There was that tone in the man's voice which quiets even the strongest and most determined of women, and his wife sank back and resigned herself.
The boat swung round, and Day, setting his teeth, pulled for the open sea.
"We'll never reach the schooner," panted Mrs. Day hoarsely.
"I'll risk it," he responded grimly. "Better trust ourselves to the open all night than run into the midst of the sharks there," and he nodded toward the shore.
"And this poor lady?"
He glanced at Margaret.
"Well, I'm but doing her bidding, beant I?" he retorted. "Didn't she pray and beseech me not to take her back? There, be easy! I've no breath for chattering, woman. Keep the lantern dark, and steer her straight out."
As he spoke there came another flash from the shore, and a rocket sped upward to the black sky.
Day uttered a grim exclamation of satisfaction.
"The fools!" he ground out; "they've showed me the way! The schooner lies due north of the customs, where that rocket started from! Keep her straight, lass, and we'll slip 'em yet. They won't risk their boat out – it's worse near the beach than it be here clear of the rocks. Sit still and fear nought!"
With the cool courage belonging to his class, he pulled steadily on, his wife grasping the tiller – for Margaret lay motionless and inert enough now – and peering into the darkness.
Suddenly she uttered a cry.
"The schooner, James! I saw her light for a moment!"
"Ay!" he responded coolly; "she's heard the gun and seen the rocket, and thinks we may be harking back. Show a glim of the lantern toward her, but keep it from the shore."
Cautiously Mrs. Day raised the lantern, with its light side toward the vessel, and an instant afterward a faint light appeared and then went out.
Day laughed cheerily.
"She sees us, lass. Keep up thee heart; it's all right. I've give them chaps the slip once more!"
"Yes, once more!" she responded, with a groan; "but some day or other – "
"Tut, tut! thee'st lost thee nerve, woman," he broke in, curtly.
She sank back with a heavy sigh and said no more.
Presently they saw the light again, this time close upon their bow, and in a few minutes the boat grated against the side of the schooner.
"Is that you, James?" inquired a voice.
Day answered in the affirmative.
"Yes; worse luck. Let the rope down the other side away from the shore; you can show a light then. I've got womenfolk aboard."
He pulled round to the larboard, and the lantern showed a rope ladder.
"Lend a hand here," he said, and he raised Margaret.
The man on board uttered an exclamation.
"Sakes a-mercy, James, what have you got there?" he demanded.
"It's my cousin," said Mrs. Day, before her husband could answer.
"Oh, and it's you, too, Mrs. Day, is it?" said the captain, in a tone of surprise. "Well, it's a rare night for ladies to be out in! And your cousin! Bless my soul, but she's swooned."
Between them they got Margaret on deck, and Mrs. Day had her carried down to the cabin, and then, asking for some brandy, locked the door on the men.
It was some time before Margaret recovered consciousness, and for some minutes she looked round with a listless indifference that was worse almost than the swoon from which she had roused.
At last she asked the inevitable question: "Where am I?"
"Here with me, dear lady," replied Mrs. Day, beginning to cry for the first time, "and Heaven be thanked that you are not lying dead in Appleford sands!"
Margaret drew a long sigh.
"I – I thought I had died," she moaned, and turning her face to the wall, said no more.
Mrs. Day sat down beside her, praying that she might sleep, for she knew that it was her only chance; and after a time Margaret fell into that stupor of exhaustion which is the nearest approach to nature's great restorer.
Presently there came a knock at the door, and opening it, Mrs. Day found her husband outside.
"How is she?" he asked.
"Better, poor soul!" she replied.
"Well," he said, "you'd better come on deck. The captain's upset and has been asking me questions about 'un."
"And what did you say?" she demanded anxiously.
"Well," he retorted, with a grim smile, "seeing as you've started the game, I thought as how you'd better continue it, so I left 'em to you."
She stood for a moment thinking deeply, then followed him on deck.
The schooner was scudding along at a pace which put all danger from pursuit out of the question; but the captain, who was leaning against the bulwarks smoking a pipe, did not look at all comfortable or amiable.
"Well, Mrs. Day," he began at once, "what's this yarn about your cousin? Sakes alive! I'm fond of your sex enough, but I like 'em best on shore. Who is she, and what is she doing out in the boat?"
"She's my cousin, Captain Daniel," said Mrs. Day promptly, "and she's in trouble. I don't know as I ought to tell you the story, but seeing that we brought her on board – "
"Just so, and that's what I object to," he said gruffly. "It's work enough to take the trade quiet and snug, as it is, but with a woman aboard that nobody knows anything about – " he puffed at his pipe significantly.
