CHAPTER XI.
Rees Pennant was physically brave, but the sight of those staring eyes meeting his in the bowels of the earth gave him a shock which, in the state of excitement into which his recent adventures had thrown him, for the moment caused his mind to lose its balance. He thought the man was alive, and, reeling, began to murmur some hoarse words of explanation of his own intrusion; but they came forth in indistinct, guttural sounds through the tube which covered his mouth. His hand shook so much that the dying light in his lantern went suddenly out, leaving him in utter darkness. Losing his head altogether, he uttered a wild cry, and would have burst himself loose both from tube and rope if a strong pull at the latter had not suddenly called him to remembrance of Sep faithfully waiting for him in the vaulted chamber above.
The fact was that Rees, in his efforts to get as far as the length of the tube would allow, had given the three pulls which he had arranged between them as the signal for Sep to help him to return. In spite of himself, therefore, he felt that he was drawn backwards. He had been pulled two or three steps when he heard the clink of his nailed boots against something on the floor, which, by the sound, he thought must be metal. Stopping, he groped on the ground, and had just time to pick up something small and round, which he fancied might be a coin, when a stronger pull then before at the rope round his waist dragged him away, and told him that Sep believed him to be in some dire emergency.
More and more rapidly he felt himself pulled along, until it was as much as he could do to save himself, in the darkness, from injury against the rough walls. When he reached the cliff, he was indeed thankful for the help the rope afforded him; for it rose almost sheer from the ground, with but few notches down the side on which the feet could rest. After that, however, the rest was comparatively easy. Impelled to increased speed by the fact that he was now nigh to suffocation, as poor Sep could not draw the rope and keep the tube straight at the same time, he reached the bottom of the upper staircase in very few moments, and tearing off the macintosh mask, drank in the air in great draughts.
“Are you all right, Rees? Are you all right?” asked Sep, in tones of deep anxiety.
“All right?” sang out the young fellow, in a voice which thrilled with triumph. “Yes, righter than I ever was in my life, for I’ve found Lord Hugh!”
Scrambling up the remaining steps, he flung himself down, panting, by the side of Sep, who threw his arms round him with genuine delight, which, to do him justice, was caused more by the sight of his companion safe and well than by the news he brought.
When Rees, now again feverish with excitement, told him his adventures in thrilling whispers, Sep was carried away with astonishment and delight, which reached their climax on the production of the piece of metal which Rees had picked up in the darkness. For this proved to be, as the latter had supposed, a coin, heavy, clumsy, of a fashion they had never seen; but it was gold, genuine gold. The young men looked at it, rubbed it, turned it over reverently in their hands. There was a romance about this gold, the property of a king long since passed out of reach of the need of it, and guarded for more than two centuries by a dead man, which appealed to the imagination.
“You think it was Lord Hugh of Thirsk I saw down there, don’t you?” asked Rees in a low voice.
“Who else should it be? Did you notice his dress?”
“No, nothing but his eyes, staring straight at me, I tell you, like those of a living man. I thought he was alive. If he had been dead two hundred and forty years, he would be crumbled to dust, wouldn’t he?”
“I don’t know. Shall you go down there again?”
“No,” answered Rees, with a shiver. “I don’t think so. I—I suppose it’s sentimentality, but even if he has down there with him the thousands that old beggar expects, I don’t like the idea of robbing a dead man of what he’s watched over for more than two hundred years.”
“Well,” said Sep, who, as usual, was ready to chime in with the views of his companion, “you mustn’t let him know what you’ve found then; for he’s a greedy old hunks, and as cynical as they make ’em. Let’s keep him out of it altogether if we can.”
The words were hardly out of his mouth when both were startled by Goodhare’s voice. This gentleman, who was not likely to lose anything for want of a little watchfulness, had conceived the idea that something was likely to turn up this evening, and had managed, in his praiseworthy intention of looking after his own interests, to scale the outer wall of the castle with the help of the ivy. He heard Sep’s words, but affected not to have done so, since any little resentment he might feel would “keep,” and to show it now would be inconvenient and even dangerous.
