now, before mr. tuke was called upon to reap the full embarrassment arising from that impulsive confession of his to miss royston, events came to so crowd themselves upon the little stage of his history as that he was spared what might have been otherwise a very complicated situation. for, indeed, he had not thought in what matter betty pollack, unchaperoned and living, so to speak, under his protection, was to find her due of respect from his servants and of consideration from his guests.
in this latter question, however, when he came to face it, he was to suffer relief of his apprehensions in a treatment that was, nevertheless, a little galling; for, whether from offended dignity, or from any policy of indifference, miss royston made no allusion to the subject before others, and, indeed, to all appearance, gave herself no least concern about it. still, betty’s honour being his, and his desire great that she should be placed by no private selfishness in a false position, he was determined at the first convenient opportunity to proclaim her his betrothed.
with regard to the present predicament, the morning of his restoration to his friends saw much barren counsel and a dearth of decision. therefore, dispensing with informal advice, he went to examine his defences and his commissariat. given his adequate garrison, the former were impregnable to any assault the rogues could venture; and, locked in the coach-house was such store of fallow-deer meat as would provision the company for months. the difficulty of feeding these poor brutes was a matter that bothered him. they may have been a score in number; and, should they once eat him out of hay and corn, there would be nothing for it but to make a battue of them, and salt or smoke as much of their flesh as circumstances would permit. as for the human needs, his larder was for the present well stocked.
for protective purposes he could now number in all—not counting dunlone and the women—six men and a boy, a fighting strength sufficient to justify him in taking action on his own account, did he care to risk the lives of honest people in so indifferent a business. he did not, of course. what need was there to put a termination to conditions whose favour was all for the besieged? and he was conscious, moreover, of that weakness of his party that lay in a lack of fire-arms. three fowling-pieces and a brace of duelling pistols—such was his artillery, and a very limited supply of ammunition to the back of it.
but they could afford to lie, and snugly, in these their winter quarters till the snow should melt. when he came to look at the great drifts piled all about the house; when he had made himself acquainted with the excellence of master cutwater’s defences; when he compared his position with that of the ruffians in their broken sty, and thought of the improvidence of the typical bravo, and of how there, in the lodge, food and fire would be sure to fail in the course of a day or two—he could only marvel at the audacity of villainy that could ever have dreamed of prevailing in a contest of such unequal forces—of the desperate courage, or the magnificence of a cupidity, that could still wait on in the face of so stubbornly forlorn a hope. yet surely, were fern once acquainted of the extent of his opponent’s resources, he would elect to withdraw his troop of cut-throats.
still, he would not concede anything to a sense of security. he had had his sufficient lesson, and he took his little garrison in hand masterfully. the guns he committed to sir david, to jim, and the elder groom, while he and luvaine took a pistol apiece. a guard was constantly posted upon the roof, and another in the hall, and every man was enjoined to be awake to surprises of whatever description.
satisfied on all these points, he could condescend to some relapse into the social conditions; and three o’clock saw him ushering his company into the dining-hall, where a meal was served.
the master of the house was the last to enter the room, and he led in by the hand no less a person than his pretty maid of the inn. miss royston stared amazed at the sight; but betty herself—a very hebe, for all her homely gown—looked ready to burst into tears. for any shame-faced agony she might suffer, her dear lord’s word was become a thing to be answered to like a whistle to a dog; and at his nod she sank into a chair at his right hand and drooped her sweet head, while he stood erect, the light shining on his face.
“i wish to tell you all,” he said, in a clear, bold voice, “that this lady hath included herself in her gift to me of my life, and that we are plighted maid and man.”
angela fell back in her chair, very white and smiling.
“for what we are about to receive,” she whispered to the viscount who sat next to her. “why does the creature take us into his confidence? we will accent the lady’s character on trust, though she dips her fingers into the dish.”
“he’s always so cursed convinced we’re thinking about him,” said the lord.
but sir david blythewood was risen to his feet, and faced his bohemian friend with a wrathful face.
“the times excuse some jesting,” he began.
“i am in dead earnest, blythewood.”
“then, so am i, sir; and i’ll beg the favour of a word with you by and by.”
“at your pleasure. and now, having called the grace, we’ll drink the soup.”
at all this luvaine looked plentifully surprised. he stared from one to the other of the company with his melancholy frown; and of a sudden he was on his feet.
“since none will congratulate you, sir,” he said, “i will venture the statement that i never read man’s happiness in a purer face. i know nothing but this; and i drink the lady’s fair health with all my heart.”
here in truth was an unexpected champion. with a radiant smile tuke turned to one of the gaping servants.
“fill your future mistress’s glass,” he said; “and kiss the rim, betty, to your good friend.”
the poor girl shot a timid, grateful glance across the table. her eyes swam with tears. for her, indeed, the ordeal was the severest. gifted with a natural grace of refinement, she yet would hardly venture to eat or drink, lest she should offend by some little solecism against taste. she would not question her lord’s insistence that she should come and sit at his table and take her right rank that was to be the mistress of it; but, oh! how she had longed to be spared the trial until he had loved her and coaxed her and disciplined her into a grave knowledge of the proprieties.
and, for himself, he was not long in recognizing how his impulsiveness had again thrown him at the jump. for, to satisfy his own scruples of high-mindedness, he had submitted his sweet maid to insult and his guests to embarrassment; and there the situation stuck, and a very awkward and unappetizing one it was.
the meal passed to a stiff accompaniment of formalities of both speech and behaviour. angela assumed, perhaps, a superlative manner of deportment, and she laughed extremely, on a high note, at some very stupid things dunlone said to her. it would have been all dreadfully prosaic and worldly, had not a touch of tragedy been introduced suddenly from a quite unexpected quarter.
the wine had been placed on the table and the servants were withdrawn, when tuke was aware that the crazed girl had come into the room and was standing motionless behind his chair. he turned sharply round. darda, her hands clasped at her back, was gazing at him with an intense look.
“what is it?” he said. “have you news?”
“oh! yes,” she answered, nodding her head—“bad news—very, very bad.”
he thought he saw an expression in her eyes that was strange to him, though he fancied himself familiar with most of her moods.
“tell it me,” he said, hastily rising—to the good fortune of one of the company.
“don’t you know ’twas i tried to save you?” she asked him in a low voice. “but there was something false—the shadow; it was the shadows that were false. are you going to throw me away for that? how could i help it? i did my best. you were enchanted, and i walked singing into the castle of the giants to save you; and when i came you were flown. who tempted you away?”
“go now, darda,” he said gently. “i will talk to you by and by.”
“i must know first. they said; but my brain burst like glass, and then i could not remember.”
he took a step towards her; but she backed from him, and cried out in a sudden triumphant voice:
“i can tell her!—the white woman who would set her wit against steel. see now if she can!”
in a moment she had snapped her hands to the front—and a bright blade was in one of them—and she was running to where miss angela was seated at the table.
tuke was upon the mad creature’s heels—his hand clutched at her shoulder. the lady, unconscious that she was the destined victim, was only turned about in her chair with a curious face. it all passed in an instant—a very dramatic episode. the vicious arm lunged out—the pursuer struck up—there flashed an arc of light as the blade somersaulted in the shine of the candles, and there broke a shrill scream and a jarring flurry of chair-legs as the company scrambled to its feet. then were to be seen darda standing passively in the grasp of her captor, and the victim fallen into a faint against the shoulder of her neighbour, who looked down upon her with a face all quivering with fright and fury.
and: “curse me!” cried lord dunlone; “why doesn’t somebody come and take her? i never was in such a nest of cursed brigands in my life before.”
