CHAPTER XII.
I RETURN TO KESWICK.
I went back to my own room, changed my dress, and carrying my boots inone hand and my candle in the other, went softly down the stairs. Bythe clock in the hall I could see that it was five minutes after teno'clock. I drew on my boots in the porch, saddled the horse by thecandle-light, led it past the house along a strip of grass, and when Ithought the sound of its hoofs would be no longer heard, I mounted androde up the pathway. The sky was cloudy but the valleys clear of mistI could have wished for no better night for my purpose except in onerespect: I mean that now and again a silver brilliancy would bediffused through the air, making the night vaguely luminous. Andlooking up I would see a patch of cloud very thin and very bright, andbehind that cloud I knew the moon was sailing. I chose that road ofwhich Tash had spoken. Towards the head of Gillerthwaite the trackturned northwards over a pass they call the Scarf Gap, and thencewestwards again past Buttermere lake to Buttermere village. At thepoint where the hill descends steeply from the lake, I dismounted. Icould see the scattered village beneath me. It slept without a sound,nor was there a light to be seen in any window. But none the less Idreaded to ride through it; its very quietude frightened me. I fearedthe lively echoes which the beat of my horse's shoes would sendringing about the silent cottages. I descended, therefore, on foot,leading my horse cautiously by the bridle, and in a little I came to agateway upon the right which gave on to a field. I crossed the fieldand several others which adjoined it, and finally came out again uponthe track beyond the village, where it climbs upwards to ButtermereHause. From the farther side of the Hause I had a clear road of sixmiles down Newlands valley to Portinscale, and I spurred my horse to agallop. Once or twice the clouds rifted and the moon shone out full,so that I rode in a tremor of alarm, twisting every shadow that fellacross my path from rock or tree into the shadow of a sentinel. Butthe clouds closed up again and canopied me in a gracious obscurity asI drew near to Keswick.
I tied up my horse in a thicket of trees half a mile from the town,and slunk from house to house in the shadow. Never before or sincehave I known such fear as I knew that night in Keswick, so urgent hadthe necessity that I must keep free, become with me during these lasthours since I had climbed from Brandreth down to Applegarth. If thewind drove the leaves of the trees fluttering up the roadway, Icowered against the wall and trembled. If a dog barked from afarmhouse in the distance, I stood with my heart fainting in mybreast, listening--listening for the rhythmic tread of soldiers; andwhen I saw on the opposite side of the street, some yards above me, alight glimmering in a window, I stopped altogether, in two mindswhether or no to turn back. I looked irresolutely up and down thestreet It was so dark, so still; only that one steady light burned ina window. The melancholy voice of a watchman, a couple of streetsaway, chanted out, "Half-past twelve, and a dull, cloudy morning." Thephrase was repeated and repeated in a dwindling tone. I waited untilit had died away, and afterwards. But the light burned wakeful,persistent, a little heart of fire in a body of darkness. I felt thatI dared not pass it. Some one watched beside that lamp, with eyesfixed on the yellow path it traced across the road. My fears fed uponthemselves and swelled into a panic. I turned and took a step or twodown the hill, and it was precisely that movement which brought me tomy senses and revealed to me the cowardice of the action. For if Idared not pass that lamp, still less dared I return to Applegarth withthe night's work undone. I retraced my steps very slowly until I cameopposite to the window, and then, so great was the revulsion of myfeeling that I reeled back against the wall, my heart jerking, mywhole strength gone from me. For there at the window, beside the lamp,her face buried in her hands, was the woman I had come to seek. Imight have known, I thought! For who else should be watching at thislone hour in Keswick if not this woman? I might have guessed from theposition of the house in the street. It was a beacon which I had seen,this glimmering lamp, and I had taken it for no more than a wrecker'slight.
I looked about me. The street was deserted from end to end I crossedit, and picking up a pebble flung it lightly at the window. The pebblecracked against the pane--how loudly, to my impatient ears! Mrs.Herbert raised her head from her hands. I sent a second pebble tofollow the first. She opened the sash, but so noisily I thought!
"Who is it?" she asked.
"Hush!" said I.
She leaned forward over the side of the window and peered into thedarkness.
"You!" she whispered in a tone of wonderment, and again with a shiverof repulsion; "you!"
"Let me in!" said I.
She made a movement as if to close the window.
"You close the window on your hopes," I said. "Let me in!"
"You bring news of--of Anthony?" she asked, with a catch in her voice.
"The smallest budget," said I, "but a promise of more;" and as she,undecided, still leaned on the sill, "If I am captured here to-night,there will be no news at all."
"Captured?" she began, and breaking off hurriedly came down the stairsand opened the door.
I followed her up into the room and drew the curtains across thewindow. She stood by the table in the full light of the lamp, hereyelids red, her eyes lustreless, her face worn; the very gloss seemedto have faded off her hair.
