The Star-Gazers

Volume Two – Chapter Four.

A Collision

Mrs Rolph did not see much of her son, who divided his time between Brackley and Aldershot, when he was not away to attend some athletic meeting. But she was quite content, and paid her calls upon Glynne in company with Marjorie, who sat and beamed upon Sir John’s daughter, and lost not an opportunity for getting her arm about the waist of her cousin’s betrothed, being so intensely affectionate that Glynne stared at her wonderingly at times, and then tried to reciprocate the love bestowed upon her, failed dismally, and often asked Lucy whether she liked Miss Emlin? to receive a short, sharp shake of the head in return.

“Sha’n’t say,” Lucy replied one day. “If I do, you’ll think I’m jealous.”

Rolph was not aware of the fact, for Marjorie generally avoided him, and behaved as if she were putting the past farther back; but all the same, she watched her cousin furtively on every possible occasion whenever he was at home or staying at Brackley; and to cover her proceedings, she developed an intense love for botany, and more than once encountered Major Day with Lucy and Glynne, and compared notes. But the major never displayed any great desire to impart information, or to induce the young lady to take up his particular branch.

“Pity Rolph didn’t marry her,” muttered the old man. “Foxy doesn’t like Glynne at all.”

Madge’s botanical studies had a good deal to do with the gynias, and with watching Rolph, who was not aware that his pleasant vices were making of themselves the proverbial rods to scourge him, and unfortunately injure others as well. For Marjorie’s brain was busy; and as she watched him, she made herself acquainted with every movement, noting when he rode over to Brackley or took a walk out into the woods – walks which made her writhe, for she gave her cousin the credit of making his way toward Lindham, out by the solitary collection of houses on the road to nowhere, the spot where Ben Hayle had made his new home.

At these times Marjorie hung upon the tenterhooks of agony and suspense till he returned, when there was a warm glow of satisfaction in her breast if his looks showed that his visit had been unsuccessful.

Sometimes though, she was stung by her jealousy into believing that he obtained interviews with Judith, for he would come back looking more satisfied and content.

She watched him one day, and saw him take the path down through the wood, and she also watched his return.

In a few days he went again in the same direction, and on the next morning she started off before he had left the house, and turned down through the woods to an opening miles away, where, in happier days, she had been wont to gather blackberries; and here she knew she could easily hide in the sandy hollows, and see anyone going toward Lindham – herself unseen.

It was a lonely nook, where, in bygone days, a number of the firs had been cut down, and a sandpit, or rather sand-pits had been formed. These had become disused, the rabbits had taken possession, and, as sun and air penetrated freely, a new growth of furze, heather and broom grew up among the hollows and knolls.

What her plans were she kept hidden, but a looker-on would have said that she had carefully prepared a mine, and that some day, she would spring that mine upon her cousin with a result that would completely overturn his projects, but whether to her own advantage remained to be seen.

As Marjorie approached, the rabbits took flight, and their white tails could be seen disappearing into their burrows, a certain sign that no one had been by before her; and in a few minutes she was safely ensconced in a deep hollow surrounded by brambles, after she had taken the precaution to lay a few fern leaves in the bottom of a little basket, and rapidly pick a few weeds to give colour to her presence there.

The time glided on, and all was so still that a stone-chat came and sat upon a twig close at hand, watching her curiously. Then the rabbits stole out one by one from their burrows, and began to race here and there, indulging in playful bounds as if under the impression that it was evening; but though Marjorie strained her ears to listen, there was no sound of approaching steps, and at last she sat there with her brow full of lines, and her eyes staring angrily from beneath her contracted brows.

“He will not come to-day,” she muttered. “What shall I do?”

“Oh!” she cried, in a harsh whisper, after a long pause, as she crushed together the nearest tuft of leaves, “I could kill her.”

She winced slightly, and then glanced contemptuously at her glove, which was torn, and in three places her white palm was pierced, scratched and bleeding, for she had grasped a twig or two of bramble.

The blood on her hand seemed to have a peculiar fascination for her, and she sat there with her eyes half-shut, watching the long red lines made by snatching her hand away, and at the two tiny beads, which gradually increased till she touched them in turn with the tip of her glove, and then carelessly wiped them away.

