University of Virginia Library

16. CHAPTER XVI.
A NOBLE PRISONER.

“Well, Harry, what are we to do?”
said Harley, who was the first to speak.

“Fly! fly!—oh! fly, and save yourselves!”
cried Viola, springing to us.

“And leave you in the hands of a
villain, dearest?” replied Harley, throwing
an arm around her and drawing
her to him. “We should be cowards
indeed to do that, my pretty flower!”

“But he will kill you, if you stay
here, Morton! Oh, fly! fly! for my
sake!”

“You forget, my dear Viola, we
could not escape—for this terrible lord
is already here.”

“But you came as pedlars, you tell
me—depart as such, and he will not
molest you. This lady, I am sure, will
keep the secret, for her own sake;”
and she appealed to Anne with her
eyes.

“Yes, yes—I will—I swear it!”
cried Anne, in alarm. “Oh! gentlemen,
go! go!—do as this lady bids you,
and all may yet be well.”

“What do you think of their advice,
Harry?” inquired Harley, looking at me.

“That it is meant for our good, perhaps,
but should not be followed,” I
replied.

He grasped my hand.

“Were there twenty terrible lords, instead
of one, I would not stir an inch,”
he said.

“Nor I,” I rejoined.

“You see,” he continued, turning to
Viola, “we are not to be moved—so
spare us your entreaties, and be firm,
and we will save you, or perish in the
attempt. Here, seat yourself here,
dearest, on this sofa, and do not stir
from here, nor speak. Will this Count
seek to enter the tower?” he continued,
addressing Anne, who stood wringing
her hands, the picture of despair.

“Doubtless he will,” she answered,
in tremulous tones. “Oh, go! gentlemen—go!—in
mercy to yourselves, and
us, go!”

“Hush! not a word. If I had a
rope!”

“I saw one in the room above,” I
hastened to say.

“Ah, ha, ha! Fate again! Quick,
Harry, and get it! there is no time to
lose.”

I bounded away, and in less than a
minute returned with a good-sized coil.

“Now, Harry—and you, Anne—follow
me to the room below.”

“Oh, sir! I—” began Anne, drawing
back.

“Girl!” cried Harley, interrupting
her, seizing her by the wrist, and producing
a revolver: “this is no time to
trifle. You have sworn to obey us,
and you shall! or take the consequences!
We are armed, and desperate—
come!” and he dragged her toward the
door by main force.

“Kill me!” she cried—” kill me! I
deserve death, for my unintentional
treachery to my lord.”

“Would you save his life?” demanded
Harley, fiercely.

“Yes! yes! even at the sacrifice of
my own.”

“Then follow us, and give no alarm!
or, I swear to you, I will send the first
ball through his head!”

“Oh! then,” pleaded Anne, “bind
me! bind me! that he may think me
overpowered, not treacherous.”

“If we have time, I will. Come!
quick! quick!”

We all now hurried down to the
chamber below, but none more eagerly
than Anne.

“There is time!” she cried; “quick
now, with your cord!—and oh! for
Heaven's sake! good gentlemen, do
not harm him!”

It was the work of less than a minute
to bind fast the hands and feet of
Mistress Anne, who aided us all she
could; and leaving her lying upon the
ground, we hastened to the window that
commanded a view of the bridge.

“Now, then, if he would only enter
by the door here,” began Harley, but
interrupted his speech with the exclamation,
“Ha! he comes! Quick! Harry
—here! stand by me, ready to spring
upon him!” and hurriedly unlocking
the door, he placed himself so that while
open it would cover him, and I hastily
took my position beside him.

Scarcely had I done so, when the
door was thrown quickly open, and a
voice, which we instantly recognized,
exclaimed, angrily:

“Where are these thieving—”

The sentence was cut short by a
heavy blow from the first of Harley,
which staggered the speaker forward,
and brought him to his knees; and before
he could recover himself, we were
upon him; and, working like men whose
lives depended on their exertions, we
had him fast bound almost in the time
it has taken me to record the fact.

