CHAPTER XIII SURPRISES

Left alone in the dining-room, Foxwell first indulged in a momentary smile of satisfaction, as who should say, “For once has circumstance been kind to me;” and then, setting himself to the task yet remaining, he opened the library door, and called Everell.

The young man came without delay; looked swiftly around the room, and then at Foxwell with eyes that said, “She is not here!”

“She has gone to her room,” said Foxwell, very quietly. “I have granted her request: you are to go free.”

“Go free!”

“At her solicitation, and solely for her sake. For her sake, then, and for mine, too, if you consider not your own, I beg you will be secret in your departure—and above all, speedy. You must be especially on your guard against Jeremiah Filson, who still lodges at the public-house in the village yonder. Were I in your place, I wouldn’t pass through the village, I would go to Burndale and take conveyance there. But however you proceed, though I may seem inhospitable to urge it, you should set out immediately. You have money, I believe: if not, my purse—though I could wish it better lined—”

“Nay, a thousand thanks, but I have enough. As to this release, I know not what to say: I never would have asked it—”

“But you must accept it, for the sake of her who did ask it. I well know you would have stood to our compact. Stay not for protestations or thanks: the sooner you are gone, the better for us all.”

“But ’tis not yet ten o’clock.”

“Good heaven, sir, does it not follow that our agreement is annulled by your release if you accept it?—and your duty to her leaves you no choice but to accept. Will you stand upon an hour or two, when you’ve had near full benefit of the bargain for nothing, as it turns out?”

“You are right,” said Everell, with humility. “I will go as soon as I have said farewell to her.”

“But, my dear sir, that very ordeal is one you must spare her. Do you not see how the case stands? She was in great terror lest you should be given up: relieved upon that point, she asks no more. She is content with having gained your life: in that mood, she is willing to forego another meeting. It would only start her grief afresh: for that reason, I advised her to go to her room. As you value her peace, you must depart without seeing her.”

“Depart without seeing her!” Everell looked wistfully toward the hall, through which she must have passed to reach her apartments. He fetched a long and tremulous sigh; then bethought him of the miniature, and, taking it out, stood gazing on it with moist eyes. He gently kissed it, and replaced it in his pocket. “Well, sir, heaven knows I wouldn’t cause her fresh grief. But this I may ask—nay, must know:—when shall I be permitted to see her again?”

“’Tis not in my power to answer, your own future being unknown to me. Certainly you mustn’t see her during your present stay in England—which, if you are wise, you will devote entirely to getting out of England. As to the future more distant, all depends upon how matters shape themselves.”

“At least, then, I may hope! She will be true, I know. There will be an amnesty some day, and I may return to England without danger. In the meantime, you—and she—may be coming to France. I will write to her from there.”

“And not till you have arrived there, I trust. Until your safety is assured, any communication from you must give a new edge to her anxiety. But I demand no promises.” Foxwell intended to expedite the marriage: once his purposes were secured, Georgiana’s conduct would be Thornby’s affair. Now that her consent had been obtained, haste was possible. Meanwhile, he could intercept any letter that came by regular post. Therefore, ’twas better not to force Everell to secret means of correspondence.

“Then, sir,” said Everell, with a wan attempt at a smile, “as you demand no promises, I will make none. On the hope of meeting her again, in safer times, I shall live. In that hope, I must go. Tell her—” he paused a moment, but his thoughts were in a tumult—“Nay, words are too feeble! I thank her, not for my life, which is hers to use as she will; but for her love, which gives my life all its value. Adieu, sir!—no more!”

With that, he hastened abruptly, half-blindly, to the hall; and thence to his chamber, where he donned his sword, hat, cloak, and riding-boots. He threw his few other belongings into the bag, made sure his money was safe in pocket, and returned to the hall, thinking to leave by way of the courtyard and thus soonest gain the road. There was the darkness for his safety, and the whirl of his thoughts to speed him on to Burndale, where he could knock up some innkeeper, and take horse for the South at dawn.

