"Then you supposed I would wrong you in thought!" he replied, with some mortification in his manner; "you do not know me yet."
"Oh yes, indeed I do," she answered, feeling that she was getting further and further into difficulties; and then she added, with one of her sudden bursts of frankness, "I will tell you how it was--candidly and truly. Just as I was at your door, and about to knock, the memory of several things you had said--inadvertently, perhaps--crossed my mind; and, though I felt that I could go at any hour to consult a friend in such terrible circ.u.mstances, I could not--no, I could not do so with a--with one--You see what harm you have done by such fine speeches!"
She thought, that by her last words, she had guarded herself securely from any immediate consequences of this unreserved confession; but she was mistaken. She merely hurried on what might yet have rested for a day or two.
Sir Edward Digby took her other hand also, and held it gently yet firmly, as if he was afraid she should escape from him. "Zara," he said, "dear Zara, I have done harm, by speaking too much, or not enough. I must remedy it by the only means in my power.--Listen to me for one moment, for I cannot go till all is said. You must cast off this reserve--you must act perfectly freely with me; I seek to bind you by no engagement--I will bear my doubt; I will not construe anything you do, as an acceptance of my suit; but you must know--nay, you do know, you do feel, that I am your lover. It was doubt of your own sensations towards me, that made you hesitate--it was fear that you should commit yourself, to that which you might, on consideration, be indisposed to ratify.--You thought that I might plead such confidence as a tacit promise; and that made you pause. But hear me, as I pledge myself--upon my honour, as a gentleman--that if you act fearlessly and freely, in the cause in which we are both engaged--if you confide in me--trust in me, and never hesitate to put yourself, as you may think, entirely in my power, I will never look upon anything as plighting you to me in the slightest degree, till I hear you say the words, "Digby, I am yours"--if ever that happy day should come. In the meantime, however, to set you entirely free from all apprehension of what others may say, I hold myself bound to you by every promise that man can make; and this very day I will ask your father"s approbation of my suit. But I am well aware, though circ.u.mstances have shown me in a marvellous short time, that your heart and mind is equal to your beauty, yet it is not to be expected that such a being can be won in a few short days, and that I must wait in patience--not without hope, indeed, but with no presumption. By your conduct, at least, I shall know, whether I have gained your esteem.--Your love, perhaps, may follow; and now I leave you, to serve your sister and my friend, to the best of my power."
Thus saying, he raised her hand to his lips, kissed it, and moved towards the door.
There was a sad struggle in Zara"s breast; but as he was laying his hand upon the lock to open it, she said, "Digby--Digby--Edward!"
He instantly turned, and ran towards her; for her face had become very pale. She gave him her hand at once, however, "Kind, generous man!"
she said, "you must not go without hearing my answer. Such a pledge cannot be all on one part. I am yours, Digby, if you wish it; yet know me better first before you answer--see all my faults, and all my failings. Even this must show you how strange a being I am--how unlike other girls--how unlike perhaps, the woman you would wish to call your wife!----"
"Wish it!" answered Digby, casting his arm round her, "from my heart--from my very soul, Zara. I know enough, I have seen enough, for I have seen you in circ.u.mstances that bring forth the bosom"s inmost feelings; and though you are unlike others--and I have watched many in their course--that very dissimilarity is to me the surpa.s.sing charm.
They are all art, you are all nature--ay, and nature in its sweetest and most graceful form; and I can boldly say, I never yet saw woman whom I should desire to call my wife till I saw you. I will not wait, dear girl; but, pledged to you as you are pledged to me, will not press this subject further on you, till your sister"s fate is sealed.
I must, indeed, speak with your father at once, that there may be no mistake, no misapprehension; but till all this sad business is settled, we are brother and sister, Zara; and then a dearer bond."
"Oh, yes, yes--brother and sister!" cried Zara, clinging to him at a name which takes fear from woman"s heart, "so will we be, Edward; and now all my doubts and hesitations will be at an end. I shall never fear more to seek you when it is needful."
"And my suit will be an excuse and a reason to all others, for free interviews, and solitary rambles, and private conference, and every dear communion," answered Digby, pleased, and yet almost amazed at the simplicity with which she lent herself to the magic of a word, when the heart led her.
But Zara saw he was a little extending the brother"s privilege; and with a warm cheek but smiling lip, she answered, "There, leave me now; I see you are learned in the art of leading on from step to step. Go on your way, Edward; and, oh! be kind to me, and do not make me feel this new situation too deeply at first. There, pray take away your arm; none but a father"s or a sister"s has been there before; and it makes my heart beat, as if it were wrong."
