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Smuggler

<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> We mast now return for a time to Harbourne House, where, after Sir Robert Croyland's departure, his guest had endeavoured in vain, during the whole morning, to obtain a few minutes' private conversation with the baronet's youngest daughter. Now, it was not in the least degree, that Mrs. Barbara's notions of propriety interfered to prevent the two young people from being alone together; for, on the contrary, Mrs. Barbara was a very lenient and gentle-minded person, and thought it quite right that any two human beings who were likely to fall in love with each other, should have every opportunity of doing so, to their hearts' content. But it so happened, from a sort of fatality which hung over all her plans, that whenever she interfered with anything,--which, indeed, she always did, with everything she could lay her hands upon,--the result was sure to be directly the contrary to that which she intended. It might be, indeed, that she did not always manage matters quite judiciously, that she acted without considering all the circumstances of the case; and undoubtedly it would have been quite as well if she had not acted at all when she was not asked. In the present instance, when she had remained in the drawing-room with her niece and Sir Edward, for near half an hour after her brother had departed, it just struck her that they might wish to be alone together; for she had made up her mind by this time, that the young officer's visit was to end in a love affair; and, as the very best means of accomplishing the desired object, instead of going to speak with the housekeeper, or to give orders to the dairy-maid, or to talk to the steward,--as any other prudent, respectable, and well-arranged aunt would have done--she said to her niece, as if a sudden thought had occurred to her, "I don't think Sir Edward Digby has ever seen the library. Zara, my dear, you had better show it to him. There are some very curious books there, and the manuscript in vellum, with all the kings' heads painted." Zara felt that it was rather a coarse piece of work which her aunt had just turned out of hand; and being a little too much susceptible of ridicule, she did not like to have anything to do with it, although, to say the truth, she was very anxious herself for the few minutes that Mrs. Barbara was inclined to give her. "Oh, I dare say, my dear aunt," she replied, "Sir Edward Digby does not care anything about old books!--I don't believe they have been opened for these fifty years." "The greater the treasure, Miss Croyland," answered the young officer; "I can assure you nothing delights me more than an old library; so I think I shall go and find it out myself, if you are not disposed to show it to me." Zara Croyland remembered, with a smile, that Sir Edward Digby had met with no great difficulty in finding it out for himself on a previous occasion. She rose, however, with her colour a little heightened; for his invitation was a very palpable one, and she did not know what conclusions her aunt might be pleased to draw, or to insinuate to others; and, leading the way towards the library, she opened the door, expecting to find the room untenanted. There, however, before her eyes, standing opposite to a book-case, with a large folio volume of divinity in his hand, stood the clergyman of the parish; and he instantly turned round his head, with spectacles on nose, and advanced to pay his respects to Miss Croyland and Sir Edward Digby. Now, the clergyman was a very worthy man; but he had one of those peculiarities, which, if peculiarities were systematically classed, would be referred to the bore genus. He was frequently unaware of when people had had enough of him; and consequently on the present occasion--after he had informed Zara, that finding that her father was out, he had taken the liberty of walking into the library to look at a book he wanted--he put back that book, and attacked Sir Edward Digby, totis viribus, upon the state of the weather, the state of the country, and the state of the smugglers. The later topic, as it was the predominant one in every man's mind at that moment, and in that part of the country, occupied him rather longer than a sermon, though his parishioners occasionally thought his sermons quite sufficiently extensive for any sleep-resisting powers of the human frame to withstand; and then, when Sir Edward and Zara, forgetting, in the interest which they seemed to take in his discourse, that they had come into the library to look at the books, walked out upon the terrace, he walked out with them; and as they turned up and down, he turned up and down also, for full an hour. Zara could almost have cried in the end; but, as out of the basest refuse of our stable-yards, grow the finest flowers of our gardens, so good is ever springing up from evil; and in the end the worthy clergyman gave his two companions the first distinct account which they had received of the dispersion of Mr. Radford's band of smugglers, and of the eager