I carefully crept along the ivy-grown walls, eagerly looking for a means of ascent, for I knew that if I were to see the maid I must act quickly. Even now it was past the hour I had promised to meet her. The night was very bright, but I could see nothing to aid me, and I began to upbraid myself as a childish fool for promising what I could not fulfil, when I spied an iron pipe fastened to the wall. The battlements were perhaps twelve feet above me, and this pipe was by no means easy to reach. I would get hold of the thing, and by means thereof would climb to the roof.
No sooner had the plan entered my mind than I prepared to execute it.
As I have said, the task I had set myself was not an easy one. First of all, I should have to leap several feet to a ledge, which was by no means wide, and then I should have to grasp the pipe, as well as some ivy which had climbed up by its side. If I failed to reach the ledge I should fall, I knew not how far; or if the pipe yielded to my weight, the same thing would happen. But I did not hesitate. My blood was hot, and the spirit of adventure overmastered me. Besides—and I must confess it if I will tell my story truly—in spite of my hatred of women, I felt a great desire to see the maid I had promised to take to Treviscoe. I recked not of consequences—nay, I had a sort of pleasure in dangerous deeds.
So I made the leap without hesitation, although a curious feeling possessed me as I thought of the yawning darkness underneath me. I reached the ledge in safety, and the thing I grasped held firm. Then, without waiting a second, I started to climb. It was weary work, for the ivy yielded, and the crevices wherein I could stick my feet were few. But I had often attempted this kind of thing as a boy, and before long I placed my arm round one of the huge merlons which the ancient Killigrews had caused to be placed there; and in a few seconds I lifted myself up so that my head was raised some distance above the stonework. I had scarcely done this when I heard a slight scream, which came so suddenly that I was in danger of relaxing my hold. Instinctively divining what this meant, however, I made a low sound suggesting silence, and before long stood on the roof.
It had been a hard climb, and I panted freely, looking round meanwhile for the one who had screamed. At first I could see nothing but chimneys; but presently I saw two dark forms hiding by a portion of the roof which stood somewhat higher than the rest. I walked slowly towards them.
Even now I am conscious of a strange feeling at heart as I remember that night. For there in the bright moonlight appeared a spectacle which was almost awesome. The sight of the sea and the rock-bound coast burst suddenly upon me. Below, hundreds of feet down, the waves cast themselves on the beach, which was studded with huge masses of rock. The sea shone in the light of the moon, and behind the crest of every wave was a great streak of silver lustre, fair to behold. Far out, I could see the waves a-dancing, while here and there the lights of distant vessels shone. Away to the right, Tintagell, perchance the mightiest coast-rock in England, lifted its hoary head, while to the left the bare, rugged cliffs, in spite of the soft moonbeams, looked chill and drear.
And I was there—behind the battlements of the home of the Killigrews—alone save for the presence of two helpless women. All this came to me quickly—I seemed to realize it in a moment; and then I shook the feeling from me, for I remembered I had work to do.
"'Tis he," I heard a voice say, which I recognized as that of Amelia Lanteglos. And then I saw the other maid, whose face was partly hidden, turn towards me.
"Be not afraid," I said as gently as I could; for though I would have little to do with them, I loved not to frighten women.
"What would you, sir?" said a voice, low and sweet. "Amelia, my serving-maid, hath persuaded me to come here to-night. It is against my better judgment I have come, but——" then she stopped as though she knew not how to finish what she had begun to say.
I cannot deny it, I felt something like pity for the maid. Her voice was sad and plaintive. It suggested weariness, loneliness—and no man is unmoved by such things. I felt ashamed, too. I had promised to take her to Treviscoe, to be the wife of Peter Trevisa; for I had little doubt but that if those two men once got her there, they would try to frame arguments strong enough to make her yield to their wishes. But this was only for a moment. I reflected that women were as little to be trusted as April weather, and would veer around like a weathercock. I remembered my own love affair, and called to mind the words the girl Boscawen had said to me only a few days before she threw me over for Prideaux.
"I would speak to you alone for a few minutes," I said, wiping the sweat from my forehead.
"Your hand is bleeding," she said kindly; "and—and how did you get here?"
"I climbed from the old castle wall."
"But it is impossible—it could not be! No one could do it!" This she said in low, broken whispers, but like one frightened.
"But I am here," I replied grimly; "and there was no other way of getting here from my chamber. One has to risk something if you are to be saved from the Killigrews."
"What do you know of the Killigrews?" she asked eagerly.
She followed me a few steps out of ear-shot of the serving-maid, still keeping her face hidden.
"I know that you are to be the wife of Otho Killigrew, unless desperate measures are taken," I replied. "I know, too, that Benet Killigrew professes to love you."
"How do you know?"
"You are Mistress Nancy Molesworth, are you not?"
"Yes, and you are Master Roger Penryn, so my maid tells me. But I do not know you."
She let the shawl with which she had wrapped her head fall, and for the first time I saw her face. She was but little more than twenty years of age, and in the moonlight looked younger. As far as I could judge, her hair was of chestnut hue, and it flashed brightly even in the night light. Her face appeared very pale, and her eyes shone as though she were much excited; but she was a very beautiful maid. She was not of the timid, shrinking kind which some men love, but stood up before me bravely, for the which even then I was glad. Nor was she little, and weak; rather she was taller than most women, and shaped with much beauty.
"It matters but little whether you know me or not, if you will trust me," I said. "Believe me, I have come to take you away from this den of cutthroats to a place of safety."
"Where?"
"Where would you go?" I asked.
My head was bare, and my face was plainly to be seen, so bright was the night. I felt her eyes fastened upon me, and it seemed to me as though she were reading my innermost thoughts. But I was not to be baulked by a girl, so I tried to appear unconcerned as she gazed.
"You met John Polperro at the Arundells," I continued. "He has offered his hand to you in marriage, but your guardian refused. Last night he came here and repeated that offer, but it was declined. He is a fine fellow, Polperro, and spoke boldly."
"I know," said she—speaking, as I thought, more to herself than to me.
