University of Virginia Library

21. CHAP. XXI.

Thaunus the-Druid.

On hearing the latter mode by which Ellen accounted
for the vision of Andrew Ramsay, Miss
Agnew acknowledged its plausibility.

“I did not think of that,” said she; “but I believe
it may have been the case; for I have often
heard of such tricks being practised on weak minded
people, by mischievous wags. I shall make my
brother question Steele on the subject.”

“But, my dear Maria,” observed Ellen, “there
is a piece of intelligence connected with this story,
which excites horrible ideas in my mind. Tell
me, did you ever before hear that Sir Geoffrey was
blamed with the death of that unfortunate girl?”

“I have heard it whispered,” returned Maria;
“but there being no proof of it, every one was
afraid, at the time of the shocking event, to mention
it publicly; and I had supposed that the suspicion
itself had dropped from the minds of the
people.”

“It is a dreadful tale, Maria. I remember the report
of her death; and have often wondered that it's
perpetrator has never been discovered.”

“I believe,” said Maria, “that there were no
other grounds for suspecting Sir Geoffrey, than

that he had, for sometime previous, paid unusual
attention to the young woman, who is said to have
been remarkably handsome, and that immediately
after the occurrence, he withdrew from the country,
and ever since continued, until the beginning
of last winter, to reside abroad. But these grounds,
you know, were not sufficient to warrant magisterial
interference, especially with a person of his
great wealth and consequence in society.”

“Thank heaven! I have escaped uniting myself
to such a man,” ejaculated Ellen.

At that moment, a man in a gig approached them
at full gallop, followed by another on horseback.
The ladies stood still to let the travellers pass; but
the former stopped the gig suddenly on coming towards
them.

“Fortune favours us!” cried he. “Let us seize
her at once, and be off!”

So saying he sprang out; and with the assistance
of the horseman, hastily secured Ellen in the gig,
when gagging her with a large handkerchief, he
turned his horse, and drove away at full speed.

Miss Agnew in a state of terror and distraction,
fled and screamed for assistance; but before she
could make herself properly understood by those
who flocked to her aid, her friend was far off.

Sir Geoffrey was suspected for this outrage; and
a pursuit commenced in the direction of his residence;
but without success. The ruffians had taken
an unfrequented road which led them directly to
the untenanted house on his estate before mentioned.
The villain in the gig did not speak a word
to his captive, either by way of threat or conciliation,
until they arrived there.

“You are safe now, madam,” was his first observation;
“and, thank heaven, we are safe too.”

A light was soon struck, and a fire kindled, when
Ellen, for the first time, recognised the two men to

be the very, same that had before attempted to
seize her.

“I am at length undone!” cried she, the gag
being now taken out of her mouth. “For God's
sake, have mercy on me! Deliver me to my grandfather,
and you shall be rewarded to your utmost
desire.”

“We know better, ma'am,” replied one of the
fellows. “We shall be better rewarded by keeping
you. You may as well be quiet. Here nobody
can hear your noise, and come to your rescue, as
that damned rascal in green did the other week.
My master will use you like the apple of his eye;
for he is over head and ears in love with you; and
you may live like a queen, if you only take care
to please him. To be sure he's a little stingy with
his purse; but, I think, if you manage him well,
that you may make your own of him.”

To these remarks Ellen considered it useless to
reply. She laid her head on a table that was
near her, and relieved her bursting heart with a
flood of tears, that fortunately came to her relief. On
looking up after some time, she perceived that one
of the men had left her; but the other sat between
her and the door, and coldly remarked that, as
she must be fatigued, she was perhaps disposed to
go to bed.

“There is a bed in this closet,” said he, as he
opened a door that led into a small apartment.
“It is a comfortable one, and expressly prepared
in expectation of your using if.”

She meditated for some time in silence. At
length, under the impression that she would be
freed from the observation of her jailor, she thought
proper to retire.

“Wont you have a light? ma'am,” asked the
man. “No,” said she, and she closed the door of
her apartment without waiting for more questions.

She threw herself on her knees, and addressed
her supplications to that God who had more
than once vouchsafed her deliverance from similar
distresses.

“I throw myself again into thy presence,” said
she, “and thou art as mighty to save as ever. Add
to those gracious favours thou hast already bestowed
upon me, one more instance of thy goodness;
save me once more from the power of this man,
who has so long hunted after my ruin. Shouldst
thou deny me the means of escape, Oh! enlighten
the mind of my persecutor to see the enormity
of the crime he would commit: awaken his conscience,
inspire him with repentance for his past
offences, and restrain him from becoming guilty
of additional injury to a helpless maiden. But
shouldst thou in thy providence think fit to inflict
upon me still severer trials than I have yet sustained,
Oh! at least, preserve me from pollution
and infamy, for into thy gracious keeping I commit
all my safety.”

