CHAPTER LIII.
THE COTTAGE.
When Despard had bound Clark he returned to look after Langhetti. He lay feebly and motionless upon the ground. Despard carefully examined his wounds. His injuries were very severe. His arms were lacerated, and his shoulder torn; blood also was issuing from a wound on the side of his neck. Despard bound these as best he could, and then sat wondering what could be done next.
He judged that he might be four or five miles from Denton, and saw that this was the place to which he must go. Besides, Beatrice was there, and she could nurse Langhetti. But how could he get there?--that was the question. It was impossible for Langhetti to go on horseback. He tried to form some plan by which this might be done. He began to make a sort of litter to be hung between two horses, and had already cut down with his knife two small trees or rather bushes for this purpose, when the noise of wheels on the road before him attracted his attention.
It was a farmer"s wagon, and it was coming from the direction of Denton.
Despard stopped it, explained his situation, and offered to pay any thing if the farmer would turn back and convey his friend and his prisoner to Denton. It did not take long to strike a bargain; the farmer turned his horses, some soft shrubs and ferns were strewn on the bottom of the wagon, and on these Langhetti was deposited carefully. Clark, who by this time had come to himself, was put at one end, where he sat grimly and sulkily; the three horses were led behind, and Despard, riding on the wagon, supported the head of Langhetti on his knees.
Slowly and carefully they went to the village. Despard had no difficulty in finding the cottage. It was where the letter had described it. The village inn stood near on the opposite side of the road.
It was about nine o"clock in the evening when they reached the cottage.
Lights were burning in the windows. Despard jumped out hastily and knocked. A servant came. Despard asked for the mistress, and Beatrice appeared. As she recognized him her face lighted up with joy. But Despard"s face was sad and gloomy. He pressed her hand in silence and said:
"My dear adopted sister, I bring you our beloved Langhetti."
"Langhetti!" she exclaimed, fearfully.
"He has met with an accident. Is there a doctor in the place? Send your servant at once."
Beatrice hurried in and returned with a servant.
"We will first lift him out," said Despard. "Is there a bed ready?"
"Oh yes! Bring him in!" cried Beatrice, who was now in an agony of suspense.
She hurried after them to the wagon. They lifted Langhetti out and took him into a room which Beatrice showed them. They tenderly laid him on the bed. Meanwhile the servant had hurried off for a doctor, who soon appeared.
Beatrice sat by his bedside; she kissed the brow of the almost unconscious sufferer, and tried in every possible way to alleviate his pain. The doctor soon arrived, dressed his wounds, and left directions for his care, which consisted chiefly in constant watchfulness.
Leaving Langhetti under the charge of Beatrice, Despard went in search of a magistrate. He found one without any difficulty, and before an hour Clark was safe in jail. The information which Despard lodged against him was corroborated by the brands on his back, which showed him to be a man of desperate character, who had formerly been transported for crime.
Despard next wrote a letter to Mrs. Thornton. He told her about Langhetti, and urged her to come on immediately and bring Edith with her. Then he returned to the cottage and wished to sit up with Langhetti. Beatrice, however, would not let him. She said that no one should deprive her of the place by his bedside. Despard remained, however, and the two devoted equal attention to the sufferer. Langhetti spoke only once. He was so faint that his voice was scarce audible.
Beatrice put her ear close to his mouth.
"What is it?" asked Despard.
"He wants Edith," said Beatrice.
"I have written for her," said Despard.
Beatrice whispered this to Langhetti. An ecstatic smile pa.s.sed over his face.
"It is well," he murmured.
CHAPTER LIV.
THE WORM TURNS.
Potts departed from the Hall in deep dejection. The tremendous power of his enemy had been shown all along; and now that this enemy turned out to be Louis Brandon, he felt as though some supernatural being had taken up arms against him. Against that being a struggle seemed as hopeless as it would be against Fate. It was with some such feeling as this that he left Brandon Hall forever.
All of his grand projects had broken down, suddenly and utterly. He had not a ray of hope left of ever regaining the position which he had but recently occupied. He was thrust back to the obscurity from which he had emerged.
One thing troubled him. Would the power of his remorseless enemy be now stayed--would his vengeance end here? He could scarce hope for this. He judged that enemy by himself, and he knew that he would not stop in the search after vengeance, that nothing short of the fullest and direst ruin--nothing, in fact, short of death itself would satisfy him.
John was with him, and Vijal, who alone out of all the servants had followed his fortunes. These three walked down and pa.s.sed through the gates together, and emerged into the outer world in silence. But when they had left the gates the silence ended.
"Well, dad!" said John, "what are you going to do now?"
"I don"t know."
"Have you any money?"
"Four thousand pounds in the bank."
"Not much, dad," said John, slowly, "for a man who last month was worth millions. You"re coming out at the little end of the horn."
Potts made no reply.
"At any rate there"s one comfort," said John, "even about that."
"What comfort?"
"Why, you went in at the little end."
They walked on in silence.
"You must do something," said John at last.
"What can I do?"
"You won"t let that fellow ride the high horse in this style, will you?"
"How can I help it?"
"You can"t help it; but you can strike a blow yourself."
"How?"
"How? You"ve struck blows before to some purpose, I think."