"After your guardian had refused his request that you might become his wife," I went on, "he offered you a home in his father's house. He spoke hotly, indiscreetly, but still as an honest man; that offer was also refused. Perchance you have been informed of this?"
She did not speak, nor did she make any sign whatever.
"It is impossible for Polperro to help you now. If he again appears in the neighbourhood, he will receive steel for a welcome. But I admire him. I am always proud to call such as he my friend; so if I can take you to his father's house, I shall be doing a good deed, and rendering a service to one he loves."
This I said in a stammering kind of way, for somehow the girl's eyes made me feel uncomfortable. I wished she would not look at me so steadfastly.
"Know you Master John Polperro?" she asked presently.
"Else why should I be here?" I responded, wishing I had adopted some other plan of action. I hated this underhanded method of work, and the maid's eyes looked truthful. I should have felt far more at ease could I have taken her away by force than have subjected myself to this kind of work. Still, circumstances had made force of such kind impossible. Had the maid been allowed her liberty, I might have accomplished my purpose differently; but being a safely guarded prisoner, I had to gain her confidence.
"And you came here by his wish? You are trying to do what he found impossible?"
I bit my lip with vexation. Why should she ask such questions. Was I not planning to take her away from a place where she was unhappy?
"It was no easy thing to get from my bed-chamber here," I replied evasively. "A single slip, and I should either have been killed or crippled for life. Neither is it an easy thing to deal with these Killigrews. But for my promise to the man, I tell you I would not have attempted it."
"Your promise to whom?" she asked, and I cursed myself for being a fool. Why could I not have boldly told the necessary lies? I had intended to. Chance had given me the finest possible opportunity. I found no difficulty in trying to deceive old Colman Killigrew. Why, then, should this chit of a maid make me stammer? What could be more easy than to tell her that I, being a stranger to the Killigrews, and a friend of John Polperro, had come here to take her to a place of honour and safety?
"To whom should my promise be given?" I said. "I spoke to your maid that she might tell you of my desire to meet you. I have risked my life to get here, and I have a difficult game to play with the Killigrews."
I was angry beyond measure with myself for telling of any danger I had encountered. Had I been acting a straightforward part, I should not have mentioned it; but now I had a feeling that such words were necessary.
"If you will consent to trust me," I went on clumsily, for I felt her eyes upon me as I spoke, "I will arrange plans whereby I can take you away. I could be ready by to-morrow night. It could be done without detection. A rope could be fastened around yon battlements—it is only a dozen feet or so to the old castle walls. From thence it is not difficult of descent. I could get horses in readiness, and in a few hours we could be out of danger."
"And if you were discovered?" she asked abruptly.
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to fight the Killigrews," I replied grimly.
I knew there was a gulf between us. She did not trust me. She doubted every word I was saying. I wished the light were not so good, so that she might not see my face so plainly. And yet I had her at advantage. She loved not the Killigrews—she hated the thought of wedding Otho. Probably I appeared as her only hope of escaping from them. I could see the girl Amelia Lanteglos watching us closely. Doubtless she was wondering as to the upshot of our conversation.
"Do you think I gain any advantage by coming here?" I went on like a fool. "I never saw you until this hour. I have no spite against the Killigrews, they never harmed me. It would not harm me if you were to marry Otho. Possibly he would make you as good a husband as—as another. But I—I gave a promise that I would set you free, if I could. However, if you prefer to fly to the open arms of Otho,—well——" I shrugged my shoulders, and tried to hum a tune as I looked across the shining sea.
I know I said this brutally; but the maid angered me—angered me by the truthfulness of her looks, and the way she made me bungle the thoughts I had in my mind.
She continued to look at me steadfastly. Perhaps she remembered that if she accepted my offer, and if I succeeded in effecting her escape, she would have to travel alone with a man of whom she knew nothing. Presently she seemed to have made up her mind.
"You seem to be a gentleman," she said; "you speak as if you——" she hesitated as though she could not put her thoughts into words.
I remained silent.
She made a sudden movement forward, and placed her hand on my arm. "I am alone, helpless," she said. "I am surrounded by those I cannot trust. I hate—loathe the thought of——" again she stopped suddenly; then, looking straight into my face, she said: "Are you what you seem to be?"
It came upon me like a clap of thunder, and, like a schoolboy discovered in theft, I hung my head.
"Is your name Roger Penryn?" she asked.
"No!"
"Do you know John Polperro?"
"No!"
The words came from me like shots from a musket. I could not tell a lie with the girl's cruel, truthful eyes upon me. They choked the falsehood in my throat, and I felt myself to be the sport of this maid who knew nothing of the world. I was glad I had told the truth, and yet I reproached myself for being beaten at the first definite move in the game I was playing. Probably the whole thing had been rendered impossible by my madness. Trevanion was gone from me forever; but, worse than that, I should have to confess to Peter Trevisa that I had failed to do the thing I had promised—that I had bungled most miserably.
I turned to go away. I would speak no more with her. She had been too much for me—she, a simple maid scarcely out of her teens. I had scarcely taken a step, however, before she stopped me.
"Then you are another tool of the Killigrews," she said. "There are not enough of them, and they must needs hire you. Not being able to work their will with me, even although I am a prisoner, they must needs use some other base means to accomplish their purpose." This she said passionately, yet with fine scorn.
"There you are wrong, Mistress Nancy Molesworth," I said warmly, for she had wounded me sorely. "I am not the tool of these people. Nay, my life is in danger while I stay here. But enough of that. You refuse to accept my help?"
"How can I accept the help of a man who comes with a lie on his lips?" she cried;—"who comes professing a false name, and who pretends to be the friend of a man to whom he never spoke. How can I trust a man whose every action and every word is a lie?"
"Had I been a liar," I said, "I could have deceived you easily; but enough. There is no need that I should weary you with my presence. Some time perhaps——"
"If your name is not Roger Penryn, what is it?" she said; "and why have you tried to raise my hopes only to deceive me?"
I opened my mouth to tell her my name, but I could not utter the word. I could not tell her I was a Trevanion, nor relate to her my purpose in coming hither.