“‘He cometh not,’” she said to herself, with a curious laugh.

Rap! And then, from different parts of the hollow, came the same sharp, clear sound, as rabbit after rabbit struck the ground with its foot, giving the alarm and sending all within hearing scuttling into their holes.

Marjorie had been long enough in the country to know the meaning of that noise, and, with her eyes now wide and wild-looking, she listened for the step which had startled the little animals – one plain to them before it grew clear to her.

No step. Not a sound, and her face was a study, could it have been seen, in its intense eagerness for what seemed, in the silence, minutes, while she retained her breath.

“Hah!”

One long, weary exclamation, and a bitter look of disappointment crossed her eager face.

The next moment it was strained again, and her eyes flashed like those of some wild animal whose life depends upon the acuteness of its perceptions.

There was a faint rustle.

Then silence.

Then a faintly-heard scratching noise, as of a thorn passing over a garment.

“He’s coming,” thought Marjorie, “coming, and this way;” and she leaned forward in time to see a figure, bent down so low that it seemed to be going on all fours, dart silently from behind one clump of brambles away to her left, and glide into the shelter of another.

So silently was this act performed that for the moment the watcher asked herself if she had not been deceived.

The answer came directly in the re-appearance of the figure, gliding into sight and creeping on till it was in shelter, hiding not a dozen yards from where she crouched; and she shrank back with her heart beginning to beat heavily, while she knew that the blood was coming and going in her cheeks.

“No; I’m not afraid of Caleb Kent,” she thought to herself; and her eyes flashed again, and in imagination she seemed to see once more the opening where the lodge stood. Her face grew pale, and a curious shrinking sensation attacked her as she recalled Rolph’s face, his eyes searching hers with such a bitter look of contempt and scorn.

Then instantly she seemed to be gazing at herself in the library, clinging to her cousin, till he violently wrenched himself from her, leaving her hopeless and crushed; and she longed bitterly for the opportunity to make some one suffer for this.

“No,” she said to herself, “I am not afraid of Caleb Kent;” and she crouched there, seeing every movement, and in a few moments realised that some one must be coming, for, with the activity of a cat, the young half-gipsy, half-poacher, began to move softly back, as if to keep the clump of brambles between him and whoever it was that was passing.

Marjorie knew directly after that this must be the case, for she could hear the dull sound of a step, and she strained forward a little to try and see, but shrank back again with her heart beginning to beat rapidly, as she realised that, all intent upon the person passing in front, Caleb Kent had no thought for what might be behind, and he had begun to back rapidly away from the clump which had hidden him, to hide in the safer refuge already occupied.

She knew that the step must be her cousin’s, and that he was going over to Lindham to seek Judith.

“Suppose,” she asked herself, “he should come nearer and see her hiding – apparently in company with Caleb Kent – what would he say?”

She quivered with rage and mortification, and for the moment felt disposed to spring up and walk away, but refrained, for she knew that it would then seem as if she had been keeping an appointment with this man, and had been frightened into showing herself by her cousin’s coming.

The situation was horrible, and she knew that all she could do was to wait in the hope that, as soon as Rolph had gone by, Caleb would glide after him.

“What for?” she asked herself; and she turned cold at the answering thought.

He seemed to have no stout bludgeon, though. Perhaps he was only acting the spy; and as soon as Rolph had been to the cottage and returned, Caleb himself might have some intention of going there.

Marjorie’s eyes glittered again as thought after thought came, boding ill to those she hated now with the bitterness of a jealous woman; and all at once, like a flash, a thought flooded her brain which sent the blood thrilling through every artery and vein.

“No,” she thought, and she crouched there, compressing her nether lip between her white teeth. Then, – “Why not? What is she that she should rob me of my happiness, and of all I hold dear? But if – ”

She drew in her breath with a faint hiss that was almost inaudible, but it was sufficient to make the poacher pause and look sharply to right and left, as he still crept backwards till he was beneath the shelter of the clump in the hollow which hid Marjorie, and within a few yards of where she was seated.

