CHAPTER I.
It is the last day of summer, and the evening hour is creeping on apace. A truly glorious day it has been, warmed by a brilliant sun, the heat of which has been tempered by one of those gentle zephyrs that love to play where all is warmth and sunshine.
But now the day is dying, fading, as it were, gradually away. Time, which the science of man can never stay, stalks slowly on his path. It is he who declares that the spell of life which has lit the day with its brilliance, must pass onward into the darkness of advancing night.
For what is life but a greater day of warmth and sunshine, storm and rain? What is death but the night which brings rest after the toils or pleasures of that day? What is the future life beyond, but a new day breaking into existence, perchance in a world more lovely than our own?
So thinks Gloria de Lara as she leans on her oars and watches the dying glories of this fading day vanish beneath the waves of the western sea. The zephyr which has played so joyously amidst the light and sunshine of earlier hours, has fled to his couch of rest, and now not a breath stirs the glassy waters of Glenuig Bay, which, lit by the radiance of the setting sun, blazes all around like a lake of molten gold.
Above its gleaming waters and those of Loch Eilort tower heather-girt mountains in their mantles of purple and of blue. Higher still above these well-clad slopes the grey stone of shaggy crags looks down, and higher yet above these lonely scenes the golden eagle hovers, secure from the destroying hand of man. Not altogether lonely though, if one may judge from a pale, thin line of smoke that suddenly curls upwards through the still air from one of those high grey crags. It catches the eye of Gloria de Lara as she leans upon her oars, and sends a flush of surprise to her thoughtful, dreaming face.
“So soon!” she exclaims, and there is a ring of wonder in her tone; but she settles herself to her oars, and sends the boat along with quick, powerful strokes. She has pointed its head for the open sea, straight, in fact, for the channel that joins the heaving swell of the grey Atlantic with the placid waters of Loch Eilort.
Months have passed away since we were last in Gloria de Lara’s company. We left her when the spring of the early year was just budding into life, we rejoin her now on the eve of spring’s destroyer’s advent—autumn.
How has it fared through these months of light and sunshine with this woman and her cause? A retrospect will show.
We have seen how Léonie, on reaching ‘The Hut,’ had found it vacated, and had ridden on in the direction of Great Marlow. Truth indeed, she took the same route over which Gloria, Speranza, and Evie Ravensdale had ridden the night before. No sooner had it been decided to quit ‘The Hut,’ than Gloria had despatched Rita Vernon to London, to apprise Flora Desmond of the change, and then she and her two companions had ridden on in the darkness of night towards Great Marlow. On reaching the outskirts of the town, the three had turned down a narrow lane leading in the direction of Bisham Abbey woods, and Gloria, with a confidence which familiarity with a place always engenders, had led the way. Finally, the lane had opened into green fields with a line of bridle gates leading through them, and these she had carefully followed for a time. At length, however, Gloria had borne away from the beaten track, and directed her horse’s head towards a long strip or belt of trees, at the further end of which stood a solitary cottage with a large barn behind it, and some compactly built dog-kennels in the rear. In one of the windows of this lonely dwelling a solitary light was burning, a light which told the fugitive in silent words of the faithful watch that was being kept.
Now this was the cottage of the head keeper of the Bisham Abbey estate, both of whose daughters were troopers in the White Guards’ Regiment. The entire family was loyal to Gloria de Lara’s cause, and this cottage was one amidst many a dwelling of the people where Gloria knew she had only to knock to gain admittance, only to show herself to obtain a loyal greeting and hospitable and secure shelter from tracking foes. The organisation which had thus contrived to spread a network of secret and devoted friends throughout the length and breadth of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland was surely no mean and contemptible one, and spoke volumes for the constructive and administrative capacity of Gloria de Lara and Flora Desmond. In every county this network had its headquarters in the Volunteer centres, with which communication was actively kept up by means of a code peculiar to this organisation.
Against these forces of a people’s love the Government had brought to bear the forces of the law. All that money and power could procure were at this Government’s command. And yet the difficulty of working had become pretty soon apparent, amidst a people whose lips refused to tell, and whose eyes became blinded by a sudden cloud whenever information was sought or demanded. In order to guard against the importation of informers into the Volunteer ranks, Flora Desmond had issued an order to the effect that no more aspirants were to be enrolled, an order which greatly hampered and took by surprise the forces of Scotland Yard, which had counted on informers’ assistance to a large degree in obtaining information.
It was at the cottage, therefore, of staunch, true, old Joe Webster, that Gloria had sought her first refuge amongst the people, after her flight from the metropolis. It was from the same cottage that Speranza had bidden her child farewell before setting out on her voyage to the United States, as an accredited delegate to plead the D’Estrangeite cause. It was at this cottage that Flora Desmond had secretly held council with her chief, and had arranged the details of the first public meeting at which Gloria was to appear. And it was at old Joe Webster’s cottage, too, that Léonie, in pursuit of the rôle which Mr. Trackem had set her to play, had presented herself before Gloria, and representing herself as one who had left home and interests to serve the great cause, had implored Gloria de Lara not to refuse her services, but to let her work for her even in the most menial capacity.
