University of Virginia Library

18. CHAPTER XVIII.
THE ESCAPE.

On reaching the second story of the
tower, Harley said if I would see to
having the horses got ready, he would
remain with Viola till my return. I
first examined my weapons, and then
went out across the draw bridge, he
locking the door after me. In passing
through the mansion, I met Pierre, and
another servant, whom, from his livery,
I supposed to be the Count's valet de chambre.

“I wish four of his lordship's best
horses saddled for the road immediately,
one for a lady to ride,” I said, in
a positive tone. “Come, why do you
hesitate?” I continued, as both looked
at me with an air of surprise.

“It is usual for my lord to give his
own orders,” replied the valet.

“And so he does now,” I rejoined,
handing him the note written by the
Count.

He read it carefully through a couple
of times, turned it over, examined every
part, as if looking for some private
mark, and then said:

“This appears to be correct—but—”

“Is it usual for you to hesitate in
this manner to obey a command of his
lordship?” interrupted I, sternly. “If
so, perhaps I had better let his lordship
know it;” and I turned, as if to go
back to him.

“Stay!” returned the valet, quickly,
evidently convinced by my manner that
all was right. “Stay! the horses shall
be got ready instantly: do not report
me to his lordship—I will hasten to give
the groom orders;” and turning on his
heel, he quickly disappeared.

“I will return to the bridge—let me
know when the horses are ready,” I
said to Pierre; and I immediately stationed
myself at the place mentioned, to
prevent any one approaching the tower.

In about a quarter of an hour I heard
the trampling of horses; and a few moments
after the valet himself appeared to
announce that the animals were ready.

As I turned to cross the bridge, he
added:

“I will accompany you to my lord.”

“No,” said I, “he will see no one at
present—he is in a private apartment.”

“Ah! very well—then I will not intrude
upon him. You may mention, if
you see him, that the gentleman he
expects, will be here to dinner.”

“If I see him again, I will,” I replied;
and the valet went away, apparently
satisfied.

Harley, who had watched my approach
from the window, met me at the
door.

“Well,” he said, hurriedly and anxiously,
“is all right?”

“So I think,” I replied.

“The horses?”

“Are waiting their riders. But, my
friend,” I added seriously, “I think
there is no time to lose. I do not know
that the servants are suspicious; but I
do think that the sooner we get away
the better.”

“Ah! yes, yes! Here,” he added,
in a whisper, nodding toward St.
Auburn, “remain by the door here, and
keep an eye on him. Viola is above—
I will call her. All is ready. I have
secured our most valuable jewelry about
me—the boxes and the rest we will
leave where they are.”

Saying this, Harley quitted the chamber,
and after an absence of two or three
minutes, returned with Viola, who had
donned her bonnet, and a riding-habit
which she chanced to have in one of
her trunks. The latter, together with
most of their contents, in reality quite
valuable, she was forced to leave—but
we thought not of such trifles at a moment
when our very safety depended on
a chain of fortunate events. When we
were all ready to leave the tower—

“Now,” said Harley, “we must appear
to be in good spirits, lest the servants
suspect something wrong. If they
make any inquiries, leave me to answer
them! Courage! dearest!—courage!
You must not tremble so! Drop your
veil, and that will conceal your blanched
cheeks and quivering lips. Take Harry's
arm—there are you ready?”

“One moment,” said Viola, faintly,
and a shudder passed through her frame.
“There,” she added, immediately after,
“my nerves are still again: I am ready
now.”

As we left the tower, we paused a
moment near the door, to give Harley
an opportunity to lock it without being
observed, for we were aware that several
eyes were upon us. We entered the
mansion, moved along the corridor, went
down the stairs, and passed out of the
hall, without other incident occurring
than being met and escorted by Pierre
and the valet. Harley seemed in glorious
spirits—talking, laughing, and joking
all the way—and I imitated his
nonchalance as much as lay in my
power. He had not resumed his disguise;
and Pierre, I noticed, eyed him
a little curiously; but fortunately for
us, the porter was not too sharp-sighted,
and the other servants now beheld him
for the first time.