In a somewhat calmer state of mind, she threw
herself on the bed, and with a trembling frame
and agitated heart, passed a sleepless night. The
morning only brought an increase of her sorrow,
for it brought the detestable Sir Geoffrey himself.

“Sweetest of thy sex,” said he, “behold in this
reluctantly adopted and disagreeable measure, the
violence of my passion. I cannot live without you.
Be mine; make me happy as your husband; accept
of me on any conditions you may prescribe.
My fortune, my life—all are yours, only give me
yourself in exchange.”

“Son of iniquity; barbarous, wicked man, I
know you now too well ever to link my fate with
yours. Had I known you sooner, you should never
have received even the reluctant civilities that
were once extorted from me.”

“My wish must be gratified!” he exclaimed.
“Either voluntarily make me happy, or know,
that force will compel you. I will give you till this
evening to decide.”

“Infamous man! do you insult me, by calculating
on my deliberate acquiescence in guilt? for
guilt it would be, knowing you as I now do, to accept
your proposals. I am aware that you have a villanous
conscience, capable enough of perpetraling
your threats; but think you that there is not a
God who can blast you ere your crimes be accomplished!”

“Sorceress!” cried he, “you hate me, and defy
me; but your beauty has enchanted my senses.
I am mad with love! I will not postpone my
bliss. The delay I proposed was unwise. Accident
might once more rob me of my treasure; but now,
bewitching, lovely girl, you shall bless me in spite
of accident!”

So saying, he clasped her in his arms with a
force and vehemence that made her tremble, and
she screamed hopelessly but instinctively for help.

“It is in vain for you to resist,” said he, loosening
her for a moment. “My mind is too fiercely
bent on you, to leave you without being satisfied.
Your strength is useless, for if aid be necessary to
force you, I have it at hand. As to screams, in
this remote place, thank my stars, they will meet
no ear but such as will listen to me alone.” He
again attempted to seize her; but with a desperate
effort she sprang from him.

“O God,” she exclaimed, “if man cannot hear
me, thou canst! Save me! Save me from the murderer
of Robbins.”

“What meanest thou by that name?” said he,
for a moment struck almost motionless by the
sound.

“To awaken thy guilty conscience,” she replied,
“and prevent thee from being twice a murderer.”

“Girl, 'tis false,” he cried, in great agitation.
“Thou art a fiend; but thou art a beautiful one,
and thy charms shall now recompense me for this
pang.”

In saying this, with the fury of a tyger, he darted
upon her, and threw her on the bed.

At that moment a confusion of voices were heard
out side of the house, and instantaneously, the
shock of a door bursting from its bolts, which was
immediately followed by the discharge of a pistol
in the outer room.

“Ah! villain is it you! Receive this! Where
is the lady!” was exclaimed by a voice familiar to
Ellen.

“She maun be in that room, gin she's on earth,”
was replied by a coarse female voice, and the
next moment the door was laid on the floor with a
dreadful crash; and the Green Minstrel appeared.

“Horrible monster!” cried he, seizing Sir Geoffrey
by the throat, “have you ruined that angel?”

“Mercy! murder! I have not injured her,”
stammered the terrified and half strangled knight.

“It is well for you. This hour would else have
been your last,” replied the Minstrel, and he dashed
him to the floor with a force that made the
house shake. Then turning to Ellen, “sweet maid,
are you safe?” he inquired.

“Thank Heaven, I am. My deliverer again!
How providential was this?” she replied.

“Thank Heaven! indeed,” said he, and he
pressed her hand to his lips.

At that instant she screamed, and casting her
arms about him, with a sudden effort, moved him
from his position, and received the point of a dirk
in her neck. It would have entered deep enough
to have terminated both her sorrows and her life,
had not the timely interference of Peg Dornan
arrested the blow.

“The curse o' God on ye for a murderer!” exclaimed
Peg, “you thoucht to kill the bonniest lad,
an' ye hae killed the bonniest lass in the land.”
The Minstrel turned round, and beheld the dirk in
Sir Geoffrey's hand, with Peg Dornan struggling
to force it from him. He also perceived it stained
with the blood of his beloved. “Infernal fiend!”
cried he, wresting the weapon from him; and again
dashing him to the floor, he held him firmly there
with his foot fixed on his neck. Jemmy Hunter at
that moment entered. He had been employed in
binding the legs and arms of Tim Rogers, Sir
Geoffrey's servant, whom the Minstrel had knocked
down in the outer chamber, on the firing of the
pistol. Hunter performed the operation with great
coolness and dexterity, remarking, “I wish, frien',
I was tying this rape aboot your neck, to gie you
the weicht o' your damned carcass at its end.”

