more than half an hour went by. i was growing numbed and tired, and beginning to think that we were making asses of ourselves, when i heard the rattle of a chain, and felt carriston give my arm a warning touch. no doubt my late host had made sure that his new door-fastenings were equal to a stronger test than that to which i had subjected the former ones; so we were wise in not attempting to carry his castle by force.
the door opened, and closed again. i saw the feeble glimmer of a lantern moving toward the out-house in which my horse had been stabled. i heard a slight rustling in the hedge, and, stretching out my arm, found that carriston had left my side. in the absence of any command from him i did not follow, but resumed the old occupation—waiting.
in a few minutes the light of the lantern reappeared; the bearer stood on the threshold of the house, while i wondered what carriston was doing. just as the door was opened for the boor’s readmittance, a dark figure sprung upon him! i heard a fierce oath and cry of surprise; then the lantern flew out of the man’s hand, and he and his assailant tumbled struggling through the narrow door-way.
“hurrah! the door is won, anyway!” i shouted, as, followed closely by the doctor, i jumped over the hedge and rushed to the scene of the fray.
although carriston’s well-conceived attack was so vigorous and unexpected that the man went down under it; although our leader utilized the advantage he had gained in a proper and laudable manner, by bumping that thick bullet-head as violently as he could against the flags on which it lay; i doubt if, after all, he could have done his work alone. the countryman was a muscular brute and carriston but a stripling. however, our arrival speedily settled the question.
“bind him!” panted carriston; “there is a cord in my pocket.” he appeared to have come quite prepared for contingencies. whilst carriston still embraced his prostrate foe, and brand, to facilitate matters, knelt on his shoulders, sat on his head, or did something else useful, i drew out from the first pocket i tried a nice length of half-inch line, and had the immense satisfaction of trussing up my scowling friend in a most workmanlike manner. he must have felt those turns on his wrists for days afterward. yet when we were at last at liberty to rise and leave him lying helpless on his kitchen-floor, i considered i exercised great self-denial in not bestowing a few kicks upon him, as he swore at us in the broadest vernacular in a way which, under the circumstances, was no doubt a great comfort to him.
we scarcely noticed the man’s wife while we rendered her husband helpless. as we entered she attempted to fly out, but brand, with a promptitude which i am glad to record, intercepted her, closed the door, turned and pocketed the key. after that the woman sat on the floor and rocked herself to and fro.
for some moments, while recovering his breath, carriston stood, and positively glared at his prostrate foe. at last he found words.
“where is she? where is the key, you hound?” he thundered out, stooping over the fellow, and shaking him with a violence which did my heart good. as he received no answers save the unrecordable expressions above mentioned, we unbuttoned the wretch’s pockets, and searched those greasy receptacles. among the usual litter we did certainly find a key. carriston snatched at it, and shouting “madeline! madeline! i come!” rushed out of the room like a maniac, leaving brand and me to keep guard over our prisoners.
i filled a pipe, lit it, and then came back to my fallen foe.
“i say, old chap!” i said, stirring him gently with the toe of my boot, “this will be a lesson to you. remember, i told you that civility costs nothing. if you had given me christian bed accommodation instead of making me wear out my poor bones on that infernal chair, you could have jogged along in your rascality quite comfortably, so far as i am concerned.”
he was very ungrateful—so much so that my desire to kick him was intensified. i should not like to swear i did not to a slight degree yield to the temptation.
“push a handkerchief in his mouth,” cried brand, suddenly. “a lady is coming.”
with right good-will i did as the doctor suggested.
just then carriston returned. i don’t want to raise home tempests, yet i must say he was accompanied by the most beautiful creature my eyes have ever lighted upon. true, she was pale as a lily—looked thin and delicate, and her face bore traces of anxiety and suffering, but for all that she was beautiful—too beautiful for this world, i thought, as i looked at her. she was clinging in a half-frightened, half-confiding way to carriston, and he—happy fellow!—regardless of our presence, was showering down kisses on her sweet pale face. confound it! i grow quite romantic as i recall the sight of those lovers.
a most curious young man, that carriston! he came to us, the lovely girl on his arm, without showing a trace of his recent excitement.
“let us go now,” he said, as calmly as if he had been taking a quiet evening drive. then he turned to me.
“do you think, mr. fenton, you could without much trouble get the dog-cart up to the house?”
i said i would try to do so.
“but what about these people?” asked brand.
carriston gave them a contemptuous glance. “leave them alone,” he said. “they are but the tools of another—him i cannot touch. let us go.”
“yes, yes. but why not verify your suspicions while you can?”
just like brand! he’s always wanting to verify everything.
in searching for the key we had found some papers on our prisoner. brand examined them, and handed to carriston an envelope which contained what looked like bank-notes.
carriston glanced at it. “the handwriting is, of course, disguised,” he said, carelessly; “but the postmark shows whence it came. it is as i always told you. you agree with me now?”
