The Weird Of The Wentworths Volume I Part 33

"The instant that you touch me I drive this into my heart! Glory over my cold remains,--your hand shall never touch me living!"

Involuntarily L'Estrange stepped back; he knew Ellen's character too well to suppose it was only a threat; he knew that the moment he touched her she would fall a lifeless corpse; he loved her; however base his pa.s.sion had grown he still loved that girl too much to tempt such a catastrophe; for a moment he stood in suspense, and then said--

"I must, then, call others who have less mercy in them than I have. I own I am yet too young in crime; once more,--will you yield to fair measures?"

"Never!"

"Then, by G--!--for you would drive the veriest Job out of patience--you shall to foul!"

With these words he struck the ground with his foot heavily. The stamp seemed as if it struck Ellen's heart; she saw all her hopes fade in that sound; she had rightly judged L'Estrange would not proceed to violence; and the longer she could temporize with him, the better chance of her life being saved, and succour coming; but she knew the Captain would at once compel her to proceed to her last bitter resource,--death! She was fully determined she would die, if matters came to extremity; and now, in a few more minutes, those desperate men would drive her to it. Oh! it was cruel! Perhaps, even now, her lover was nigh, and friends and rescue near! And then she thought, perhaps he had told her true, and she was no longer an object of solicitude. She prayed in an agony; she listened every moment to hear his footsteps approach. L'Estrange, too, listened in suspense. What! had they played him false? He stamped again.

"You escape not thus, maiden; if no one will come, thank G.o.d, I can overcome you without their aid!"

Like a tiger he sprung on the despairing girl; she struck wildly for her heart, uttering a shriek as she did so,--the first that was wrung from her bosom by her awful situation. The blow never reached: caught by the quick arm of L'Estrange, he had seized the dagger, and flung it to the other end of the room; at the same moment a loud shock almost shattered the door. He sprang back as if a viper had bitten him.

"They are come, thank G.o.d! Oh, He never failed me yet!"

"Who?" asked L'Estrange, in a hollow voice.

Again the crash came; once more the door stood the shock! An interval of awful silence reigned; he heard confused sounds, among which he distinguished the Earl's voice, and then he heard the Captain cry--

"I will help!"

"He has betrayed me," thought L'Estrange. "I care not,--they must beard the lion in his den!"

He drew forth a pistol and c.o.c.ked it; Ellen heard the sound, but she almost heeded it not,--she was buried in prayer. L'Estrange had time to escape ten times over; there was the secret door, known to none but himself and his colleagues, and from this he might have escaped, and hidden with old Stacy in the dungeons to which it led; but he was either petrified, or the hopes of avenging himself on the Earl and Ellen at once, in his lordship's death, induced him to remain.

Once more the tremendous crash thundered on the door, and this time the mighty gate gave way before the strength that stormed it, and over the ruins he saw the a.s.saulters. Their howl of vengeance moved him not. He saw the Earl, the Marquis, and many others. Could he believe his eyes,--behind them stood the Captain!

"He has, then, betrayed me, and he dies for it!"

He was about to fire, when a masonic sign from the Captain stayed his hand, just in time, and he reserved the shot for the Earl!

CHAPTER XXV.

"Is the lion at bay?

Woe, woe to the hunter that stands in his way."

