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Volume Three – Chapter Fourteen.
The Bearer of Tidings

Nine o’clock the next – or rather, by the way in which we calculate time, calling by the same title the hours of obscurity and those of sunshine, the same – morning, Mr and Mrs Marter were not down, nor likely to be for some time; but Ella was just rising from the schoolroom breakfast-table, where she had partaken of a pleasant meal of extremely weak tea, sweetened with moist sugar of a fine treacley odour, and thick bread, plastered with rank, tubby, salt butter. The meal had gone off more quietly than usual, – no one had upset any tea, neither had the youngest child turned her delicate hand and arm, as was much her custom, into a catapult, for the purpose of hurling bread-and-butter at her sisters. Certainly, this young lady had made one snatch at the butter, lying lumpy and yellow upon a plate, and had succeeded in grasping it, as was shown by the traces of her fingers; but when admonished therefor, and threatened with long tasks, she had only howled for five minutes, and had not, as was her wont, thrown herself upon her back upon the floor, and screamed until she was black in the face.

“Mr Bray wants to see you, miss,” said a housemaid, entering the schoolroom, the footman not being dressed at so early an hour.

“To see me?” ejaculated Ella.

“Yes, miss; he says he wants to see you pertickler, and he’s now waiting in the dining-room.”

“Is Mrs Marter down yet?” said Ella, troubled at this unusual call, and at such a strange hour.

“No, miss; nor won’t be for long enough.”

“Ask Mr Bray if he would be kind enough to call again at twelve,” said Ella, after a few moments’ thought. “I am engaged now with the children.”

“Yes, miss,” said the girl; and she departed, to return at the end of five minutes, with a card bearing in pencil:

“If you value your peace of mind, come to me. I have a letter for you from the country. A case of life or death!”

“Mrs Brandon must be ill,” thought Ella; and hurriedly leaving the room, she stood the next minute face to face with Max, who was very pale, as he respectfully held out his hand, which was, however, unnoticed.

“Miss Bedford,” he said softly, “I fear that my visits have always been associated with that which was to you unpleasant, from the fact, though, that you did not know my real nature. This visit will, I fear, be only another that shall add to the dislike you entertain for me, but which of late you have so kindly disguised.”

Ella did not speak, but stood watching him eagerly.

“You know I was late home last night. I found there this letter, delivered evidently by the late post, and you will guess my emotion when you read it. I came back here; but I could not get a cab, and it was half-past two when I reached the house. If I had roused you, nothing could have been done, while now a calm night’s rest has made you better prepared. So I returned to lie down upon the sofa for a few hours’ rest, meaning to be here as soon as the house was opened; but – I am almost ashamed to tell it – I slept heavily from the effects of my long walk, and did not wake till eight. Can you bear to read it?” he said gently.

“Yes, yes,” cried Ella huskily; and she took a formal-looking letter, that had evidently been hurriedly torn open. She glanced at the address – to “Maximilian Bray, Esq., 109 Bury-street, Saint James’s, London.” The postmark, two days old, Penzance, while the London mark was of the day before. “Am I to read this?” she said, without raising her eyes.

“Yes,” he said gently; and he turned away from her, but only to go to the mantelpiece and cover his eyes with his hands, where it was quite possible that he might have been able to see, by means of the mirror, every act of the trembling girl.

Ella drew out a folded letter from the envelope, when a smaller one fell to the ground, addressed to her in the same hand as that in which the larger letter was written.

The characters seemed to run together as she opened this second envelope, took out a little folded note in another hand, read it, and then for a few moments the room seemed to swim round. But by an effort she mastered her emotion, re-read the note, and then hastily perused the letter through and through before doubling both together, and standing white and trembling, clutching the papers tightly as she gazed straight before her at vacancy.

There was no cry, no display of wild excitement; nothing but those white quivering lips and the drawn despairing look, to show the agony suffered by that heart, till she started back, as it were, into life, when Max turned softly and stood before her.

“Miss Bedford,” he said gently, “I will not trouble you with words of commiseration. I must go now to make preparations.”

“Preparations?” she said, as if not understanding his remark.

“Yes; preparations. I telegraphed to Lexville as I came; and now I must go, for I shall run down by the express. There will be no time saved if I start earlier.”

“You are going?” said Ella dreamily.