Caleb and another servant, charged by Foxwell to attend the departing guest to the gate, were at the door. Everell handed each a coin, and the second man ran ahead to open the gate. Everell was following across the dark courtyard, when he bethought him of the services of Prudence. He turned back to the light of the open doorway, selected a gold piece, and asked Caleb to convey it to the maid.

“If it please your Honour, sir, asking your pardon, may I call Miss Prudence to receive it herself?” said Caleb; “’twill take but a minute.”

Perceiving that the valet was averse to the trust, Everell acquiesced. The idea then came to him that he might utilize the brief delay by writing a message of farewell to Georgiana: there could be no objection to a few written words of love and faith, which Prudence might deliver at a suitable time. Everell strode into the dining-room.

Nobody else was there, for Foxwell had returned to the drawing-room to pen a letter which should accompany Georgiana’s to Thornby. He had begun to apologize to Rashleigh and Mrs. Winter for the long trial he had put upon their patience.

“You might at least have left the door ajar, that we could have heard your fine scenes yonder,” said Mrs. Winter.

“So I might have done, I own,” replied Foxwell.

“Yes; as you didn’t, we thought ourselves justified in listening at the keyhole.”

“We?” exclaimed Rashleigh, in protest.

“Well, if you didn’t listen, Rashleigh, you certainly didn’t stop my telling you what I heard.”

“Then you know what has happened?” queried Foxwell.

“I could make a good guess at the general event,” answered the lady. “The rebel goes free, and pretty Georgiana marries for love.”

“For love!” said Foxwell. “Hardly so, I fear.”

“Certainly. For love of one man, she marries another. ’Tis often done—especially in France. ’Tis a plan that has its beauties.”

“I’m afraid Georgiana is too English to see its beauties,” said Rashleigh, as Foxwell sat down to write his letter.

Return we to another writer, in the adjoining room. Everell had found the book from which Georgiana had been reading to him, which he had dropped in going to support her when she seemed about to faint. He had scarce begun to pencil his message on a blank leaf, when Prudence looked in at the door.

“Oh, ’tis here your honour is, sir; and sure I’m sorry you’re going away so suddent,” she said, advancing. “When Caleb told me just now, I couldn’t believe my ears, and I wouldn’t yet, neither, if I didn’t see your cloak and bag, more’s the pity.”

“Yes, I am going,” said Everell, handing her the reward of merit.

“Oh lor, sir, what princely generosity! I’m sure I aren’t no ways deserving of such! It reely breaks my heart, begging your Honour’s pardon, to see how things have come about. After all that’s took place this past week, to hear of this marriage—’tis enough to make one think of witchcraft—”

“This marriage? What marriage?—whose?”

“Why, this here marriage, in course. Bean’t that what sends your Honour away all of a suddent at such a time o’ night?”

“Whose marriage? Speak, Prudence!—in a word, whose?”

“Why, mistress’s marriage, to be sure. Whose else in the world—”

“Mistress’s mar—! What mistress?”

“Mistress Georgiana Foxwell, in course: I don’t own to no other mistress, I’m sure.” The maid drew back from Everell, wondering if the loss of his sweetheart had affected his wits.

“Mistress Georgiana! Are you mad, Prudence? What do you mean?”

“Mad, sir? Not me! I scorn the word. ’Tis my betters I takes to be mad, to go and make a match of it with a gentleman she’s scarce set eyes on, be he ever so rich.”

“What gentleman do you speak of? Truly I think you are mad.”

“I’m a-speaking of Squire Thornby, sir, who but he? Sure then, haven’t they told your Honour?”

“Squire Thornby?” repeated Everell, with but vague recollection of the little he had heard of that person. “A neighbour of Mr. Foxwell’s, isn’t he?”

“Yes, with a large estate, I’ve heard say. ’Tis all I know of him, barring they’ve arranged he shall marry my mistress; though that’s quite enough, heavens knows, and you could have knocked me down with a feather when I heard as much.”

