CHAPTER XXXV.
UNDER THE WHITE STARS.
During the whole glad evening Wenna had been queen of the feast, and her subjects had obeyed her with a joyous submission. They did not take quite so kindly to Mabyn, for she was sharp of tongue and imperious in her ways, but they knew that they could tease her elder sister with impunity—always up to the well-understood line at which her authority began. That was never questioned.
Then at nine o'clock the servants came, some on foot and some on dog-carts, and presently there was a bundling of tiny figures in rugs and wraps, and Wenna stood at the door to kiss each of them and say good-bye. It was half-past nine when that performance was over.
"Now, my dear Miss Wenna," said the old clergyman, "you must be quite tired out with your labors. Come into the study; I believe the tray has been taken in there."
"Do you know, Mr. Trewhella," said Mabyn boldly, "that Wenna hadn't time to eat a single bit when all those children were gobbling up cake? Couldn't you let her have a little bit—a little bit of cold meat, now?"
"Dear! dear me!" said the kind old gentleman in the deepest distress, "that I should not have remembered!"
There was no use in Wenna protesting. In the snug little study she was made to eat some supper; and if she got off with drinking one glass of sherry, it was not through the intervention of her sister, who apparently would have had her drink a tumblerful.
It was not until a quarter past ten that the girls could get away.
"Now I must see you young ladies down to the village, lest some one should run away with you," the old clergyman said, taking down his top-coat.
"Oh no, you must not—you must not indeed, Mr. Trewhella!" Mabyn said anxiously. "Wenna and I always go about by ourselves; and far later than this, too. It is a beautiful, clear night. Why—"
Her impetuosity made her sister smile. "You talk as if you would rather like to be run away with, Mabyn," she said. "But indeed, Mr. Trewhella, you must not think of coming with us. It is quite true what Mabyn says."
And so they went out into the clear darkness together, and the door was shut, and they found themselves in the silent world of the night-time, with the white stars throbbing overhead. Far away in the distance they could hear the murmur of the sea.
"Are you cold, Mabyn, that you tremble so?" said the elder sister.
"No, only a sort of shiver in coming out into the night-air."
Whatever it was, it was soon over. Mabyn seemed to be unusually cheerful. "Wenna," she said, "you're afraid of ghosts."
"No, I'm not."
"I know you are."
"I'm not half as much afraid of ghosts as you are, that's quite certain."
"I'll bet you you won't walk down through the wood."
"Just now?"
"Yes."
"Why, I'll not only go down through the wood, but I'll undertake to be home before you, though you've a broad road to guide you."
"But I did not mean you to go alone."
"Oh," said Wenna, "you propose to come with me? Then it is you who are afraid to go down by yourself? Oh, Mabyn!"
"Never mind, Wenna: let's go down through the wood, just for fun."
So the two sisters set out arm in arm, and through some spirit of mischief Wenna would not speak a word. Mabyn was gradually overawed by the silence, the night, the loneliness of the road, and the solemn presence of the great living vault above them. Moreover, before getting into the wood they had to skirt a curious little dingle, in the hollow of which are both a church and churchyard. Many a time the sisters had come up to this romantic dell in the spring-time to gather splendid primroses, sweet violets, the yellow celandine, and other wild flowers that grew luxuriantly on its steep banks; and very pretty the old church looked then, with the clear sunshine of April streaming down through the scantily-leaved trees into this sequestered spot. Now the deep hole was black as night, and they could only make out a bit of the spire of the church as it appeared against the dark sky. Nay, was there not a sound among the fallen leaves and underwood down there in the direction of the unseen graves?
"Some cow has strayed in there, I believe," said Mabyn in a somewhat low voice, and she walked rather quickly until they got past the place and out on to the hill over the wooded valley.
"Now," said Wenna cheerfully, not wishing to have Mabyn put in a real fright, "as we go down I am going to tell you something, Mabyn. How would you like to have to prepare for a wedding in a fortnight?"
"Not at all," said Mabyn promptly, even fiercely.
"Not if it was your own?"