The sounds of passing steps were very near now. Then there was a faint cough, and Marjorie knew that her cousin was so close that, if he looked about him, he must see her in hiding with this vagabond of the village; and again the girl’s veins tingled with the nervous sensation of anger and mortification.

She would have given ten years of her life to have been back at home; but she had brought all this upon herself, and she could only hope that Rolph would pass them without turning his head.

“Yes, go on,” said a low, harsh voice, hardly above a whisper, and Marjorie started as she found herself an involuntary listener to the man’s outspoken thoughts. “Only wait,” he continued, and he, too, drew in his breath with a low, hissing sound.

The footsteps died completely away, and Marjorie sat there trembling. The thoughts which had seemed to electrify her, she felt now that she dare not foster; and she was longing for the man to go, when, as if he were influenced by her presence, he turned round suddenly to the right as in search of some one, then to the left, and, not satisfied, faced right about, his countenance full of wonderment and dread, which passed away directly, and he uttered a low, mocking laugh.

Marjorie shrank away for the moment, but, feeling that she must show no dread of this man who had surprised her in a situation which it would be vain to explain, she rose to go, but Caleb seized her tightly by the arm.

“He did not come to meet you,” the man said, with a look of malicious enjoyment, as if it was a pleasure to inflict some of the pain from which he suffered.

“What do you mean?” she cried imperiously, as she sought to release her wrist.

“Call to him to come back and help you,” whispered Caleb. – “Why don’t you?”

He laughed again as he drew himself up into a kneeling position, still holding her tightly,

“How dare you!” cried the girl, indignantly. “Loose my arm, fellow!”

“Why? Not I. You will not call out for fear the captain there should think you were watching to see him go to Hayle’s cottage and pretty Judith.”

He began his speech in a light, bantering way, but as he finished his face was flushed and angry, and his breath came thick and fast, while, still clutching the arm he held, he wrenched his head round and knelt there, gazing in the direction taken by Rolph.

The thought which had held possession of Marjorie’s breast twice, now came back with renewed power, and, casting all feeling of dread to the winds as she read her companion’s face, she snatched at the opportunity.

That Caleb hated Rolph was plain enough; there was a scar upon his lip now that had been made by the hand of one whom he feared as well as hated; and above all, after his fashion, Marjorie knew that he loved Judith.

Here was the instrument to her hand. Why had she not thought of making use of it before?

It was as if she were for the moment possessed, as, without trying now to release herself, she leaned forward and whispered in the young man’s ear, —

“You coward!”

He turned upon her in astonishment.

“I say you are a coward,” she repeated. “Why do you let him go and take her from you?”

There was an animal-like snap of the teeth, as he snarled out, —

“Why do you let him go?”

“Because I am a woman. I am not a man, and strong like you.”

“Curse him! I’ll kill him,” he snarled.

“What good would that do?”

“Eh?”

“If I were a man like you, do you know how I would act?”

“No,” he said; “how could I?” and his lips parted, to show his white teeth in a peculiar laugh, before he gave a quick look to right and left, to satisfy himself that they were not seen.

“I’d have revenge.”

“How? With a gun?”

“And be hung for murder. No!”

She leaned towards him, and she too gave a furtive look round, as, with her face flushed strangely, she whispered a few words to him – words that he listened to with his eyes half-closed, and then he turned upon her quickly.

“Why? To bring him back to you?” he said, with a mocking laugh. “You love him?”

“I hate him,” she said slowly.

“Yes,” he said; “and you hate Judy Hayle, too, like the gipsy women hate sometimes. Why don’t you stop it?”

“Because I am helpless,” she said bitterly. “Loose my arm. I knew it: you are a coward.”

“Am I?” he said, with an ugly smile. “Is this a trap?”

“If you think so, let it be,” she said contemptuously; and she tried again to shake her arm free, but the grasp upon it tightened.

“Perhaps I am a coward,” he said; “but I will. He wouldn’t marry her then, and it would be serving him out. Not for nothing, though,” he added, with a laugh. “What will you give me?”

“Pah!” she said contemptuously; “how much do you want?”

He laughed and leaned forward, gazing full in her face.

“Perhaps I shall get into trouble again for it,” he said, “and be shut up for a year – perhaps for more. It’s to play your game as well as mine, and I must be paid well.”

