CHAPTER XV PISTOLS

Thornby’s words indicated surprise at Foxwell’s surprise. Foxwell shot a keen glance to see if the other’s surprise was genuine. There could be no doubt of that. This occasioned new surprise in Foxwell.

“Egad, sir,” said he, “I should think I might be pardoned for staring. How come they to be here? It puzzles me, I own.”

“Who here?” blurted Thornby. “This gentleman and lady, d’ye mean?”

“Ay, the gentleman and lady I’ve been in search of.”

“Why, you don’t desire to stop ’em, do you? What the deuce is little Sue Marvell to you?—and Dick Birch? Captain Marvell is no friend of yours. Rather help these young people away, if only for the joke on Dick Birch.”

“Of what are you talking?” cried Foxwell. “Can it be possible you don’t know who these young people are?”

“I don’t know much of the gentleman,” Thornby admitted; “but the girl is Sukey Marvell.”

“Sukey Marvell!—Sukey devil!” exclaimed Foxwell, and, striding up to Georgiana, he snatched the handkerchief from her face. Everell had left her standing at the end of the table, himself having moved around to Thornby’s former place a moment earlier for a purpose of his own. Checking an impulse to go to Georgiana’s side, he now stood between the magisterial chair and the table. Despite all that was at stake, he was amused at the sight of Thornby gazing with mouth wide open at the face so unexpectedly revealed.

“It seems you find reason to stare now,” said Foxwell to the Squire. “Egad, Thornby, had they bamboozled you?”

“Mr. Thornby, I hold you to your promise,” Everell put in; “a chaise, horses, and a man.”

“Chaise, horses, and damnation!” was the reply of Thornby, as he at last found a voice. “I never knew ’twas she you was a-running away with. You said ’twas Sukey Marvell.”

“Pardon me, no; you said ’twas Sukey Marvell. And I hold you to your promise.”

“HE SNATCHED THE HANDKERCHIEF FROM HER FACE.”

“Hold and be damned!—And Foxwell, you’ve deceived me, too. You said you’d persuade her to have me.”

“So I have done,” asserted Foxwell, “and she has given her consent.”

“Given her consent? Then you was the relation—and I’m the Dick Birch! What?—and this here stripling would ’a’ had me help to do myself out of a bride! Oh, you shall all pay for this among you!”

“Softly, softly, Thornby,” said Foxwell. “She has promised to marry you. Have you not, miss?”

After a brief hesitation, Georgiana uttered a reluctant “yes.”

“Then you forced the promise from her,” said Thornby.

“She gave it willingly,” returned Foxwell. “Did you not, miss?”

“Yes—willingly,” said Georgiana, in the faintest of voices.

“And yet you ran away with this here other man,” said Thornby.

“I was—carried away,” she replied, in a tone as frail as before.

“And you are still willing to marry Mr. Thornby?” said her uncle.

“Y—yes.”

Thornby’s brow cleared. “Then, ecod, not much harm’s done, after all. ’Tis all well that ends well.”

Everell again put in, addressing Thornby: “She is willing to marry you, perhaps. But ask her if she will ever love you, man.”

“Eh! Well, what about that? D’ye think you’ll ever love me, miss?”

“No, I do not, sir,” cried Georgiana, suddenly emphatic of voice. “I shall always love this gentleman! For ever, and ever, and ever!” And she moved toward the man of her choice.

Her manner of speech, her look of disdain, and Everell’s smile of triumph were too much for Thornby’s savage vanity. “Then don’t flatter yourself I’ll marry you,” he answered, with retaliatory scorn. “A white-faced vixen, when all’s said and done! Mistress of Thornby Hall, after this night’s business?—dod, I’m warned in time!”

“Oh, say it again!” exclaimed Georgiana, rejoiced.

“I do say it again! Ecod, I know my value!”

“I am freed of my promise!” she cried.

“Ay,” said Thornby, with a swelling wrath which had to be discharged upon somebody, “and your blundering uncle may go whistle.—You shall answer for this, Foxwell, d’ye hear? I’ll see to that. ’Tis all along o’ your mismanagement. But I’ll be quits wi’ ye. I’ll make use o’ that there letter!—rat me but I will!”

“You are quite unreasonable, Thornby,” said Foxwell, patiently, and, turning to his attendant, “Joseph, wait without.”

Joseph left the room, whereupon Thornby had the grace to order his own servant to be off; so that the four principals were left alone. Foxwell made sure that the door was closed against espial, and thrust into the keyhole a part of the handkerchief he had taken from Georgiana. He then returned to Thornby, who had meanwhile been fuming and pacing the floor.

