CHAPTER XLVII.--CONTAINS A “MIDNIGHT STRUGGLE,” GARNISHED WITH A DUE

AMOUNT OF BLOODSHED, AND OTHER NECESSARY HORRORS.

Lewis, having overheard the conversation detailed in the preceding chapter, perceived himself to be placed in a position alike dangerous and difficult. In the spokesman and leader of the party he had recognised (as the reader has probably also done) his old antagonist, Hardy the poacher. The matter then stood thus: four ruffians (one of whom, burning with the desire of revenge for wrongs real and supposed, possessed strength and resolution equal to his animosity) were already in possession of the lower part of the house, their avowed objects being robbery, murder, and abduction; the butler, faithless to his trust, was clearly an accomplice; Hardy, fighting as it were with a halter round his neck, was not likely to stick at trifles, and Lewis foresaw that the conflict, once begun, would be for life or death, and on its successful issue depended Annie’s rescue from a fate worse than death. His only ally was the footman; and whether this lad’s courage would desert him when he discovered the odds against which he had to contend was a point more than doubtful. However, there was no time to deliberate; Lewis felt that he must act, and summoning all the energies of his nature to meet so fearful an emergency, he prepared to sell his life as dearly as possible. On attempting to unlock his pistol case the key turned with difficulty, and it was not without some trouble and delay that he was enabled to open it. As he did so, it occurred to him that his pistols, which he kept loaded, might have been tampered with. It was fortunate that he thought of ascertaining this, for on inserting the ramrod he found the bullets had been withdrawn from both barrels. Carefully reloading them, he placed the pistols in a breast-pocket ready for use, and taking down from a nail on which it hung a cavalry sabre which had belonged to Captain Arundel, he unsheathed it, and grasping it firmly with his right hand, he turned to leave the room, with the design of arousing the footman. As he did so a faint tap was heard, and on opening the door the figure of Annie Grant, pale and trembling, wrapped in a dressing-gown and shawl, appeared before him, while her French _soubrette_, in an agony of fear, was leaning against the wall listening (with eyes that appeared ready to start out of her head with fright) for every sound below. As Lewis advanced Annie perceived the sabre, and pointing towards it, she exclaimed in an agitated whisper--

“Oh! you have heard them, then! what will become of us?”

Lewis took her trembling hand in his.

“Calm yourself,” he said in the same low tone; “I will defend you, and if needs be, die for you.”

His words, spoken slowly and earnestly, appeared to act like a charm upon her. She became at once composed, and looking up in his face with an expression of childlike trust, inquired--

“And what shall I do?”

“Go back to your apartment and pray for my success; God is merciful, and will not turn a deaf ear to such angel pleadings,” was the solemn reply.

Annie again gazed earnestly at him, and reading in the stern resolution of his features the imminence of their danger, was turning away with a sickening feeling of despair at her heart, when Lewis again addressed her.

“I am going to awaken the man-servant,” he said; “the butler is an accomplice of these scoundrels, and has admitted them. They cannot, however, molest you without ascending the stairs, and as they do that I shall encounter them; the result is in the hands of God.”

He was about to leave her, but there was a speechless misery in her face as she gazed upon him which he could not resist. In an instant he was by her side.

“Dear Annie,” he said, and his deep tones faltered from the intensity of his emotion--_it was the first time he had ever called her by her Christian name_--“Dear Annie, do not look at me thus sorrowfully; it is true we are in peril, but I have ere now braved greater danger than this successfully, and--should I fall, life has few charms for me--to die for you----!”

At this moment the sound of a man’s voice in anger was heard from the lower part of the house, and starting forward with a scarcely suppressed cry of terror, the French girl seized Lewis’s arm, while, pointing in the direction of the footman’s room, she exclaimed--

“_Allez, allez, cherchez vite du secours, nous allons être assassinés tous_.”

Lewis placed his finger on his lips in token of silence, and listened a moment as the voices below were again audible and then died away.