“Yes,” he said almost angrily, “of course! Do you take me to be utterly devoid of feeling? But you will write, and I will be the bearer.”

“Write!” said Ella, with a wild hysterical sob – “write!”

“Yes. Surely you will do that,” he said anxiously.

“Heaven help me!” cried Ella. “I must go.”

“You will go?” he said excitedly.

“Yes,” she said, with a strange dreamy look; “it is my fate. I must go.”

“Ella – Miss Bedford – will you trust me?” said Max in an earnest voice. “Leave matters to me, and I will arrange all. But Mrs Marter will object to your leaving.”

“I must go,” said Ella, who seemed to be speaking as if under some strange influence.

“You will go in spite of her wishes?” said Max.

“Yes, yes; I must go,” said Ella huskily; and raising her hands to her face, she would have left the room.

Volume Three – Chapter Fifteen.
Hovering round the Snare

“Stop, stop!” said Max hoarsely. “We must have no scene with that weak woman. I will be in waiting by the park entrance of the Colosseum with a cab at four. Meet me there. The train leaves Paddington at 4:50. But do you hear me?”

“Yes,” she said, speaking as if in a dream.

“Do you understand? At the Colosseum at four, without fail.”

“Yes,” said Ella again abstractedly, as he held her cold hand in his, her face being turned towards the door.

“But mind this,” he said, “this is no time for child’s-play. If you are not there soon after the time named, I must catch the train, and I dare not wait. If you are not there, I go alone!”

“Do you think I could fail?” said Ella, turning upon him her sweet candid countenance. “I will be there.”

Was Max Bray ashamed of his face, that he held it down as he hurried from the house? Perhaps not; but he was evidently much excited, for he muttered half aloud, as if running over certain plans that he had arranged for a particular end.

“Could it be right? Was it all true?” Ella asked herself, when alone in her bedroom, with the sense of a deep unutterable misery crushing her; and once more she read the letters she had retained.

“O yes, it was too true, too true! But what was she about to do? To accompany the man she mistrusted, the man she dreaded? He had been trusted, though, before now; and of late, too, his conduct had been so different – he had even seemed to dislike her. Still, under any other circumstances, she would not have gone; but at such a time, in answer to such an appeal, how could she stay?”

Her brain was in a whirl, and she could not reason quietly. She only knew now the depth of love she felt, and urged by that love, everything else seemed little and of no import.

Hours must have passed, when, after sending twice to Mrs Marter, she received that lady’s gracious permission to wait upon her.

“I should have sent for you before long – as soon as I felt that I could bear it, Miss Bedford,” said Mrs Marter – “to demand some explanation of your receiving visitors early in the morning without my consent. I understand that somewhere about seven o’clock – ”

“I believe the clock had struck nine,” said Ella quietly.

“Seven, or eight, or nine, or ten, it’s all the same!” exclaimed Mrs Marter angrily. “Pray, Miss Bedford, what did Mr Bray want here this morning? Was it supposed that I should not know of the visit?”

“Mr Bray came to tell me of the illness of a very dear friend,” said Ella pitifully; “and now I come to ask your consent to absent myself for a few days.”

“Of course, I might have known that that was coming! Certainly not, Miss Bedford! And until I have communicated with Mrs Brandon, I desire you do not leave the house. What next, I wonder?”

“Mr Bray brought me letters. It is a matter of life and death!” said Ella earnestly. “Surely, madam, in such a case you will not refuse me?”

“And pray who is it that is ill?” said Mrs Marter sneeringly.

Ella was silent. She could not have spoken then, in spite of every effort, even to have saved her life.

“I can see through it all! I am not blind!” exclaimed Mrs Marter. “I shall certainly not give my consent, Miss Bedford. It is a planned affair, and I have been deceived. Now leave the room.”

Ella would have spoken, but she felt that it would have been without avail; and hurrying out, she once more sought her own chamber.

What did Mrs Marter mean? What was planned? Impossible! She had the proof in those letters. And once more she read them with beating heart before asking herself whether she would be doing right or wrong.

What had she promised? To meet Max Bray at four – to trust herself to his guidance. What had she to fear? Surely scheming baseness could never go so low! But it was absurd! She had those letters, and did she not know the handwriting?