“Are you there, boys?” he asked therefore in a low voice, speaking in a mild and patriarchal tone.
“Yes,” answered Rees, with ill-humor which he did not hide.
He had slipped the old coin into his pocket at the first sound of the librarian’s voice; but the action did not escape Goodhare’s keen eyes. As the latter advanced and took his place slowly on the ground by the younger men, it was evident to him that something of great interest had occurred. The disordered and dirty state of Rees’s clothes, the frayed rope, the excitement under which both young men were laboring, all spoke eloquently of some discovery.
“So you’ve been down, I see, and I see also that you’ve found something. Come, lad, out with it; I’m sure by your face that I did not set you to work in vain.”
Rees moved uneasily.
“You seem to know more about it than I do myself,” he said, rather sulkily. “I’ve risked my life over this business, and I’ve found a stopped-up passage certainly, but nothing of these thousands you talked about.”
He could not, however, meet the eyes which were fixed steadily upon him.
“If you don’t choose to tell me your adventures, Rees, at least you can trust me,” the old man said at last with affecting simplicity. “So you won’t be alarmed if I withdraw from a conference where I see I’m not wanted.”
He was in the act of rising with much dignity when Rees drew him pettishly down again.
“Sit down; it’s all right,” said he. “Only you needn’t bring more risk upon us by coming in to play the spy.”
“Indeed, I think you might know me better than to suppose that was my intention. I——”
“All right,” said Rees, cutting him short. “There, that’s all I’ve found and the body of a dead man.”
“A dead man!” cried Amos, who had clutched the old coin which Rees threw to him with greedy eagerness. “A dead man! Why, that must be Lord Hugh, and it’s all true! This,” he went on, turning over the gold piece in his lean fingers, “is a louis d’or. And there must be more—more!”
“That’s all I found, at any rate,” said Rees shortly.
“And you were content to come away with that, without hunting, searching, finding the great treasure which we may now be sure he had on him!” hissed out Goodhare, his mildness giving place to such burning fierceness of look and manner that it crossed the minds of both young men that he looked like a savage animal ready to spring upon Rees and tear his heart out.
“I was content to come away before I was suffocated, certainly,” said Rees very quietly. “I would sooner die a few years later a beggar on the top of the earth than die now in the bowels of it with my hands full of gold. Besides, I didn’t find any gold, except just that one piece. Probably they had drafts on bankers in those days just as they have now, and the fortune may turn out to be just a bit of faded and worthless paper.”
This suggestion startled them all for a moment. Then, however, Goodhare shook his head.
“It is not probable,” he said. “The money was brought from the one country to the other, and I should doubt whether the credit of the King of France was good enough in England for his draft for a large sum to be honored by any banker, even if the times had been more settled. No, depend upon it, if there was treasure sent it was in specie.”
“Perhaps the chest he was sitting on—” began Rees.
“Chest!” echoed Goodhare impetuously; “there was a chest, you say! Surely you don’t mean to let the night pass without ascertaining what is in it?”
“I do, though,” said Rees frankly. “The journey down there and back, with the dangers of poisonous air on the one hand, and no air at all on the other, bruising one’s limbs, and tearing one’s flesh, is not to be undertaken every half hour.”
Goodhare was white and very quiet, but they could see fiery anger and impatience in his eyes.
“Those who cannot face danger are not worthy of a great reward,” he said sententiously.
“Face it yourself, then,” answered young Pennant, and he brought the tube and the rope over to Goodhare. “We’ll arrange all this for you, and as there are two of us, we shall be able to help you better than Sep could me.”
Amos saw that the young man, fresh from his triumphant adventure, must be humored.
“Well, lads, you must forgive the impatience of an old man who has only a few years left in which to enjoy life,” he said benignantly. “And now I think you both deserve a little merry-making for your pluck, so you must come home with me and share my humble supper.”