"It is not well I should speak to you further," I said. "But I have wrought you no harm. Neither would I if you had trusted in me. Nay, as God is my witness,"—and this I cried out passionately, for somehow the maid dragged the words from me,—"I would have let no harm have happened to you!"
With this I walked to the spot where I had ascended, and prepared to descend.
"Stop!" she whispered. "It will be far more difficult to go down than it was to come up."
"What of that?" I replied grimly.
"Because,"—and a blush mantled her cheek,—"there is another road down. Look, yonder is the stairway."
"There is a sentinel."
"He is a lover of my maid," she replied. "She would lead him away a few steps out of sight while you got to your own chamber."
"But I should have to pass through your apartments."
"Amelia shall show you the way. I will remain here."
"No," I replied, for I was angry with her. "I will not be beholden to you in any way."
For the first time she looked at me kindly, but I took no heed. I placed my arm around the merlon, and then, grasping the gutter, lowered myself. I had often accomplished such feats, and this fact helped me now. In a few minutes I had reached the ledge, and a little later stood on the old castle walls again. Arrived there, I stopped and listened; but no sound reached me. I looked up, and saw that the maid Nancy Molesworth had followed my descent—saw that she was watching me now. There was an expression of wonder, of bewilderment, on her face. Doubtless she was seeking to divine who I was, and why I should come to her. I was sure she wanted a friend, too. But I knew not what to say—I had forfeited my right to help her. I suppose I was foolish at the moment, however. Most men are at times.
"Good-night, Mistress Nancy Molesworth," I said. "Remember that I am your friend. Perhaps some day I may be able to show it." Then I squeezed myself into my bed-chamber, feeling ill pleased with myself.
I pulled off my clothes, and got to bed; but I could not sleep. Two conflicting forces were at war within me. One moment I reproached myself as a fool for not being able to deceive a slip of a maid without stammering. The next I found myself pitying her, and calling myself a traitor to my name for not seeking to rescue her from the Killigrews. Sometimes I cursed myself for being as easily moved as a boy of twenty-one, not able to withstand the simple questions of a convent-school girl; and again I reproached myself for yielding to Peter Trevisa's wishes, and undertaking a work unfit for a man of honour.
Presently a more serious matter presented itself to me. Should I abandon Peter Trevisa's commission? The maid had practically rejected my offer. Should I go back to Treviscoe and tell him that I had failed? Should I forever carry around with me the memory of the fact that I had made a promise to do a thing, and then at the first difficulty I had given it up like a puling girl? I had taken his money, I had given my word that I would do his work;—could I give it up? Even although Trevanion did not lie at the end of the business, it were unfair and cowardly to fail in my undertaking thus. Well, supposing I decided to make a second attempt; suppose I decided to devise new means to take the maid away—there were many obstacles in my road. Old Colman Killigrew expected me to depart the next day. I had promised to take his messages to some Catholic families in the south of the country, and I should have no excuse for staying at Endellion. Once outside the house, my power to do anything would be gone.
"Let it be so," I said to myself angrily. "I will leave the whole business in the lurch. Let old Peter do his work as best he may, and let the maid Nancy Molesworth fight her own battles with these Killigrews. To-morrow I will start for London, and there I will seek for work more congenial to me. If this Charles comes to England, King George will need good swords." But even as these thoughts passed through my mind, I was not satisfied with them. I felt I should be playing a coward's part, and was seeking some other way whereby to better satisfy myself, when I heard a low knocking at the door. I did not speak, and the rapping became louder.
"Who is there?" I asked, like one awaked out of sleep.
"Otho Killigrew," said a voice.
"He hath discovered where I have been," was my first thought. "He hath been told that I have conversed with the maid Nancy Molesworth." And I began to think how I should answer him.
I got out of bed, however; and after hastily pulling on my small-clothes, I went to the door.
"What want you?" I asked sleepily. "Surely this is a queer time of night to wake one out of sleep."
"Let me in, and I will tell you," he replied.
"It will be useless to resist," I thought, "for Otho is master here, and I shall only arouse useless suspicion by refusing." Besides, I was curious to know why he was desirous of seeing me; so without more ado I opened the door. No sooner had I done so, however, than in walked not only Otho, but Benet.
For a time Otho looked at me awkwardly, like one not knowing what to say. But Benet closed the door, and stood with his back against it, holding a candle in his hand.
"Hath Charles landed?" I asked, watching them closely.
"No," replied Otho.
"But something of importance hath taken place," I said; "else why this midnight visit?"
"Yes, important events have happened." He spoke curtly, like one angry.
"And it hath to do with me, I suppose?"
"Yes."
"What then?"
He looked at me keenly for a minute. Then he answered me slowly, according to his usual manner of speech.
"Charles hath not landed," he said. "All the same, important events have happened with which you have to do."
"And they?" I asked, noticing the grin that overspread Benet Killigrew's face.
"Are two in number."
"Name them," I said eagerly.
"First, that your name is not Roger Penryn."
"Yes; what next?"
He seemed surprised that I should make so little ado at his discovery, and stared at me as though waiting for me to say some foolish thing. Whereas the truth was, that I was relieved that the truth was to come to light. I fretted like a horse frets when a saddle rubs him, every time I heard the name of Penryn.
"What next?" I repeated.
"That you are a sneak."
"Steady, steady, Otho Killigrew!" I said, for the word had not a pleasant sound. "But we will deal with these two charges. What are your proofs?"
"There are proofs enough," replied Otho—"proofs enough. One is, that I suspected you as you sat at my father's table last night."
"I thought you were of the ferret breed," I replied; "it is a pity your eyes are not pink."
He kept his temper well. "Believing you were not what you pretended to be, I sent a man to the place you said you came from," he went on. "He hath returned this very night."
"Well thought of," I laughed. "And you made discoveries?"
"My man discovered that there was no Roger Penryn."
I almost felt a pleasure in the business now. I had no qualms when talking with men. All the same, I knew that I was in dangerous hands. These Killigrews were no fools.
"It seems I must have created a new member of the family," I said pleasantly. "Well, go on."
"No, there is no Roger Penryn; but there is a Roger Trevanion."
"Ah!"
"Yes, a fellow with a bad reputation."