We found four, fine, spirited horses
standing in front of the mansion, in
charge of the groom, ready for mounting,
and all the servants, even to the
cook, gathered together, to see us depart.

“A beautiful day for a ride,” observed
my friend, carelessly. “By-the-bye, I
did not ask his lordship his hour of
dining.”

“It is three, sir, usually, when he
has guests,” replied the valet.

“Ah! yes—a very good hour. Well,
tell his lordship that that time will suit
us as well as any other, as it is not probable
we shall return before two.”

“Did his lordship send any message
concerning the dinner?” inquired the
valet.

“No, none—please yourselves—we
are not particular about the fare.”

“Could I not see him a moment?”
again inquired the valet.

“No, you had better not disturb him
for an hour or two; he is in privacy,
and has some weighty matters under
consideration.”

The valet, who was a keen, shrewd
fellow, did not, I fancied, appear altogether
satisfied; but he said nothing
more, and I thought it best not to seem
to notice him. Harley now assisted
Viola to mount; and then springing
lightly upon the back of another animal,
took his place beside her, and the two
moved slowly down the avenue. St.
Auburn and I also mounted, and followed
at the same leisurely pace.

After proceeding a short distance, I
looked back, and saw the servants collected
in a group; they were evidently
discussing the matter of his lordship
not appearing to see us depart. So I
thought at least, and felt uneasy; and
the moment we were hidden from them
by the shrubbery, I communicated my
idea to Harley, and advised him to
quicken his pace. He did so; and in
a few minutes we reached the gate,
through which we had that morning entered
D'Estang Ville as pedlars. The
porter eyed us a little curiously, I
thought; but opened the gate, without
asking any questions; and with an indescribable
feeling of relief, we found
ourselves once more upon the highway.

For a quarter of a mile or more, or
until a bend of the road shut from us a
view of D'Estang Ville, we rode along
at a slow pace; and then putting our
horses to a fast canter, we did not draw
rein till we reached the inn of the village
where Harley and I had passed the
night.

Tom came running out as we rode
up, and appeared as delighted to see me
as if we had been separated four months,
instead of four hours. In fact, the poor
fellow wept tears of joy—for he had
been much concerned lest something serious
had happened to me.

We all dismounted, entered the inn,
and had refreshments served to us in a
private apartment. While eating, we
held a sort of council of war, as to what
course was best for us to pursue, to
escape the revenge of the Count; for
notwithstanding his oath not to molest
us, we felt almost certain he would break
it the moment it should be in his power
to do so.

“It is very necessary,” said Harley,
“for more reasons than one, that we return
to Galveston immediately—the only

question is, in what way it shall be
done. Shall we cross the country over
the route by which we came hither? or
shall we take a steamer down the Brazos,
and so round by the Gulf?”

“The latter, by all means,” said St.
Auburn, quickly. “We might get safely
through by land, and we might not.”

“Why, what do you apprehend?”
asked Harley.

“I have reason to think that the
country between here and Galveston is
infested with a gang of desperadoes, at
the head of which is this same wicked
D'Estang.”

“Oh, by all means, let us return by
water!” said Viola.

“Your wish is law, dearest,” rejoined
Harley, smiling: “by water let
it be.”

This settled, Harley, true to his promise,
dispatched a messenger with the
key of the tower and a note to the porter,
with another enclosed for the Count
himself, in which he thanked his lordship
for his kindness and hospitality,
and intimated that he would find his
horses at a certain landing, subject to his
order. We then rode briskly down to
the landing in question, Tom keeping
us company on foot. But here a sad
disappointment awaited us. The only
boat that was to go out that day, was
disabled; and we must perforce remain
over night, or ride across the country.
We dared not think of remaining in
such close proximity to a man that we
feared would scruple not to employ the
vilest means to revenge himself upon us
—and that his power was great to employ
such means, we had good reason
for believing.

