The Strollers Part 17

Hastily drawing up one of the wooden shutters, he placed himself near the other window, observing fiercely; "I don't propose you shall undo what's being done for you. Let me hear from you"--jerking his finger toward the square--"and I'll not answer for what I'll do." But in spite of his admonition he read such determination in her eyes, he felt himself baffled.

"You intend to make trouble!" he cried. And putting his head suddenly through the window, he called to the driver: "Whip the horses through the market place!"

As the affrighted animals sprang forward he blocked the window, placing one hand on her shoulder. He felt her escape from his grasp, but not daring to leave his post, he leaned out of the window when they were opposite the square, and shook his fist at the anti-renters, exclaiming:

"I'll arrest every mother's son of you! I'll evict you--jail you for stealing rent!"

Drowned by the answering uproar, "The patroon's dog!" "Bullets for deputies!" the emissary of the land baron continued to threaten the throng with his fist, until well out of ear-shot, and, thanks to the level road, beyond reach of their resentment. Not that they strove to follow him far, for they thought the jackal had taken leave of his senses. Laughter mingled with their jeers at the absurd figure he presented, fulminating and flying at the same time. But there was no defiance left in him when they were beyond the village, and he fell back into his seat, his face now ash-colored.

"If they'd stopped us my life wouldn't have been worth the asking," he muttered hoa.r.s.ely. "But I did it!" Triumphantly gazing at the young girl who, trembling with excitement, leaned against the side of the coach. "I see you managed to get down the shutter. I hope you heard your own voice. I didn't; and, what's more, I'm sure they didn't!"

With fingers he could hardly control he opened a second bottle, dispensed with the formality of a gla.s.s, and set the neck to his lips, repeating the operation until it was empty, when he tossed it out of the window to be shattered against a rock, after which he sank again into a semblance of meditation.

Disappointed over her ineffectual efforts, overcome by the strain, the young girl for the time relaxed all further attempt. Unseen, unheard, she had stood at her window! She had tried to open the door, but it resisted her frantic efforts, and then the din had died away and left her weak, powerless, hardly conscious of the hateful voice of her companion from time to time addressing her.

But fortunately he preferred the gross practice of draining the cup to the fine art of conversation. Left to the poor company of her thoughts, she dwelt upon the miscarriage of her design, and the slender chance of a.s.sistance. They would probably pa.s.s through no more villages and if they did, he would undoubtedly find means to prevent her making herself known. Unless--and a glimmer of hope flickered through her thoughts!--her warder carried his potations to a point where vigilance ceased to be a virtue. Inconsiderately he stopped at the crucial juncture, with all the signs of contentment and none of drowsiness.

So minutes resolved themselves into hours and the day wore on.

Watching the sun-rays bathe the top of the forest below them, she noted how fast the silver disk was descending. The day which had seemed interminable now appeared but too short, and she would gladly have recalled those fleeting hours. Ignorant of the direction in which they had been traveling, she realized that the driver had been unsparing and the distance covered not inconsiderable. The mystery of the a.s.sault, the obscurity of the purpose and the vagueness of their destination were unknown quant.i.ties which, added to the declining of the day and the brewing terrors of the night, were well calculated to terrify and crush her.

Despairingly, she observed how the sun dipped, and ever dipped toward the west, when suddenly a sound afar rekindled her fainting spirits.

Listening more attentively, she was a.s.sured imagination had not deceived her; it was the faint patter of a horse's hoofs. Nearer it drew; quicker beat her pulses. Moreover, it was the rat-a-tat of galloping. Some one was pursuing the coach on horseback. Impatient to glance behind, she only refrained for prudential reasons.

Immersed in his own grape-vine castle her jailer was unmindful of the approaching rider, and she turned her face from him that he might not read her exultation. Closer resounded the beating hoofs, but her impatience outstripped the pursuer, and she was almost impelled to rush to the window.

Who was the horseman? Was it Barnes? Saint-Prosper? The latter's name had quickly suggested itself to her.

Although the rider, whoever he might be, continued to gain ground, to her companion, the approaching clatter was inseparable from the noise of the vehicle, and it was not until the horseman was nearly abreast, and the cadence of the galloping resolved itself into clangor, that the dreamer awoke with an imprecation. As he sprang to his feet, thus rudely disturbed, a figure on horseback dashed by and a stern voice called to the driver:

"Stop the coach!"

Probably the command was given over the persuasive point of a weapon, for the animals were drawn up with a quick jerk and came to a standstill in the middle of the road. Menacing and abusive, as the vehicle stopped, the warder's hand sought one of his pockets, when the young girl impetuously caught his arm, clinging to it tenaciously.

"Quick!--Mr. Saint-Prosper!" she cried, recognizing, as she thought, the voice of the soldier.

"You wild-cat!" her jailer exclaimed, struggling to throw her off.

Not succeeding, he raised his free arm in a flurry of invective.