On finding himself a prisoner, in his
own strong-hold, the rage of the Count
knew no bounds. His pale face grew
livid with passion—his eyes shot gleams
like fire—he ground his teeth, and
foamed, and rolled, and worked himself
in his cords, like a giant, and poured
forth a volley of oaths in French, that I
would not repeat even had they been
spoken in my mother tongue.

Harley, after relocking the door, that
we might have no more to contend
with, coolly took a seat alongside of his
prisoner, and quietly waited till the first
burst of fury was over. It lasted much
longer, however, than one would have
thought likely—denoting the Count to
be a man of the most ungovernable passions,
who was now under physical
restraint, with his mental powers terribly
active, perhaps for the first time in
his life. It was really painful to witness
the workings of the demon within him;
and I believe that, for a time, he was as
much insane as ever was a chained inmate
of Bedlam. Oh! such writhing
—such gnashing of teeth—such rolling
of the eyes, and such contortions of the
countenance—I hope never to witness
again! Truly had Anne said, he was
terrible in his anger; and I verily believe,
had it been in his power, he would
have put us beyond the pale of mortality,
with as little compunction as he
would have felt for a serpent or a mad
dog.

Gradually, at length, he grew calmer,
and finally ceased his struggles altogether,
fixing his keen, black eyes upon
Harley, with a malignant intensity that
seemed to penetrate to the very soul.
He was, as I have previously described
him, a finely formed man, of medium
size, and some five-and-thirty years of
age. He was, setting passion aside, by

no means an ill-looking individual—
though his features generally were too
sharp and pale for any great manly
beauty. His lips were thin and close,
and on the upper one was a fine, black
mustache, that contrasted forcibly with
his pale countenance—the more so, that
all the rest of his beard was kept
closely shaved. His forehead was high,
broad and intellectual; and he had a
look of firmness, decision and command,
that accorded with his real character.
His most remarkable feature,
however, was his eye; it was the blackest
and most piercing I had ever beheld,
and as I noted its fiery, snake-like appearance,
I did not wonder he could
make himself feared by those over whom
he could exercise authority in any degree,
or by those whom fortune had
placed within the limits of his evil influence.

Harley fixed his eye upon the Count,
and by the thoughtful earnestness of his
look, I knew he was seeking to read
the character of his enemy, that he
might the more readily accomplish the
purpose he had in view. For some
time neither spoke; but silently regarded
each other, like two combatants
who have only ceased hostilities that
they may the more readily close in the
death-gripe.

My friend was the first to break the
silence; and his language was altogether
different from what I had anticipated,
considering the occasion, and
the recent exciting events.

“Well, Monsieur le Capitaine,” he
said, with a quiet smile, “if I were in
your place, and you in mine, I think I
would give it up as an unforeseen disaster,
and endeavor to effect a compromise—of
course making it as favorable
to myself as I could under the circumstances—but
at the same time resolving
to yield some knotty points, with a
very good show of grace—more especially
if convinced, by certain demonstrations
of my adversary, that I must
yield them, nolens volens. What say
you to this, good my lord?”

“Who are you?” demanded the
Count, with an air of surprise.

“Why, I am what you can hardly
have the pretence to be, my lord—an
honest man.”

The Count writhed, and his black
eyes flashed.

“Villain!” he muttered, through his
shut teeth—“if I were only free of
these cords, I would teach you how to
address yourself to me.”

“Why, there it is again, good my
lord,” returned Harley smiling; “if
you were free, of course; but you are not,
you see, and you are not likely to be at
present—therefore I think we had better
come to an amicable understanding.
Now if if is to be the word, why I can
but repeat, that if I were in your place,
and you in mine—you understand?”

“Who are you?” cried the other,
fiercely; “and what do you seek here?”

“There now, the last is quite a sensible
question, all things considered, and
I may as well answer it. In the first
place, I seek the liberation of Viola St.
Auburn; in the second place, I wish to
know what you have done with her
worthy father? in the third place, I
would ask you, if you think counterfeiting
an honest and profitable speculation?”