Ellen had swooned; and while Peg was running
for some water to sprinkle on her face, the Minstrel
who believed her to be really dead, leaned
over her with tears gushing from his eyes.

“Purest, loveliest of created beings,” cried he,
“thou art gone to a world more worthy of thee.
Thou hast left thy lover. But, O! thou wert
snatched from him too soon. Thou wert the delight
of mine eyes, the hope, the joy of my heart—
this widowed heart, that shall now never more know
peace.—Unmanly monster!” he exclaimed, turning
towards Sir Geoffrey; “couldst thou not have
aimed better, and slain me as was thy design; and
not have destroyed such innocence, such virtue,
such loveliness!—but thy barbarous hand has left
to me a living, lingering death. Ah! yet take the
weapon, if thou hast any mercy in thee, and end
my sorrows.”

“Dinna lay in sae much to heart,” said Hunter.
“You should na vex yoursel' sae. It's no' reasonable

to greet like a woman, (the tears at the
same time swelling in his own eyes,) though it's a
sair an' sorrowfu' sight—for she was a weel-fared,
guid young lady. But ye maunna talk o' deeing.
Ye maun leeve to bring this wicked limb o' hell to
the hemp rape for this wark.”

Peg Dornan had now returned, and was bathing
Ellen's temples and cheeks with some spirits which
she had found in the outer room, when she opened
her eyes and began again to respire. The Minstrel,
who had watched her with the anxiety of despair,
gave a shout of joy.

“My love!” said he, “speak to me. Do not
you know your Edward, your Middleton, your
Barrymore, your Minstrel? Live, my love, and
never will I leave thy side till this execrable
wretch be secured beyond the power of injuring
you more.”

She held out her hand to him. “I am happy,”
said she, “to see you living. Ah! I thought the
steel had entered your body. But heaven has been
more merciful. You are indeed my Edward, my
Minstrel, my preserver. None else can ever be
my love.”

Edward kissed her hand fervently. Now indeed,
he felt happiness. What a contrast! He who had
the moment before been sunk into the lowest depths
of misery, would not now have exchanged feelings
with the proudest monarch in christendom.

The agitation of our lovers soon began to subside.
Ellen's wound was dressed. It was found
to penetrate very little deeper than the skin, for
the timely interference of Peg Dornan, had given
such an oblique direction to the stroke, that it had
inflicted only a superficial injury, which threatened
no ill consequences. Her swoon had been occasioned
solely from the supposition that Edward
was murdered.

Peg Dornan had by this time discovered some
wine and other articles of refreshment in the house,
of which Ellen partook, and in a short time her
strength was sufficiently restored to admit of her
being removed.

Edward had been slightly wounded in the thigh
by the contents of the pistol, which Berwick had
fired at him on entering the house, having grazed
along the flesh, and torn part of it away. During
the hurry and excitement of the preceding scene,
he had paid no attention to the wound. He now,
however, found it necessary to have it dressed,
which was soon accomplished, and he was prepared
to escort Ellen to her grandfather's, where she
wished to be taken.

They were now under some embarrassment how
to dispose of their prisoners. Hunter would have
carried them to a magistrate for the purpose of having
them committed to jail. But Sir Geoffrey threatened
that if they did so, he would bring immediate
destruction on O'Halloran, by disclosing his treasonable
practices to the government; and Edward
considering that he had not actually accomplished
any crime for which he could be capitally punished,
thought it better not to take this course. At the
same time, he conceived it unsafe to permit him to
remain at large, for then would not only O'Halloran
be in danger from his disclosures, but Ellen
might again suffer from his violence.

While they were in this perplexity, the Recluse
and M`Nelvin arrived. They had heard of Ellen's
seizure, and suspecting Sir Geoffrey to be
its author, had hastened to Carebrow-hall. M`Nelvin
alone entered the house, and discovered from
one of the servants where Sir Geoffrey had gone
that morning. “I wonder what the devil he is going
to do there?” observed the servant, “for it's
a waste farm.”

M`Nelvin made no answer; but joining the Recluse,
they hastened as fast as possible to the
place, and arrived just at the point of time we
have mentioned.

They were of opinion, that it would be proper
to effect the removal of the captives without delay,
lest some of Sir Geoffrey's domestics might arrive,
and occasion them trouble, nay, perhaps, effect
his rescue. It was therefore determined to deliver
him, and his fellow culprit, into the hands of O'Halloran,
to be dealt with as the leaders of the United
Irishmen should think proper. They now proceeded
by a private road to Mr. Agnew's, from
whence, as soon as night came, their prisoners
could be conveyed without risk or difficulty to
their destination.