CHAPTER XXV.

"Is the lion at bay? Woe, woe to the hunter that stands in his way." _Bluebeard._

Whatever were L'Estrange's faults he was no coward, and now that the hour was come, he determined to meet it like a man. He disdained the very idea of flight, though his path to safety still was open; he had only to plunge behind the tapestry, descend the dark stairs, and in the labyrinth of passages and dungeons they might as well have thought to track the vermin that haunted the tower to their nests as to find him again. He stood in still, brave despair! The last high thought was in a well-fought encounter to end a life of disgrace by a desperate death, and at least let the parting scene be more worthy his name than his life had proved. It is true his face blanched slightly when he saw the numbers of his foes; it was not fear, but partly the feeling that by his present position, as a heartless tyrant preparing to do a weak and innocent woman wrong, he had justly merited all good men's hate; partly the sense that in a few moments he would either be slain or captive, that made his blood run back to his heart. Shame and infamy if he lived, eternal misery if he died; but it was not fear! His early days came back on his memory,--his strange life,--his love,--his rejection; his damnable, but now disconcerted plot,--Ellen's abhorrence,--his present critical position; all came back in one burning moment, and now the last act was to be played he would show them what a desperate man hemmed in by foes was. His first thought was to shoot the Earl, who leaped foremost over the ruins. He presented the pistol at his head, and nothing but the devotion of faithful Wilton saved the Earl's life. He pulled the trigger--the flash--the report! and not the Earl, but the brave Wilton fell, pierced by the winged ball through his chest! A yell of fury rent the air at this outrage. Again he cocked, again he presented; but by this time numbers had filled the room, Scroop dashed forward and threw up his arm. The ball entered the ceiling--another murder was stopped, but the stayer of his hand paid dearly! With a horrid oath of rage, L'Estrange struck Scroop a murderous blow on the temple with the empty pistol, and felled him to the ground as if he had been stricken by a thunderbolt. The blood welled forth from the wound, and the scene grew terrific. Undaunted still, glutted with gore, like a tiger at bay, stood the desperado. In the cold moonlight and the red glare of lanterns everything took a more horrid aspect. The white figure of Ellen in petrifaction of terror, the Satanic expression of the murderer, the vengeful glances of the assailants, made an awful picture; the worst part was the two forms, one lifeless, and one apparently so, stretched on the ground in a pool of their own blood. For an instant all was deathly still, save the deep-drawn breaths of vengeance. The room was filled with smoke, which gave a misty, awful air to the whole. For a moment assaulters and assaulted stood still. It was not fear that stayed them, but the dreadful vengeance that could not breathe out into actions in the one party, and the rapid thoughts of what must follow next in the other. It was a pause, but for a moment, like the hush in the hurricane, and then it was broken by L'Estrange, who suddenly hit on his plan. With a bound he escaped the Earl, who rushed to meet him, nimbly avoided the Captain and Sir Richard, who, without showing their double conduct, easily manoeuvred so as to let him pass, and doubtless he would have altogether escaped had it not been for the Marquis, who stood at the door, and when he saw him escaping interposed his giant form. Still the desperate man kept on, but it was vain! The fawn might as well have thought to escape the lion, as L'Estrange to free himself from the furious grip with which the young peer seized him! He struck wildly for his face, but the Marquis threw his whole weight and strength on his antagonist, and bent him to the ground. As falls the oak on the sapling, so fell the Marquis on L'Estrange, and in an instant weighed him down. Seizing the prostrate man by his throat, he placed his knee on his chest, and nigh pressed the breath out of his body. Still the vanquished made the most desperate struggles to rise and free himself from the iron grip; as well might the fabled Titans have striven to upheave the Ætnean mass that buried them beneath its rocks! He howled, he swore, his very face grew black with passion and futile efforts to rise! Vain was the struggle; the Marquis had too firm a hold, and as he still knelt on him said--

"It is vain--yield, sirrah! you bearded me once--I have you now by the throat. Be still or I will squeeze the life from your body."

