarsely, as his eyes wandered round
the room in a curiously wild manner. Mr Penwynn spoke to him, but he
only shuddered and shook his head, repeating his request so earnestly
that he was assisted home, and Dr Rumsey passed the rest of the night
by his side.