The Fifth of November Part 12

"And thou dost call thyself a gentleman!" exclaimed Elinor looking at him with scorn, her fear in a measure giving place to indignation at the insolent and shameless words. "Let me depart, I say--nay, I command thee."

"Ha! ha! Thou, I think, art carrying thyself loftily. 'Command!'" he repeated with a laugh. "Nay, marry! Here thou wilt stay until them thinkest thy going worth the price. And while thou dost meditate upon it I will drink to thy health." He staggered toward the table and refilled the cup.

Elinor glanced about the room seeking some possible avenue of escape.

Her eyes rested upon the portieres in front of the window; she moved toward them, but as her dress rustled Winter turned at the sound.

"Aye, walk the room, my pretty one; thou wilt find thy cage well barred. But enough of this," he continued, approaching her, "we do but delay. Thou didst ask thy father's release from his compact. Well, he shall be set free, but thou must recompense--not in coin, not in some heavy muttered penance, but by thy beauty." He caught the girl in his arms and whispered in her ear. Then the indignities which had been heaped upon her gave strength to her arm. No sooner had his drunken tongue uttered the sentence than she smote with all her might the face gazing into hers. The blow for a moment staggered the man and he released his hold; in that instant of freedom Elinor sprang toward the window, dashing the curtains aside.

"Stand back!" she cried, as he made a step toward her, his face purple with rage, "and for thy wicked words ask forgiveness from heaven ere it blast thee. Where is thy religion, where thy manhood, thou beast?

Aye, beast is too good a term for such as thee, for they respect the s.e.x--even the stag will not goad the doe. I fear thee not; move from where thou art and by the G.o.d who heard thy wicked words I'll cry thy infamy and treason in a voice which shall 'rouse all London, and wake the sleepy headsman to grind the axe. Now, I fear thee not!"

For a moment Winter paused, looking at the girl. Then his quick wit, no longer dulled by the wine which had blinded him to the consequences of the words he had uttered, came to his aid, and he replied:

"What? And lay thy father's head, as well as mine, upon the block?"

The curtain dropped from the girl's hand; she staggered, catching it for support; then quickly recovered herself and with determination flashing from her eyes exclaimed: "Nay, then, I will not cry thy treason; my tongue is mute. But stir one foot and I leap from off the balcony, gladly embracing the cold stones beneath, rather than suffer a touch from thy guilty hands."

"Come! Come!" said Winter, baffled by her words and spirit; "I'll not harm thee. I was but heated by the wine. Thou mayst depart in peace."

"I put no faith in thy words," said Elinor, still standing by the cas.e.m.e.nt, "for thou hast taught me how far one who calls himself a man may be trusted. Go thou and unbar the door," pointing imperiously with her hand; "then take thyself to the further end of the chamber and there stand."

Winter hesitated, but even his dulled faculties recognized the superiority of the girl's position, and he sullenly complied with her request. Not until he had retired to the extreme end of the room did Elinor leave her place. Then, she quickly fled into the corridor.

Winter remained for a moment where he was and, mad with drunken rage when the closing of the outer door announced the escape of his victim, exclaimed: "Aye, thou hast outwitted me for a moment; but thy victory is not for long. I shall hold the laurel and also thee before daybreak." Then, staggering into the hall, he shouted: "Richard!

Richard!"

A man appeared at the bottom of the stairs. "Come! Stir thy scurvy legs; didst see the woman who this moment left me? Follow, and when at a place thou deemest fit, throw this heavy mantle about her, and bring her to me. She will struggle, I trow; but thou knowest the remedy.

Tarry not; go swiftly, or she will escape."

At last Elinor was in the street, and, dazed for a moment by her sudden release from the peril in which she had just stood, with a terrified look over her shoulder--half fearing to see a staggering figure in pursuit, she fled in the direction of her home. But what form is this which glides from out the gate, and catching sight of the girl hurries in the direction she has taken? Like some evil phantom it moves, noiselessly and swiftly, ever keeping well in the shadows.

CHAPTER XII.

