Red Cap Tales Part 21

Frank expressed his shame and sorrow as best he could. He had been troubled, he said, by some information that he had received.

Instantly Miss Vernon took him up.

"And now," she said, "please tell me instantly what it was that Rashleigh said of me--I have a right to know and know I will!"

It was some time before Frank could bring himself to tell Diana what her cousin had really hinted concerning herself, and when she heard that he had affirmed her wish to marry him in preference to Thorncliff, she shuddered from head to foot.

"No," she cried, all her soul instantly on fire, "any lot rather than that--the sot, the gambler, the bully, the jockey, the insensate fool were a thousand times preferable to Rashleigh! But the convent, the jail--the grave--shall be welcome before them all!"

INTERLUDE OF DISCUSSION

At the abrupt close of the story the children looked not a little surprised, nor did they manifest their usual eagerness to rush out of doors and instantly to reduce the tale to action.

The first difficulty was as to who the real highwayman could be.

"Did Frank _really_ take the man's bag with the money and things?" ventured Maid Margaret, a little timidly. She knew that she would be promptly contradicted.

"No, of course not," shouted Hugh John, "it was the Scotch drover, Campbell,--for how else could he know so well about it? Of course it was--_I_ knew it from the first."

Meantime Sweetheart had been musing deeply.

"Do you know," she said gently, "I am most of all sorry for Die Vernon. I don't think that I want to play in this story. It is too real. I think Die Vernon lived."

"Why--didn't they all live?" said Maid Margaret, plaintively. For the world of books was still quite alive for her. She had not lost the most precious of all the senses. Dream-gold was as good as Queen's-head-gold fresh out of the mint for her.

Happy Maid Margaret!

"I am sure Die Vernon was real," Sweetheart went on; "last night when you were all out cycle-riding and I was waiting for my Latin lesson, I read a bit of the book--a chapter that father has not told us.

And it made me sorry for Die. She wished that she had been born a man, so that she might say and do the same things as others. She was alone in the world, she said. She needed protection, yet if she said or did anything naturally, every one thought what a bold, forward girl she was! I have felt that too!"

"Rubbish!" said Hugh John, in high remorseless scorn, "_you_ are not 'alone in the world!' No, not much. And if we say or do anything to you, you jolly well whack us over the head. Why, the last time I called you--"

"That will do, Hugh John," interrupted Sweetheart, in very Die Vernonish voice.

"Well, when I called you--'Thinggummy'--_you know_--you hit me with a stick and the mark lasted three days!"

"And served you right!" said Sweetheart, calmly.

"Well, I'm not saying it didn't, am I?" retorted honest Hugh John, "but anyway _you_ needn't go about doing _wooly-woo_--

"'My nest it is harried, My children all gone!'"

"Oh, you are a boy and can't understand--or won't!" said Sweetheart, with a sigh, "I needn't have expected it. But Diana Vernon did make me cry, especially the bit about her being a Catholic--stop--I will find it!"

And she foraged among the books on the shelf for the big Abbotsford edition of _Rob Roy_, the one with the fine old-fashioned pictures.

"Here it is," she said with her finger on the place.

"'I belong to an oppressed sect and antiquated religion (she read), and instead of getting credit for my devotion, as is due to all other good girls, my kind friend Justice Inglewood might send me to the house of correction for it. . . . I am by nature of a frank and unreserved disposition,--a plain, true-hearted girl, who would willingly act honestly and openly by all the world, and yet fate has entangled me in such a series of nets and toils and entanglements, that I dare not speak a word for fear of consequences, not to myself but to others.'"

Sweetheart sighed again and repeated thoughtfully, "I _am_ sorry for Die Vernon!"

"Humph," said Hugh John, with dogged masculine logic, "girls are always making up troubles, I think. I don't see what she has to 'whimp'

about--everybody did just as she said at that Hall--more than I would do for any silly girl, I bet! Just you try it on, only once, Miss Sweetheart, that's all! She has all she can eat and can order it herself--lots of horses and riding--a gun--cricky, I only wish I had her chances! Think of it--just oblige me by thinking of it--secret pa.s.sages to come and go by, night and day, right plumb in the wall under your nose, mysterious priests, Jesuits, Jacobites, and things. Why, it's nearly as good as Crusoe's Island, I declare."

