The Wizard of West Penwith Part 31

Mr. Morley enquired where she was likely to have gone. No one could tell: she might be gone to the Logan-Rock; or she might be, even then, sitting on one of the lofty rocks above Lamorna Cove, where she sometimes sat for hours watching the waves; or she might even be gone on so far as Tol-pedn-Penwith.--It was very uncertain which route she might have taken. One thing, however, the household were pretty certain about,--she was on the high cliffs somewhere, for she seldom went underneath.

Mr. Morley was determined to find her, and bring his suit to an issue at once; and he thought that, if he could have the good fortune to meet her alone on one of those distant headlands, he would have ample time to say all he had to say during the walk back; so he started in pursuit.

Miss Pendray's proud spirit could not brook the repeated slights to which she had been subjected by Mr. Morley, as she thought, and the indifference with which he had treated her: he had been at Pendrea-house again, and had not thought proper to see her or even to inquire for her.

So, as soon as Captain Courland and his party were gone, she went out in no very amiable mood, and walked along the edge of the highest cliffs at a brisk pace; and so absorbed was she in thought, that she did not seem to notice the wild scenery, which generally had such attractions for her, nor did she think of the distance she was walking, until she found herself standing on one of the highest and most dangerous of the headlands to be found on that part of the coast, many miles from Pendrea-house, and no great distance from Tol-pedn-Penwith. She had, by this time, worked herself up to such a pitch of anger and disappointment, that she did not see her dangerous position. As she thought of the treatment she had received, she stamped her foot indignantly, and, in doing so, the crumbling rock on which she was standing gave way, and, with a shriek, she fell with it; but, fortunately, there happened to be a ledge of rocks a few yards down, standing out from the cliffs, which broke her fall and saved her from being engulphed in a watery grave, if she was not dashed in pieces by the fall from that great height. She was stunned by the shock, and lay insensible for some minutes on the narrow slip of rock which had so far saved her life. When she recovered her senses again she was afraid to move, lest this rock should give way too; and she shuddered as she looked down on the foaming water, which dashed against the rocks some hundred feet beneath her. And there she lay, in unspeakable terror, fearing that the next moment she might be precipitated into the abyss below.

Dreadful suspense! she had scarcely ever known what fear was until now.

The shades of evening were fast gathering round her, and the fear of having to remain all night on that dread spot roused her, and something of her wonted courage returned. Looking about, she saw that the ledge of rock on which she was lying appeared to be the entrance into a cavern; but how large it was, or whether it was merely a chasm in the rock extending down to the sea, she did not know. She crept cautiously in, feeling her way, as she went. For several feet she found the rocks hard and firm; here she could rest securely. She sat and looked out on the broad ocean before her; and the more she reflected on her awful situation, the more disheartened did she feel. She saw nothing before her but a lingering death. No boat could approach the rocks underneath; indeed she could not be seen, unless she ventured out on that narrow ledge of rock again. When she had rested herself a little, she explored a little further, creeping cautiously along in the dark cavern. At last she thought she saw a light. She stopped, and looked around. The cavern was dark, except just at the entrance; but these lights seemed to be coming from the further end. She crept on a little further, and was at last convinced that this light came from some opening in the interior; but whether it came from above or below she could not tell;--perhaps it came from below. There was probably, she thought, a deep chasm running down to the sea from the interior of the cavern, and if she ventured too near she might be in danger of falling through. She crept a little nearer, and then sat on a rock to meditate on her position, keeping her eyes steadily fixed on this faint stream of light at the extremity. She was now begining to feel cold and uncomfortable; her delicate hands and arms were lacerated by the rocks, and her fingers were sore from holding on to them so firmly: in her fear and anxiety for her safety, she did not feel these injuries before, but now her scratches and bruises were beginning to make themselves felt, and there she sat in the greatest agony, both of body and mind.

CHAPTER XLI.

MYSTERIOUS SOUNDS ARE HEARD ISSUING OUT OF THE EARTH AT MIDNIGHT. THE CURIOUS COTTAGE ON THE HEATH.

The party who had gone in search of the body of Mr. Freeman and his guilty a.s.sociates separated as they approached their respective homes: Captain Trenow and Josiah went to St. Just, Squire Pendray and Mr.

Morley went to Pendrea-house as we have seen, and Lieutenant Fowler proceeded on his solitary journey towards his own cabin at Tol-pedn-Penwith signal-station. On turning a sharp corner in the road, he met one of his men, who had been ordered out on night-duty, and who ought to have been watching the coast instead of travelling along on the public road.