"You can trust her," said Mrs. Day; "there's no fear of her splitting, Captain Daniel."
"Oh, you think she'll die?" he said, looking mightily relieved.
"No, no! But there are reasons why she should keep her own counsel, though she is a woman. You wait until morning, captain, and you'll see whether she's to be trusted or not."
She spoke with such a confident air that he relaxed a little.
"Well, you and yours are in the same boat, remember, Mrs. Day, and if harm comes to us, your James will share it! Don't forget that."
"I do not forget it, captain," she responded.
"Very well," he said. "I'll leave it to you. Make the poor soul as comfortable as possible. The Rose of Devon wasn't chartered to carry lady passengers, but we'll do the best we can. You'll find some extra bedclothes, and that like, in my cabin; and I'll see to the supper by the time you're ready. As to liquor" – he grinned – "well, I dare say we can find a glass or two of that!"
"I dare say!" said Mrs. Day with an answering smile, and she hurried back to the cabin and to Margaret.
CHAPTER XVII
Blair rode on toward Ilfracombe, his cigar between his lips, his handsome face wearing its best and brightest look. He was, as he would have expressed it, as happy as a sandboy; and the only thing that could have increased his happiness would have been to have had Margaret with him.
It would be an exaggeration to say that he thought of nothing else but her as he rode along; but it is true that she was present in his thoughts nearly all the time, and that as he looked seaward, where the green water lay like an opal in the sun, or inland, where the yellow cornfields glittered like gold across the blue sky, he thought how much she would have admired it, and how her artist soul would revel in its beauty.
After riding some time he saw a couple of men lying by the roadside. They were fishermen from Appleford, who had, perhaps, been to Ilfracombe, and were resting.
"I'm right for Ilfracombe, I suppose?" said Blair.
The men touched their hats.
"Yes, sir, you're right," said one; "but you have come a long way round. You should have cut across the cliff by the narrow lane through Lee."
"Eh?" said Blair, standing in his stirrups and looking about him.
The man got up, and shading his eyes, pointed to the place indicated.
"That's the way; it's but a bit of a lane, but it saves a mile or more."
"Thanks!" said Blair. "I'll remember it, and come back that way."
As he spoke, a man, who had been climbing the hill behind Blair and the two fishermen, came suddenly, as it were, upon them. He stopped short, and in an adept fashion sunk easily to the ground, where he lay and listened, within almost touch of them, and yet unseen.
"Yes, I understand," said Blair; "nice day, isn't it. You fellows have a cigar?"
A fisherman may be a teetotaler, but he always smokes.
Blair took out his cigar case; there were just two cigars left, and he gave them to the men.
"Bean't we robbing you, sir?" said one of the men, rather shyly, offering the case back; but Blair pushed it toward them.
"Plenty more in 'Combe," he said, with a smile, "and this will last me some time."
Then he rode on, having made, by a few pleasant words and two cigars, two friends who would have risked their lives on his behalf.
He reached 'Combe at last, the colt having settled down to a steady pace, and putting him up at the hotel stables, he went into the town to buy Margaret's things, even before he had his lunch.
There was a very good artist's colorman, and he displayed a selection of portable easels, and canvases, and colors which bewildered Blair.
"Look here," he said, at last; "you know the sort of things a lady wants, don't you know. Just put up as much as I can carry on horseback, and send the rest to this address."
This being the kind of order a shopkeeper's soul delighteth in, the man beamed, and soon had a very bulky looking heap collected in the middle of the shop.
"All right," said Blair; "sure you have got everything?"
The man, after vainly endeavoring to think of some other useless articles, said rather grudgingly, "Yes."
"Very well then. What's the damage? I'll put the paint boxes in my pockets, and I can tie a small parcel of the other things to the saddle, and the rest you can send on; but mind, I want them sent at once! You people down here are rather slow sometimes. I can't have this lady kept waiting."
He gave the address, paid the bill, which did not in the least astonish him, though our friend had charged about fifty per cent. above his usual prices – and afterwards almost wept because he hadn't stuck on double! – and then went to the hotel and had his lunch.
He made a very hearty meal, for Blair, in love or trouble, being as strong as a lion and always on the move, was a capital trencherman, and then went over to look at the town.
He was in the humor to be pleased with anything, and the place, with its picturesque coast scenery and general air of brisk cheerfulness, just suited him.
"I'll bring Madge here, by George!" he said to himself. "She'll be delighted with it."
To give her some idea of the place he bought a dozen or two photographs and stuffed them in his pockets; then he saw a trinket cleverly made of the tiniest shells set in silver, and he bought that.
