"Indeed! And to you--had you been in time to set him free? How then?"

Marion had turned her back upon her taunting interrogator, and was moving towards the door--to avoid the unpleasantness of any further parley with one whose words, as well as actions, had already given her so much pain.

"Stay!" cried her tormentor, as if delighted to continue the persecution. "You appear disappointed, at not having an opportunity to show your friendship for Master Holtspur. You may do something yet, if you have a mind. I dare ye to take my place, and let _me_ go out. If you do, I'll let _him_ know of it the first time I see him. I know that that would be doing _him_ a service. Now?"

"Away, rude girl! I decline your absurd proposition. I shall hold no further speech with you."

As the lady said this, she stretched forth her hand, and rapped against the door--making as much noise as her trembling fingers were capable of, and without any regard to the precautions with which she had been charged by the sentry.

Withers was waiting outside. The key turned quickly in the lock; and the door was once more held open.

The lady glided silently out, and on through the wicket, without staying to speak a word of thanks.

But she had thanked the sentry in advance, and was thinking no more of his services.

As she looked forth from the wicket, the storm, for some hours threatening, had burst; and the rain was descending like a deluge upon the earth.

She stayed not under the shelter of the arched entrance--she did not think of staying; but stepped fearlessly over the threshold, and out into the open way--reckless of the rain, and daring the darkness.

There was a storm in her own bosom; in violence equalling that of the elements--in blackness eclipsing them!

There was not a gleam of light in the cloudy canopy of the heavens.

So, on the horoscope of her own future, there was not a ray of hope.

To her Henry Holtspur was no more--at least, no more to make her happy.

She scarce felt gladness at his escape; though it would have been supreme joy, had she herself been the instrument that had secured it.

After all her fond imaginings--after a sacrifice that brought shame, and a confession that made known to him the complete surrender of her heart--to be thus crossed in the full career of her pa.s.sion--abandoned-- slighted, she might almost say--and for a rival who was only a rustic!

Oh! it was the very _acme_ of bitterness--the fellest shape that jealousy could have a.s.sumed!

It was not merely the last incident that was leading her into the depth of despair. It only overflowed the cup already at its full. Too many signs had appeared before her eyes--the report of too many circ.u.mstances had reached her ears--to leave her in doubt, about the relationship that existed between Henry Holtspur and his late deliverer. How cordial must it be, on the part of the latter, to stimulate her to such an act as that just performed; and how confident must she have been of being rewarded for her self-sacrifice!

A woman would not do such a thing for one likely to treat her with indifference?

So reasoned Marion Wade; though she reasoned wrongly.

It might be a _liaison_, and not an honest love? Considering the relative position of the parties, this was probable enough; but to the mind of Marion it mended not the matter to think so. On the contrary, it only made the ruin appear more complete! Both men and women are more painfully affected by a jealousy of the former, than of the latter!

Alas! that the statement should be true; but it is so. He who denies it knows not human nature--knows not human love!

It would not be true to say, that Marion Wade reflected after this philosophic fashion; and yet it would be equally untrue, to allege that her mind was altogether free from such a reflection. Though beautiful as an angel, she was but a woman--imbued with all a woman's sensibilities--her sensualities too, though divinely adorned!

With the reckless air of one crossed in love, she strode forth into the darkness--taking no heed of the direction.

She walked with hasty steps; though not to avoid the pelting of the rain, or shun exposure to the storm.

On the contrary, she seemed to court these a.s.saults: for, having arrived at the end of the verandah--whither she had strayed by chance--instead of seeking shelter under its roof, she stayed outside upon the open sward.

Although within a very short distance of the door--by which she might have found easy ingress to the mansion--she refrained from entering.

Flinging the hood back upon her shoulders, she turned her face upward to the sky, and seemed as if seeking solace from, the cold deluge that poured down from the clouds--the big drops dancing upon her golden tresses, and leaving them as if with reluctance to saturate the silken foldings that draped her majestic form.

"Oh! that I could weep like you, ye skies!" she exclaimed, "and, like you, cast the cloud that is over me! Alas! 'tis too dense to be dissolved in tears. To-morrow ye will be bright again, and gay as ever!

To-morrow! Ah! 'twill be the same to me--to-morrow and for ever!"

"Marion!"

The voice p.r.o.nouncing her name came not from the sky she was apostrophising; though it was one that sounded in her ear sweet as any music of heaven!

Were her senses deceiving her? Was it the distant thunder that muttered "Marion?"

No thunder could have spoken so pleasantly: it was the voice of a lover, uttering the accents of love!

Once more heard she the voice--once more p.r.o.nouncing: "Marion!"

She had listened for its repet.i.tion with an earnestness that brooked not ambiguity. She no longer suspected the thunder of having proclaimed her name. The voice was recognised. It was that of one not worshipped in Heaven, but upon Earth.

The lightning aided in his identification. A favouring flash discovered a well-known form and face, Henry Holtspur was standing by her side!

Volume Three, Chapter III.

Holtspur's presence at this point requires explanation. Why did he linger upon a spot to him fraught with extreme peril--when almost certain death would be the consequence of his recapture?

'Tis said, that the fox and hare delight to roam around the precincts of the kennel--as if fascinated with the danger!

The conduct of Scarthe's prisoner, in thus keeping to the proximity of his prison, though seeming to resemble the folly of the fox, and the phrenzy of the hare, admits of an easy explanation.

On getting outside the wicket-gate--which he had taken the precaution to shut behind him--Holtspur had gone off in a line at right angles to the western _facade_ of the mansion. He had some remembrance of the moated ditch that surrounded the shrubbery. He had observed that it was waterless; and could be easily reached from the glacis. Once in its bottom, he would be safe from observation; and, standing erect, he could see over the parapet, and ascertain whether he was pursued. If not, he could go at his leisure along its dry hollow; and get round to the rear of the dwelling, without setting foot upon the open pasture ground. If pursued at once, the ditch would still be his best place of concealment.

On reaching its edge, he had leaped into it.

It was no fancy of the sentinel, that a cloaked figure had disappeared in that direction--in a somewhat mysterious manner.

After making his descent into the ditch, Holtspur came to a halt--to disembarra.s.s himself of the unbecoming garments that impeded the action of his arms and limbs. Both the skirt and cloak were cast off.

His next action was to elevate his eyes above the parapet; and, if possible, ascertain whether his escape had become known to the guards.

This action took place, just as the sentry had stepped outside the wicket, and was calling upon his Betsey to come back. It was so dark, Holtspur could not see the man; but he had noted the lifting of the latch, and could hear his mutterings.

Next moment the lightning flashed--revealing to the astonished eyes of the sentry a lady robed in rich velvet.

Holtspur saw the lady by the same light--deriving from the sight a very different impression.

His first feeling was one of surprise--quickly succeeded by a vague sense of pain.

The first arose from seeing Marion Wade abroad at that hour of the night; for, despite the cloak and close-drawn hood, he had recognised the daughter of Sir Marmaduke. Her bounding step and tall symmetrical form were not to be mistaken by any one who had ever observed them; and upon the mind of Henry Holtspur they were indelibly impressed.

His second emotion was the result of a series of interrogative conjectures. For what purpose was she abroad? Was it to meet some one?

An appointment? Scarthe?