The man touched his cap to his commanding officer, who spoke rather sharply to him as he returned the salute.

"What brings you here, Braceley?" said he, "when your orders were to keep close to the cliffs to-night;--for there's mischief afloat, and we want the coast well watched."

"Yes, sir," replied the man; "I have obeyed orders, and have heard something that I thought best to report at once, and I came this road, thinking to fall in with your honor."

"Well! what is it?" said Fowler; "bear a hand, and out with it; for it's cold standing here in the wind."

"By the powers! sir," said Braceley, looking very solemn, "I believe 'The Maister' isn't far off, for I've heard queer sounds."

"Sounds," said Fowler; "nonsense, man, what do you mean?--This is one of your confounded Irish superst.i.tions."

"No, sir! by the Holy St. Patrick, 'tis no superst.i.tion, nor anything of the kind," replied Braceley, coming nearer to the officer: "I was coming along over the cliffs, sir, and I heard voices in the air over my head,--and I spoke to them, and they answered again. Spirits, I'm sure they were, your honor! 'The Maister' is here, says I,--and I tould him to be aisy while I called the praist."

It was a queer story; but as nothing was too strange or improbable to believe, in connection with "The Maister," after what had happened within the last few days, Fowler determined he would go and see what it was himself; so he accompanied the man in silence, until they arrived at the spot where Braceley said he had heard those extraordinary sounds. It was now getting dark, and the place was very lonely; not at all the place that a nervous man would like to be in at night, if he heard anything that he could by any means imagine was caused by supernatural agency. Fowler had none of that superst.i.tious feeling in his composition which was so prevelant everywhere at that period, and he laughed at his companion, who possessed a good deal of it, and told him that what he fancied he had heard was entirely in his own imagination. The man could not be persuaded, however, and they listened for minutes, but heard nothing, and Fowler said, in a jeering, tone, "'The Maister's' ghost, no doubt, Braceley! you shall have a guard of nanny-goats when you turn out on night-duty again."

He had scarcely finished his sentence, before they heard the most piercing sounds rending the air all round them. Fowler was startled; the sounds came upon them so suddenly: he listened, but could not make out where they came from; sometimes they appeared above their heads, and then again beneath their feet: he did not believe in the supernatural, but he really didn't know what else to impute it to. His companion, however, had no doubt whatever but that it was "The Maister's" spirit hovering about, seeking rest. Neither of them spoke, but they walked on towards the edge of the cliff, and, on approaching a deep hole or opening in the rock, about fifty yards from the extreme edge of the cliff, Fowler was convinced that the sounds were coming up from underneath. This opening was partially concealed by the overhanging rocks, and might be pa.s.sed un.o.bserved by a casual visitor. He however knew the place well, for he had once, on his first coming to Tol-pedn-Penwith, made a good seizure of kegs in the cavern beneath.

When they arrived at this place, he called down l.u.s.tily and asked who was there, although he could scarcely believe that it could be any human being. He was soon convinced, however, and astonished beyond measure, at hearing a well-known voice calling up to him in tones of the bitterest anguish:--

"Oh! good sir, whoever you are, a.s.sist me out of this dreadful place; I fell from the precipice several hours ago, and crept in here. I am wounded, and bitterly cold. Oh! good Christian, make haste."

"Don't distress yourself any more," replied Fowler; "you shall be extricated at once; I know the cavern. I am Fowler of the signal-station: I will be down to protect you in a few minutes."

In her distress and fear, Miss Pendray had evidently not recognised his voice so easily as he had recognised hers. He desired Braceley to proceed at once to the station, and get ropes and lights, and all the a.s.sistance he could. Braceley had a blue-light in his pouch, which Fowler lit, and fired a pistol, which he knew would bring any of his men who were within hail to the spot at once. He then descended cautiously, by the aid of the light, to rea.s.sure the unfortunate lady, and to convince her that relief was at hand. It was a perilous adventure; but Fowler had been down before; and so he knew that the opening did not descend perpendicularly. He had first to slide down over a smooth rock, almost perpendicular, for several yards, and then to jump on a flat rock, and then slide on again, and so on alternately; but in the descent the greatest caution was necessary, lest, in jumping on one of the narrow flat rocks, he should slip and be carried by the impetus headlong down to the bottom.

Miss Pendray was still sitting on the rock, afraid to move, when Fowler jumped down at her side, carrying the light in his hand. She could scarcely express her joy and gratification. She clasped his arm tightly with both her hands and seemed afraid to let go her hold. She forgot all her former animosity, and thought only of her present perilous position and his ability and willingness to save her.

