University of Virginia Library

46. XLVI.
HOW FALCONBRIDGE KINDLED A FIRE TO SEE BY.

IT was nearly sunset, and a heavy bank of lurid
cloud, fringed with crimson, was piled up in the
western horizon. It was plain that a storm
would burst before the sunlight shone again, and
every eye which witnessed the magnificent spectacle, was entranced
by its grandeur and wild beauty.

Falconbridge alone, of all at the Ordinary, did not heed
it. Seated in his chamber, his shoulders bending forward,
his face pale, his eyes blazing at times with a menacing fire,
he did not move or utter a word. The events of the last
few days had almost paralyzed him. He seemed to be
growing old. His face had lost all its bloom and freshness;
his bearing all its buoyant grace and pride; he stooped like
an octogenarian, who approaches the end of human life,
after much toil and suffering and grief.

The mood of the young man's mind was piteous. Rage
and despair, love and hatred, a thousand warring and discordant
passions, held riotous carnival in the heaving
bosom, and tore him with their burning talons.

He knew all now. He had become aware of Miss Argal's
intentions with regard to the Earl; and though the young
lady had not distinctly broken with him, he foresaw that she
had resolved to do so, and would dismiss him on the first
favorable opportunity. Thus, then, would end his wild and
delicious dream. The passionate love, which permeated his
very life-blood, would be swallowed up in this gulf of despair.
He would be thrown off like a useless garment, whose
gloss has departed—which no longer excites any emotion

but contempt. The Countess of Fairfax, if they ever met
again, would smile or sneer at their past relations, and
greet him with an air of condescension or indifference. The
Earl would not insult him, perhaps—he would treat him
with great politeness; a former friend of his Countess
would be entitled to so much attention; and he would be
bowed out grandly from their presence, he, the silly young
adventurer, who had presumed to be the rival of his betters!

The thought flushed the pale cheek, and brought a threatening
flash to the eyes. He rose from his seat, and looked
around him with a fiery glance. Where was he? Why was
he inactive? Was he to sit down and groan, and submit to
his fate—or go and dare the worst, and place everything
upon a comprehensible footing?

Yes, he would go! He would see her for the last time.
He would know, beyond all doubt, what she intended, what
he might expect. He would endure no longer this horrible
state of doubt—all should be plain.

Falconbridge acted quickly. He went and ordered his
horse—passed through the main apartment without speaking
to any one,—and was soon in the saddle. The sky began
to grow darker, the distant thunder to mutter; and one or
two vivid flashes of lightning darted across the zenith, revealing
the lurid depths more plainly. Falconbridge paid
no attention to these evidences of the approaching storm.
He struck the spur into his horse's sides; and set forward
at a wild pace, towards Mr. Argal's.

He soon reached the place, and the fiery light in his eyes
deepened and grew more menacing at the sight which greeted
him at the door. Lord Fairfax's horse stood there—indeed
the Earl had spent the entire afternoon with Miss Argal, her
father being again unavoidably absent, and the former excuse
of her loneliness having proved successful in retaining
his lordship.

Falconbridge set his teeth together like a vice, dismounted,

and went and knocked at the door. It was opened by a
servant, who did not move aside for the young gentleman.

“Miss Argal?” he said, making a step in advance.

Mistress had told her to say, replied the servant, if Mr.
Falconbridge came, that she was engaged and must be
excused for not seeing him.

That was all. The words sounded like a death-knell in
the young man's ears. He simply bowed his head and departed.
He almost staggered as he walked.

His brain was turning round. He mounted his horse
again, and set forth on his return. Then he would not even
have an opportunity of arriving at a distinct understanding!
What she had done once she would do again. He was to be
simply dismissed contemptuously, as if unworthy of attention,—as
a common individual, whose society was disagreeable.
Meanwhile, Lord Fairfax was sitting by the side of
the young lady, laughing, it might be, at the disappointment
of his rival, and basking in the love-light of her fascinating
eyes, and those smiles which now shone for him alone.

The thought maddened the young man almost. He looked
over his shoulder at the illuminated window, through which
he descried the shadows of the young lady and the Earl,
close beside each other. With a muttered imprecation, and
clenched hands, the young man struck his horse with the
spur, and galloped forward. But he did not proceed far.
Just as the house began to disappear in the trees, he reined
in his animal and waited—his resolution was taken.

He did not wait long. Lord Fairfax, as we have said, had
spent many hours with Miss Argal, and now desired to
reach his home before the outburst of the storm. He accordingly
bade the young lady farewell. Falconbridge saw
the two forms in the brightly illuminated doorway, and
mounting his horse, set forward rapidly toward Greenway.

The Earl passed within five paces of Falconbridge, but
the darkness, which had descended quickly, completely hid
the motionless horse and his rider. It was no part of the

young man's design to force an explanation of the character
which he intended from the Earl, within sight or hearing of
Miss Argal. He accordingly permitted the tall horseman to
pass him at full gallop; and then giving rein to Sir John, he
followed.

The Earl heard the quick trampling behind him, and wondered
at it. The hour and the place were not calculated to
remove his suspicions of the pursuer—but he continued his
way without noticing the circumstance.

The hoof-strokes rapidly approached—he heard the quick
breathing of the animal behind him—then, before he could
speak, a violent hand was laid on his bridle, and the horse,
suddenly arrested, reared erect almost, quivering with
terror.