The bright, earnest face of the girl, her dark eyes glowing with genius, her pleading voice and apparent enthusiasm, had struck home to Gloria de Lara’s heart, the noble nature of which could not suspect treachery to lurk beneath such evident devotion. Léonie’s prayer had been heard by the woman who trusted her, and on whose betrayal and destruction she was bent. The first great meeting had been one of unlimited success for the D’Estrangeite cause, and therefore of proportionate discomfiture and humiliation for the Government. In the crowded Hall of Liberty, the D’Estrangeite members had assembled to protest against the assumption by the Nationals of the conduct of affairs without first making an appeal to the country, and also to call for a free pardon for Flora Desmond, and a fresh trial for Gloria de Lara. Government reporters had attended and taken voluminous notes of the speeches, policemen and detectives had assembled in full force by command of Mr. Mayhew, and established a strict watch. Proceedings, in fact, were in full swing, and it only needed the presence of one being on whom the thoughts of all were centred in that vast throng, to complete the assembly. Suddenly, upon the lowest of the six circular galleries that surrounded the dome of the hall, two forms were seen to appear. No need in pointing them out to inquire who they were. The low cheer which greeted their first appearance, soon swelled into a roar of wild, tumultuous applause and welcome, which flooded the vast building with deafening strain, and told of the enthusiasm and love that awoke it. What other being but Gloria de Lara could have commanded such an ovation? Truth it was she and her trusty companion Flora Desmond, who stood before them, habited in the uniform of the White Guards’ Regiment, in which the people knew them both so well.
In full view of the crowded House, in full view of the D’Estrangeite members, in full view of Government reporters, and Mr. Mayhew’s police and detective forces, Gloria had addressed the vast throng. Spellbound the people had listened to her words of hope, of encouragement, and of cheer. And when, in conclusion, she had bidden them fight on for the right, and actively resist wrong, the cheers had rung out again and again with deafening roar. Yet even as those cheers began to die away and the people’s eyes turn lovingly once more to their great leader, Gloria and her companion had vanished.
And what had Mr. Mayhew’s police been about? Why had they not arrested these daring two? How possible? The only means by which the galleries above could be reached, was through some twenty iron doors below. Yet when the police sought an entry, they found these doors securely barred by an invisible hand from within.
Of course a cordon of constables had been quickly drawn around the building, and detectives had watched anxiously day and night. Futile! as it soon became evident, when news reached the Government a few days later that Gloria de Lara had addressed a meeting in the north of England, that the police and troops hastily summoned had attempted to arrest her, but that, securely guarded by the Women’s Border Light Horse Volunteers, she had managed to effect an escape, and no trace of her whereabouts had up till then been obtained. Energetic authorities, however, took care to cap this unwelcome intelligence with the information that the police were prosecuting an unremitting search! Cui bono?
Meeting upon meeting had followed; concourse after concourse had assembled. Simultaneously they would be heard of in the north, south, east, and west of England, of Scotland, or of Ireland. No public placards or advertisements announced these meetings, and yet they were always well attended. It seemed as though some secret, mysteriously silent fiery cross passed through the districts in which they were held. But the authorities could not say for certain; they could only surmise. Machinery was at work beneath the surface which they had no power to fathom. The speakers at these meetings were manifold and various. The D’Estrangeite members were particularly active, but after Gloria de Lara and Flora Desmond, the people’s favourites were undoubtedly the Duke of Ravensdale, Nigel Estcourt, Lady Manderton, Launcelot Trevor, Archie Douglasdale, and Jack Delamere! Wonder of wonders! What! Colonel Delamere? The swagger Guardsman, the spoilt child of Society, the man whose life had hitherto been one long succession of amusement and pleasure? Is it possible? Quite so. There is no impossibility when Nature steps in to the rescue.
What influence has been at work thus to change the current of Jack Delamere’s pleasant but useless existence? What has induced him to take up the cudgels for Gloria de Lara’s cause? Ay, what?
Ever since that evening when, in obedience to orders, Jack Delamere had charged the crowd which barred the way between his Blues and the White Guards, ever since that day when he had marked the heroism of those men and women that composed it, ever since he had seen them go down before the horses of his troopers, sacrificing their lives so that their idol’s might be spared, Jack Delamere had been a faithful and devoted adherent of the D’Estrangeite cause. Perhaps, too, his love for Flora Desmond may have influenced him. Who knows? The influence of a noble and high-souled woman is surely the greatest incentive a man can have to do right.