“They are quarrelling over their booty,” he said, “and are too well occupied to think of us at present.”

He then led Annie to the door of her room, urged her to fasten it on the inside, and pressing her hand warmly, left her. After one or two futile attempts he discovered the man-servant’s apartment; the door was unfastened, and he pushed it open, when the loud, regular breathing which met his ear proved that the person of whom he was in search was as yet undisturbed. Approaching the bed, Lewis paused for a moment, and shading the light with his hand, gazed upon the face of the sleeper. He was scarcely beyond the age of boyhood, and his features presented more delicacy of form than is usually to be met with in the class to which he belonged. He was sleeping as quietly as a child; while Lewis watched him, he murmured some inarticulate sounds, and a smile played about his mouth. As Lewis stooped to wake him, he could not but mentally contrast the calm sleep from which he was arousing him with the probable scene of violence and danger in which he would so soon be engaged. It was no time for such reflections, however, and laying his hand on the lad’s shoulder, he said--

“Robert, you are wanted, rouse up!”

Startled by the apparition of a tall figure bending over him, the young man sprang up, exclaiming--

“What’s the matter? who is it?” then recognising Lewis, he continued, “Mr. Arundel! is anybody ill, sir?”

“Hush!” was the reply; “get up and put on your clothes as quickly as possible; there are thieves in the house. I will wait at the top of the stairs till you join me; but make no noise, or you may bring them upon us before we are prepared for them.”

So saying, he quitted the room. In less time than he had imagined it possible, the young servant joined him.

“Have you roused Mr. Simmonds?” was his first query.

“The butler has proved unworthy of the trust reposed in him,” returned Lewis; “he has admitted these men into the house, and they are now in his pantry, preparing to carry off the plate.”

As he spoke his companion’s colour rose, and with flashing eyes he exclaimed, “Let us go down and prevent them; there’s plate worth £500 under his care.”

Lewis held the lamp so that it shed its light upon the young man’s face and figure. He was a tall, well-grown youth, and his broad shoulders and muscular arms gave promise of strength; his eye was keen and bright, and an expression of honest indignation imparted firmness to his mouth. Lewis felt that he might be relied on, and determined to trust him accordingly.

“They have worse designs than merely stealing the plate,” he said; “they intend to carry off Miss Grant, and murder me. Chance enabled me to overhear their plan; I mean, therefore, to wait at the top of the stairs and use _any_ means to prevent their ascending them: will you stand by me?”

“Ay, that I will; a man can but die once,” was the spirited reply.

Lewis grasped his hand and shook it warmly.

“You are a brave fellow,” he said, “and if we succeed in beating off these scoundrels, it shall not be my fault if your fortune is not made. There is a carabine hanging in the General’s bedroom, is there not?”

Receiving an answer in the affirmative, Lewis continued, “Fetch it, then, and the sword with it, if you think you can use it.”

As Robert departed on this mission, Lewis, surprised at the delay on the part of Hardy and his associates, glided lightly down the staircase to reconnoitre their proceedings. The lower part of the house was of course in total darkness; but as he approached the butler’s pantry a bright stream of light issued from a crack in the door, while the tramp of nailed shoes on the stone flooring inside, together with an occasional muttered word or oath from one of the party, proved that they were busily engaged in some toilsome occupation, which Lewis rightly conjectured to be conveying the plate to a cart outside. Returning as cautiously as he had advanced, Lewis rejoined his companion, whom he found waiting for him at the top of the stairs, carabine in hand. Having ascertained that the charge had been removed from this also, he reloaded it with some of the slugs intended for his pistols, and placing the lamp so that it cast its light down the staircase, leaving the spot where they stood in shade, he handed one pistol to Robert, reserving the other for his own use in any emergency which might occur; and thus prepared they awaited the approach of the robbers. Their patience was not in this instance destined to be severely taxed, for scarcely had they taken their stations when the creaking of a door cautiously opened, and the tread of muffled footsteps announced that the crisis was at hand; and in another moment Hardy and his associates were seen stealthily advancing towards the foot of the stairs. As they perceived the light of Lewis’s lamp they paused, and a whispered consultation took place. At this moment the rays fell strongly upon the upper part of the poacher’s figure, and Lewis, levelling his carabine, could have shot him through the heart. It was a strong temptation. Hardy once dead, Lewis had little fear of being able to overcome or intimidate the others. He knew that it was life for life, and that by all laws, human and divine, the act would be a justifiable one; but he could not bring himself to slay a fellow-creature in cold blood. Besides, although since his unmanly attack on Annie, Lewis had felt in the highest degree irritated against the poacher, he compassionated him for the loss of his daughter, and could not entirely divest himself of a species of admiration for his strength and daring: so, though he still held the carabine directed towards the group, he did not pull the trigger; and thus, by a strange turn of fate, Lewis spared Hardy’s life, as Hardy had on a former occasion spared his, when the motion of a finger would have sent him to his long account. At this moment the butler joined the party, and Lewis caught the words, “They have fire-arms!”

