The Sapphire Cross Part 40

TANGLED.

Two days--four days, and a week pa.s.sed, and Brace did not see Isa. He sought all her favourite rides, and waited about for hours, but she did not come. He felt sure that something was wrong, and wondered again and again whether that something was connected with the meeting with Lord Maudlaine. As the days pa.s.sed, Brace's mind was incessantly tortured by imaginings of garbled accounts, of insidious attempts to poison the ear of Isa, and at length his anxiety became almost unbearable. If he had made some arrangement by which he might have sent a letter, he would not have cared, but, under the circ.u.mstances, he felt that to write would only be to insure the return of his note, and he dared not send.

A fortnight had pa.s.sed and no news, when Brace Norton's heart leaped as, at breakfast, Captain Norton unlocked the letter-bag, and pa.s.sed over a couple of letters to his son, one of which was in a handwriting he had never before seen, but whose auth.o.r.ess his heart told him, as, unable to control himself, he rose from the table and sought his room.

The note was but short, and contained exactly what he had antic.i.p.ated, but none the less it made him sink on a chair by his dressing-table, cover his face with his hands, and groan in the bitterness of his heart.

It was precisely as he had conjectured. Sir Murray had angrily commanded his daughter to refrain from meeting the reader any more. He had told her that she must learn to school her heart, for such a union, for family reasons, was absolutely impossible; and, besides, he had pa.s.sed his word that she should be the wife of Lord Maudlaine, who had, during the past fortnight, been most a.s.siduous in his attentions, driving her, Isa said, to taking refuge in her own room for hours every day. She told him that they must meet no more; that she was very unhappy; but that Jane, the housekeeper, her old nurse, had spoken comforting words to her, telling her that perhaps, after all, the old troubles between the two houses might be swept away.

"I would not, on any account, my child, advise you against your papa's wishes," Jane had said; "but you must not marry Lord Maudlaine while your poor little heart is another's. I have seen too much misery amongst those you know for that to take place. You must wait, my child--you must wait--wait."

The letter concluded:--

"But how can I wait, when papa insists? Do not be angry with me, for I am very, very unhappy, and very weak. I am no heroine of romance, and cannot see how all this will end; but I pray hourly for your happiness, for that will be the happiness of Isa Gernon."

He had never written a line to her, and this was her first letter to him, breathing in every word the simple, guileless love of her pure young heart. There were no pa.s.sionate protestations--no vows of sincerity and faith--nothing but a fond belief in him, and his power to save her from the fate which threatened to be hers. And what could he do? How could he save her?

These were questions that would take time to solve; and perhaps, he thought, bitterly, then he would be too late.

There was one thing, though, that, in spite of his misery, he could not help remarking: the utter absence of any reference to the meeting; and it soon became evident that his lords.h.i.+p had thought good to keep all secret. But what a fate for that poor girl, to become the wife of a man so cowardly and devoid of honour!

"It shall not be!" exclaimed Brace, excitedly. "She looks to me for help and protection, and I supinely sit and grieve when I should be up and doing!"

He strode up and down the room, turning over in his mind a score of schemes, one and all useless, some even absurd; but all seemed to resolve in one idea, and at last he uttered his thoughts aloud, exclaiming:

"That shall be the last resource--all failing, I will bear her off!"

"No, Brace," said the soft, gentle voice of Mrs Norton. "That would be as dishonourable as it is wild. You are half mad with disappointment.

Why not wait wait patiently? I cannot but think that Isa, with all her gentleness, is too much of a true woman to give up, even under coercion.

Wait and be hopeful."

"Mother," said Brace, bitterly, "I have thought over the past till my brain has grown confused; and still I have gone on groping in the dark to try and find a way out of this difficulty. Time goes swiftly now, and before many days are past I must join my s.h.i.+p for a two years'

cruise. You tell me to be patient, and wait; but it makes me recall the sufferings of another, and I see myself coming back some morning to hear the chiming of old Merland's bells, while there is nought left for me to exclaim but those two bitter words: 'Too late!'"

"Bitter, then, my son," exclaimed a deep voice; "but time has happiness in store for us all."

Brace Norton turned hastily to see his mother sink sobbing in his father's arms.

Book 2, Chapter XVIII.

LOVER AND FATHER.

"Noo, leuke here, young man, I wadna speake to ye at all but for your cloth, for my ain brither wore the true-blue, and was lost at sea in a Kirkcaldy herring-boat, and so I always feel disposed to foregather with ane who sails the ocean. Noo, ye've stoppit me oot here in the lane, speerin' aboot the auld times. I was Sir Mooray's gairdener then, fresh up frae the North Kintree--frae Galas.h.i.+els, and spak the Scottish dialec then, only lang-dwelling in furren pairts has made quite a furrener o'

me. But I was gaun to say, Sir Mooray wud be sair angered wi' me if he knew I so much as spak to ye, and I must do my duty by him."