"Nothing like your own, I hope?" I said sneeringly, for I was ill pleased at his discovery.
"A fellow who hath wasted his patrimony."
"He never betrayed women, I hope?" I responded.
"This fellow left his home on a chestnut horse, the servants not knowing whither he went. My man discovered, however, that he stayed at St. Columb and Wadebridge. From thence he came here."
"Ah, your man hath a good nose for scenting."
"Yes, he traced you here, Roger Trevanion."
"Well, Trevanion is a better name than Penryn—far better than Killigrew."
"It's a bad name for a sneak, a liar."
"Have a care, Otho Killigrew!" I said. "You've mentioned that word twice now."
"Yes, I have," he said slowly. "I may mention it again. What then?"
"Only that I shall make you swallow it."
At this Benet grinned again. "Good!" he said aloud. "I like that!"
"I shall say it again, and shall not swallow it."
"You are two to one," I replied, "and you have your lackey outside; but if I hear it again, there will be a new version of the story about the first-born slain."
He looked at his brother, and then spoke with less assurance.
"I will prove it," he said slowly.
"That is a different matter," I replied. "Go on."
"You have been on the roof of this house to-night."
I made no movement or sound indicating surprise. I had been expecting this.
"Well, what then? Am I a prisoner here?"
"Why were you there?"
"Only to have a talk with your prisoner," I replied. "I was curious to see the beauteous maid who hates you."
I hit him hard there, and he lost his temper.
"Look'ee, Roger Trevanion," speaking quickly and angrily for the first time, "what is the meaning of this masquerade? The Trevanions are Protestants. Why did you come here, pretending to be a Catholic? Why did you climb to the roof? You are a woman-hater."
"Only for a wager," I laughed.
"Mark this!" he cried,—"there are dungeons here as well as battlements."
"So I have heard. And it would be just like a Killigrew to throw a guest into one of them."
"Guest!" he answered with a sneer.
"Yes, guest," I replied.
"You have forfeited your right to that name."
"Prove it. Is it an uncommon thing for a man to travel under a name other than his own?"
"It is an uncommon thing for a guest to get out of his chamber window, and climb to the roof of the house."
"Not if a man is of a curious disposition," I laughed.
So far we had been fencing, and neither had gained much advantage. But I determined to bring matters to a close issue.
"Look you, Otho Killigrew," I said, "you have come to my bedchamber two hours past midnight. Why? You must have something in your mind other than the things you have spoken about."
"I have come to you in mercy."
I shrugged my shoulders.
"In mercy," he repeated. "It is true you have forfeited your right to be considered as a guest. Nevertheless I remember that Trevanion is a good name, and that I am a Killigrew."
I waited for him to continue.
"You had a purpose in coming here. What, I do not know. You have been a—that is, you are not what you pretended to be. You have tried to win my father's confidence, and discover his secrets."
"I did not seek to know your father's secrets."
"No, but you came as a Catholic. You came as one desirous of bringing a Catholic king on the throne. My father welcomes such as his own children. Otherwise you would not have been welcomed so warmly, nor would you have been asked to remain while Polperro sought to degrade us all. It is a weakness of my father to take to his heart all who belong to old Catholic families, and to trust them blindly——"
"I am waiting for your mercy," I said.
"You have done two things while in this house," said Otho: "you have pretended to side with my father in carrying out the great plan of his life, and as a consequence obtained secrets from him; and you have sought for, and obtained, an interview with my affianced wife. Either of these actions would justify us in dealing with you in a summary fashion. But we have decided on conditions to be merciful."
"Explain."
"I have discovered that you Trevanions never break a promise."
"That must be strange to such as you."
"If you will promise two things, we have decided to let you leave Endellion in no worse condition than you entered it."
"You are very merciful."
"Seeing that you have abused our hospitality, it is."
"Well, about your conditions?"
"Our conditions are very easily complied with. The first is, that you never breathe to any living soul anything which my father has divulged in relation to the cause he loves."
"That is the whole of the first?"
"It is. You see I am trusting you as a Trevanion. I know that if you make a promise you will keep it."
"And the second?"
"The second is different." And I saw that Otho Killigrew spoke not so easily. He lost that calm self-possession which characterized him when he spoke about the Catholic cause. The blood mounted to his cheek, and his hand trembled.
"Tell me why you climbed the roof of the house!" he cried. "Tell me what happened there!"
"I am waiting to hear the condition," was my answer.
"Are you interested in Mistress Nancy Molesworth? Was that one of your reasons for coming here?" he asked eagerly. "Is she anything to you? Did you ever see her?"
I saw that Otho Killigrew was scarcely master of himself as he spoke of the maid I had seen that night. I remarked also that Benet had an ugly look on his face as he listened.
"I am still waiting to hear the second condition," I said, trying as well as I could to see my way through the business, and decide what steps to take.
"It is this," cried Otho. "You promise not to interest yourself in any way with Mistress Molesworth; that you never speak of her within one month from this time; that you render no assistance in any way to those who seek to baulk me in my purposes."
The last sentence came out seemingly against his will. As luck would have it, too, I turned my eyes in the direction of Benet at this time, and noted the gleam in his eyes.
"If I mistake not," I said to myself, "Benet loveth not Otho, and it would take but little to make him lift his hand against his brother."
"Why this second condition?" I said, more for the purpose of gaining time than anything else. "What hath Mistress Nancy Molesworth to do with me?"
"How do you know her name is Nancy?" he asked savagely.
"I heard John Polperro name it. But what hath she to do with me?"
"I would not have given you this opportunity," he went on, without heeding my question. "As soon as I knew you had climbed to the roof where she walks, I determined that you should be kept in safety until such time as—as——but it does not matter; Benet would not have it so. He suggested that you should have a chance of escape."
I saw that Benet looked eagerly at me as though he would speak, but by an effort he restrained himself.
"The maid is not in a convent school now," I said jibingly. "She is not to be a nun, I suppose. And I have taken no vow that I will not speak to a maid."
"But you must not speak to her!" he cried, like one beside himself,—"not to her."
"Why, pray?"
"Because," he cried, evidently forgetting the relation in which I stood to him,—"because she is my betrothed wife! Because she belongs to me—only! Because no one but myself must lay hands on her!"
