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IVIaps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre fiim^s A des taux de reduction diffdrents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour 6tre reproduit en un seul cliche, il est filmd d partir de Tangle sup6rieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images n6cessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 e 6 THE Author li. 1 1 THE CURSE OF A TALE OF ADVENTURE. - By G. A. HENTY, Author of " Under Drake's Flag'' " With Clive in Iftdia" '* A Cornet of Horse" etc. MONTREAL: JOHN LOVELL & SON, 23 St. Nicholas Street. ?Z3 1791 Uer^tV, 1^'^ Entered according to Act of Parliament in the year 1889, by John Lovell &» Son, in the office of the Minister of Agriculture and Statistics at Ottawa. ■I 11 THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. CHAPTER I. HOW THE CURSE BEGAN. There was nothing about Carne's Hold that would have suggested to the mind of the passing stranger that a curse lay upon it. House.> to which an evil history is attached lie almost uniformly in low and damp situations. They are embedded in trees, their appearance is gloomy and melancholy. The vegetation grows rank around them. The drive is overgrown with weeds and mosses, and lichens cling to the walls. Carne's Hold possessed none of these features. It stood high up on the slope of a hill, looking down into the valley of the Dare, with the pretty village of Carnesford nestling among its orchards, and the bright stream sparkling in the sunshine. There was nothing either gloomy or forbidding about its architecture, for the term " Hold'' that the country people applied to it was now a misnomer, for the bombarders of Essex had battered the walls of the old fortified house, and had called in the aid of fire to finish the work of destruction. The whole of the present house was therefore subsequent to that date ; it had been added to and enlarged many times, and each of its owners had followed out his own fancies in utter disregard of those of his predecessors ; consequently the house represented a medley of diverse styles, and although doubtless an architectural mon- strosity, was picturesque and pleasing to the eye of men ignorant of the canons of Art. There were no large trees near it, though a clump rose a few hundred yards behind it, and took away the effect of bareness it would otherwise have had. The garden was well kept, and bright with flowers, and it was clear that no blighting influence hung over them, nor, it would be 4 THE CURSi: OF CAKXE\S HOLD. thought, upon the girl, who with a straw hat swinging in one hand, and a basket, moved among them. But the country pe()j)le for six miles round firmly believed that a curse lay on Game's Hold, and even among the county families no one would have been willing to give a daughter in marriage to an owner of the place. The family now simply called iheir abode The Carnes. '' Carnesford, now a good sized village, had once been a tiny hamlet, an appanage of Carne's Hold, but, it had long since grown out of leading strings, and though, it still regarded The Carnes with something of its old feudal feeling, it now furnished no suit or service unless paid for so doing. Carnesford had grown ])ut little of late years, and had no ' tendency to increase. There was work enough in the neighborhood for such of its inhabitants as wanted to . work, and in summer a cart went daily with fruit and gar- den produce to Plymouth, which lay about twenty miles ,. away, tlie coast roaJ dii)ping down into the valley, and crossing the bridge over the Dare at Carnesford, and then climbing the hill again to the right of the Hold. ' T Artists sometimes stopped for a week or two to .sketch the quaint old-fashio'ied houses in the main street, and especially the mill \)i Hiram Powlett, which seemed to have changed 'vd no way since the days when its owner held it oil ihc tenure of grinding such corn as the owners of the Hold required for the use of themselves and their retainers. Often, too, in the season, a fisherman would descend from the coach as it stopped to change horses at the Carne's Arms and take up his quarters there, for there was rare fishing in the Dare, both in the deep still pool above the mill and for three or four miles further up, while sea trout were nowhere to be found plumper and stronger than in the stretch of water between Carnesford and Dareport. two miles away. Here, where the Dare ran into the sea, was a fishing village as yet untouched, and almost unknown even by wandering tourists, and offering indeed no accommodation whatever to the stranger beyond what he might, perchance, obtain in the fishermen's cottages. The one drawback to Carnesford, as its visitors declared, was the rain. It certainly rained often there, but the villagers scarcely nc/hced it. It was to the rain, they knew, that they owed the bxv^Vt green of the valley and the luxuriousness of THE CURSE OF CAKNE'S HOLD, their garden crops, which always fetched the top price in Plymouth Market ; and they where so accustomed to the soft mist brought up by the south-west wind from over the sea that they never noticed whether it was raining or not. Strangers, however, were less patient, and a young man who was standing at the door of the Carne's Arms just as the evening was closing in at the end of a day in the beginning of October, 1850, looked gloomily out at the weather. " One does not mind when one is fishing," he muttered to himself, " but when one has once changed into dry clothes one does not want to be a prisoner here every evening. Another day like this, and 1 shall pack up my traps and get back again on board." He turned and went back into the house, and entering the bar, took his seat in the little sanctum