Lizzie Maurice withdrew to prepare for her return home, the woman accompanied her; Oaklands strode to the window, and remained watching the operation of harnessing the horse to the tax-cart. Wilford still retained the same attitude, and neither spoke nor moved. Wentworth having glanced towards him once or twice, as if to divine his wishes, receiving no sign, lit a cigar, and leaning His back against the chimney-piece began to smoke furiously, whilst I devoted myself to the pages of an old sporting magazine. Thus passed five minutes, which seemed as if they would never come to an end, at the expiration of which time the tax-cart, driven by a stout country lad, drew up to the door, and the two women making their appearance at the same moment, Oaklands turned to leave the room. As he did so Wilford, for the first time, raised his head, thereby disclosing a countenance which, pale as death, was characterised by an expression of such intense malignity as one might conceive would be discernible in that of a corpse reanimated by some evil spirit. After regarding Oaklands fixedly for a moment, he said, in a low, grating tone of voice, “You have foiled me once and again—when next we meet, it wilt, be my turn!” Oaklands merely smiled contemptuously, and quitted the house.
Having mounted our horses, we ordered the lad who drove the spring-cart to proceed at his fastest pace, while we followed at a sufficient distance to keep it in sight, so as to guard against any attempt which might be made by Wilford to repossess himself of his victim, without positively identifying ourselves with the party it contained. We rode in silence for the first two or three miles; at length I could refrain no longer, and, half uttering my thoughts aloud, half addressing my companion, I exclaimed, “Oh, Harry, Harry, what is all this that you have done?”
“Done!” replied Oaklands, with a heightened colour and flashing eyes, “rescued an innocent girl from a villain who would have betrayed her, and punished the scoundrel about half so severely as he deserved; but that was my misfortune, not my fault. Had not the whip broken——”
“You know that is not what I mean,” returned I; “but this man will challenge you, will—you are aware of his accursed skill—will murder you. Oh! that fiendish look of his as you left the room—it will haunt me to my dying day.”
“And would you have had me leave the poor girl to her fate from a coward fear of personal danger? You are strangely altered since you defied a room full of men last night rather than allow Clara Saville's name to be uttered by their profane lips; or, which is nearer the truth,” he continued with a kind smile, “your affection for me blinds you.”
“Not so, Harry,” replied I; “but it is the recollection of my own feelings, when, while waiting for Lawless's report last night, I believed I should be forced to meet this Wilford—it is the misery, the self-reproach, the bitter penitence of that moment, when, for the first time, I was able to reflect on the fearful situation in which by my own rashness I had placed myself, a situation in which crime seemed forced upon me, and it appeared impossible to act rightly—it is the remembrance of all these things which causes me to lament that you, my more than brother, should have involved yourself in similar difficulties.”
“But, Frank,” he began—then, interrupting himself, he seized my hand, and pressing it warmly between his own, exclaimed, “My dear old fellow, forgive me if I have spoken unkindly to you; but this man has maddened me, I believe”. He paused, and then continued in a calmer voice, “Let me tell you how it occurred, and you will see I could scarcely have acted otherwise than I have done. You know I went into the public-house to brush off the mud after my tumble. The instant my step sounded in the passage, a girl tripped lightly down the stairs and ran towards me, exclaiming joyfully, 'You have come at last, then!' On finding that it was not the person she expected she stopped in alarm, and I perceived to my astonishment that it was Lizzie Maurice. She recognised me at the same moment, and apparently a new idea struck her, for she again approached me, saying, 'Mr. Oaklands, tell me, sir, for heaven's sake, has anything happened to Wilford?' Then, with woman's tact, perceiving her mistake, she blushed deeply, adding in a timid voice, 'I fancied you might have been riding with that gentleman; and seeing you alone, I was afraid some accident might have befallen your companion'. All this convinced me that my suspicions had not been misplaced; and the thought occurred to me that possibly it might not yet be too late to endeavour to restore her to her father, while the recollection of Archer's account of the old man's distress determined me to make the attempt.
“Taking her, therefore, by the hand, I led her into the parlour, and, begging her to listen to me for five minutes, told her I was aware of her elopement, and entreated her to return home again, adding that her father was brokenhearted at her loss. She shed tears when I mentioned the old man's grief, but positively refused to return home.
“Finding persuasion to be of no avail, I thought I would appeal to her fears: so I informed her that I was aware of the name of the villain who had enticed her away; that I would seek him out and expose him, and that I should instantly acquaint her father with her place of refuge, and advise him to come provided with proper powers to reclaim her. This produced more effect, and, after some hesitation, she told me proudly that I had done her foul wrong by my doubts; that Mr. Wilford meant to make her his lawful wife; but that, in order to prevent his great relations hearing of it till he could break it to them cautiously, it was advisable to keep the affair quiet—(the old story, in short, private marriage and all the rest of it)—a friend of Wilford's, therefore, to avoid exciting suspicion, had kindly driven her over there the night before, and she was now expecting her lover to come, and bring a clergyman with him, who would marry them by licence on the spot; when she heard my step she thought they had arrived. The air of truth with which she told her tale carried conviction with it.
“I was about to represent to her the improbability of Wilford's intentions being as honourable as she fondly imagined them, when a gig drove up to the door, containing Wentworth and a fellow whom I recognised as one of the billiard-markers in —— Street, dressed in a seedy suit of black for the occasion; immediately afterwards Wilford arrived on horseback. The whole thing was now perfectly clear. Wilford, having made the girl believe he intended to marry her, persuaded Wentworth, who is completely his tool, to carry her off for him; after which he went to Lawless's wine-party, in order to show himself and thereby avert suspicion. He then bribed the billiard-marker to play parson, got Wentworth to bring him, and going out as if merely for a ride had joined them here. I was considering what would be the best course to pursue, and was just coming out to consult you, when the door was flung open, and Wilford and Wentworth entered hastily. The moment Wilford's eyes fell upon me he started as if a serpent had stung him, and his brow became black as night.