SECOND NIGHT
When the next night drew on the actions of the boy were almost enough
to show that he was thinking of the meeting he had witnessed, and of
the promise wrung from the lady that she would come there again. As
far as the sheep-tending arrangements were concerned, to-night was
but a repetition of the foregoing one. Between ten and eleven
o'clock the old shepherd withdrew as usual for what sleep at home he
might chance to get without interruption, making up the other
necessary hours of rest at some time during the day; the boy was left
alone.
The frost was the same as on the night before, except perhaps that it
was a little more severe. The moon shone as usual, except that it
was three-quarters of an hour later in its course; and the boy's
condition was much the same, except that he felt no sleepiness
whatever. He felt, too, rather afraid; but upon the whole he
preferred witnessing an assignation of strangers to running the risk
of being discovered absent by the old shepherd.
It was before the distant clock of Shakeforest Towers had struck
eleven that he observed the opening of the second act of this
midnight drama. It consisted in the appearance of neither lover nor
Duchess, but of the third figure--the stout man, booted and spurred--
who came up from the easterly direction in which he had retreated the
night before. He walked once round the trilithon, and next advanced
towards the clump concealing the hut, the moonlight shining full upon
his face and revealing him to be the Duke. Fear seized upon the
shepherd-boy: the Duke was Jove himself to the rural population,
whom to offend was starvation, homelessness, and death, and whom to
look at was to be mentally scathed and dumbfoundered. He closed the
stove, so that not a spark of light appeared, and hastily buried
himself in the straw that lay in a corner.
The Duke came close to the clump of furze and stood by the spot where
his wife and the Captain had held their dialogue; he examined the
furze as if searching for a hiding-place, and in doing so discovered
the hut. The latter he walked round and then looked inside; finding
it to all seeming empty, he entered, closing the door behind him and
taking his place at the little circular window against which the
boy's face had been pressed just before.
The Duke had not adopted his measures too rapidly, if his object were
concealment. Almost as soon as he had stationed himself there eleven
o'clock struck, and the slender young man who had previously graced
the scene promptly reappeared from the north quarter of the down.
The spot of assignation having, by the accident of his running
forward on the foregoing night, removed itself from the Devil's Door
to the clump of furze, he instinctively came thither, and waited for
the Duchess where he had met her before.
But a fearful surprise was in store for him to-night, as well as for
the trembling juvenile. At his appearance the Duke breathed more and
more quickly, his breathings being distinctly audible to the
crouching boy. The young man had hardly paused when the alert
nobleman softly opened the door of the hut, and, stepping round the
furze, came full upon Captain Fred.
'You have dishonoured her, and you shall die the death you deserve!'
came to the shepherd's ears, in a harsh, hollow whisper through the
boarding of the hut.
The apathetic and taciturn boy was excited enough to run the risk of
rising and looking from the window, but he could see nothing for the
intervening furze boughs, both the men having gone round to the side.
What took place in the few following moments he never exactly knew.
He discerned portion of a shadow in quick muscular movement; then
there was the fall of something on the grass; then there was
stillness.
Two or three minutes later the Duke became visible round the corner
of the hut, dragging by the collar the now inert body of the second
man. The Duke dragged him across the open space towards the
trilithon. Behind this ruin was a hollow, irregular spot, overgrown
with furze and stunted thorns, and riddled by the old holes of
badgers, its former inhabitants, who had now died out or departed.
The Duke vanished into this depression with his burden, reappearing
after the lapse of a few seconds. When he came forth he dragged
nothing behind him.
He returned to the side of the hut, cleansed something on the grass,
and again put himself on the watch, though not as before, inside the
hut, but without, on the shady side. 'Now for the second!' he said.
It was plain, even to the unsophisticated boy, that he now awaited
the other person of the appointment--his wife, the Duchess--for what
purpose it was terrible to think. He seemed to be a man of such
determined temper that he would scarcely hesitate in carrying out a
course of revenge to the bitter end. Moreover--though it was what
the shepherd did not perceive--this was all the more probable, in
that the moody Duke was labouring under the exaggerated impression
which the sight of the meeting in dumb show had conveyed.
The jealous watcher waited long, but he waited in vain. From within
the hut the boy could hear his occasional exclamations of surprise,
as if he were almost disappointed at the failure of his assumption
that his guilty Duchess would surely keep the tryst. Sometimes he
stepped from the shade of the furze into the moonlight, and held up
his watch to learn the time.
About half-past eleven he seemed to give up expecting her. He then
went a second time to the hollow behind the trilithon, remaining
there nearly a quarter of an hour. From this place he proceeded
quickly over a shoulder of the declivity, a little to the left,
presently returning on horseback, which proved that his horse had
been tethered in some secret place down there. Crossing anew the
down between the hut and the trilithon, and scanning the precincts as
if finally to assure himself that she had not come, he rode slowly
downwards in the direction of Shakeforest Towers.
The juvenile shepherd thought of what lay in the hollow yonder; and
no fear of the crook-stem of his superior officer was potent enough
to detain him longer on that hill alone. Any live company, even the
most terrible, was better than the company of the dead; so, running
with the speed of a hare in the direction pursued by the horseman, he
overtook the revengeful Duke at the second descent (where the great
western road crossed before you came to the old park entrance on that
side--now closed up and the lodge cleared away, though at the time it
was wondered why, being considered the most convenient gate of all).