"Curse you, will you let go!"

"Quick! Quick!" she called out, holding him more tightly.

A flood of Billingsgate flowed from his lips. "Let go, or--"

But before he could in his blind pa.s.sion strike her or otherwise vent his rage, a revolver was clapped to his face through the window, and, with a look of surprise and terror, his valor oozing from him, he crouched back on the cushions. At the same time the carriage door was thrown open, and Edward Mauville, the patroon, stood in the entrance!

Only an instant his eyes swept her, observing the flushed cheeks and disordered attire, leading her wonder at his unexpected appearance, and--to his satisfaction!--her relief as well; only an instant, during which the warder stared at him open-mouthed--and then his glance rested on the now thoroughly sober limb of the law.

"Get out!" he said, briefly and harshly.

"But," began the other with a sickly grin, intended to be ingratiating, "I don't understand--this unexpected manner--this forcible departure from--"

Coolly raising his weapon, the patroon deliberately covered the hapless jailer, who unceremoniously scrambled out of the door. The land baron laughed, replaced his revolver and, turning to the young girl, removed his hat.

"It was fortunate, Miss Carew, I happened along," he said gravely.

"With your permission, I will get in. You can tell me what has happened as we drive along. The manor house, my temporary home, is not far from here. If I can be of any service, command me!"

The jackal saw the patroon spring into the carriage, having fastened his horse behind, and drive off. Until the vehicle had disappeared, he stood motionless in the road, but when it had pa.s.sed from sight, he seated himself on a stone.

"That comes from mixing the breed!" he muttered. "Dramatic effect, _a la France_!" He wiped the perspiration from his brow. "Well, I'm three miles from my humble habitation, but I'd rather walk than ride--under some circ.u.mstances!"

CHAPTER XIII

THE COMING OF LITTLE THUNDER

The afternoon was waning; against the golden western sky the old manor house loomed in solemn majesty, the fields and forests emphasizing its isolation in the darkening hour of sunset, as a coach, with jaded horses, pa.s.sed through the avenue of trees and approached the broad portico. A great string of trailing vine had been torn from the walls by the wind and now waved mournfully to and fro with no hand to adjust it. In the rear was a huge-timbered barn, the door of which was unfastened, swinging on its rusty hinges with a creaking and moaning sound.

As gaily as in the days when the periwigged coachman had driven the elaborate equipage of the early patroons through the wrought-iron gate this modern descendant entered the historic portals, not to be met, however, by servitors in knee breeches at the front door, but by the solitary care-taker who appeared on the portico in considerable disorder and evident state of excitement, accompanied by the s.h.a.ggy dog, Oloffe.

"The deputies shot two of the tenants to-day," hurriedly exclaimed the guardian of the place, without noticing Mauville's companion. "The farmers fired upon them; they replied, and one of the tenants is dead."

"A good lesson for them, since they were the aggressors," cried the heir, as he sprang from the coach. "But you have startled the lady."

An exclamation from the vehicle in an unmistakably feminine voice caused the "_wacht-meester_" now to observe the occupant for the first time and the servant threw up his hands in consternation. Here was a master who drank all night, shot his tenants by proxy, visited strollers, and now brought one of them to the _steyn_. That the strange lady was a player, Oly-koeks immediately made up his mind, and he viewed her with mingled aversion and fear, as the early settlers regarded sorcerers and witches. She was very beautiful, he observed in that quick glance, but therefore the more dangerous; she appeared distressed, but he attributed her apparent grief to artfulness. He at once saw a new source of trouble in her presence; as though the threads were not already sufficiently entangled, without the introduction of a woman--and she a public performer!--into the complicated mesh!

"Fasten the iron shutters of the house," briefly commanded Mauville, breaking in upon the servant's painful reverie. "Then help this man change the horses and put in the grays."

Oly-koeks, with a final deprecatory glance at the coach, expressive of his estimate of his master's light conduct and his apprehension of the outcome, disappeared to obey this order.

"May I a.s.sist you, Miss Carew?" said the land baron deferentially, offering his arm to the young girl, whose pale but observant face disclosed new demur and inquiry.

"But you said we would go right on?" she returned, drawing back with implied dissent.

"When the horses are changed! If you will step out, the carriage will be driven to the barn."

Reluctantly she obeyed, and as she did so, the patroon and the coachman exchanged pithy glances.

"Look sharp!" commanded the master, sternly. "Oh, he won't run away,"

added Mauville quickly, in answer to her look of surprise. "He knows I could find him, and"--fingering his revolver--"will not disoblige me.

Later we'll hear the rogue's story."

The man's averted countenance smothered a clandestine smile, as he touched the horses with his whip and turned them toward the barn, leaving the patroon and his companion alone on the broad portico.

Sweeping from a distant grove of slender poplars and snowy birch a breeze bore down upon them, suddenly bleak and frosty, and she shivered in the nipping air.