The Smuggler Part 38

Furnished with all that was needful, and having had the instructions which Mr. Radford had left, repeated carefully to her, by her mother, fair Kate Clare set out upon her expedition, pa.s.sing one of the dragoons, who were still patrolling round the wood, near the place where the road entered it. The man said something to her, as she went by, but did not attempt to follow; and Kate walked on, looking behind her, from time to time, till she was satisfied that her proceedings were unwatched. Then, hurrying on, with a quicker step, she turned to the path, which led to the back of the gardens of Harbourne House, and approached the old willow, and the brushwood which covered the place where Richard Radford was concealed.

"Mr. Radford," she said, as soon as she was quite close, "Mr. Radford!

Here is what you wanted. Take it as fast as you can."

"Is there any one near but you, Kate?" asked the voice of Richard Radford.

"Oh, no!" she replied; "but the soldiers are still on the outside of the wood watching."

"I know that," rejoined the voice again, "for I saw them last night, when I tried to get out. But are you sure that none of them followed you, Kate?"

"Oh, quite sure," she answered, "for I looked behind all the way!"

"Well, stay and help me to put the things on," said Richard Radford, issuing forth from behind the bushes, like a snake out of its hole.

Kate Clare willingly agreed to help him, and while the gown and the cloak were thrown over his other clothes, told him all that his father had said, desiring him not to come up to Radford Hall till he heard more; but to go down to the _lone house_, near Iden Green, where he would find one or two friends already collected.

"Why, these are never your own clothes, Kate!" said young Radford, as she pinned on the gown for him. "They fit as if they were made for me."

"Not at the back," answered Kate, laughing, "I cannot get the gown to meet there; but that will be covered up by the cloak, so it does not matter.--No, they are my aunt's, at Gla.s.senbury; and you must let me have them back, Mr. Radford, as soon as ever you have got to Iden Green; for my mother has promised to return them to-night."

"I don't know howl shall get them back, Kate," answered Richard Radford; "for none of our people will like to venture up here. Can't you come down and fetch them? It is not much out of your way."

"No, I can't do that," answered Kate, who did not altogether like going to the lone house she had mentioned; "but you can send them down to Cranbrook, at all events; and there they can be left for me, at Mrs. Tims's shop. They'll be quite safe; and I will call for them either to-night or to-morrow morning."

"Well, I will do that, my love," replied Richard Radford, taking the bonnet and putting it on his head.

"Very well, sir," answered Kate, not well pleased with the epithet he had bestowed upon her, and taking a step to move away, "I will call for them there."

But young Radford threw his arm round her waist, saying, "Come, Kate!

I must have a kiss before you go.--You give plenty to Harding, I dare say."

"Let me go, sir!" cried Kate Clare, indignantly. "You are a base, ungrateful young man!"

But young Radford did not let her go. He took the kiss she struggled against, by force; and he was proceeding to farther insult, when Kate exclaimed, "If you do not let me go, I will scream till the soldiers are upon you.--They are not far."

She spoke so loud, that her very tone excited his alarm; and he withdrew his arm from her waist, but still held her hand tight, saying, "Come, come, Kate! Nonsense, I did not mean to offend you! Go up to Harbourne House, there's a good girl, and stay as long as you can there, till I get out of the wood."

"You do offend me--you do offend me!" cried Kate Clare, striving to withdraw her hand from his grasp.

"Will you promise to go up to Harbourne, then?" said Richard Radford, "and I will let you go."

"Yes, yes," answered Kate, "I will go;" and the moment her hand was free, she darted away, leaving the basket she had brought behind her.

As soon as she was gone, Richard Radford cursed her for a saucy jade, as if the offence had been hers, not his; and then taking up the basket, he threw it, eggs and all, together with his own hat, into the deep hole in the sandbank. Advancing along the path till he reached the open road, he hurried on in the direction of Widow Clare's cottage. Of a daring and resolute disposition--for his only virtue was courage--he thought of pa.s.sing the soldiers, as a good joke rather than a difficult undertaking; but still recollecting the necessity of caution, as he came near the edge of the wood he slackened his pace, tried to shorten his steps, and a.s.sumed a more feminine demeanour.

When he was within a couple of hundred yards of the open country, he saw one of the dragoons slowly pa.s.s the end of the road and look up; and, on issuing forth from the wood, he perceived that the man had paused, and was gazing back. But at that distance, the female garments which he wore deceived the soldier; and he was suffered to walk on unopposed towards Iden Green.