“Well, I will pay you,” she said. “Tell me what you want.”

“A kiss,” he said; and before she could realise what he had said, his left arm was about her waist, and he held her tightly to him. “A kiss from a lady who is handsomer than Judy Hayle,” he whispered.

“How dare you!” she cried, in a low voice.

“No,” he said, laughing, “you won’t call for help. Come, it isn’t much to give me, and I swear I will.”

Marjorie gazed at him wildly, as she realised her position; there, alone, in this man’s power, and no one at hand to defend her. Then, utterly careless of herself, as she thought of the bitter revenge she had planned, she held back her face, and, with a faint laugh and her voice trembling, she said, —

“No, I will not call for help. There is no need. Keep your word and I will pay you – as you wish.”

The blood crimsoned her cheeks as she spoke.

“No,” he said, with a laugh; “you shall pay me now,” and the next moment his arms were fast round her, and his lips pressed to hers.

Marjorie started away, angry and indignant, but her furious jealousy made her diplomatise, and she stood smiling at the good-looking, gipsy-like ne’er-do-weel, and said laughingly, —

“That was not fair; I promised you that as a reward, and now you have cheated me and will not keep your word.”

“Yes, I will,” he cried, as he seized her again eagerly; but she kept him back. “I’ll do anything you ask me. Curse Judith Hayle! She isn’t half so beautiful as you.”

Madge’s heart beat heavily, for admiration was pleasant, even from this low-class scoundrel. His words were genuine, as she could see from his eager gaze, the play of his features, and the earnestness in his voice.

“I’ve made a slave,” she said to herself, forgetting for a moment the cost, “and he’ll do everything I bid him.”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” she said, playfully. “You do not suppose I believe what you say.”

“What!” he cried, in a low, excited whisper, “not believe me. Here, tell me anything else to do. Why, I’d kill anyone if you’ll look at me like that.”

“I do not want you to kill anyone, and do not want you even to look or speak to me again if you are so rude as that. You forget that I am a lady.”

“No, I don’t,” he cried, as he feasted on her with his eyes. “You’re lovely. I never saw a girl so beautiful as you are before.”

He tried to catch her in his embrace again, but she waved him off.

“There,” she said coldly, “that will do. I see I must ask someone else to do what I want.”

“No, no, don’t,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to make you cross. I didn’t want to offend you, but when you looked at me like you did, with your shiny eyes, I couldn’t help myself. I was obliged.”

“Silence! How dare you,” she cried indignantly, as, with her heart throbbing with delight, she felt how very strong a hold she was getting upon Caleb’s will. “You forget yourself, sir.”

“No, I don’t; its only because – because – you’re so handsome. There, be cross with me if you like. I couldn’t help it.”

“And now I suppose you will go and boast in the village taproom that you met the captain’s cousin, and insulted her out in the wood.”

“Do you think I’m a fool, miss?” he said sharply. “Do you think I’d ever go and tell on a girl? Why, I shouldn’t tell on a common servant or a farmer’s lass, let alone on a handsome lady like you.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said, half turning away.

“Yes, do, miss, please do,” he cried earnestly, “you may trust me. I’d sooner go and hang myself than tell anybody – there!”

She turned her eyes upon him, and her feeling of delight increased as she realised the truth of all that Caleb said. Then, as he looked up at her now, with the appealing, beseeching aspect of a dog in his countenance, she made a pretence of hesitating.

“No,” she said. “I’m afraid I cannot trust you.”

“Yes, do, miss, do.”

“If I do you will insult me again.”

“I didn’t know it was insulting of you to love you,” he said sullenly.

“Then I tell you it was, sir. If you had waited it would have been different.”

He did not speak, but she could see that he was still feasting upon her with his eyes, and the worship in his looks was pleasant after Rolph’s cold rebuffs.

“Well,” she cried, “why are you looking at me like that?”

He started and smiled.

“I can’t help it,” he said, “You are so different to every other girl I know.”

“Except Judith Hayle,” she said contemptuously.

“You’re not like her a bit,” he said thoughtfully. “She’s very nice looking, and I used to think a deal of her.”