“You have cause for anger, I admit,” said Foxwell; “but you are bound to own I have done my part.”

“Don’t talk to me, sir,” roared Thornby. “I’ll make you smart afore I’ve done! See if I don’t!”

Foxwell’s own temper gave way. He had been put to much exercise of self-command this evening, and had scarce yet regained his bodily composure after his ride. Of a sudden, now, his face darkened. “Then by heaven I’ll not smart alone! You shall suffer, miss,—and your lover, too! Let all come out. You say you know little of this young gentleman, Thornby. Would you know more?—who he is, what he is?”

“Uncle, you will not!” entreated Georgiana. “With my promise I bought your silence—remember that!—and I have not broken my promise. ’Tis Mr. Thornby has released me.”

“Very well. Let us stick to promises, by all means! But I have your Romeo upon other grounds.—Before you as a justice of the peace, Mr. Thornby, I charge this gentleman with the abduction of my niece.—That, too, is a hanging matter, miss.”

“Not so, Mr. Thornby,” cried Georgiana; “for, now that I am free, I go with this gentleman of my own consent. ’Tis not abduction, ’tis on my part a voluntary flight.”

“You forget you are not yet your own mistress,” said Foxwell. “Besides, the abduction has been committed. Moreover, Thornby, the gentleman has appropriated to himself a horse of mine. I demand of you to act upon these charges.”

Thornby underwent a sudden accession of magisterial dignity. “I know my office, Mr. Foxwell. Nobody has ever accused me of failing there. Sir,”—this to Everell,—“when the case is put to me in that form, I must do as my commission requires. I must needs hold you for a hearing.—I’ll send for my clerk, Foxwell; I left him at the table, but I dare say he’s still sober enough for what’s to be done.” Relapsing then into his more usual puerility, he added, “Dod, such impudent young strangers sha’n’t carry off our ladies with impunity, neither!”

Georgiana had hastened to Everell’s side. “Oh, save yourself now,” she besought him in a whisper.

“Not without you, sweet.—Gentlemen,” he cried, in time to stop Thornby’s movement toward the door, “one word. I am in a desperate position. Abduction, horse-stealing, the other business,—any one of them is the price of a halter. With but one life to lose, then, what is a crime or two more? ’Tis but getting the more value for my neck.” He took up the pistols left on the table by Thornby, who had lost all thought of them on being convinced of Everell’s honesty. Dexterously cocking them as he spoke, the young man went on: “If I must die, be sure that one or both of you shall go before me—’tis fair precedence, cedant arma tog?! But first I will have one more venture for my life—and for my love.” By this time, he had each of the gentlemen in line with a different pistol. “Mr. Thornby, move or call out, at your peril. Mr. Foxwell, the same to you; and this also: I think I can persuade you to withdraw your charges, and, furthermore, to lend me the horses that brought you and your man to this place.”

Foxwell’s only weapon at the moment was his sword; he had left his pistols outside in the holsters, thinking to spend but a minute in Thornby Hall and foreseeing no need of them there. He perceived from Everell’s manner of handling the pistols that the young man was of perfect assurance in their use. The same circumstance found speedy way to the mind of Thornby, who was unarmed. So the two gentlemen stood as they were requested. Foxwell, for want of a better temporizing answer, feigned to yield with a good grace, saying: “You present so strong an argument, that I know not how to oppose you.”

“I fear if the pistol were my only argument,” said Everell, calmly, “my victory would end as soon as my back was turned. I will try an argument that may have more lasting effect. Miss Foxwell, I must bid you pull out this drawer of the table,—stay where you are, Mr. Thornby!—which the owner has carelessly left open.” Everell moved a step to the side, giving Georgiana closer access to the drawer. She obeyed in wonder, for she had overheard little of the talk while she was in the closet, and nothing of Thornby’s allusion to that in the drawer which gave the power of keeping Mr. Robert Foxwell in his place. Everell now told her to empty the contents of the drawer upon the table, and to spread them out so that each document might be seen. “Not a step, Mr. Thornby! You, Mr. Foxwell, come near enough to see if there be anything of interest to you. That will do—no farther! Look carefully.”

Foxwell’s keen eye had already begun to range the various papers as they lay separately exposed. Suddenly he uttered a quick “Ah!” and stepped forward, reaching out. Everell checked him by a sharp “Back!” and a movement of the pistol; then followed with his glance the line of the extended arm.

