Gwen Wynn Part 24

"She's not--nothing of the kind, Father Rogier."

"Dressing, may be? That isn't needed either--to receive poor me."

"No; she's not dressing."

"Ah! What then? Pardon me for appearing inquisitive. I merely wish to have a word with her before monsieur, your husband, comes in--relating to a matter of the Sunday school. She's at home, isn't she?"

"Not just this minute. She soon will be."

"What! Out at this hour?"

"Yes; she has gone up to the Ferry on an errand. I wonder you didn't meet her! Which way did you come, Father Rogier--the path or the lane?"

"Neither--nor from the Ferry. I've been down the river on visitation duty, and came up through the meadows. It's rather a dark night for your daughter to have gone upon an errand! Not alone, I take it?"

"Yes; she went alone."

"But why, madame?"

Mrs. Morgan had not intended to say anything about the nature of the message, but it must come out now.

"Well, your reverence," she answers, laughing, "it's rather an amusing matter--as you'll say yourself, when I tell it you."

"Tell it, pray!"

"It's all through a cat--our big Tom."

"Ah, Tom! What _jeu d'esprit_ has he been perpetrating?"

"Not much of a joke, after all; but more the other way. The mischievous creature got into the pantry, and somehow upset a bottle--indeed, broke it to pieces."

"_Chat maudit!_ But what has that to do with your daughter's going to the Ferry?"

"Everything. It was a bottle of best French brandy--unfortunately the only one we had in the house. And as they say misfortunes never do come single, it so happened our boy was away after the cows, and n.o.body else I could spare. So I've sent Mary to the Welsh Harp for another. I know your reverence prefers brandy to wine."

"Madame, your very kind thoughtfulness deserves my warmest thanks. But I'm really sorry at your having taken all this trouble to entertain me.

Above all, I regret its having entailed such a disagreeable duty upon your Mademoiselle Marie. Henceforth I shall feel reluctance in setting foot over your threshold."

"Don't say that, Father Rogier. Please don't. Mary didn't think it disagreeable. I should have been angry with her if she had. On the contrary, it was herself proposed going; as the boy was out of the way, and our girl in the kitchen, busy about supper. But poor it is--I'm sorry to tell you--and will need the drop of Cognac to make it at all palatable."

"You underrate your _menu_, madame, if it be anything like what I've been accustomed to at your table. Still, I cannot help feeling regret at ma'mselle's having been sent to the Ferry--the roads in such condition.

And so dark, too--she may have a difficulty in finding her way. Which did she go by--the path or the lane? Your own interrogatory to myself--almost verbatim--_c'est drole_!"

With but a vague comprehension of the interpolated French and Latin phrases, the farmer's wife makes rejoinder:

"Indeed, I can't say which. I never thought of asking her. However, Mary's a sensible la.s.s, and surely wouldn't think of venturing over the foot-plank a night like this. She knows it's loose. Ah!" she continues, stepping to the window, and looking out, "there be the moon up! I'm glad of that; she'll see her way now, and get sooner home."

"How long is it since she went off?"

Mrs. Morgan glances at the clock over the mantel; soon she sees where the hands are, exclaiming:

"Mercy me! It's half-past nine! She's been gone a good hour!"

Her surprise is natural. To Rugg's Ferry is but a mile, even by the lane and road. Twenty minutes to go and twenty more to return were enough.

How are the other twenty being spent? Buying a bottle of brandy across the counter, and paying for it, will not explain; that should occupy scarce as many seconds. Besides, the last words of the messenger, at starting off, were a promise of speedy return. She has not kept it! And what can be keeping _her_?

Her mother asks this question, but without being able to answer it. She can neither tell nor guess. But the priest, more suspicious, has his conjectures; one giving him pain--greatly exciting him, though he does not show it. Instead, with simulated calmness, he says:

"Suppose I step out and see whether she be near at hand?"

"If your reverence would. But please don't stay for her. Supper's quite ready, and Evan will be in by the time I get it dished. I wonder what's detaining Mary!"

If she only knew what, she would be less solicitous about the supper, and more about the absent one.

