In the Roar of the Sea

by S. Baring-Gould

Coppinger uttered a curse, and put his hand to his belt and drew forth his second pistol. But Oliver sprang forward, and with a sweep of his cutlass caught him on the wrist with the blade as he was about to touch the trigger. The pistol fell from his hand, and a rush of blood overflowed the back of the hand.

Coppinger remained for one minute motionless. So did Oliver, who did not again raise his cutlass.

But at that moment a harsh voice was heard crying, “There he is, my men, at him; beat his brains out. A guinea for the first man who knocks him over,” and from the further side of the boat, illumined by the glare from the fire, were seen the faces of Mr. Scantlebray, his brother, and several men, who began to scramble over the obstruction.

Then, and then only in his life, did Coppinger’s heart fail him. His right hand was powerless; the sharp blade had severed the tendons, and blood was flowing from his wrist in streams. One pistol was discharged, the other had fallen. In a minute he would be in the hands of his deadly enemies.

He turned and fled. The light from the fire, the illumined smoke, rose through the chimney, and by that he could run up the familiar track, reach the platform in the face of the cliff, thence make his way by the path up which he had formerly borne Judith. He did not hesitate, he fled, and Oliver, also without hesitation, pursued him. As he went up the narrow track, his feet trod in and were stained with the blood that had fallen from Coppinger’s wounded arm, but he did not notice it—he was unaware of it till the morrow.

Coppinger reached the summit of the cliffs. His feet were on the down. He ran at once in the direction of Othello Cottage. His only chance of safety lay there. There he could hide in the attic, and Judith would never betray him. In his desperate condition, wounded, his blood flowing from him in streams, hunted by his foes, that one thought was in him—Judith—he must go to Judith. She would never betray him, she would be hacked to death rather than give him up. To Judith as his last refuge!

CHAPTER LIII.
IN THE SMOKE.

Judith left Pentyre Glaze when she had somewhat recovered herself after the interview with Coppinger and her surrender. She had fought a brave battle, but had been defeated and must lay down her arms. Resistance was no longer possible if Jamie was to be saved from a miserable fate. Now by the sacrifice of herself she had assured to, him a future of calm and innocent happiness. She knew that with Uncle Zachie and Oliver he would be cared for, kindly treated, and employed. Uncle Zachie himself was not to be trusted; whatever he might promise, his good nature was greater than his judgment. But she had confidence in Oliver, who would prove a check on the over-indulgence which his father would allow. But Jamie would forget her. His light and unretentive mind was not one to harbor deep feeling. He would forget her when on board ship in his pleasure at running about the vessel chattering with the sailors, and would only think of her if he wanted aught or was ill. Rapidly the recollection of her, love for her, would die out of his mind and heart; and as it died out of his, her thought and love for him would deepen and become more fixed, for she would have no one, nothing in the world to think of and love save her twin-brother.

She walked on in the dark winter night, lighted only by the auroral glow overhead, and was conscious of a smell of tobacco-smoke that so persistently seemed to follow her that she was forced to notice it. She became uneasy, thinking that someone was walking behind the hedge with a pipe, watching her, perhaps waiting to spring out upon her when distant from the house, where her cries for help might not be heard.