“But ’tis impossible! They little know her: let them arrange as they will, she will never consent.”

“Indeed, sir, but that’s the strangest part of it; for didn’t I hear her consent in this very room, with these ears, not ten minutes ago? ‘Excep’ Squire Thornby’s proposal of marriage,’ them was her uncle’s words, and she said yes, and Lady Strange is with her now, a-tellin’ how adventidjus a match ’twill be. And if you think a poor waiting-woman’s word can’t be took, you’re free to go and ask for yourself.”

“Marry Squire Thornby!—after all that has passed—her grief at my going—her appeal for my life! It can’t be; I’ll not believe it, unless she tells me.”

He went swiftly from the room, and ran up the stairs. Before he had time to reflect upon the impulse he obeyed, he was on the landing outside her antechamber, calling through the closed door:

“Georgiana!—my love! Come and deny this slander! Come, let me hear the truth!”

The door opened, and Georgiana appeared, pale and sorrow-stricken. Lady Strange was at her side, with a gently restraining touch upon her arm. But Everell seized the girl’s hand and led her down the stairs, partly as if he claimed her from any other’s possession, and partly that he might see her face in the better light of the hall below. “Sweet, what blundering tale is this?” he asked, as they descended;—“of a marriage with Squire Thornby, and that you have given your consent?”

Georgiana was silent, with averted glance.

“Why don’t you answer?” he said, as they reached the foot of the stairs.

She lifted her eyes to his, but could not bring her lips to frame a word.

“What!” he exclaimed; “’tis true, then? Oh!”

His cry was like that of sharp pain; he dropped her hand, and walked a few steps from her. “Who would have believed it?” he said, plaintively; “I would have staked my soul upon it that you loved me.”

“Loved you!” she said, in a faint whisper.

“But what can it mean, then?” he asked, touched alike by her words and her look. “Surely you don’t put wealth and convenience before love? Do you fear I may never come back to you? And to give your consent at such a time—but ten minutes ago, the maid says! Why, you had just been pleading for my life.—Ah! now I understand!—blind fool that I’ve been, not to see at once! forgive me, dearest love! ’Tis your uncle’s doing: he has sold you my life for your consent to the marriage!” With that, Everell grasped her hand, and started toward the dining-room.

“Hush, Everell!” said Georgiana, fearful lest all might be undone; “go, for heaven’s sake, for my sake, ere it be too late!”

Fortunately Caleb had stepped out to the courtyard to gossip with his fellow servant who had opened the gate, and, as the house door was but slightly ajar, there were no witnesses to what was passing in the hall, save Lady Strange and Prudence, who had both followed down the stairs. Holding back from the dining-room door, Georgiana still begged Everell to go.

“Go, on those terms?” he said. “Not I! Rather die the worst of deaths. Let you marry another? I’ll give myself up first!”

“Nay, Everell—my love—I implore—on my knees! Must I plead with you as I pleaded with my uncle? You should know I cannot endure the thought of your death. Only that you live, that is enough! Go, I beseech!—let not my sacrifice be in vain.”

“You sha’n’t make the sacrifice,” he said, fiercely.

“’Tis made already: my uncle has my promise.”

“Your uncle!—where is he?” And Everell strode into the dining-room, followed by the three women. Before he had time to reach the drawing-room door, it was opened from the other side, and Everell had no farther to go to meet Foxwell, who had heard the young man’s loud-spoken words. At sight of Georgiana, her uncle made an ejaculation, and advanced toward Everell with a resentful look: he held in one hand a pen, in the other the letter which the sound of Everell’s voice had interrupted; and this time both Mrs. Winter and Rashleigh took the liberty of intruding upon the scene.

“Ah, you come in good time!” cried Everell. “I refuse my liberty at the price you set. She shall not marry another to save me.”

