Shirley
garden formed a leafy screen between them and the road. To hear,
however, was not enough, and this they felt as the troop trod forwards,
and seemed actually passing the rectory. They felt it more when a human
voice--though that voice spoke but one word--broke the hush of the
night.
"Halt!"
A halt followed. The march was arrested. Then came a low conference, of
which no word was distinguishable from the dining-room.
"We _must_ hear this," said Shirley.
She turned, took her pistols from the table, silently passed out through
the middle window of the dining-room, which was, in fact, a glass door,
stole down the walk to the garden wall, and stood listening under the
lilacs. Caroline would not have quitted the house had she been alone,
but where Shirley went she would go. She glanced at the weapon on the
sideboard, but left it behind her, and presently stood at her friend's
side. They dared not look over the wall, for fear of being seen; they
were obliged to crouch behind it. They heard these words,--
"It looks a rambling old building. Who lives in it besides the damned
parson?"
"Only three women--his niece and two servants."
"Do you know where they sleep?"
"The lasses behind; the niece in a front room."
"And Helstone?"
"Yonder is his chamber. He was burning a light, but I see none now."
"Where would you get in?"
"If I were ordered to do his job--and he desarves it--I'd try yond' long
window; it opens to the dining-room. I could grope my way upstairs, and
I know his chamber."
"How would you manage about the women folk?"
"Let 'em alone except they shrieked, and then I'd soon quieten 'em. I
could wish to find the old chap asleep. If he waked, he'd be dangerous."
"Has he arms?"
"Firearms, allus--and allus loadened."
"Then you're a fool to stop us here. A shot would give the alarm. Moore
would be on us before we could turn round. We should miss our main
object."
"You might go on, I tell you. I'd engage Helstone alone."
A pause. One of the party dropped some weapon, which rang on the stone
causeway. At this sound the rectory dog barked again
furiously--fiercely.
"That spoils all!" said the voice. "He'll awake. A noise like that might
rouse the dead. You did not say there was a dog. Damn you! Forward!"
Forward they went--tramp, tramp--with mustering, manifold, slow-filing
tread. They were gone.
Shirley stood erect, looked over the wall, along the road.
"Not a soul remains," she said.
She stood and mused. "Thank God!" was the next observation.
Caroline repeated the ejaculation--not in so steady a tone. She was
trembling much. Her heart was beating fast and thick; her face was cold,
her forehead damp.
"Thank God for us!" she reiterated. "But what will happen elsewhere?
They have passed us by that they may make sure of others."
"They have done well," returned Shirley, with composure. "The others
will defend themselves. They can do it. They are prepared for them. With
us it is otherwise. My finger was on the trigger of this pistol. I was
quite ready to give that man, if he had entered, such a greeting as he
little calculated on; but behind him followed three hundred. I had
neither three hundred hands nor three hundred weapons. I could not have
effectually protected either you, myself, or the two poor women asleep
under that roof. Therefore I again earnestly thank God for insult and
peril escaped."
After a second pause she continued: "What is it my duty and wisdom to do
next? Not to stay here inactive, I am glad to say, but, of course, to
walk over to the Hollow."
"To the Hollow, Shirley?"
"To the Hollow. Will you go with me?"
"Where those men are gone?"
"They have taken the highway; we should not encounter them. The road
over the fields is as safe, silent, and solitary as a path through the
air would be. Will you go?"
"Yes," was the answer, given mechanically, not because the speaker
wished or was prepared to go, or, indeed, was otherwise than scared at
the prospect of going, but because she felt she could not abandon
Shirley.
"Then we must fasten up these windows, and leave all as secure as we can
behind us. Do you know what we are going for, Cary?"
"Yes--no--because you wish it."
"Is that all? And are you so obedient to a mere caprice of mine? What a
docile wife you would make to a stern husband! The moon's face is not
whiter than yours at this moment, and the aspen at the gate does not
tremble more than your busy fingers; and so, tractable and
terror-struck, and dismayed and devoted, you would follow me into the
thick of real danger! Cary, let me give your fidelity a motive. We are
going for Moore's sake--to see if we can be of use to him, to make an
effort to warn him of what is coming."
"To be sure! I am a blind, weak fool, and you are acute and sensible,
Shirley. I will go with you; I will gladly go with you!"
"I do not doubt it. You would die blindly and meekly for me, but you
would intelligently and gladly die for Moore. But, in truth, there is no
question of death to-night; we run no risk at all."
Caroline rapidly closed shutter and lattice. "Do not fear that I shall
not have breath to run as fast as you can possibly run, Shirley. Take my
hand. Let us go straight across the fields."
"But you cannot climb walls?"
"To-night I can."
"You are afraid of hedges, and the beck which we shall be forced to
cross?"
"I can cross it."
They started; they ran. Many a wall checked but did not baffle them.
