Joscelyn Cheshire Part 24

--MRS. BROWNING.

Not a word was spoken as he lifted her to the ground, and when they turned to walk back to her companions, it was the tall Loyalist who led her horse. She listened as in a daze to the talk going on around her, answering briefly the questions of the solicitous group. But the presence behind her was the one she felt, and yet she dared not look backward until they were close upon the company at the boulders; then, lest she seem ungrateful, and also with a definite purpose to warn him, she turned to speak to him. He was not among those who followed in the rear. She breathed more freely, scarcely able to restrain a cry of relief, for surely he had escaped; and presently she said to the tall man:--

"Methinks I thanked not your companion sufficiently for the service he did me. Will you bear him a message of grat.i.tude?"

"I will speak with him as soon as the parade is over."

It was best to end the matter thus, than to see him again face to face; for she felt she dared not trust her shaken nerves in another interview, lest the warning she wished to convey turn into a betrayal. He must have realized his danger, and gone at once.

Her escape was the subject of much rejoicing; even Lord Cornwallis, to whom an account of the accident was carried, sent his aide with congratulations, and Barry came back at a lope, looking like a ghost with anxiety. She heard not a half of what was said, her mind was in such a tumult of perplexity as to her rightful course and of anxiety for her Clevering friends. Naturally her companions attributed her silence and abstraction to her recent fright, and gave no thought to it. She was infinitely relieved when the parade was over, and they were once more on the homeward road. Her horse had recovered from his panic, and was moving along quietly.

"If he had to run away, why could he not have given me the chance to save you?" Barry said, with much chagrin, longing to show his devotion and gain some hold upon her thoughts.

"Perhaps he knew that with you at hand he would have no chance," she answered with a forced smile, dragging her mind from the dread that haunted it.

It was mid-winter; the remnants of a snowstorm still bleached in the sheltered places among the fields, and whiter yet on the sloping sides of the mountains behind which the sun had just set, leaving them framed and fringed with yellow fire. The river at their base was hidden in its banks and could only be guessed at; but the nestling town had caught a reflection of radiance from the sunset banners flying above it, and stood out like some sculptured bas-relief against the downward-dropping hills. Like the fine colours in an opal, the lights came and went, brightened and faded. Joscelyn's pulse had begun to beat normally under the spell of the ethereal beauty of the scene, when suddenly far up the mountain road her keen eyes descried a moving figure. The trees were nude of foliage, and the snow lying along the winding road was as a reflector to show up the dark moving object, which for a moment was seen and then lost to sight behind a clump of cedars. Was it a cow, or a man on horseback? A strange curiosity took hold of the girl; she thought she alone saw it, and all sorts of speculations were in her mind when her reverie was rudely broken by the officer on her right.

"Linsey," he said in a whisper which Joscelyn's straining ears caught, at the same time lifting his finger toward the mountain; "Linsey, an I mistake not, yonder goes our spy; gallop at once to Colonel Tarleton, and bid him warn his scouts."

The aide touched his cap and was gone ere Joscelyn's startled breath came back.

"Why, you are again all of a tremble," Barry said, leaning over to touch her hand, a world of anxiety in his eyes.

"I--I suppose it was the sound of that other horse's hoofs," she said, angry with herself for her weakness. "You see I am not a soldier and used, like you, to face death every day."

"Thank Heaven you are not," he answered, holding one rein of her bridle with the joy of a strong man protecting beautiful womanhood. And thus near to her he whispered many tender things in her ear,--his tense, young voice vibrant with the awakened pa.s.sion of his heart; and the girl's pulses stirred with a strange, sweet quiver.