But Digby kept it where it was for a moment or two longer, and gave a few instants to happiness, in which she shared, though it agitated her. "Nay, go," she said, at length, in a tone of entreaty, "and I will lie down and rest for an hour; for I have sat up all night by the fire, lest I should be too late.--You must go, indeed. There is your horse upon the terrace; and we must not be selfish, but remember poor Edith before we think of our own happiness."
There was a sweet and frank confession in her words that pleased Digby well; and leaving her with a heart at rest on his own account, he mounted his horse and rode rapidly away towards the quarters of Sir Henry Leyton.
CHAPTER VII.
The reader has doubtless remarked--for every reader who peruses a book to any purpose must remark everything, inasmuch as the most important events are so often connected with insignificant circ.u.mstances, that the one cannot be understood without the other--the reader has doubtless remarked, that Mr. Radford, on leaving Sir Robert Croyland, informed his unhappy victim, that he had still a good deal of business to do that night. Now, during the day he had--as may well be judged from his own statement of all the preparations he had already made--done a great deal of very important business; but the details of his past proceedings I shall not enter into, and only beg leave to precede him by a short time, to the scene of those farther operations which he had laid out as the close of that evening"s labours. It is to the lone house, as it was called, near Iden Green, that I wish to conduct my companions, and a solitary and gloomy looking spot it was, at the time I speak of. All that part of the country is now very thickly inhabited: the ground bears nearly as large a population as it can support; and though there are still fields, and woods, and occasional waste places, yet no such events could now happen as those which occurred eighty or a hundred years ago, when one might travel miles, in various parts of Kent, without meeting a living soul. The pressure of a large population crushes out the bolder and more daring sorts of crime, and leaves small cunning to effect, in secret, what cannot be accomplished openly, under the police of innumerable eyes.
But it was not so in those days; and the lone house near Iden Green, whatever it was originally built for, had become the refuge and the lurking-place of some of the most fierce and lawless men in the country. It was a large building, with numerous rooms and pa.s.sages; and it had stables behind it, but no walled courtyard; for the close sweeping round of the wood, a part of which still exists in great beauty, was a convenience on which its architect seemed to have calculated. Standing some way off the high road, and about half a mile from Collyer Green, it was so sheltered by trees that, on whichever side approached, nothing could be seen but the top of the roof and part of a garret-window, till one was within a short distance of the edifice. But that garret-window had its advantages; for it commanded a view over a great part of the country, on three sides, and especially gave a prospect of the roads in the neighbourhood.
The building was not a farm-house, for it had none of the requisites; it could not well be a public-house, though a sign swung before it; for the lower windows were boarded up, and the owner or tenant thereof, if any traveller whom he did not know, stopped at his door--which was, indeed, a rare occurrence--told him that it was all a mistake, and cursing the sign, vowed he would have it cut down.
Nevertheless, if the Ramleys, or any of their gang, or, indeed, any members of a similar fraternity, came thither, the doors opened as if by magic; and good accommodation for man and horse was sure to be found within.
It was also remarked, that many a gentleman in haste went in there, and was never seen to issue forth again till he appeared in quite a different part of the country; and, had the master of the house lived two or three centuries earlier, he might on that very account have risked the f.a.got, on a charge of dealing with the devil. As it was, he was only suspected of being a coiner; but in regard to that charge, history has left no evidence, pro or con.
It was in this house, however, on the evening of the day subsequent to the discomfiture of the smugglers, that six men were a.s.sembled in a small room at the back, all of whom had, more or less, taken part in the struggle near Woodchurch. The two younger Ramleys were there, as well as one of the princ.i.p.al members of their gang, and two other men, who had been long engaged in carrying smuggled goods from the coast, as a regular profession; but who were, in other respects, much more respectable persons than those by whom they were surrounded. At the head of the table, however, was the most important personage of the whole: no other than Richard Radford himself, who had joined his comrades an hour or two before. The joy and excitement of his escape from the wood, the temporary triumph which he had obtained over the vigilance of the soldiery, and the effect produced upon a disposition naturally bold, reckless, and daring, by the sudden change from imminent peril to comparative security, had all raised his spirits to an excessive pitch; and, indeed, the whole party, instead of seeming depressed by their late disaster, appeared elevated with that wild and lawless mirth, which owns no tie or restraint, reverences nothing sacred or respectable. Spirits and water were circulating freely amongst them; and they were boasting of their feats in the late skirmish, or commenting upon its events, with many a jest and many a falsehood.
"The Major did very well, too," said Ned Ramley, "for he killed one of the dragoons, and wounded another, before he went down himself, poor devil!"
