Cutlass and Cudgel Part 52

There was a pause again.

"I can't promise," came up huskily, in faint smothered tones. "I say, is the door locked as well as bolted?"

"I cannot tell; it is covered with stones. Pray, pray promise me that you will not tell. I do want to help you to get away."

"I can't promise," said Archy at last, after a bitter struggle with self. "I must go straight to my officer and tell him as soon as I get out."

At that moment there was a sharp barking from the dog, who rushed up the steps to stand at the top for a few moments before coming down again.

"Won't you help me?"

"To send my poor innocent father to prison," said Celia in a low voice.

"I can't hear you," came from below.

"And I can't tell you," said Celia to herself. "What shall I do--what shall I do?"

She stole softly up the rugged steps, with her fingers in her ears, in dread lest she should be called upon to listen to the prisoner's piteous appeals for help; and, as soon as she reached the top, she set off running as hard as she could go, to find her father, tell him all, and appeal to him to try and save the poor fellow from the cruel trials he was called upon to bear.

Celia could hardly see the direction in which she was going, for her eyes were blinded with tears, and so it was that, when down in the lowest part of the hollow, as she hurried blindly along, she tripped over one of the many loose stones, fell heavily, striking her temple against a block projecting from the steep side of the little valley; and fell, to lie insensible for a time; and when she did come to her senses, it was to find Grip lying by her, with his head upon her chest, and his eyes looking inquiringly into hers, as if to ask what it all meant.

Her head ached, and she felt half stunned still, but she strove to rise to her feet, and sank back with a moan of pain.

For a worse trouble had discovered itself: her ankle was badly wrenched, so that she could not stand, and in the solitary place in which she had fallen, it was possible that she might lie for days and not be found, unless special search was made.

A sudden thought came--to tie her handkerchief about Grip's neck, and send him home.

The first was easily done, the latter impossible. Grip was an intelligent dog in his way, but nothing would make him leave his mistress there; and the poor girl lay all day in the hot sun, and at last saw that night was coming on, and that there was no help.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

Celia Graeme took sundry precautions to avoid being seen, but she was not so successful as she imagined.

Jemmy Dadd was an old servant of Farmer Shackle, one who always made a point of doing as little as was possible about the farm. He did not mind loading a cart, if he were allowed as much time as he liked, or feeding the pigs, because it afforded him an opportunity to lean over the sty and watch the pretty creatures eat, while their grunting and squeaking was sweet music in his ear. He generally fed the horses, too, and watched them graze. Calling up the cows from the cliff pastures he did not mind, because cows walked slowly; and he did the milking because he could sit down and rest his head; but to thump a churn and make b.u.t.ter was out of his line.

Mrs Shackle complained bitterly to her lord and master about different lots of cream being spoiled, but Farmer Shackle snubbed her.

"Can't expect a man to work night and day too," he grunted. "Set one of the women to churn."

In fact, the farmer never found any fault with Jemmy, for the simple reason that he was his best worker on dark nights, and as handy a sailor as could be found.

Jemmy knew it, felt that he was licensed, and laughed to himself as he followed his own bent, and spent a good deal of time every day in what he called seeing the crops grow.

When there were no crops growing, he went to see how the gra.s.s was getting on, and to do this properly, he put a piece of hard black tobacco in his cheek, and went and lay down on one of the hill-slopes.

He was seeing how the gra.s.s got on that particular morning with his eyes shut, when, happening to open them, he caught sight of Celia going along, a mile away, with her basket and dog.

He knew her by the dog, though even at that distance, as she moved almost imperceptibly over the short turf of the treeless expanse along by the sea, he would have been sure that it was Sir Risdon's child.

"What's the good of telling on her?" he growled to himself, as he lay back with his hands under his head; and in that att.i.tude he rested for nearly three hours. Then, moved by the cogitations in which he had been indulging, he slowly and deliberately rose, something after the fas.h.i.+on of a cow, and began to go slowly in the direction taken by Celia hours before.

Jemmy Dadd seemed to be going nowhere, and as he slouched along, lifting up one heavy sea boot and putting it down before the other, he never turned his head in either direction. So stiff was he in his movements, that any one who watched him would have concluded that he was looking straight forward, and that was all.

A great mistake; for Jemmy, by long practice, had made his eyes work like a lobster's, and, as he went on, they were rolling slowly round and round, taking in everything, keeping a look-out to sea, and watching the revenue cutter, sweeping the offing, running over the fields and downs and hollows, missing nothing, in short, as he steadily trudged along, not even the few mushrooms that the pleasant showers had brought up, and placing them in his hat.

Slow as his pace was, the distance between the prints of the big boots was great, and the mushroom hunting took him, before very long, up the cliff beyond the entrance to the old quarry, then down below it, and then close up alongside, where he stooped over, and then went down a few steps out of sight.

He did not turn his head, for his lobster eyes had convinced him that no one was in sight, and, as he disappeared in the deep hole, he pounced upon the basket, and then went softly and quickly down to where the loose tile stones lay.

A rapid examination satisfied him that they had not been moved, and he went softly up again, basket in hand, stood still and rolled his eyes, but saw no sign of the basket's owner, and then, thrusting his arm through the handle, he went steadily back to the farm, where he thrust his head in at the door, stared at Farmer Shackle, who was innocently mending a net, and backed out and went into the rough stable.

Shackle followed him, net in one hand, wooden netting-needle in the other.

"Hullo!" he said.

Jemmy held out the basket.

"Well, I see brambrys and masheroons. What of 'em?"

"Little missus's basket. Fun' it."

"Take it home. No--I'll send Ramillies. Ladys.h.i.+p don't like to see you."

"Fun' it in number one!"

"What!"

"See her going along there with that dog. She must ha' smelled him out."

"Place been opened?"

"No."

Farmer Shackle scratched his nose on both sides with the netting-needle; then he poked his red worsted cap a little on one side with the same implement, and scratched the top of his head, and carefully arranged the red cap again.

"Mayn't have seen or heard anything, lad."

"Must, or wouldn't have left the basket."

"Right. Have big Tom Dunley, Badstock and two more, and be yonder at dark. Ramillies know?"

"Not yet."

"Don't tell him. He's waiting yonder for you. Here he comes. Go on just as usual, and don't tell him nothing. I'll meet you soon as it's dark."

"Pistols?"