"No. Why, the insult of such a request!"
According to Mabyn's way of thinking it was an insult to ask a girl to marry you in a fortnight, but none to insist on her marrying you the day after to-morrow.
"You think that a girl could fairly plead that as an excuse—the mere time to get one's dresses and things ready?"
"Certainly."
"Oh, Mabyn," said Wenna far more seriously, "it is not of dresses I am thinking at all; but I shudder to think of getting married just now. I could not do it. I have not had enough time to forget what is past; and until that is done how could I marry any man?"
"Wenna, I do love you when you talk like that," her sister cried. "You can be so wise and reasonable when you choose. Of course you are quite right, dear. But you don't mean to say he wants you to get married before he goes to Jamaica, and then to leave you alone?"
"Oh no. He wants me to go with him to Jamaica."
Mabyn uttered a short cry of alarm: "To Jamaica! To take you away from the whole of us! Why—Oh, Wenna, I do hate being a girl so, for you're not allowed to swear! If I were a man now! To Jamaica! Why don't you know that there are hundreds of people always being killed there by the most frightful hurricanes and earthquakes and large serpents in the woods? To Jamaica! No, you are not going to Jamaica just yet. I don't think you are going to Jamaica just yet."
"No, indeed, I am not," said Wenna with a quiet decision. "Nor could I think of getting married in any case at present. But then—don't you see, Mabyn?—Mr. Roscorla is just a little peculiar in some ways—"
"Yes, certainly."
"—and he likes to have a definite reason for what you do. If I were to tell him of the repugnance I have to the notion of getting married just now, he would call it mere sentiment, and try to argue me out of it: then we should have a quarrel. But if, as you say, a girl may fairly refuse in point of time—"
"Now, I'll tell you," said Mabyn plainly: "no girl can get married properly who hasn't six months to get ready in. She might manage in three or four months for a man she was particularly fond of; but if it is a mere stranger, and a disagreeable person, and one who ought not to marry her at all, then six months is the very shortest time. Just you send Mr. Roscorla to me and I'll tell him all about it."
Wenna laughed: "Yes, I've no doubt you would. I think, he's more afraid of you than of all the serpents and snakes in Jamaica."
"Yes, and he'll have more cause to be before he's much older," said Mabyn confidently.
They could not continue their conversation just then, for they were going down the side of the hill between short trees and bushes, and the path was only broad enough for one, while there were many dark places demanding caution.
"Seen any ghosts yet?" Wenna called out to Mabyn, who was behind her.
"Ghosts, sir? Ay, ay, sir! Heave away on the larboard beam. I say, Wenna, isn't it uncommon dark?"
"It is uncommonly dark?"
"Gentlemen always say uncommon, and all the grammars are written by gentlemen. Oh, Wenna, wait a bit: I've lost my brooch."
It was no ruse, for a wonder: the brooch had indeed dropped out of her shawl. She felt all over the dark ground for it, but her search was in vain.
"Well, here's a nice thing! Upon my—"
"Mabyn!"
"Upon my—trotting pony: that was all I was going to say. Wenna, will you stay here for a minute, and I'll run down to the foot of the hill and get a match?"
"How can you get a match at the foot of the hill? You'll have to go on to the inn. No, tie your handkerchief round the foot of one of the trees, and come up early in the morning to look."
"Early in the morning?" said Mabyn. "I hope to be in—I mean asleep then."
Twice she had nearly blurted out the secret, and it is highly probable that her refusal to adopt Wenna's suggestion would have led her sister to suspect something had not Wenna herself by accident kicked against the missing brooch. As it was, the time lost by this misadventure was grievous to Mabyn, who now insisted on leading the way, and went along through the bushes at a rattling pace. Here and there the belated wanderers startled a blackbird, that went shrieking its fright over to the other side of the valley, but Mabyn was now too much preoccupied to be unnerved.
"Keeping a lookout ahead?" Wenna called.
"Ay, ay, sir! No ghosts on the weather quarter! Ship drawing twenty fathoms and the mate fast asleep. Oh, Wenna, my hat!"
