The Courtship of Morrice Buckler Part 35

"They travel early," said Elmscott carelessly. I looked at the coach again, but this time with more attention.

"Quick!" I cried of a sudden, and drew Elmscott through an opening in the hedge into the field that bordered the road. The next moment the berlin dashed by.

"Did you see?" I asked. "Otto Krax was on the box."

"Ay!" he answered. "And Countess Lukstein within the carriage. What takes her back so fast, I wonder? She will be in London two days before her time."

We came out again from behind the hedge, and watched the carriage dwindling to a speck along the road.

"If you will, Morrice," said my cousin, with a great reluctance, "you can let Marston journey to Bristol, and yourself follow the Countess to town."

"Nay!" said I shortly. "I have a mind to settle my accounts with Marston, and not later than this morning."

He brightened wonderfully at the words.

"'Twere indeed more than a pity to miss so promising an occasion. But as I am your Mentor for the nonce, I deemed it right to mention the alternative--though I should have thought the less of you had you taken my advice. Here comes the landlord to summon us to breakfast."

We followed him along the pa.s.sage towards the kitchen. The door stood half-opened, and peeping through the crack at the hinges, we could see Marston and his friend seated at a table.

"Gentlemen," said Elmscott, stepping in with the politest bow, "will you allow two friends to join your repast?"

Marston was in the act of raising a tankard to his lips; but save that his face turned a shade paler, and his hand trembled so that a few drops of the wine were spilled upon the cloth, he betrayed none of the disappointment which my cousin had fondly antic.i.p.ated. He looked at us steadily for a second, and then drained the tankard. His companion--a Mr. Cuthbert Cliffe, with whom both Elmscott and myself were acquainted--rose from his seat and welcomed us heartily. It was evident that he was in the dark as to the object of our journey. We seated ourselves opposite them on the other side of the table.

Elmscott was somewhat dashed by the prosaic nature of the reception, and seemed at a loss how to broach the subject of the duel, when Marston suddenly hissed at me:

"How the devil came you here?"

"On a magic carpet," replied Elmscott smoothly. "Like the Arabian, we came upon a magic carpet."

Marston rose from the table and walked to the fireplace, where he stood kicking the logs with the toe of his boot, and laughing to himself in a short, affected way, as men are used who seek to cover up a mortification. Then he turned again to me.

"Very well," he said, with a nod, "and the sooner the better. If Lord Elmscott and Mr. Cliffe will arrange the details, I am entirely at your service."

With that he set his hat carelessly on his head, and sauntered out of the room. Mr. Cliffe looked at me in surprise.

"It is an old-standing quarrel between Mr. Buckler and your friend,"

Elmscott explained, "but certain matters, of which we need not speak, have brought it to a head. Your friend would fain have deferred the settlement for another week, but Mr. Buckler's engagements forbade the delay."

So far he had got when a suspicion flashed into my head. Leaving Elmscott to arrange the encounter with Mr. Cliffe, I hurried down the pa.s.sage and out on to the road. On neither side was Marston to be seen, but I perceived that the stable door stood open. I looked quickly to the priming of my pistol--for, knowing that the Great West Road was infested by footpads and highwaymen, we had armed ourselves with some care before leaving London--and took my station in the middle of the way. Another minute and I should have been too late; for Marston dashed out of the stable door, already mounted upon his horse.

He drove his spurs into its flanks, and rode straight at me. I had just time to leap on one side. His riding-whip slashed across my face, I heard him laugh with a triumphant mockery, and then I fired. The horse bounded into the air with a scream of pain, sank on its haunches, and rolled over on its side.

The noise of the shot brought our seconds to the door.

"Your friend seems in need of a.s.sistance," said Elmscott. For Marston lay on the road struggling to free himself from the weight of the horse. Cliffe loosened the saddle and helped Marston to his feet. Then he drew aside and stood silent, looking at his companion with a questioning disdain. Marston returned the look with a proud indifference, which, in spite of myself, I could not but admire.

"There was more courage than cowardice in the act," said I, "to those who understand it."

"I can do without your approbation," said Marston, flus.h.i.+ng, as he turned sharply upon me. Catching sight of my face, he smiled. "Did the whip sting?" he asked.

I unsheathed my sword, and without another word we mounted the bank on the left side of the road and pa.s.sed on to the heath.

The seconds chose a spot about a hundred yards from the highway, where the turf was level and smooth, and set us facing north and south, so that neither might get advantage from the sun. The morning was very clear and bright, with just here and there a feather of white cloud in the blue of the sky; and our swords shone in the sunlight like darting tongues of flame.

The encounter was of the shortest, since we were in no condition to plan or execute the combinations of a cool and subtle attack, but drove at each other with the utmost fury. Marston wounded me in the forearm before ever I touched him. But a few seconds after that he had pinked me, he laid his side open, and I pa.s.sed my sword between his ribs. He staggered backwards, swayed for a moment to and fro in an effort to keep his feet; his knees gave under him, and he sank down upon the heath, his fingers clasping and unclasping convulsively about the pommel of his sword. Cliffe lifted him in his arms and strove to staunch the blood, which was reddening through his s.h.i.+rt, while Elmscott ran to the inn and hurried off to Hungerford for a surgeon.

For awhile I stood on my ground, idly digging holes in the gra.s.s with the point of my rapier. Then Marston called me faintly, and I dropped the sword and went to his side. His face was white and sweaty, and the pupils of his eyes were contracted to pin-points.

I knelt down and bent my head close to his.

"So," he whispered, "luck sides with you after all. This time I thought that I had won the vole."

He was silent for a minute or so, and then:

"I want to speak with you alone."

I took him from Cliffe's arms and supported his head upon my knee, he pressing both his hands tightly upon his side.

"Betty is afraid," he continued, with a gasp between each word, as soon as Cliffe had left us. "Betty is afraid, and her husband's a fool."

The implied request, even at that moment, struck me as wonderfully characteristic of the man. So long as his own desires were at stake he disregarded his sister's fears; but no sooner had all chance of gaining them failed, than his affection for her rea.s.serted itself, and even drove him to the length of asking help from his chief enemy.

"I will see that no harm comes to her."

"Promise!"

I promised, somehow touched by his trust in me.

"I knew you would," he said gratefully; and then, with a smile: "I am sorry I hit you with my whip--Morrice. I could have loved you."

Again he lay silent, plucking at the gra.s.s with the fingers of his left hand.

"Lift me higher! There is something else."

I raised his body as gently as I could; but nevertheless the rough bandage which Cliffe had fastened over the wound became displaced with the movement, and the blood burst out again, soaking through his s.h.i.+rt.

"You spoke of a miniature----" he began, and then with a little gasping sob he turned over in my arms, and fell forward on the gra.s.s upon his face.

I called to Cliffe, who stood with his back towards us a little distance off, and ran to where I had laid my coat and cravat before the duel commenced. For the cravat was of soft muslin, and might, I fancied, be of some use as lint. With this in my hand, I hurried back.

Cliffe was lifting Marston from the ground.

"Best let him lie there quietly," I said.

He turned the body over upon its back.

"Aye!" he answered, "under G.o.d's sky."

I dropped on my knees beside the corpse, felt the pulse, laid my ear to the heart. The sun shone hot and bright upon his dead face. Cliffe took a handkerchief from his pocket, and gently placed it over Marston's eyes.

"This means a year on the Continent for you, my friend," he said.