"Here"s to the Major"s ghost!" cried young Radford, "and I"ll try to give it satisfaction by avenging him. We"ll have vengeance upon them yet, Ned."
"Ay, upon all who had any concern in it," answered Jim Ramley, with a meaning look.
"And first upon him who betrayed us," rejoined Richard Radford; "and I will have it, too, in a way that shall punish him more than if we flogged him to death with horse-whips, as the Suss.e.x men did to Chater at the Flying Bull, near Hazlemere."
The elder of the two Ramleys gave a look towards the men who were at the bottom of the table; and Richard Radford, dropping his voice, whispered something to Ned Ramley, who replied aloud, with an oath, "I"d have taken my revenge, whatever came of it."
"No, no," answered Radford, "the red-coats were too near. However, all"s not lost that"s delayed. I wonder where that young devil, little Starlight"s gone to. I sent him three hours ago to Cranbrook with the clothes, and told him to come back and tell me if she pa.s.sed. She"ll not go now, that"s certain; for she would be in the dark. Have you any notion, Ned, how many men we could get together in case of need?"
"Oh, fifty or sixty!" said one of the men from the bottom of the table, who seemed inclined to have his share in the conversation, as soon as it turned upon subjects with which he was familiar; "there are seven or eight hid away down at Cranbrook, and nine or ten at Tenterden, with some of the goods, too."
"Ah, that"s well!" answered young Radford; "I thought all the goods had been taken."
"Oh, dear no," replied Jim Ramley, "we"ve got a thousand pounds" worth in this house, and I dare say double as much is scattered about in different hides. The light things were got off; but they are the most valuable."
"I"ll tell you what, my men," cried young Radford, "as soon as these soldiers are gone down to the coast again, we"ll all gather together, and do some devilish high thing, just to show them that they are not quite masters of the country yet. I"ve a great mind to burn their inn at Woodchurch, just for harbouring them. If we don"t make these rascally fellows fear us, the trade will be quite put down in the county."
"I swear," exclaimed Ned Ramley, with a horrible blasphemy, "that if I can catch any one who has peached, even if it be but by one word, I will split his head like a lobster."
"And I, too!" answered his brother; and several others joined in the oath.
The conversation then took another turn; and while it went on generally around the table, young Radford spoke several times in a low voice to the two who sat next to him, and the name of Harding was more than once mentioned. The gla.s.s circulated very freely also; and although none of them became absolutely intoxicated, yet all of them were more or less affected by the spirits, when the boy, whom we have called Little Starlight, crept quietly into the room, and approached Mr. Radford.
"She"s not come, sir," he said; "I waited a long while, and then went and asked the old woman of the shop, telling her that I was to be sure and see that Kate Clare got the bundle; but she said that she certainly wouldn"t come to-night."
"That"s a good boy," said young Radford. "Go and tell the people to bring us some candles; and then I"ll give you a gla.s.s of Hollands for your pains. It"s getting infernally dark," he continued, "and as nothing more is to be done to-day, we may as well make a night of it."
"No, no," answered one of the men at the bottom of the table, "I"ve had enough, and I shall go and turn in."
n.o.body opposed him; and he and his companion soon after left them. A smile pa.s.sed round amongst the rest as soon as the two had shut the door.
"Now those puny fellows are gone," said Jim Ramley, "we can say what we like. First, let us talk about the goods, Mr. Radford, for I don"t think they are quite safe here. They had better be got up to your father"s as soon as possible, for if the house were to be searched, we could get out into the wood, but they could not."
"Hark!" said young Radford; "there"s some one knocking hard at the house door, I think."
"Ay, trust all that to Obadiah," said Ned Ramley. "He wont open the door till he sees who it is."
The minute after, however, old Mr. Radford stood amongst them; and he took especial care not to throw any damp upon their spirits, but rather to encourage them, and make light of the late events. He sat down for a few minutes by his son, took a gla.s.s of Hollands and water, and then whispered to his hopeful heir that he wanted to speak with him for a minute. The young man instantly rose, and led the way out into the room opposite, which was vacant.
"By Heaven, d.i.c.k, this is an awkward job!" said his father; "the loss is enormous, and never to be recovered."
"The things are not all lost," answered Richard Radford. "A great quant.i.ty of the goods are about the country. There"s a thousand pounds" worth, they say, in this house."
"We must have them got together as fast as possible," said Mr.
Radford, "and brought up to our place. All that is here had better be sent up about three o"clock in the morning."
"I"ll bring them up myself," replied his son.
"No, no, no!" said Mr. Radford; "you keep quiet where you are, till to-morrow night."