It had been twitched off her head by one of the branches of the young trees through which she was passing, and the pliant bit of wood, being released from the strain, had thrown it down into the dark bushes and briers.
"Well I'm—No, I'm not!" said Mabyn as she picked out the hat from among the thorns and straightened the twisted feather. Then she set out again, impatient over these delays, and yet determined not to let her courage sink.
"Land ahead yet?" called out Wenna.
"Ay, ay, sir, and the Lizard on our lee. Wind south-south-west and the cargo shifting a point to the east. Hurrah!"
"Mabyn, they'll hear you a mile off."
It was certainly Mabyn's intention that she should be heard at least a quarter of a mile off, for now they had got down to the open, and they could hear the stream some way ahead of them, which they would have to cross. At this point Mabyn paused for a second to let her sister overtake her: then they went on arm-in-arm.
"Oh, Wenna," she said, "do you remember 'young Lochinvar'?"
"Of course."
"Didn't you fall in love with him when you read about him? Now, there was somebody to fall in love with! Don't you remember when he came into Netherby Hall, that
The bride-maidens whispered, ''Twere better by far
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar'?
And then you know, Wenna—
One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near;
So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
'She is won! we are gone—over bank, bush and scaur!
They'll have fleet steeds that follow,' quoth young Lochinvar.
That was a lover now!"
"I think he was a most impertinent young man," said Wenna.
"I rather like a young man to be impertinent," said Mabyn boldly.
"Then there won't be any difficulty about fitting you with a husband," said Wenna with a light laugh.
Here Mabyn once more went on ahead, picking her steps through the damp grass as she made her way down to the stream. Wenna was still in the highest of spirits.
"Walking the plank yet, boatswain?" she called out.
"Not yet, sir," Mabyn called in return. "Ship wearing round a point to the west, and the waves running mountains high. Don't you hear 'em, captain?"
"Look out for the breakers, boatswain."
"Ay, ay, sir. All hands on deck to man the captain's gig! Belay away there! Avast! Mind, Wenna, here's the bridge."
Crossing over that single plank in the dead of night was a sufficiently dangerous experiment, but both these young ladies had had plenty of experience in keeping their wits about them in more perilous places.
"Why are you in such a hurry, Mabyn?" Wenna asked when they had crossed.
Mabyn did not know what to answer: she was very much excited, and inclined to talk at random merely to cover her anxiety. She was now very late for the appointment, and who could tell what unfortunate misadventure Harry Trelyon might have met with?
"Oh, I don't know," she said. "Why don't you admire young Lochinvar? Wenna, you're like the Laodiceans."
"Like the what?"
"Like the Laodiceans, that were neither cold nor hot. Why don't you admire young Lochinvar?"
"Because he was interfering with another man's property."
"That man had no right to her," said Mabyn, talking rather wildly, and looking on ahead to the point at which the path through the meadows went up to the road. "He was a wretched animal, I know: I believe he was a sugar-broker, and had just come home from Jamaica."
"I believe," said Wenna—"I believe that young Lochinvar—" She stopped. "What's that?" she said. "What are those two lights up there?"
"They're not ghosts: come along, Wenna," said Mabyn, hurriedly.
Let us go up to this road, where Harry Trelyon, tortured with anxiety and impatience, is waiting. He had slipped away from the house pretty nearly as soon as the gentlemen had gone into the drawing-room after dinner, and on some excuse or other had got the horses put to a light and yet roomy Stanhope phaeton. From the stable-yard he drove by a back way into the main road without passing in front of the Hall: then he quietly walked the horses down the steep hill and round the foot of the valley to the point at which Mabyn was to make her appearance.
But he dared not stop there, for now and again some passer-by came along the road; and even in the darkness Mrs. Trelyon's gray horses would be recognized by any of the inhabitants of Eglosilyan, who would naturally wonder what Master Harry was waiting for. He walked them a few hundred yards one way, then a few hundred yards the other; and ever, as it seemed to him, the danger was growing greater of some one from the inn or from the Hall suddenly appearing and spoiling the whole plan.