_Bluebeard._

Whatever were L'Estrange's faults he was no coward, and now that the hour was come, he determined to meet it like a man. He disdained the very idea of flight, though his path to safety still was open; he had only to plunge behind the tapestry, descend the dark stairs, and in the labyrinth of pa.s.sages and dungeons they might as well have thought to track the vermin that haunted the tower to their nests as to find him again. He stood in still, brave despair! The last high thought was in a well-fought encounter to end a life of disgrace by a desperate death, and at least let the parting scene be more worthy his name than his life had proved. It is true his face blanched slightly when he saw the numbers of his foes; it was not fear, but partly the feeling that by his present position, as a heartless tyrant preparing to do a weak and innocent woman wrong, he had justly merited all good men's hate; partly the sense that in a few moments he would either be slain or captive, that made his blood run back to his heart. Shame and infamy if he lived, eternal misery if he died; but it was not fear! His early days came back on his memory,--his strange life,--his love,--his rejection; his d.a.m.nable, but now disconcerted plot,--Ellen's abhorrence,--his present critical position; all came back in one burning moment, and now the last act was to be played he would show them what a desperate man hemmed in by foes was. His first thought was to shoot the Earl, who leaped foremost over the ruins. He presented the pistol at his head, and nothing but the devotion of faithful Wilton saved the Earl's life. He pulled the trigger--the flash--the report! and not the Earl, but the brave Wilton fell, pierced by the winged ball through his chest! A yell of fury rent the air at this outrage. Again he c.o.c.ked, again he presented; but by this time numbers had filled the room, Scroop dashed forward and threw up his arm. The ball entered the ceiling--another murder was stopped, but the stayer of his hand paid dearly! With a horrid oath of rage, L'Estrange struck Scroop a murderous blow on the temple with the empty pistol, and felled him to the ground as if he had been stricken by a thunderbolt. The blood welled forth from the wound, and the scene grew terrific. Undaunted still, glutted with gore, like a tiger at bay, stood the desperado. In the cold moonlight and the red glare of lanterns everything took a more horrid aspect. The white figure of Ellen in petrifaction of terror, the Satanic expression of the murderer, the vengeful glances of the a.s.sailants, made an awful picture; the worst part was the two forms, one lifeless, and one apparently so, stretched on the ground in a pool of their own blood. For an instant all was deathly still, save the deep-drawn breaths of vengeance. The room was filled with smoke, which gave a misty, awful air to the whole. For a moment a.s.saulters and a.s.saulted stood still. It was not fear that stayed them, but the dreadful vengeance that could not breathe out into actions in the one party, and the rapid thoughts of what must follow next in the other. It was a pause, but for a moment, like the hush in the hurricane, and then it was broken by L'Estrange, who suddenly hit on his plan.

With a bound he escaped the Earl, who rushed to meet him, nimbly avoided the Captain and Sir Richard, who, without showing their double conduct, easily manoeuvred so as to let him pa.s.s, and doubtless he would have altogether escaped had it not been for the Marquis, who stood at the door, and when he saw him escaping interposed his giant form. Still the desperate man kept on, but it was vain! The fawn might as well have thought to escape the lion, as L'Estrange to free himself from the furious grip with which the young peer seized him! He struck wildly for his face, but the Marquis threw his whole weight and strength on his antagonist, and bent him to the ground. As falls the oak on the sapling, so fell the Marquis on L'Estrange, and in an instant weighed him down.

Seizing the prostrate man by his throat, he placed his knee on his chest, and nigh pressed the breath out of his body. Still the vanquished made the most desperate struggles to rise and free himself from the iron grip; as well might the fabled t.i.tans have striven to upheave the aetnean ma.s.s that buried them beneath its rocks! He howled, he swore, his very face grew black with pa.s.sion and futile efforts to rise! Vain was the struggle; the Marquis had too firm a hold, and as he still knelt on him said--

"It is vain--yield, sirrah! you bearded me once--I have you now by the throat. Be still or I will squeeze the life from your body."

When the oppressor was thus oppressed, the first impulse of the Earl was to rush to Ellen, who had borne up so manfully, and so bravely sustained her character till the very last; then the reaction was too much for her; she would have fallen in a dead swoon on the floor had the Earl not instantly caught her in his arms. He lifted her as if she had been a child, her head sinking back over his arms, and her long hair, escaped from its net, flowing in all the wildness of dishevelled charms, almost sweeping the ground as he carried her to the nearest sofa.

"Ellen, my own sweetest Ellen, speak, dearest--you are safe--you are in my care--speak, darling." And he pressed his lips on her pale cheek.

"Quick, hasten for water--John--Musgrave--be quick, she is dying. Oh, my darling Ellen, live, live to bless me once more."