pursuit of young Radford which was taking place throughout the country. Thus passed the morning, with one event or other of little consequence, presenting obstacles to any free communication between two people, who were almost as desirous of some private conversation as if they had been lovers. A little before three o'clock, however, Zara Croyland who had been looking out of the window, suddenly quitted the drawing-room; and Sir Edward Digby, who maintained his post, was left to entertain Mrs. Barbara, which he did to the best of his abilities. He was still in full career, a little enjoying, to say sooth, some of the good lady's minor absurdities, when Zara re-entered the room with a quick step, and a somewhat eager look. Her fair cheek was flushed too; and her face had in it that sort of determined expression which often betrays that there has been a struggle in the mind, as to some step about to be taken, and that victory has not been achieved without an effort. "Sir Edward Digby," she said, in a clear and distinct tone, "I want to speak with you for a few moments, if you please." Mrs. Barbara looked shocked, and internally wondered that Zara could not have made some little excuse for engaging Sir Edward in private conversation. "She might have asked him to go and see a flower, or offered to play him a tune on the harpsichord, or taken him to look at the dovecot, or anything," thought Mrs. Barbara. The young officer, however, instantly started up, and accompanied his fair inviter towards the library, to which she led the way with a hurried and eager step. "Let us come in here!" she said, opening the door; but the moment she was within, she sank into a chair and clasped her hands together. Sir Edward Digby shut the door, and then advanced towards her, a good deal surprised and somewhat alarmed by the agitation he saw her display. She did not speak for a moment, as if completely overpowered, and feeling for her more deeply than he himself knew, her companion took her hand and tried to soothe her, saying, "Be calm--be calm, my dear Miss Croyland! You know you can trust in me, and if I can aid you in any way, command me." "I know not what to do, or what to say," cried Zara; "but I am sure, Sir Edward, you will find excuses for me; and therefore I will make none--though I may perhaps seem somewhat bold in dealing thus with one whom I have only known a few days." "There are circumstances which sometimes make a few days equal to many years," replied Sir Edward Digby. "It is so, my dear young lady, with you and I. Therefore, without fear or hesitation, tell me what it is that agitates you, and how I can serve you. I am not fond of making professions; but if it be in human power, it shall be done." "I know not, whether it can be done or not," said Zara; "but if not, there is nothing but ruin and desolation for two people, whom we both love. You saw my father set out this morning. Did you remark the course he took? It was over to my uncle's, for I watched him from the window. He passed back again some time ago, but then struck off towards Mr. Radford's. All that made me uneasy; but just now, I saw Edith's maid coming up towards the house; and eager for tidings, I hurried away.--Good Heavens, what tidings she has borne me!" "They must be evil ones, I see," answered Digby; "but I trust not such as to preclude all chance of remedying what may have gone wrong. When two or three people act together zealously, dear lady, there are very few things they cannot accomplish." "Yes, but how to explain!" exclaimed Zara; "yet I must be short; for otherwise my aunt will be in upon us. Now, Sir Edward Digby," she continued, after thinking for a moment, "I know you are a man of honour--I am sure you are; and I ask you to pledge me that honour, that you will never reveal to any one what I am going to tell you; for I know not whether I am about to do right or wrong--whether, in trying to save one, I may not be bringing down ruin upon others. Do you give me your honour?" "Most assuredly!" answered her companion. "I will never repeat a word that you say, unless with your permission, on my honour!" "Well, then," replied Zara, in a faint voice, "Mr. Radford has my father's life in his power. How, I know not--how, I cannot tell. But so it is; and such are the tidings that Caroline has just brought us. Mr. Radford's conference with him this morning was not for nothing. Immediately after, he went over to Edith; he told her some tale which the girl did not distinctly hear; but, it seems, some paper which Mr. Radford possesses was spoken of, and the sum of the whole matter was, that my poor, sweet sister was told, if she did not consent, within four days, to marry that hateful young man, she would sacrifice her father's life. He left her fainting, and has ridden over to bear her consent to Mr. Radford." "But, did she consent?" exclaimed Sir Edward Digby, in surprise and consternation--"Did she really yield?" "No--no!" answered Zara, "she did not! The girl said she heard her words, and they were not in truth a consent. But my father chose to take them as such, and left her