Wylder's Hand Part 17

'There, don't mind me,' she said sharply; and getting up she looked down at her dress and thin shoes, and seeming to recollect herself, she took the candle he had just set down, and went swiftly to her room.

Gliding without noise from place to place, she packed a small black leather bag with a few necessary articles. Then changed her dress quickly, put on her walking boots, a close bonnet and thick veil, and taking her purse, she counted over its contents, and then standing in the midst of the room looked round it with a great sigh, and a strange look, as if it was all new to her. And she threw back her veil, and going hurriedly to the toilet, mechanically surveyed herself in the gla.s.s. And she looked fixedly on the pale features presented to her, and said--

'Rachel Lake, Rachel Lake! what are you now?'

And so, with knitted brows and stern lips, a cadaveric gaze was returned on her from the mirror.

A few minutes later her brother, who had been busy down stairs, put his head in and asked--

'Will you come with me now, Radie, or do you prefer to wait here?'

'I'll stay here--that is, in the drawing-room,' she answered, and the face was withdrawn.

In the little hall Stanley looked again at his watch, and getting quietly out, went swiftly through the tiny garden, and once upon the mill-road, ran at a rapid pace down towards the town.

The long street of Gylingden stretched dim and silent before him. Slumber brooded over the little town, and his steps sounded sharp and hollow among the houses. He slackened his pace, and tapped sharply at the little window of that modest post-office, at which the young ladies in the pony carriage had pulled up the day before, and within which Luke Waggot was wont to sleep in a sort of wooden box that folded up and appeared to be a chest of drawers all day. Luke took care of Mr. Larkin's dogs, and groomed Mr. Wylder's horse, and 'cleaned up' his dog-cart, for Mark being close about money, and finding that the thing was to be done more cheaply that way, put up his horse and dog-cart in the post-office premises, and so evaded the livery charges of the 'Brandon Arms.'

But Luke was not there; and Captain Lake recollecting his habits and his haunt, hurried on to the 'Silver Lion,' which has its gable towards the common, only about a hundred steps away, for distances are not great in Gylingden. Here were the flow of soul and of stout, long pipes, long yarns, and tolerably long credits; and the humble scapegraces of the town resorted thither for the pleasures of a club-life, and often revelled deep into the small hours of the morning.

So Luke came forth.

D-- it, where's the note?' said the captain, rummaging uneasily in his pockets.

'You know me--eh!'

'Captain Lake. Yes, Sir.'

'Well--oh! here it is.'

It was a sc.r.a.p pencilled on the back of a letter--

'LUKE WAGGOT,

'Put the horse to and drive the dog-cart to the "White House." Look out for me there. We must catch the up mail train at Dollington. Be lively.

If Captain Lake chooses to drive you need not come.

'M. WYLDER.'

'I'll drive,' said Captain Lake. 'Lose no time and I'll give you half-a-crown.'

Luke stuck on his greasy wideawake, and in a few minutes more the dog-cart was trundled out into the lane, and the horse harnessed, went between the shafts with that wonderful cheerfulness with which they bear to be called up under startling circ.u.mstances at unseasonable hours.

'Easily earned, Luke,' said Captain Lake, in his soft tones.

The captain had b.u.t.toned the collar of his loose coat across his face, and it was dark beside. But Luke knew his peculiar smile, and presumed it; so he grinned facetiously as he put the coin in his breeches pocket and thanked him; and in another minute the captain, with a lighted cigar between his lips, mounted to the seat, took the reins, the horse bounded off, and away rattled the light conveyance, sparks flying from the road, at a devil of a pace, down the deserted street of Gylingden, and quickly melted in darkness.

That night a spectre stood by old Tamar's bedside, in shape of her young mistress, and shook her by the shoulder, and stooping, said sternly, close in her face--

'Tamar, I'm going away--only for a few days; and mind this--I'd rather be _dead_ than any creature living should know it. Little Margery must not suspect--you'll manage that. Here's the key of my bed-room--say I'm sick--and you must go in and out, and bring tea and drinks, and talk and whisper a little, you understand, as you might with a sick person, and keep the shutters closed; and if Miss Brandon sends to ask me to the Hall, say I've a headache, and fear I can't go. You understand me clearly, Tamar?'

'Yes, Miss Radie,' answered old Tamar, wonder-stricken, with a strange expression of fear in her face.

'And listen,' she continued, 'you must go into my room, and bring the message back, as if from me, with _my love_ to Miss Brandon; and if she or Mrs. William Wylder, the vicar's wife, should call to see me, always say I'm asleep and a little better. You see exactly what I mean?'

'Yes, Miss,' answered Tamar, whose eyes were fixed in a sort of fascination, full on those of her mistress.

'If Master Stanley should call, he is to do just as he pleases. You used to be accurate, Tamar; may I depend upon you?'

'Yes, Ma'am, certainly.'

'If I thought you'd fail me now, Tamar, I should _never_ come back.

Good-night, Tamar. There--don't bless me. Good-night.'

When the light wheels of the dog-cart gritted on the mill-road before the little garden gate of Redman's Farm, the tall slender figure of Rachel Lake was dimly visible, standing cloaked and waiting by it. Silently she handed her little black leather bag to her brother, and then there was a pause. He stretched his hand to help her up.

In a tone that was icy and bitter, she said--

'To save myself I would not do it. You deserve no love from me--you've showed me none--_never_, Stanley; and yet I'm going to give the most desperate proof of love that ever sister gave--all for your sake; and it's guilt, guilt, but my _fate_, and I'll go, and you'll never thank me; that's all.'

In a moment more she sat beside him; and silent as the dead in Charon's boat, away they glided toward the 'White House which lay upon the high road to Dollington.

The sleepy clerk that night in the Dollington station stamped two first-cla.s.s tickets for London, one of which was for a gentleman, and the other for a cloaked lady, with a very thick veil, who stood outside on the platform; and almost immediately after the scream of the engine was heard piercing the deep tatting, the Cyclopean red lamps glared nearer and nearer, and the palpitating monster, so stupendous and so docile, came smoothly to a stand-still before the trelliswork and hollyhocks of that pretty station.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE TARN IN THE PARK.

Next morning Stanley Lake, at breakfast with the lawyer, said--

'A pretty room this is. That bow window is worth all the pictures in Brandon. To my eye there is no scenery so sweet as this, at least to breakfast by. I don't love your crags and peaks and sombre grandeur, nor yet the fat, flat luxuriance of our other counties. These undulations, and all that splendid timber, and the glorious ruins on that hillock over there! How many beautiful ruins that picturesque old fellow Cromwell has left us.'

'You don't eat your breakfast, though,' said the attorney, with a charming smile of reproach.

'Ah, thank you; I'm a bad breakfaster; that is,' said Stanley, recollecting that he had made some very creditable meals at the same table, 'when I smoke so late as I did last night.'

'You drove Mr. Wylder to Dollington?'

'Yes; he's gone to town, he says--yes, the mail train--to get some diamonds for Miss Brandon--a present--that ought to have come the day before yesterday. He says they'll never have them in time unless he goes and blows them up. Are you in his secrets at all?'

'Something in his confidence, I should hope,' said Mr. Larkin, in rather a lofty and reserved way.

'Oh, yes, of course, in serious matters; but I meant other things. You know he has been a little bit wild; and ladies, you know, ladies will be troublesome sometimes; and to say truth, I don't think the diamonds have much to say to it.'