Ernest Maltravers | Page 7

caught
up the last. "Aha," he muttered; "and there's the sledge-hammer
somewhere for Walters." Leaning himself against the door, he then
applied his eye to a chink which admitted a dim view of the room
within, lighted fitfully by the fire.
CHAPTER II.
"What have we here? A carrion death!" /Merchant of Venice/, Act ii.
Sc. 7.
IT was about this time that the stranger deemed it advisable to
commence his retreat. The slight and suppressed sound of voices,
which at first he had heard above in the conversation of the father and
child, had died away. The stillness at once encouraged and warned him.
He stole to the front door, softly undid the bolt, and found the door
locked, and the key missing. He had not observed that during his repast,
and ere his suspicions had been aroused, his host, in replacing the bar,
and relocking the entrance, had abstracted the key. His fears were now
confirmed. His next thought was the window--the shutter only
protected it half-way, and was easily removed; but the aperture of the
lattice, which only opened in part like most cottage casements, was far
too small to admit his person. His only means of escape was in
breaking the whole window; a matter not to be effected without noise
and consequent risk.
He paused in despair. He was naturally of a strong-nerved and gallant
temperament, nor unaccustomed to those perils of life and limb which
German students delight to brave; but his heart well-nigh failed him at
that moment. The silence became distinct and burdensome to him, and
a chill moisture gathered to his brow. While he stood irresolute and in
suspense, striving to collect his thoughts, his ear, preternaturally
sharpened by fear, caught the faint muffled sound of creeping
footsteps--he heard the stairs creak. The sound broke the spell. The
previous vague apprehension gave way, when the danger became
actually at hand. His presence of mind returned at once. He went back
quickly to the fireplace, seized the poker, and began stirring the fire,

and coughing loud, and indicating as vigorously as possible that he was
wide awake.
He felt that he was watched--he felt that he was in momently peril. He
felt that the appearance of slumber would be the signal for a mortal
conflict. Time passed, all remained silent; nearly half an hour had
elapsed since he had heard the steps upon the stairs. His situation began
to prey upon his nerves, it irritated them--it became intolerable. It was
not now fear that he experienced, it was the overwrought sense of
mortal enmity--the consciousness that a man may feel who knows that
the eye of a tiger is on him, and who, while in suspense he has regained
his courage, foresees that sooner or later the spring must come; the
suspense itself becomes an agony, and he desires to expedite the deadly
struggle he cannot shun.
Utterly incapable any longer to bear his own sensations, the traveller
rose at last, fixed his eyes upon the fatal door, and was about to cry
aloud to the listener to enter, when he heard a slight tap at the window;
it was twice repeated; and at the third time a low voice pronounced the
name of Darvil. It was clear, then, that accomplices had arrived; it was
no longer against one man that he would have to contend. He drew his
breath hard, and listened with throbbing ears. He heard steps without
upon the plashing soil; they retired--all was still.
He paused a few minutes, and walked deliberately and firmly to the
inner door, at which he fancied his host stationed; with a steady hand
he attempted to open the door; it was fastened on the opposite side.
"So!" said he, bitterly, and grinding his teeth, "I must die like a rat in a
cage. Well, I'll die biting."
He returned to his former post, drew himself up to his full height, and
stood grasping his homely weapon, prepared for the worst, and not
altogether unelated with a proud consciousness of his own natural
advantages of activity, stature, strength and daring. Minutes rolled on;
the silence was broken by some one at the inner door; he heard the bolt
gently withdrawn. He raised his weapon with both hands; and started to
find the intruder was only Alice. She came in with bare feet, and pale
as marble, her finger on her lips.

She approached--she touched him.
"They are in the shed behind," she whispered, "looking for the
sledge-hammer--they mean to murder you; get you gone--quick."
"How?--the door is locked."
"Stay. I have taken the key from his room."
She gained the door, applied the key--the door yielded. The traveller
threw his knapsack once more over his shoulder, and made but one
stride to the threshold. The