University of Virginia Library

18. CHAPTER XVIII.

Janet lost no time in the performance of her duties.
She immediately sought out the Half-Breed. He lingered
about the dwelling, and was soon called into her
presence. It was with no small surprise that he now
listened to the determination of the maiden to avail herself,
on behalf of her lover, of the services of the scout
in the very equivocal aid which he had been prompted to
offer by the tory. His astonishment could not be suppressed.

“It surprises you,” she said, “but so Mr. Mellichampe
has determined. He thinks it better to risk all other
dangers than that of a dishonest trial before bloody
judges in the city.”

The Half-Breed shook his head.

“Well, now, it's mighty foolish; for, as sure as a gun,
Miss Janet, the cappin's mighty serious about this matter,
and there'll be no chance for the young gentleman, no
how. He'd better not think of it now, I tell you.”

“I thank you, Mr. Blonay—I thank you, I'm sure, for
the interest you take in me and him; but, whatever be
the danger, Mr. Mellichampe is determined upon it, if
you'll only give him your assistance.”

“Adrat it! he shall have that, fur as I can go for him.
Say what I'm to do that's in reason, and I'll do it.”

“You must procure him some arms for his defence.

If there is danger, you know, he should be provided
with some weapons to meet it.”

“Arms!—a sword p'rhaps—a knife—reckon he'd
like pistols too—”

“Whatever he can get.”

“I'll try—but there's no saying. I'll do what I
can.”

“He desires no more of you. Next, you must find
out exactly where Captain Barsfield puts his ambuscade.”

“Eh!—that's the trap, you mean?”

“Yes—find out that, get the weapons, and at midnight
to-morrow he will be ready to go with you.”

“To-morrow night—midnight!—well, now, Miss Janet,
that'll be a bad time, seeing that there'll be a bright
moon then.”

She paused—hesitated—but a moment after repeated
the order.

“It must be then. He wishes it to be so—he has
so determined.”

“Jist as you say, miss. I'm ready—though it's a
mighty tough sort of business, I tell you; and the cappin's
got a ground knife for the lad, I reckon. He hates
him pretty bad, and won't miss his chance if he can help
it.”

“Be you true to us, Mr. Blonay; be you true, and I
hope for the best. Be you true to us, as you would
hope for God's blessing on your life hereafter. Take
this purse, Mr. Blonay—the gift is small, I know, but
it will prove to you how grateful I am for what you have
done for me, and be an earnest of what I shall give you
for your continued fidelity.”

She put a richly wrought purse of silk into his hands,
through the interstices of which the Half-Breed beheld
distinctly the rich yellow of the goodly coin which filled
it. It was no part of his morality to refuse money on
any terms, and he did not affect any hesitation on the

present occasion. It found its way readily into a general
reservoir, which was snugly concealed by his dress,
and there became kindred with the guineas which Barsfield
had bestowed upon him for a very different service.

Though without doubt intending to be faithful to Janet,
and himself distrusting Barsfield on his own account,
the gift of the maiden stimulated his fidelity, and he seriously,
though in his own rude and broken manner, attempted
to dissuade her from the project. Janet heard
him patiently, thanked him for his counsel, but reiterated
the determination of Mellichampe to abide his chance.

“Well—if that's the how,” he exclaimed, conclusively,
the butt of his rifle sinking heavily upon the floor as
he spoke—“if that's the how, and he's bent to take his
chance, he must go through with it—though I warn you,
Miss Janet, there'll be main hard fighting—”

“Be sure you get the weapons,” she said, interrupting
him.

“I'll try; for he'll want 'em bad, I tell you. I'll do
my best, and if so be I can git him out of the scrape, it
won't be the guineas, Miss Janet, that'll make me do it.
You're a lady, every inch of you, and I'll work for you
jist the same as if you hadn't gi'n me any thing; and—”
in a half-whisper concluding the sentence—“if it comes
to the scratch, you see, adrat it! I won't stop very long
to put it to the cappin's own head,” and he touched significantly
the lock of his rifle. She shuddered slightly,
not so much at the action or the words as at the dreadful
look which accompanied them.