WHAT THE MOON SAW.

But what of Fawkes? Did any gloomy thoughts disturb his rest? Did the shadow of the axe or gibbet fall athwart his dreams? If not, why turns he so uneasily in his slumber and at last awakes?

"Sleep sets ill upon me," he mutters, drawing a hand across his brow.

In a moment he arose, hastily dressed himself, walked toward the window, opened it and gazed upon the night. Does some subtle bond of sympathy exist between him and the girl who is now in peril of death--or worse? It would seem so, for standing beside the cas.e.m.e.nt, he exclaims:

"Am I a sickly child, or puny infant, that I awake, frightened by silly visions which war with sleep, and murder it ere 'tis fairly born? Troth!" he continued, with knitted brows, "'twas strange my fancy painted such a picture."

He stood for a moment wrapped in thought, then added, shaking his head as though unable to thrust aside the memories which troubled him:

"By the blessed Virgin! a most vivid dream. How she held her arms out to me, yet her lips were mute. Aye, and the eyes--the dumb horror written in them, as if beholding a specter which blanched the face and fettered the limbs. I believe," he added with a sudden resolution, "'tis a woman's trick, but I would fain see her face ere I rest again."

He stepped out into the corridor, proceeded in the direction of his daughter's room, and softly entering, advanced toward the bed.

"Not here!" exclaimed he, beholding the empty couch. "Nay, thou canst not frighten me," he continued with a forced laugh, gazing about.

"Come, show thyself; 'twas a merry jest, but let's have it done."

He paused; still no answer to his summons. "Elinor," he again called, a shadow of anxiety in his tone. "What means it that she is nowhere within hearing?"

He quickly retraced his steps, pa.s.sed down the stairs and tried the hall door. It was unbarred, and opened to his touch.

"By heaven!" he exclaimed, "I could swear I shot those bolts before going to rest, and now they are drawn."

He stood anxiously looking out upon the star-lit night. His eyes wandered to the doorstep, and discerned upon its covering of frost the imprint of a small foot.

He stooped to examine the impression and hurriedly arose. "She has indeed left the house," he cried. "What can have taken the maiden out of doors at this hour of the night?--some secret tryst? Nay, I do but jest; she's not the kind to go a-courting after the moon is up.

Mayhap," he continued, meditating a moment, "a neighbor was stricken ill and they have summoned Elinor to lend her gentle aid. Marry,"

added he in a relieved tone, on finding a plausible excuse for his daughter's absence, "I do recollect Master Carew's woman was soon expected to add one more trouble to her husband's household. It is most likely that she went there. 'Tis a dark way to travel, and I will give her a surprise. While thinking a lonely walk lies before her, Elinor will find an old but devoted cavalier to keep her company.

First," added he with a laugh, "I'll fetch my blade; for 'twould ill befit a gallant in quest of beauty to go unarmed."

So saying, he disappeared, and presently returned attired in a heavy mantle, and a long rapier girded to his side.

The moon was high, and its light, which whitened the gables of the houses, diffused a bright glimmer below, sufficient to enable Fawkes to proceed quickly upon his way. Frost had set in, and a keen wind blew; so he was glad to hurry on at a goodly pace. As the streets were quite deserted at this early hour of the morning, or haunted only by those whose business--whether for good or evil--forced them out of doors, he met no one and saw no lights. The man's mind was evidently filled with pleasant thoughts, for ever and anon a smile would flit across his face, as though he dwelt upon the surprised look of his daughter when she would behold him. These agreeable antic.i.p.ations, which had taken the place for the moment of the sterner purposes which had of late engrossed him, were only thrust out by something which happened just then and brought him abruptly to himself.

It was the appearance of a woman, who suddenly issued from an alley a score of yards in front of him, and with a quick glance over her shoulder, disappeared down another turn in the road. The movements of this apparition caused Fawkes to pause, when suddenly a second figure, this time a man, came into view and hurried in the direction taken by the girl. "By my hilt," whispered Fawkes, peering cautiously out of the shadow in which he stood, "that rogue had a most suspicious air about him; an honest man walks with more noise; but, by my soul! if there is not a third!"

