55. LV.
THE STEPS IN THE SNOW.
The voice was that of Fergus. Ruthven
turned suddenly, and gazed at the
old Highlander with undisguised astonishment
and vague disquiet; and the
expresssion of the ancient servitor's
countenance was not calculated to dispel
his emotion. The weather-beaten
face was flushed, and the eyes of Fergus
sparkled with wrath. His lips were
compressed like iron, and the hand
which he had laid upon his master's arm
was so heavy and unceremonious—so indicative
of forgetfulness of every form
of respect—that Lord Ruthven felt his
heart throb, his pulse give a great leap.
“What is it?” he said, grasping the
Highlander suddenly by the arm.
“Hist! my lord—make no noise!”
“Your meaning? You are no child!”
exclaimed Ruthven; “you must have
good reason for this abrupt address!”
“I have; of that you shall judge!
Follow me, my lord.”
“Go on!” said Lord Ruthven.
Fergus glided through the door; Ruthven
followed, and it closed behind them.
They had passed, in three steps, into another
world, as it were. The sepulchral
glare of the snow, bathed in icy moonlight,
and the freezing wind, which cut
like a sharp steel blade through the nobleman's
thin silk coat, made the contrast
between the warm apartments within
and the frozen expanse without as
striking as it was abrupt.
But Ruthven did not heed it for an
instant. A vague suspicion fired his
frame, and sent the blood boiling to his
cheeks.
“Well!” he said to Fergus.
“Follow me, my lord!”
“Your object?”
“To show you something—come?”
Fergus went rapidly, as he spoke,
down the broad steps; turned and followed
the façade of the mansion; came
in sight of a side-door, opening on the
lawn, and, looking round, exclaimed:
“Your lordship's married a bonny
bride!”
“What do you mean, I say! Speak!”
cried Lord Ruthven, imperiously.
“That will I, speedily, my lord.
Where is the countess?”
“I know not!”
“I know.”
“Where? Your meaning, Fergus?
— Something in your words — your
voice—!”
“Yes, yes — your lordship is right.
I have lost my coolness, even my respect;
and yet, I must go further—I
must exact a promise from your lordship!”
“A promise! The meaning of all
this? Speak if you would have me retain
my senses!”
“Promise that—you will not slay my
lady.”
“Slay!—you are mad!”
“I am in my senses—promise, my
lord!”
“I promise nothing, and I command
you to explain your words! Speak! or,
by Heaven, I'll tear your meaning out of
your very heart!”
And Ruthven seized the old servant
by the throat, shaking him with such
violence that he seemed about to strangle
him.
Fergus made no remonstrance whatever.
He simply gasped for breath, and
Ruthven released his grasp.
“I obey your lordship, then,” said
Fergus. “I've done my duty at least.”
“Where is Lady Ruthven?”
Fergus started down, and pointed to
the snow.
“Look, my lord!” he said.
Ruthven looked, and saw the imprint
of a small delicate slipper in the snow.
“There is another!” said Fergus, in
a low tone, “and another still. The
person came out of that side-door; it
has not been long since, you see, my
lord, as the wind has not filled the
tracks; and you can tell in which direction
the person went. There are the
steps!”
His master no longer listened. With
a burning cheek, and a heart which
throbbed almost to bursting, Ruthven
followed the delicate footsteps down the
hill, the moonlight enabling him to do so
without difficulty. Stooping and hastening
onward, he resembled some wild animal
crouching, and ready to spring upon
his prey. Suddenly a cloud passed over
the moon, and the dull glare of the snow
barely afforded him the means of tracing
the steps. It was sufficient, however,
and Ruthven rapidly descended the slope,
leaving the great gate far on his left.
All at once a deep shadow fell upon the
marks in the snow. He looked up and
saw a great oak, distant twenty or thirty
paces.
At the same moment, the sound of
voices was heard; and a voice which he
recognized as that of Honoria murmured:
“I will love you in life and death!”
Ruthven's burning glance followed
the direction of the sound, penetrated
the shadow, and saw Honoria clasped in
the arms of Edmund Innis.
