Part 45 (1/2)
He broke out into a volley of fearful maledictions upon her, himself, and the ”beast” who had given him the job, tearing up the telegram into inch pieces and tossing them insolently into Margaret's lap.
It was evident that he considered her blind and deaf, as well as paralyzed, else he never would have exposed his princ.i.p.al as he did in these violent imprecations.
So the train glided on upon its midnight journey, and the man turned his back to his intended victim. But she was adoring G.o.d in her heart of hearts for her dear life's preservation.
Her cold stoicism melted, the bitter fort.i.tude with which she had looked for death fled. How _could_ she have cast that reproachful thought at Heaven and believed herself forsaken?
Her heart swelled with grat.i.tude and remorse now that she saw her mistake; and, although she could not move an eye-lash, her emotion surged higher and higher until it burst through the barriers of the spell which bound her, and great tears gushed from her eyes.
At the first station they came to, the man rose to leave the car. He glanced sharply at Margaret's wet face, and jerked down the window that she might have some air, then, with an oath, stumbled over Purcell's feet and got out.
Then the long night crept by, and gradually the lady and her servant recovered, and spoke to each other.
”Purcell, do you know me?”
She was chafing the old man's temples, and applying her smelling-salts to his nose.
”Eh? ha? My conscience! Is that you, miss?” mumbled the steward, with a thick tongue and a vacant look at her.
”Are you better?”
”Humph! not much. Tus.h.!.+ What's in my mouth? Fever?”
”No, no, Purcell. You've been asleep--that's all.”
”I've been dead, I think--dead for years and years. I think I was in another world. Dear bless me! My legs are as heavy as lead. I say, Miss Margaret, what took me--a fit?” whispered the steward, in a fright.
”No. You were put to sleep with chloroform by that man who sat opposite.
He stupefied you with poisoned snuff, and then used chloroform. You need not feel alarmed, though--you have recovered.”
”Faith, miss, you look but poorly yourself,” said Purcell, struck by her extreme pallor. ”Was--was he a thief, miss, and did he rob us?”
”He was a murderer, Purcell, and intended to kill me,” said Margaret, with tears in her eyes. ”But G.o.d would not permit him to succeed.”
She related the circ.u.mstances to the old man, who rose from terror into fury when he realized how completely he had been taken in through his favorite refreshment, snuff, and laid out like a corpse beside his helpless young mistress.
She soothed his wounded feelings, and directed him to use caution during the rest of his fateful journey.
At daybreak they came to Cirencester, and rested there for some hours, and at nine o'clock took a coach for Llandaff.
They had not traveled a dozen miles, when a horseman galloped past the great, lumbering coach, flas.h.i.+ng a keen glance in at Margaret Walsingham, and then disappeared upon the winding road ahead.
She gasped and grew white.
He wore a horseman's cloak and a slouched hat. But she was not deceived in the brutal gleam of those steel-blue eyes. He was the ruffian who was hired to kill her.
Almost fainting, she communicated her fears to her servant, who grew very purple, and swore to be even with the varlet before long, and stopped the coach to tell the driver that the chap who had just pa.s.sed was a villain, who ought to be arrested for attempted murder in a railway car; and the driver grew hot and excited, and leagued with three gentlemen on the outside to knock the fellow down and secure him the first minute they set eyes on him.
So Margaret and her attendant continued their journey with some sense of security; and, having the inside of the coach to themselves, could encourage each other to meet future dangers, when anything cheerful occurred to them to say.
But all through that afternoon they traveled safely, unmolested by even a glimpse of Mortlake's accomplice; and at noon they rattled into Llandaff, and stopped before Caerlyon's Hotel.