"How you have suffered!" I said, and again faltered the words, "Howyou have suffered!"
"And you?" she asked with a glance towards me, and nodded her head asthough answering the question. "I said that payment would be made,"she remarked simply. "It is beginning."
"My servant brought a note to you?"
"Yes. Was it true? I did not believe that it was true." She spoke in adull voice. "He came yesterday night after the soldiers had beenhere."
"The soldiers," I cried, lifting my voice. The sound of it warned me;I realized that I was standing between the lamp and the window, andthat if any one should pass down the street, it was my figure whichwould be seen. I crossed over to get behind the chair.
"Do you sit there!" said I, pointing to her former seat.
She obeyed me like a child.
"So the soldiers came here?"
"Twice."
"When?"
"The first time, that evening--I was not here--we were in the gardenof Blackladies. They searched the house and took his papers away."
"His papers!" said I. I looked over to that box in which the medal hadbeen locked. The lid was shut I crossed to it and tried it The lidlifted, the lock was broken and the medal gone.
"The second time they came," said Mrs. Herbert, "was the afternoon ofthe next day."
"That would be a few hours after I had escaped. They searched thehouse again?"
"Yes. For you."
"For me?" I exclaimed; and her eyes flashed out at me.
"For whom else should they come to search, here in my lodging?"
My eyes fell from her face.
"But did they question you?" I continued. "What did they ask? Forperchance I may find help in that."
But Mrs. Herbert had relapsed into her dull insensibility.
"They questioned me without end," she answered wearily, "but I forgetthe questions. It was all concerning you, not a word about Anthony,and I forget."
"Oh, but think!" I exclaimed, and I heard the watchman crying the hourin the distance. I stopped, listening. The cry grew louder. The manwas coming down the street. This window alone was lighted up, and oncealready the soldiers had been here to search for me. I heard thewatchman's footsteps grow separate and distinct. I heard the rattle ofhis lantern as it swung in his hand, and beneath the window hestopped. I counted the seconds. In a little I found myself choking,and realized that in the greatness of my anxiety I was holding mybreath. Then the man moved, but it seemed to me, not down the road,but nearer to the wall of the house. A new fear burst in on me.
"You left the door below unlocked?" I whispered to Mrs. Herbert.
She nodded a reply.
What if he opened that door and cam
e stumbling up the stairs? What ifhe found the door not merely unlocked but open, and roused the house?To be sure he would have no warrant in his pocket. But for hersake--for the sake of that tiny chance I clung to with so despairing agrip, that perhaps--perhaps I might restore to her her husband, norumour must go out that I or any man had been there this night I creptto the door of the room and laid my hand upon the handle. What Ishould do I did not think. I was trying to remember whether I hadclosed the door behind me, and all my faculties were engrossed in theeffort I was still busy upon that profitless task, when I heard--withwhat relief!--the watchman's footsteps sound again upon the stones,his voice again take up its melancholy cry.
"Quick!" said I, turning again to Mrs. Herbert "Madam, help me in thismatter, if you can. Think! The officer put to you questions concerningme?"
"Oh!" she cried, waking from her lethargy, "I cannot help you. Youmust save yourself, as best you may. I do not remember what they said.It was of you they spoke and not at all of Anthony."
"It is just for your husband's sake," I said, "that I implore you toremember."
And she looked at me blankly.
"God!" I exclaimed, taking the thought "You believe that I journeyedhither to you in your loneliness at this hour, to plague you withquestions for my safety's sake!" And I paused, staring at her.
"Well," she replied, in an even voice, "is the belief so strange?"
There was no sarcasm in the question, and hardly any curiosity. It wasthe mere natural utterance of a natural thought. My eyes, I know, fellfrom her face to the floor.
"Madam," I replied slowly, "when I set out to-night, I thought thatthe cup of my humiliation was already full. You prove to me that mythought was wrong. It remained for you very fitly to fill it to thebrim;" and again I lifted my eyes to her. "I had no purposes of my ownto serve in riding hither. I know the charge against myself to itslast letter. It is the charge against your husband brings me here.Neither do I know whither he has been taken. Yet these two things Imust know, and I came to you on the chance that you might help me."
I saw her face change as she listened. She leaned forward on herelbows, her chin propped upon her hands, her eyes losing theirindifference. A spark of hope kindled in the depths of them, and whenI had ended, she remained silent for a little, as though fearing toquench that spark by the utterance of any words. At last she asked, inalmost a timid voice:
"But why--why would you know?" And she bent still further forward withparted lips, breathless for the answer.