even before she recovered." I have already shown the effect of the same account upon Sir Henry Leyton, with all the questions which it suggested to his mind; and the impression produced upon his friend, as a man of sense and a man of the world, were so similar, that it may be needless to give any detailed statement of his first observations or inquiries. Zara soon satisfied him, however, that the tale her father had told, was not a mere device to frighten Edith into a compliance with his wishes; and then came the question, What was to be done? "It is, in truth, a most painful situation in which your sister is placed," said Digby, after some consideration; "but think you that this man, this Radford, cannot be bought off? Money must be to him--if he be as totally ruined as people say--the first consideration; and I know Leyton so well, that I can venture to promise nothing of that kind shall stand in the way, if we can but free your sister from the terrible choice put before her." Zara shook her head sadly, saying, "No; that hope is vain!--The girl tells me," she added, with a faint smile, which was quickly succeeded by a blush, "that she heard my father say, he had offered me--poor me! to Richard Radford, with the same fortune as Edith, but had been refused." "And would you have consented?" demanded Sir Edward Digby, in a more eager tone than he had yet used. "Nay," replied Zara, "that has nought to do with the present question. Suffice it, that this proves that gold is not his only object." "Nay, but answer me," persevered her companion; "would you have consented? It may have much to do with the question yet." He fixed his eyes gravely upon her face, and took the fair, small hand, that lay upon the arm of the chair, in his.--It was something very like making love, and Zara felt a strange sensation at her heart; but she turned away her face, and answered, with a very pale cheek, "I would die for my father, Sir Edward; but I could not wed Richard Radford." Sir Edward raised her hand to his lips, and pressed them on it. "I thought so!" he said--"I thought so! And now, heart, and mind, and hand, and spirit, to save your sister, Zara! I have hunted many a fox in my day, and I don't think the old one of Radford Hall will escape me. The greatest difficulty is, not to compromise your father in any way; but that shall be cared for, too, to the very best of my power, be assured. Henceforth, dear lady, away with all reserve between us. While I am in this house, it will be absolutely necessary for you to communicate with me freely, and probably very often. Have no hesitation; have no scruple as to hour, or manner, or means. Trust to my honour as you have trusted this day; and you shall never find it fail you. I will enter into such explanations with my servant, Somers, in regard to poor Leyton, as will make him think it nothing strange, if you send him for me at any time. He is as discreet as a privy councillor; and you must, therefore, have no hesitation." "I will not," answered Zara; "for I would do anything to save my sister from such a fate; and I do believe you will not think--you will not imagine----" She paused in some confusion; and Sir Edward Digby answered, with a smile--but a kindly and a gentlemanly one, "Let my imagination do as it will, Zara. Depend upon it, it shall do you no wrong; and believe me when I say, that I can hardly feel so much pain at these circumstances as I otherwise might, since they bring me into such near and frequent communication with you." "Hush, hush!" she answered, somewhat gravely; "I can think of nothing now but my poor sister; and you must not, Sir Edward, by one compliment, or fine speech--nay, nor by one kind speech either," she added, laying her hand upon his arm, and looking up in his face, with a glowing cheek--"for I know you mean it as kind--you must not, indeed, throw any embarrassment over an intercourse, which is necessary at present, and which is my only hope and resource, in the circumstances in which we are placed. So now tell me what you are going to do; for you seemed, but now, as if you were about to set out somewhere." "I am going to Woodchurch instantly," replied Digby. "Sir Henry Leyton must be there still----" "Sir Henry Leyton!" exclaimed Zara; "then he has, indeed, been a successful campaigner." "Most successful, and most deservedly so," answered his friend. "No man but Wolfe won more renown; and if he can but gain this battle, Leyton will have all that he desires on earth. But I will not stay here, skirmishing on the flanks, dear lady, while the main body is engaged. I will ride over as fast as possible, see Leyton, consult with him, and be back, if possible, by dinner time. If not, you must tell your father not to wait for me, as I was suddenly called away on business." "But how shall I know the result of your expedition?" demanded Zara; "we shall be surrounded, I fear, by watchful eyes." "We must trust to fortune and our own efforts to afford us some means of communication," replied Digby. "But remember, dearest lady, that for this great object, you have promised to cast away all