behind it, for he had been staying in the house for a week, and was now a privileged personage. It was a snug little room ; some logs were blazing on the hearth, for although the weather was not cold, it was damp enough to make a fire pleasant. Three of the landlord's particular cronies were seated there : Hiram Powlett, the miller, and Jacob Carey, the blacksmith, and old Reuben Claphurst, who had been the village clerk until his voice became so thin and uncertain a treble that the Vicar was obliged to find a successor for him. " Sit down, Mr. Gulston," the landlord said, as his guest entered. " Fine day it has been for fishing, and a nice basket you have brought in." " It's been well enough for fishing, landlord, but I would rather put up with a lighter basket, and have a little pleasanter weather." The sentiment evidently caused surprise, which Jacob Carey was the first to give expression to. " You don't 'jay, now, that you call this unpleasant weather, sir ? Now I call this about as good weather as we could expect in the first week of October ; warm and soft, and in every way seasonable." " It may be all that," the guest said, as he lit his pipe, " but I own I don't care about having the rain trickling down my neck from breakfast time to dark." " Our fishermen about here look on a little rain as good for sport," Hiram Powlett remarked. " No doubt it is ; \- Tirp. CURSE OF cakxf:s iior.n. W but I am afraid I am not mucli of a sitorlsman. I used to l)c fond of fishing when I was a lad, and ihouglu I should like to try my hand at it again, hut 1 am afraid I am not as patient as I was. I don't think sea life is a good school for that sort of thing." *' I fancied now that you might be a sailor, AFr. (Julston, though 1 didn't make so bold as to ask. Somehow or other there was something about your way that made me think you was bred up to the sea. 1 didn't know, for I can't recollect as ever wc have had a sailor gentleman staying here for the fishing before." '* No," Mr. Gulston laughed, " I don't think wc often take to the rod. Bating a six inch hook at the end of a sea line for a shark is about the extent to which we usually indulge, though sometimes when we are at anchor the youngsters get the lines overboard and catch a few fish. Yes, I am a sailor, and belong, worse luck, to the flag-ship at Plymouth. By the way," he went on, turning to Jacob Carey, "you said last night, just as you were going out, something about the curse of Carne's Hold. That's the house up upon the hill, isn't it ? What is the curse, and who said it? " " It is nothing, sir, it's only foolishness," the landlord said hastily. "Jacob meant nothing by it." •' It ain't foolishness, John Beaumont, and you know it — and for that everyone knows it. Foolishness indeed ; here's Reuben Claphurst can tell you if it's nonsense ; he knows all about it if anyone does." " I don't think it ought to be spoken of before strangers," Hiram Powlett put in. " Why not? " the smith asked sturdily. " There isn't a man on the countryside but knows all about it. There can be no harm in telling what everyone knows. Though the Carnes be your landlords, John Beaumont, as long as you pay the rent you ain't beholden to them ; and as for you, Hiram, why everyone knows as your great grand- father bought the rights of the mill from them, and your folk have had it ever since. Besides, there ain't nothing but what is true in it, and if the Squire were here himself he couldn't say no to that." " Well, well, Jacob, there's something in what you say," the landlord said, in the tone of a man convinced against his will ; but, indeed, now that he had done what he con- THE CURSE OE C.I AWE'S HOLD. sidercd his duty by mak..ig a i)rotcst, he had no objection to the story l)eing told. " ^laybe you are right ; and though 1 should not like it said as the affairs of the Games were gossii)i)ed about here, still, as Mr. (iulston might, now that he has heard about the curse on the family, ask ques- tions and hear all sorts of lies from those as don't know as much about it as we do, and especially as Reuben Claphurst here does, maybe it were better he should get the rights of the story from him." " That being so," the sailor said, " perhaps you will give us the yarn, Mr. Clai)hur.st, for I own that you have quite excited my curiosity as to this mysterious curse." The old clerk, who had told the story scores of times, and rather i>rided himself on his telling, was nothing loth to begin. " 'liiere is nothing mysterious about it, nothing at all ; so I have always maintained, and so 1 shall maintain. There be some as will have it as it's a cur.se on the family for the wickedness of old Sir Edgar. So it be, surelie, but not in the way they mean. Having been one of the officers of the church here for over forty years, and knowing the mind of the old i)arson, ay, and of him who was before him, I always take my stand on this. It was a curse, sure enough, but not in the way as they wants to make out. It wouldn't do to say as the curse of that Spanish woman had nowt to do with it, seeing as we has authority that curses does sometimes work themselves out ; but there ain't no proof to my mind, and to the mind of the parsons as I have served under, that what they call the curse of Game's Hold ain't a matter of misfortune, and not, as folks about here mostly think, a kind of judgment brought on them by that foreign, heathen woman. Of course, I don't expect other people to see it in that light." This was in answer to a grunt of dissent on the part of the blacksmith. " They ain't all had my advantages, and looks at it as their fathers and grandfathers did before them. Any- how, there is the curse, and a bitter curse it has been for the Games, as you will say, sir, when you