"If she be your betrothed wife, she should love you," I said. "And if she loves you, perfect trust should exist between you."
"But there be enemies! There be those who——" he hesitated, evidently realizing that he had said more than he had intended. "Will you promise?" he cried.
"And if I do not?" I asked.
"I told you there were dungeons here as well as battlements," he said. "If you will not give your sacred promise, you shall lie there until it is my pleasure to set you free!"
"Tell me this, Otho Killigrew," I said, after thinking a moment. "You say you are betrothed to this maid. Does she willingly become your wife?"
"That is naught to you!"
In truth it was not; and for a moment I was in sore straits what to promise. I had no interest in the maid. She had paid me but scant courtesy that night, and why should I care whom she wedded? Moreover, if I refused to promise I was sure that Otho would carry out his threat. Even were I friendly disposed towards her and John Polperro, I could do them no good by refusing to abide by Otho Killigrew's conditions. Then I remembered the look of loathing on the maid's face as she spoke of the Killigrews, and instinctively I felt that such a marriage would be worse than death to her. I am anything but a sentimental man, neither do I give way to foolish fancy; but at that moment I saw the maid pleading with me not to promise.
"No, I will not accept your last condition," I said. The words escaped me almost without the consent of my own will, for I felt I dared not sneak out of the house in such a way. After all, I was a Trevanion, and came of an honourable race. My fathers had fought many battles for women in the past. Perhaps some of their spirit came to me as I spoke.
"You will not!" he cried like one amazed.
"No!" I cried, "I will not. Look you, I have seen that maid this very night. If you were a man such as a woman could love, if the maid did not loathe you, I would not have given either of you a second thought. But even although it may not be possible for me to lift a finger on her behalf, I will not bind myself by a promise not to help her. Why, man,"—and my anger got the better of me,—"it were sending a maid to hell to make her the wife of such as you!"
I heard Benet Killigrew laugh. "Good!" he cried; "the fellow's a man!" But Otho was mad with rage. He gave an angry cry, and then leaped on me; but I threw him from me. I looked around for my sword; but before I could reach it, the two men I had seen acting as sentinels rushed into the room, and I was overpowered.
Still I made a fair fight. Twice did I throw the men from me, and I know that they carried bruises for many a day. But one unarmed man against three is weary work, and at length I was dragged from the room. One thing I could not help noticing, however: Benet took no part in the business. He simply held the candle and looked on, occasionally uttering cries of joy when I seemed to be getting the best of the battle.
When I was left alone in a room at the basement of the castle, I at first upbraided myself because of my foolishness. I had acted the part of a madman. And yet, on reconsidering the matter, I did not see what I could have done other than what I did. True, my prison walls might hinder me, but my promise did not. It might be possible to escape in spite of the bolts of a jailer—my people had done this often; but none had ever tried to escape from their promises. Then I thought of my promise to Peter Trevisa. Well, I knew not at the time I undertook his work what I knew when I lay imprisoned, or I would not have made it. Besides, I could pay the forfeit. The bargain was honourably made. If I failed to bring the maid to him within a certain time, I had lost Trevanion. My debt of honour would be paid.
On reflection, therefore, though I was ill pleased at being confined in that dark cell, I felt strangely light-hearted. I was no longer acting a lie. I should no longer skulk under the name of Penryn. I did not believe the Killigrews would murder me, neither would they starve me. I was not a weakling, and I could look for means of escape. If I could succeed in gaining my freedom, I vowed I would take away the maid Nancy Molesworth, if for no other reason than to spite the Killigrews.
Presently morning came, and I was able to see more plainly where I was, and what my prison was like. The place was really a cellar, and but little light found its way there. True, there was a window; but it was very narrow, revealing a small aperture, the sides of which were composed of strong masonry. Over the aperture was a heavy iron grating, which grating was on a level with the courtyard. The window, too, was securely guarded with heavy iron bars. The door was strongly made of oak, and iron studded. The sight of these things made my heart heavy; escape seemed impossible.
The hours dragged heavily on, and I grew weary of waiting. But presently I heard footsteps outside. The two knaves who had obeyed the bidding of Otho Killigrew entered, one bearing food and the other my clothes. Neither spoke, although the one I had known as Sam Daddo looked less surly than the other. I remembered that he was a lover of Mistress Nancy Molesworth's serving-maid, and tried to think how I could turn this fact to account. They did not stay, but presently returned, bringing a small, roughly made couch.
"Evidently," I thought, "it is intended that I shall be kept a prisoner for some time."
After this I was left alone. It is needless to say that I tried to make many plans of escape; but they all died at their birth, for each seemed more futile than the other. I tried the strength of the window bars, and found that they did not yield to pressure. I listened at the door in the hope of hearing sounds whereby I might be able to more exactly locate my prison. This also was in vain.
At mid-day another meal was brought to me, but no word was spoken.
Still I did not despair. True, I dared take no steps for escape through the day, for footsteps were constantly crossing the courtyard outside. But when night came I would try the window bars again. I noticed an iron clamp on the couch which had been brought. Possibly I could use that as an instrument whereby I could prise open the window.
My spirits, I remember, kept wonderfully high, for I could not fully realize that I was a prisoner. In truth, the whole matter seemed to me a sort of dream out of which I should presently awake. For on analyzing my thoughts, I saw no reason why I should be interested in Mistress Nancy Molesworth. Indeed, I laughed at myself as a foolish dreamer for refusing to promise not to render her any assistance should she wish to escape Otho Killigrew. Perhaps my bargain with old Peter Trevisa and his son had somewhat to do with it. The rest I put down to the foolish impulse of the moment. For why should the memory of her face make me grow angry with Otho? Were I a woman, I would rather be wedded to him than to young Peter Trevisa. Concerning Benet's behaviour, I could come to no definite conclusion, although I formed many conjectures. But I did not trouble, for presently I fancied I saw a weakness in my prison, and thought I saw a means of obtaining my freedom.