“i am afraid i must,” said brand, humbly. “but we must do something about this man,” he continued.
hereupon carriston turned to our prisoner. “listen, you villain,” he said. “i will let you go scot-free if you breathe no word of this to your employer for the next fortnight. if he learns from you what has happened before that time, i swear you shall go to penal servitude. which do you choose?”
i pulled out the gag, and it is needless to say which the fellow chose.
then i went off, and recovered the horse and cart. i relighted the lamps, and with some difficulty got the dog-cart up to the house, carriston having exactly anticipated the events of the night. the parcel he had brought with him contained a bonnet and a thick, warm cloth cloak. his beautiful friend was equipped with these; then leaving the woman of the house to untie her husband at her leisure and pleasure, away we started; the doctor sitting by me; carriston and the lady behind.
we just managed to catch the last train from c——. not feeling sure as to what form inquiries might take to-morrow, i thought it better to go up to town with my friends; so, as we passed through midcombe, i stopped, paid my bill, and gave instructions for my luggage to be forwarded to me. by six o’clock the next morning we were all in london.
dr. brand in conclusion.
when i asked fenton to relate his experiences i did not mean him to do so at such length. but there, as he has written it, and as writing is not a labor of love with him, let it go.
when madeline rowan found the bed by the side of which she had thrown herself in an ecstasy of grief untenanted, she knew in a moment that she was the victim of a deep-laid plot. being ignorant of carriston’s true position in the world she could conceive no reason for the elaborate scheme which have been devised to lure her so many miles from her home, and make a prisoner of her.
a prisoner she was. not only was the door locked upon her, but a slip of paper lay on the bed. it bore these words, “no harm is meant you, and in due time you will be released. ask no questions, make no foolish attempts at escape, and you will be well-treated.”
upon reading this the girl’s first thought was one of thankfulness. she saw at once that the reported accident to her lover was but an invention. the probabilities were that carriston was alive, and in his usual health. now that she felt certain of this, she could bear anything.
from the day on which she entered that room, to that on which we rescued her, madeline was to all intents and purposes as close a prisoner in that lonely house on the hill-side as she might have been in the deepest dungeon in the world. threats, entreaties, promises of bribes availed nothing. she was not unkindly treated—that is, suffered no absolute ill-usage. books, materials for needle-work, and other little aids to while away time were supplied. but the only living creatures she saw were the women of the house who attended to her wants, and, on one or two occasions, the man whom carriston asserted he had seen in his trance. she had suffered from the close confinement, but had always felt certain that sooner or later her lover would find her, and effect her deliverance. now that she knew he was alive she could not be unhappy.
i did not choose to ask her why she had felt so certain on the above points. i wished to add no more puzzles to the one which, to tell the truth, exercised, even annoyed me, more than i care to say. but i did ask her if, during her incarceration, her jailer had ever laid his hand upon her.
she told me that some short time after her arrival a stranger had gained admittance to the house. whilst he was there the man had entered her room, held her arm, and threatened her with violence if she made any outcry. after hearing this, i did not pursue the subject.
carriston and madeline were married at the earliest possible moment, and left england immediately after the ceremony. a week after their departure, by carriston’s request, i forwarded the envelope found upon our prisoner to mr. ralph carriston. with it i sent a few lines stating where and under what peculiar circumstances we had become possessed of it. i never received any reply to my communication; so, wild and improbable as it seems, i am bound to believe that charles carriston’s surmise was right—that madeline was decoyed away and concealed, not from any ill-will toward herself, but with a view to the possible baneful effect which her mysterious disappearance might work upon her lover’s strange and excitable organization; and i firmly believe that had he not in some inexplicable way been firmly convinced that she was alive and faithful to him, the plot would have been a thorough success, and charles carriston would have spent the rest of his days in an asylum.
both sir charles—he succeeded to his title shortly after his marriage—and lady carriston are now dead, or i should not have ventured to relate these things concerning them. they had twelve years of happiness. if measured by time the period was but a short one; but i feel sure that in it they enjoyed more true happiness than many others find in the course of a protracted life. in word, thought, and deed they were as one. she died in rome of fever, and her husband, without so far as i know any particular complaint, simply followed her.
i was always honored with their sincerest friendship, and sir charles left me sole trustee and guardian to his three sons; so there are now plenty of lives between ralph carriston and his desire. i am pleased to say that the boys, who are as dear to me as my own children, as yet show no evidence of possessing any gifts beyond nature.
i know that my having made this story public will cause two sets of objectors to fall equally foul of me—the matter-of-fact prosaic man who will say that the abduction and subsequent imprisonment of madeline rowan was an absurd impossibility, and the scientific man, like myself, who cannot, dare not believe that charles carriston, from neither memory nor imagination, could draw a face, and describe peculiarities, by which a certain man could be identified. i am far from saying there may not be a simple natural explanation of the puzzle, but i, for one, have failed to find it, so close this tale as i began it by saying i am a narrator, and nothing more.
