The League of the Leopard

CHAPTER V

THE TRYST AT HALLOWS BRIG

It was a clear, cool evening when Carsluith Maxwell leaned on the rails of a footbridge which spanned the river, looking up at the old place of Culmeny. It rose from the stony hillside, a straggling pile of time-worn masonry, with all its narrow windows aflame with the evening light, and the green of ivy softening its rugged simplicity. A square tower formed its major portion, and this had been built with no pretense at adornment in troubled days when the Maxwells had won and held their possessions with the mailed hand. They had been, for the most part, soldiers of fortune, and their descendant recalled the traditions of his race as, turning, he looked south and east across the shining flood-tide toward the Solway sands.

More of his forbears had, when there was scarcity at Culmeny – which was generally the case – ridden that way in steel cap and dinted harness than ever rode back, and Carsluith Maxwell had hitherto fulfilled the family destiny, chancing his life in modern ventures where the risks were perhaps as heavy as any the old moss-troopers ran. Now, however, he had come to a turning-point in his career, and that night must decide whether he applied his energies to the slow conversion of barren mosses into arable land, or went forth again to seek his fortune over seas. The wandering life appealed to his instincts; and fortune had not wholly evaded him; but he had recognized of late that unless he could share it with one woman, even prosperity would have little value for him. There was a trace of melancholy almost akin to superstition in his nature, and it was with a curious smile that he turned toward Culmeny to put his fate to the test. If Lilian Chatterton would not listen, it was high time to begin his search for the African mine.

In the meantime, Hilton Dane sat in the hall of Culmeny waiting for a word with Maxwell, and also until it was time to keep his appointment at the Hallows Brig. Three narrow, diamond-paned windows with rose lights in the crown of their lancets pierced one end of the hall, and the fading sunlight beating through, forced up into brightness the pale-tinted dresses of his companions. They were young and comely women, and, because the rest of the dark-paneled room was wrapped in shadow, neither face nor dainty figure suffered from being silhouetted against a somber background. A cluster of late roses in a silver bowl, and the tawny skin of an African leopard on the polished floor, both touched by the tinted gleam, formed by contrast glowing patches of color. Nevertheless, Dane's eyes most often rested upon Lilian Chatterton, who sat near an open window with a ruddy glory blazing in her hair, while the dark oak behind it emphasized the delicate chiseling of her face. There was a stamp of decision upon it as well as refinement.

"Is it not wonderfully peaceful to-night?" she said, glancing out across the velvet lawn. A few roses still flowered along one side of it, a tall clipped hedge hemmed it in, and, beyond the lawn, fir wood, yellow stubble, and meadow rolled down to the silver shining of the sea. The whole lay steeped in the sunset, serenely beautiful; but the black shadow of the firs lengthened rapidly across the grass.

"You are all very silent," the girl continued. "Why does not somebody agree with me? Don't you think it peaceful, Margaret? This might be an enchanted garden, and yonder hedge a barrier impassable to care. It is good to talk nonsense occasionally; and to-night one could almost fancy that no cause for trouble might enter here."

As she spoke, Dane noticed that the gloom of the firs had swallowed most of the lawn, and the coincidence struck him as an unfortunate augury. Lilian had known little of either sorrow or care; and having learned by painful experience that the balance of light and darkness is determined by immutable law, the man trembled for her.

Margaret Maxwell laughed a little.

"You are distinctly fanciful. Culmeny has seen very little of either peace or prosperity. The spot where this very garden stands was once worn down by the hoofs of stolen cattle, and the feet of armed men bent on exterminating the gentle Maxwells who plundered them. We also read that the serpent entered Eden, and have the authority of Milton and others for picturing the Prince of Darkness as a somewhat courtly gentleman; while one notices that when there is unusual harmony, trouble not infrequently follows the advent of a man. It is a coincidence, but that ditty should herald Carsluith's coming."

A voice rose out of the adjoining meadow chanting a plaintive ditty in an unknown tongue. The air resembled nothing Lilian had heard before, and she leaned forward listening, for the refrain, pitched in a mournful minor key, was equally striking.