reserve. For the time, at least, you must look upon Edward Digby as a brother, and treat him as such." "That I will!" answered the fair girl, heartily; and Digby, leaving her to explain their conduct to her aunt as she best might, ordered his horse, and rode away towards Woodchurch, in haste. Pulling in his rein at the door of the little inn, he inquired which was Sir Henry Leyton's room, and was directed up stairs; but on opening the door of the chamber which had been pointed out, he found no one in it, but the somewhat strange-looking old man, whom we have once before seen with Leyton, at Hythe. "Ah, Mr. Warde, you here!" exclaimed Sir Edward Digby. "Leyton told me you were in England. But where is he? I have business of some importance to talk with him upon;" and as he spoke, he shook the old man's hand warmly. "I know you have," answered Mr. Warde, gazing upon him--"at least, I can guess that such is the case.--So have I; and doubtless the subject is the same." "Nay, I should think not," refilled Digby; "mine refers only to private affairs." The old man smiled; and that sharp featured, rude countenance assumed an expression of indescribable sweetness: "Mine is the same," he said. "You come to speak of Edith Croyland--so do I." "Indeed!" cried his companion, a good deal surprised; "you are a strange being, Mr. Warde. You seem to learn men's secrets, whether they will or not." "There is nothing strange on earth, but man's blindness," answered the other; "everything is so simple, when once explained, that its simplicity remains the only marvel.--But here he comes. Let me converse with him first. Then, when he is aware of all that I know, you shall have my absence, or my presence, as it suits you." While he was speaking, the voice of Henry Leyton was heard below, and then his step upon the stairs; and, before Digby could answer, he was in the room. His face was grave, but not so cloudy as it had been when he returned to Woodchurch, half-an-hour before. He welcomed Mr. Warde frankly, and cordially; but turned immediately to Sir Edward Digby, saying, "You have been quick indeed, Digby. I could not have conceived that my letter had reached you." "I got no letter," answered Digby; "perhaps it missed me on the way; for, the corn being down, I came straight across the country." "It matters not--it matters not," answered Leyton; "so you are here--that is enough. I have much to say to you, and that of immediate importance." "I know it already," answered Digby. "But here is our good friend, Warde, who seems to have something to say to you on the same subject." Sir Henry Leyton turned towards the old man with some surprise. "I think Digby must be mistaken," he said, "for though, I am aware, from what you told me some little time ago, that you have been in this part of the country before, yet it must have been long ago, and you can know nothing of the events which have affected myself since." The old man smiled, and shook his head. "I know more than you imagine," he answered. "It is, indeed, long since first I was in this land; but not so long since I was here last; and all its people and its things, its woods, its villages, its hills, are as familiar to me--ay, more so than to you. Of yourself, Leyton, and your fate, I also know much--I might say I know all; for certainly I know more than you do, can do more than you are able to do, will do more than you can. To show you what I know; I will give you a brief summary of your own history--at least, that part of it, of which you think I know nothing. Young, eager, and impatient, you were thrown constantly into the society of one, good, beautiful, gentle, and true. You had much encouragement from those who should not have given it, unless they had the intention of continuing it to the end. You loved, and were beloved; and then, in the impatience of your boyish ardour, you bound Edith Croyland to yourself, without her parent's knowledge and consent, by vows which, whatever human laws may say, are indissoluble by the law of Heaven; and therein you did wrong. It was a great error.--Do I say right?" "It was, indeed," answered Sir Henry Leyton, casting down his eyes sternly on the ground--"it was, indeed." "More--I will tell you more," continued Mr. Warde; "you have bitterly repented it, and bitterly suffered for it. You are suffering even now." "Not for it," replied the young officer--"not for it. My sufferings are not consequences of my fault." "You are wrong," answered the old man; "wrong, as you will find. But I will go on, and tell you what you have done this day. Those who have behaved ill to you have been punished likewise; and their punishment is working itself out, but sweeping you in within its vortex. You have been over to see Edith Croyland. She has told you her tale. You have met in love, and parted in sorrow.