University of Virginia Library

34. CHAPTER XXXIV.

Beaumont and Fletcher. Tragedy of Philaster.

The prolonged absence of the count excited a surprise at the
castle, which, as the day began to wane, grew into solicitude, and
finally into serious anxiety. Messengers were despatched in every
direction in search of him, and the baron, pacing the court of his
castle with a perturbed air, awaited their return, and instituted
meanwhile the closest inquiry of all his adherents as to the time and
place in which the expected bridegroom had last been seen.

“He is coming, my lord,” said one, entering with breathless haste
while these investigations were pending; “he is coming under
whip and spur, down the river road, just this side the woods; you
can see him from the west gate.”

A crowd rushed to the gateway, and the baron beheld with
joy, for a moment, the distant spectacle which was pointed out to
him; but as the equestrian drew near it soon became evident that
it was not the count. A soldier, one of the searching party, had
found the freed horse in the woods, and mounting him, had galloped
home to convey the alarming intelligence. The utmost consternation
now prevailed; another large detachment of soldiers and Indians

was sent out to search for the lost rider, to whom some casualty was
supposed to have happened, but one which it was yet hoped might
not prove of a serious character.

Ignorant for a while of the alarm, Blanche had remained in her
room in painful expectation of the approaching ceremony, for the
friendly stupor which had so long deadened her sensibilities had
passed away, and left her keenly alive to all her sufferings. Emily
brought to her the first tidings of Carlton's singular absence, exciting
great astonishment, and a vague anticipation of relief which she was
still unwilling to build upon the hope of a disaster to a fellow being.
Not so, however, with Emily, who could not conceal the complacency
with which she contemplated the subject, and enumerated
the various fatal accidents that might have befallen the missing man.

“It is very shocking, of course,” she said, “but he has doubtless
been thrown, and had his neck dislocated; they can't re-set necks, I
believe, can they? Or else, perhaps, some of the Hurons have way-laid
him, and they always make sure work of what they take in
hand—it is awful, certainly—but he's probably dead!”

Myrtle displayed much anxiety, and shuddered at the levity of
Miss Roselle; a suspicion had taken possession of her mind, not unnatural
to one to whom tales of murder and revenge were familiar
as household words. Who knew, she asked, that Mr. Huntington
had really departed? might he not be lurking in the wilderness,
and might not his hand—?

“Mr. Huntington is no assassin!” answered Blanche, indignantly,
yet not unalarmed at the horrid suspicion; “he is incapable of such
an act.”

“Nay, I said not that he had slain him,” replied the abashed
girl; “but he may have carried him off, or—”

“There is some new commotion below,” interrupted Emily, looking
from the window into the court of the castle; “a crowd is entering
the gate, led by the Lynx; see! the baron advances to meet them,
and the Indian is talking and gesticulating with much earnestness;

now he stoops and marks something on the ground; look! it
is the track of a large foot; now he holds up some little broken
sticks, which he has brought with him; what can it mean? Wait,
while I run and learn; I will be back in a minute.”

Emily departed; and while both Blanche and Myrtle were yet
trembling with the violence of their excitement, and watching the
movements below, she returned.

“The Huron,” she said, quickly, “has followed the trail of the
horse in the woods to a place where the ground and leaves are much
trampled, and where there are frequent marks of a huge foot, and
also of the count's well known steps; the horse has reared, he says,
for there are deep dents in the soil, made by his hind shoes. Besides
all this,” she said, breathlessly, “the trail of the men leads
southerly from that spot, and that of the horse in another direction;
three experienced path-finders are on the track, accompanied by a
hundred men, and further news is expected every moment.”

Myrtle turned pale as she listened, and left the room without reply,
while Blanche, greatly moved, continued to gaze, expectantly,
from the window.