“Never fear,” was the reply in the tones of Simmonds’ voice, “they may bark, but they won’t bite; I’ve taken care of that.”

“Come on, then,” exclaimed Hardy impetuously; “let us rush at them together and overpower them;” and grasping a bludgeon with one hand, while in the other he held a cocked pistol, he dashed upstairs followed by his accomplices. Lewis waited till they had passed a turn in the staircase, and then aiming low, in order if possible to stop their advance without destroying life, he fired. Simmonds, who was one of the foremost, immediately fell, and losing his balance, rolled down several steps; one of the others paused in his career, and from his limping gait was evidently wounded; but Hardy and two more continued their course uninjured. The smoke of the discharge for a moment concealed Lewis’s figure; as it cleared away, Hardy levelled his pistol at him and fired. The bullet whistled by Lewis’s ear, and passing within an inch of his right temple, lodged in the wall behind him; while, following up his ineffectual shot, the robber rushed upon him. Lewis, however, had too keen a recollection of his antagonist’s matchless strength to risk the chance of allowing him to close with him, and springing back, he struck him, quick as lightning, two blows with the sabre--the first on his arm, which he raised to protect his head, the second and most severe one on the shoulder near the neck: this last blow staggered him, and reeling dizzily, he grasped the banister for support, the blood trickling from the wound in his shoulder. In the meantime the two others, one of them having felled the young footman to the ground by a back-handed stroke with a bludgeon, attacked Lewis simultaneously. Having parried one or two blows with his sabre, Lewis made a desperate cut at the head of the man with the bludgeon. The fellow raised his staff to ward off the stroke, and the blow fell upon the oak sapling, which it severed like a reed; but unfortunately the shock was too great, and the sword snapped near the hilt. Seeing that he was thus left defenceless, and might probably be overpowered, as both his assailants were strong, square-built fellows, Lewis had no resource but to draw his pistol; and, as before, endeavouring to aim so as to disable without destroying life, he fired, and the man nearest to him fell. His comrade immediately threw himself upon the young tutor, and a fierce struggle ensued. In point of strength the combatants were very equally matched; but, fortunately for the result, Lewis was the most active, and by a sudden wrench disengaging himself from his antagonist’s grasp, he struck him a tremendous blow with his clenched fist on the side of the head, which sent him down with the force of a battering-ram. As he did so a giant arm was thrown round his waist, a knife gleamed at his throat, and in a hoarse, broken voice, the savage ferocity of which had something appalling in its tones, Hardy exclaimed--

“I’ve owed you something a long time, young feller; and now I’ve got a chance, I’m going to pay you.”

