Part 30 (2/2)
But she struggled fiercely, although the weaker, while he forced her step by step towards the door.
”Little fool!” he hoa.r.s.ely said. ”Would you have us both killed?”
”Yes, yes, coward,” she cried. ”Loose me, or I'll call for help!
Edward! Ned! help me!” she cried loudly; and as he lay just beneath the chamber window, he half raised himself, but only to sink back again with exhaustion.
”You'll have the ruffians upon us, Kate,” hissed Bray; and mad with rage, he tried to lift her from the ground, when she again called out, ”Ned! Ned! help me! O, help!”
Startled by this sudden outburst, Bray relaxed his hold sufficiently for Katie to tear herself away, and throw herself upon Murray's prostrate body, to which she clung.
But Bray was at her side in an instant, trying again to drag her away, but in vain; when, seizing his rival by the throat, he fiercely whispered in the poor girl's ear, ”Come on, or it will be his death!”
”You have killed him now, coward!” cried the girl, vainly tearing at the hand so ruthlessly grasping her lover; when again seizing the opportunity Bray lifted her once more from the floor, and bore her towards the door, but only for there to be a repet.i.tion of the fierce struggle; the light, active girl writhing herself free again, calling upon Ned for the help he was powerless to give, he, poor fellow, responding with a groan, as in the shadowy place he could mistily make out what was going on.
Tearing herself away, Katie was again by the side of Murray, when the cas.e.m.e.nt above her head was suddenly thrown open, a couple of streams of flame flashed across the place, and, with a loud cry, Bray sprang through the door at the other end. The moonbeams shone in for an instant, showing the wreaths of smoke curling slowly upward, and all was once more darkness, while Katie knelt, hardly daring to breathe; her hand, too, pressed upon Murray's lips, lest he should moan, and so betray their whereabouts.
But the next moment her breath was drawn with a sob, for the window swung-to again, and from the rapid beat of footsteps, it was evident that the men who fired had gone round in pursuit of Bray; but apparently in vain, for they soon returned, stopped before the outhouse door, and looked in; but coming from the outer brightness, they saw nothing but the wreathing smoke; and, closing the door violently, hurried on towards the front of the house, where loud talking, and more than once a weak cry for help, fell upon the ears of the poor girl.
Murray had attempted to speak, and then seemed to become inanimate. In her grief, Katie clung to him, calling upon him, in whispers, to speak to her, if but a word, for she felt that he must be dying; and then, forgetful of all but her love, she clasped him fondly, bathing his face with her tears, and kissing him again and again. Then suddenly she started up with affright, for, just above her head, she heard the grating of the cas.e.m.e.nt, as it slowly opened. Then there was a dread pause, broken by the loud talking and quarrelling of the convicts, but a few yards away.
Involuntarily she turned her face towards the open window, trying to pierce the darkness--for the moon had sunk behind the shoulder of the mountain, and in the last few minutes all had become black as night.
But she could see nothing, only hear the sound of hard breathing, as some one leaned out into the place where she crouched, cold and paralysed, but with her mind in a state of fearful activity.
But was it fancy? Had her over-wrought imagination conjured up this new terror? No; it was no fancy, for the window was thrust farther back, and the dread seemed greater than she could bear, as just above her she could feel, as it were, that there was a face stretched out towards her.
STORY THREE, CHAPTER EIGHT.
TRIED BY FIRE.
It might have been but for a few seconds, but the suspense was agonising. Katie felt no fear for herself then: her fear was lest he should be discovered who had been ready to die in her defence--who had been so cruelly smitten down--he to whom, but a few hours before, she had plighted herself, owning to her love, and, for the first time, daring to respond to his kisses. But was it a few hours ago? Was it not years since, or at some time far back in the past, that those happy moments were? Or was this some wild dream--that he, the young, the bright, the true, who had treasured her love for years, and come these thousands of miles to see her--to claim her--was dying in her arms?
The stillness around them was awful; the darkness more and more intense.
Cold as marble, gazing upwards ever at this invisible terror that she knew was there, would it not be better almost to cry out, she thought, and bring down others, so as to end the harrowing suspense that seemed to madden her?
But poor Ned--poor, helpless Ned! If he were not already dead--if he had not even now escaped from the arms that held him so tightly, they would slay him without mercy. No; she must remain silent. Would he move, or even mutter? Her heart gave a bound, for at that moment there was a slight motion in the form she clasped, and this made her turn her head from its strained, unnatural position, so that her cheek fell gently upon Murray's, and then she clung to him cold and motionless, but with strained ears, as she felt that the time for discovery had come.
The cas.e.m.e.nt shook a little; there was a rustling noise, as of some one slowly climbing out; a heavy foot was placed upon her soft, yielding arm, then another, and the pain was sharp, but almost welcome, for it seemed to numb her mental agony. Yet no sigh escaped her lips; she only felt that the time to die had come, and a simple old prayer was being mentally repeated for pardon for those who, if not already cruelly slain, were in deadly peril--for herself and for him she so dearly loved.
Then the pressure was removed, there was a staggering step, such as might be that of a wounded man. With closed eyes, and a heavily throbbing heart, she heard a hand run along the wall, the wooden click, the door open and softly close, and then all was silent in the shed.
Silence there, but noise and confusion in the house: shouting, and more than one attempt apparently to obtain order, but all heard in a confused way, for a strange, deathly feeling of sickness had come upon the poor girl, her senses were reeling, there was a loud singing noise at her ears, and, though her name seemed to be uttered again and again, yet she could not respond, and soon all was blank.
How long that time of utter nothingness lasted, she could not tell; but she woke again to a strange feeling of oppression and misery; her breath came thick and short, and she could not recall where she was. It was as if her intellect had received some fearful stroke which had robbed her of her reflective powers. But thought came suddenly, and she knew all.
A bitter sob rose to her lips, and she could have cried for help, but in dread she checked that cry, and her heart beat triumphantly, for a voice, whose breath touched her cheek, whispered her name, and she knew that he lived.
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