CHAPTER IV.

Sir Robert Croyland himself did not return to Harbourne House, till the hands of the clock pointed out to every one that went through the hall, that it was twenty minutes past the usual dinner hour; and, though he tried to be as expeditious as he could, he was yet fully ten minutes longer in dressing than usual. He was nervous; he was agitated; all the events of that day had shaken and affected him; he was angry with his servant; and several times he gave the most contradictory orders. Although for years he had been undergoing a slow and gradual change, under the painful circ.u.mstances in which he had been placed, and had, from the gay, rash, somewhat noisy and overbearing country gentleman, dwindled down into the cold, silent, pompous, and imperative man of family, yet the alteration during that day had been so great and peculiar that the valet could not help remarking it, and wondering if his master was ill.

Sir Robert tried to smoothe his look and compose his manner for the drawing-room, however; and when he entered, he gazed round for Sir Edward Digby, observing aloud: "Why, I thought soldiers were more punctual. However, as it happens, to-day I am glad Sir Edward is not down."

"Down!" cried Mrs. Barbara, who had a grand objection to dinners being delayed; "why, he is out; but you could expect no better; for yesterday you were so long that the fish was done to rags; so I ordered it not to be put in till he made his appearance."

"I told you, my dear aunt, that he said he might not be back before dinner," replied her niece, "and, therefore, it will be vain to wait for him. He desired me to say so, papa."

"Oh yes! Zara knows all about it," said Mrs. Barbara, with a shrewd look; "they were talking together for ten minutes in the library; and I cannot get her to tell me what it was about."

It is, indeed, conscience that makes cowards of us all; and had the fair girl's conversation with her new friend been on any other subject than that to which it related--had it been about love, marriage, arms, or divinity, she would have found no difficulty in parrying her aunt's observations, however mal-a-propos they might have been. At present, however, she was embarra.s.sed by doubts of the propriety of what she was doing, more especially as she felt sure that her father would be inquisitive and suspicious, if the tale the maid had told was true.

Acting, however, as she not unfrequently did, in any difficulty, she met Mrs. Barbara's inuendoes at once, replying, "Indeed I shall not say anything about it to any one, my dear aunt. I will manage some matters for myself; and the only thing I shall repeat is Sir Edward's last dying speech, which was to the effect, that he feared he might be detained till after our dinner hour, but would be back as soon as ever he could, and trusted my father would not wait."

"Do you know where he is gone, and why?" asked Sir Robert Croyland, in a much quieter tone than she expected. But poor Zara was still puzzled for an answer; and, as her only resource, she replied vaguely, "Something about some of the smugglers, I believe."

"Then had he any message or intelligence brought him?" inquired Sir Robert Croyland.

"I do not know--Oh, yes, I believe he had," replied his daughter, in a hesitating tone and with a cheek that was beginning to grow red.

"He spoke with one of the soldiers at the corner of the road, I know;--and, oh yes, I saw a man ride up with a letter."

"That was after he was gone," observed Mrs. Barbara; but Sir Robert paid little attention, and, ringing, ordered dinner to be served.

Could we see into the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of others, we should often save ourselves a great deal of unnecessary anxiety. Zara forgot that her father was not as well aware that Sir Edward Digby was Leyton's dearest friend, as she was; but, in truth, all that he concluded--either from the pertinent remarks of Mrs. Barbara or from Zara's embarra.s.sment--was, that the young baronet had been making a little love to his daughter, which, to say sooth, was a consummation that Sir Robert Croyland was not a little inclined to see.

In about a quarter of an hour more, the dinner was announced; and the master of the house, his sister, and Zara, sat down together. Hardly had the fish and soup made any progress, when the quick canter of Sir Edward Digby's horse put his fair confidante out of her anxiety; and, in a few minutes after, he appeared himself, and apologized gracefully to his host, for having been too late. "You must have waited for me, I fear," he added, "for it is near an hour after the time; but I thought it absolutely necessary, from some circ.u.mstances I heard, to go over and see my colonel before he returned to Hythe, and then I was detained."

"Pray, who does command your regiment?" asked Mrs. Barbara. But Sir Edward Digby was, at that moment, busily engaged in taking his seat by Zara's side; and he did not hear. The lady repeated the question when he was seated; but then he replied, "No, I thank you, my dear madam, no soup to-day--a solid meal always after a hard ride; and I have galloped till I have almost broken my horse's wind.--By the way, Sir Robert, I hope you found my bay a pleasant goer. I have only ridden him twice since I bought him, though he cost two hundred guineas."