"No matter," she continues, cheering up, "the girl will surely be back before we sit down to the table. If not, she must go----"

The priest had not stayed to hear the clause threatening to disent.i.tle the tardy messenger. He is too anxious to learn the cause of delay; and, in the hope of discovering it, with a view to something besides, he hastily claps on his hat--without waiting to defend his feet with the goloshes--then glides out and off across the garden.

Mrs. Morgan remains in the doorway looking after him, with an expression on her face not all contented. Perhaps she too has a foreboding of evil; or, it may be, she but thinks of her daughter's future, and that she is herself doing wrong by endeavouring to influence it in favour of a man about whom she has of late heard discreditable rumours. Or, perchance, some suspicion of the priest himself may be stirring within her: for there are scandals abroad concerning him, that have reached even her ears. Whatever the cause, there is shadow on her brow, as she watches him pa.s.s out through the gate; scarce dispelled by the bright blazing fire in the kitchen, as she returns thither to direct the serving of the supper.

If she but knew the tale he, Father Rogier, is so soon to bring back, she might not have left the door so soon, or upon her own feet; more likely have dropped down on its threshold, to be carried from it fainting, if not dead!

CHAPTER XXII.

A FATAL STEP.

Having pa.s.sed out through the gate, Rogier turns along the wall; and, proceeding at a brisk pace to where it ends in an angle, there comes to a halt.

On the same spot where about an hour before stopped Mary Morgan--for a different reason. She paused to consider which of the two ways she would take; he has no intention of taking either, or going a step farther.

Whatever he wishes to say to her can be said where he now is, without danger of its being overheard at the house--unless spoken in a tone louder than that of ordinary conversation. But it is not on this account he has stopped; simply that he is not sure which of the two routes she will return by--and for him to proceed along either would be to risk the chance of not meeting her at all.

But that he has some idea of the way she will come, with suspicion of why and what is delaying her, his mutterings tell:

"_Morbleu!_ over an hour since she set out! A tortoise could have crawled to the Ferry, and crept back within the time! For a demoiselle with limbs lithe and supple as hers--pah! It can't be the brandy bottle that's the obstruction. Nothing of the kind. Corked, capsuled, wrapped, ready for delivery--in all two minutes, or at most, three! She so ready to run for it, too--herself proposed going! Odd, that, to say the least.

Only understandable on the supposition of something prearranged. An a.s.signation with the River Triton for sure! Yes; he's the anchor that's been holding her--holds her still. Likely, they're somewhat under the shadow of that wood, now--standing--sitting--ach! I wish I but knew the spot; I'd bring their billing and cooing to an abrupt termination. It will not do for me to go on guesses; I might miss the straying damsel with whom this night I want a word in particular--must have it. Monsieur Coracle may need binding a little faster, before he consents to the service required of him. To ensure an interview with her it is necessary to stay on this spot, however trying to patience."

For a second or two he stands motionless, though all the while active in thought, his eyes also restless. These, turning to the wall, show him that it is overgrown with ivy. A ma.s.sive cl.u.s.ter on its crest projects out, with hanging tendrils, whose tops almost touch the ground. Behind them there is ample room for a man to stand upright, and so be concealed from the eyes of anyone pa.s.sing, however near.

"_Grace a Dieu!_" he exclaims, observing this; "the very place. I must take her by surprise. That's the best way when one wants to learn how the cat jumps. Ha! _cette chat_ Tom; how very opportune his mischievous doings--for Mademoiselle! Well, I must give _Madame la mere_ counsel better to guard against such accidents hereafter; and how to behave when they occur."

He has by this ducked his head, and stepped under the arcading evergreen.

The position is all he could desire. It gives him a view of both ways by which on that side the farmhouse can be approached. The cart lane is directly before his face, as is also the footpath when he turns towards it. The latter leading, as already said, along a hedge to the orchard's bottom, there crosses the brook by a plank--this being about fifty yards distant from where he has stationed himself. And as there is now moonlight he can distinctly see the frail footbridge, with a portion of the path beyond, where it runs through straggling trees, before entering the thicker wood. Only at intervals has he sight of it, as the sky is mottled with ma.s.ses of cloud, that every now and then, drifting over the moon's disc, shut off her light with the suddenness of a lamp extinguished.