She examined her purse. The store was slender, but not so small as of old. Then she prepared a few necessaries in a small travelling-bag before referring again and again to the time, which seemed to lag slowly by, as she pictured scene after scene of misery and death, till she seated herself at a table, and rested her aching throbbing brow upon her hands.

About two o’clock a message came from Mrs Marter to know why she did not attend the young ladies’ dinner; when, starting up, she descended, matters of the present having quite escaped her in the rush of terrible thoughts which swept through her brain.

She went through her duties mechanically, hurrying back as soon as she possibly could to her room, and dressed for a journey; when standing, bag in hand, ready, and waiting for the appointed hour, now very near at hand, a strange nervous dread began to oppress her – a cold shivering sense of evil, which made her hands feel damp and cold, and her lips hot, parched, and dry.

Twenty times over she was about to tear off her things and give up, but her hand seemed to go mechanically to her breast, when a touch of those letters strengthened her resolve. She felt then that she must go – something was drawing her that she could not resist. But again began the shrinking, and each time to be struggled with till the dread was beaten; and at last, waking from a wild, nervous, excited struggle between strength and indecision, Ella found that the hour was long past, and, bag in hand, she fled down the stairs.

“Miss Bedford – Miss Bedford!” screamed a passionate voice as she passed the drawing-room. But, with face pale and eyes fixed, Ella seemed to be walking in her sleep, or labouring under the stupor produced by some narcotic; for she passed on, heedless of the call – one hand holding the travelling-bag, the other clasping the letters, which acted as a talisman to nerve her in each sore time of shrinking.

The poison was working well. But in the passage she stayed for an instant, hesitating. What step was she taking? Where would this end?

A cold shudder passed through her; but once more she was drawn on against her will, her better sense, and the powers that should have withheld her.

Another moment and her hand was on the fastening of the door; and for the last time she paused, hung back for an instant, and would have returned, when her hand again pressed the letters. She uttered a feeble wailing cry as her lips formed a name, and then, opening the door, she stood upon the steps as if hesitating; but the portal swung to, and fastened itself with a loud snap; and fully feeling now that she had taken the step, she drew down her veil and hurried over the distance that lay between her and the Colosseum, suffering from a new dread.

The step taken, she felt now nerved for any contingency, and recalling Max Bray’s words, she reproached herself for her delay.

What had he said? If she were not there, he would go alone!

She almost ran now over the pathway till she caught sight of a cab.

Was that the one, or had he gone? Was she too late?

Yes, she was too late, she told herself, for he was not there; but the next moment, giddy with excitement, she felt her hand seized, the bag taken from her, the banging of a cab-door; when, as a voice exclaimed, “At last!” there was a noise of wheels, and she felt that she was being hurried through the streets.

Volume Three – Chapter Sixteen.
In the Gin of the Fowler

“I was afraid that you would not come, Miss Bedford,” said Max respectfully. “You look pale and ill.”

Ella could not answer, when, seeing her agitation, her companion forbore to speak, but kept on consulting his watch. Now he pulled down the front window to tell the driver to hasten; now he drew it up again, but only five minutes after, to tell the man to slacken his pace, till, apparently annoyed at the interruptions, the driver settled down into a quiet regular trot, out of which neither the threats nor exhortations of his fare could move him.

In one of his movements, Max dropped a note from his breast-pocket, as he knocked down Ella’s reticule, which flew open; but gathering up the escaped contents, he replaced them for her, and with them his own letter, when closing the snap, he handed the reticule back to her, saying, “There is nothing lost, Miss Bedford.”

He was quite right; but for Ella there was much gained.

“We shall lose the train!” now exclaimed Max excitedly. “Bai Jove, we shall! and when one had got so near too!”

Then he once more shouted at the driver to hasten; but in vain. At last, though, as they reached Paddington, Max referred again to his watch, his face flushing the while with excitement, as he exclaimed, “We shall be just right, after all!”

Then, in what seemed a dream of excited haste, Ella felt herself dragged from the cab – there was the loud ringing of a bell; the rattling of money; Max’s voice adjuring the porter to hasten with their little luggage; and then, profoundly ignorant that Charley Vining was within a few yards, Ella felt herself half lifted into a first-class carriage, where she sank back amongst the cushions as the door banged; and, as if to increase her giddiness, the train glided past walls, empty carriages, signal-posts, engine-houses, and then over a maze of switches and points – farther and farther each moment, off and away with a wild scream down the main line.

