Part 36 (1/2)

When Elmscott and the surgeon arrived some half an hour later, they found me eating my breakfast in the kitchen.

”Where is he?” they asked.

”Who?” said I.

I remember vaguely that the surgeon looked at me with a certain anxiety, and made a remark to Elmscott. Then they went out of the room again. How long it was before they returned I have no notion. Elmscott brought in my coat, hat, and sword, and I got up to put them on; but the doctor checked him, and setting me again in my chair, bound up my arm, not without some resistance from me, for I saw that his hands were dabbled with Marston's blood.

”Now,” said he to Elmscott, ”if you will help, we will get him upstairs to bed.”

”No!” said I, suddenly recollecting all that had occurred. ”I made Marston a promise. I must keep it! I must ride to town and keep it!”

”It will be the best way, if he can,” said Elmscott. ”He will be taken here for a surety. I have sent a messenger to Bristol with the news.”

The surgeon eased my arm into the sleeve of my coat, and made a sling about my shoulders with my cravat. Elmscott buckled on my sword and led me to the stables, leaving me outside while he went in and saddled a horse.

”This is Cliffe's horse,” said he; ”yours is too tired. I will explain to him.”

He held the horse while I climbed into the saddle.

”Now, Morrice,” he said, ”you have no time to lose. You have got the start of the law; keep it. Marston's family is of some power and weight. As soon as his death is known, there will be a hue and cry after you; so fly the country. I would say leave the promise unfulfilled, but that it were waste of breath. Fly the country as soon as you may, unless you have a mind for twelve months in Newgate gaol.

I will follow you to town with all speed, but for your own sake 'twere best I find you gone.”

He moved aside, and I galloped off towards Newberry. The misery of that ride I could not, if I would, describe. The pain of my wound, the utter weariness and dejection which came upon me as a reaction from the excitement of the last days, and the knowledge that I could no longer s.h.i.+rk my confession, so combined to weaken and distress me, that I had much ado to keep my seat in the saddle. 'Twas late in the evening when I rode up to Ilga's lodging. The door, by some chance, stood open, and without bethinking me to summon the servants, I walked straight up the staircase to the parlour, dragging myself from one step to the other by the help of the bal.u.s.trade. The parlour door was shut, and I could not lay my fingers on the handle, but scratched blindly up and down the panels in an effort to find it. At last some one opened the door from within, and I staggered into the room. Mdlle.

Durette--for it was she--set up a little scream, and then in the embrasure of the window I saw the Countess rise slowly to her feet.

The last light of the day fell grey and wan across her face and hair.

I saw her as through a mist, and she seemed to me more than ordinarily tall. I stumbled across the room, my limbs growing heavier every moment.

”Countess,” I began, ”I have a promise to fulfil. Lady Tracy----”

There I stopped. The room commenced to swim round me. ”Lady Tracy----”

I repeated.

The Countess stood motionless as a statue, dumb as a statue. Yet in a strange way she appeared suddenly to come near and increase in stature--suddenly to dwindle and diminish.

”Ilga,” I cried, stretching out my hands to her. She made no movement.

I felt my legs bend beneath me, as if the bones of them were dissolved to water, and I sank heavily upon my knees. ”Ilga,” I cried again, but very faintly. She stirred not so much as a muscle to help me, and I fell forward swooning, with my head upon her feet.

CHAPTER XVI.

CONCERNING AN INVITATION AND A LOCKED DOOR.

When consciousness returned to me, and I became sensible of where I lay, I perceived that Elmscott was in the room. He stood in the centre, slapping his boot continually with his riding-crop, and betraying every expression of impatience upon his face. But I gave little heed to him, for beside me knelt Ilga, a bottle of hartshorn salts in her hand. I was resting upon a couch, which stood before the spinet; the lamps were lighted, and the curtains drawn across the window, so that my swoon must have lasted some while.

As I let my eyes rest upon the Countess, she slipped an arm under my head and raised it, taking at the same time a cup of cordial, which Clemence Durette held ready. 'Twas of a very potent description, and filled me with a great sense of comfort. Ilga moved her arm as though to withdraw it. ”No,” I murmured to her, and she smiled and let it remain.