Faithful Margaret Part 45

He broke out into a volley of fearful maledictions upon her, himself, and the "beast" who had given him the job, tearing up the telegram into inch pieces and tossing them insolently into Margaret's lap.

It was evident that he considered her blind and deaf, as well as paralyzed, else he never would have exposed his princ.i.p.al as he did in these violent imprecations.

So the train glided on upon its midnight journey, and the man turned his back to his intended victim. But she was adoring G.o.d in her heart of hearts for her dear life's preservation.

Her cold stoicism melted, the bitter fort.i.tude with which she had looked for death fled. How _could_ she have cast that reproachful thought at Heaven and believed herself forsaken?

Her heart swelled with grat.i.tude and remorse now that she saw her mistake; and, although she could not move an eye-lash, her emotion surged higher and higher until it burst through the barriers of the spell which bound her, and great tears gushed from her eyes.

At the first station they came to, the man rose to leave the car. He glanced sharply at Margaret's wet face, and jerked down the window that she might have some air, then, with an oath, stumbled over Purcell's feet and got out.

Then the long night crept by, and gradually the lady and her servant recovered, and spoke to each other.

"Purcell, do you know me?"

She was chafing the old man's temples, and applying her smelling-salts to his nose.

"Eh? ha? My conscience! Is that you, miss?" mumbled the steward, with a thick tongue and a vacant look at her.

"Are you better?"

"Humph! not much. Tush! What's in my mouth? Fever?"

"No, no, Purcell. You've been asleep--that's all."

"I've been dead, I think--dead for years and years. I think I was in another world. Dear bless me! My legs are as heavy as lead. I say, Miss Margaret, what took me--a fit?" whispered the steward, in a fright.

"No. You were put to sleep with chloroform by that man who sat opposite.

He stupefied you with poisoned snuff, and then used chloroform. You need not feel alarmed, though--you have recovered."

"Faith, miss, you look but poorly yourself," said Purcell, struck by her extreme pallor. "Was--was he a thief, miss, and did he rob us?"

"He was a murderer, Purcell, and intended to kill me," said Margaret, with tears in her eyes. "But G.o.d would not permit him to succeed."

She related the circ.u.mstances to the old man, who rose from terror into fury when he realized how completely he had been taken in through his favorite refreshment, snuff, and laid out like a corpse beside his helpless young mistress.

She soothed his wounded feelings, and directed him to use caution during the rest of his fateful journey.

At daybreak they came to Cirencester, and rested there for some hours, and at nine o'clock took a coach for Llandaff.

They had not traveled a dozen miles, when a horseman galloped past the great, lumbering coach, flashing a keen glance in at Margaret Walsingham, and then disappeared upon the winding road ahead.

She gasped and grew white.

He wore a horseman's cloak and a slouched hat. But she was not deceived in the brutal gleam of those steel-blue eyes. He was the ruffian who was hired to kill her.

Almost fainting, she communicated her fears to her servant, who grew very purple, and swore to be even with the varlet before long, and stopped the coach to tell the driver that the chap who had just pa.s.sed was a villain, who ought to be arrested for attempted murder in a railway car; and the driver grew hot and excited, and leagued with three gentlemen on the outside to knock the fellow down and secure him the first minute they set eyes on him.

So Margaret and her attendant continued their journey with some sense of security; and, having the inside of the coach to themselves, could encourage each other to meet future dangers, when anything cheerful occurred to them to say.

But all through that afternoon they traveled safely, unmolested by even a glimpse of Mortlake's accomplice; and at noon they rattled into Llandaff, and stopped before Caerlyon's Hotel.

The groom was leading a smoking black horse round to the stables.

Margaret whispered to Purcell, and pointed the animal out to him.

"_His_ horse," she said. "Now, Purcell, see that you have him arrested.

Fly! There's no time to lose. You must get a constable to go with you, I suppose."

Purcell disappeared in the bar to make inquiries, and Margaret at once took refuge in her room, and sent for the proprietor himself.

The Welsh landlord bustled in, full of politeness and good humor.

"Has Dr. Gay, from Regis, Surrey, been here, yesterday or to-day?"

demanded the lady.

"No, matam, he has not."

"Is there no letter lying here for Miss Walsingham, of Regis, Surrey?"

"No, inteet, matam, nothing of te sort."

She turned suddenly, with a groan, from him, and her dark face grew darker.

"Tricked--drawn into a trap! I might have known it--oh, I might have known it!" she murmured, bitterly.

"Anyting I can to for you, my tear laty?" asked Mr. Caerlyon, attentively.

"Yes; you can send a servant to keep watch at my door until my man returns. And there is a person whom I want arrested upon the charge of attempted murder--the man whose horse your hostler was attending to when the coach arrived. Where is he?"

"My Got! _murterer!_" screamed the landlord. "You ton't say that, matam?

Oh, the peast! He must pe caught, of course. Put he took fery coot care not to come to _me_, tear laty. He went somewhere into the town, and sent his nak here to pait. I'll keep a coot lookout for him, I promise him, the sneaking scoundrel!"

Muttering vituperations, he backed out of the room, and sent a woman to attend the lady, and a great, hulking pot-boy to guard her door.

"Now, what am I to think?" mused Margaret, who had thrown herself upon a sofa, and was feverishly watching the Welshwoman setting the table for her dinner. "How am I to follow out the intricacies of that wretch's plot? It is clear that he has amply provided against my escaping from him. True enough, he is too clever to leave any door open for his victim. I fondly thought that I had taken him by surprise when I escaped the castle and threw myself on Emersham's protection; but he meets me on the flight, and turns my purpose into another channel. I leave him foiled at the castle; I fly to the executors; he has foreseen the move, and meets me with the news of their disappearance. I turn to Mr.

Emersham for help. He has foreseen that, also, and meets me with a forged letter, which turns my wishes all toward taking this journey. For a moment he is taken back when he receives my letter, showing him the precautions I have taken to expose him, and allows me to go on the journey which he has already provided for, only because he has not time to prevent me. But he telegraphs to his accomplice that I must not be murdered yet, and his accomplice spares me. Instead of finishing his work, he gets out at the next station, and probably telegraphs something to his princ.i.p.al, and waits for a new order. That he received it, is evident from his continuing his pursuit and haunting my steps as he has done. Now why was I not murdered, according to their agreement? For what was I reserved? And what was that fresh command which the accomplice received per telegraph from Mortlake?"

Mr. Caerlyon tapped at her door, and called out that there was a letter for her, and the waiting woman brought it to Margaret, who received it eagerly, hoping that it was from Dr. Gay, after all.

But she perceived in a moment that it was not, and saw, with disgust, the large, sprawling characters on the back of the note, and the dirty wafer which closed it, in lieu of an envelope.

With shrinking fingers she opened it, and read these words:

"MA'AM:--You knows doosed well who's a talkin' te yer by this here. If you be's the brick I takes yer for, yer won't be sulky, and throw away yer only chance, for mean spite. Come, now, jest give me yer note of hand that yer'll return that 'ere stole pocket-book to its owner whenever yer sees Regis agin, and yer'll see more of yer admirin' friend; but act ugly, and wake the devil in the col., and--ware-hawk! yer'll be awhile on the road back--that's all.

"Yours to command,

"POCKET PISTOL."