“Hard fought for, but gained!” muttered Max Bray, as he stooped down to conceal the look of triumph which overspread his countenance; and in that attitude he remained for fully half an hour, when, carefully arranging rug and wrapper for his companion’s comfort, he once more leaned back, drew forth a paper, and answering one or two attempts made by fellow-passengers to commence conversation with a bow of the head, he appeared to read.

And for Ella?

Giddiness and excitement, the rattle of the train, the flashing of the lights of stations they dashed by as night came on, and then a stoppage, and a voice called out, “Reading!” Then on again, giddiness and excitement and the rattle of the train seeming to form itself into one deep voice, the burden of whose song was always telling her to hasten onward, till in the dim light of the ill-lit carriage, she felt ready at times to start forward and ask if any one had called. Then it seemed in the darkness as if the train was rapidly going back, at a time when she was hungering to get to her journey’s end.

Max sat back, silent and thoughtful, opposite to her, apparently without taking the slightest heed; but once or twice it seemed to her that she caught sight of a flashing eye.

There were two more passengers in the same compartment; but after the first attempt at conversation, they subsided into their corners, and not a word was spoken.

Another slackening of the swift express, after thundering along for another many miles’ run, and still Ella feared no evil; but as Max roused himself and threw aside wrappers, she evinced her readiness to follow him.

“Swindon!” he said. “Just upon seven. We had better have a little refreshment here, for it is one of the best places we shall pass till we get to Exeter at 10:20. Take my arm, Miss Bedford?”

“Thank you,” said Ella; “but I cannot – I would rather not have any refreshment.”

“It is absolutely necessary,” he said firmly. “You have a very long journey before you, and unless you prepare for it, you will be totally unfit to get through it all. Let me draw this closer round your throat.”

Quiet gentlemanly attentions, kind consideration, great respect. Was this the Max Bray of old? Ella was ready to ask herself, as she suffered him to draw her cloak more tightly round her; and then, taking advantage of the ten minutes’ law allowed, he pressed upon her refreshments, every mouthful of which was as gall and ashes between her lips.

More giddiness and excitement, the clanging of a bell, and they were once more in their places. There was the guard’s shrill whistle, the engine’s shriek, and then again the rattle of the train forcing itself into adjuring words, bidding her “hasten on – hasten on!” or she would be too late; and then out once more in the darkness, rushing on with a wild thundering speed, away dashed the train, whirling up dust, dead leaf, or scrap of straw, and casting each fragment away, as the very earth quivered beneath the weight of the huge load. And still again came that strange sense of the engine now standing still, now reversing its action, so that they were hurrying once more back towards town.

“Hasten on – hasten on! Too late – too late!” The words kept repeating themselves to her excited imagination; and to relieve herself from the apprehensive feelings engendered, she tried to gaze out of the window; but all was darkness. She glanced round the compartment. The two passengers were evidently asleep, and for the first time now since they had started, a shiver of dread came over her, as her eyes rested for a moment on Max, who, leaning back, silent and reserved, was evidently watching her every movement.

But she drove away the fancy that troubled her, and sat trying to picture the scene she would soon be called upon to witness, and a sigh of misery and despair tore from her breast.

And still on and on, hour after hour, till, well on their journey, Exeter was reached. A five minutes’ stay made, and then they glided out of the great station, and into the darkness once more. Half-past ten now, and nearly two more hours to travel before Plymouth would be reached – the extent of their journey for that night.

There were three other passengers in the train this time; but a movement upon the part of Max Bray now troubled her. It was a mere trifle, but the slightest act was likely to arouse her distrust; and, as he changed his seat from opposite to her side, she involuntarily shrank away, when he immediately returned, folded his arms, and sat watching her.

And now more than ever came upon her the thoughts of the extent of the step she had taken, oppressing her terribly, till, as if seeking relief, she began to repeat the words of the letter placed in her hands that day.

Volume Three – Chapter Seventeen.
Aid Where Unexpected

“Hasten on – hasten on!” The rattle of the train still repeating those words, and Ella’s heart sinking, as they sped through the darkness; for still, in spite of her struggle with reason, it would seem as if they were ever going back. Her brain seemed at times unable to support the stress placed upon it – the excitement more than she could bear.

