"Judith!" exclaimed a deep voice, the sound of which sent a sudden flutter through the girl's nerves and pulses. "Judith!" and from out the darkness and falling rain plunged a man in full mantle wrapped about him and overhanging broad-brimmed hat. Without a word of excuse he s.n.a.t.c.hed the light from Mrs. Scantlebray and raised it above Judith's head.

"Merciful powers!" he cried, "what is the meaning of this! What has happened? There is blood here--blood! Judith--speak. For heaven's sake, speak!"

The light fell on his face, his glittering eyes--and she slightly turned her head and looked at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but could form no words, but the appeal in those dim eyes went to his heart, he thrust the lamp roughly back into Mrs. Scantlebray's hand, knelt on the steps, pa.s.sed an arm under the girl, the other about her waist, lifted and carried her without a word inside the house. There was a leather-covered ottoman in the hall, and he laid her on that, hastily throwing off his cloak, folding it, and placing it as a pillow beneath her head.

Then, on one knee at her side, he drew a flask from his breast pocket, and poured some drops of spirit down her throat. The strength of the brandy made her catch her breath, and brought a flash of red to her cheek. It had served its purpose, helped the wheel of life to turn beyond the stress point at which it threatened to stay wholly. She moved her head, and looked eagerly about her for Jamie. He was not there. She drew a long breath, a sigh of relief.

"Are you better?" he asked, stooping over her, and she could read the intensity of his anxiety in his face.

She tried to smile a reply, but the muscles of her lips were too stiff for more than a flutter.

"Run!" ordered Captain Coppinger, standing up, "you woman, are you a fool? Where is your husband? He is a doctor, fetch him. The girl might die."

"He--Captain--he is engaged, I believe, taking in his stores."

"Fetch him! Leave the lamp here."

Mrs. Scantlebray groped about for a candle, and having found one, proceeded to light it.

"I'm really shocked to appear before you, Captain, in this state of undress."

"Fetch your husband!" said Coppinger, impatiently.

Then she withdrew.

The draught of spirits had acted on Judith and revived her. Her breath came more evenly, her heart beat regularly, and the blood began to circulate again. As her bodily powers returned, her mind began to work once more, and again anxiously she looked about her.

"What is it you want?" asked Captain Cruel.

"Where is Jamie?"

He muttered a low oath. Always Jamie. She could think of no one but that silly boy.

Then suddenly she recalled her position--in Scantlebray's house, and the wife was on the way to the cellars, would find him, release him--and though she knew that Coppinger would not suffer Obadiah to injure her, she feared, in her present weakness, a violent scene. She sat up, dropped her feet on the floor, and stretched both her hands to the smuggler.

"Oh, take me! take me from here."

"No, Judith," he answered. "You must have the doctor to see you--after that----"

"No! no! take me before he comes. He will kill me."

Coppinger laughed. He would like to see the man who would dare to lay a finger on Judith while he stood by.

Now they heard a noise from the wings of the house at the side that communicated with the dwelling by a door that Mrs. Scantlebray had left ajar. There were exclamations, oaths, a loud, angry voice, and the shrill tones of the woman mingled with the ba.s.s notes of her husband. The color that had risen to the girl's cheeks left them; she put her hands on Coppinger's breast and looking him entreatingly in the eyes, said:

"I pray you! I pray you!"

He s.n.a.t.c.hed her up in his arms, drew her close to him, went to the door, cast it open with his foot, and bore her out into the rain.

There stood his mare, Black Bess, with a lad holding her.

"Judith, can you ride?"

He lifted her into the saddle.

"Boy," said he, "lead on gently; I will stay her lest she fall."

Then they moved away, and saw through the sheet of falling rain the lighted door, and Scantlebray in it, in his shirt sleeves shaking his fists, and his wife behind him, endeavoring to draw him back by the buckle and strap of his waistcoat.

"Oh, where is Jamie? I wonder where Jamie is?" said Judith, looking round her in the dark, but could see no sign of her brother.