--Is it not so? And now you know not which way to turn for deliverance." "It is so, indeed, my good friend," said Leyton, sadly; "but how you have discovered all this, I cannot divine." "That has nought to do with the subject," answered Warde. "Now tell me, Leyton, tell me--and remember you are dearer to me than you know--are you prepared to make atonement for your fault? The only atonement in your power--to give back to Edith the vows she plighted, to leave her free to act as she may judge best. I have marked you well, as you know, for years. I have seen you tried as few men, perhaps, are tried; and you have come out pure and honest. The last trial is now arrived; and I ask you here, before your friend, your worldly friend, if you are ready to act honestly still, and to annul engagements that you had no right to contract?" "I am," answered Sir Henry Leyton; "I am, if----" "Ay, if! There is ever an 'if' when men would serve their own purposes against their conscience," said Mr. Warde, sternly. "Nay, but hear me, my good friend," replied the young officer. "I have every respect for you. Your whole character commands it and deserves it, as well as your profession; but, at the same time, though I may think fit to answer you candidly, in matters where I would reject any other man's interference, yet I must shape my answer as I think proper, and rule my conduct according to my own views. You must, therefore, hear me out. I say that I am ready to give back to Edith Croyland the vows she plighted me, to set her free from all engagements, to leave her, as far as possible, as if she had never known Henry Leyton, whatever pang it may cost me--if it can be proved to me that by so doing I have not given her up to misery, as well as myself. My own wretchedness I can bear--I have borne it long, cheered by one little ray of hope. I can bear it still, even though that light go out; but to know that by any act of mine--however seemingly generous, or, as you term it, honest--I had yielded her up to a life of anguish, that I could not bear. Show me that this will not be the case; and, as I have said before, I am ready to make the sacrifice, if it cost me life. Nay, more: I returned hither prepared, if at the last, and with every effort to avert it, I found that circumstances of which I know not the extent, rendered the keeping of her vows to me more terrible in its consequences than her union with another, however hateful he may be,--I came hither prepared, I say, in such a case, to set her free; and I will do it!" The old man took both his hands, and gazed on him with a look of glad satisfaction. "Honest to the last," he said--"honest to the last! The resolution to do this, is as good as the deed; for I know you are not one to fail where you have resolved.--But those who might exact the sacrifice are not worthy of it. Your willingness has made the atonement, Leyton; and I will deliver you from your difficulty." "You, Mr. Warde!" exclaimed Sir Edward Digby; "I cannot suppose that you really have the power; or, perhaps, after all, you do not know the whole circumstances." "Hush, hush, young man!" answered Warde, with a wave of the hand; "I know all, I see all, where you know little or nothing. You are a good youth, as the world goes--better than most of your bad class and station; but these matters are above you. Listen to me, Leyton. Did not Edith tell you that her father had worked upon her, by fears for his safety--for his honour--for his life, perhaps?" "Yes, indeed," exclaimed Leyton, eagerly, and with a ray of hope beginning to break upon him. "Was the tale not true, then?" "I guessed so," answered the old man. "I was sure that would be the course at last. Nevertheless, the tale he told was true--too true. It was forced from him by circumstances. Yet, I have said I will deliver you from your difficulty; and I will. Pursue your own course; as you have commenced, go on to the end. I ask you not now to give Edith back her promises. Nay, I tell you, that her misery, her wretchedness--ay, tenfold more than any you could suffer--would be the consequence, if you did so. Let her go on firmly in her truth to the last; but tell her, that deliverance will come. Now I leave you; but, be under no doubt. Your course is clear; do all you can by your own efforts to save her; but it is I who must deliver her in the end." Without any further farewell, he turned and left the room; and Sir Henry Leyton and his friend remained for a minute or two in thought. "His parting advice is the best," said Digby, at length; "and doubtless you will follow it, Leyton; but, of course, you will not trust so far to the word of a madman, as to neglect any means that may present themselves." "He is not mad," answered Leyton, shaking his head. "When first he joined us in Canada, before the battle of Quebec, I thought as you do; but he is not mad, Digby. There are various shades of reason; and there may be a slight aberration in his mind from the common course of ordinary thought. He may be wrong in his reasonings, rash in his opinions, somewhat overexcited in imagination; but that is not madness. His promises give me hope, I will confess; but still I will act as if they had not been made. Now let us speak of our plans; and first tell me what has taken place at Harbourne; for you seem to know all the particulars already, which I sent for you to communicate, though how you