"But just answer me a few questions!" cried Brace, eagerly.

"Na, na!" said McCray, as he leaned against a gate and took snuff. "I'm sorry for ye--I am indeed, for I ken a' aboot it. I had it frae the gudewife, who nursed the bairn oop yinder, ever sin' she was a babe--at a time, too, when my ain hairt was sair. Ye lo'e the sweet flower weel, I've nae doot; but it canna be, young man--ye must goo awa' and try and forget her. There's a sair black pit atween ye twain, and I canna see that it will ever be filled up or bridged ower. Ye must try and bear it all as weel's ye can."

"But do you believe the story, McCray?" exclaimed Brace.

"I dinna ken--I winna say. All I can say is, I wush ye micht put a'

reet and win the sweet la.s.sie; for yon loon wi' the t.i.tle--There, dinna say anither wurd to me, Meester Norton, for I'm forgetting whose sairvant I am. Tak' my advice: join your s.h.i.+p, and go try and forget it a'; for it's an awfu' black affair a'thegither, and I'm sair afraid that the mair ye try to put it reet the waur ye'll mak' it.

"He'd ha'e made her a bonnie jo," muttered McCray, as he went off, shaking his grey head. "And he's a fine, fair-spoken young fellow; but Sir Mooray hates him like poison, and it can never be."

He turned once, to see Brace Norton standing against the gate; and his heart swelled, as he thought of the days of old and his own misery.

"Puir lad--puir lad!" said McCray, as he strode on. "There was a wee bit of hope for me, but it's a sair case for him, and for her too--bless her bright e'en! for I fear she lo'es him weel!"

Brace Norton never stirred for an hour, but leaned there, in one of the most secluded lanes round Merland, trying to form some plan of action, but in vain. He had determined to see McCray, and had long watched for the opportunity; while now, that he had had his interview, what had he gained? If he could obtain an interview with his wife, he might perhaps learn something of her; but how could he do it? Writing was such poor satisfaction. Could he do it by other means?--could he depute some one to question Jane McCray--one who would possess sufficient influence to gain from her some information? For he felt that it was only by constant search that the clue could be obtained--for that there was a clue, and that the mystery might yet be cleared up, he felt sure.

The answer to his question came in a way he little expected, for just then he heard the sound of a horse's feet, and his heart bounded, as slowly round a bend of the lane, the chequered suns.h.i.+ne playing upon her riding-habit, came Isa Gernon. Her head was bent, and her lithe, graceful form swayed in gentle undulations to the well-trained pace of her highly-broken mare.

Would she pa.s.s him? Would she ride on without a word?

It almost seemed that she would, for, buried in thought, Isa Gernon had not seen the figure by the green lane bank; when moved by an uncontrollable impulse, Brace darted to her side, to catch her gloved hand in his, and stand at her saddle-bow gazing up into her face.

"There was the groom, some fifty yards behind, but he told himself it was no business of his. He knew Sir Murray disapproved of it all; but Sir Murray never asked him to put a stop to it; while, if he was a sailor, Mr Brace Norton was a thorough gent, and free with his 'arf-crowns as could be. It wasn't for him to interfere with what my young missus did. All he--Peter Barlow, young lady's groom--knew was, that if he'd been Miss Isa, he'd sooner have had Mr Brace Norton than a dozen Lord Maudlaines. Lord, indeed! as professed to 'unt, and to know so much about 'osses, and sat across one like a sack o' chaff, while Mr Norton had as pretty a seat as ever he see a man have out of the profession--for, of course, you couldn't expect gents to ride like a groom.

"Don't speak, Isa dear--Isa, my own sweet love!" whispered Brace, his voice growing soft, and his words trembling with tenderness--"do not say a word! I know all: that you are forbidden to see me; that there is a ban upon our family; and that the past reveals a sad--sad story of misery and broken hearts. But this meeting is not of your seeking--you cannot help yourself. See, dearest! I am holding this soft, gentle hand in mine--I am forcing you to listen to me; for, oh! Isa, sweet love, I am mad with grief and misery. You know the story of my father's--your poor mother's broken heart: is ours to be the same fate?

Do not think me cruel in bringing up these tales of the past; but is it not our duty to try and clear away the mystery? My life upon it!" he exclaimed, excitedly, "there is a clue to be found, in spite of the time that has fleet; for do you for a moment think I will ever credit a word of the cruel calumnies that stain our family names? They are all false--false and unworthy! but they must be cleared away. And now listen, dearest: do not weep, for we must be up and doing; it is no time for tears. I love you too well, Isa, ever to give you up; Heaven giving me strength, I will fight with my last breath to win you, and you must help me! See Jane McCray, your housekeeper; question her closely--learn all you can; and if you can trace a fact worthy of attention, contrive to send me word. Your silence I will take to mean that your efforts are without avail. I will be honourable: I will not ask you to write to me--I will not write to you. While this stain is upon me, I feel that I am unworthy to stand even in your presence; but it is the last time, Isa, until I come, proudly, in the strength given me by the knowledge that those foul cobwebs are swept away from the s.h.i.+eld. I do not ask you to bind yourself to me in any way; for, to me, your sweet, pure heart is too true--too generous to give me cause for doubt. Isa, I am yours--yours only, in this world, I hope, if not in another. A few days longer, and I shall be with my s.h.i.+p, on the blue sea, Isa, and I can do but little, save think and pray for the future; and I shall go without a dread--without a feeling that I shall be supplanted, even at your father's command. Shall I tell you why?"