Braceley soon returned with ropes and lights and more a.s.sistance, and they were not long in getting Miss Pendray up from her perilous position. She was most grateful for the attention and almost miraculous a.s.sistance of Lieutenant Fowler. She was not so much bruised but that she was able to walk, although her limbs were sore, and her arms and hands were lacerated fearfully. Fowler accompanied her as far as the door of Pendrea-house, where he was about to take his leave, but she would not suffer it: she almost compelled him to come in; for she felt that, after all he had done for her that night, it was inc.u.mbent on her to dispel some of the clouds which had for some time hung over his happiness, and which she could not but feel she had been the means of gathering around him and her gentle sister, and which this evening's adventure had determined her to make amends for, by explaining to her father the true state of the case; for she well knew that she had exaggerated, to use a mild expression, when she told him of the clandestine meetings of her sister and the lieutenant. Anger and wounded pride had led her to commit this treacherous and ungenerous act, towards her younger sister, whom she ought rather to have advised and reproved in private if she had seen anything wrong in her behaviour. This act had been repented of often by Miss Pendray, but her proud spirit would not bend to acknowledge her fault: now she was determined on acknowledging the part she had played, and, if she could not be happy herself in the possession of the love of the only man who had ever really gained her affections, she would at least have the satisfaction of knowing she had made two others happy, by candidly confessing her own dissimulation.

Mr. Morley, in the meantime, had gone on in search of her; but, as she had considerably the start of him, he did not overtake her. He walked over the cliffs for some distance, until he felt convinced that she could not be gone in that direction; for he did not believe that any lady would walk even so far as he had gone, on those high cliffs alone at that hour; so he struck into a path which seemed to lead towards the high road, thinking that would be the safer way for him to return, as he was not familiar with the coast. He walked on for some distance, until he came to a spot where several paths met, and here he was puzzled; however, he took the one which seemed the most probable, although he had by this time almost entirely lost his bearings, for he was now on low ground, and could not see the cliffs or the sea. He walked on briskly for a considerable time, when he halted again, for he felt convinced he had missed his way. There was no house or human habitation to be seen, nor could he see anyone of whom he might enquire; so he walked on again.

The twilight was now getting more decided in its character, and the shadows of night were closing in, and he began to fear that he might be kept wandering over that dreary heath all night; for he frequently came upon some other path branching off from the one he was pursuing, and he would sometimes be tempted to try a fresh one. At length he thought he perceived smoke rising at some little distance, and he made sure now that he should meet with some one to direct him; for it evidently arose from a cottage at no great distance. He thought of his father's adventures in that lonely cottage, on that dreadful night, and he braced up his nerves and walked manfully forward; when, on turning into a narrow lane which seemed to lead to the cottage, a man ran against him, and nearly knocked him off his legs. Mr. Morley was a tall, powerful man, and was armed with a stout stick which he instantly raised above his head, ready to strike if he found that foul play was intended. The uplifted hand descended, but not to strike; for Mr. Morley, to his great surprise recognized in the ferocious and excited individual before him, his brother Frederick.

"Where on earth did you spring from?" he exclaimed; "I thought you were at this moment comfortably closeted with that unhappy girl you seemed so infatuated with."

"I left you with the intention of seeing her and having a mutual explanation," replied Frederick, "and she, no doubt, now feels that I have deserted her."

"No! no! she can't think that," said Mr. Morley; "but better she should, perhaps, than that you should unite yourself to the daughter of this man."

"But suppose she is not his daughter?" replied Frederick, looking earnestly at his brother, and speaking hurriedly and anxiously.

"That is a ridiculous speculation," said Mr. Morley, "after what we have heard and know. Of course she is his daughter; there can be no doubt about that: she has been known as such, at any rate, in this neighbourhood; and even the a.s.sociation with such a wretch must carry contamination with it. Give her up Frederick! let me entreat you to give her up!"

Frederick did not reply; but, taking his brother's arm, he led him back to the cottage which he seemed to have just quitted.