Some little time he spent sitting on a seat on the walk round the Capstan Hill, and would have stayed longer, but suddenly there came round the corner a figure he knew.
It was that of Colonel Floyd. Blair, forgetting that he was supposed to be on the Continent, was just jumping up to greet him with a hearty "Hallo, old man!" when he remembered himself, and catching up a newspaper, got behind it. The colonel lounged past in his languid, nil admirari fashion, and passed out of sight.
Blair let the paper fall, and for the first time that morning his face grew clouded.
"Confound all this mystery and concealment!" he muttered, impatiently. "By George! I'll have no more of it! I hate this skulking about like a bank-clerk who has bolted with the till and is dodging the detectives. I'll have no more of it! I'll take Madge to the earl next week, and make a clean breast of it. Even he can't be such a savage as not to melt at that smile of hers."
The resolution brightened him, as all good resolutions do, and considering that the colt had had rest enough, he went back to the hotel, and ordered him to be brought round.
The colt was in excellent spirits, and Blair rode along, humming a song and thinking of Margaret – and his dinner.
The color tubes rattled in his pockets, and his bulging pockets banged against his side, but he didn't mind in the least; he was doing something for his Madge.
By this time – he had not hurried going, and had been a good spell in the pretty town – the sun was setting, and the black mass of cloud was rising portentously.
"We shall get wet jackets, my friend," he said to the colt, and he put him to a quicker pace.
Mindful of the short cut which the men had pointed out in the morning, he rode up the rather steep hill, and without any difficulty found the lane.
It was, as they had said, a narrow lane, between two high banks. There was a tree here and there, and every now and then a gate opening into the fields on either side; it was steep, too, and not very easy, and Blair was obliged to go slowly.
"Seems to me," he said to the colt, "that we could move faster going across the downs, my friend. Never mind, it's a long lane that has no turning! Jove, here it comes!" he broke off, as a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder burst forth.
"Steady, old man, you are master, you know; I'm a stranger."
The rain dropped suddenly, in a sheet, as it seemed, and Blair stopped to turn up his coat collar, and see that Madge's tools were protected by the lappets of his pockets. He had very little objection to getting wet himself, but he meant to carry home the day's spoil to her uninjured, if he could manage it.
At the moment he was fumbling with the reins, held loosely in his hand, a shout, a yell was heard behind him.
It was man's voice, presumably; but it was so unearthly, so discordant, that even Blair started. As for the colt, he gave one side-way jump, then started off helter-skelter, mad with fright.
"Steady, old man!" said Blair, tightening the rein. "It was a rum noise, but don't lose your head. Steady!" and he laughed.
But the laugh died on his lips, for, while the horse was still on the bolt, he saw one of the field gates lying right across the narrow road.
Now, at any time, this is a sight which is calculated to make a horseman look and feel serious; because however slowly the horse may be going, if he is not pulled up in time before he reaches the prostrate gate, his legs will get entangled in the bars, and he must inevitably fall. But when a horse is bolting, the situation becomes dangerous and deadly.
To pull him up in time Blair saw would be impossible, even for him. He looked swiftly at the banks on either side, with the idea of turning him up them, but they were too high. There was only one thing to do, and that was to drop off as easily as possible as the horse fell.
A moment more and the catastrophe came. The runaway horse's fore-feet struck between the top bars, his off hind leg caught the lower one, and with a crash and a startled shake of the head, the colt came down all of a heap.
Blair had been ready a moment before, and as the horse fell he managed to get out of the stirrups and roll out of the saddle.
It was nicely and cleanly done, as only a steeplechaser could have done it, and he was on his legs and bending over the horse almost the next instant.
Plunging and kicking, the colt tried to extricate himself from the awful trap, and Blair had coaxed him on his legs, and was leading him out when he heard a strange noise behind him, and saw a tall form standing on the bank above his head.
At that instant, for the first time the thought of foul play occurred to him. Grasping the bridle with one hand and his whip with the other, he turned and looked up.
The sky was black as night, but a flash of lightning clove the heavens just then, and by its lurid light he saw the face of Jem Pyke. He thought that he was dreaming. It seemed too incredible. When last he had seen the man it had been at Leyton, where Pyke lived. How could he possibly be here?
He gazed up at him for a second or two, which seemed an age; then he opened his lips to speak, but the thunder roared and blotted out his voice.
With a wild laugh the man glowered down upon him motionless as Blair himself, then, with a spring, threw himself upon him.
Blair squared his shoulders to meet the shock, but Pyke, though lean, was tall, and his long form, aided by the impetus of his leap, bore Blair to the ground.
There was a terrible struggle, at which the frightened horse stood looking as if it were a horrified human being; then Pyke got his fingers round Blair's throat, and, pressing against it, shook him heavily.