The object which had called forth the last remark was still another figure, which came from the same quarter, and proceeded in the direction taken by the first two. "What queer business is now afoot?"

Fawkes exclaimed, gazing after the retreating forms. "Mayhap ere long a trusty blade will not be amiss. I can well afford a few moments to see that all be fair."

So saying, and loosening his sword in its scabbard to make sure it was free if suddenly needed, he swiftly pa.s.sed in the direction taken by the retreating figures. A few steps brought him to the head of the street down which the three had disappeared. By the light of the moon Fawkes distinctly saw the shadowy forms, and halting where he stood, watched their movements.

The girl was well in advance; the second person, hurrying after. The last of the two crossed to the opposite side of the way and walked well in the shadow cast by the gables of the houses. The girl cast a glance over her shoulder as if feeling the presence of one in pursuit, but evidently finding herself quite alone, slackened her pace to take breath. Now, the one nearest her made a strange move, if so be he were bent upon an honest mission; for as soon as the woman reduced her gait to a walk, the man loosened the long cloak hanging about his shoulders, and seizing it in both hands, moved swiftly and noiselessly in her direction. Aye, loose thy sword in its sheath, thou, standing in the shadow; for if there be in thee muscle for a fight, soon will the clash of steel ring out upon the frosty air.

The man was now up with the girl, who, on hearing footsteps, turned and uttered a scream. Once only does she raise the cry, for before she can a second time call out, the cloak is thrown over her head, a rough hand is at her throat, and she feels the pressure of a rope as it is deftly whipped about her. There was a momentary struggle; but it soon ceased, for the woman fainted, and was at the mercy of him who had trapped her. Is thy sword caught and useless? thy arm paralyzed? or what causes thee to stand unnerved and trembling? Was it the scream that rang out upon the midnight air? Had it the sound of a voice dear to thee even now?

The man lifted the light figure of the girl within his arms and hurried away. Aye, Effingston, heaven-sent was the sorrow which drove thee forth to seek solace from the night and stars; but, come, now is thy time!

Fear not for him--he has recovered himself--and, s.n.a.t.c.hing his rapier from its sheath, with one or two quick bounds is up with the man, crying: "By the G.o.d above thee, release the woman ere I crush thy head, thou adder!"

The one thus addressed turned, and seeing the determined face at his elbow, paused, but retained his grasp upon the girl.

"Release her!" exclaimed Effingston, raising his sword, "ere I spit thee." The man allowed his burden to slip to the ground, the cloak fell from about her figure, and Elinor lay at the feet of him she loved.

"Thou art quick with thy command, Master," replied the other, coolly drawing his rapier. "Methinks thou hadst better attend to love affairs of thine own, rather than meddle in that with which thou hast no concern. Put up thy blade, I say, and go about thy business, ere I teach thee a trick or two which will let more ardor out of thy body than a three days' diet of beef can replace."

"Thou knave!" Effingston exclaimed, casting a quick glance at the motionless figure upon the ground, and pointing toward it with his rapier. "Dost call thyself a man, to steal behind and deal foul blows? Verily, thou craven dog, 'tis written in thy countenance, and he who runs may read, that thou hast not the courage even to look a woman in the eye, much less to face a man in honest fight."

"I'll hear no more of thy speech," cried the now angry man, leaping meanwhile to the middle of the road; "soon will I put holes in thy genteel carca.s.s which will leave thy vitals cold for some time to come. Up with thy sword, if thy bravery be not all talk." He unfastened his leather jerkin and stood awaiting Effingston, who loosened the clasp of his mantle.

"By my troth," exclaimed Fawkes, who still retained his post of vantage; "I swear 'tis not my place to interfere; likely it will be a l.u.s.ty fight, for both seem to have the proper spirit, and hold the weapon as those accustomed to the steel. Marry! it must be difficult to see the eyes in this light, but the point will be more readily kept track of."

The combatants crossed swords and stood at guard.