She gazed out upon the black night, but only to see in the dim breath-blurred glass the interior of the carriage reproduced, with the dark-blue cloth padding, the silent passengers, the globe lamp, and Max Bray seated opposite, with his eyes glittering as if ready to spring at her each instant. She could at any moment have succumbed, become weak and helpless, and trembled at her forlorn condition; but the brave spirit held up, although incipient fever was claiming her for its own, and a strange unnatural throbbing in the pulses of her temple told where the peril lay.

Plymouth at last! – the train’s resting-place for the night; and again quiet and thoughtful, Max engaged a fly, wrapper and luggage were placed therein, and, quiet and gentlemanlike, he talked to her till they reached one of the principal hotels, where Ella gladly sought her chamber, and tried to find in sleep the relief from the mental strain she so sadly needed.

But all through the early hours of that wintry morning came to torture her the endless repetition of those words: “Hasten on – hasten on!” while her burning head seemed chained to the pillow by links heated to redness.

Again and again she started up, to gaze round the dark room, thinking that a voice whose tones she so well remembered was calling her; but, with a sigh, she sank back once more, to doze and listen in her sleep to the endless warning, “Hasten on – hasten on!”

She descended to breakfast pale, restless, and excited. She could not eat, though pressed again and again by Max, who was gentle and attentive, asking with every show of consideration respecting her health.

“I have made all arrangements and inquiries,” he said, “and been down to the station this morning. Our train leaves at ten.”

“Not till ten?” she said in a disappointed tone.

He smiled as he drew forth his watch.

“It is half-past nine now,” he said. “We have only time to get comfortably down to the station.”

Ella rose and left the room, to return in a few minutes ready to continue the journey; but during her absence, Max had placed a letter in the waiter’s hand, with an accompanying half-sovereign.

“To be posted in a week’s time,” were the instructions.

“More wrecks down in the bay,” said Max, as Ella re-entered the room. “It has been a sad winter!”

“Let us – let us – hasten on,” she said with an effort; and leading her out, they were soon in the station, and secured their seats in an empty compartment, where Ella took her place by the window, to gaze abstractedly out at the damp sodden landscape for quite an hour.

“Have we far to go now?” she asked of Max, who sat watching her.

“Not much farther,” he said.

And again she asked that question at the end of an hour, and of another hour, but always to receive the same answer.

“Is it not less than a hundred miles from Plymouth to Penzance?” she at length asked uneasily.

“Yes,” he said; “but you are travelling now upon a line of rail where stoppages are frequent and there is no speed. Bai Jove, though, they ought to be prosecuted for dawdling so.”

Max smiled as he said those words, for his plan was nearly ripe; and that smile was not lost upon his companion. But she said nothing, only sat there pale, excited, and watchful till another hour had elapsed, during which time the well-fee’d guard had not intruded another passenger.

But this could not last for ever. One moment silent and watchful, the next moment with the full conviction of how she had been betrayed upon her, Ella Bedford sprang up and tried to open the door, the train dashing along at the rate of forty miles an hour.

There was a strong pair of hands upon her wrists, though, in an instant, and she was forced back into her seat.

“Silly child!” exclaimed Max, with an insolent laugh. “What are you going to do?”

“We are going back!” exclaimed Ella, struggling to free herself.

“Well, not exactly,” he said, laughing, and now throwing off all disguise.

“Where are you taking me?” she exclaimed.

“O, only into North Wales, my trembling little dove,” laughed Max, as he held his captive firmly in her place. “Now look here, little one: every dog has his day. It is mine now, and I mean to make use of it. You have braved and jilted me long enough, and it is my turn now. There, you need not struggle; it is of no use. Let’s quietly look at the state of affairs. What have you done? Well, you’ve made an excuse to Mrs Marter, something about going to see a sick friend, and, bai Jove – not to put too fine a point on it – you have eloped with me, Maximilian Bray. I’ve no doubt our dear friend Mrs Marter has sent word of it to Mrs Brandon by this time. Mrs Brandon will tell the Brays of Lexville, when Mrs Bray will be shocked, and my beloved papa will no doubt leave me his curse; but, all the same, the Vinings will hear all about it. My plan took a long time hatching, but, now it is hatched, it cuts double-edged.”

