Black Bartlemys Treasure | Page 8

had been a man once, hale and
strong,--even as I, but this man had contravened the law (even as I
purposed to do) and he had died a rogue's death and so hung, rotting, in
his chains, even as this my own body might do some day. And,
hearkening to the shrill wail of his fetters, my flesh crept with loathing
and I shivered. But the fit passed, and in my vain pride I smote my staff
into the mud at my feet and vowed within myself that nought should
baulk me of my just vengeance, come what might; as my father had
suffered death untimely and hard, so should die the enemy of my race;
for the anguish he had made me endure so should he know anguish. I
bethought me how long and deadly had been this feud of ours, handed
down from one generation to another, a dark, blood- smirched record of
bitter wrongs bitterly avenged. "To hate like a Brandon and revenge
like a Conisby!" This had been a saying in our south country upon a
time; and now--he was the last of his race as I was the last of mine, and
I had come back out of hell that this saying might be fulfilled. Soon--ha,
yes, in a few short hours the feud should be ended once and for all and
the house of Conisby avenged to the uttermost. Thinking thus, I heeded
no more the raving tempest around me until, roused by the plunge and
rattle of the gibbet-chains, I raised my head and shaking my staff up at
that black and shrivelled thing, I laughed loud and fierce, and, even as I
did so, there leapt a great blaze of crackling flame and thereafter a
thunder-clap that seemed to shake the very earth and smite the roaring
wind to awed silence; and in this silence, I heard a whisper:
"O mercy of God!"
Somewhere in the darkness hard by a woman had cried. Instinctively I
turned thitherward, searching the night vainly until the lightning flared
again and I beheld a cloaked and hooded figure huddled miserably
against the bank of the road, and, as darkness came, I spoke:
"Woman, doth the gibbet fright you, or is't I? If 'tis the gibbet go hence,
if 'tis I rest assured."

"Who are you?" said a breathless voice.
"One of no more account than the poor thing that danceth aloft in his
chains and for you as harmless."
And now she was beside me, a dark, wind-blown shape, and above the
howling tempest her voice reached me in passionate pleading:
"Sir--sir, will you aid one in sore danger and distress?"
"Yourself?" I questioned.
"Nay--indeed nay," she panted, "'tis Marjorie, my poor, poor brave
Marjorie. They stopped my coach--drunken men. I know not what
came of Gregory and I leapt out and escaped them in the dark, but
Marjorie--they carried her off--there is a light down the lane yonder. I
followed and saw--O sir, you will save Marjorie--you are a man--"
A hand was upon my ragged sleeve, a hand that gripped and shook at
me in desperate supplication--"You will save her from--from worse
than death? Speak--speak!"
"Lead on!" quoth I, answering this compelling voice. The griping
fingers slipped down and clasped my hand in the dark, and with never
another word she led me away unseeing and unseen until we came
where we were more sheltered from rain and wind; and now I took
occasion to notice that the hand that gripped mine so masterfully was
small and soft, so that what with this and her voice and speech I judged
her one of condition. But my curiosity went no further nor did I
question her, for in my world was no place for women. So she led me
on at haste despite the dark-- like one that was sure of her
whereabouts--until I suddenly espied a dim light that shone out from
the open lattice of what I judged to be a small hedge-tavern. Here my
companion halted suddenly and pointed to the light.
"Go!" she whispered. "Go--nay, first take this!" and she thrust a small
pistol into my hand. "Haste!" she panted, "O haste--and I do pray God
shield and bless you." Then with never a word I left her and strode

towards the beam of light.
Being come nigh the casement I paused to cock the weapon and to
glance at the priming, then, creeping to the open lattice, I looked into
the room.
Three men scowled at each other across a table--desperate-looking
fellows, scarred and ill-featured, with clothes that smacked of the sea;
behind them in a corner crouched a maid, comely of seeming but pallid
of cheek and with cloak torn by rough hands, and, as she crouched, her
wide eyes stared