The Wizard of West Penwith Part 18

"Well, sir," replied the boy, looking pleased at the gentleman's having noticed him so much as to be puzzled about his age; "I'm above twenty, but how much I don't exactly know."

"Billy!" cried a rough voice from below,--"Billy! I say. Where the devil is that rapscallion?"

"There!" said the boy; "Cap'n Cooper is come back, and the old woman is gone out, I s'pose. There'll be the devil to pay if I don't go down."

And away he ran, leaving Morley in a most unpleasant state of suspense; for he had calculated on gaining a great deal of information from the boy, both with regard to Mr. Freeman, and, what he was still more concerned about, the probable movements and present abode of Alrina.

It was evident, from what the boy said, that he was a prisoner. He wouldn't have minded the old woman and the boy so much; for he thought he might be able to work upon their feelings, by bribes and fair words, sufficiently to induce them to connive at his escape; and he speculated in his mind, even while the boy was talking with him, that he might be able to prevail on him to leave Mr. Freeman and follow him as groom and valet, when he might be of the utmost a.s.sistance in many ways. But now it seemed as if all his aerial castles were dissolving into the element of which they were composed; for here was a more formidable jailor, if he might judge by the rough voice and the commanding tone of the fresh arrival. This was the master of the house, he had no doubt, from the name;--Cooper was the old woman's name, he knew. These thoughts drove him almost mad, and he lay back on his pillow and gave himself up to despair. "Alrina!" cried he, in his agony; "I feel that all things are working against us; but oh! Alrina, forgive your Frederick,--it was not my fault. Alrina! Alrina!" And, after raving like a madman for some minutes, he fell back exhausted.

In the meantime, the boy, locking the door behind him, as he pa.s.sed out of the room in which Morley lay, hastened downstairs to meet the master of the establishment.

"Hallo!" exclaimed that gentleman, as he stood with his back to the fire; "where's all the people?"

"How should I know?" replied the boy, in the same unceremonious manner,--for he feared no one but "The Maister," and could be as impertinent as the greatest blackguard in the parish when he chose to be, for which he frequently got punished by those who didn't know him well, and these he generally took some opportunity of retaliating upon, so that no one gained much by punishing little Bill.

It was evident that the captain was out of sorts, and was inclined to vent his spleen upon anybody or anything that happened to come in his way.

"Confound your impudence," said he, advancing towards the boy, with his uplifted fist ready to make a blow at him, when he got near enough; "I'll knock you into the middle of next week, you young rascal!" And he struck at the young offender with such force, that the boy would have been seriously injured, had he not nimbly jumped on one side. The impetus of the blow not being checked by coming in contact with the boy's head, sent the man forward, and he was caught in the arms of his loving wife, who entered at that moment, and they both fell headlong on the floor together, at which the boy laughed and ran out of the room.

Nothing makes a person feel so awkward and foolish as when he measures his length on the floor by an accidental fall; and Captain Cooper and his better half felt quite ashamed of themselves, as they scrambled up from their ignominious position. Fortunately there were no spectators; for the boy had escaped, and was keeping out of sight for the present, but not out of hearing. A little corner sufficed for a hiding-place for him, and thus he frequently picked up a good many odd secrets, which he repeated to "The Maister" when he was a.s.sisting him in any of his necromancy, and obtained credit even from "The Maister" for shrewdness beyond his years.

"Where's Freeman?" asked the man, opening a cupboard and taking out a bottle of brandy and a gla.s.s to solace him after his fall.

"Gone," replied the woman, shaking herself to rights again; "he started last night, and took Alrina with him."

"The devil he did!" exclaimed the man, drinking off a full gla.s.s of the exhilarating liquor; "that's a queer game, when he promised to----"

"Don't you know that his promises can't always be kept?" said the woman. "Circ.u.mstances alter cases. There's been a circ.u.mstance here."

"A what!" cried the man, in an angry tone; "why, you're getting so bad as the boy, Jenny Cooper."

"Hush, Cap'n! I've got something to tell 'ee," replied his wife; and seating herself on a low chair, opposite the fire, and blowing it up l.u.s.tily with the bellows at the same time, she related to her husband the accident, and told him the young gentleman was still in bed upstairs.