My evening meal was brought by a serving-man whom I had not hitherto seen, accompanied by Sam Daddo. Just as if I remained a guest, I spoke to Daddo in a friendly fashion, and asked after the health of his master. He spoke no word in reply, however, although I was sure I saw him wink at me in a meaning way. I was not slow to interpret this, especially when, a few seconds later, I saw it repeated. He remained silent, however, in spite of my frequent questions, so I gave up talking, continuing only to watch. This was not in vain, for as the strange serving-man was passing out of the door, Sam, in following him, put his right hand behind his back and revealed a piece of paper. This I snatched at eagerly, though noiselessly, wondering what it might mean.
Ere long I was able to examine it, for my gaolers locked the door, and I listened to their footsteps as they traversed a passage, and climbed some stone steps.
Lifting my couch, and placing it against the door so that I might not be surprised, I went to my window and unfolded the piece of paper I had taken from Sam Daddo's hand. Only a few words were written thereon, but enough to give me food for thought. This was what I read:
"I hope I have misjudged you. Forgive me if I have. I have heard of all that took place after you left me last night. I grieve much that you should be a prisoner because of me; but means may be offered for your escape. I need a friend sorely, for I am in dire danger, and I am a weak, ignorant girl. Once at Polperro, I should be safe. The one who gives you this may not help you, although he would not willingly harm me. Unless help comes I shall be wedded to O. in a week, and I welcome the thought of death more."
As I said, this missive gave me much food for thought. It was evidently written by Mistress Nancy Molesworth. Little consideration was needed, moreover, to assure me that she must be in sore straits or she would not have sought to enlist the sympathy of a prisoner. A few hours before she had spurned me as a liar. But I bore her no grudge for that—I had deserved it. It was apparent Sam Daddo had told his sweetheart what had passed between Otho Killigrew and myself. He had doubtless listened at the door, and heard all. This, perchance, had led the maid to write me. Yet she knew not what was in my mind, and must risk much in trusting me. She seemed to regard my escape as a possibility, and therefore built upon it. I must confess, too, that her helplessness appealed to me, and a feeling of joy surged in my heart at the thought of striking a blow for her liberty.
But what could I do? Concerning this, I thought long and carefully, but could fix my mind on no definite plan save to wrench the iron clamp from my couch, and apply it to what I thought a weak spot in my window. The result of this was doubtful, and could not be attempted until late at night when the family had gone to bed. I therefore waited several hours, and then, after listening carefully, I commenced my work.
A minute later I stopped suddenly, for I heard footsteps outside. Then the door opened, and Benet Killigrew entered.
On entering my prison, he closed the door and locked it. Then, putting the key in his pocket, he placed the candle he had brought on a shelf, and faced me.
"I like you, Roger Trevanion," he said. "You are a man after my own heart."
I shrugged my shoulders, showing no surprise at his presence, but wondering what was in his mind. "Why?" I asked.
"Because you are a man. It did my soul good to see you beard Otho, and struggle with those fellows. By my faith, I fair itched to help you!"
I could see he had something in his mind. If I kept my head cool, and my ears open, I might discover something of importance. I remembered, too, the look he had given his brother as he spoke of his feelings towards Mistress Nancy Molesworth, and drew my conclusions accordingly.
"But you struck no blow," I said.
"That would have been fool's work. I dared not go against my own brother before the servants. Indeed, ill as I would have liked it, had you proved too much for them, I should have lent them a helping hand."
I was silent, wondering what he was driving at.
"I had this meeting in my mind," he continued. "I determined to come and see you when Otho was safe asleep."
"You are afraid of Otho," I said, drawing a bow at a venture.
"Who would not be?" he cried savagely. "Otho is as cunning as the devil. He should have been a priest. He hath all the learning of the family, and can wriggle his way like an adder. Oh, I speak plainly now! I gloried to hear you give him word for word. Even I dare not do so."
I had been summing up the nature of the man as he spoke, and thought I saw whereby I could make him unloose his tongue more freely still.
"I can see he is master here," I said. "All you have to obey every movement of his finger. You seem like children in his hands, or like dogs who have to fetch and carry at his bidding."
"He hath won the confidence of my father," he cried harshly, "and so it is 'Otho this,' and 'Otho that.'"
"While Benet, who is twice as big a man, and twice as handsome, is nobody," I said. "It is Otho who will get Endellion, Otho who will marry Mistress Nancy Molesworth and get Restormel,"—and I laughed in a sneering kind of way.
"No,—by the mass, no, if you will help me!"
"I help you!"—this I said in a tone of surprise. All the same, I expected something of this sort.
"I could see you pitied the maid," he went on. "I could see that a man of inches like you thought it was a shame for a maid such as she to be wedded to such a shambling creature as he."
"She should have a man like you," I suggested.
"Ah, you see it!" he cried. "I thought so last night. I said, Here is a man who knows a man!"—and he drew himself up with a sort of mountebank bravado.
"But I am kept out of it," he continued. "She is not allowed to think of me. She is not allowed even to see me. I must not speak to her. It's all Otho, Otho. He must have Endellion, he must have Restormel, and he must have the maid, too."
"And he seems to love her."
"Love her! With the cunning love of a priest. But it is not the love of a man such as I. If she could see me, talk with me, all would be different!"
"You think she would love you?"
"Maidens have not been wont to say me nay," he said, strutting around as vainly as a peacock.
"But what hath all this to do with me?"
"Ah, yes!" he cried; "I had forgotten. Otho hath embittered my father against you. He hath warned all the servants against you. You are to be kept here until Otho is wedded to Nancy."
"And then?"
"I cannot say yet. But if Otho hath his will it will go ill with you. But I have brains and power as well as Otho. I marked you last night, and I know that you, too, love the sight of a man."
I could not help smiling at the fellow's vanity. But I said nothing.
"You refused Otho's conditions last night, and you are here because of it. Look you, I will get you out of this if you like."
"How?"
"Oh, Otho hath not everything his own way. I have friends as well as he. If you will help me, you shall be free. Is it to be a bargain?"
"How help you?"
"Otho hath ceased to suspect me. He thinks I have given up all thoughts of wedding Nancy, seeing that my father hath willed that he shall wed her."
I waited in silence.