Money, too, had poured in from all quarters of the globe, and from all manners and classes of people. The women, who in the palmy days of Hector D’Estrange had responded to his appeal on behalf of the Hall of Liberty, had not been laggard when the author of its being had again called upon them for sympathy and aid. The sinews of war had flowed in rapidly, and none had commanded it more quickly than Speranza de Lara.
Such a state of things had of course become intolerable to the Devonsmere Ministry, which in the early days of the movement had so confidently predicted its speedy collapse, as well as the arrest of Gloria de Lara and Flora Desmond. Every effort to capture these two had, however, proved unavailing, protected as they had been by a people’s love.
A people’s love! It was a noble gift to have won, a treasure of which they might well be proud, one which they might surely pray ever to deserve. None knew better than Gloria de Lara and Flora Desmond, that without it their fates must long since have been a prison’s cell and a felon’s doom.
In the eyes of this Government matters had become desperate. The efforts of the police had been paralysed. Conflicts had taken place between the military and the Women’s Volunteer Regiments, and strong measures appeared necessary to check the disorders. Gloria de Lara’s enemies had pointed to the Volunteer organisation as the root of the mischief, and it had been resolved to destroy it. Parliament had been asked to grant exceptional powers to meet this dangerous combination. Parliament had acquiesced, and forthwith a proclamation had been issued declaring the Women’s Volunteer organisation to be illegal, and decreeing the instant disbandment of its regiments. The exceptional powers had furthermore empowered the police to arrest and imprison without trial all women who should be seen wearing the uniform of these regiments; and it had likewise been decreed a felony to shelter or harbour the persons of Gloria de Lara or Lady Flora Desmond, or to take part in any public meeting in which they should participate.
This Coercion Act, the first which had ever been passed for Great Britain and Ireland combined, had rendered the position of Gloria de Lara and Flora Desmond one of extreme peril, while threatening the liberties of thousands of their countrymen. A secret meeting had been called, the situation discussed, and it had been agreed that for the sake of the cause thus threatened these two must leave the country.
But how? That was the question. Every port and sea-going vessel was strictly watched. In this dilemma Archie Douglasdale had submitted a plan.
This plan was that his sister and Gloria de Lara, together with Nigel Estcourt and himself, should retire to one of his properties on the shores of Glenuig Bay, where amidst its shaggy woods nestled a little fishing box, remote from the haunts of man. In this lonely retreat, guarded by trusty Ruglen retainers, he had declared his belief that for a time they could rest concealed, while Evie Ravensdale, repairing to London, should from there direct the immediate fitting-out of his yacht, in which, so soon as ready, he should put to sea, and work round to the Sound of Arisaig, where the fugitives could be embarked. And this plan had been approved of and acted upon. Gloria de Lara, Flora Desmond, Nigel Estcourt, and Archie Douglasdale had taken up their quarters in this safe retreat, and Evie Ravensdale had repaired to London. With him had gone Léonie, who had been commissioned to bear back the duke’s instructions when all was ready. It was a fatal arrangement this last; but Léonie had played her part well, and had won the confidence of all. Thus it is that we find Gloria de Lara on the last dying day of summer, amidst the scenes described at the opening of this chapter.
Léonie has arrived from London. She has been instructed, she declares, to inform Gloria de Lara that the duke’s yacht Eilean will proceed to sea and cruise about in the neighbourhood of Muck Island, so as to avoid the steamer track. The duke himself will make Glenuig Bay in a fishing smack, embarking every one thereon the day after his arrival. This arrival is timed for to-day, and Evie Ravensdale has sent a private message by Léonie asking Gloria to meet the smack at its entrance to the bay. At least so says Léonie, and Gloria believes her. She has sent the former to the top of a high crag to watch for the advent of the smack, with instructions to light a warning fire on sighting it. We have seen the pale blue line arise, and now Gloria, with quick, rapid strokes, is pulling for the bay’s entrance. Her heart is happy, for is not Evie Ravensdale at hand? She never dreams of treachery.
The boat flies through the water, which parts with hissing sound on either side of the bow’s keel. Now the splash and upheaving of the craft tells the rower that she has left the bay and entered the open sea. She casts a glance ahead, and sees the smack bearing down towards her, and then she sees the sail lowered and the vessel hove to. Once more she plies her oars, for she has caught sight of a tall figure waving to her, and making signs to bring the boat alongside the smack.
“Ship oars!” she hears a voice exclaiming as she nears it, and she obeys with alacrity.
In another moment a sailor has seized the painter, and two others have sprung into the boat. She looks up expecting to see the face of Evie Ravensdale. One glance, and she knows that she is betrayed.
“Up with the sails! Starboard the helm! Put the boat about, and fetch yon lad off the rocks,” is the quick command she hears given as the sailors heave her aloft on to the deck, and two other men push her into the cabin below. Then the hatch is battened down. There is a coarse laugh. Once more has Léonie won.