“How unfortunate,” said Harley,
“that I have sent to release the Count,
for we might have kept him in durance
till we reached a place of safety. But
it cannot be helped now, and we must
act while we have the power.”

“How unfortunate indeed!” exclaimed
Viola; “for somehow I have a
presentiment that we shall meet with
trouble.”

“And I,” said St. Auburn, gloomily.

“Fear not, dearest—but rely on us to
protect you,” said Harley, in reply to
Viola. “We are four, counting Tom,
and we are all well armed.”

“But not invulnerable,” rejoined Viola—“and
oh! Morton, if any thing
should happen to you!”

“Do not be apprehensive, dearest—
but put your trust in a higher Power—
that Power which has aided us so far in
all our difficulties. And now, Harry,”
he added, turning to me, “we must have
a horse for Tom, and the sooner we are
on the road the better.”

We succeeded, after a little delay, in
purchasing a swift-footed animal; and
crossing the Brazos, we took the most
direct route for Galveston, and dashed
away at such speed as we thought our
horses would bear without giving out.

I shall not weary the reader with a
detail of our progress on that memorable
day. Suffice it to say, that when the
sun went down, not much more than
half of our journey had been accomplished,
and already our animals were
beginning to show signs of fatigue, and
we ourselves felt much in need of refreshment
and rest. From where we
now were, to the nearest village, was
about six miles; and our road, none of
the best, lay through a dense, dark wood,
which was only broken in one or two
places by a small clearing around the
log-cabin of some late settler in this region.
As if to increase the gloominess
of our journey, a black, heavy cloud
began to loom up in the West, from
which issued flashes of lightning, followed
by the rumbling sound of distant
thunder, warning us that a shower was
approaching, an event that was any thing
but agreeable in our situation.

“Come,” said Harley, “unless we
quicken our present speed, this storm
will surely overtake us before we reach
the village, the only place where I should
like to trust myself to pass the night in
this part of the country.”

“Yes! yes!” returned St. Auburn,
anxiously; “and I would we were far
beyond that—for, from all I know and
have heard, there are some desperate
characters in this vicinity.”

We accordingly spurred on our jaded

horses, St. Auburn and I riding in advance,
Harley and Viola coming next,
and Tom bringing up the rear. We
had advanced perhaps a mile further,
when we found ourselves about central
way of a long strip of dense wood, and,
save when relieved by the flashes of the
storm behind us, in a darkness impenetrable
to the eye. We could see nothing,
in fact, except when it lightened; and
then the bright flash so blinded us, that
for a short time after the darkness appeared
doubled. Nothing was said, for
each was occupied with thoughts of our
situation, and felt too deeply anxious
for the result to give voice to them.—
Save that we were mounted, travelling
over a known road, and had the evanescent
light of the approaching storm to
guide us, I felt our situation to be in
every respect as gloomy as on the night
when we sought the way-side inn.

“And perhaps,” I thought to myself,
“the peril is even greater; for our late
proceedings must of course have made
us a powerful enemy in the person of
Count D'Estang, who is, if released, at
this very moment doubtless pursuing us;
and we now have one to protect, who
can, in the event of an assault, render
us no assistance whatever.”

While such thoughts as these were
yet passing through my mind, I was
startled at hearing a monotonous, deadened
sound behind us. I made no remark,
but turned my head aside, and inclined
it in a listening attitude. At this
moment a bright flash lit up the wood,
and revealed my position to Harley, who
was riding near with Viola, and who instantly
called out, in an anxious tone:

“What is it, Harry? what is it?”

I just caught a glimpse of his features,
and saw that they were deadly
pale.

“Perhaps it is nothing — but I
thought—”

“Hark!” interrupted St. Auburn,
reining in his horse.