“Miss Foxwell,” said Everell, “be good enough to take up the paper your uncle reached for. ’Twill be one of those three the shadow falls athwart,—the shadow of the wine-bottle;—ay, those.—Don’t move, Mr. Thornby.—Open them out, Georgiana, and hold them where I can see. H’m; apparently a legal document concerning one William Hardy. The next, please: ‘a new cure for the glanders.’ The other: a letter signed ‘R. Foxwell.’—Back, Mr. Foxwell. Is that all you see here of importance to you?—Mr. Thornby, if you take a step toward the door—! Is that all, Mr. Foxwell? I will not read it unless I am forced to.”

“That is all,” replied Foxwell, “and ’tis something Mr. Thornby has no right to possess. I ask you, as a man of honour, to restore it to me.”

“In proper time, sir. Meanwhile, Miss Foxwell, fold the paper as it was, and place it in my waistcoat pocket.—’Tis well done; though I dare not thank you, for you do this under compulsion.”

“By the Lord, sir,” Thornby burst out at last, “this here’s robbery, sir!—rank robbery under arms! You may carry it off for the moment—I’m not moving, I’m only warning you, for your own good—but this sort of thing is bound to end in a halter, sir.”

“Possibly; but, as I have said, a crime or two more can make no difference to a man in my situation. You were kind enough to tell me that in this drawer was the means of making Mr. Foxwell consider your wishes. Let us see if it will make him consider mine. Mr. Foxwell, whatever the document contains, I’m not like to use it against Georgiana’s kinsman. But if I am taken prisoner here, ’twill no doubt fall into Mr. Thornby’s hands again. Your interest, then, lies in my escape.”

“Damn Foxwell’s interest!” broke in Thornby. “I’m the man to bargain with. If you restore that letter and them pistols—’tis my property, that letter, for all he says; mine, bought and paid for, as I can prove by Jeremiah Filson—”

This name, in relation to the letter, was another surprise to Foxwell. But ere Thornby could proceed farther, Everell commanded silence.

“You are very good, Mr. Thornby, but I will not bargain with you. I will forego the chaise and horses, release you from your promise,—on condition of your entering that closet. Come, I mean it. You shall be let out in good time. ’Tis no such bad place—the lady suffered no harm there. Into the closet, if you please. I’ll return your pistols—by and by.” Everell, while speaking, had come around the end of the table, and was now threatening Thornby with both pistols at close quarters. “Into the closet, sir! By heaven, don’t try my patience!—a man who may be hanged three times over doesn’t balk at the chance of a fourth. In, in!”

Slowly retreating from the weapons as they were thrust almost into his face, Thornby backed into the closet, glaring futile wrath.

“’Tis well,” said Everell; “if you keep silence there, I engage not to fire through the door.” Having put one pistol in his coat pocket, he locked the door and repocketed the key. He turned now to Foxwell, who had been pondering. “I must borrow your horses, sir, to the first posting-place. I will send them back from there, with these pistols and this key. You can then release this gentleman, if he be not freed by other means before that;—he will soon begin to make himself heard. I think you will now see fit to speed my parting; for, look you, if I am taken in my flight, Heaven knows whose hands this letter may fall into.”

“And if you are not taken?” inquired Foxwell.

“I will not read it, nor let anybody else read it; and will send it to you from France as soon as I am married to your niece. Regarding that matter, I will only say now that I am a man of honour, of good family, and some fortune.—I must still carry you off, sweet. ’Tis the one safe course, despite the dangers and discomforts you must share.”

“Better the dangers and discomforts with you, than the anxieties if I were left behind,” said Georgiana.

“Then, Mr. Foxwell, may I beg you to conduct us to the horses?—your servant might dispute our taking them.”

Everell had now put the second pistol into the opposite coat pocket, believing that the letter gave him sufficient control over Foxwell’s actions. But he kept his hand upon his sword-hilt, intending that Foxwell should walk in front of him to the horses.

“A moment, pray,” said Foxwell. “Consider the legal position I shall be left in if I assist you. It does not suit me to fly the country, as it does you.”

“Who will trouble you on that score? Certainly this booby justice will not desire to publish a matter in which he makes so poor a figure. He knows not who I am. In what crime can he then accuse you of aiding me? The abduction and the horse-stealing you need not pursue—you have signed no charge, sworn to none.”

“The theft of the letter,” said Foxwell. “If I help you to escape, I shall be accessory to that.”

