Page:Once a Week Volume 8.djvu/490

482 boughs, and among bright wild flowers. It was swollen and of inky blackness now, and rushed quickly, as if in fright, past the deserted building, anxious to pass the stones quickly and leave its shadow far behind. Crossing onwards towards the right, Charles soon stood in the lane he supposed Cairtree to have meant, and patiently awaited his arrival. He no longer heard the sound of dripping water.

All alone in the choking fog, and remembering that he was without any means of defence in this desolate region, he once reproached himself for not having disclosed all to George, and allowed him to accompany him. But only for a moment, for he was glad to think that George’s life—so valuable to Cissy, the children, and many others,—would not be risked in this enterprise. His chief apprehension was, that Abel might arrive higher up in the lane and forestall him, by receiving the packet from Cairtree before the appointed hour.

In this event, so firmly was he possessed by the idea that George’s fate rested upon the recovery of this packet, he resolved to seize Abel suddenly from behind, and wrenching the papers from him, to escape homewards, trusting to the darkness to screen him from pursuit.

It was therefore with a mixture of apprehension and satisfaction that he heard the approach of footsteps from the expected quarter.

Advancing cautiously, he stretched out his hand towards a figure which passed close to him, like a phantom in the thick gloom, and muttered, in a low voice, ‘ten o’clock.’

“Be careful, my friend,” said Cairtree, as he placed the papers in Charles’s hand, and walked quickly from him.

As Charles held the parcel with an eager grasp, he could scarcely refrain from an exclamation of triumph, as he reflected that George was saved; for from the first he had entertained no doubt that these documents were the securities to which George attached so much importance. A second phantom passed him, and he was recalled to a sense of his danger by the thought, that in another moment the trap would be discovered. He heard a sudden parley and walked briskly on. A violent blow on the shoulder, evidently intended for the head, made him stagger for a few moments; but he held the papers tight, and suddenly darting to the opposite side of the road, jumped over the hedge.

As he leaped, another blow was struck at him, and it was either this, or the fall on the other side, which proved to be steeper than he had calculated, that stunned him when he reached the ground.

When he returned to consciousness he no longer heard the voices of his pursuers, who, probably bewildered by the darkness, had followed another track. For the moment he was too weak to raise himself, but he felt instinctively for the papers. They were still there, but helpless as he lay there, he felt that if the two men were to discover his whereabouts, resistance was quite out of the question.

Again the sound of dripping water—drip—drip—drip!

The vision of the white-haired gentleman bending over him, and feeling gently in his bosom for the precious packet, could scarcely have disconcerted him more than did the repetition of these sounds.

As the drips came nearer, they seemed to change more and more into the sound of light footsteps, pattering on the wet, muddy path. A moment more it was Effie who stood beside him.

For some wild freak, she must have evaded the vigilance of Mrs. Turner, the nurse, and slipped out of the door when Charles left, to follow the path of her favourite in his dark journey.

“Effie, child! who let you come out to-night? Run home, run home.”

She did not seem to understand him, but stood beside him like a spirit, motionless and speechless.

Charles again repeated, “run home, Effie,” trying this time to speak angrily. Struck by a sudden idea, he put the papers in her little hand and bid her hide them under her cloak. “Effie, you understand those you love, and who love you dearly. Quick, quick. Run home and give them to papa.” The sound of other voices startled her, and suddenly, more like a spirit than ever, her form melted away in the mist and she was gone.

They were the voices of Cairtree and Abel, who must have heard Charles speaking to the child, and were now preparing to clear the hedge. He heard Cairtree say, in a hurried whisper, “Get them, be sure to get them, but avoid murder.”

How far Abel was disposed to follow the latter part of these instructions is undetermined; but a new detention arose at that juncture. Two gentlemen, chatting gaily, ascended the lane, and one of them asked Cairtree, in a pleasant voice, whether he could direct him to the residence of Mr. George Turldon—the proprietor of the mills—with whom he wished to speak on pressing business. Cairtree eyed him suspiciously. “Mr. Turldon, I know, is much occupied at present; but I am his foreman, and if your visit relates to matters of business, perhaps I shall do as well.”

“Certainly, certainly,” says the other cheerfully, “and better too, for it will save me the trouble of walking further up the hill in the fog. You are going this way. I will explain my errand as we go along.”

During this colloquy, Charles regained sufficient strength to rise from the ground. The blows he had received were not serious, and the dizziness gradually cleared away, so that he was able to make his way leisurely towards his house.

Arranging his clothes, and wiping the blood from his face, so as to conceal all traces of the recent struggle, he again entered George’s little room, where he was seated gloomily before a desk covered with scattered papers.

“George,” Charles said breathlessly, “I know you won’t believe what I am going to tell you; but your foreman, Mr. Cairtree, is the traitor you are in search of. It is he that has worked your ruin.”

George neither started nor changed his gloomy manner, but merely nodded his head quietly. “I