"Whew!" whistled the captain;--"then his game is up for a spur, and t'other is out of the way and off the scent,--so no herring-pool, after all; but where is the old man gone to?"

"I don't know," replied his wife; "but I shouldn't wonder if he's gone down to the old place again, now the coast is clear. He'll be noted again in St. Just, now that the breeze is blown over, and the scent is in another quarter, as you do say it is."

"Right you are," rejoined the captain, looking more pleased than he had looked yet since his return. "And now I'll tell you our bit of spree."

And he related to his wife the expedition to Ashley Hall, and how his companion had left the girl with the lady, thinking to frighten her into submission to their terms, and that, when she went back again the next day, to see how the land lay, she found the little door in the lane locked and barred on the inside, and when she applied for admission, at the front entrance, she was told that Mrs. Courland could not see her.

"So she's in a fix," continued the man; "but she stayed behind, and she'll blow the gaff, if they don't come to, soon. I should have stopped too, but I thought my old friend might want to be off at once, and so I came back to get all things right and straight for the trip."

"And you'd better get things right and straight now," said his wife; "for he may be going off all the same, for what I do know."

CHAPTER XXV.

RETROSPECTION AND RECRIMINATION.

Mr. Morley wrote to Lieut. Fowler from Ashley Hall, saying that he had found his brother and Josiah Trenow there, and that they had discovered a house, which they had every reason to believe was the scene of the murder. He informed his friend also that he and Josiah would remain there a little longer, to make further search, but that Frederick had gone down into Cornwall in search of a party who had slipped through their hands, so far.

In consequence of this letter, Lieut. Fowler was in daily expectation of seeing his friend Frederick Morley at Tol-pedn-Penwith. And the ladies at Pendrea-house were in anxious expectation too; for, now that they knew more of his history, which seemed so fraught with romantic interest, he had become quite a hero in their eyes. Day after day pa.s.sed, but he did not arrive. The ladies were alarmed, and feared some accident had befallen him; but Fowler ridiculed this idea, and attributed his non-arrival to the strictness of the search he was no doubt making. Who the party was that Frederick was in search of, Fowler didn't know, for the finding of the box by Josiah had been kept a secret. The search after Mr. Freeman was merely to get his help to unravel the mystery of that doc.u.ment, which Josiah seemed to think, from his manner, he knew something about, although it was most probable, as Frederick suggested at first, that Mr. Freeman pretended to know more than he really did, in order to induce Josiah to leave the box and its contents with him. As a drowning man will catch at a straw, so did Frederick catch at this little incident, improbable as he really thought it, in the hope that it might a.s.sist him in his search, or that the conjuror, by his skill, might be able to give him some clue to the mystery. Fowler knew nothing of all this, nor did he know of his friend's devoted, and, it may be added, romantic, attachment to the daughter of the celebrated Land's-End conjuror. Had he known it, he would, no doubt, have tried to convince his friend of the folly and absurdity of such a connection. But love is blind; and it would probably have required more eloquence than Lieut. Fowler possessed to have persuaded Frederick Morley that the lovely and fascinating girl whom he loved so pa.s.sionately from the first moment he saw her, as a schoolgirl, was unworthy of his affection, because her father did not move in the first circles of society. Luckily Fowler was ignorant of this attachment; and so his friend had been spared the annoyance of a discussion with him on the subject. The old squire was as anxious as any of them to see the young soldier once more. But he didn't come.