At these last words the Count turned
deadly pale, and for the first time exhibited
signs of alarm.

“I do not understand your allusions
to counterfeiting,” he replied, with ashy,
quivering lips.

“No? then if you will follow me to
a certain small apartment above us, I
will explain it to you in an unmistakeable
way.”

“Ha! I have been betrayed!” groaned
the other, setting his teeth hard.

“You are known, at all events,” replied
Harley, coolly; “and since you
are completely in our power, I would
advise you to make a virtue of necessity,
and concede us all we ask.”

“Oh! my lord, I did not betray
you,” now cried Anne, in a tone of despair.

“Ha! you here?” cried the Count,
working himself in his cords, till he
brought his eyes to bear upon her—for
not having seen her on his entrance,

this was the first intimation he had of
her being in the chamber.

“Oh! my lord,” she exclaimed, “I
did not betray you!—indeed, indeed I
did not!—these villains—”

“Hold!” interrupted Harley; “I will
permit no such language. “Do not
speak again, Mistress Anne, till I address
you, or you will be sorry for it.”

Anne was dumb through fear that all
might be revealed to him she both loved
and feared.

“And now,” pursued Harley, turning
to the Count, with a stern look, “as
time is precious to myself and friends,
if not to you, let us come to an understanding
at once.”

“Who are you, sir?” again demanded
D'Estang.

“Well, thinking it not unlikely you
have heard of me before, I will honor
you with my name. I am called Morton
Harley.”

“Ha!” ejaculated the Count, with
any thing but a pleased expression; and
he bit his nether lip till the blood
showed through.

“Now that you know who I am,
and probably divine my business here,
let us see if we can come to any understanding,”
pursued Harley.

“Well, name your demands!”

“I will, monsieur; and endeavor not
to be unreasonable, considering the advantage
I have over you.”

“You are a coward,” sneered the
Count, “to make your boast over a
gentleman in fetters. Set me free, sir,
and see who gets the advantage then.”

“Ay, ay—or shoot myself through
the head,” returned Harley ironically—
“I suppose that would answer equally
as well. But as I intend to do neither,
Monsieur le Capitaine, suppose we come
to the point at once. I may as well
remark, en passant, that, having the
advantage, I intend to make good use
of it; and as to the epithet of coward—
why, should it ever be my misfortune
to be reduced to the level of your lordship,
I will leave it to a gang of counterfeiters
and thieves to decide which is
the most cowardly, to kidnap an unprotected
lady, with the assistance of her
own father, and shut her up in a tower
—or to go boldly into the fortress of an
enemy, make him a prisoner, and set
the aforesaid lady at liberty, in defiance
of his power. Now, Monsieur D'Estang,
lest you should mistake my character,
from my free and easy way of
speaking, let me impress upon your
mind, that I am not a person to be
trifled with—that I value life only for
the use I can make of it—that I fear
death as little as yourself, perhaps less
—and that once determined upon a
course, I can not be changed. And I
would furthermore observe in this connection,
that it is very fortunate for you
that Viola St. Auburn has sustained no
further injury than irksome imprisonment—for
had it been otherwise—had
you, in short, laid a rude hand upon
her—I swear to you, Count D'Estang, I
would have pitched you headlong from
the top of this tower, though I died for
it the next minute! Now, then, do you
begin to understand me? Eh?”

“Go on, sir—I am in your power at
present—but—”

“There, there, Monsieur,” interrupted
Harley—“that will do—never
mind the rest. You are in our power
for the present; exactly so; that will
do for the present; and of the future
we know just as much as yourself.
Well, now to be brief, I wish you to
state, in the first place, what has become
of the father of Viola?”

“Well, sir, suppose I refuse to do
so?”

“Then you will leave the impression
on our minds, that he has been foully
dealt with—or, in plainer language,
murdered!”

“Well?” said the Count making an
effort to appear calm and indifferent.

“Well,” replied Harley, “in that
case, though he was my enemy, I shall
take every means in my power to have
you brought to justice.”

“But suppose I tell you he is imprisoned?”