"He is well worth the money," replied the Baronet--"a very powerful animal--bore me like a feather, and I ride a good weight."

"Have your own horses come back?" asked the young officer, with a laugh.

Sir Robert Croyland answered in the negative, adding, "And that reminds me I must write to my brother, to let Edith have his carriage to-morrow, to bring her back; for mine are gone--coach-horses, and all."

"Edith, to-morrow!" exclaimed Mrs. Barbara, in surprise; "why, I thought she was going to stay four or five days."

"She is coming back to-morrow, Bab," replied Sir Robert, sharply; and instantly turned the conversation.

During the rest of the evening, Sir Edward Digby remained very constantly by fair Zara's side; and, moreover, he paid her most particular attention, in so marked a manner, that both Sir Robert Croyland and Mrs. Barbara thought matters were taking their course very favourably. The father busied himself in writing a letter and one or two notes, which he p.r.o.nounced to be of consequence--as, indeed, they really were--while the aunt, worked diligently and discreetly at embroidering, not interrupting the conference of her niece and their guest above ten times in a minute. Sir Edward, indeed, kept himself within all due and well-defined rules. He never proceeded beyond what a great master of the art has p.r.o.nounced to be "making love"--"a course of small, quiet, attentions, not so pointed as to alarm, nor so vague as to be misunderstood." Strange to say, Zara was very much obliged to him for following such a course, as it gave an especially good pretext for intimacy, for whispered words and quiet conversation, and even for a little open seeking for each other's society, which would have called observation, if not inquiry, upon them, had not her companion's conduct been what it was. She thought fit to attribute it, in her own mind, entirely to his desire of communicating to her, without attracting notice, whatever he had learned, that could in any way affect her sister's fate; and she judged it a marvellous good device that they should appear for the time as lovers, with full powers on both parts to withdraw from that position whenever it suited them. Poor girl! she knew not how far she was entangling herself.

Sir Edward Digby, in the meanwhile, took no alarming advantage of his situation. The whispered word was almost always of Edith or of Leyton.

He never spoke of Zara herself, or of himself, or of his own feelings; not a word could denote to her that he was making love, though his whole demeanour had very much that aspect to those who sat and looked on. Oh, those who sit and look on, what a world they see! and what a world they don't see! Ever more than those who play the game, be they shrewd as they may: ever less than the cards would show, were they turned up. By fits and s.n.a.t.c.hes, he communicated to his fair companion, while he was playing with this ball of gold thread, or winding and unwinding that piece of crimson silk, as much of what had pa.s.sed between himself and Sir Henry Leyton, as he thought necessary; and then he asked her to sing--as her aunt had given him a quiet hint that her niece did sometimes do such a thing--saying, in a low tone, while he preferred the request, "Pray, go on with the song, though I may interrupt you sometimes with questions, not quite relevant to the subject."

"I understand--I quite understand," answered Zara; but it may be a question whether that sweet girl really quite understood either herself or him. It is impossible that any two free hearts, can go on long, holding such intimate and secret communion, on subjects deeply interesting to both, without being drawn together by closer bonds, than perhaps they fancy can ever be established between them--unless there be something inherently repulsive on one part or the other.

Propinquity is certainly much, in the matter of love; but there are circ.u.mstances, not rarely occurring in human life, which mightily abridge the process; and such are--difficulties and dangers experienced together--a common struggle for a common object--but more than all--mutual and secret communion with, and aid of each other in things of deep interest. The confidence that is required, the excitement of imagination, the unity of effort, and of purpose, the rapid exercise of mind to catch the half-uttered thought, the enforced candour from want of time, which admits of no disguise or circ.u.mlocution, the very mystery itself--all cast that magic chain around those so circ.u.mstanced, within which they can hardly escape from the power of love. Nine times out of ten, they never try; and, however Zara Croyland might feel, she rose willingly enough to sing, while Sir Edward Digby leaned over her chair, as she sat at the instrument, which in those days supplied the place of that which is now absurdly enough termed in England, a piano. Her voice, which was fine though not very powerful, wavered a little as she began, from emotions of many kinds. She wished to sing well; but she sang worse than she might have done; yet quite well enough to please Sir Edward Digby, though his ear was refined by art, and good by nature.

Nevertheless, though he listened with delight, and felt the music deeply, he forgot not his purpose, and between each stanza asked some question, obtaining a brief reply. But I will not so interrupt the course of an old song, and will give the interrogatory a separate place: