"Farewell to Trevethlan! A farewell for ever!

Farewell to the towers that stand by the sea!"

"Remember, Helen," her brother said, "how you checked me when I told you your song was of ill omen. And believe me now, when I say that, like Reginald, we shall live to see a joyful revolution."

Ill news flies fast. The intelligence of the verdict had spread in the hamlet, and its immediate effect was exaggerated by the villagers. The coming departure of their young master and mistress also travelled from the castle to the green, and added to the excitement. Groups collected both of sorrowing women and of threatening men. The lapse of time only increased the numbers and the exasperation of the tenantry. The people speedily forgot all those rumours concerning their late lord's marriage, which of old gratified their envy, and which had probably contributed in no small degree to the result of the trial. They only considered the event of the day; that the last representative of the family with which they had been connected for centuries was now to be driven from his home, by a deserter who had sold himself to a rival house; and many among them resolved, that if they could prevent it, by right or wrong, it should not be so that "Pendar'l and Trevethlan should own one name."

"And so ye were right after all, dame," said farmer Colan to the landlady of the Trevethlan Arms. "The old saying's come true with a vengeance. But there's no Miss Mildred in the case."

"And Madam Pendarrel's not come to Trevethlan yet, farmer," was the answer. "And there's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip."

"There's like to be a slip here," cried a voice in the crowd, "such as she little knows."

"It's a curious sort of day for the season," said Breage. "So warm and heavy. I should say there was some prognostication in the air."

"Ay, there'll be a storm before long, I reckon, neighbours," said Germoe.

"Faith, then, there will," muttered another speaker; "and a storm some people don't expect."

"There always is a storm," observed the general merchant, "along with misfortune at the castle. It comes as a token."

"Then it comes too late," quoth Mrs. Miniver. "It is after the misfortune this time. Who knows what came of Michael Sinson?"

A low groan ran through the throng, and filled the eyes of Mercy Page with tears.

"What'll his old grandame say," asked farmer Colan, "when she understands the rights of the matter?"

"She never will understand," answered the hostess. "She'll close her ears, and say it is all along of squire Randolph. Don't ye mind how she met him at the late master's burying? And how she says that her Margaret was murdered?"

"'T is a strange thing," remarked the village tailor, "that nothing ever turned up about the parson's murder."

"He never was murdered," said Breage; "if he had, there'd have been a sign. I don't believe as he was murdered."

The appearance of an empty carriage, winding its way round the green, put an end to these gossiping speculations, and concentrated the scattered groups of rustics into one compact crowd about the gate leading into the base-court of the castle. A moody silence succeeded to the previous animation, and all eyes followed the vehicle up the ascent, until it vanished from sight through the arched portal. Even the mirthful Mrs. Miniver then became serious for once, and waited among her neighbours in rueful anxiety for the re-appearance of the carriage.

We pa.s.s lightly over the adieux within the inner court. Polydore Riches, having resigned himself to what was inevitable, made them as brief as possible. Randolph had steeled his heart against any display of feeling, and Helen endeavoured to imitate her brother's fort.i.tude. The steward found comfort in hope; but his wife could not restrain her sorrow at such a parting, and retired to the picture-gallery to try to forget the present disaster, in calling to mind the past glories of the family to which she was so deeply attached. Old Jeffrey flung open the gates, and dashed a tear surlily from his eye as the carriage pa.s.sed under the arch. But when the family flag was seen slowly and lingeringly to descend from its high place, a wailing cry arose from the crowd upon the green, which made Randolph's heart swell in his breast, and brought the tears she had resolved not to shed into Helen's eyes.

The carriage soon reached the bottom of the descent. The people thronged to the gate, and pressed against it, and loudly declared that it should not be opened. Not so would they allow their young master and mistress to be taken from them. There was considerable confusion, and cries were uttered expressive of the villagers' determination. The driver, perplexed, looked round for instructions. The situation was becoming embarra.s.sing.

"We will bid our friends farewell on foot, Helen," her brother whispered, "and thank them for their good-will."

And, so saying, he threw open his door of the carriage, sprang out, lowered the steps himself, and a.s.sisted his sister to alight. She leant upon his arm, and they advanced to meet the crowd, which divided before them with great respect. Shaking hands very cordially with those who were nearest them, and expressing confident hopes that their absence would not be long, they made their way across the green, while the carriage proceeded by the road. But the people soon divined their intention, and closed upon their path, and endeavoured to delay their progress, clasping their hands, and pouring benedictions upon their heads. It was a more trying leave-taking than that within the castle.

But at length, after many and many a salute, they reached the end of the village, re-ascended their carriage amid renewed effusions of attachment, and were borne rapidly from the sight of their sorrowing adherents.

Sorrow, however, was not the only emotion excited by their departure.

Not a few imprecations, fiercely directed against the house that had disinherited them, arose among their dependents as the carriage finally disappeared.

END OF VOLUME II.