Meanwhile the Marquis was beginning to grow weary of holding down his foe, who seemed momentarily gaining fresh strength. Every one was flocking round Ellen, still in a most alarming swoon. Over her the Earl bent with indescribable fondness, chafing her temples with his hand, and calling for water, while the Marquis as loudly called for aid.

"Here, you lazy, idle sluggards, here; help! for G.o.d's sake; I am weary; faith, I'll let him go if no one comes. Do you hear? Bedad, to be left here pressing down such a viper."

"Hold, I'll come; just wait a bit. There, Wentworth, is your jug of water; freshen her up well, she is more frightened than hurt. Patience, by G--, I'm coming; what the devil are you kicking up such a devilish row about? Can't you keep a dog like that still with your big body?"

It was the Captain who spoke, as our readers have guessed, no doubt. He then went to a.s.sist the Marquis.

"Ha, that's right, keep a good grip on the hound's throat, or the dog'll bite, by G--. I've a rope, and a stout one too. Samson could never break it, and I warrant it muzzles him. Now I'll tie up his legs; he kicks like a mule, but it is no go. Well I'm d--d, Ned; who would have thought you would ever have come to this?"

During all this well feigned abuse, the Captain was busy binding the fallen man's limbs, which he did with a roughness that made him groan.

"Now, Arranmore, turn him over, stuff something in his mouth if he bites--here's a plaid to muzzle him; turn him on his back, and I'll bind the rascal's arms. I'faith they have done damage enough already. Cease your whining, you villain; I have you now, I'll tie your arms up for you; there, is that jolly, you devil?"

So saying, he put his knees on the crossed wrists, and strained the rope so tight it wrung a yell of agony from the hapless prisoner.

"Not so hard; remember he is a Christian, De Vere."

"A Christian, a pretty Christian, by Jove! to murder poor old Wilton, fell Scroop, and play such a trick on Ellen Ravensworth. The villain!

leave him to me, I'll mend the rascal's manners."

Lord Arranmore having done his duty as he thought, rose, and strode across to where Ellen was, who had just come to from the swoon, and was half-smiling, half-crying, when she found herself safe in her lover's protection once more.

"Do not leave me, my dear Lord Wentworth, do not leave me again."

"Never, darling: you shall never more stray from my eyes till you are my own. I will take you to the Towers. We shall see who dares, from the King to the lowest miscreant, to take you from thence. How are you, sweet one--better--able to drive? The carriage is waiting."

"I shall be better soon; I am getting quite well. Oh, how shall I ever thank you enough! But poor Mr. Scroop, and your poor Wilton, are they really dead?"

"I fear Wilton has seen his last of us; he died for me, and on your behalf, Ellen--we shall not soon forget him. His poor wife and children, it will be a sad tale for them. For Scroop, I hope that by care we may yet cure him; he is still insensible. I must go and see what is to be done with unhappy L'Estrange; it was surely the devil tempted him to such a course."

"Unhappy young man! Deal gently with him: remember, however deeply stained by crime, he is still our brother--still our fellow-creature,--child of the same G.o.d. Oh! while we hate the crime, let us pity the criminal.

Remember it is only a restraining Providence keeps us from being as bad."

"Ask no mercy for him, Ellen. However your n.o.ble mind may gloss over his attempted injuries to yourself, remember he stands amenable to the laws he has broken. He is a murderer; he has shed man's blood, and by man his blood must be shed too. Here, John, watch Ellen; see she has everything to her fancy, while I go and see about Scroop, poor Wilton, and this wretched young reprobate."

"Oh, leave me not with this bad man," cried Ellen.

"He is bound, darling, he cannot hurt you," answered the Earl, thinking she alluded to L'Estrange, as he walked away. "I will be back in a few minutes, dearest."

When Arranmore had left the prisoner, the Captain whispered in his ear, "Never mind, Ned; don't I act well? It couldn't be helped; you shall not swing for it; trust me I will save you yet."

"Leave me to pay the penalty of my crimes, life is no more endurable; I forgive you, John; I can die with my secret."

"Fool," said the Captain, "your trial would implicate me; do you think I will let you hang? no, no; you are too young yet to feed the gallows.