"A priest is coming here from Padstow shortly," he went on. "It is intended that Otho and Nancy shall be wedded before he leaves. If you will help me, we will baulk him. I will take her away. I know a parson near Bodmin, and he will wed her to me."
"Whether the maid wills or no?"
"She will be glad enough to wed me, I'll lay to that,"—and again he strutted around the room.
"And how will you do this?" I asked.
"Nay, I will not tell you until I get your promise. Give me your word, Roger Trevanion, and I will tell you how you shall get out of this hole; also my plans for taking away the maid Nancy from the marriage altar."
In truth, I felt less inclined to give my promise to Benet than to Otho; but I had become more cautious.
"But why need you my help?" I asked.
"Because,"—he unlocked the door and listened carefully before replying; then, after locking it again, came back to me, and continued: "Because Otho hath bewitched almost everybody, and because I need such a man as you to carry out my plans."
"But at least you can tell me what you wish me to do?"
"I want you to help me to take her from here, and carry her to Bodmin. After that, I care not."
"But there will be danger," I said. "I must know something more about the matter before I give you my word."
"Nay, I will tell you no more!" he cried angrily.
"And if I refuse?"
He gave no answer, but looked black. Whereupon I bethought me of the usual plan of those who are undecided.
"I must have time to think," I said; "this request of yours hath come upon me suddenly. Come to me to-morrow night at this time and I will give you my answer."
"And in the mean time you are a gentleman?" he queried.
"I am a prisoner."
"But you will not speak to the serving-men about what hath been spoken in confidence?"
"There is surely no need to ask me such a question," I said.
He looked at me keenly.
"It is well, Roger Trevanion," he said. "I shall look on you as my ally and prepare accordingly. I can trust you, for you are a man, and love men. By the mass, they shall all know that Benet is more than a match for Otho! Good-night, Trevanion. I am ill pleased that you should have to spend another night in this hole, but it may not be helped. I will have my plans ready by to-morrow night,—and then——"
He strutted towards the door as he spoke, taking the key from his pocket meanwhile.
My heart gave a great leap, for a daring plan came into my mind. I had no time to consider its value, for it required instant action. I determined to put it to the test without delay.
"Wait a moment, Killigrew," I said. "There is just another matter before you go."
He turned around willingly. I could see he was in no haste to depart.
"You are sure our conversation hath not been heard?" I said, looking at him steadily.
"Do you think I am a fool?" he said vainly. "I went to the door to see that Otho had not ferreted us out. As for the guard, I told him to keep away until I came back."
My heart seemed to be in my mouth, for this fell in exactly with the plan that had been so suddenly born in my mind.
"It is well," I replied. Then I waited a second, measuring Benet with my eye. "You have told me that I am a man after your own heart," I continued presently. "You said you could trust me because I could fight. But it seems I must take you on trust. It is ill undertaking a difficult and dangerous piece of work with a man who may be able to do nothing but talk."
His eyes burnt red, a fierce expression flashed across his face.
"Do you say that to me—Benet Killigrew?" he said in tones of angry wonder.
"Yes, to you," I replied, still keeping my eyes steadily upon him. I saw the vexation pass away, and in its place came a look of wild joy.
"You want to know if I can fight—whether I have courage?" he cried eagerly.
"Ah!" I cried in the same tone.
"There is one way you can know," he continued. "Try now, will you?"
He had swallowed my bait without a doubt. He had not even guessed the thought in my mind. In his joy at the thought of battle he had snatched as eagerly at my suggestion as a hungry dog snatches at a bone.
"Yes, it will be well," I replied. "You want me to help you in a dangerous business. You may fail me at a dangerous pinch, for aught I know. You might show the white feather."
"Benet Killigrew fail to fight!" he cried in wonder. "Why, let me fetch swords, man. By the mass, I have been longing for months to find a man worthy of being called a man!"
"We cannot fight with swords," I said. "Even here we should arouse the house. The sound of steel reacheth far."
"With fists, then!" he cried.
"Let's try a hitch first; after that we can use fists!"
He grasped my hand with a cry of joy. "I said you were a man after my own heart," he said eagerly. "I love a fight beyond all things. I have been longing for one,—ay, longing! But there hath been no man who would dare stand before me. I am afraid it will go hard with you, for I can barely govern myself when my blood is up. But I will not hurt you too much, for I love you, Trevanion. I love any man who will dare fight with Benet Killigrew!"
So far I had got my way. In spite of his boasting, I did not wonder at his brother being able to manage him easily. In the business of scheming he would be but a child to Otho. And still I was doubtful. He was as big, if not a bigger, man than myself. Doubtless he knew every trick of a wrestler and a fighter. I took note of his great thews and sinews. He carried himself with ease, and his step was springy. Still, I did not see any other means of carrying out my purposes; for although I had determined to try and escape through the window, I had very little hopes of succeeding. I therefore took off my shoes, and threw them into the corner of the room; then I divested myself of my coat. Benet growled like a dog enjoying a bone as he followed my example.
"I wish we had wrestling shirts," he said with a laugh, and his eyes gleamed with fierce joy. "Had I known, I would have prepared for this."
I did not speak, but held out my hand for him to shake. He gripped me hard, and gave a grunt of satisfaction.
"A man's hand!" he said.
I placed my right hand across his shoulders, and caught him firmly; and when I had done this I felt more doubtful than ever as to the result. Benet Killigrew had not boasted of his strength in vain. The fellow was a giant. I felt his great chest heave. If ever a man felt the joy of battle, it was he. I am sure he forgot everything of his plans, and of our relations to each other, in the gladness of the moment. I knew, too, the moment he placed his hands upon me that he was a wrestler. He heeded not the fact that the floor on which we stood was of stone, barely covered with a thin layer of barley straw.
He felt my body carefully, but giving away no chance thereby. He seemed to gloat over the opportunity of testing his own muscles.
"A man's chest!" he grunted. "By heaven, I love you, Trevanion!"
Then I saw that he was trying for the "loin throw," and prepared myself for his advances. Thus it was when he thought to accomplish his purpose I was ready for him, and for a moment held him at advantage.
"Ah!" he cried, "better and better!"