“But you say he has no right to its possession. In any case, you can show him how ridiculous he will appear. I think you run little risk; but be that as it may, I must think of my own risk. Every moment adds to it; and to the danger of this letter coming to wrong hands. So, if you please, to the horses.”

A curious look was on Foxwell’s face. It was true that any struggle with Everell in the presence of Thornby or his people might result in the letter’s falling again into that gentleman’s hands. But there was now no such person to interfere. A quick sword-thrust—which could be justified as against an escaping rebel—might win the letter in a moment; Foxwell could destroy it immediately at the fire, and make his peace with Thornby by releasing him and showing his outrage avenged. No danger, then, of the letter’s capture in the long journey of a fugitive, or of Thornby’s attempting retaliation by course of law. It was all seen in an instant. Foxwell’s sword flashed in the air, and Everell had to spring aside to save himself.

“Ah, treacherous!” cried the young man, as his own blade leaped out.

Foxwell’s second thrust came with surprising swiftness, but was fairly met; and the two swords darted and clashed again and again. Georgiana, with every impulse to rush between the fighters, dared not do so, and was indeed compelled to move rapidly to keep out of their way, watching them with fear and horror. While the noise of their quick feet, their loud breathing and sharp ejaculations, and the clashing steel filled the apartment, there came from some other part of the house a sound of half-drunken singing. This was unheeded, even when it was evidently approaching. Foxwell, perceiving that he had counted too much upon the suddenness and sureness of his attack, and feeling that he was entitled to little mercy if he lost, fought with the impetuosity of desperation. His arm at length grew heavy; and Everell, who on his side used a concentration of faculties worthy of the issue at stake, found opening for a lunge that pinked the other’s forearm, causing him to lower his hand with a cry of chagrin. The next instant the young man struck the weapon from Foxwell’s weakened grasp, sending it flying to the door; which at that moment opened, letting in two men who walked arm in arm and bawled a bacchanalian song.

From their dress and appearance, it was evident that these newcomers were Mr. Thornby’s table companions, doubtless come in search of him. One of them, a short, heavy-set person with a wig awry, was plainly very drunk indeed. The other, a slim, prudent-looking fellow, seemed in good command of his senses. This man, having nearly tripped over the sword, picked it up, and looked with astonishment at those in the room.

“Eh!” he exclaimed. “My Jacobite, by all that’s holy! Here’s providential work! Call your men, Mr. Potkin.”

The stout little man pulled himself together, blinked at Everell, and then bolted from the room. “The justice’s clerk, gone to bring varlets of the law,” thought Everell, who stood regaining his breath. Foxwell withdrew panting to the other side of the table, dropped into Thornby’s chair, and began pulling up his sleeve to examine his wound. Filson put himself on guard with the sword before the doorway, with the manifest intention of disputing Everell’s escape from the room till help should come. Perhaps the courage of wine, the excitement of beholding his quarry at last, or the sight of Everell’s winded condition, emboldened the man: at any rate, he showed resolution, and his manner with the sword was that of some practice in fencing—not a surprising thing at a time when gentlemen’s gentlemen imitated the accomplishments of their masters.

“What! you menace me!” cried Everell; “then be careful of your other ear, hound!” With this he rushed upon Filson, thrusting along the side of the latter’s head, and running the point through the wig, though not touching the ear.

Filson turned pale, but made a pass, which was narrowly avoided. Everell gave a second lunge, and this time the weapon pierced the somewhat extended auricular shell.

“Help! help, Mr. Foxwell!” shouted Filson, clapping one hand to the injured ear, but still wielding his sword against Everell.

“Call for help to those who buy letters from you, cur,” replied Foxwell, scarce looking up from his task of binding his arm with a handkerchief, a business performed by his left hand with the aid of his teeth. Georgiana had looked an offer of assistance, which her uncle had repelled. Her attention instantly returned to her lover.

On hearing Foxwell’s answer, Filson shrank back; but Everell pressed him close, parried a desperate lunge, and sent a swift long thrust for the region of the heart. Filson dropped like a log, and lay as still as one, a result somewhat unexpected by Everell, to whom the resistance had seemed only that of the man’s loose coat.

