Her Season in Bath Part 26

CHAPTER XVII.

THE BITTER END.

Meanwhile the lonely woman, shrouded in her long cloak, pursued her way.

She missed it again and again, and was forced to inquire if she was right, first of a countryman she met, and once at a cottage at Widcombe of a woman who was standing at the door with a lanthorn in her hand.

"Two miles further," she said. "What are you going there for, pray, if I may be so bold?"

"On an errand of life or death," Griselda said, the words escaping her lips almost unawares.

"If that's it, and a duel is to be fought, it most like is death to one of 'em. I am watching for my husband; he has never come home, and I fear something has happened. He is often in liquor, and may have stumbled into the quarry. I call _mine_ real troubles, I do. What do the gentry want with stabbing one another to the heart about paltry quarrels? Why, the French lord was killed out on Claverton Down by Count Rice a few months ago, and all about a trumpery pack of cards--a pack of lies, more like! I've no patience with folks who quarrel with no reason. You look very wan, my dear," the woman said, as Griselda turned away. "I can give you a cup of milk."

But Griselda shook her head. To eat or drink at that moment was impossible to her.

"Tell me," she asked, "how I shall know the spot where the men fight."

"Oh! you'll see four tall fir-trees, and a big stone. It won't be light yet. I'll tell you what. I'll lend you my lanthorn. Here, it's trimmed!

You can carry it along." Griselda hesitated as the woman went on: "Take the road straight as a line from the church. Then you'll come to cross-roads. You follow on with the one which leads to the right hand, and you'll come to the firs and the big stone. The ground where the fine lord's body lay for hours is just hard by. Will you have the lanthorn; you can leave it as you come back?"

"No, I think not--I think not; but thank you kindly."

And then Griselda pressed on--on to the church, on, as she was directed, along a lonely road, till the tall sign-post was reached, with the four arms painted white, stretching out in four directions. On then to the right, eastward, for the first faint pallor of the dawn was in the sky.

It was clear now, and the moon in its last quarter was hanging low in the horizon.

Griselda's feet ached, and when she saw the tall fir-trees, and the large rough stone, she hastened towards it, and sat down to rest. All was still; the silence broken only by the murmur in the dark plumes of the fir-trees as the crisp cold air wandered through the branches.

The silence was so profound that Griselda could almost hear the beating of her heart. Here alone, unprotected, she could hardly realize her own position. Whatever happened to her, she thought, there was no one who would care so very much, except him whom she had come to save. Lady Betty would cry hysterically, but be more angry than sorry; little Norah--poor little Norah--perhaps she loved her; and Graves--faithful Graves.

Presently there was a rumbling sound as of distant wheels. Griselda started up, but she saw nothing.

Then she advanced from the shadow of the trees, and looked over the open s.p.a.ce. The dawn was breaking now, and she saw two figures stooping over the ground, and apparently marking it.

In breathless anxiety she waited and watched. She was too far off to distinguish the men, but she presently discerned four more figures appearing at the ridge of rising ground, where the Down dipped rather sharply to the valley below.

Then there were two figures isolated a little from the rest. They seemed to meet and part again, and then Griselda waited no longer. She ran forward and skimmed the turf with fleet steps--steps that were quickened by a great fear.

Breathless and voiceless she reached the spot just as the two combatants' swords had clashed, and the seconds on either side had given the signal for another round. Griselda went up to Leslie Travers and seized his arm.

"Stop!" she said, "for my sake."

Her appearance seemed to paralyze both combatants.

"It is for your sake," Leslie said in a low voice. "Let go, my love--let go! I must carry this on to the bitter end."

"You shall not! Desist, sir!" she said, turning upon Sir Maxwell Danby.

Then the seconds drew near, and the doctor, Mr. Cheyne.

"I will have no blood shed for me," Griselda said, gathering strength in the emergency of the moment. "I will stand here till you give up this conflict."

"Unfortunately, fair lady, we have no intention of giving up till we have settled our little affair as men of honour should," said Sir Maxwell.

"Stand back, Griselda--stand back!" Leslie cried in despairing tones.

"There is only one condition on which I will give in; yonder base man knows what that condition is. He must withdraw the lies he has uttered concerning you."

"I know not what the lies are," Griselda said; "but if lies, will the death of him who uttered them, or of you who resent them, convince those who believe them that they _are_ lies? Nay," she said, her breast heaving and her voice trembling, though every slowly-uttered word was distinctly heard. "Nay, wrong-doing can never, never make evil good, or set wrong right."

"Pardon me, fairest of your s.e.x," said Sir Maxwell; "permit me to ask you to withdraw. We will prove our strength once more; and, unwilling as I am to do so in the presence of a lady, I must, as your--your n.o.ble friend says, carry this matter through."

"Can't you come to an understanding, gentlemen?" Mr. d.i.c.kinson said.

"Upon my soul, I wish I could wash my hands of the whole business. A miserable business it is!"

"Beresford," Leslie said to his second, "help me to get free from her, or she may be hurt in the conflict."

But Griselda still clung to his arm; and how it might have ended who can tell, had not Sir Maxwell said in his satirical, bitter voice:

"It is new in the annals of the world's history for a woman to be used as a s.h.i.+eld by a man! Coward--poltroon is a more fitting phrase for such an one."

Mr. Beresford caught Griselda as with a desperate effort Leslie unclasped the long white fingers which were clasped round his arm, and saying: "Guard her carefully," the signal was again given, and a fierce struggle ensued, which ended in Leslie Travers lying motionless on the ground with a sword-thrust through his breast; and Sir Maxwell, binding his hand, which was bleeding, with a lace handkerchief, asked coolly of Mr. Cheyne, who was bending over Leslie:

"He is alive, I think?"

"Yes, he is alive; but I doubt if he will live ten minutes unless I stop the bleeding. This, sir, is a pretty piece of business for you."

For a moment, Sir Maxwell's face blanched with fear; then, recovering himself, he made a sign to his servant, who ran on towards the dip in the moor, and presently another servant appeared with two horses. The valet mounted one, and Sir Maxwell the other; and before the doctor or Mr. Beresford had time to consider what course to take, Sir Maxwell Danby was galloping off in the direction of the high-road which led to London.

Griselda knew no more till she found herself in a strange room, and with an unfamiliar face bending over her.

"Where am I?" she asked, sitting up, and looking round bewildered.

"You are safe with us, my dear young lady. You must take this gla.s.s of reviving mixture, made from a receipt of my mother's."

And Caroline Herschel held the gla.s.s to Griselda's lips.

"How did I get here?"

"My brother Alexander brought you; but do not ask further questions, but lie still."

The draught seemed to restore poor Griselda to consciousness, and with consciousness the memory of what had happened came back.

"Oh!" she said; "did--did he die? I saw him fall. Yes; I remember now.

For pity's sake, answer me!"

It was well for Griselda that she was in the hands of a person at once so sincere and so really kind-hearted. While many well-meaning people would have fenced the question, and put it off, she answered quietly: