The Dew of Their Youth Part 8

She paused, and a kind of shuddering whiteness came across the girl's face. It was like the flas.h.i.+ng of lightning from the east to the west that my grandmother reads about in her Bible--a sort of s.h.i.+ning of hatred and determination like a footstep set on wet sand. "But no," she added, "he would not have married me, even if he had kept me shut up for ever in his Castle of Dinant on the Meuse!"

Then all at once I began very mightily to hate this Lalor Maitland, Governor of the Castle of Dinant. I resolved to charge "King George" to the very muzzle, wait till he was within half-a-dozen paces, and--let him have it. For I made no doubt that it was he who was coming in person to carry off Miss Irma and Sir Louis back again to his dungeons.

For though Irma had not called them that, I felt sure that she had been shamefully used. And though I did not proclaim the fact, I knew the name and address of a willing deliverer. I grew so anxious about the matter that Agnes Anne three times bade me put down "King George" or I should be sure to shoot some of them, or, most likely of all, little Louis in his cot-bed up-stairs.

"However, at last we escaped" (Miss Irma went on), "and I will tell you how--what I have not told to any here--not even to your good grandmother or the clergyman. It was through our nurse, a Kirkbean woman and her name Kate Maxwell, called Mickle Kate o' the Sh.o.r.e. Her father and all her folk were smugglers, as, I understand, are the most of the farmers along the Solway side. Some of these she could doubtless have married, but Kate herself had always looked higher. The son of a farmer over the hill, from a place called the Boreland of Colvend, had wintered sheep on her father's lands. Many a sore cold morning (so she said) had they gone out together to clear the snow from the feeding troughs. I suppose that was how it began, but in addition the lad had ambition. He learned well and readily, and after a while he went into a lawyer's office in Dumfries, while Kate o' the Sh.o.r.e went abroad with the family of a Leith merchant, to serve at Rotterdam. She wanted to save money for the house she was going to set up with the lawyer's clerk. So, rather than come back at the year's end, she took the place which the Governor of Dinant Castle offered her, and he was no other than our cousin Lalor.

"In a little while Kate of the Sh.o.r.e had grown to hate our cousin. Why, I cannot tell, for he always bowed to her as to a lady, and indeed showed her far more kindness than ever he used to us. When we wanted a little play on the terrace or a sweetcake from the town, we tried at first to get Kate to ask for us. But afterwards she would not. And she grew determined to leave the Castle of Dinant as soon as might be, making her escape and taking us with her. Her Boreland lad, Tam Hislop, had told her all about the estates and the great house standing empty.

So nothing would do but that Kate o' the Sh.o.r.e would come to this house with us, where we would take possession, and hold it against all comers.

"'It is very difficult,' said Kate's friend, the Dumfries clerk, 'to put any one out of his own house.' Indeed he did not think that even the very Court of Session could do it."

"So during the governor's absence we brought little Louis from Dinant to Antwerp, where we hid him with some friends of Kate's who are Free Traders, and ran cargoes to the Isle of Man and the Solway sh.o.r.e. Kind they were, stout bold men and appeared to hold their lives cheap enough--also, for that matter, the lives of those who withstood them.

"Many of them were Kirkbean men, near kinsfolk of Kate o' the Sh.o.r.e, and others from Colvend--Hislops, Hendersons and McKerrows, long rooted in the place. But when we were in mid-pa.s.sage, we were chased and almost taken by a schooner that fired cannon and bade us heave to, but the Kirkbean men, who had Kate o' the Sh.o.r.e with them, bade our boat carry on, and engaged the pursuer. We could see the flash of their guns a long distance, and cries came to us mixed with the thunderclap of the schooner's guns. The Colvend men would have turned back to help, but they had received strict orders to put us on sh.o.r.e, whatever might happen, the which they did at Killantringan.

"After that" (Miss Irma still went on) "I had so much ado to look after my brother, being fearful to let him out of my hands lest he should be taken from me, that I only heard the names of a place or two spoken among them--particularly the Brandy Knowe, a dark hole in a narrow ravine, under the roots of a great tree, with a burn across which we had to be carried. I remember the rus.h.i.+ng sound of the water in the blackness of the night, and Louis's voice calling out, as the men trampled the pebbles, 'Are you there, sister Irma?'