Miss Pendray's mind was ill at ease--that was evident to all who knew her. She still wandered over the cliffs, and braved the storm; but it was not now, as it used to be, for the sake of looking at the bold scenery. Her wanderings had now a more definite object;--she hoped, every time she climbed those lofty cliffs, that she should meet with someone to share her admiration of the beautiful scenery. She had become accustomed to those pleasant meetings with one of the opposite s.e.x; and she felt a vacuum--a loneliness--that she had never felt before. The stranger whom she met at the ball, and who seemed so enamoured of her, had disappeared in a most unaccountable manner. She was beginning to like his attentions, although there was something in his manner, sometimes, which did not please her;--she told him as much, the last time she met him. Perhaps he was offended; for she had never seen him since the sudden appearance of that handsome man, who had intruded upon their privacy at the Logan Rock. It was a strange coincidence--those two men, meeting in that strange way. She was much struck with the appearance and gentlemanly manners of the gentleman with the white hair;--she couldn't put him out of her mind for the whole day; and, the next evening, when Lieut. Fowler brought him to Pendrea-house, after their return from St. Just, she thought him the most fascinating man she had ever seen. There was an open frankness and ease in his manner, which were wanting in Mr. Smith. As she reflected now on the difference between the two men, she felt that Mr. Smith's manners seemed put on for the occasion, and that he required to be on his guard, and to be always watching himself, as it were, to prevent some hidden vulgarity from peeping out under his apparently a.s.sumed garb of refinement. It was not so with Mr. Morley;--he was a gentleman intuitively, and, therefore, had no occasion to watch himself lest he should say or do, inadvertently, anything he would be ashamed of. Mr. Morley, too, was much struck with Miss Pendray's beauty; but he did not tell her so, point blank, as Mr.

Smith had done on more than one occasion. He asked her to shew him some of her favourite scenes on the cliffs, with which he expressed himself highly delighted, and he pointed out beauties in the rocks and cliffs and headlands, which she had not observed before, and described to her, in glowing colours, some of the magnificent scenery he had himself witnessed in the East. And so they continued, day after day, to walk together--sometimes over the cliffs and sometimes on the smooth sands beneath--admiring the beauties of Nature, almost with the same eyes and the same thoughts. They seemed to have so many ideas in unison, and each became so fascinated with the other, that when the time arrived that Mr.

Morley thought he must in duty visit his relatives, they parted, with sorrowing hearts, although neither of them knew what a pang the other felt at parting.

Miss Pendray had not been accustomed, in that out-of-the-way place, to meet with men of that stamp;--she had never before come into contact with a congenial spirit. Frederick Morley was better than most she had been in the habit of meeting; but he would, occasionally, appear so absorbed in his own thoughts, that he was, at times, scarcely companionable. Mr. Smith was bold and clever, evidently, and as romantic in his ideas and pursuits as she could possibly desire, and frequently fascinated her with his thrilling stories; but there was something in his manner sometimes that did not satisfy her; and his aversion to join their domestic circle seemed most strange.

Mr. Morley was quite different, in every respect; and, now that she wandered over the cliffs alone, day after day, she could reflect on the difference between the three men. She had always looked down with pity on her younger sister's susceptibility, and often upbraided her for exhibiting, so unreservedly, her attachment to Lieut. Fowler, who was not at all suited to her, either in age or position, Miss Pendray thought.

The gentle Blanche could now turn the tables on her more prudent and high-minded sister; for she saw that the handsome Mr. Morley had made a conquest, and that the majestic Maud watched his every look and action, and was pained, beyond measure, when, even in common politeness, he paid the slightest attention to anyone else.

While Maud and Mr. Morley were thus revelling in each other's society, over the bold cliffs and headlands, Blanche and her lover were taking their quiet walks along the rocks and sands beneath, where they would, ever and anon, stop and rest themselves, and look out on the broad ocean which lay before them, talking of the future, and hoping that all might turn out smoothly in the end; for, although Blanche quite understood what her lover meant now, and returned his love with the fondest affection, and wished to her heart that all could be settled at once, yet she was still afraid for her father to be spoken to on the subject, lest he should get angry, and forbid their intercourse altogether. Poor silly child! her timid nature feared she knew not what; and the more her lover urged her to allow him to ask her father's consent, the more did she recoil from the ordeal, dreading what the answer might be. She knew her sister's thoughts and opinions on the subject, and she feared her father might hold the same opinion, for they were much alike in pride and lofty bearing; and so her timid fear overcame her prudence, and she held her lover back from doing that which he well knew and felt he ought to do, in common honesty and honour. But he loved his darling Blanche too well to thwart her; and so the two went on in tender communing, and each day brought fresh arguments on either side--the one, in manly uprightness, urging the appeal to the father for his sanction to their union; the other, in timid maidenly reserve, dreading the answer her stern parent might give, and controlling her fond lover, who felt he could not disobey her.