"I did not know your brother sang so well; but I do not like that song. It strikes one as uncanny," she said.

Margaret Maxwell nodded.

"It is West African, and that, I understand, is an uncanny country. My brother spent some time there. He really sings – as he does most things when he thinks it worth while, which is not always – tolerably well."

The song died away as Carsluith Maxwell came lightly across the lawn, and Dane noticed that the last of the sunlight faded and the shadows shut in both himself and Lilian Chatterton when the newcomer entered through the open window.

"I did not know I had such an audience, or I should have been too diffident to play the nightingale," Maxwell laughed.

"Miss Chatterton did not like your song, though she admired its rendering," said Margaret mischievously. "But what put that doleful composition into your head to-night?"

"Association of ideas, most probably," answered Maxwell, with a smile on his lips, but none in his eyes. "I met the post-carrier, and must decide forthwith whether I shall follow up my African scheme or not. It is curious, but by the same token I'm standing with my heel on the neck of the leopard, and I feel inclined to say God send it be a true augury. You have your foot upon him, too, Miss Chatterton; and that is a very ill-omened beast."

"How so?" asked Lilian. "It cannot be very large or terrible, to judge by its skin."

"It holds a country larger than Scotland in terror," replied Maxwell. "There are whole tribes of black men who tremble at the sight of a tuft of leopard's fur."

"As an insignia, I suppose; but the beast is clearly vulnerable." Lilian stooped and pointed to the fur. "Surely that is the work of a bullet."

"You have keen eyes," said Maxwell. "The taxidermist did his best to hide it. That hole was made when I first pitted myself against the leopard by shooting one to convince my carriers the thing was mortal. For some time I suspected that was the beginning of a duel."

"And now?" interposed his sister, with a trace of anxiety.

"Now I almost hope I was mistaken," said Carsluith Maxwell. "With your permission, I have one or two things to see to, and should like a word with Hilton."

They went out together, and presently Dane returned alone to bid Miss Maxwell adieu.

"You have been very patient during the last hour," said that lady. "Now that you have seen Carsluith, one could not, of course, expect too much from you."

"I have been very self-indulgent," said Dane, who had seen the elfish child again and promised to meet his correspondent. "Still, there is a limit to everybody's opportunities for enjoyment, and unfortunately I must tear myself away."

Margaret Maxwell glanced at him sharply, for she fancied that he spoke with sincerity, as indeed he did; but Dane, having given his promise, intended to keep it. She also glanced at Lilian, and decided that Miss Chatterton was not wholly pleased.

"Carsluith proposed to drive you both home. Can you not wait until he is ready?" she suggested.

"I fear I cannot," answered Dane, with a trace of confusion. "The fact is, I have an appointment to keep."

He left them a trifle abruptly, and Miss Maxwell turned to Lilian.

"Whom can your guest have an appointment with? He looked positively guilty. I fear that he must have fallen into the toils of some rustic beauty, which, considering his opportunities, shows a deplorably defective taste."

If Lilian felt any resentment she showed no sign of it; but she was a little more quiet than usual while they awaited the return of Carsluith Maxwell.

Dane, remembering Lilian's glance of interrogation, hurried toward the Hallows Brig in a somewhat uncertain humor. Though the hillside was still projected blackly against a pale gleam of saffron above, it was nearly but not quite dark when he reached the bridge, and the water sang mournfully through the deepening gloom of the firs. The cool air was fragrant with the faint sweetness of honeysuckle, and the calling of curlew rose from a misty meadow; and it seemed to Dane that the slight, shadowy figure which presently flitted toward him was in keeping with the spirit of the scene. When the girl halted beside him there was still just sufficient light to show that her face was comely. Hilton Dane was not given to wandering fancies, and had long carried Lilian Chatterton's photograph about with him; but he felt compassionate when he saw the anxiety in the thin face, and noticed that the girl's lips were quivering.

"Miss Johnstone, I presume?" he said. "Will you please tell me why you sent for me?"