At the same moment a vivid flash of lightning revealed
Falconbridge.

“Sir! Mr. Falconbridge!” exclaimed the Earl, in a voice
of utter astonishment and no less indignation, “pray, what
is the meaning of this very extraordinary proceeding?”

“I will inform your lordship before our interview ends,”
returned Falconbridge, in a deep, hollow voice, which his
suffering had rendered almost unrecognizable.

“Are you mad, sir?” said the Earl, from the darkness;
“release my bridle!”

“Willingly,” was the cold reply; “you are no coward, and
will not escape me!”

“Escape! coward! You shall answer for those words,
sir!”

“I am ready to do so.”

“In the darkness, no doubt,” returned the Earl, full of
contempt and aroused anger, “'tis the favorite cloak of
assassins and lunatics.”

The words were scarcely uttered when Falconbridge was
heard leaping from his horse. Then a quick sound followed
—the sound of steel striking against flint—and almost immediately
a pile of dry leaves and prairie grass was blazing

aloft, illuminating the forest and the threatening figures
with its brilliant flame.

“Now,” said Falconbridge, in the same hollow voice, “if
your lordship is not afraid, you may dismount and listen
to my questions.”

The word “afraid” acted like magic on Lord Fairfax. He
threw himself from the saddle, and gazing at his companion
with mingled astonishment and anger, confronted him in
the full blaze of the fire.

There was something strange and tragic in the scene as
the two men stood thus. The ruddy light streamed full
upon them, and they already had their hands upon their
swords.

“Speak, sir,” said the Earl, controlling his anger; “speak,
and explain this astonishing encounter.”

“I will do so,” said Falconbridge, “and first I will propound
a question to you, my lord. Have you visited Miss
Argal to-day?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Were you not there when I came to the door and asked
for the young lady?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you aware that the young lady is plighted to me?”

“Plighted, sir! No! She is not!”

“Does your lordship design giving me the lie?”

And the young man advanced a step, half drawing his
sword.

“Mr. Falconbridge,” said the Earl, without moving, “are
you a lunatic? I design nothing, sir,—I reply to your
question. I say that Miss Argal is not plighted to you,
because she assured me that she was not.”

“She assured you!”

“Yes, sir.”

“My lord, I do not believe you.”

The Earl's face flushed crimson.

“That is a deliberate insult!”

“Yes!”

“As such I receive it, and will make you answer for it,
sir, at the point of the sword!”

“Good! good!” said Falconbridge, with gloomy pleasure,
“now your lordship is talking like a man. I thought, as
you had tricked an honest gentleman—supplanted him by
craft and cunning in the heart of the only woman he ever
loved—taken advantage of your rank and wealth to wile
away the affections of a lady plighted to another—I thought,
as you had done all this, my lord, pretending all the time
that you were the best friend I had,—that you would now
discover some means of evading my vengeance—of refusing
me reparation at the sword's point! I compliment your
lordship—you are not frightened at the sight of cold steel
at least—you are aroused by my rudeness and my insults!
That is well, sir! Let us end, then, all our differences at
once, and on this spot—with no witnesses, no preliminaries,
without ceremony!”

And drawing his sword, Falconbridge advanced upon the
Earl, whose weapon was also in his hand.

But it was not raised. The momentary madness of anger
had disappeared from the mind of Lord Fairfax—he
seriously asked himself if he was not dealing with a madman.
The additional consideration immediately presented
itself, that a combat at such a time and place, without witnesses,
would be productive of the most serious results to
the survivor. No evidence that the contest was fair and
honorable would exist. The simple fact would be that a
man was killed; and there were plenty of persons ready to
utter the word murder. If he killed the young man in that
lonely spot, could he produce any evidence of the provocation
which had led to the act? Would not many of the
miserable newsmongers of the region say that jealousy and
rivalry had made him waylay his adversary? As these
thoughts passed rapidly through the brain of the Earl, he
drew back coldly, and sheathed his weapon.

“Mr. Falconbridge,” he said, without moving, as the furious

young man advanced straight on him, “if you wish to
kill me, do so. I will not even trust my sword in my hand.
You may not be aware of the fact, but I am, sir, that the
survivor in this combat will be regarded as a murderer. But
understand me, sir, I do not refuse your challenge—you
have outraged and insulted me in a manner which no gentleman
can bear, and by heavens! you shall answer it! Go
home, and do all things decently and in order. Procure
your second, and write me a formal communication. Do not
fear, sir! You have made me as desirous of this encounter
as yourself, and I am willing, nay, I insist upon it—my
blood or your own must flow, sir!”

With which words the Earl deliberately mounted his
horse, and gravely saluting his adversary, continued his road
toward Greenway.

Falconbridge gazed after him for a few moments without
moving. The excess of anger in his bosom had somewhat
moderated, as he listened to the collected voice of the Earl
—but it soon returned in full force again. He had thought
of Miss Argal and the two shadows on the wall. With lips
firmly compressed, and a more fatal determination in his
eye than before, he leaped into the saddle, and just as the
storm began to roar around him, and extinguish the fire,
darted forward in the direction of the Ordinary.

“The net is broken!” he muttered, with a bitter sneer,
through his close-set teeth, “but the prey has not escaped!”