Happy in the thought of having humiliated his rival, and the hope of eventually crushing him altogether, Captain Scarthe had slept soundly throughout the whole night—little suspecting the series of incidents that were transpiring, some scarce a score of yards from his couch, and all within a mile’s circuit of the mansion.
Even after awaking, he was not informed of the various love interviews, hairbreadth escapes, and captures, that, during the after-hours of that eventful night had been following each other in such quick succession. The whole affair had been managed so silently that, beyond the six men comprising the guard, with the corporal himself, not another cuirassier knew of what had happened. Withers had taken care that the tongues of his comrades should be tied—a purpose he might not have succeeded in effecting, but for those golden pieces which the lady had so profusely poured into his palm, and of which he was now compelled to make a generous, though somewhat reluctant disbursement.
The result was, that at the changing of the guard, the prisoner was handed over to the relief, bound as before; and no one in the troop was made acquainted with the facts, either of his escape or recapture. The new guard entered upon its tour, undo the full belief, that their charge had spent the whole of the night within the precincts of his prison.
Of the several individuals who had been privy to his escape, there was only one who by daybreak still remained ignorant that he had been retaken. Marion slumbered till the morning, unconscious of the re-arrest of her lover, as Scarthe of his temporary deliverance. On parting with him, she had gone to her couch, though not directly. The noises heard without had made her uneasy; and, standing by a window on the stairway she had listened. She had heard voices of men—a woman’s as well—uttered in low tones; but soon after they had ceased. She knew it must be some of the guard, and the woman’s voice she could guess at; but, as so little disturbance had been made, she did not suspect that it was an alarm, or that they had yet discovered the absence of the prisoner from his place of confinement.
She listened for a long time. She even returned to the verandah door, opened it, looked out, and listened again. But all was quiet, outside as within; and supposing that the soldiers had returned into the courtyard, she at length re-entered her chamber, and sought repose upon her couch.
Her prolonged vigil, and its happy termination, favoured sleep; and at that moment, when Henry Holtspur was struggling in the grasp of the cuirassier guards, Marion Wade was dreaming a delightful dream of his delivery—in which she fancied herself enjoying over and over again that ecstatic interview that had succeeded it!
Her slumber, with its concomitant dream, was protracted far into the hours of daylight. Long as they had continued, both were destined to a rude interruption.
She was awakened by sounds without, betokening the presence of men under the window of her chamber. Horses, too—as could be told by the stamping of hooves upon the gravelled esplanade. Several distinct voices reached her ear—one louder than the rest—which was occasionally raised in abrupt accents of command; and once or twice in a tone altogether different—in laughter! Whichever way uttered, it sounded harsh in the hearing of Marion Wade: she knew it was Scarthe’s.
For what was the cuirassier captain abroad at so early an hour? Was it so early?
Her arm was extended from under the coverlet, white as the counterpane itself. Her jewelled watch was taken up from the tripod table on which it lay. Its dial was consulted: ten of the clock!