Page:Once a Week June to Dec 1863.pdf/181

. 8, 1863.] feet, when a pang of exquisite pain shot through my left arm: the bone was broken. As with my right hand I now tried to steady myself and grope my way out of the hole, the agony I suffered was indescribable; yet my first thought was to feel for the bag of gold, which was still safely suspended from my neck. I crawled out of the pit, and pushed forward on chance: more slowly this time, though, and cautiously, for the terror of those vile holes was strong upon me now. But I grew weaker every moment, and a vague and sickly alarm seized me. Suppose I should swoon upon that moor—my head was giddy and my limbs unsteady already: what but a dreadful death under the fast-falling snow awaited me? At this horrible thought, a cold sweat suffused my whole body, and my parched tongue clove to my palate: to my last hour I shall not forget the horror of that picture of death which rose before my mind’s eye that night. The pain of my arm grew more excessive every moment; it hung by my side like a leaden weight. But, strange to say, even with the grim terror of death before me, a wild desire began to creep over me to lie down upon the snow and rest. Had I done so, no doubt, my last sleep would have followed. But luckily just then a faint glimmer of light caught my eye, and with the eagerness of awakened hope I hurried towards it. In a few minutes I found myself at the open door of a wretched cabin, on the hearth of which a wood fire was burning.

“Hallo!” was the greeting I received from a rough voice, “who the are you, and what d’ye want here such a night as this?”

The wood which burned on the hearth was fresh and damp, and filled the cabin with smoke as well as with a pungent odour. It took some little time to discover in the far corner from which the voice proceeded, the figure of a man, large, gaunt, and broad-shouldered, raggedly clad, with dark scowling face, and bullet-head covered with coarse, black, matted hair. I hurriedly explained to this person my misadventure. He rose and pushed towards me the stool on which he had been seated.

“Sit you down, man,” he said, somewhat less roughly, “you look weak, and a broken arm is no trifle. Though what we can do for you, hang me if I know. But what errand took you out upon the moor such a night as this?”

“I was going from Longley, on important business, to Farmer Carston’s.”

“From Longley to old Carston’s!” he exclaimed. “Whew! Why, man, you chose a very round-about way to get to your journey’s end.”

“Round-about? What do you mean?” I asked.

“I mean that Carston’s is nearly in the opposite direction,” was his answer. “And you have been steadily walking away from it for the last half-hour at least.”

“And how far am I from it now?”

“Some four good miles at least.”

Here was a discovery; but what was to be done? I asked the man to guide me to Carston’s, and offered to pay him well.

“Not for all the money they say old Carston has in the bank,” he answered, “would I attempt to go over the moor to-night. Why, man, the snow is falling so thick you couldn’t see a yard before you. It would be as much as our lives are worth. Men have met their doom upon that moor outside, before now, on such a night as this.”

All this time the pain of my arm was growing intolerable, and help of any kind was impossible there. What was I to do? Stay in this wretched place till morning, and endure my agony till daylight should bring the chance of aid? There was no alternative.

“All you can do,” said the man, “is to keep where you are to-night; and be thankful that you have the shelter of even these miserable walls on such a night as this is. It will be well even, if this infernal snow-storm does not bury the cabin itself before morning. If you want anything to eat, you can have a crust of bread—that’s all we have—and in that room inside you may lie down on the straw till morning comes. But you do look horribly beaten up; here, Sally, up with you, lass, and get us the black one.”

I turned to the other corner, beside the fire, to which these words were addressed, and now beheld, for the first time, a young woman sitting beside a child that lay asleep upon the ground. I turned and found her eyes fixed upon me with a strange eager glare. She was miserably clad, and looked sickly and thin, yet her face showed the traces of much personal beauty. She was delicately fair: every feature was beautifully moulded; and her long dishevelled hair, of a golden tinge, actually glistened in the blaze of the fire. But what struck me most about her was the hungry, wolfish glare of her eyes, so unnaturally large: fastened as it was upon me, that wild, eager look made my heart sick with a vague feeling of dread and dislike. The woman did not speak; but she went to a large chest at the other end of the room (almost the only article of furniture in the place, except a rickety deal table and a couple of stools), and took from it a large black bottle and a broken cup.

“Come,” said the man, taking the cup and the bottle, and pouring some of the contents of the one into the other, “you did not expect, perhaps, to see anything like this in a shepherd’s hut on the moor. No matter; it came to us some way. Try it; the brandy is good, and you could not take better physic to-night.”

Most gratefully did I seize the cup and drink off its contents; and never was cordial more welcome. The blood came coursing warmly through my shivering frame again, and for awhile I even forgot the excessive pain of my broken arm. Declining the bread which the man offered me, I drew nearer to the fire. I took the pistol from my breast-pocket and laid it on the ground beside me; and as I stooped to do this, the bag of gold struck against the stool with a musical clink of the coins within. The next moment, when I raised my head, I found the terrible eyes of the woman fastened upon me with a glare more hungry and wolfish than before. I was startled and (almost mechanically) thrust the bag into my breast. She turned away, muttering something about my bed, and went into the other room of the cabin.