Japhet in Search of a Father Part 37

"That I can tell you, because I am a party concerned. You remember the little girl, Fleta, who left the gipsy camp with you--she is now somewhere under your care?"

"Well, I grant it; but I was answerable only to you about her."

"Very true, but I was answerable to Sir Henry; and when I could only say that she was well, he was not satisfied, for family reasons now make him very anxious that she should return to him; and, indeed, it will be for her advantage, as she will in all probability be his heir, for he has satisfactorily proved that she is a near relative."

"Grant all that, Melchior; but why did not Sir Henry de Clare write to me on the subject, and state his wishes, and his right to demand his relative? and why does he treat me in this way? Another question--how is it that he has recognised me to be the party who has charge of the little girl? Answer me those questions, Melchior, and then I may talk over the matter."

"I will answer the last question first. He knew your name from me, and it so happened, that a friend of his met you in the coach as you were coming to Ireland: the same person also saw you at the post-house, and gave information. Sir Henry, who is a violent man, and here has almost regal sway, determined to detain you till you surrendered up the child.

You recollect, that you refused to tell his agent, the person whose address I gave you, where she was to be found, and, vexed at this, he has taken the law into his own hands."

"For which he shall smart, one of these days," replied I, "if there is law in this country."

"There is a law in England, but very little, and none that will harm Sir Henry in this part of the country. No officer would venture within five miles of the castle, I can a.s.sure you; for he knows very well that it would cost him his life; and Sir Henry never quits it from one year's end to the other. You are in his power, and all that he requires is information where the child may be found, and an order for her being delivered to him. You cannot object to this, as he is her nearest relative. If you comply, I do not doubt but Sir Henry will make you full amends for this harsh treatment, and prove a sincere friend ever afterwards."

"It requires consideration," replied I; "at present, I am too much hurt to talk."

"I was afraid so," replied Melchior; "that was one reason why I obtained leave to speak to you. Wait a moment."

Melchior then put the candle down on the ground, went out, and turned the key. I found, on looking round, that I was right in my conjectures.

I was in a cellar, which, apparently, had long been in disuse.

Melchior soon returned, followed by an old crone, who carried a basket and a can of water. She washed the blood off my head, put some salve upon the wounds, and bound them up. She then went away, leaving the basket.

"There is something to eat and drink in that basket," observed Melchior; "but I think, j.a.phet, you will agree with me, that it will be better to yield to the wishes of Sir Henry, and not remain in this horrid hole."

"Very true, Melchior," replied I; "but allow me to ask you a question or two. How came you here? where is Nattee, and how is it, that, after leaving the camp, I find you so reduced in circ.u.mstances, as to be serving such a man as Sir Henry de Clare?"

"A few words will explain that," replied he. "In my early days I was wild, and I am, to tell you the truth, in the power of this man; nay, I will tell you honestly, my life is in his power; he ordered me to come, and I dare not disobey him--and he retains me here."

"And Nattee?"

"Is quite well, and with me, but not very happy in her present situation; but he is a dangerous, violent, implacable man, and I dare not disobey him. I advise you as a friend, to consent to his wishes."

"That requires some deliberation," replied I, "and I am not one of those who are to be driven. My feelings towards Sir Henry, after this treatment, are not the most amicable; besides, how am I to know that Fleta is his relative?"

"Well, I can say no more, j.a.phet. I wish you well out of his hands."

"You have the power to help me, if that is the case," said I.

"I dare not."

"Then you are not the Melchior that you used to be," replied I.

"We must submit to fate. I must not stay longer; you will find all that you want in the basket, and more candles, if you do not like being in the dark. I do not think I shall be permitted to come again, till to-morrow."

Melchior then went out, locked the door after him, and I was left to my meditations.

PART TWO, CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

A FRIEND IN NEED IS A FRIEND IN DEED--THE TABLES ARE TURNED, AND SO IS THE KEY--THE ISSUE IS DEEP TRAGEDY.

Was it possible that which Melchior said was true? A little reflection told me that it was all false, and that he was himself Sir Henry de Clare. I was in his power, and what might be the result? He might detain me, but he dare not murder me. Dare not! My heart sank when I considered where I was, and how easy would it be for him to despatch me, if so inclined, without anyone ever being aware of my fate. I lighted a whole candle, that I might not find myself in the dark when I rose, and, exhausted in body and mind, was soon fast asleep. I must have slept many hours, for when I awoke I was in darkness--the candle had burnt out. I groped for the basket, and examined the contents with my hands, and found a tinder-box. I struck a light, and then feeling hungry and weak, refreshed myself with the eatables it contained, which were excellent, as well as the wine. I had replaced the remainder, when the key again turned in the door, and Melchior made his appearance.

"How do you feel, j.a.phet, to-day?"

"To-day!" replied I; "day and night are the same to me."

"That is your own fault," replied he. "Have you considered what I proposed to you yesterday?"

"Yes," replied I; "and I will agree to this. Let Sir Henry give me my liberty, come over to England, prove his relations.h.i.+p to Fleta, and I will give her up. What can he ask for more?"

"He will hardly consent to that," replied Melchior; "for, once in England, you will take a warrant out against him."

"No; on my honour I will not, Melchior."

"He will not trust to that."

"Then he must judge of others by himself," replied I.

"Have you no other terms to propose?" replied Melchior.

"None."

"Then I will carry your message, and give you his answer to-morrow."

Melchior then brought in another basket, and took away the former, and did not make his appearance till the next day. I now had recovered my strength, and determined to take some decided measures, but how to act I knew not. I reflected all night, and the next morning (that is, according to my supposition) I attacked the basket. Whether it was that ennui or weakness occasioned it, I cannot tell, but either way, I drank too much wine, and was ready for any daring deed, when Melchior again opened the door.

"Sir Henry will not accept of your terms. I thought not," said Melchior: "I am sorry--very sorry."

"Melchior," replied I, starting up, "let us have no more of this duplicity. I am not quite so ignorant as you suppose. I know who Fleta is, and who you are."

"Indeed," replied Melchior; "perhaps you will explain?"

"I will. You, Melchior, are Sir Henry de Clare; you succeeded to your estates by the death of your elder brother, from a fall when hunting."

Melchior appeared astonished.

"Indeed!" replied he; "pray go on. You have made a gentleman of me."

"No; rather a scoundrel."

"As you please; now will you make a lady of Fleta?"

"Yes, I will. She is your niece." Melchior started back. "Your agent, McDermott, who was sent over to find out Fleta's abode, met me in the coach, and he has tracked me here, and risked my life, by telling the people that I was a t.i.the proctor."

"Your information is very important," replied Melchior. "You will find some difficulty to prove all you say."

"Not the least," replied I, flushed with anger and with wine, "I have proof positive. I have seen her mother, and I can identify the child by the necklace which was on her neck when you stole her necklace!"