Shirley was surefooted and agile; she could spring like a deer when she
chose. Caroline, more timid and less dexterous, fell once or twice, and
bruised herself; but she rose again directly, saying she was not hurt. A
quickset hedge bounded the last field; they lost time in seeking a gap
in it. The aperture, when found, was narrow, but they worked their way
through. The long hair, the tender skin, the silks and the muslins
suffered; but what was chiefly regretted was the impediment this
difficulty had caused to speed. On the other side they met the beck,
flowing deep in a rough bed. At this point a narrow plank formed the
only bridge across it. Shirley had trodden the plank successfully and
fearlessly many a time before; Caroline had never yet dared to risk the
transit.
"I will carry you across," said Miss Keeldar. "You are light, and I am
not weak. Let me try."
"If I fall in, you may fish me out," was the answer, as a grateful
squeeze compressed her hand. Caroline, without pausing, trod forward on
the trembling plank as if it were a continuation of the firm turf.
Shirley, who followed, did not cross it more resolutely or safely. In
their present humour, on their present errand, a strong and foaming
channel would have been a barrier to neither. At the moment they were
above the control either of fire or water. All Stilbro' Moor, alight and
aglow with bonfires, would not have stopped them, nor would Calder or
Aire thundering in flood. Yet one sound made them pause. Scarce had
they set foot on the solid opposite bank when a shot split the air from
the north. One second elapsed. Further off burst a like note in the
south. Within the space of three minutes similar signals boomed in the
east and west.
"I thought we were dead at the first explosion," observed Shirley,
drawing a long breath. "I felt myself hit in the temples, and I
concluded your heart was pierced; but the reiterated voice was an
explanation. Those are signals--it is their way--the attack must be
near. We should have had wings. Our feet have not borne us swiftly
enough."
A portion of the copse was now to clear. When they emerged from it the
mill lay just below them. They could look down upon the buildings, the
yard; they could see the road beyond. And the first glance in that
direction told Shirley she was right in her conjecture. They were
already too late to give warning. It had taken more time than they
calculated on to overcome the various obstacles which embarrassed the
short cut across the fields.
The road, which should have been white, was dark with a moving mass. The
rioters were assembled in front of the closed yard gates, and a single
figure stood within, apparently addressing them. The mill itself was
perfectly black and still. There was neither life, light, nor motion
around it.
"Surely he is prepared. Surely that is not Moore meeting them alone?"
whispered Shirley.
"It is. We must go to him. I _will_ go to him."
"_That_ you will not."
"Why did I come, then? I came only for him. I shall join him."
"Fortunately it is out of your power. There is no entrance to the yard."
"There _is_ a small entrance at the back, besides the gates in front. It
opens by a secret method which I know. I will try it."
"Not with my leave."
Miss Keeldar clasped her round the waist with both arms and held her
back. "Not one step shall you stir," she went on authoritatively. "At
this moment Moore would be both shocked and embarrassed if he saw either
you or me. Men never want women near them in time of real danger."
"I would not trouble--I would help him," was the reply.
"How?--by inspiring him with heroism? Pooh! these are not the days of
chivalry. It is not a tilt at a tournament we are going to behold, but a
struggle about money, and food, and life."
"It is natural that I should be at his side."
"As queen of his heart? His mill is his lady-love, Cary! Backed by his
factory and his frames, he has all the encouragement he wants or can
know. It is not for love or beauty, but for ledger and broadcloth, he is
going to break a spear. Don't be sentimental; Robert is not so."
"I _could_ help him; I _will_ seek him."
"Off then--I let you go--seek Moore. You'll not find him."
She loosened her hold. Caroline sped like levelled shaft from bent bow;
after her rang a jesting, gibing laugh. "Look well there is no mistake!"
was the warning given.
But there _was_ a mistake. Miss Helstone paused, hesitated, gazed. The
figure had suddenly retreated from the gate, and was running back
hastily to the mill.
"Make haste, Lina!" cried Shirley; "meet him before he enters."
Caroline slowly returned. "It is not Robert," she said. "It has neither
his height, form, nor bearing."
"I saw it was not Robert when I let you go. How could you imagine it? It
is a shabby little figure of a private soldier; they had posted him as
sentinel. He is safe in the mill now. I saw the door open and admit him.
My mind grows easier. Robert is prepared. Our warning would have been
superfluous; and now I am thankful we came too late to give it. It has
saved us the trouble of a scene. How fine to have entered the
counting-house _toute éperdue_, and to have found oneself in presence of
Messrs. Armitage and Ramsden smoking, Malone swaggering, your uncle
sneering, Mr. Sykes sipping a cordial, and Moore himself in his cold
man-of-business vein! I am glad we missed it all."
"I wonder if there are many in the mill, Shirley!"
"Plenty to defend it. The soldiers we have twice seen to-day were going
there, no doubt, and the group we noticed surrounding your cousin in the
fields will be with him."
"What are they doing now, Shirley? What is that noise?"
"Hatchets and crowbars against the yard gates. They are forcing them.
Are you afraid?"
"No; but my heart throbs fast. I have a difficulty in standing. I will
sit down. Do you feel unmoved?"
"Hardly that; but I am glad I came. We shall see what transpires with
our own eyes. We are here on the spot, and none know it. Instead of
amazing the curate, the clothier, and the corn-dealer with a romantic
rush on the stage, we stand alone with the friendly night, its mute
stars, and these whispering trees, whose report our friends will not
come to gather."