It was a lone cottage, and, but for the smoke which Mr. Morley saw issuing from the chimney, might have escaped his notice in the dim twilight: it consisted of several rooms, covering a considerable s.p.a.ce, but they were all on the ground-floor. The house was commonly built, the rooms entering one into the other, without having any pa.s.sages between them. There were several doors in the walls, by which a person could enter or escape, if necessary, and puzzle his pursuers. On entering the outer room, by the princ.i.p.al entrance-door, Mr. Morley perceived an old woman sitting at a table, on which were the remains of a substantial meal, and a good supply of liquor in a small wooden barrel or keg. The woman had just filled a jug from the barrel, and seemed about to carry it to some other part of the house; but on the entrance of the gentlemen she placed it on the table. She was a tall large-boned woman, with a commanding appearance, and looked as if she was accustomed to be obeyed; and yet there was an expression of low cunning in her countenance which was not at all pleasant, and which made strangers feel uncomfortable and suspicious. She was believed in the neighbourhood to be a witch, and people went to her to have their fortunes told, and she very often told them true, for she had her secret spies about as well as "The Maister"; but, from want of education, her prophecies were seldom so startling or so well or plausibly expressed as his were. It was generally believed that they were connected in business, and that they played into each other's hands, although no one had ever seen them together.

Sitting by the fire, on a low stool, was a grotesque looking being, somewhat between a man and a monkey; not that he was particularly ill-formed, but the expression of his countenance as he intently watched the woman's movements, had something ludicrous in it, and but for the wild stare which occasionally lit up his countenance, he might be an idiot or an imbecile.

"Ha! ha!" cried he, jumping up and skipping about in a ludicrous manner, as the two gentlemen entered; "'Maazed d.i.c.k' es the boy! 'Maazed d.i.c.k'

es the boy! Letter to the young maister;--get him down here! get him down here! Letter to the cap'n; frightened out of his wits! frightened out of his wits! ha! ha!"

"Richard!" said the old woman, in her most commanding tone; "hold your tongue and sit down."

This seemed to have the same effect on "Maazed d.i.c.k" as the sharp command of a sportsman has on a well-trained spaniel dog;--he ceased his antics and retained his seat by the fire, keeping his eyes fixed on her of whom he seemed to stand so much in fear.

The old woman then, turning to the two gentlemen, said, "What's your will, gentlemen? and what do you want here at this hour of the night?"

"This is my brother," said Frederick, "and I want him to hear from your lips what I have heard to-night: it may tend to convince him that he has formed a hasty opinion and that all may yet be well."

"Frederick Morley," she said, rising and extending her hand in a commanding att.i.tude, "you have heard all you will hear from me; do my bidding and you may know more: if you neglect it, or tell what you have heard to any human being, except the one named to you, it were better you had never been born." Saying which, she took up the jug again which she had placed on the table, and, waving her hand towards the door at which the two gentlemen had entered, disappeared into an inner room, bolting the door after her; and, almost at the same moment, "Maazed d.i.c.k" took up the keg of brandy from the table and disappeared also, somewhere in the wall, but where, the visitors could not tell; he could not have gone through the wall, that was very certain: there was evidently a secret cupboard somewhere in the wall; but, if so, it was very ingeniously concealed.

As there seemed no chance of learning any more, Frederick led the way out of the house and walked on at a rapid rate, followed by his brother, until they arrived at the end of the lane leading to the cottage. He seemed so excited that Mr. Morley became alarmed, and insisted on knowing what strange infatuation had seized him.

"You heard what that woman said," replied Frederick; "I feel that all my future happiness depends on my obeying her instructions, and I must do so."

"Nonsense!" said his brother: "it is perfectly ridiculous to suppose that the old hag we have just seen can know anything or do anything that can possibly influence your happiness in any way."

"She has not told me much, it is true," replied Frederick; "but she has told me enough to convince me that she knows more; but, however little I have heard, I am bound not to tell it even to you."

"Come! this is going a little too far!" said Mr. Morley, in a serious tone; "we are engaged in a common cause, and circ.u.mstances have prevented our pursuing our object together for several weeks: we must not separate again until these dark deeds are brought to light."

"I am convinced," replied Frederick, "that something will come out of my adventure this afternoon, which will throw a light on the whole. I wish, from my heart, I was at liberty to tell you; but it cannot be. I must work alone for a short time longer,--it may be a very short time. You are, I presume, going on to Fowler's station:--if so, we must separate, for my way lies in another direction."

"No," replied he, "I was going to Pendrea-house. I went out in search of Miss Pendray, and I believe I missed my way somewhere; I don't exactly know where I am."

"Fortunately, then," said Frederick, "you have been walking in the right direction, although not in the most frequented road: if you take the next turning on the right you will soon be at the end of your journey."

"But you will surely come with me," said Mr. Morley, taking his brother by the arm.