“Then you must inform us how he
can be liberated.”

“Well, let us understand each other,”
pursued the Count. “Suppose I comply

with all your demands—what am I
to get in return?”

“Your liberty.”

“When?” and in what manner?”

“You shall be set free after we are
gone. This, Sir Count, is much better
than you deserve; but as it would be
rather troublesome to bring you to justice,
and remain as a witness myself, if
you will comply with all of our demands,
and take a solemn oath not to
seek to molest us after we are gone,
you shall be restored to liberty.”

“And if I refuse?”

“You will be kept here a prisoner;
and one of us, at least, shall remain as
your jailor.”

“But I cannot long remain a prisoner
here—for my servants, if no others,
when once they learn the outrage
that has been perpetrated upon me, will
break in, overpower you, and set me
free.”

“But we will take care, my dear sir,
that your servants learn nothing of the
kind,” said Harley.

“You cannot keep the knowledge
from them; they will suspect there is
something wrong, if I do not make my
appearance in the course of the day.”

“Then to settle the matter in a few
words,” returned Harley, producing his
revolver, “let me assure you, M. D'Estang,
that we are armed to the teeth—
that the first that enters will be shot
down like a dog—and that the moment
we have reason to think we may be
overpowered, that moment a ball shall
be lodged in your lordship's brain!”

The Count bit his lip again, and
seemed to reflect.

“Well,” he said at length, “I like
your candor, at all events: now say
what you require of me?”

“First, that Mr. St. Auburn, if imprisoned,
shall be set at liberty; secondly,
that you shall suffer yourself to take his
place till after our departure: thirdly,
that you will give written orders to your
servants to furnish us with four good
horses, and permit us to leave your
grounds unmolested: and fourthly, that
you will swear, by all you hold sacred,
never again to molest us.”

Again the Count reflected; but he evidently
saw no better way of getting out
of a bad predicament; while the idea
probably occurred to him, that by assenting
to Harley's proposals, something
might happen to give him the ascendancy;
he therefore rejoined:

“Well, sir, as I cannot do better, I
concede your demands,—but first tell me
in what manner I shall gain my liberty?”

“After we have been gone a reasonable
time,” replied Harley, “I will despatch
a note to one of your porters,
informing him of your confinement.”

“But what security have I that you
will not play me false?”

“The word of a gentleman.”

“Well,” sneered the Count, “that
may do very well in some cases; but
even you, sir, must admit, it is not tangible
security.”

“It is all I have to offer,” returned
Harley, haughtily; “and if you do not
choose to accept of it, why, we will endeavor
to manage the business without
your assistance.”

“Nay, my friend—”

“Hold!” cried Harley, almost fiercely,
“do not presume, sir, to apply the term
of friend to me!—I detest such hypocrisy!
I am your enemy, henceforth
and forever, and will trouble you to
bear it in mind.”

The pale features of the Count flushed,
his eyes flashed, he bit his lips, and
would doubtless have burst forth in a
torrent of invectives, had not policy
kept him silent.

“Do you agree to my conditions?”
demanded Harley, at length; “yes or
no?”

“Yes,” replied the Count.

“Very well—let us proceed directly
to business. First in order are the written
directions to your servants.”

“Yes, if you will permit me to send
for pen, ink, and paper.”

“It is unnecessary, sir, even if the
articles were not to be found in your
cabinet of curiosities up stairs; but I
have paper in my box, and a pencil will
answer our purpose as well as a pen;”
and going to his box, Harley produced
a torn blank sheet.

“I must have the use of my arms,”
said the Count.

“One will do, sir; but first we will
ascertain what other arms you have;”
and Harley proceeded to search the
Count, finding on his person a brace of
pistols, and a “Bowie,” which he took
from him.

