Midnight Webs

by George Manville Fenn

It might have been but for a few seconds, but the suspense was agonising. Katie felt no fear for herself then: her fear was lest he should be discovered who had been ready to die in her defence—who had been so cruelly smitten down—he to whom, but a few hours before, she had plighted herself, owning to her love, and, for the first time, daring to respond to his kisses. But was it a few hours ago? Was it not years since, or at some time far back in the past, that those happy moments were? Or was this some wild dream—that he, the young, the bright, the true, who had treasured her love for years, and come these thousands of miles to see her—to claim her—was dying in her arms?

The stillness around them was awful; the darkness more and more intense. Cold as marble, gazing upwards ever at this invisible terror that she knew was there, would it not be better almost to cry out, she thought, and bring down others, so as to end the harrowing suspense that seemed to madden her?

But poor Ned—poor, helpless Ned! If he were not already dead—if he had not even now escaped from the arms that held him so tightly, they would slay him without mercy. No; she must remain silent. Would he move, or even mutter? Her heart gave a bound, for at that moment there was a slight motion in the form she clasped, and this made her turn her head from its strained, unnatural position, so that her cheek fell gently upon Murray’s, and then she clung to him cold and motionless, but with strained ears, as she felt that the time for discovery had come. The casement shook a little; there was a rustling noise, as of some one slowly climbing out; a heavy foot was placed upon her soft, yielding arm, then another, and the pain was sharp, but almost welcome, for it seemed to numb her mental agony. Yet no sigh escaped her lips; she only felt that the time to die had come, and a simple old prayer was being mentally repeated for pardon for those who, if not already cruelly slain, were in deadly peril—for herself and for him she so dearly loved.

Then the pressure was removed, there was a staggering step, such as might be that of a wounded man. With closed eyes, and a heavily throbbing heart, she heard a hand run along the wall, the wooden click, the door open and softly close, and then all was silent in the shed.

Silence there, but noise and confusion in the house: shouting, and more than one attempt apparently to obtain order, but all heard in a confused way, for a strange, deathly feeling of sickness had come upon the poor girl, her senses were reeling, there was a loud singing noise at her ears, and, though her name seemed to be uttered again and again, yet she could not respond, and soon all was blank.

How long that time of utter nothingness lasted, she could not tell; but she woke again to a strange feeling of oppression and misery; her breath came thick and short, and she could not recall where she was. It was as if her intellect had received some fearful stroke which had robbed her of her reflective powers. But thought came suddenly, and she knew all.

A bitter sob rose to her lips, and she could have cried for help, but in dread she checked that cry, and her heart beat triumphantly, for a voice, whose breath touched her cheek, whispered her name, and she knew that he lived.

“Katie, darling, Katie,” was whispered again—“water!”

Water! How could she get it? The spring was on the other side of the house, and the men were in the front; she could hear them still talking loudly over their plunder. If she went, they would seize her. If she appealed to them for help, they would rob him of what little life remained. What could she do? She could do nothing, she told herself despairingly—nothing but wait, and perhaps the wretches would go.

But it was not dark now. A dull light seemed to play through the window above their heads, as turning, she knew that it was smoke that she could see; and, starting to her feet, she found that, at the height of her lips, it was so dense that she could not breathe.