“Will you loose my wrists?” cried Ella faintly, “or am I to call for assistance?”

“O, call if you like, my love; bai Jove, as much as you like! only you may save yourself the trouble, for no one will hear you. What!” he cried, laughing, “can the little gentle dove turn savage, and ruffle her plumes and peck? Come, now, what is the use of being vicious? You have thrown away that delicate little gossamer dress that ladies call fame, so why not say pleasantly, ‘My dear Maximilian, let us be married at once, and live happy ever after’? No, it’s of no use; you are not going to jump out on to the line to be broken up, I value you too much; and as I told you before, it is of no use to scream. There’s no dear Charley Vining to come to your help, for he is too busy with his fiancée, my sweet sister Laura. Now, come, sit still and listen. Are you going to be reasonable? It’s of no use to be angry because I brought you off so cleverly; and bear in mind that I have been waiting months upon months, with the patience of half-a-dozen Jobs, to bring this plan from the most raw sourness to full ripening. Confound the girl! how strong she is! Bai Jove, Ella, you are a little Tartar!”

Max Bray had talked on, and part of what he had said was understood; but no explanation was needed. Ella Bedford knew one thing – that she had been cruelly betrayed, and that she was in the hands of a brutal heartless libertine, who, under the guise of a gentleman, possessed a nature blacker than that of the lowest rough in London.

He spoke on, holding her wrists pinioned as he did so; but despair and the fever fire in her blood gave her strength, and twice over it was only by a desperate struggle that he was able to prevent her from dashing herself through the open window.

She did not cry out, feeling that it would be useless; but her struggles to escape from his pinioning hands were frantic, till there came a warning shriek from the engine. The train drew up at a platform, and as Max started back into his seat, the carriage-door opened, and Ella Bedford fainted.

“Taken ill,” said Max in explanation. “Half mad, bai Jove! Hard work to keep her from dashing out of the window. Most painful thing.”

“Friend or stranger?” said the newcomer, suspiciously watching the countenance of Max.

“Friend or stranger!” said Max. “Bai Jove, that’s cool. My wife – travelling for pleasure.”

“I beg pardon, I’m sure,” said the stranger; “but I should certainly alight at the next station. Your pleasure-travel is over, sir, and you must get all the medical aid you can, for your lady is in a high state of fever.”

“Fever!” cried Max, involuntarily shrinking.

“Yes,” said the other, with a look of contempt. “But you need not fear, sir; I should say it is the brain. The lady has evidently suffered from some severe mental strain.”

“Bai Jove!” ejaculated Max; “are you a doctor?”

“No, sir; only an old Indian officer; but I have seen sufficient illness to know a case of fever when I see one.”

“Bai Jove!” exclaimed Max again; and then he sat helpless and frowning, while the stranger laid back the poor girl’s head that she might breathe more freely, and half supported her till they reached the next stopping station, where she was transferred to a fly, and conveyed, under the care of Max Bray, to the nearest hotel.

There is no difficulty in obtaining a doctor in a country town, and it was not long before one was by the sofa upon which Ella had been laid.

“Well,” said Max, after five minutes’ examination, “what’s to be done?”

“Send for a nurse, and have Mrs – Mrs – I beg pardon, what name did you say?”

“Williams,” said Max.

“To be sure – Williams,” said the doctor; “and let Mrs Williams be at once conveyed to bed. She will have to be carefully tended and watched.”

“Fit to travel again to-morrow, I suppose?” said Max. “Come, now, no professional dodging.”

“To-morrow two months,” said the doctor sharply, “perhaps;” and then he looked anything but pleasantly at Max.

“What!” exclaimed Max viciously. “Bai Jove, you don’t mean that!”

“I mean, sir,” said the doctor seriously, “that your lady is in a dangerous state, and I would not answer for her life if she were moved. I’ll do my best, and we must be hopeful for what is to follow.”

“Bai Jove!” ejaculated Max, as he left the room; and sympathising hands were soon busy with the insensible form.

“Mrs Williams, eh?” said the doctor to himself, as he superintended a portion of the arrangements; and then left to get some medicine made up. “Mrs Williams, eh? But, poor child, she does not travel in her wedding-ring!”