The Lynx had made his discoveries in the presence of others who
had also discerned the signs which he had so plainly construed;
and as they could not be kept secret, nor the chase restrained, he
had done all that he could to retard it, by returning to the castle
with the intelligence, leaving the pursuers to the guidance of less
experienced trail-seekers than himself. For if Harry Bolt had left
an engraved card on the scene of his exploit, bearing his name in
full, it could not more distinctly have revealed his presence to enlightened
eyes, than his footsteps had done to the Lynx. There
was, indeed, no mistaking the sign; the Indian knew every curve
and angle of the prodigious track, and the very number of the hobnails
in either heel; he had seen it on the banks of the Hudson, on
the day of his first singular interview with Harry, and had perused
it with unabated interest at every subsequent landing-place on their

joint route. How it came on the shore of the Sorelle, he considered
it no part of his province to determine; but there it was, as legible
as a signature or a countenance. The negro, he supposed, had in
some way followed his master, and encountered him on his return,
and they had together planned and executed the recent adventure,
which he considered a gallant and daring act, every way justifiable,
and he was by no means desirous to assist in defeating it. Yet, if
he had apprehended for a moment the true state of affairs, no one
would have been more prompt in repelling the approaching invasion
of his country, at whatever sacrifice of personal feelings.

The baron remained in a state of momentarily increasing agitation,
awaiting and receiving the successive tidings that reached him
from the forest; but the night began to close in without anything
decisive being heard, and an hour after dark a few of the pursuing
party returned to the castle with the intelligence that they had followed
the trail four miles, until the darkness prevented further search,
and that the main body of pursuers had encamped in the woods,
ready to resume their quest with the first return of light.

The count, in the meantime, as the hour for the embarkation of
the invaders arrived, finding himself not only unguarded, but seemingly
unwatched, began to contemplate the project of escape. One
hour's warning, he knew, would enable the baron not only to make
a successful defence of his post, but probably to utterly discomfit his
foes, while without it everything would be irremediably lost. To
retrieve his own fortunes, to avenge himself fully on Henrich and
the exulting negro, and to close the exciting drama of his adventures
by his own final triumph, what was there that he would not do to
accomplish ends like these? Should an idle punctilio restrain him
from reaping such a harvest of advantages? He had passed his
word of honor, indeed; but was it not to a treacherous foe, who
were themselves advancing stealthily upon their adversaries, with
strategy and guile? Had he not himself been artfully and surreptitiously
captured, and in no fair and open combat? Such were

some of the arguments with which the count fortified his growing
resolution; for when did infamy or crime ever lack extenuation in
the breast of its perpetrator?

The danger attending the deed scarcely occurred to his mind, for
although he knew the penalty to which it would technically render
him liable if the English should prove successful, and he should
again fall into their hands, he did not conceive such a result possible,
if the baron were once fully apprised of his peril; and he apprehended,
in no event, any extremity of punishment from the urbane
officer, who had already shown so marked a consideration for his
prisoner's rank and title. The risk, indeed, was slight in comparison
with the vast benefits in prospect, and so busy was the captive in
calculating the practicability of his scheme, and in overcoming the
obstacles in its way, that he scarcely looked beyond.

A seeming opportunity at length occurred in the bustle of departure;
the vigilant Harry, his self-constituted guide, had been separated
from him in the order of embarkation, and while the boats were put
in readiness, and were receiving their respective occupants, Carlton
stepped backward a little and observing that the movement was
unnoticed, glided silently into the deeper shade of the forest, and
then quickened his pace. In another moment he was running—
plunging deeper into the sheltering woods—skulking through its
densest shades, and listening with terror to the fancied sounds of
pursuit. The escape was almost instantly discovered, yet no one
could tell the precise time of the prisoner's departure, or the direction
he had taken; it was at once reported to the commanding officer,
whose astonishment was unbounded, and yet was not greater than
his wrath.

“It is idle to pursue,” he said; “we must quicken our speed and
try to outstrip the scoundrel; yet our ignorance of the channel will
impede us; was ever such infamy heard of? A gentleman—a
count—and a commissioned officer, forfeiting his pledged honor!—
let me but take the lying knave once more, and if he escape his
deserts again, mine shall be the blame!”