We all came to a halt and listened.

The sound, whatever it was, drew
nearer, and as it became more audible,
I fancied I could distinguish the patter
of horses' feet. We waited breathlessly
another minute, and all doubts were removed.

“We are pursued, I fear,” said Harley,
in a low, determined tone. “The
sound draws nearer every moment—it
is made by several horses. Let us ride
into the wood here, and remain quiet—
they may pass us. Courage! dearest
—courage! we will protect you.”

Viola replied in a tone too low for me
to distinguish what she said, and at the
same moment we all beheld each other
by another flash of lightning. Harley,
taking advantage of the light, pointed
to the wood to the right, and exclaimed:

“This way—quick!” and the next
moment I heard the sound of his horse's
feet in that direction, and a rustling
among the bushes.

We all instantly followed him, as
best we could; and riding back a few
rods from the road, again came to a
halt. The distant, rumbling sound, as
first heard, had by this time become an
unmistakeable clatter of horses' hoofs,
urged over the ground at no ordinary
speed. They were now evidently at
no great distance, and I at least was
congratulating myself, that, if in pursuit
of us, they would be likely to pass us
in the darkness, and so give us time for
further preparation, even if they found
us at all, when the sounds began to
grow less audible, and gradually to die
away, till at last nothing but the sighing
of the breeze among the trees, and the
now loud and increasing thunder, broke
the stillness of the forest.

“What can be the meaning of this?”
said Harley, in a low tone.

“Perhaps there is another road, which
we have passed in the darkness, and
they have taken,” I suggested.

“You are right—there is another
road—I remember it now,” rejoined St.
Auburn; “and this convinces me that
they are D'Estang's men.”

“But why did they take that road,
think you?' inquired Harley.

“It is a nearer way, I am told,
across the country,” replied the other;
“and knowing that I am with you, they
may have thought that we have taken it
—or again, believing us to be further

advanced on our journey, they may
have done so with a view to heading
us, or overtaking us sooner.”

“And does the road you speak of
come into this between here and the village?”

“I think not, nor for several miles
beyond.”

“Then we will resume our journey,”
said Harley, “and hasten forward to
this village, where we will, Heaven
willing, spend the night.”

We accordingly picked our way back
to the road, and, urged forward by our
fears and the approaching storm, set off
with what speed we could. The cloud
in the west had by this time loomed
half way to the zenith, the lightning
had become more frequent and vivid,
and the thunder now rolled heavily
over our heads, occasionally with that
crashing sound which tells that the fiery
bolt has passed from heaven to earth
and rent some object at no great distance.

“Oh! what a gloomy journey!” said
Viola; “and we shall soon be at the
mercy of this storm, I fear.”

“It will overtake us, I think,” replied
Harley; “but we can ride no faster,
without endangering our safety. Courage!
dearest—courage! I am with
you, and we will brave the storm together.
Or perhaps,” I heard him add
a moment after, “we can find some
shelter on the way till the storm is
past.”

“No, no, Morton—do not let us
trust ourselves among any of the settlers
here—for I fear them more than
the storm. Oh! I have such a foreboding
of evil—pray Heaven avert it!”

“Nerve yourself, dearest—give not
way to your fears, and all may yet be
well.”

He said something more, which I did
not overhear, and Viola apparently became
quieted.

We rode on at a brisk trot, and had
advanced a mile or two further, when
the rain began to fall in large drops, and
we could hear the roar of the storm
sweeping up the forest behind us. At
this moment, by the light of another
vivid flash, I saw, or fancied I saw, the
figure of a man standing beside the
road, partly concealed by some bushes,
not half-a-dozen paces distant. St. Auburn
apparently beheld the same object
—for he reined his horse up to mine,
laid his hand upon my arm, and was in
the act of saying something, when I felt
my bridle-rein rudely seized, a pistol
flashed before me, and a ball, passing
through my hat, slightly grazed the
crown of my head.