When the oppressor was thus oppressed, the first impulse of the Earl was to rush to Ellen, who had borne up so manfully, and so bravely sustained her character till the very last; then the reaction was too much for her; she would have fallen in a dead swoon on the floor had the Earl not instantly caught her in his arms. He lifted her as if she had been a child, her head sinking back over his arms, and her long hair, escaped from its net, flowing in all the wildness of dishevelled charms, almost sweeping the ground as he carried her to the nearest sofa.

"Ellen, my own sweetest Ellen, speak, dearest--you are safe--you are in my care--speak, darling." And he pressed his lips on her pale cheek. "Quick, hasten for water--John--Musgrave--be quick, she is dying. Oh, my darling Ellen, live, live to bless me once more."

Meanwhile the Marquis was beginning to grow weary of holding down his foe, who seemed momentarily gaining fresh strength. Every one was flocking round Ellen, still in a most alarming swoon. Over her the Earl bent with indescribable fondness, chafing her temples with his hand, and calling for water, while the Marquis as loudly called for aid.

"Here, you lazy, idle sluggards, here; help! for God's sake; I am weary; faith, I'll let him go if no one comes. Do you hear? Bedad, to be left here pressing down such a viper."

"Hold, I'll come; just wait a bit. There, Wentworth, is your jug of water; freshen her up well, she is more frightened than hurt. Patience, by G--, I'm coming; what the devil are you kicking up such a devilish row about? Can't you keep a dog like that still with your big body?"

It was the Captain who spoke, as our readers have guessed, no doubt. He then went to assist the Marquis.

"Ha, that's right, keep a good grip on the hound's throat, or the dog'll bite, by G--. I've a rope, and a stout one too. Samson could never break it, and I warrant it muzzles him. Now I'll tie up his legs; he kicks like a mule, but it is no go. Well I'm d--d, Ned; who would have thought you would ever have come to this?"

During all this well feigned abuse, the Captain was busy binding the fallen man's limbs, which he did with a roughness that made him groan.

"Now, Arranmore, turn him over, stuff something in his mouth if he bites--here's a plaid to muzzle him; turn him on his back, and I'll bind the rascal's arms. I'faith they have done damage enough already. Cease your whining, you villain; I have you now, I'll tie your arms up for you; there, is that jolly, you devil?"

So saying, he put his knees on the crossed wrists, and strained the rope so tight it wrung a yell of agony from the hapless prisoner.

"Not so hard; remember he is a Christian, De Vere."

"A Christian, a pretty Christian, by Jove! to murder poor old Wilton, fell Scroop, and play such a trick on Ellen Ravensworth. The villain! leave him to me, I'll mend the rascal's manners."

Lord Arranmore having done his duty as he thought, rose, and strode across to where Ellen was, who had just come to from the swoon, and was half-smiling, half-crying, when she found herself safe in her lover's protection once more.

"Do not leave me, my dear Lord Wentworth, do not leave me again."

"Never, darling: you shall never more stray from my eyes till you are my own. I will take you to the Towers. We shall see who dares, from the King to the lowest miscreant, to take you from thence. How are you, sweet one--better--able to drive? The carriage is waiting."

"I shall be better soon; I am getting quite well. Oh, how shall I ever thank you enough! But poor Mr. Scroop, and your poor Wilton, are they really dead?"

"I fear Wilton has seen his last of us; he died for me, and on your behalf, Ellen--we shall not soon forget him. His poor wife and children, it will be a sad tale for them. For Scroop, I hope that by care we may yet cure him; he is still insensible. I must go and see what is to be done with unhappy L'Estrange; it was surely the devil tempted him to such a course."

"Unhappy young man! Deal gently with him: remember, however deeply stained by crime, he is still our brother--still our fellow-creature,--child of the same God. Oh! while we hate the crime, let us pity the criminal. Remember it is only a restraining Providence keeps us from being as bad."

