“I am going down to the shore, with all the men I can muster, to try and seize the wreckers if possible at their fiendish work, or to render help if it be possible to any hapless vessel they may have lured to destruction. I pray Heaven we may defeat their villainous intentions; but I fear old David is right, and that they know very well what they are about, and do not light false fires without warrant that they light them not in vain. Bride, remain you here; call up the women, and let one or two rooms be prepared. It may be we shall have some half-drowned guest with us when we return. It can do no harm to be prepared. That is your office. See that all is in readiness if wanted.”
The excitement and alarm had by this time spread to the stables, and the men from there came hurrying round, eager to take a share in the night’s expedition. Two stout young fellows were sent to the foot of the lantern-tower to keep guard there, and see that no hurt came to the old man; and the rest were formed into a regular marching squad by the Duke, who always had his servants drilled into some sort of military precision, ready for an emergency of this kind, and led by him straight down to the beach, carrying such things as were thought needful, both in the event of a struggle with the wreckers, or the necessity of organising a rescue party to some vessel in distress.
Bride was left in the castle, surrounded by the women of the household, who had by this time been aroused, and had come out of their rooms, some in terror, some in excitement, and were all eager to know both what had happened and what was to be done.
Bride took a little on one side the housekeeper and her old nurse, two old servants in whom she had the utmost confidence, and quietly gave her orders. One or two of the spare bed-chambers were to be quickly prepared for the accommodation of possible guests. The fire in the hall was to be lighted, and some refreshment spread there. Visitors at the castle had been rare of late, and some of the chambers were likely to be damp, and the fires might very likely smoke on being lighted.
“You had better make use of the rooms Mr. Marchmont uses when he is here,” said Bride. “They have been used a good deal this year. I think there has never been any trouble with them.”
“They are all ready, my lady,” answered the housekeeper. “His Grace gave orders that they were to be put in readiness to receive him at any time. They only want the fires lighting.”
“Ah! true—I remember,” answered Bride. “Then let fires be lighted there instantly. Set the girls to work at something. They are only growing frightened and upset by talking and wondering. Let everything be ready in case there are persons brought in drowned, or almost drowned. Let everything be at hand that can be wanted. Nurse, you understand that sort of thing. You know what is needed in every kind of emergency. See that all is ready. We do not know what may be coming to-night.”
Bride spoke calmly, but her heart was throbbing wildly the whole time. In her head was beating the ceaseless repetition of the one name—“Eustace! Eustace! Eustace!”
She seemed all at once to understand the meaning of her troubled dream, and the cry which had awakened her. Eustace was truly in some deadly peril, and her name had been upon his lips, as it was in his heart, at the supreme moment when he believed himself passing from life to death. Bride had too full a belief in the independent life of the spirit to feel any great surprise at such a thing as this. The power and the deep mystery of love were a part of her creed. She held that a true and God-given love was as immortal as the soul—was the very essence of the soul; and now that she fully recognised the depth of her own love for Eustace, she could well believe (knowing his love for her) that his spirit would seek to meet hers in the supreme moment when he thought death was coming upon him. But, surely—ah! surely, her prayer for him, which had immediately followed upon that cry, would have been heard in heaven, and God would give him back to her! Ah! how she had prayed for this man—body, soul, and spirit! How she had poured out herself in supplication for him again and yet again, that his heart might be changed and softened, that the Spirit of grace might work therein, that he might learn to know his Saviour, and that his body might be preserved from all perils.
Bride had that faith which believes all things; and even through the anxious terrors of that night she believed that Eustace would be given back to her. She believed absolutely that he had been in deadly peril, that the cry she had heard in her dreams was no dream, but that it portended some crisis in the life of her lover. She knew that he was likely to be at sea to-night, and coming down Channel along these very coasts. It might indeed have been his vessel that these desperate men had striven to wreck. She never tried to fight against the conviction that something terrible had befallen Eustace that night; but so convinced was she that God had heard her prayers, and had made of her an instrument for the deliverance and saving of her lover, that she was able to retain her calmness and tranquillity, even through that terrible hour of suspense, saying always to herself—