So it was they rode home. There in her own room she went over this whole dread matter, with a womanish longing in her heart to talk to some one,--to ask advice; but her mother was too timid, and a glance at Aunt Clevering's dark house decided her that it would be cruel to arouse anxiety there. Then Barry's manly face and frank eyes came before her, and in a sudden fit of foolish hysteria, she put her face in her hands and cried. If she could only go to Barry! But that would have one of two effects,--it would either put him on Richard's trail, or else make him false to his cause by winning him to shield the fugitive. She could not risk either alternative. And what was true of Barry applied with equal force to Eustace. She would not, if she could, tempt him, through his love for Betty, to do anything that would dishonour him among his fellows. And besides, he would not be here to-night with the company she had invited, for he had said he was going with the relief guard to one of the outposts. No, there was no one to counsel her; she must think and act for herself. At first two torturing questions tore her judgment in twain. The Spartans gave up their nearest and dearest for the cause of their country, and should she withhold the ident.i.ty of this man who had no claim of blood upon her, and who carried perhaps to the king's enemies information that would defeat the cause? Should she say, "I know him"; or should she keep her peace and let him go his way? Then she realized that her knowledge was too meagre to be of any benefit; his name was all she could surrender, and that were nothing to his pursuers, who knew more than she of his work and movements. And besides, there were Betty and Aunt Clevering and Richard himself. No, she could not play the part of the Spartan; she wanted to be of use to her cause, but she was keeping back no treasonable knowledge. And with this comforting a.s.surance, she put the matter aside and dressed herself for the evening, lacing the brocade over the brilliant petticoat with a smile to think what Barry would say. Not for a moment did she believe Richard would be caught; he had the start, and he knew the country much better than his pursuers, and would outstrip them in the race.

It was a brilliant company that a.s.sembled in her drawing-room that night,--handsome women and splendid officers, and even Cornwallis himself,--all come to enjoy her hospitality and to inquire concerning her accident of the afternoon.

"Asked you the name of this brave fellow who saved you?" inquired the commander-in-chief, with a smile. "Methinks he should be promoted for so signal a service to his Majesty's loyal subject."

"Nay, your lordship, I asked it not," Joscelyn answered steadily.

"'Twas the fright made her seem so ungrateful," put in her mother.

"And small wonder, Mistress Cheshire, for she was in dire straits. But 'tis of no consequence; the name can be easily ascertained, and I shall myself make the inquiries. Half my staff are mad with jealousy at his good fortune, and methinks I myself envy him a bit the sweet thanks he will receive. Now if Mistress Joscelyn's nerves be not too much shaken, we will have some music."

So the spinet was opened; and the merriment began and went on far into the night, while the Cleverings over the way fretted behind their closed doors in bitter resentment of Joscelyn's conduct.

"Why, she is actually playing at cards!" cried Betty, who was secretly on the lookout, for the opposite shutters had not been closed nor the curtains drawn, so the inmates of the lighted room were in plain view.

"Lord Cornwallis is her partner, but that Captain Barry sits beside her and whispers behind her cards. Mary Singleton is at the other table, but I do not see--" her voice trailed off into silence, for she never mentioned Eustace's name to her mother.

Meanwhile Joscelyn was all unconscious and unmindful of this surveillance and, recovering from her fright, her spirits rose hourly until she had quite regained her accustomed manner. It was not until something after ten o'clock that an interruption befell their pleasure-taking. Then suddenly there came the sound of galloping hoofs down the stony street; many voices shouted and responded, a pistol shot rang out, and from somewhere under the darkness a guttural drum growled out its warning. Every man in the room was on his feet in an instant, and hands s.n.a.t.c.hed for hats and weapons.

"It is a night surprise!" cried a dozen voices; but even at that moment the door was thrown open, and an orderly, bowing low, cried out to the general that the noise was being made by his own men, who had turned a spy back from the mountains, and chased him into the town where he was as a rat in a trap, and must immediately be taken. Every heart in the room ceased its mad beating with relief at this news--every heart but one. Joscelyn could feel hers pounding against her ribs, and involuntarily she moved to the window and looked at the dark house opposite, shuddering as she thought of the grief so soon to enter there.

In ten minutes the hue and cry had swept down the street, and only faint echoes came back upon the wind. The whole town was astir, and Joscelyn's guests lingered a few minutes on the veranda, questioning those who came and went.