"At last!" he shouted, between a hiss and a growl. "At last, mister! I've waited a long time, but it's my turn now, I think. You fine-tongued gentleman! I'll – I'll kill you. You thought I'd forgotten you, eh? You thought I was going to let you go scot free, did you? Ah! you'll know me better when I've done with you."
Blair struggled as hard as he could, but the man's long, bony fingers were like steel, and, with a shrug of his shoulders, he felt that his time had come. But even at that moment the old spirit came to the front, and, though he could not speak, he smiled up at the livid face of his assailant.
The smile seemed to madden the man.
"What! you grin, do ye?" he said, between his teeth. "I'll teach you! I'll humble you!" Then an idea seemed to strike him, and, kneeling on Blair's chest, he said, "But I'll give you a chance, my lord, even now, curse me if I don't. Say, 'I beg your pardon,' and I'll let you go."
With the intention of giving Blair an opportunity for the apology, his grasp slackened slightly.
It was a small opening, but Blair seized it.
With a tremendous effort he writhed himself free, and grasping Pyke by the forearm, raised himself to his feet, and forced Pyke to his knees.
"You miserable hound!" he said, with his short, curt laugh. "Beg your pardon, you mad fool! I'll teach you to set traps for a good horse, that's worth ten of you! You put the gate there, did you? Look here, I'll make you carry it back to its place before I've done with you! Ah, and beg my pardon, too, into the bargain!" and with a tremendous force he flung the man backward.
Pyke was on his feet instantly, and the two men confronted each other, not as they had done on Leyton Green, for then Blair's face wore a smile, and there was joy and contentment in his heart, at the prospect of a fair fight, but now he knew that it would be as foul as his opponent could make it.
The sky grew blacker; the rain pelted down upon them, but neither of them noticed the weather.
With a bound they sprung at each other, dealing heavy blows, and taking them as if they were feather-down. The result was a foregone one. Blair had been riding, the man had been walking, and was weakened by passion. His blows grew lighter and slower, his breath came in short, deep gasps; Blair knew that another minute would make him the victor, and, already relenting, he was about to call to Pyke and offer him quarter, when the man, stepping back, pointed beyond Blair, and shouted:
"Look! the lady!"
Blair turned. There was only one lady that could rush to his mind, and that was Margaret, and he thought, in the flash of the moment, that she had come to meet him. He turned, and Pyke caught up a heavy stick that lay where he had dropped it at his first spring, and struck Blair an awful blow on the back of the head.
Without a cry he went down face foremost, his arms outstretched, and lay like a figure carved in stone.
Pyke stood over him, looking down at him with livid face and panting breath.
There was a pause in the storm at that moment, as if the wind and the rain had stopped to look on; then the elements resumed their warfare, and a flash of lightning played over the prostrate man's head.
Pyke went down on his knees, and with trembling hands turned the motionless form on its face, and peered at it.
Then he started back with an oath.
"I've done for him!" he muttered, hoarsely, and the wind seemed to echo mockingly: "Done for him." "He's as dead as a herring! Curse him, it serves him right!" he ground out, and he raised his foot, but withheld the kick as a thought – the thought of self-preservation – came to him. "Looks ugly!" he muttered, "cursed ugly. There's more trouble in this than I thought on!"
He looked up and down the lane and across the hedge with the keen, fearful face of a man who already hears the pursuers; then buttoning his wet coat round him, and giving a parting glance at the still form, began to run – like Cain.
He went in the direction of Lee, and was so absorbed in the one idea of flight, that a dark object which stood beside the hedge just before him made him spring aside, and almost shout with fear.
But it was only the colt, which, too frightened by the storm, and disheartened by the rain, was cowering under the lee of the hedge.
Pyke was hurrying by it, when he pulled up suddenly, and struck his leg as if welcoming an inspiration.
"Dang it!" he cried, exultingly, "that's the game. Woa, horse, woa, horse," and he crept slowly up to the colt.
The animal was far too cowed to attempt flight, and Pyke got hold of the bridle easily. But he did not mount. Instead, he unfastened one stirrup and struck the colt with it. The horse, maddened by fear, started and shook, then tore down the lane at breakneck pace.
Pyke waited a moment listening to the clatter of its hoofs mingling with the rain and the thunder, then quickly retracing his steps returned to Blair.
He still lay where his assailant had left him. Pyke knelt down and thrust one unresisting foot into the stirrup, then he dragged the body for a few yards along the wet road and left it lying on its back, leaped over the hedge and fled. But once more he came back, and lifting the gate replaced it on its hinges and fastened it.