Garrick's Pupil Part 24

"It was I who brought you, a little child, to her house before you were confided to the care of the Quakeresses at Bristol."

"Is it possible!"

And, impetuously seizing Lebeau's hand, she added:--

"Then you knew my parents? O, I beseech you, sir, tell me something of my mother! Who was she? Do I resemble her? Where did she die, and how?"

The queries crowded to her lips in an imperative tumult.

Lebeau's features relaxed in a melancholy smile.

"Patience!" he replied. "Later I will tell you all. Only know that your mother was exceedingly beautiful, and that you are her living image. She too was carried away by excess of emotion and by the thirst of adventure. There was no one at hand to give her timely warning, and she paid dearly for her imprudence."

Esther bowed her head, while a tear glided slowly from her lashes to her cheek.

"It was then that your father met her and took pity upon her. She was in sore need of pity and protection. Her child was born. You are that child."

"Alas!" murmured Esther. "But my father--is he still living?"

"Yes."

"Why does he not come? Why does he not show himself? I should be so happy to embrace him!"

At this moment an extraordinary change took place in Lebeau. His features, scarred by the battle with life, his dulled eyes, his entire vulgar face were enn.o.bled with a solemn tenderness. Irresistibly his arms seemed to open to clasp the girl to his breast. Then they fell at his sides, and his face resumed its expression of discouragement and fatigue.

"Your father would indeed be happy," he said, "and very proud to call you his daughter; but circ.u.mstances prevent. I do not justify his conduct; far from it. He has committed wrongs, grievous wrongs,--and even more than that!"

Esther recoiled from him violently.

"You are my father's friend, and you calumniate him!"

Lebeau's only response was a shrug of his shoulders and a sigh. He turned to the window, and from a convulsive movement of his back Esther divined that he was weeping. In a moment she was at his side.

"Pardon me!" she cried, "pardon! You are perhaps the only human being whose interest in me is not tainted with calculation. You have saved me from death, you have saved me from shame, and by way of recompense I accuse and wound you! O, pardon me, my friend!"

Delightful words to Lebeau's ear!

"Thank you, my child," he said; "thank you, and good by. It is already daybreak, and all is calm. Sleep in peace. In a few hours I will return."

And Mons. Lebeau hastened away. Left alone, Esther dared not undress in a house which filled her with forebodings. She threw herself upon the bed just as she was, clasping in her hand a tiny poignard which had been Garrick's gift. Tradition had it that the weapon had once belonged to Sir William Davenant, who pretended to have received it from Ben Jonson.

The latter, while a soldier in Flanders, had purchased it of a Jew who came from Italy. It was a marvellous bit of Florentine work, and must have been manufactured towards the close of the fifteenth century. What had been its history? In what dramas had it taken part? What ferocious jealousies, what mortal desires, had it served? Had it ever been dyed in human blood? In whose snowy breast, in whose throbbing heart, had it been plunged? Considering these fancies, but especially her own destiny, her imagination in a whirl, our little heroine fell asleep.

When she awoke she perceived Lebeau, who stood watching her as she slept, and she heard the clocks chiming high noon.

"Well?" she demanded.

"I came from Tothill Fields," he answered; "the house is full of soldiers come thither to arrest your cousin Reuben, and they are to remain there, lying in ambush to surprise him upon his return. Your aunt has not come home, and up to the present time I have been unable to discover her place of refuge. Old Maud was alone at the mercy of the soldiers, whom, in her turn, she provoked and insulted. I have brought her here. She will attend to your wants and will be a companion for you so long as you are obliged to lie in concealment here, which from present appearances may be for some time; for the city is still in an agitated state, and this very disorder singularly favors your admirer's plans, since he has not lost the hope of taking his revenge."

Soon after Lebeau departed, promising to return on the morrow with the latest tidings; but Sunday pa.s.sed and he did not appear. On Monday a child brought an unsigned note from him, which ran:--

"I cannot come to see you. I am suspected, and every step I take is shadowed. Have patience until to-morrow."

The rioting had begun again, and the two women in their sanctuary listened to the sound of it as it grew each minute more distinct.

Esther slept but little that night.

Next day affairs a.s.sumed an even more threatening aspect. The Langdale distillery was in flames close by, although the situation of the house prevented the girl from following the progress of the catastrophe.

