Roger Trewinion Part 56

"But, Ruth, Roger is dead, and now I have come to beseech you to have pity. I am dying for you, Ruth. Oh, if you will only pity me, and if although you do not love me, you will fulfil my father's wish, and your father's wish, and wed me, you will save me. Save me from death here--from death hereafter."

He spoke with pa.s.sionate earnestness, which I can never forget. He pleaded for her love as a man fearful of death might plead for his life. But to all his pet.i.tions she gave no encouragement.

"I cannot do as you ask, Wilfred," she said, "neither would my father, or your father, if either were alive, have me do it. My eyes have been opened as to their real wishes, and I cannot marry you."

"But, Ruth," he continued, "you do not know. My very existence depends on your answer. Do not think I care for your money; but, driven to madness by your constant refusal of my love, I have acted foolishly, I have blindly engaged in speculation, until Trewinion estate is no longer mine, except in name. If you do not have pity on me it will become the property of strangers, and those who care nothing for us or ours will possess it. My mother will be homeless, and the old rooms, which were my father's and--Roger's will be desecrated by others. For myself I care nothing, but I cannot bear that my mother should have to leave the home of our people."

She seemed moved at this, for in her pure guilelessness I do not believe she ever thought that Wilfred was seeking her for her wealth alone. Hence what he had said appealed to her, as my brother intended it should, as an additional reason for her to accept him. Still, it did not alter her determination.

"I will help you, Wilfred," she said, "if it is in my power to do so.

I will see that all shall be well with your mother, but I cannot do as you wish."

"But why?" Wilfred asked hoa.r.s.ely. "Roger is dead, and even if he were not you could never wed him when you know that his heart is full of murder. You know that he sought my life, and but for a fortunate----"

"I do not know it," she said pa.s.sionately, "neither do I know that he is dead."

"What!" he exclaimed, savagely, "you believe that I----"

"I know that you have deceived me about him in the past," she said. "I know that you drove him from home. I know that you have tried to make me believe that he sought to murder you, but let me tell you this, Wilfred: If I believed he were dead, which I do not, and if he has been all you say he has, then, knowing you as I do, I cannot, will not, be what you ask. Now, I will go home. Stand aside, please?"

"You refuse, then?"

"Certainly, Wilfred. And now that I have yielded to your wish for this unseemly interview, I wish it to be the end of all such scenes."

"Ay, and it shall be, for I have a few words to say." His tone changed, and he spoke with haughty insolence. "We are in a lonely place," he said, "half a mile from a house. No one will molest us here, and you are in my power. I have begged you to grant my request, now you will have to yield to one of two alternatives. The first is this: The town of ---- is ten miles from here. You will ride there with me this very night, quietly, and remain there until arrangements are made for our marriage."

"What!" she exclaimed, "you seek to force me? You dare not do such a thing."

"I dare do anything," he said, "for I am a desperate man. Will you accede to this?"

"Never. I will die first."

"Then hear my other alternative. There is a vessel lying in the cove yonder. I have got it for this emergency. You will come with me now, and to-night we shall sail for a port where my wishes will be carried out in spite of you. Stop, if you scream or cry for help I will gag you, and Jake will do the same by your girl. He has my orders. Choose which you like, but one of them you shall do."

All this time I had listened as in a dream. For a time I seemed incapable of action. I was stupefied by the villainy of my brother, while my blood surged madly at the sound of Ruth's voice. It seemed so strange that I should have come thus, and be listening to such a conversation. At first I could not think it real, and yet I remembered I had ridden thirty-five miles to prevent whatever schemes he had concocted.

"Choose quickly," he went on after a pause. "I have no time to waste.

Either you come to the three bridges, where horses are waiting, and ride to ----, and marry me as soon as it can be arranged, or you come to Pendugle Cove. I care not which, but as I am a maddened, desperate man, it shall be one or the other."

She did not lose her presence of mind. I do not think she realised her danger.

"Wilfred," she said, "I have long known that you were capable of much that was bad, but I never thought you were as bad as this. You have my answer. I will die rather than accede to either of your plans, and you dare not carry them into execution."

"But I will. Then you will wish you had consented. Jake, Pendugle Cove, and gag the girl. I will manage Miss Morton."

He laid his hand on her as he spoke. She gave a slight cry for help, which was instantly choked.

Then all my stupefaction left me. With one bound I cleared the fence, and in another second I was by Ruth's side.

CHAPTER x.x.xII

TWO HEARTS

More than eleven years of seafaring life had accustomed me to danger.

During the two years I sailed in the pirate s.h.i.+p I had often been within the jaws of death, for as all the world knows pirates are not dealt leniently with. I had been mixing with men of all nationalities, and had been engaged in all kinds of fray. Thus, I was never unprepared for a struggle. To be ready to meet danger was second nature with me.

Almost instinctively I settled on my plan of attack. They were two to one, so stratagem was required as well as strength. Noiselessly as possible, and with no parleying, I seized Wilfred, mastered him, and bound him, before he was capable of resisting. No sooner had I done this than I saw Jake Blackburn coming towards me, as if wondering what was the matter, but seeing a man almost twice as big as himself confronting him he took to his heels.

The struggle was so soon over that Ruth scarcely realised what was done. Wilfred, however, understood only too well.

"Jake, Jake," he shrieked, "help!"

"Jake is gone, Wilfred," I answered. "He will not help you."

"Roger, Roger," cried Ruth, "is that you?"

"It is Roger," I said, as calmly as I could, "but danger is not over yet. Will you lead the way to the high road, and then on to the Hall as quickly as you can?"

The servant came up just then. She had contrived to free herself, and now ran to a.s.sist her mistress.

Wilfred writhed and struggled, but I held him fast. This I had little difficulty in doing, as his hands were firmly tied behind him.

Meanwhile Ruth, as if in a dream, led the way home. Silently, yet swiftly, we went on, I wondering all the time, not whether Jake Blackburn would return with his accomplices, if he had any, to carry out Wilfred's design, but whether Ruth still loved me.

I dared not speak to her. My tongue seemed tied, while she moved on like one in a trance.

Presently we came to the churchyard gates, and as we did so I could scarcely help shuddering. Like lightning the events of a year before flashed through my mind. Vividly I remembered going down the churchyard path and opening the old church door, in order to gaze on the face of the dead. But Ruth seemed perfectly unconscious of that which haunted me. A look of expectancy was on her face, and by and by she gave a glad exclamation as we heard the sound of wheels. In a minute more a carriage drove up and stopped at our side. I still held Wilfred by the arm, and he, doubtless feeling that resistance was useless, submitted quietly.

"Roger," said Ruth huskily, "you will come home with me?"

In reply I was about to enter the carriage with Wilfred by my side; but no sooner did she see this than she exclaimed as if in horror,

"Not him, Roger; no, not him."

"Then I will ride on the box by the driver," I said. "I will not let him go yet."

"But will you be safe?" she said, anxiously.

"Perfectly safe, Ruth," I answered.

Then she allowed the servant to help her into the carriage as if she were dazed, while I mounted the box with Wilfred.

We were not long in reaching Morton Hall, I realising more clearly each minute the position in which I was placed and the hopes dearest to my heart.

The old servant I had seen on my first visit was delighted as well as relieved at our advent, but looked strangely at Wilfred, and at my request silently opened the door of a room, and left us together.

I did this because, as I descended from the carriage, Ruth said: