Only a girl's love
me, my dear Frank? One hundred and fifty pounds that I shall never see
again, unless your friend Holiday takes to paying his debts."
"I see," said the boy, slowly, and his voice grew reflective; "you
bought it from him? No!"--with a sudden flash of inspiration--"he was a
gentleman! By hook or by crook you stole it!"
Jasper nodded.
"Never mind how I got it, I have got it," and he struck his breast
softly.
The sunken eyes followed the gesture, as if they would penetrate to the
hidden paper itself.
"I know," he said, in a low voice; "I saw you put it there."
"And you will not see it again until I hand it to Stella, to-morrow,
or give it to the magistrate before whom you will stand, my dear lad,
charged with forgery."
The word had scarcely left his lips, but the boy was upon him, his
long, thin arms--endued for a moment, as it seemed, with a madman's
strength--encircling Jasper's neck. Not a word was uttered, but the
thin, white face, lit up by the gleaming eyes, spoke volumes.
Jasper was staggered, not frightened, but simply surprised and
infuriated.
"You--you young fool!" he hissed. "Take your arms off me."
"Give it to me! Give it to me!" panted the boy, in a frenzy. "Give it
to me! The paper! The paper!" and his clutch tightened like a band of
steel.
Jasper smothered an oath. The path was narrow; unconsciously, or
intentionally, the frenzied lad had edged them both, while talking, to
the brink, and Jasper was standing with his back to it. In an instant
he realized his danger; yes, danger! For, absurd as it seemed, the
grasp of the weak, dying boy could not be shaken off; there was danger.
"Frank!" he cried.
"Give it me!" broke in the wild cry, and he pressed closer.
With an awful imprecation, Jasper seized him and bore him backward, but
as he did so his foot slipped, and the boy, falling upon him, thrust a
hand into Jasper's breast and snatched the paper.
Jasper was on his feet in a moment, and flying at him tore the paper
from his grasp. The boy uttered a wild cry of despair, crouched down
for a moment, and then with that one wild prayer upon his lips: "Give
it me!" hurled himself upon his foe. For quite a minute the struggle,
so awful in its inequality, raged between them. His opponent's strength
so amazed Jasper that he was lost to all sense of the place in which
they stood; in his wild effort to shake the boy off he unconsciously
approached the edge of the cliff. Unconsciously on his part, but the
other noticed it, even in his frenzy, and suddenly, as if inspired, he
shrieked out--
"Look! Leycester! He is there behind you!"
Jasper started and turned his head; the boy seized the moment, and the
next the narrow platform on which they had stood was empty. A wild
hoarse shriek rose up, and mingled with the dull roar of the waves
beneath, and then all was still!
CHAPTER XL.
Leycester had reached Carlyon on foot. He had left the house in the
morning, simply saying that he was going for a walk, and that they
were not to wait any meal for him. During the last few days he had
wandered in this way, seemingly desirous of being alone, and showing no
inclination toward even Charlie's society. Lady Wyndward half feared
that the old black fits was coming on him; but Lenore displayed no
anxiety; she even made excuses for him.
"When a man feels the last hour of his liberty approaching, he
naturally likes to use his wings a little," she said, and the countess
had smiled approvingly.
"My dear, you will make a model wife; just the wife that Leycester
needs."
"I think so; I do, indeed," responded Lenore, with her frank, charming
smile.
So Leycester was left alone to his own wild will during those last
few days, while the dressmakers and upholsterers were hard at work
preparing for "the" day.
He could not have told why he came to Carlyon. He did not even know
the name of the little village in which he found himself. With his
handsome face rather grave and weary-looking, he had tramped into the
inn, and sunk down into the seat which had supported many a generation
of Carlyon fisherman and many sea-coast travelers.
"This is Carlyon, sir," said the landlord, in answer to Leycester's
question, eying the tall figure in its knee breeches and shooting
jacket. "Yes, sir, this is Carlyon; have you come from St. Michael's,
sir?"
Leycester shook his head; he scarcely heard the old man.
"No," he answered; "but I have walked some distance," and he mentioned
the place.
The old man stared.
"Phew! that's a long walk, sir; a main long walk. And what can I get
you to eat, sir?"
Leycester smiled rather wearily. He had heard the question so often in
his travels, and knew the results so perfectly.
"Anything you like," he said.
The landlord nodded in approval at so sensible an answer, and went out
to consult his wife, who had been staring at the handsome traveler from
behind the half-open door of the common living room. Presently he came
out with the result. The gentleman could have a bit of fish and a chop,
and some Falmouth potatoes.
Leycester nodded indifferently--anything would do.
Both the fish and the chop were excellent, but Leycester did anything
but justice to them. A strange feeling of restlessness seemed to have
taken possession of him, and when he had lit his cigar, instead of
sitting down and taking it comfortably, he felt compelled to get up and
wander to the door. The evening was drawing in; there were a fairish
number of miles between him and home--it was time for him to start, but
still he leant against the door and looked at the sea and cliffs that
rose in a line with the house.
At last he paid his reckoning, supplemented it with a half-crown for
the landlord in his capacity of waiter, and started. But not homeward;
the cliff seemed to exercise a strange fascination for him, and obeying
the impulse which was almost irresistible, he set off for the path that
ascended to the summit, and strode upward.