“To-morrow I shall see you, then?” she said, as he
was about to leave her. “You go now, I suppose, to
communicate to Captain Barsfield?”

“Yes—off hand. He tell'd me to come to him soon
as I'd got your answer.”

“Do so, Mr. Blonay—and, remember the hour—remember
the arms!”

The scout was gone—the die was cast—and the feelings

of the woman grew uppermost with his departure.
She sank into a chair, and was relieved by a flood of
tears.

The intelligence brought by the Half-Breed rejoiced
the heart of the tory.

“And when does he propose to take advantage of
your offer? What time has he appointed for the flight?”
he demanded, eagerly. The scout, more cunning than
Janet, had his answer—

“That he leaves to me. I'm to git things ready, you
see, cappin, and when I tells him I'm ready to show the
track, he'll set out upon it with me.”

“'Tis well! You have done excellently, Blonay, and
shall fare the better for it. I feared that she might be
suspicious of you; but the case is desperate,—she thinks
so, at least, and that is enough. Tarleton and Balfour
are not known as merciful judges, and Mellichampe is
prudent to take any other risk.”

The tory spoke rather to himself than to his companion.
The latter, however, did not suffer him to waste
much time in unnecessary musing. He put his inquiries
with the freedom of one confident of his importance.

“And now, cappin, which track am I to take? You
wants to fix a sort of trap, and—”

“Ay—yes! But you must let me know the hour
upon which you start, in order that I may prepare before-hand.”

“Sartain,” was the unhesitating reply. Barsfield proceeded—

“The mere departure from the house will be easy
enough. He must go in safety out of the immediate
enclosure. Nothing must be done to harm him in close
neighbourhood of the dwelling. The sentinel guarding
the gallery will be missing from his watch at the hour on
which you tell me the prisoner is disposed to start. Determine
upon that as soon as possible, in order that I
may arrange it. The sentinel at the back door will also

be withdrawn, and you will have no difficulty in getting
to the bay in the hollow between the house and the avenue.
Lead him by the bay towards the garden fence;
follow that close until you reach the avenue, and by that
time you will be relieved of your company, or never!”

The tone of Barsfield's voice rose into fierce emphasis
as he uttered the last words, and the triumphant and
bitter hope of his malignant heart spoke out no less in
the glare of his eye, and the movement of his uplifted
arm, than in the language from his lips. He thus continued—

“Go now and complete your arrangements with the
lady. Come to me then, and tell me what is determined
upon. Be prompt, Blonay, and stick to your words,
and you shall be properly rewarded.”

The Half-Breed promised him freely enough, and left
him instantly to do as he was directed. The soul of the
tory spoke out more freely when he was alone.

“Ay, you shall be rewarded, but with a fate like his.
I should be a poor fool, indeed, to leave such a secret in
custody like yours.”

He little knew that the keen thought of the stolid-seeming
Blonay had seen through his design, and meditated
a treachery less foul, as it had its cause and provocation.

“He cannot escape me now!” said Barsfield to himself,
as he paced to and fro among the trees where he
had spoken with Blonay. “Not even Tarleton shall
now pluck him from my grasp. His doom is written—
and she—she, too, shall not live for another, who scorns
to live for me! I punish her when I put my foot on
him. This mockery of a trial, which Tarleton has devised
to effect his escape, deludes not me. I see through
him. He would clear him—he aims at my ruin—I see
through the drift of this order. His own testimony would
be brought to bear in behalf of my enemy, and I should
only be cited to prove that which he would find others

to disprove. I shall disappoint his malice. Mellichampe,
by his own precipitation, shall disappoint him. His benevolent
plan to take my enemy from my grasp shall be
defeated, and I shall yet triumph in his heart's best
blood. Had he not been my enemy, he would not have
troubled himself with such unusual and unbecoming
charity. No! he must glut his own passion for revenge
and blood whenever his humour prompts him, and deny
to all others a like enjoyment. He shall not deny me—
not in this! The doom of Mellichampe is written—his
hours are numbered—and, unless hell itself conspires
against me, he can escape me no longer!”