"Ask no mercy for him, Ellen. However your noble mind may gloss over his attempted injuries to yourself, remember he stands amenable to the laws he has broken. He is a murderer; he has shed man's blood, and by man his blood must be shed too. Here, John, watch Ellen; see she has everything to her fancy, while I go and see about Scroop, poor Wilton, and this wretched young reprobate."

"Oh, leave me not with this bad man," cried Ellen.

"He is bound, darling, he cannot hurt you," answered the Earl, thinking she alluded to L'Estrange, as he walked away. "I will be back in a few minutes, dearest."

When Arranmore had left the prisoner, the Captain whispered in his ear, "Never mind, Ned; don't I act well? It couldn't be helped; you shall not swing for it; trust me I will save you yet."

"Leave me to pay the penalty of my crimes, life is no more endurable; I forgive you, John; I can die with my secret."

"Fool," said the Captain, "your trial would implicate me; do you think I will let you hang? no, no; you are too young yet to feed the gallows. Trust me for your rescue, though it will be d--d hard. What made you shoot Wilton, poor devil?"

"It was the Earl I aimed at; the rash fool saved his master, and did for himself."

"I wish to G-- you had hit your man. But here comes Arranmore, I must keep up my character. Egad, how Dick Musgrave and I will laugh over our toddy. Ha, Arranmore, I have been trying to play the priest, and get confession, but the villain plays the mute; the rope will find him his tongue."

"He will be hung, then?"

"Not a doubt of it; as cold blooded a murder as I ever saw; poor Jack Wilton!"

"The Earl wants you, John."

"All right, I'll go--now for Ellen," he muttered, as he stepped across.

Ellen very nearly did for him, but his good star, as he called his luck in infamy, still shone on him, and the Earl misunderstood her expression.

"Bad man, do you dare show your false face? more hypocritical than the wretched young man you have led astray!"

"List thee, Ellen, now you are safe; be wise and hold that tongue of yours. Keep your thumb on this, or by G--, safe as you think yourself you will come to grief. Breathe not a syllable of this, and as you value your life betray not me. I will be reasonable. If you are silent, I give you my word--my plighted word--my vow, if you like--that you shall be the Earl's wife; if you are mad enough to venture to betray me, though you were kept in the Earl's sight--though you sheltered beneath his wing--thence would I drag you: and no power shall ever stay me, nor make you the countess you wish to be!"

"These are not terms, you compel me; but what security have I? your word--your oath, I do mistrust."

"Then I swear by my sword--the most sacred oath--I swear not by God, whom I believe not in; nor by the Devil, a phantom existing only in the mind of priests, and priest-ridden fools; but my sword I see and feel, and by it I swear. Do you trust me?"

"I have no alternative; you shall at least see Ellen will keep her faith. If you keep your part I will never divulge this awful secret as long as I live, not even to my husband; and oh! may God change your heart, unhappy infidel, and may remorse of conscience never sting you like an adder."

"No fears of that; you are a better girl than I thought. Ah, here comes your lord, be silent or dread me."

"Now, Ellen, dearest, take my arm, the carriage waits; I have sent a man with the news to your father, he will be at the Towers as soon as we are. John, see the prisoner in the carriage, and he will be sent off to the prison: I have sent a messenger to the Sheriff. Musgrave, will you see about Wilton's remains? and Arranmore, attend to Scroop. I fear the worst in his case."

The Earl then assisted Ellen to a carriage, which was ready at the door.

"God bless you, miss, and I am right glad to see you," said old Andrew, with tears of joy standing in his eye.

Ellen thanked him warmly, and the Earl wrung the old servant's hand. They then drove off together, and if after rain the sun looks brighter, if after snow the grass greener, so after her long suspense the Earl's presence at her side seemed sweeter, and after the long darkness of doubt and fear Ellen's smile seemed brighter than it had ever been before.