He helped them actively in coiling up both rope and tube. The lantern Rees took home for examination, as the light it had given was by no means satisfactory. Then, for fear of possible watchers at the lodge, Goodhare and Sep were let down in the usual manner, while Rees walked out by the wicket-gate. Ten minutes later they were all at the librarian’s lodging.
The younger men had expected nothing but the most frugal fare, and they were too much excited to have cared what was put before them. To their surprise, however, Goodhare had provided a game-pie, and on turning the key of a small corner cupboard which one would have supposed devoted to books, he revealed a small cellar of different wines of the choicest brands.
“Now, boys,” said Goodhare in his most benevolent tones, “I shall not complain if you leave my cellar empty. For we shall soon be able to fill it again in London—glorious London. I had a presentiment that we should have something to celebrate to-night.”
While he left the room for a corkscrew, Sep, to whom wine was an irresistible temptation, made a brief but close inspection of the bottles, at the end of which he turned to his friend with a dry laugh.
“The old fox made good use of his time up at the castle,” he said.
Before the less suspicious Rees could make any inquiry, Amos had re-entered the room.
It was not difficult, in the state of high excitement into which his adventures had thrown him, to make Rees drink a great deal more wine than he had ever done in his life before, nor by artful suggestions, to tickle his imagination into the belief that a princely fortune lay at his feet ready to be enjoyed. At the same time, by rousing in Sep memories of his past dissipations, Amos managed to make him feel discontented with his present quiet life, and eager to indulge again in the old excesses. Thus the librarian secured a half unwilling ally in the corruption of Rees Pennant, who, from listening with disgust to their remarks on women, passed to laughter, and finally to a boastful share in the conversation. As for Lord St. Austell, when reference was made to him, Rees had no words strong enough to express his contempt and abhorrence for the man whose vices he had, a moment before, seemed anxious to emulate.
By midnight it was evident that, unless they wished to court a death-blow to all their plans by some indiscreet revelation on the part of Rees, his potations must cease. So Goodhare and Sep, better seasoned than he, escorted him home, and returned to continue their revels without him.
In this quiet country town, burglaries were so little feared that in many houses the front-door could be opened from the outside and was yet left unlocked at night. Rees, therefore, was able to let himself in without rousing the household. But when, as steadily as he could, he had stumbled upstairs and reached the landing, he met Deborah, in her dressing-gown, and with her hair arranged for the night in a long plait down her back.
“Oh, Rees, where have you been? I have been so frightened about you,” she said in an anxious whisper.
For answer he flung his arm round her and gave her a kiss.
“Well, as long as you didn’t tell, I’ll forgive your fright, Deb, because it makes your eyes look so large and pretty,” answered Rees, who had sense enough left to speak in a whisper.
The girl raised her little brass lamp and looked at him with a puzzled expression. There was a freedom in his manner, a boldness in his kiss, and something in his tone which made her blush crimson, and feel afraid of him. Having no idea of any of the causes of his excitement, she asked:
“Won’t you come and say good-night to mamma? She’s gone to bed, but she’s been so anxious about you, for you never said you were going out.”
Rees remained for a moment without answering. The mention of his mother brought a momentary feeling of shame to him. But then the evil effects of his recent experience again made themselves felt, poisoning Deborah’s beauty to him. He pulled the girl down beside him on to the box-ottoman which stood in the corridor, and said vehemently:
“No, no; stay here and talk to me. Tell me it’s true you love me, as they say you do.”
Deborah, now beginning to suspect something, disengaged herself with the air of a Juno.
“I love you so much,” she said with simple dignity, “that it gives me great pain to see you disgrace yourself. Go to your room now, as quickly and as quietly as you can.”
Rees, overwhelmed with shame, and feeling for a moment as if the wind of an angel’s wing had wafted away the mists of evil which had for months been creeping ever more closely round him, crept away, without so much as daring again to meet her eyes, to his own room.