“Henry!—Mr Jervas!” she exclaimed, and would have fallen to the ground had I not drawn our horses together, and supported her sinking frame upon my breast. There was not a sound in the air, that had so lately been torn with dreadful noises, except the low sobs of my companion, whose tears were flowing unrestrained upon my bosom, and the dreamy plashing of the river beside us, as it hastened to drown its murmurs in the moan of the sea, that came heavily at intervals on the wind like a lamentation. The wind that was now abroad was barely strong enough to lift a curl or two of the long and lovely tresses that lay clustering on my breast. All the light in the sky was insufficient to show more than the dim outline of the hills rising black around us against the paler gloom of the heavens. Everything was steeped in profound tranquillity, but the uproar that this quiet had succeeded was less confounding a thousand times, than the tumultuous feelings which agitated my heart in the midst of that solemn and oppressive calm.
“Tell me, Ellen, is it possible that you can have been under the same roof with this villain Forrest?”
“Alas, poor wretch!” she exclaimed, “he was burned to death—he and his cousin Hiram.”
“Murderous ruffians!—robbers, dogs, and pirates! what better fate did they merit?” I exclaimed, forgetting that she was ignorant of their piracy.
“Nay, indeed, Mr Jervas, they were only doing their duty. You know that they would have been obliged to fight with the crew, had not the ship been deserted. Oh, although Mr Forrest was a harsh and selfish man, and although I came here so much against my own wishes, yet, believe me, you wrong him with these horrid names; but tell me, I beseech you, how did you come here? Surely you cannot have come all the way from Bromley Hall?—Pray tell me.”
“Could I show you my dripping clothes, my bleeding hands, my scorched and smarting face,” cried I, “you might then guess where I come from—from the midst of breakers and fire, out of the hands of pirates and assassins, who would fain have stained with my blood that fatal ship that they once before polluted with the massacre of her crew, but which God in his justice has guided over the seas to be a destruction for them and theirs. I came in the French fire-ship!”
This was indignantly, bitterly, and thoughtlessly spoken; and I was well rebuked by her placid reply. “Let us pray to be protected in our distress, for, alas! I fear you are distracted, and I scarcely know, myself, whether I am awake or not.”
“I would give all I value in the world, except your good wishes, Ellen, that this were a dream; but it is too true—listen now (and I solemnly assure you there is no deception in what I say), and I will tell you all;” and so I related to her everything that had occurred from the time of our dancing the last rigadoon together in Bromley Hall, up to our present meeting among the Forrest-Race Hills.
“And now, Ellen, that these wretches themselves have been tossed out like burned cinders from the fire, and that their house has been blown stone from stone to the foundation, can you doubt that the hand of Providence has been put forth in their punishment, as plainly as in our reunion after so sudden a separation, and one which threatened to last for years, if not for life? and can you for a moment doubt that I have been brought here thus fearfully and strangely to be a protector to you now, and a cherisher and protector to you till death part us?”
“Oh, do not talk of happiness to me; I feel that I am doomed to be miserable and the cause of misery; the avenging hand lies heavy on us all. But let us hasten to Truro, and hurry up to Bromley, and get my dear guardian’s advice, before——” she burst into renewed tears, and then exclaimed, “Alas, alas, ill-fated Mary Forrest! you had little thought, when you went to sleep to-night, that you should be awakened by the light of your husband’s death-fire!”