"Yes, he went straight down this street, riding like one possessed,"

said one man to Barry.

"He has quit his horse, and the guard have captured it," cried out a messenger a moment later.

"Ah, well; then will they soon have the man too, even though they search every house, barn, and hen-coop in the town; Colonel Tarleton does nothing by halves," laughed his lordship. "Come, Mistress Cheshire, let us back to our game; ere we end it, the fellow will be in the toils."

They went slowly back into the house, Joscelyn striving to steady her nerves by long, deep breaths; but as they drew their chairs again about the tables, there came from the story above a crash as of breaking chinaware. Everybody looked up expectant, and Mistress Cheshire rose.

"I will go," cried Joscelyn, glad to escape, and pushing her mother gently back into her chair. "'Tis no doubt that troublesome cat again; he broke one of my flower jars last week." She tripped upstairs, calling back to his lordship to deal and have the hands ready for she would be absent only a moment.

In the upper hall all was silence and semi-darkness. She went first to her own room, pausing just long enough to press her hands hard upon her temples before pa.s.sing from it to her mother's, calling the cat the while very softly. A fire of logs burned in her mother's fireplace, so that she wondered at the cold breath of air that smote her as she entered; then she started,--a back window was open and the pot of plants which had stood upon the ledge lay shattered on the floor. A swift annoyance flashed upon her at the maid's neglect, so that she went forward and closed the sash with a spirited promptness. Picking up a bit of the broken shard, and facing about from the window in search of the cat, she suddenly became aware of a man's figure in the shadowy corner opposite. Instinctively she opened her mouth for a nervous cry, but with an imperative gesture for silence, he stepped forward, and even in the dim light she knew it was Richard Clevering. The scream died upon her lips, and for a moment the objects in the room spun before her.

"You--_you_?" and even in whispering her voice was strained and shaken.

"Yes; it was this or death--they had run me to the wall."

"But the house is full of British soldiers--Lord Cornwallis and his whole staff--"

"So much the better; the place will be above suspicion."

"Mistress Joscelyn, Mistress Joscelyn!" cried a dozen voices from below, while chairs were being pushed about, and some one struck a few notes on the spinet.

"And I myself, sir, am a true Loyalist and cannot harbour--"

There was a footstep on the stair. "Mistress Joscelyn, we be coming up to help you catch the cat!" cried Barry's voice.

Richard sprang toward her, "My G.o.d, Joscelyn! you will not give me up like that?"

But the steps were halfway up the stair, and she was already turning the k.n.o.b of the door, her face like marble in the leaping firelight.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'MY G.o.d, JOSCELYN, YOU WILL NOT GIVE ME UP LIKE THAT!'"]

CHAPTER XXII.

"SEARCH MY LADY'S WARDROBE."

"Sweetheart? not she whose voice was music-sweet, Whose face loaned language to melodious prayer; Sweetheart I called her.--When did she repeat Sweet to one hope or heart to one despair?"

--CAWEIN.

To the man crouching behind the door which Joscelyn had left open, the minute it took her to traverse the hall and gain the head of the stairs at the far end, seemed a lifetime. Even in his dire peril the thought of a bygone day came back to him--"loyal, though a Loyalist," he had said of her, and had believed it. What a sweetheart to have coddled in one's thoughts and dreamed of, waking and sleeping,--this girl who would in cold blood hand him over to death because of a fancied duty! Escape by the way he came was impossible; he could only wait here and sell his life at the highest price. Ay, there should be left in this room a memory that would exile her from it forever; the blood that had beat for her and which she had betrayed, should redden her floor and stain the dainty things she loved.

His sword had been thrown away when he quitted his horse, since it c.u.mbered his flight; but his pistols and dirk were still upon him, and he made ready for their use. Then through the crevice of the hinge, he beheld Joscelyn as she faced about in the brighter light at the head of the stairs, and the weapon well-nigh slipped from his hand as he saw her hold up the bit of shard she still carried, and say, with a smile, to those below:--