learned them I cannot divine." "Oh, my dear Leyton, if I were to tell you all that has happened," replied Sir Edward Digby, "I should have to go on as long as a Presbyterian minister, or a popular orator. I had better keep to the point;" and he proceeded to relate to his friend the substance of the conversation which had last taken place between himself and Zara. "It is most fortunate," answered Leyton, "that dear girl has thus become acquainted with the facts; for Edith would not have told her, and now we have some chance of obtaining information of all that occurs, which must be our great security. However--since I returned, I have obtained valuable information, which puts good Mr. Radford's liberty, if not his life, in my power. Three of the men whom we have taken, distinctly state that he sent them upon this expedition himself--armed, and mounted them; and therefore he is a party to the whole transaction. I have sent off a messenger to Mowle, the officer--as faithful and as true a fellow as ever lived--begging him to bring me up, without a moment's delay, a magistrate in whom he can trust; for one of the men is at the point of death, and all the justices round this place are so imbued with the spirit of smuggling, that I do not choose the depositions to be taken by them. I have received and written down the statements made, before witnesses; and the men have signed them; but I have no power in this case to administer an oath. As soon as the matter is in more formal train, I shall insist upon the apprehension of Mr. Radford, whatever be the consequences to Sir Robert Croyland; for here my duty to the country is concerned, and the very powers with which I am entrusted, render it imperative upon me so to act." "If you can catch him--if you can catch him!" replied Sir Edward Digby. "But be sure, my dear Leyton, if he once discovers that you have got such a hold upon him, he will take care to render that matter difficult. You may find it troublesome, also, to get a magistrate to act as you desire; for they are all of the same leaven; and I fancy you have no power to do anything yourself except in aid and support of the civil authorities. You must be very careful, too, not to exceed your commission, where people might suspect that personal feelings are concerned." "Personal feelings shall not bias me, Digby, even in the slightest degree," replied his friend. "I will act towards Mr. Radford, exactly as I would towards any other man who had committed this offence; and, as to the imputation of motives, I can well afford to treat such things with contempt. Were I, indeed, to act as I wish, I should not pursue this charge against the chief offender, in order not to bring down his vengeance suddenly upon Sir Robert Croyland's head, or should use the knowledge I possess merely to impose silence upon him through fear. But my duty is plain and straightforward; and it must be done. As to my powers, they are more extensive than you suppose. Indeed, I would have sooner thrown up my commission, than have undertaken a service I disliked, without sufficient authority to execute it properly. Thus, if no magistrate could be found to act as I might require, I would not scruple, with the aid of any officer of Customs, or even without, to apprehend this man on my own responsibility. But I think we shall easily find one who will do his duty." "At all events," replied Sir Edward Digby, "you had better be cautious, my dear Leyton. If you are not too quick in your movements, you may perhaps trap the old bird and the young one together; and that will be a better day's sport than if you only got a single shot." "Heaven send it may be before these fatal four days are over!" answered Leyton; "for then the matter will be decided and Edith delivered." "Why, if you were to catch the young one, it would be sufficient for that object," said his friend. But Leyton shook his head. "I fear not," he replied; "yet that purpose must not be neglected. Where he has concealed himself I cannot divine. It would seem certain that he never got out of Harbourne Wood, unless, indeed, it was by some of the bye-paths; and in that case, he surely must have been seen. I will have it searched, to-morrow, from end to end." In the same strain the conversation proceeded for half-an-hour more, without any feasible plan of action having been decided upon, and with no further result than the arrangement of means for frequent and private communication. It was settled, indeed, that Leyton should fix his head-quarters at Woodchurch, and that two or three of the dragoons should be billeted at a small public-house on the road to Harbourne. To them any communication from Sir Edward Digby was to be conveyed by his servant, Somers, for the purpose of being forwarded to Woodchurch. Such matters being thus arranged, as far as circumstances admitted, the two friends parted; and Digby rode back to Harbourne House, which he reached, as may be supposed, somewhat later than Sir Robert Croyland's dinner-hour. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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