“Come!” cried Everell, and, while Georgiana hastened to his side, he added to her uncle: “All that I said awhile ago still holds true. I wish you good night.” He then led Georgiana around the prostrate body of Filson, and through the doorway. Just outside in the hallway stood Joseph and the footman, who had been attracted by the noise to peer into the room, which as yet they dared not re-enter. Everell waved them aside with his sword, and the lovers quickly passed. The two men, not knowing what to do, again looked into the room, Joseph expectant of his master’s orders, and the footman wondering at the disappearance of Thornby. Nobody else was in the hall, and Everell and Georgiana were in a moment at the door opposite that by which they had entered the house. It was not fastened. Throwing it open, Everell found that he was right in what, from his present knowledge of the roads and gates, he had assumed,—namely, that Foxwell’s horses were waiting at this entrance. They were in charge of a boy who evidently belonged to Thornby Hall, perhaps to the gate-lodge. On the door-step was a lantern.

Everell sheathed his sword, and said, quietly, to the boy: “We are to use Mr. Foxwell’s horses, my good lad.” He coolly helped Georgiana into the saddle, mounted the other horse, and bade the boy hand him the lantern. The lad, ignorant of Foxwell’s purposes and of the fighting in the house, and obedient by habit, complied. “Now run before, and you shall receive a crown at the gate,” said Everell, grasping Georgiana’s rein and his own. He was at the same time wondering to what part of the house or vicinity the clerk had gone for his forces. He trusted that Foxwell would now see his interest in passively aiding the flight, and would find means to keep Joseph and Thornby’s servant from interfering or giving alarm.

In this he was not deceived. Foxwell saw all chance gone of obtaining the letter by force of his own; and now feared that, if taken by Thornby’s men, Everell would rather entrust it to them than suffer Foxwell to possess it after what had occurred.

Foxwell, therefore, upon noticing the two servants at the doorway, called Joseph to assist in binding his wound. He then assigned the footman to the impossible task of prizing open the door of Thornby’s prison with a poker. This apparent concern for Thornby’s comfort was partly for the future conciliation of that gentleman; and Foxwell intended to employ his wound to the same end, on the ground that he had received it in the Squire’s interest. As he sat thinking the matter out, and watching Joseph’s bungling attempts to fasten a bandage, Foxwell heard a loud tramping, as of several heavy feet, in the hall.

“The men whom the clerk went to fetch,” thought he; and, without turning his head, considered how he might delay them with perfect safety to himself. But, just as they seemed about to enter the room, there was a brief pause in their movements; and then they were heard rushing away and out of the hall. It was as if they had learned at the very threshold that the person they sought was gone elsewhere. Foxwell turned his eyes upon the doorway, near which Filson had fallen. To his amazement, the body of that rascal was not to be seen. This enabled Foxwell to account for the movements of the justice’s men: the knave had yet life enough to crawl out and indicate the way the fugitive had taken. The trampling of the men in the hall, the footman’s noise with the poker, and certain incoherent words of inquiry and command which Thornby had begun to shout from his closet, had covered the sound of Filson’s exit.

Meanwhile, Everell and Georgiana had ridden down a driveway of considerable length, following close upon the heels of the boy, whom the lantern enabled them to keep in sight. The gate had swung to after Foxwell’s entrance. As the lad went to open it, and Everell put his hand in his pocket for the promised crown, there came a noise of men issuing from the house they had left, followed by a cry: “Stop them! gate, ho! let nobody pass!”

The boy gave a startled look at the riders, and stood hesitating. Everell, who had been holding the lantern high so as to see the way, quickly handed it to Georgiana; drew one of the pistols from his pocket, pointed it at the lad’s head, and, at the same time offering the crown piece with his left hand, said: “Lead or silver, which?”

“THE HORSES DASHED FORWARD.”

The boy, whose mind had probably never worked so rapidly in his life before, flung the gate open. Men were now heard running toward them from the top of the driveway. Everell threw the coin at the boy, and the horses dashed forward. Once in the road, the lovers turned to the right, thus aiming for the town wherein they had first met. Everell put away the pistol, but allowed Georgiana, at her own suggestion, to retain possession of the lantern, that he might be the readier with his weapons, should occasion arise. Of this there was not much immediate likelihood, for, now that the gate was passed, Thornby’s men must needs resort to horses if they meant to give chase.

“Do you ride well, sweet?” Everell called to Georgiana, as they galloped along the road.

“Well enough,” she replied, as cheerily as she could.

He now observed, for the first time, that she was riding man-fashion; his cloak, which she still wore, enabling her to do so with less loss in appearance than addition of safety.

“You will not soon forget the night of your abduction,” said he, gaily.

She reminded him it was no longer an abduction, but a flight on her part as well as his. And both of them, though they said nothing, wondered what would be the end of it.