Sweetheart looked at Hugh John with the far-away gentle compa.s.sion which always drove that matter-of-fact warrior wild.

"All girls are the same," he a.s.serted insultingly, "they always get thinking they are going to die right off, if only their little finger aches!"

"You'll be sorry!" said Sweetheart, warningly.

"Oh, will I?" said Hugh John, truculently, "isn't what I say true, Toady Lion?"

But Toady Lion was sitting upon a buffet, in the character of Morris upon his portmanteau. He was shaking and chattering with such exaggerated terror that Maid Margaret, wrapped in a dust-sheet for a disguise and armed with the kitchen poker, could not rob him for very laughter. So neither of them paid any heed.

"You'll be sorry for speaking like that about Die Vernon," Sweetheart went on; "I've looked and I know. She was a true heroine. And she is worth a whole pack of your heroes any day."

"And, indeed, that's not saying much!" said Hugh John, who also had his sorrows. "But at any rate that was no proper place to break off a story. And I'll tell father so. Let's tease to have some more.

It's a wet day, and we can't do anything else!"

"Oh, yes--let's!" said Sweetheart. "Stop all that, Toady Lion, and you, Maid Margaret. We are going to ask for the second tale from _Rob Roy!_"

"Well," grumbled Hugh John, "I hope that there will be more about Rob Roy in it this time. It's not too soon."

And Sweetheart only continued to regard him with the same quiet but irritating smile, and nodded her head as who would say, "Those who live the longest see the most!"

THE SECOND TALE FROM "ROB ROY"

I. IN THE TOILS OF RASHLEIGH

BUT it became more and more evident that Frank's time at Osbaldistone Hall was growing short. A certain travelling merchant, a friend and countryman of Andrew Fairservice, the Osbaldistone gardener, brought news from London of how Frank's character had been attacked there in the matter of Morris, and that in the high court of Parliament itself.

Moreover, Frank felt that he could not much longer remain in the same house with Miss Vernon. His love for her daily increased. Yet she told him plainly that she could and would only be a friend to him. He must ask her no questions, however deep the mysteries which encircled her might seem. One day he found a man's glove lying on the library table.

On another occasion, after Rashleigh's departure for London, he distinguished two shadows on the windows of the library while he was patrolling the garden after dark.

Last of all Frank received a letter through some secret channel of Diana's written by his father's partner, Mr. Tresham. This informed him that his father had been for some time in Holland on business of the firm, and that Rashleigh had gone north to Scotland some time ago, with a large amount of money to take up bills granted by his father to merchants in that country. Since his setting out, nothing whatever had been heard of Rashleigh, and Owen had gone north to find him. Frank was urgently prayed to proceed to Glasgow for the same purpose as soon as possible. For if Rashleigh were not found, it was likely that the great house of Osbaldistone and Tresham might have to suspend payment.

At this news Frank was stricken to the heart. He saw now how his foolishness had ruined his father, because it was through his obstinacy that Rashleigh had gained admission to his father's confidence. Mr.

Osbaldistone, he knew, would never survive the disgrace of bankruptcy.

He must, therefore, instantly depart. And Diana willingly sped him on his way, giving him a letter which he was only to open if all other means of paying his father's debts had failed.

Frank resolved to quit Osbaldistone Hall by night secretly, leaving only a letter of thanks for his uncle, and informing him that immediate and urgent business called him to Glasgow. He found a willing guide ready to his hand in the gardener Andrew Fairservice, who, as he said, had long been awaiting such an opportunity of quitting his employment.

But this same Andrew came near to involving Frank in a fresh breach of the law. For, as Squire Thorncliff owed him ten pounds which he refused to pay, Andrew had mounted himself on Squire Thornie's good beast. And it was not until the animal was safely arrested by the law in the first Scotch town across the border, and Frank had written the whole story to Sir Hildebrand, that he felt easy in his mind as to the irregular act of his attendant.

They arrived at Glasgow, then a small but ancient town, on the eve of the Sabbath day. It was impossible for Frank to discover Owen that night, and it proved to be no more easy the following morning.