Half-past ten arrived, and nothing could be heard of the girls. Then a horrible thought struck him that Roscorla might by this time have left the Hall, and would he not be coming down to this very road on his way up to Basset Cottage? This was no idle fear: it was almost a matter of certainty.
The minutes rolled themselves out into ages: he kept looking at his watch every few seconds, yet he could hear nothing from the wood or the valley of Mabyn's approach. Then he got down into the road, walked a few yards this way and that, apparently to stamp the nervousness out of his system, patted the horses, and finally occupied himself in lighting the lamps. He was driven by the delay into a sort of desperation. Even if Wenna and Mabyn did appear now, and if he was successful in his prayer, there was every chance of their being interrupted by Roscorla, who had without doubt left the Hall some time before.
Suddenly he stopped in his excited walking up and down. Was that a faint "Hurrah!" that he heard in the distance. He went down to the stile at the junction of the path and the road, and listened attentively. Yes, he could hear at least one voice, as yet a long way off, but now he had no more doubt. He walked quickly back to the carriage. "Ho, ho, my hearties!" he said, stroking the heads of the horses, "you'll have a Dick Turpin's ride to-night."
All the nervousness had gone from him now: he was full of a strange sort of exultation—the joy of a man who feels that the crisis in his life has come, and that he has the power and courage to face it.
He heard them come up through the meadow to the stile: it was Wenna who was talking—Mabyn was quite silent. They came along the road.
"What is this carriage doing here?" Wenna said.
They drew still nearer.
"They are Mrs. Trelyon's horses, and there is no driver."
At this moment Harry Trelyon came quickly forward and stood in the road before her, while Mabyn as quickly went on and disappeared. The girl was startled, bewildered, but not frightened; for in a second he had taken her by the hand, and then she heard him say to her, in an anxious, low, imploring voice, "Wenna, my darling, don't be alarmed. See here: I have got everything ready to take you away; and Mabyn is coming with us; and you know I love you so that I can't bear the notion of your falling into that man's hands. Now, Wenna, don't think about it. Come with me. We shall be married in London: Mabyn is coming with you."
For one brief second or two she seemed stunned and bewildered: then, looking at the carriage, and the earnest suppliant before her, the whole truth appeared to flash in upon her. She looked wildly round. "Mabyn—" she was about to say, when he guessed the meaning of her rapid look:
"Mabyn is here. She is quite close by—she is coming with us. My darling, won't you let me save you? This indeed is our last chance, Wenna."
She was trembling so that he thought she would fall; and he would have put his arms round her, but that she drew back, and in so doing she got into the light, and then he saw the immeasurable pity and sadness of her eyes.
"Oh, my love," she said with the tears running down her face, "I love you! I will tell you that now, when we speak for the last time. See, I will kiss you; and then you will go away."
"I will not go away—not without you—this night. Wenna, dearest, you have let your heart speak at last: now let it tell you what to do."
"Oh, must I go? Must I go?" she said; and then she looked wildly round again.
"Mabyn!" called out Trelyon, half mad with joy and triumph—"Mabyn, come along! Look sharp! jump in! This way, my darling!"
And he took the trembling girl and half lifted her into the carriage.
"Oh, my love, what am I doing for you this night?" she said to him with her eyes swimming in tears.
But what was the matter with Mabyn? She was just putting her foot on the iron step when a rapidly approaching figure caused her to utter a cry of alarm, and she stumbled back into the road again. The very accident that Trelyon had been anticipating had occurred: here was Mr. Roscorla, bewildered at first, and then blind with rage when he saw what was happening before his eyes. In his desperation and anger he was about to lay hold of Mabyn by the arm when he was sent staggering backward half a dozen yards.
"Don't interfere with me now, or by God I will kill you!" Trelyon said between his teeth, and then he hurried Mabyn into the carriage.
What was the sound then that the still woods heard under the throbbing stars through the darkness that lay over the land? Only the sound of horses' feet, monotonous and regular, and not a word of joy or sorrow uttered by any one of the party thus hurrying on through the night.