There were straggling houses for half a mile--a little gap of garden or paddock, then a cottage, then a cl.u.s.ter of trees, and an alehouse, then hedges and no more houses. A cooler wind was blowing, dispelling the close, warm atmosphere, and the rain fell less heavily. There was a faint light among the clouds like a watering of satin. It showed that the storm was pa.s.sing away. The lightning flashes were, moreover, at longer intervals, fainter, and the thunder rumbled distantly. With the fresher air, some strength and life came back to Judith. The wheel though on the turn was not yet revolving rapidly.

Coppinger walked by the horse, he had his arm up, holding Judith, for he feared lest in her weakness she might fall, and indeed, by her weight upon his hand, he was aware that her power to sustain herself una.s.sisted was not come. He looked up at her; he could hardly fail to do so, standing, striding so close to her, her wet garments brushing his face; but he could not see her, or saw her indistinctly. He had thrust her little foot into the leather of his stirrup, as the strap was too long for her to use, and he did not tarry to shorten it.

Coppinger was much puzzled to learn how Judith had come at such an hour to the door of Mrs. Obadiah Scantlebray, shoeless, and with wounded head, but he asked no questions. He was aware that she was not in a condition to answer them.

He held her up with his right hand in the saddle, and with his left he held her foot in the leather. Were she to fall she might drag by the foot, and he must be on his guard against that. Pacing in the darkness, holding her, his heart beat, and his thoughts tossed and boiled within him. This girl so feeble, so childish, he was coming across incessantly, thrown in her way to help her, and he was bound to her by ties invisible, impalpable, and yet of such strength that he could not break through them and free himself.

He was a man of indomitable will, of iron strength, staying up this girl, who had flickered out of unconsciousness and might slide back into it again at any moment, and yet he felt, he knew that he was powerless before her--that if she said to him, "Lie down that I may trample on you," he would throw himself in the foul road without a word to be trodden under by these shoeless feet. There was but one command she could lay on him that he would not perform, and that was "Let me go by myself! Never come near me!" That he could not obey. The rugged moon revolves about the earth. Could the moon fly away into s.p.a.ce were the terrestrial orb to bid it cease to be a satellite? And if it did, whither would it go? Into far off s.p.a.ce, into outer darkness and deathly cold, to split and shiver into fragments in the inconceivable frost in the abyss of blackness. And Judith threw a sort of light and heat over this fierce, undisciplined man, that trembled in his veins and bathed his heart, and was to him a spring of beauty, a summer of light. Could he leave her? To leave her would be to be lost to everything that had now begun to transform his existence. The thought came over him now, as he walked along in silence--that she might bid him let go, and he felt that he could not obey. He must hold her, he must hold her not _from_ him on the saddle, not as merely staying her up, but to himself, to his heart, as his own, his own forever.

Suddenly an exclamation from Judith: "Jamie! Jamie!"

Something was visible in the darkness, something whitish in the hedge.

In another moment it came bounding up.

"Ju! oh, Ju! I ran away!"

"You did well," she said. "Now I am happy. You are saved."

Coppinger looked impatiently round and saw by the feeble light that the boy had come close to him, and that he was wrapped up in a blanket.

"He has nothing on him," said Judith. "Oh, poor Jamie!"

She had revived; she was almost herself again. She held herself more firmly in the saddle and did not lean so heavily on Coppinger's hand.

Coppinger was vexed at the appearance of the boy, Jamie; he would fain have paced along in silence by the side of Judith. If she could not speak it mattered not so long as he held her. But that this fool should spring out of the darkness and join company with him and her, and at once awake her interest and loosen her tongue, irritated him.

But as she was able to speak he would address her, and not allow her to talk over his head with Jamie.

"How have you been hurt?" he asked. "Why have you tied that bandage about your head?"

"I have been cut by a stone."

"How came that?"

"A drunken man threw it at me."

"What was his name?"

"I do not know."