One of the first questions she asked was after Juana, the noble girl who had sacrificed so much for her sake.

"I have made every inquiry, darling, but she has not been seen. Her disappearance is not the least remarkable part of this extraordinary plot, so darkly, deeply, cleverly laid. I hope we may yet meet her, to try and express our gratitude. Oh, what a wondrous week this has been!"

"Talk not of it--let us forget past misery in present bliss, and not forget to thank Him who protected me when naught else availed. Oh! what I thought my worst trial proved my safety. I had almost put an end to my life. I struck, and he stopped the blade, and I thought all was over. Had he not I should have been now cold and dead. Man's extremity is surely God's opportunity."

"We should indeed be thankful. What should I have done if I had found my Ellen dead?"

"And what should I have been had that fatal pistol shot not been intercepted by faithful Wilton?"

"But let us not talk more of it, but rather of the welcome of our friends at home."

Whilst the Earl and Ellen drove to the Towers, the Captain lifted the bound man, and, carrying him down stairs, tossed him on the ground as if he had been a bundle of hay and not a human being, making him groan again with the pain. But the Captain was aware any tenderness to the man whom everyone was reviling would excite suspicion.

"Lay hands on the villain, and pitch him into the carriage. Wilson, you will guard him to prison--he can't move."

"I will, right gladly: let the ruffian only attempt an escape, or any of his foul companions try a rescue! I am armed, by G--! and they will catch it."

"That's like a sea-king!--mind he is put in a strong cell."

"Trust me; good-bye. I'll see you to-morrow; I shan't come out again as it is so late now."

The second carriage then drove off for Edinburgh, where the prisoner was safely lodged in the Calton gaol. Another carriage, with the Marquis, left soon after, bearing Scroop, still insensible--indeed it was feared his skull was fractured. Last, a sad procession left the Peel, bearing the mortal remains of Wilton for the Towers. The corpse was laid across young Nimrod, who seemed by instinct to know his burden, and paced solemnly along. On either side rode huntsmen, or walked foresters; and there was many a manly eye wet with tears as the _cortège_ wound over hill and dale, and at length stopped at the widow's door.

Already his fate had been broken to his poor wife and young family; so it was with a wail of lamentation that they received the cold remains of the jolly huntsman into his neat little cottage, now no more his home, but young Wilton's, to whom the Earl had at once given his father's situation.

Whilst this sad spectacle drew tears from the mourners' eyes, a very different scene was being enacted at the Towers, where a perfect ovation hailed Ellen's safe rescue and return. It would be impossible to relate the joy with which the Marchioness received her back, or the welcome of Lady Florence; and when at length a carriage drove up with Mr. Ravensworth, Johnny, and Maude, the joy was indescribable, and one a stranger intermeddleth not with. Ellen hung on her father's neck, and with tears of joy he kissed his long-lost child. Johnny was wild with delight; and Maude wept with very joy. Scroop was not overlooked; the doctor had great hopes. By-and-by he opened his eyes; and Ellen was the first to press his hand and thank him--he was then left to repose.

Next day the news spread far and near, and persons of all ranks hastened to the Towers to inquire after the lost and re-found Ellen, and young Scroop. Every exertion was made to trace Juana, but without a favourable result; and during the next week lawyers were busy about L'Estrange's defence. His trial was soon to come on for the wilful murder of Wilton, and attempted murder of the Earl. All Edinburgh was on the _qui vive_; and it was said there would not be standing-room in the court. If he even escaped the doom of murder, there was the abduction of Ellen, and things looked ugly for him.

At last the morning fixed for the trial came. Scroop was quite well again, and Ellen was nervous enough at the thought of having to appear as a witness. The whole party were at breakfast at the Towers, talking over the approaching trial, when a special messenger arrived with the news--The prisoner had escaped!

"Well I'm shot!" cried the Captain--"that beats all! He is a more thorough-paced villain than I thought!"