“Oh, yes, she’s lovely,” said Madge with a spiteful laugh.

“Yes,” said Caleb, thoughtfully, “so she is,” and he stood looking at the girl without comprehending the sarcasm in her words. “But she hasn’t got eyes like you have, and she isn’t so white, and,” he whispered, approaching her more closely, “if you’ll only be kind to me, and smile at me like you did, and speak soft to me, I’ll be like your dawg.”

He looked as if he would, and Marjorie saw it. She had been on the watch, expecting that he would seize her again, but nothing seemed further from his thoughts. It was exactly as he said – he was ready to be like her dog, and had she told him then, he would have cast himself at her feet, and let her plant her foot upon his neck in token of his subjugation.

“Well,” she said, “I think I will trust you.”

“You will?” he cried.

“Yes, if you are obedient, and promise me that you will never dare to be so rude again.”

“I’ll promise anything,” he cried huskily, “but – ”

“But what, sir?”

“You’ll keep your word and pay me?” he said with a laugh.

“Wait and see,” she said indifferently. “I am going back now.”

“But how am I to tell you?” he said.

“I shall be sure to know.”

“And how shall I see you again?”

“You will not want to see me again,” she said archly.

“Not want to see you,” he whispered. “Why, I’d go round the world, across the seas, anywhere, to hear you talk to me, and look at your eyes. Tell me when I shall see you again.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said carelessly, “perhaps some fine day you’ll see me walking in the wood.”

“Yes – yes,” he said eagerly. “I’ll always be about watching for you as I would for a hare.”

“One of my cousin’s,” she said, with a contemptuous laugh.

“They’re not his,” cried Caleb, quietly, “they’re wild beasts, and as much mine as anybody’s.”

“We will not discuss that,” she said coldly. “Good-bye, and I hope you will keep your word.”

“I’ve sweared it to myself,” he said, “and I shall do it. Don’t go yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because I could stand and look at you, like, all day, and it will not seem the same when you are gone.”

“Why, I thought you were a poacher.”

“Well, I suppose I am. What o’ that?”

“You talk quite like a courtier?”

“Do I?” he said eagerly. “Well, you did it; you made me like you.”

“I?”

“Yes. I don’t know how it was, but you’ve made me feel as if I’d do anything for you.”

“Ah, well, we shall see,” said Marjorie, as she fixed her eyes on his, glorying in her triumph, and feeling that every word spoken was the honest truth. Then, giving him a careless nod, she was turning away.

“Don’t go like that,” said Caleb, huskily.

“What do you mean?”

“Say one kind word to me first.”

“Well,” said Madge, showing her white teeth in a contemptuous smile, as his eyes were fixed upon hers, just as her cousin’s Gordon setter’s had been a score of times. “Poor fellow, then,” she said mockingly, and she held out her little hand, as she would have stretched it forth to pat one of the dogs.

He took it in his brown, sinewy fingers, bent over it, and held it against his cheek. Then, quick as lightning, he had grasped it with a grip like steel, snatched her from where she stood, and almost before she could notice it, he was holding her in a crouching position down behind the bushes, one arm tightly about her waist, and his right hand over her mouth.

She was too much taken by surprise for the moment to struggle or attempt to cry out. Then, as her eyes were fixed upon him fiercely, she felt his hot breath upon her cheek, and his lips pressed upon her ear.

“Don’t move, don’t speak,” whispered the man, “he mustn’t see you along o’ me.”

Madge strained her sense of hearing, but all was perfectly still, and, concluding that it was a trick, she gathered herself together for a strong effort to get free, when there was a sharp crack as of a broken twig. Then the low brushing sound of dead strands of grass against a man’s leg; and, directly after Rolph came into view, plainly seen through the brambles, and as he came nearer Marjorie grew faint.

If he should see her – like that – clasped in this man’s arms!

Rolph came nearer and nearer, his way leading him so close to where his cousin crouched that it seemed impossible that he could go by without seeing her, held there by a man whom he would look upon as the scum of the earth. The agony of shame and mortification she suffered was intense, the greater because her presence here was due to the fact that she had vowed that, in spite of all, she would yet be Rolph’s wife, the mistress of The Warren.