Both his hands being occupied, he, with the fury of some beast of prey, seized Lewis’s hair with his teeth, and endeavoured to draw his head back in order to cut his throat; but, by dint of struggling, Lewis had contrived to get his right arm free, and grasping the wrist of the hand which held the weapon, he was enabled, as long as his strength might hold out, to prevent the ruffian from executing his murderous purpose. Hardy made one or two efforts to shake off the grasp which thus fettered him, but his muscular power was so much impaired by the sabre cut on the arm that he was unable to accomplish his design. Accordingly, trusting to his great strength, and thinking that Lewis would become exhausted by his attempts to free himself, Hardy determined to wait rather than run the risk of affording his victim a chance of escape by removing the arm which encircled him. While affairs were in this position, Robert, having recovered the stunning effects of the blow which had felled him, regained his feet, and was advancing to Lewis’s assistance when the robber who had been slightly wounded in the leg as he was ascending the stairs, and had since remained a passive spectator of the struggle, interposed, and rousing, through the medium of a kick in the ribs, the fellow whom Lewis had knocked down, closed with the young servant, and attempted to wrench the pistol (which went off in the scuffle without injuring any one) from his grasp, while his accomplice, gathering himself slowly from the floor, prepared to assist him. In the meantime the struggle between Lewis and Hardy appeared likely to terminate in favour of the young tutor, for the exertions made by the poacher to retain his captive caused the blood to flow rapidly from his wounds, and a sensation of faintness stole over him which threatened momentarily to incapacitate him. As he became aware of this fact his fury and disappointment knew no bounds; and collecting his powers for one final effort, he released Lewis’s waist, and transferring his grasp to his coat collar, suddenly flung his whole weight upon him and bore him heavily to the ground; then raising himself and planting his knee on Lewis’s chest, he stretched out his hand to pick up the knife which he had dropped in this last attack. Had he made the attempt one minute sooner, it would have been successful, and Lewis would indeed have laid down his life for her he loved; but his time was not yet come. As the poacher leant over to reach the knife, a dizzy faintness overpowered him, his brain reeled; a slight effort on Lewis’s part was sufficient to dislodge him, and uttering a hollow groan, he rolled over on his back and lay motionless, his deep, laboured breathing alone testifying that he was still alive. Hastily springing from the ground, Lewis, on regaining his feet, turned to assist his companion, who was still manfully battling with his two assailants: as he did so the sound of feet became audible, and the gardener and three of the other outdoor servants, aroused by the report of fire-arms, rushed in, having effected their entrance by the open window of the pantry. Their arrival ended the affair. The burglar who was uninjured, finding the door of Lewis’s bedroom open, took refuge there, leaped from the window, alighted on some shrubs, which broke his fall, and the darkness favouring him, effected his escape. The other four, who were all wounded more or less seriously, were secured.

A surgeon was immediately sent for: he examined Hardy (who remained in a state of unconsciousness) first. He pronounced the cut in the arm of little consequence, but the wound in the neck had divided several important vessels, and he considered it highly dangerous. The burglar at whom Lewis had discharged his pistol was severely wounded in the hip, but the surgeon did not apprehend any serious consequences. Simmonds, the butler, proved to have been hit in the knee by a slug from the carabine, an injury which would probably lame him for life. The remaining member of the gang had come off more easily, a shot having passed through the fleshy part of the leg; Robert, the servant, displayed a broken head; and Lewis, besides being severely bruised, had in the last struggle with Hardy received a wound in the left wrist from the point of the ruffian’s knife. As soon as, by the application of proper restoratives, Hardy became sufficiently recovered to bear removal, a carriage was sent for, and the captured burglars were conveyed to the nearest town; the two most severely injured were taken to the hospital, and the other pair securely lodged in the county gaol.

On Annie’s expressions of gratitude to her preservers, or on the feelings with which Lewis heard her lips pronounce his praises, we will not dwell, neither will we expatiate on the view Miss Livingstone (who appeared in a tremendous nightcap of cast-iron white-washed, and a dressing-gown of Portland stone) was pleased to take of the affair, in which she recognised a vindication of the reality of the individual who was always under the beds _and_ behind the curtains, who for the future she declared to have been Hardy, professing herself able to swear to the expression of his boots in any court of justice throughout the United Kingdom.