"I will try, sir," was the answer. "I have two little sisters to bring up on what I earn by my needle, and what Jim can spare; but work has been ill to get at the quarries, and, now when Jim's in prison, and winter's no far away, I'm afraid to wonder what will be the outcome if he is convicted."

"He should have considered such risks before he attempted to steal another man's partridges," said Dane, with a poor attempt at severity.

"Poaching is not stealing, sir!" There was a ring in the girl's voice. "Sorrow on the game that steals the farmer's corn to make a rich man's pleasure, and tempts a poor man to his ruin! May ye never learn, sir, what it is to choose between stealing and starving."

"The question is, what do you wish me to do?"

"To let Jim off, sir," was the answer; and the girl's eyes were eager to tearfulness as she fixed them on the man, who frowned, perhaps because he felt the appeal in them almost irresistible. "It was a dark night, and maybe ye could not be quite certain. It was the others who tempted him. He will go no more poaching if he once wins clear, and if the fiscal sends him to prison the bairns will be hungry often or the winter's through. It's for their sakes I'm asking; and the neighbors say there will be no conviction if ye cannot swear to Jim."

Perhaps it was Dane's duty to sternly rebuke the pleader, but she appeared half-fed and desperately anxious; and the face of her tiny sister, with its look of childish confidence, rose up before his fancy. He had once, and with little compunction, cut down with a shovel a frenzied Italian laborer who led a mutiny, but now, though he set his lips firmly for a moment, his eyes were pitiful.

"I am afraid what you suggest would not be right," he said presently. "Does your father not help you at all?"

The girl's "No," expressed a good deal, and the despair in her voice completed the man's discomfiture.

"I'm sorry; I had no right to ask," he said. "I am sure, at least, that it was not your brother who broke my head, because – because he was not in a position to attack anybody just then – and, for the sake of the little ones, if there is any doubt at all – and I dare say there will be, he shall have full benefit. But I cannot set him at liberty to continue poaching; and the neighboring land-owners will probably see that he gets no more work at the quarries; so he must take a letter from me to a contractor who will no doubt find him employment."

Here, to the consternation of Dane, who did not know that his underfed and overworked companion had done a courageous and, in the eyes of her neighbors, a very suspicious thing, the girl broke out into half-choked sobbing.

"You really must not cry," he pleaded awkwardly. "It is distressing to me; and it is not my fault that your brother's friends cut my head open. However, as I am the unfortunate cause of your distress, if the little ones have suffered already it would be my duty to – to see they didn't – you understand me?"

The girl, though still tearful, drew herself up with some show of pride.

"I'm no asking ye for money. The relief was just overmuch for me; but, and it's a last favor, ye will no tell Miss Chatterton. Her good word means work and bread to me."

"I am not likely to tell Miss Chatterton," the man assured her; then added in haste: "If I did, she would not blame you."

"Maybe! Ye will not tell her," the girl said enigmatically, and then once more caught her breath.

Dane, being unpleasantly uncertain what she might say or do in an hysterical attack, felt it incumbent on him to soothe her, and laid a hand reassuringly on her shoulder. It is possible that his companion found comfort in the grasp, or instinctively recognized the touch of an honest man, for she made no effort to evade it. As it happened, the lane was grass-grown and sandy, and the river frothed noisily down a rapid beyond the bridge. Thus neither of them heard the fall of hoofs until a sudden glare of light beat into the face of the man. Fate had decreed that the driver of the approaching vehicle should not only light the lamps a little earlier than usual, but choose the longest road.

The result was unfortunate, for Dane, acting on impulse, drew the girl farther back into the shadow of the hedge, and stood before her with his hand still on her arm. The light had partly dazzled him, but he recognized in the occupants of the dog-cart Lilian Chatterton and Carsluith Maxwell, and barely choked back an expletive. Neither, if they had seen him, showed any sign of recognition, which, however, was hardly to be expected under the circumstances. Then, as the vehicle jolted on, the girl, seeing the chagrin in the man's face, gazed at him curiously, and with half-coherent thanks hurried away, leaving Dane in a state of savage dismay.