Towards evening, when the tumult increased and the firing became general, her agitation was extreme. The sight of the flames which enwrapped the neighboring buildings and threatened her refuge put the finis.h.i.+ng touch upon her anxiety.

"Shall I remain here," she thought, "shut up with this crazy old creature, who does nothing but sing psalms? Shall I suffer myself to be burned alive in this strange trap? Mons. Lebeau has forgotten me or else he cannot come to me. Who knows if he is even alive?"

She approached the window and looked at the tower of St. Giles, upon which the clock marked the first hour of a new day. So brilliant was the flare from the conflagration that Esther could distinguish the delicate V-shaped shadow which the hands made upon the dial, the slightest detail in the sculpture about the dial, and even the joining of the masonry.

She resolved to depart. But where should she go? She knew not; but first of all it was necessary to escape from the circle of fire which was fast hemming her in. She put on her mantle and cast a silken handkerchief over her hair, knotting it under her chin. Then she called Maud, who had pa.s.sed into an adjoining chamber.

But here she found herself in the presence of an unlooked-for difficulty. The old woman had fallen fast asleep and only responded to her words, her entreaties and cries by vague mutterings without awakening in the slightest degree. Esther shook her in desperation and tugged at her garments, but her girlish strength, depleted by the sense of her peril, was powerless to arouse the inert ma.s.s.

Perhaps she might secure a.s.sistance from outside! She opened the outer door, and, standing upon the threshold, cried, "Help!"

All in vain; her voice was lost, incapable of piercing the tumult. She was scarcely able to hear it herself. No one appeared. The neighboring houses, deserted as they were, were slowly yielding to the flames, and no one appeared to think of disputing the ravage. The almost intolerable heat fairly scorched the girl's eyelids.

Then she rushed towards Holborn, crossed like a flash the vaulted arcade, the only exit which opened from that side, and ran into the highway.

There she paused, terrified by the spectacle which met her gaze.

CHAPTER XVI.

GAMES OF DEATH AND CHANCE.

The Langdale establishment, changed into a furnace, belched forth torrents of fire at every aperture. The roof had fallen, and the flames ascended free of all impediment in one great sheet, which, being lashed by the wind at a certain height, curved into an arch and threatened to deluge the city with a devouring rain. Before the vast blazing pile a hideous, anomalous mob clad in indescribable rags and tatters, danced with furious, drunken joy. Several hours earlier the great hogsheads which had been dragged out of the distillery had been knocked in the head without ceremony, and every one had drunk his fill. Then the precious liquids had escaped, forming foaming pools and rippling rivulets, in which rare old port mingled with malmsey, and gin with sherry. Along the line of these pools and rivulets a crowd of human beings of both s.e.xes and all ages, some with their infants in their arms, crouched upon their hands and knees, stretching their lips to sip the wine and mud. These were very soon rendered incapable of regaining their feet and insensible to the brutal pa.s.sage of fresh bands, who trampled them under foot, and thus increased the quivering heap. At last the sparks falling from the lurid heavens ignited this sea of alcohol, which surged in bluish, spectral waves, enveloping the wretches, drowning while it set them on fire. The wallowing bodies writhed like mutilated serpents, the spasmodic convulsions, vain, desperate efforts, and hoa.r.s.e cries having in them no semblance to humanity. Thus the most horrible of deaths fell upon them in the midst of their intoxication, without so much as sobering them in the moment of dissolution. Meanwhile the rest, amidst all this horror, continued their demoniacal dance.

One of these fiends espied Esther. Staggering with open mouth and outstretched arms, hideous in his b.e.s.t.i.a.l carouse, he made two or three steps towards her. She fled back to the house, which she reached in a few moments. Upon the threshold stood Lebeau.

"At last!" she gasped. "I thought I was going mad!"

"Be calm," he replied. "I have found Mrs. Marsham, and I am going to take you to her. I know a way, but there is not a moment to be lost. In less than an hour this house will be reduced to ashes with the rest."

"But Maud!--she has lost her senses and refuses to follow me."

Without a word Lebeau hurried into the chamber, where he found the old woman. During the moment of silence that ensued Esther heard a sound upon the lower floor of the house.

"Some one has opened the door!" she cried; "some one is entering below!"

She thought with terror of the wretch who had followed her, and whom she had seen stumble over some obstacle and fall heavily to the ground, whence he was unable to rise.