Once within the sound of the horse's footsteps, Bill Mills felt
comparatively comfortable; for, though in awe of the Duke because of
his position, he had no moral repugnance to his companionship on
account of the grisly deed he had committed, considering that
powerful nobleman to have a right to do what he chose on his own
lands. The Duke rode steadily on beneath his ancestral trees, the
hoofs of his horse sending up a smart sound now that he had reached
the hard road of the drive, and soon drew near the front door of his
house, surmounted by parapets with square-cut battlements that cast a
notched shade upon the gravelled terrace. These outlines were quite
familiar to little Bill Mills, though nothing within their boundary
had ever been seen by him.
When the rider approached the mansion a small turret door was quickly
opened and a woman came out. As soon as she saw the horseman's
outlines she ran forward into the moonlight to meet him.
'Ah dear--and are you come?' she said. 'I heard Hero's tread just
when you rode over the hill, and I knew it in a moment. I would have
come further if I had been aware--'
'Glad to see me, eh?'
'How can you ask that?'
'Well; it is a lovely night for meetings.'
'Yes, it is a lovely night.'
The Duke dismounted and stood by her side. 'Why should you have been
listening at this time of night, and yet not expecting me?' he asked.
'Why, indeed! There is a strange story attached to that, which I
must tell you at once. But why did you come a night sooner than you
said you would come? I am rather sorry--I really am!' (shaking her
head playfully) 'for as a surprise to you I had ordered a bonfire to
be built, which was to be lighted on your arrival to-morrow; and now
it is wasted. You can see the outline of it just out there.'
The Duke looked across to a spot of rising glade, and saw the faggots
in a heap. He then bent his eyes with a bland and puzzled air on the
ground, 'What is this strange story you have to tell me that kept you
awake?' he murmured.
'It is this--and it is really rather serious. My cousin Fred
Ogbourne--Captain Ogbourne as he is now--was in his boyhood a great
admirer of mine, as I think I have told you, though I was six years
his senior. In strict truth, he was absurdly fond of me.'
'You have never told me of that before.'
'Then it was your sister I told--yes, it was. Well, you know I have
not seen him for many years, and naturally I had quite forgotten his
admiration of me in old times. But guess my surprise when the day
before yesterday, I received a mysterious note bearing no address,
and found on opening it that it came from him. The contents
frightened me out of my wits. He had returned from Canada to his
father's house, and conjured me by all he could think of to meet him
at once. But I think I can repeat the exact words, though I will
show it to you when we get indoors.
"MY DEAR COUSIN HARRIET," the note said, "After this long absence you
will be surprised at my sudden reappearance, and more by what I am
going to ask. But if my life and future are of any concern to you at
all, I beg that you will grant my request. What I require of you,
is, dear Harriet, that you meet me about eleven to-night by the Druid
stones on Marlbury Downs, about a mile or more from your house. I
cannot say more, except to entreat you to come. I will explain all
when you are there. The one thing is, I want to see you. Come
alone. Believe me, I would not ask this if my happiness did not hang
upon it--God knows how entirely! I am too agitated to say more--
Yours. FRED."
'That was all of it. Now, of course I ought have gone, as it turned
out, but that I did not think of then. I remembered his impetuous
temper, and feared that something grievous was impending over his
head, while he had not a friend in the world to help him, or any one
except myself to whom he would care to make his trouble known. So I
wrapped myself up and went to Marlbury Downs at the time he had
named. Don't you think I was courageous?'
'Very.'
'When I got there--but shall we not walk on; it is getting cold?'
The Duke, however, did not move. 'When I got there he came, of
course, as a full grown man and officer, and not as the lad that I
had known him. When I saw him I was sorry I had come. I can hardly
tell you how he behaved. What he wanted I don't know even now; it
seemed to be no more than the mere meeting with me. He held me by
the hand and waist--O so tight--and would not let me go till I had
promised to meet him again. His manner was so strange and passionate
that I was afraid of him in such a lonely place, and I promised to
come. Then I escaped--then I ran home--and that's all. When the
time drew on this evening for the appointment--which, of course, I
never intended to keep, I felt uneasy, lest when he found I meant to
disappoint him he would come on to the house; and that's why I could
not sleep. But you are so silent!'
'I have had a long journey.'
'Then let us get into the house. Why did you come alone and
unattended like this?'
'It was my humour.'
After a moment's silence, during which they moved on, she said, 'I
have thought of something which I hardly like to suggest to you. He
said that if I failed to come to-night he would wait again to-morrow
night. Now, shall we to-morrow night go to the hill together--just
to see if he is there; and if he is, read him a lesson on his
foolishness in nourishing this old passion, and sending for me so
oddly, instead of coming to the house?'
'Why should we see if he's there?' said her husband moodily.
'Because I think we ought to do something in it. Poor Fred! He
would listen to you if you reasoned with him, and set our positions
in their true light before him. It would be no more than Christian
kindness to a man who unquestionably is very miserable from some
cause or other. His head seems quite turned.'
By this time they had reached the door, rung the bell, and waited.
All the house seemed to be asleep; but soon a man came to them, the
horse was taken away, and the Duke and Duchess went in.