We then released the Count's right
arm, and placing him on a sofa, drew a
table up to him, so that he could write
without difficulty. He affected no hesitation;
but taking the pencil of my
friend, wrote some three or four lines in
French, signed his name at the bottom,
and handed the paper to Harley. The
moment the latter glanced over it, a
dark, malignant expression, such as I
had never before seen him exhibit, swept
over his countenance; and slowly producing
one of the Count's pistols, he
pointed it at the head of his lordship,
and said, in a deep, severe tone:

“Villain! I have a mind to make
this treachery your last!”

Anne uttered a scream of terror.

“Hold! Morton,” I cried, in a tone
of alarm, while the Count fairly turned
livid with fear, and, with his eyes sinking
under Harley's fierce gaze, trembled
in every limb: “Hold! Morton!—for
the love of Heaven do no murder
here!” I continued, taking the weapon
from his hands, though he still kept his
eyes fixed piercingly on the Count.
“What has he done, Morton? Speak!
what has he done?” and I repeated the
question several times before I got an
answer.

“Done?” cried Harley, at length,
fiercely,—“read for yourself, Harry?”
and he held forth the paper. “But I
forget,” he added, “you do not understand
French—so I will translate it.”

And he read:

“He fancied, the knave! that neither
of us understood French,” added Harley.

I gave vent to my indignation in no
very measured terms.

“He will re-write the order,” pursued
Harley, sternly, again fixing his eyes
piercingly on the Count; “and the
very next time he attempts to play us
false will be the last. In English, Monsieur
D'Estang!” he added, pushing
the paper to him.

The Count again wrote; but in spite
of himself, his hand trembled. The second
note, after perusing, Harley handed
to me. It read:

“That will do, I think,” I said.

“Now, then,” said Harley, “for Mr.
St. Auburn. Where is he, Sir Count?”

“He is imprisoned in this tower, below
us,” replied D'Estang.

“You must show us the way, sir.”

The Count looked down at his limbs.

“We will refasten your arms, and release
your legs,” pursued Harley. “I
can do this, Harry—will you favor me
by calling Viola?”

I hastened to the chamber above.

“Well?” cried the beautiful maiden,
eagerly. “Oh! Mr. Walton, I have
been so terrified!”

“Be not so any longer then, fair
lady,” I replied—“for we have succeeded
beyond our expectations.”

“Is Morton safe?”

“Yes, and the Count a prisoner;”
and I hurriedly narrated what had happened,
adding; “Come, we are about
to visit your father, and set you all
free.”

She wept for joy.

On reaching the lower chamber, Viola
flew to Harley, threw her arms
around his neck, and sobbed on his
breast.

“Cheer up, my love!” he said.
“God is with us, and we triumph.—
Come, dearest—we will free you, and
your father, from the clutches of a demon
incarnate; and then if he does not
sanction our union, he is incapable of

gratitude, and we must act without
him.”

As soon as Viola could subdue her
emotions, so as to appear composed,
Harley bade her follow with me; and
then placing his hand on the Count's
shoulder, who was now standing by,
with his arms bound, but his legs unfettered,
said:

“Now, sir, show us the secret passage
to your prisoner.”

“But Anne,” I interposed—“shall we
leave her here?”

“Ah! I had nearly overlooked her!
No, she must go with us.”

I soon cut the cords that bound her
feet! and then the count, without a word,
proceeded to the secret passage leading
to the upper chamber, Harley keeping
close to him, with a revolver in his hand.

“Here,” said the count, on reaching
the foot of the stairway; “underneath
me is a trap door; and a little to the
right, there, you will find a spring—press
that, and it will open.”

Harley stooped down, the count stepped
aside, and in a moment the trap
was raised, and a blast of cool air came
up from the darkness below.

“We must have a light,” said Harley.

I had seen a lantern in the little room
above, and I hastened to get it. Harley
took it, and after peering down into the
darkness, swung it on his arm, fixed his
left hand firmly in the cords that bound
the count, and placing his revolver to
the breast of the latter, said, in a determined
tone:

“A single attempt at treachery, Count,
and you are a dead man.”

He then began to descend the sleep,
narrow stairs, keeping a firm hold of
D'Estang: Viola followed next, and I
brought up the rear with Anne.

So we went down to the dungeon of
the tower.