"Only wait a little longer," she said, one day, as she sat listening to his arguments, and looking up at him so earnestly;--"you don't know papa so well as I do. In most things he is so kind; but I fear in this he would not be so."

"Why do you think so, dearest Blanche?" he replied, taking her hand in his; "he seems to like me, and is continually asking me to come to Pendrea-house. What objection can he have? have you ever heard him say he disliked me, or----"

"Oh! no! never," she replied; "but Maud and papa seem to hold the same opinions on many points; and she has spoken to me often of the disparity of age, and seemed so utterly against it, that I fear papa will think so too."

"It shall be exactly as you wish," said he; "but I would much rather know my fate at once, than wait in suspense;--what good end can it answer to delay it?"

"Oh! don't talk in that way," replied Blanche, bursting into tears;--"you know how much I should wish it settled, too; but then, if papa should be angry, and refuse to give his consent, I should never see you again. I cannot bear to think of that."

Poor little innocent timid Blanche! she knew not what troubles her timidity was bringing on them both. It was her first love; and, childlike, she thought only of her present pleasure. She felt like one in a pleasant dream, gliding through the air on azure clouds, wafted gently onwards by a zephyr's breeze, with her lover ever by her side to protect her from harm; and she feared lest the slightest change in their present position should cause an angry storm to rise, and overturn all their blissful happiness. She did not know, poor girl, in her ignorance, of the changes and chances that are continually going on in the world, where the greatest pleasures and the severest pains and trials last but for a season, and they are gone, and old Time keeps on the even tenor of his way, and pains and pleasures live only in the memory, and fade away as time rolls on, leaving, in the end, but a faint shadow of the past.

Blanche knew not this; and, anxious to secure present happiness, she induced her lover, in the very innocence of her young heart, by tears and entreaties, to delay his application to her father for a time, in defiance of his better judgment; for he was older, and knew the world much better than this poor innocent girl, but still he yielded, and they loved on in secret.

While Maud was so engrossed with Mr. Morley, there was no one to watch and overlook them; but when he was gone, it seemed to her as if all her occupation was gone too,--she had nothing left but to wander out alone and think of him whose image ever haunted her;--and, in her wanderings, she often surprised Blanche and her attendant lover, in one of their favourite haunts. And, wanting some better occupation, she would chide her sister when they were alone together. At first, Blanche didn't mind it much; but its frequent repet.i.tion angered her, and she spoke up sharply to her sister, contrary to her wont, which made Maud speak her mind more freely. And as they sat at work alone, one afternoon, she renewed the old subject:--

"I must tell you, Blanche," she began, "that I think it is very wrong in you to encourage Mr. Fowler to pay you such marked attention, when, perhaps, he means nothing, after all."

"I will not allow anyone, in my presence, to impeach Mr. Fowler's honour," replied Blanche, looking up from her work, her cheeks burning with indignant pride; "I have the most perfect confidence in his honourable intentions, and therefore I will not hear him traduced."

"There we differ," returned her elder sister, hastily; "and, let me tell you that, were his intentions ever so honourable, papa would never sanction the engagement of a daughter of his to Lieut. Fowler."

"And, pray, what would be the objection?" asked Blanche, indignantly.

"There are several," replied her sister; "I know papa's opinion of his position pretty well, for I have already sounded him on it."

"And what right, let me ask, had you to sound papa on a subject which you know nothing about?" asked Blanche;--"that subject has never been named by Mr. Fowler, either to you or to papa, that I am aware of."

"Then it ought to have been," replied Maud, "and that would have settled the matter at once. It is neither honourable nor manly in Mr. Fowler to ensnare your affections, and wish you to meet him clandestinely, as I fear and know you too often do. What his intentions are, I don't know; but, if I may judge from this circ.u.mstance, they cannot be honourable, and it is time papa took some measures to prevent it, before it is too late."

"I am surprised, Maud," replied her sister, coolly, "that you, above all others, should accuse me of doing the very thing that you have been doing yourself for the last two months."