"Oh! for heaven's sake, take care," cried Eda. "You had better take no notice of them. There were two or three hundred men, and they may murder you."
"Pooh! pooh!" answered Edgar. "Go to bed, Eda, dear; you will catch cold, and then somebody will scold me to-morrow;" and away he walked after the party of men, which he also had seen from his room as he sat meditating near the window. The intruders seemed to know the park tolerably well, but Edgar Adelon knew it better; and cutting off an angle here, and taking a short turn there--by a hawthorn bush, round a clump of chestnuts, through a copse, over a rise--he contrived to come in sight of them continually, without being seen himself, till at length they reached the stone stile, and paused around it in an irregular mass. The young gentleman was at that moment standing with his back against a large horse-chestnut tree, and he could not at all make out the man[oe]uvres that followed. Some of the men stood upon the top of the stile, and seemed, with great labour and difficulty, to lift a large and very weighty object over the wall. Then came another effort of the same kind, and then the men began to pass rapidly into the road beyond the park.
As soon as the last had disappeared, young Edgar Adelon darted out of his place of concealment, and followed; but by the time he reached the lane, although the moon had now risen, not a trace of the mob could be discovered; and he was turning away to the left, when suddenly a murmur of voices from the copse and valley below showed him the direction which those he sought had taken. There were ways through that copse only known to himself and the gamekeepers, unless, indeed, some of the neighbouring poachers were as learned in its recesses; but following one of these paths, he soon came within sight of the open space before the old priory, and a strange scene presented itself to his eyes. Full two hundred men were there assembled; some sitting on fragments of the old ruin, some sauntering idly about the little green, some bathing their hands in the stream, which sparkled not only in the light, pure and pale, of the newly-risen moon, but in that of two or three torches, which had by this time been lighted. In the centre, however, there was a group of some thirty persons, more busily employed, in the midst of whom shone the torches I have mentioned; and by their glare, Edgar now perceived, for the first time clearly, the heavy objects which the men had carried, and saw what they were now doing with them. Two small field-pieces, apparently of brass, lay upon the ground, detached from their carriages, which had been taken to pieces, and which the mob were busily putting together. A good deal of skill was shown in the task, and no slight eagerness appeared in the rough, bronzed countenances of the men around, as they looked on or assisted from time to time. The fixing the carriages together was soon complete, and then came the more laborious work of slinging the cannon, and adjusting them in their proper position. This was not accomplished without difficulty, but it was at length complete; and Edgar Adelon felt inclined to turn away and go back to the house, when suddenly a loud voice exclaimed, "Now run them back into those dark nooks, and gather round and hear a word or two."
Eight or ten men instantly applied themselves to drag the field-pieces into the recesses of the building, and then came forth again, gathering round the person who had spoken. He then placed himself upon a large mass of fallen masonry, and in a loud, clear tone, and with powerful and energetic language, pronounced an harangue, which gave to Edgar Adelon the astounding information that his father was looked upon as the leader of the rash men he saw before him, and their future guide and support in schemes which seemed to his fresh young mind nothing but mete madness. A part, at least, of their plans and purposes was displayed; and with a heart filled with terror and anxiety for his father, Edgar Adelon made his way out of the copse, to return to Brandon House, asking himself how he should act, and resolving to consult the priest as soon as he could see him on the following morning.
CHAPTER XV.
What a whimsical thing is that strange composition--man. The very elements of his nature war against each other, though bound together by hoops of steel. The spirit and the body are continually at variance, and the activity of the one often renders the other inert. Eda Brandon could not sleep after Edgar Adelon left her; her imagination, ever busy, presented to her continually scenes the most fearful and the most terrible, where the gibbet, and the axe, and the deadly shot were seen and heard; and her uncle's form appeared as a criminal, freed for an hour or two from dark imprisonment, to endure the torture of a public trial. She judged of all she knew as a woman judges: with keen foresight and penetration, but without sufficient experience to make that penetration available. But still her fancy was busy, and it kept her waking. For more than one hour she did not sleep; but still she tried hard to do so, for she proposed to rise early on the following morning, when she knew that those whom she had determined to consult, as to all the questions before her, would be up. But such resolutions are vain. Fatigue and exhaustion imperatively counselled repose; and at length, when her eyes closed, notwithstanding all her determinations to watch, she went on in a profound slumber for more than one hour after her usual time of rising.
A morning of hurry and anxiety succeeded. Dudley had already gone out with the gamekeepers and Edgar to shoot; Lord Hadley was still in bed; Mr. Filmer had been summoned to a dying man at daybreak.
Sir Arthur ate his breakfast absorbed in journals and papers; and Eda, though she loved him, had still doubts and hesitations, which prevented her from speaking to her uncle on the subject predominant in her thoughts. At length he looked at his watch, and rose suddenly, saying, "I must leave you, dear Eda. It is strange that Mr. Norries has not arrived, as I expected him on business."
No mention was made of the peculiar influence that the one party possessed over the other; and the tone, too, was so commonplace, that Eda began to imagine she had been over-penetrating, and had imagined things that did not exist; so that she saw her uncle depart with comparative tranquillity, and remained alone for near an hour, trying to occupy herself with the ordinary amusements of the morning. At the end of that time, however, her maid opened the door of her own little sitting-room, saying, "Miss Clive, ma'am," and Helen was soon seated by Eda Brandon.
"What is the matter, Helen dear," said Eda, as the other, at her invitation, sat down on the sofa beside her. "You look pale; and agitated I am sure you are; for however we may hide it, dear Helen, and however difficult it may be to detect in line or feature, the anxiety of the heart writes itself upon the face in characters faint but very distinct. You are anxious about something, Helen. Something has gone amiss. Tell me, dear Helen; for I think I need not say that if I can console or help, you have only to tell the how, to Eda Brandon."