Part 51 (2/2)
”Oh no, no, you must not say so. After what you are doing for me you will be able to make it better than ever it has been. This is what I thought. If you would bring me in some place whence I could reach Sir Edmund Nutley's house at Parkhurst, his servants would help me to do the rest, even if he be not there himself. I would never betray you! You know I would not! And you would have full time to get away to your place in Normandy with your friends.”
”You care?” asked he.
”Of course I do!” exclaimed she. ”Do I not feel grateful to you, and like and honour you better than ever I could have thought?”
”You do?” in a strange choked tone.
”Of course I do. You are doing a n.o.ble, thankworthy thing. It is not only that I thank you for _his_ sake, but it is a grand and beautiful deed in itself; and if my dear mother know, she is blessing you for it.”
”I shall remember those words,” he said, ”if--” and he pa.s.sed his hand over his eyes. ”See here,” he presently said; ”I have written out a confession of my ident.i.ty, and explanation that it was I who drew first on Archfield. It is enough to save him, and in case my handwriting has altered, as I think it has, and there should be further doubt, I shall be found at Pilpignon, if I get away. You had better keep it in case of accidents, or if you carry out your generous plan. Say whatever you please about me, but there is no need to mention Barclay or Burford; and it would not be fair to the honest free-traders here to explain where their Chine lies. I should have brought you up blindfold, if I could have done so with safety, not that _I_ do not trust you, but I should be better able to satisfy those fellows if I ever see them again, by telling them I have sworn you to secrecy.”
Then he laughed. ”The gowks! I won all those Indian bonds of them last night, but left them in a parcel addressed to them as a legacy.”
Anne took the required pledge, and ventured to ask, ”Shall I say anything for you to your father?”
”My poor old father! Let him know that I neither would nor could disturb Robert in his inheritance, attainted traitor as the laws esteem me. For the rest, mayhap I shall write to him if the good angel you talk of will help me.”
”Oh do! I am sure he would rejoice to forgive. He is much softened.”
”Now, we must hush, and go warily. I see sheep, and if there is a shepherd, I want him not to see us, or point our way. It is well these Isle of Wight folk are not early risers.”
CHAPTER x.x.xIV: LIFE FOR LIFE
”Follow Light, and do the Right--for man can half-control his doom-- Till you find the deathless Angel seated in the vacant tomb.
Forward, let the stormy moment fly and mingle with the Past.
I that loathed, have come to love him. Love will conquer at the last.”
TENNYSON.
On they had gone in silence for the most part, avoiding villages, but as the morning advanced and they came into more inhabited places, they were not able entirely to avoid meeting labourers going out to work, who stared at Hans's black face with curiosity. The sun was already high when they reached a cross-road whence the ma.s.sive towers of Carisbrooke were seen above the hedges, and another turn led to Parkhurst. They paused a moment, and Anne was beginning to entreat her escort to leave her to proceed alone, when the sound of horses' feet galloping was heard behind them.
Peregrine looked back.
”Ah!” he said. ”Ride on as fast as you can towards the castle. You will be all right. I will keep them back. Go, I say.”
And as some figures were seen at the end of the road, he p.r.i.c.ked the pony with the point of his sword so effectually that it bolted forward, quite beyond Anne's power of checking it, and in a second or two its speed was quickened by shouts and shots behind. Anne felt, but scarcely understood at the moment, a sharp pang and thrill in her left arm, as the steed whirled her round the corner of the lane and full into the midst of a party of gentlemen on horseback coming down from the castle.
”Help! help!” she cried. ”Down there.”
Attacks by highwaymen were not uncommon experiences, though scarcely at eight o'clock in the morning, or so near a garrison, but the hors.e.m.e.n, having already heard the shots, galloped forward. Perhaps Anne could hardly have turned her pony, but it chose to follow the lead of its fellows, and in a few seconds they were in the midst of a scene of utter confusion. Peregrine was grappling with Burford trying to drag him from his horse. Both fell together, and as the auxiliaries came in sight there was another shot and two more men rode off headlong.
”Follow them!” said a commanding voice. ”What have we here?”
The two struggling figures both lay still for a moment or two, but as some of the riders drew them apart Peregrine sat up, though blood was streaming down his breast and arm. ”Sir,” he said, ”I am Peregrine Oakshott, on whose account young Archfield lies under sentence of death. If a magistrate will take my affidavit while I can make it, he will be safe.”
Then Anne heard a voice exclaiming: ”Oakshott! Nay--why, this is Mistress Woodford! How came she here?” and she knew Sir Edmund Nutley. Still it was Peregrine who answered--
<script>