"But long before it was day they had finished stowing their cargo. We were again on the march and the men took good care of us, leaving us here according to their orders with plenty of provisions for a week--also money, all good unclipped silver pieces and English gold.

They bade us not to leave the house on any account, and in case of any sudden danger to light the fire on the tower head!

"'For the present our duty is done,' said one of them, a kind of chief or leader who had carried me before him on his own horse, 'but there may be more and worse yet to do, wherein we of the Free Trade may help you more than all the power of King George--to whom, however, we are very good friends, in all that does not concern our business of the private Over-Seas Traffic'--for so they named their trade of smuggling."

"I would like much to see this beacon," I said; "perhaps we may have to light it. At any rate it is well to be sure that we have all the ingredients of the pudding at hand in case of need."

CHAPTER IX

THE EVE OF ST. JOHN

We went up the narrow stair--that is, Miss Irma and I--because, since I carried my father's blunderbuss, Agnes Anne would not come, but stopped half-way, where the little Louis lay asleep in his cot-bed. On the top of the tower, and swinging on a kind of iron tripod bolted into the battlements, we found an iron basket, like that in which sea-coal is burned, but wider in the mesh. Then, in the "winnock cupboard" at the turn of the stair-head, were all the necessaries for a n.o.ble blaze--dry wood properly cut, tow, tar, and a firkin of spirit, with some rancid b.u.t.ter in a brown jar. There was even a little kindling box of foreign make, all complete with flint, steel and tinder lying on a shelf, enclosed in a small bag of felt.

Whoever had placed these things there was a person of no small experience, and left nothing to chance. It was obvious that such a beacon lit on the tower of the ancient house of Marnhoul would be seen far and near over the country.

Who should come to our rescue, supposing us to be beset, was not so clear. I did not believe that we could depend on the people of the village. They would, if I knew them, cuddle the closer between their blankets, while as for Constable Jacky, by that time of night he would certainly be in no condition to know his right hand from his left.

"And the message fixed to the front door with the knife--of which my sister told me," I suggested to Miss Irma, "what did it threaten?"

For in spite of her obvious reluctance to tell me even necessary things, I was resolved to make her speak out. She hesitated, but finally yielded, when I pointed out that we must decide whether it came from a friendly or an unfriendly hand.

She handed it to me out of the pocket of her dress, the two of us standing all the while on the top of the tower, the rusty basket wheezing in the wind, and her blown hair whipping my cheek in the sharp breeze from the north.

I may say that just at that moment I was pretty content with myself. I do not deny that I had fancied this maid and that before, or that some few things that might almost be called tender had pa.s.sed between me and Gerty Greensleeves, chiefly cuffing and pinching of the amicable Scottish sort. Only I knew for certain that now I was finally and irrevocably in love--but it was with a star. Or rather, it might just as well have been, for any hope I had with Miss Irma Maitland, with her ancient family and her eyes fairly snapping with pride. What could she ever have to say to the rather stupid son of a village school-master?

But I took the paper, and for an instant Irma's eyes rested on mine with something different in them from anything I had ever seen there before.

The contemptuous chill was gone. There was even a kind of soft appeal, which, however, she retracted and even seemed to excuse the next moment.

"Understand," she said, "it is not for myself that I care. It is for--for my brother, Sir Louis."

"But, Miss Irma, do not forget that I----" The words came bravely, but halted before the enormity of what I was going to say. So I had perforce to alter my formation in face of my dear enemy, and only continued lamely enough, "I had better see what the letter says."

"Yes," she answered shortly, "I suppose that is necessary."

The letter was written on a sheet of common paper, ruled vertically in red at either side as for a bill of lading. It had simply been folded once, not sealed in the ordinary way, but thrust through sharply with the knife which had pinned it to the wood, traversing both folds. The knife, which I saw afterwards down-stairs, was a small one, with a broadish blade shaped and pointed like a willow leaf. I had it a good while in my hand, and I can swear that it had been lately used in cutting the commonest kind of sailor tobacco.