"Yes," said Isa; and her tears fell fast upon his upturned face, as she bent lower and lower.

"Because I know that your hand will go with your heart, and that the heart is in my keeping. Watch and wait, dearest. Remember your mother's--my mother's words: 'True-blue!' It is the colour I sail beneath, darling, and under it I shall watch and wait."

Isa's tears fell faster and faster. She would have spoken, but her emotion choked her utterance; and still she bent lower and lower towards the hand that held hers so tightly. The graceful palfrey she rode tossed its head and shook its curb impatiently, but moved no step forward. The groom had evidently made up his mind that utter ignorance of all that was pa.s.sing would be pleasing to his mistress, and that some one else might reward him with five s.h.i.+llings; so having settled his saddle and girths to his satisfaction, he took to examining his horse's mane and tail, such proceedings necessitating his back being turned, an att.i.tude he meant to maintain until summoned.

A glance had shown this to Brace Norton; and no doubt it was very wrong, but the lane was so retired and shady, Isa Gernon was so very beautiful, and she had laid bare the secret of her young, ingenuous heart to his gaze. He was too frank a sailor--unskilled in etiquette and formality.

He only knew then--he could think of nothing else--that he loved the fair girl before him very dearly; that she was weeping bitterly for his sake; and that, but for untoward fate, she might have been his. Who, then, can be surprised that one hand should rest lightly upon the soft, handsome neck, crus.h.i.+ng, as it did so, the ma.s.sive braids of her glorious dark hair; that that head should, in obedience to Love's command, bend lower and lower, without thought of resistance flas.h.i.+ng across the gentle girl's mind, until, for the first time in her life, her lips were pressed in a long, sweet kiss, that to her seemed given in token of farewell?

"I must have you now, Isa," said Brace, sadly, as with a deep blush she shrank from his embrace, though her hand was still tightly clasped in his. "I bind you by no promises, I ask nothing, but I go away contented, for the day shall come when all these sad obstacles shall be swept away, and--There, I can say no more," he exclaimed pa.s.sionately.

"Go now; I am cruel to you in keeping you like this, placing you at the mercy of even your groom's tattling tongue. I shall make you in your calmer moments almost to think meanly of me for this clandestine meeting; but what can I do, Isa, when my appearance at the Castle would only be the signal for rude expulsion? Once more Good-bye!"

He gave the mare's head a caress, and then shook the bridle as he spoke, forcing the interview to an end, as the graceful animal softly bounded forward in answer to his touch, its mistress's head turned back till a bend of the lane hid her from Brace's longing gaze, when, placing his hand in his pocket, he prepared to purchase the groom's silence, but, to his surprise, that individual dashed past him at a smart canter, and on turning to seek the explanation of his strange conduct, Brace Norton's eyes fell upon the fierce, wrinkled countenance of Sir Murray Gernon.

He could not doubt for a moment that the baronet had witnessed, at least, the latter part of the interview, and Brace's brow flushed as he recalled the scene so sweet to him, and full of solace to his aching heart. What should he do: turn and avoid the angry father? No, he could not do that; he would meet him boldly, and listen to all he had to say, giving for answer the sole reply that he loved Isa, and that the meeting was unpremeditated.

Sir Murray's lips were white with pa.s.sion as he strode up to the young man, and the stick he carried quivered in his strong hand as he held it half raised, as if about to strike. He stopped short in front of Brace, glaring at him fiercely, but for a few moments, as he gazed in the young man's calm, dispa.s.sionate face, he did not speak. At last, though in a voice choking with wrath, he exclaimed, as he pointed with his stick in the direction taken by Isa:

"Like father--like son. You know, I do not doubt, the history of twenty years ago--a history that you, pitiful, contemptible slave that you are, compel me to revert to. You know how my happiness was blasted. You know that, urged by his necessities, your father dishonoured himself for ever, in the eyes of gentlemen, and became a thief."

"I know that to be utterly false, Sir Murray Gernon," said Brace, calmly.

"You know how, afterwards, he played upon the weakness of a fickle woman, till she fled with him," continued the baronet, without seeming to hear the interruption.

"I know, too, that that is false, Sir Murray," said Brace still calmly; "and that my father is as pure-minded and honourable a man as ever breathed."