“’Tis too late, sir,” said Foxwell, with forced quietness; “she has already bound herself by her promise.”

“Then give her back her promise, as I give myself back to you!”

“Pardon me, but you have no part in the covenant: ’tis between my niece and myself—your liberty for her promise. Even were she inclined to cancel the agreement, she cannot do so now: I have given your liberty, have performed my part: she is bound by her promise.”

“You see ’tis too late, Everell,” said Georgiana, in whom every other feeling yielded to anxiety for his safety; “you cannot mend matters now. Save yourself—at least that!—for my sake!”

For a moment her lover was thoughtful. He threw back his cloak at both shoulders, so that it hung behind him. To enforce her plea, Georgiana laid her hand upon his arm: she stepped forward so that she now stood beside him.

“But I am not bound by her promise,” said Everell to Foxwell.

“You are no longer bound by anything, sir, to me,” Foxwell replied. “If you insist upon staying in this neighbourhood, ’tis at your own peril. And I warrant you ’twill avail nothing: I shall see that my niece neither leaves her apartments, nor communicates with any one outside them, until her marriage; you force me to that use of my authority.”

Before Everell could answer, a voice was heard in the hall doorway behind him—Caleb’s voice, addressed to Foxwell: “Please, your Honour, Joseph has the horse ready, sir.”

The word “horse” shot through the confusion of Everell’s thoughts.

“Tell Joseph to wait,” said Foxwell, glancing at the unfinished letter in his hand. Everell heard Caleb walk away through the hall to the house door. He knew there was a mounting-block at the side of that door: would Joseph let the horse wait there, or walk it up and down the courtyard? “And now again, Mr. Everell,” resumed Foxwell, “I bid you farewell; and I beg that this leave-taking may be final.”

Everell drew a deep breath; then replied: “I am willing it shall be final, sir. But one word before I go. I have pondered what you have said: ’tis clear I am no longer bound to you by any obligation: as for your niece, I am not bound by her promise.”

“I grant you,” replied Foxwell, “’tis for her alone to keep that.”

“But if I should prevent her keeping it?”

“’Tis not possible; or, if so, not to a man of honour.”

“Why not, pray? I am answerable only for my own promises. She is bound by hers, and will keep it—if she can. But if I prevent her, by force, she’ll not be to blame for that. There will be no breach of honour then.”

“I must end this, sir.—To cross another’s promise is no better than to break one’s own—”

“Not in this case, sir,” replied Everell, his voice rising in spite of himself, as his heart rose to the wild attempt he was about to make—rashness had brought him to this pass, let rashness bring him out!—“not in this case, for the promise concerns me, yet I was not consulted in its making—there’s reason for you! As for possibility, let’s put it to the test! Prevent her? Yes!” He had half-drawn his sword, but he quickly slid it back; flung his arms around Georgiana’s waist, and, lifting her high, made a dash for the hall, passing between Lady Strange and Prudence on the way; ran on out to the courtyard, where, by a lantern in Joseph’s hand, he saw the horse at the mounting-block; thanks to which, he gained the saddle in two steps, with the slight form of Georgiana still in his arms; jerked the bridle from Joseph’s hold ere the groom or the two other servants knew what was happening; applied the spurs, and was off at a gallop through the open gateway before Foxwell had got as far as to the house door in pursuit.

Foxwell had lost no more time through sheer astonishment than most men would have lost. But, as he started to go after Everell, the maid Prudence also started, apparently upon the impulse of concern for her mistress: being nearer the doorway, she arrived first; tripped at the threshold, and dropped on all fours, filling up the opening so that Foxwell was delayed for some seconds ere he could pass to the hall. He had hope that the servants about the house door would stop the fugitive; but they were taken by surprise, they knew that Everell was to leave, and they did not know for what purpose the horse had been got ready. So now the lover, with his prize in his arms, was galloping away in the darkness. Foxwell ordered two horses saddled, and sent Caleb to listen as to which direction the fugitive was taking.