The message read in these words exactly, which I copied carefully on my killivine-tablets--

"The first danger is for this night, being the eve of Saint John.

Admit no one excepting those who bring with them friends you can trust. Fear not to use the signal agreed upon. Help will be near."

Now this seemed to me to be very straightforward. None but a friend to the children would speak of the beacon so familiarly, yet so discreetly--"the signal agreed upon." Nor would an enemy advise caution as to any being admitted to the house.

But Miss Irma had not pa.s.sed through so many troubles without acquiring a certain lack of confidence in the fairest pretences. She shook her head when I ventured to tell her what I thought. She was willing to take my help, but not my judgment.

The words, "Admit no one, _excepting those who bring with them friends you can trust_," did not ring true in her ear. And the phrase, "the signal agreed upon," might possibly show that while the writer made sure of there being a signal of some kind, he was ignorant of its nature.

In face of all this there seemed nothing for it but to wait--doors shut, windows barred, "King George" ready charged, and the stuff for the beacon knowingly arranged.

And this last I immediately proceeded to set in order. I had had considerable experience. For during the late French wars we of Eden Valley, though the most peaceful people in the world, had often been turned upside down by reports of famous victories. After each of these every one had to illuminate, if it were only with a tallow dip, on the penalty of having his windows broken by the mob of loyal, but stay-at-home patriots. At the same time, all the boys of Eden Valley had full permission to carry off old barrels and other combustibles from the houses of the zealous, or even to commandeer them without permission from the barns and fences of suspected "black-nebs" to raise nearer heaven the flare of our victorious bonfires.

With all the ingredients laid ready to my hand, it was exceedingly simple for me to put together such a brazier as could be seen over half the county. Not the least useful of my improvements was the lengthening of the chain, so that the whole fire-basket could be hoisted to the top of the tripod, and so stand clear of the battlements of the tower, showing over the tree-tops to the very cliffs of Killantringan, and doubtless far out to sea.

Last of all, before descending, I covered everything over with a thick mat of tarred cloth, which would keep the fuel dry as tinder even in case of rain, or the dense dews that pearled down out of the clear heavens on these short nights of a northern June.

It is a strange thing, watching together, and in the case of young people it is apt to make curious things hop up in the heart all unexpectedly. It was so, at least, with myself. As to Miss Irma I cannot say, and, of course, Agnes Anne does not count, for she sat back in the shelter of a great cupboard, well out of range of "King George," and went on with her knitting till she fell asleep.

However, Miss Irma and I sat together in the jutting window, where, as the night darkened and the curtains of the clouds drew down to meet the sombre tree-tops, a kind of black despair came over me. Would "King George" really do any good? Would I prove myself stout and brave when the moment came? Would the beacon we had prepared really burn, and, supposing it did, would any one see it, drowned in woods as we were, and far from all folk, except the peaceable villagers of Eden Valley?

But I had the grace to keep such thoughts to myself, and if they visited Miss Irma, she did the like. The crying of the owls made the place of a strange eeriness, especially sometimes when a bat or other night creature would come and cling a moment under the leaden pent of the window.

Such things as these, together with the strain of the waiting on the unknown, drew us insensibly together--I do not mean Agnes Anne--but just the two of us who were shut off apart in the window-seat. No, whatever her faults and shortcomings (too many of them recorded in this book), Agnes Anne acted the part of a good sister to me that night, and her peaceful breathing seemed to wall us off from the world.

"Duncan?" queried Miss Irma, repeating my name softly as to herself; "you are called Duncan, are you not?"

I nodded. "And you?" I asked, though of course I knew well enough.

"Irma Sobieski," she answered. And then, perhaps because everything inside and out was so still and lonely, she s.h.i.+vered a little, and, without any reason at all, we moved nearer to each other on the window-seat--ever so little, but still nearer.

"You may call me Irma, if you like!" she said, very low, after a long pause.

Just then something brushed the window, going by with a soft _woof_ of feathers.

"An owl! A big white one--I saw him!" I said. For indeed the bird had seemed as large as a goose, and appeared alarming enough to people so strung as we were, with ears and eyes grown almost intolerably acute in the effort of watching.

"Are you not frightened?" she demanded.