CHAPTER VIII.
A MYSTERIOUS YOUNG MAN.
The baronet leaped to his feet, and stood face to face with his preserver. The giant trees, towering up until they seemed to pierce the sky, half shut out the moonlight, but yet Sir Everard could see that it was a slender stripling who stood before him, a slouched hat pulled far over his eyes.
"I owe you my life," he cried, grasping the youth's hand. "An instant later, and I would have been in eternity. How shall I ever thank you?"
"Don't make the attempt," replied the lad, coolly. "It was the merest chance-work in the world that sent me here to-night."
"Don't call it chance, my boy. It was Providence sent you to save a life."
"Providence may have wished to save your life, and was not particular as to the means. Let us look to this fellow. I hope my shot has not killed him outright."
They both stooped over the fallen giant. Dick Darkly lay on his face, groaning dismally, the blood pumping from his chest with every breath.
"It's an ugly-looking hole," said Sir Everard. "Two inches lower, and it would have gone straight through his heart. As it is, it will put a stop to his assassinating proclivities for awhile, I fancy. Lie still, you matchless scoundrel, while I try and stop this flow of blood."
He knelt beside the groaning man and endeavored to stanch the red gushing with his handkerchief. The youth stood by, gazing calmly on.
"What do you mean to do with him?" he asked.
"Send some of my people to take him to his home, and as soon as he is sufficiently recovered to stand his trial for attempted murder—"
"For God's sake, Sir Everard!" faintly moaned the wounded man.
"Ah, you audacious villain, you can supplicate now! If I let you off this time, my life would not be worth an hour's purchase."
"What did he call you?" asked the boy, with sudden, sharp anxiety in his tone. "Whose life have I saved?"
"I am Sir Everard Kingsland, of Kingsland Court," the baronet answered.
"And you are—who?"
"Sir Everard Kingsland! And I have saved your life!"
"For which Heaven be praised! It is a very pleasant world, this, and I have no desire just yet to leave it. Pray tell me the name of my preserver!"
"Never mind my name; it is of no consequence who I am. I have a long journey before me; I am very weary and footsore, and it is time I was on my way."
"Weary and footsore?" repeated the baronet. "Nay—then all the more need we should not part. Come home with me and rest—to-night, at least. I owe you a heavy debt, and I should like to pay a little of it."
"You owe me nothing!" His eyes gleamed under his hat and his teeth clinched as he spoke. "Nothing, Sir Everard Kingsland! Let us say good-bye. I must reach Worrel by sunrise."
"And so you shall. The fleetest steed in my stables shall carry you. But come to Kingsland and rest for the night. If you will not accept my thanks, accept at least the shelter of my roof."
The boy seemed to hesitate.
The baronet look advantage of that momentary hesitation and drew his arm through his own. There was not a prouder man in wide England, but this unknown lad had saved his life, and Sir Everard was only two-and-twenty, and full of generous impulses.
"Come," he said, "don't be obstinate. You own to being footsore and weary. Kingsland is very near, and a night's rest will do you good."
"Thanks! I accept your kind hospitality, Sir Everard, on two conditions."
"On any conditions you choose, mon ami. What are they?"
"That no one shall know it but yourself, and that I may depart before day-dawn."
"I dislike that last condition very much; but it must be as you say.
Sleep in safety, most mysterious youth; no one shall know you are under
my roof, and I will come and wake you myself at the first peep of day.
Will that do?"
"Admirably. You are very kind to take all this trouble for a nameless tramp, Sir Everard."
"Am I? Even when the nameless tramp saved my life?"—yet Sir Everard winced a little while saying it. "And that reminds me, we must hasten, if yonder fallen villain is to recover from his wound. His condition is not an enviable one at this moment."
"How did it happen?" the boy asked.
And the young baronet repeated the story of Dick Darkly's provocation and vow of revenge.
As he concluded they passed through the stately gates, up the majestic sweep of drive, to the imposing old mansion.
"Home!" Sir Everard said, gayly. "Solitude and darkness reign, you see. The family have long since retired, and we can pass to our respective dormitories unseen and unheard."
The boy looked up with his brilliant, glowing eyes. But he did not speak. In silence he followed Sir Everard in, up the noble marble stair-way, along richly carpeted, softly lighted corridors, and into a stately chamber.
"You will sleep here," Sir Everard said. "My room is near, and I am a light sleeper. To-morrow morning at five I will rouse you. Until then adieu, and pleasant dreams."
He swung out and closed the door, and not once had he seen the face of his guest. That guest stood in the center of the handsome chamber, and gazed around.
"At last!" he hisses between his set white teeth—"at last, after two years' weary waiting! At last, oh! my mother, the time has come for me to keep my vow!"
He raised one arm with a tragic gesture, removed the slouched hat, and stood uncovered in the tranquil half light.
The face was wonderfully handsome, of gypsy darkness, and the eyes shone like black stars; but a scarlet handkerchief was bound tightly around his head, and concealed every vestige of hair. With a slow smile creeping round his mouth, the boy took his handkerchief off.
"To-morrow he will come and call me, but to-morrow I shall not leave Kingsland Court. No, my dear young baronet, I have not saved your life for nothing! I shall have the honor of remaining your guest for some time."