But I knew that every power I possessed would have to be used, for by this time the fierce longing for mastery had come over him. Never did I feel so glad as at that moment that I had been true to the traditions of my race and county. For the Trevanions, although the sport had during the last few years been kept alive by the common people, had always been noted as wrestlers, and that in the county which, man to man, could challenge Europe.
While I had the advantage, therefore, I gripped him for a hug. Had he been a weaker man his ribs would have cracked like matches, indeed, had he been able to hold me so, I doubt whether the struggle would have continued a minute longer. But he had caught a deep breath, and I might as well have sought to crush a tree as Benet Killigrew. So I gave up the hug and he laughed like a boy.
"A good try!" he grunted, and then he tested me sorely. My sinews seemed likely to crack, so great was the strain that he put upon them, while the sweat came out over my forehead, and rolled down my face. However I held my ground, and when at length he failed in the cross hitch, I began to have more confidence. Especially did I hope for victory as I heard him mutter savagely, "By Cormoran, he's my match!"
So then I determined to be careful. I hoped that he had lessened his power of endurance by the wine-drinking, wild life he had lived. I therefore acted on the defensive until I should be able to try the throw I had often practised. Presently I thought his grip less mighty, but I was not sure, for never in my life had I been held by such a man. Had he been less confident of victory, he would perchance have been a better wrestler, but he did not seem to think that even his muscles must presently give way. So it came about that while he tried a dozen tricks, and put forth much strength in so doing, I used what power I had more warily. At length I thought I saw my chance, and so I prepared for what wrestlers call "the flying mare." In getting the grip necessary for this throw, I had to face the danger of placing myself in his power. However, I ventured to do this, for by no other way could I throw him. He saw my move immediately, and took advantage of it, and for a minute I was afraid that all was over with me. Never in my life had I struggled so hard. I saw balls of fire flash before my eyes, while my sinews seemed likely to snap at any moment. His grip grew weaker, however, in spite of his frantic struggles. I heard him panting like a mad dog, for I believe he then realised for the first time that I should master him. Then with all the strength of shoulders, back, and loins I used the trick I had intended, and Benet Killigrew, giant though he was, went flying across the room, his head striking the floor with a terrible thud.
For a moment I was afraid I had killed him, but only for a moment; I had seen such throws before, and knew the result. He would lie stunned for a few minutes, and then when he came to consciousness he would be dazed for the next half-hour. This was what I hoped for, and for which I had been struggling.
After wiping the sweat from my brow, I seized Benet's jacket and put it on. As luck would have it, the garment fitted me well. Then I took my money from my pockets. Otho had left me this, for which, as you may be sure, I felt thankful.
After this I cast my eyes around me again, for I remembered that Benet had worn his hat when he came to see me. This I put on; so being about his height, and wearing his hat and coat, I fancied I should be able, except in bright light, to pass myself for him. My sword I gave up hope of getting; but my pistols were in my saddle-bags.
Giving Killigrew a last look, and noting that he was still breathing, I unlocked the door, and in a few seconds later was in the passage outside. The candle which I took with me, although it burnt low, showed me where to go. I therefore groped along the dark pathway, and climbed the steps which led to the entrance hall. Here I saw a man leaning against the wall. I had extinguished my light, and as the hall was dimly lighted the fellow could not see me plainly.
"All right, Maester Benet?" asked the man sleepily.
"Yes," I answered in a whisper, motioning him to be silent. Evidently Benet's actions were not of an orderly nature, for he seemed to take but little notice when I made my way towards the side door, out of which I had gone when I followed Amelia Lanteglos.
Arrived there, however, I was likely to be found out, for the man came after me.
"The kay, Maaster Benet; I shall want the kay if you be goin' out!"
I flung it to him, therefore, and before the fellow came near me was outside the walls of the house. Overjoyed at my success, I drew a deep breath, but I dared not linger. In a few minutes Benet would probably return to consciousness, and would hammer at the prison door which I had locked. I therefore found my way to the courtyard, hoping to reach the stables without accident, for I determined not to leave Chestnut behind me. I had barely crossed the yard when I saw a man. Evidently old Colman Killigrew was afraid of his neighbours, else he would not have his house guarded so carefully.
"Who's that?" asked the man. "Es et Maaster Benet?"
Mimicking Benet's voice as well as I was able, I bade him saddle the stranger's horse.
"What stranger?" asked the man.
"He who came two nights ago," I replied, "I want to ride the beggar."
The man gave a laugh, and went to the stables without a word.
"Put on his own saddle," I said, blessing Benet for having led his serving-men to obey his strange whims without questioning.
The man put a lighted candle in a lanthorn, and began to saddle Chestnut, but in this he found a difficulty. The horse had not been in the habit of obeying any other voice than mine. He snapped at the fellow so viciously, that he left the stall.
"He's a oogly beggar, Maaster. I can't saddle un. He's a booty to look top, but I wudden ride un ef I wos you. I spoase you've locked up the gen'l'man, ain't ee?"
"Stand still, Chestnut," I said in my own voice. The horse recognized me, and gave a joyful whinney.
Instantly the fellow suspected me. He saw that I was not his master, and moved towards the door. I was sorry to do it, but it could not be helped. I struck him a heavy blow and he fell heavily on the ground.
"If you move or make a noise you are a dead man," I said.
"My Gor!" muttered the fellow, "tes the gen'leman hisself."
In a few seconds I saddled Chestnut; then I determined to use him further.
"Come with me," I said.
"Where, sur?" he asked tremblingly.
"Show me the nearest way to the high-road," I said. "If you deceive me, I'll kill you. I want to avoid the lodge gates too."
He obeyed me without a word. A few minutes later I was on a cart-track which led in the direction of Endellion village.
"Laive me go back, sur," pleaded the man. "I waan't tell nothin', and they may vind out that I've left the courtyard. Hark, they have vound out!"
I heard men shouting as he spoke.
"Laive me go back, sur," he continued to plead; "this trail do laid to the high-road, you caan't go wrong."
I let him go, for he could be of no further use to me; then I gave Chestnut rein, and a few minutes later was safe on the high-road.