"Why?" I answered. "Forgive me! I should have told you that before,but, like a fool, I put the questions first. They are foremost in mythoughts, you see, being the means, and as yet unsolved. The end is soclear to me, that I forgot it in looking for the road which leads toit. I believe that Mr. Herbert has been seized, on the ground that heshares my--treason, let us call it, for so our judges will. Of thatcharge I know him innocent, and maybe can prove him so. And if I can,be sure of this--I will."
"But how can you?" she interrupted.
"If I know the charge, if I know whither he has been taken, the placeof his trial, then it may be that I can serve him. But until I know, Iam like one striking at random in the dark. Suppose I go to meet thesheriff and give myself up, not knowing these things, I shall be laidby the heels and no good done. They may have taken him to London. Hemay be in prison for months. Meanwhile I should be tried--and theywould not need Mr. Herbert's evidence to secure a verdict against me."
"You would give yourself up?" she asked.
"But I must know the place, I must know the charge. It would availyour husband little without that knowledge. They would keep me inprison cozening me with excuses, however urgently I might plead forhim. It is enough that a man should be suspected of favouring KingJames. To such they dispense convictions; they make no pother aboutjustice."
"But," said she, "it would mean your life."
"Have you not said yourself that payment must be made?"
"Yes, but by us," she said, stretching out a hand eagerly. "Not by youalone."
"Madam," said I, "you will have your share in it, for you will have towait--to wait here with such patience as you can command, ignorant ofthe issue until the issue is reached. God knows but I think you havethe harder part of it."
We stood for a little looking into each other's eyes sealing ourcompact.
"Now," I continued, "think! Was any word said which we could shapeinto a clue? Was any name mentioned? Was your husband's name linkedwith mine? Oh, think, and quickly!"
She sat with her face covered by her hands while I stood anxiouslybefore her.
"I do not remember," she said, drawing her hands apart and shakingthem in a helpless gesture. "It all happened so long ago."
"It happened only yesterday," I urged.
"I know, I know," she said with the utmost weariness. All that lightof hope had died from her eyes as quickly as it had brightened them."But I measure by a calendar of pain. It is so long ago, I do notremember. I do not even remember how I returned here."
There was no hint plainly to be gained from her, and I had stayed toolong, as it was. I took up my hat.
"You will stay here?" I asked. "I do not say that you will hear fromme soon, but I must needs know where you are."
"I will stay here," she replied. She almost stretched out her hand anddrew it in again. "Goodbye."
I went to the door. She followed me with the lamp and held it over thebalusters of the landing.
"Nay," said I, "there is no need for that."
"The staircase," said she, "is very dark." As I came out from thehouses at the bottom of the hill I heard again the watchman's voicebehind me bawling out the hour. It was half-past one, and a cloudymorning, it may be, but the clouds were lighter in the north, as Iremarked with some anxiety. I was still riding along Newlands valleywhen the morning began to break. As I reached the summit of ButtermereHause I looked backwards over my shoulder. The sky in the north-eastwas a fiery glow, saffron, orange, and red were mingled there, andright across the medley of colours lay black, angry strips of cloud.The blaze of a fire, it seemed to me, seen through prison bars. It wasdaylight when I passed by Buttermere, sunlight as I rode downGillerthwaite. The sweet stillness of the morning renewed my blood.The bracken bloomed upon the hillsides, here a rusty brown, there inthe shadow a blackish purple, and then again gold where the sunlightkissed it Below me, by the water's side, I could see the blue tiles ofApplegarth. And as I looked about me the fever of my thoughts died,they took a new and unfamiliar quietude from the stable quietude ofthe hills. I felt as if something of their patience, something oftheir strength was entering into me. My memories went back again tothe Superior's study in the College at Paris; and in my heart ofhearts I knew that the Superior was wrong. The mountains have theirmessage, I think, for whoso will lend an ear to them, and that morningthey seemed to speak to me with an unanimous voice. I can repair, Ithought, this wrong. It was then more to me than a thought. It seemed,indeed, an assured and simple truth, assured and simple like thosepeaks in the clear air, and, like them, pointing skywards, and theSuperior's theory no more substantial than a cloud which may gatherupon the peaks and hide them for a little from the eyes.
I rode down, therefore, in a calmer spirit than I had known for somelong time. The difficulties which beset my path did not for the momenttrouble me. That my journey that night had in no way lightened them Idid not consider. I felt that the occasion of which I was in searchwould of a surety come, only I must be ready to grasp it.
I had passed no one on the road. I had seen, indeed, no sign of lifeat all beyond the sudden rush of a flock of sheep, as though in anunaccountable panic, up the hillside of the Pillar mountain, while Iwas as yet in the narrow path of Gillerthwaite. I had reason,therefore, to think that I had escaped all notice, and leading thehorse back to the stable with the same precautions I had used onsetting out, I let myself in at the door and got quietly to bed.