A great peace was upon the scene, a great unrest and unsatisfied desire
was in his heart. All the air seemed full of Stella; her voice mingled,
for him, in the plash of the waves. Thinking of her with a deep,
sorrowful wistfulness, he climbed on and--passed her.
Stood within reach of her as she cowered and shrank against the wall of
chalk, and all unconscious of her nearness he turned and came down. The
evening had grown chilly and keen, but his walk had made him hot, and
he turned into the inn to get a glass of ale.
The landlord was surprised to see him again, and said so, and Leycester
stood, with the glass in his hand, explaining that he had been up the
cliff to look at the view.
"Aye, sir, and a grand view it is," said the old man, with pardonable
pride. "Man and boy I've growed under the shadow of that cliff, and
I know every inch of it, top and bottom. Mighty dangerous it is too,
sir," he added, reflectively. "It's not one or two, but nigh upon a
score o' accidents as I've known on that cliff."
"The path is none too wide," said Leycester.
"No, sir, and in the dark----" he stopped suddenly, and started. "What
was that?" he exclaimed.
"What is the matter?" Leycester asked.
The old man caught his arm suddenly, and pointed to the cliff.
Leycester looked up, and the glass fell from his hand. There, on the
giddy height, clearly defined against the sky, were two figures, locked
together in what appeared a deadly embrace.
"Look!" exclaimed the old man. "The glass--give me the glass!"
Leycester caught up a telescope that stood on a seat beside them and
gave it to him; he himself did not need a glass to see the dark,
struggling figures, they were all too plain. For one second they stood
as if benumbed, and then the echo of the shriek smote upon their ears,
and the cliff was bare. The old man dropped the telescope and caught
Leycester's arm as he made a bound toward the path.
"No, no, sir!" he exclaimed. "No use to go up there, the boat! the
boat!" and he ran to the beach. Leycester followed him like a man in a
dream, and tearing off his coat, seized an oar mechanically.
There was not a soul in sight, the peace of the Autumn evening rested
on sea and shore, but in Leycester's ears the echo of that awful
death-shriek rung as plainly as when he had first heard it. The
landlord of the inn, an old sailor, rowed like a young man, and the
boat rose over the waves and cleaved its way round the bay as if a
dozen men were pulling.
Not a word was spoken, the great beads of sweat stood on their
foreheads, their hearts throbbed in unison with every stroke. Presently
Leycester saw the old man relax his stroke and bend peering over the
boat, and suddenly he dropped his oar and sprang up, pointing to a dark
object floating on the top of the waves. Leycester rose too, calm and
acute enough now, and in another minute Jasper Adelstone was lying at
their feet.
Leycester uttered no cry as his eyes fell upon the pale, set face, but
he sank down in the boat and put his hands to his eyes.
When he looked up he saw the old man quietly putting his oar into its
place.
"Yes, sir," he said, gravely answering Leycester's glance, "he is dead,
stone dead; row back, sir."
"But the other!" said Leycester, in a whisper.
The old man shook his head and glanced upward at the cliff.
"He is up there, sir. Alive or dead, he is up there. He didn't fall
into the sea or we should have met him."
"Then--then," said Leycester, his voice struggling for calm, "he may be
alive!"
"We shall soon see, sir; row for life or death."
Leycester needed no further prompting, and the boat sped back. By the
time they had gained the shore a crowd had collected, and Leycester
felt, rather than saw, that the motionless, lifeless form that had
haunted him from its place at the bottom of the boat was carried
off--felt, rather than was conscious, that he was speeding up the cliff
followed by the landlord and half-a-dozen fishermen.
Silent and breathless they gained the top, and stood for a moment
uncertain; then Leycester saw one of them step forward with a rope.
"Now, mates," the old man said, "which of us goes down?"
There was a moment's silence, then Leycester stepped forward and took
up the rope.
"I," he said.
It was but a word, but no one ventured to dispute his decision.
Quietly and calmly they fastened the rope round his waist, leaving a
loop lower down. He had left his coat in the boat, and stood bareheaded
for a moment. The old man stood beside him, calm and grave.
"Hold tight, sir," he said; "and if--if--you find him, sling the rope
round him and give the word."
Leycester nodded, held up his hand, and the next moment was swinging in
the air. Slowly and steadily, inch by inch, they lowered him down the
awful depths amidst a death-like silence. Suddenly his voice broke it,
coming up to them in one word--
"Stop!"
Breathless they waited, then they felt the rope jerk and they pulled
up. A great sob of relief rather than a cheer rose as he appeared,
bearing on his arm the slight figure of poor Frank.
Gently but swiftly they unwound the ropes and laid him down at
Leycester's feet, and the old man knelt beside him.
Leycester did not speak, but stood panting and pale. The old man looked
up.
"Give me a hand, boys," he said, slowly and sternly. "He is alive!"
"Alive!" said Leycester, hoarsely.
"Alive," repeated the old man. "Yes, sir, you have saved him, but----"
Leycester followed them down the cliff, followed them to the inn. Then,
as the thin, wasted figure disappeared within the house, he sank on to
the bench at the door, and covered his face with his hands.
Was it an awful dream?--would he awake presently and find himself at
home, and this dreadful nightmare vanished?