have heard my story. " You must know that in the old times the Carnes owned all the land for miles and miles round, and Sir Marmaduke fitted out three ships at his own expense to fight under Jioward and Blake against thi; Spaniards, ? H • TII/': CUKSE OF CARNE\S HOLD, " It was in his time the first slice was cut ofT the prop- erty, for he went uj) to Court, and held his own among the best of them, and made as brave a show, they say, as any of the nobles there. His son took after him, and another slice, though not a big one, went ; but it was under Sir Edgar, who came next, that bad times fell upon Carne's Hold. When the trouble began he went out for th.e King with every man he could raise in the country round, and they say as there was no man struck harder or heavier for King Charles than he did. He might have got off, as many another one did, if he would have given it up when it was clear the cause was lost ; but whenever there was a rising anywhere he was off to join it, till at last house and land and all were confiscated, and he had to fly abroad. '* How he lived there no one exactly knows. Some said as he fought with the Spaniards against the Moors ; others, and I think they were not far from the mark, that he went out to the Spanish Main, and joined a band of lawless men, and lived a pirate's life there. No one knows about that. I don't think anyone, even in those days, did know any- thing, except that when he came back with King Charles he brought with him a Spanish wife. There were many tales about her. Some said that she had been a nun, and that he had carried her off from a convent in Spain, but the general belief was — and as there were a good many Devonshire lads who fought with the rovers on the Spanish Main, it's likely that the report was true — that she had been the wife of some Spanish Don, whose ship had been captured by the pirates. "She was beautiful, there was no doubt about that. Such a beauty, they say, as was never seen before or since in this part. But they say that from the first she had a wild, hunted look about her, as if she had either something on her conscience, or had gone through some terrible time that had well-nigh shaken her reason. She had a baby some months old with her when she arrived, and a nurse was engaged from the village, for strangely, as everyone thought at the time, Sir Edgar had brought back no atten- dant either for himself or his lady. " No sooner was he back, and had got possession of his estates, being in that more lucky than many another who fought for the Crown, than he set to work to rebuild the ,''».') n\>^L :•:::. ,'.\Vv'' .-Ji: ''' l-l^^^ THE CURSI-: OF ciAWz-rs hold. 9 Hold ; living for the time in a few rooms that were patched up and made habitable in the old huildir.g. Whatever he had been doing while he was abroad, there was no doubt whatever that he had brought back with him plenty of money, for he had a host of masons and carpenters over from Plymouth, and spared no expense in having things according to his fancy. All this time he had not introduced his wife to the county. Of course, his old neighbors had called and had seen her as well as him, but he had said at once that until the new house was fit to receive visitors he did not wish to enter society, especially as his wife was entirely ignorant of the English tongue. ** Even in those days there were tales brought down in the village by the servants who had been hired from here, that Sir Edgar and his wife did not get on well together. They all agreed that she seemed unhappy, and would sit for hours brooding, seeming to have no care or love for her little boy, which set folk more against her, since it seemed natural that even a heathen woman should care for her child. " They said, too, there were often fierce quarrels between Sir Edgar and her, but as they always talked in her tongue, no one knew what they were about. When the new house was finished they moved into it, and the ruins of the old Hold were levelled with the ground. People thought then that Sir Edgar would naturally open the house to the county, and indeed, some entertainments were given, but whether it was that they believed the stories to his dis- advantage, or that they shrank from the strange hostess, who, they say, always looked on these occasions stately and cold, and who spoke no word of their language, the county gentry gradually fell away, and Carne's Hold was left pretty much to its owners. " Soon afterwards another child was born. There were, of course, more servants now, and more state, but Lady Came was as much alone as ever. Whether she was deter- mined to learn no word of English, or whether he was determined that she should not, she at any rate made no attempt to acquire her husband's language, and many said that it was a shame that he did not get her a nurse and a maid who could speak her tongue ; for in the days of Charles there were foreigners enough in England, and there could have been no difficulty in procuring her an atten- dant of her own religion and race. p ii !i to THE CURSE OF CARNES HOLD, " They quarrelled more than ever ; but the servants were all of opinion that whatever it was al)out it was her doing more than his. It was her voice to be heard rising in passionate tones, while he said but little, and they all agreed he was polite and courteous in his manner to her. As for her, she would walk for hours by herself up and down the terrace, talking aloud to herself, sometimes wringing her hands and throwing her arms wildly about. At this time there began to be a report among the country round that Lady Carne was out of her mind. *' She was more alone than ever now, for Sir Edgar had taken to making journeys up to town and remaining for weeks at a time, and there was a whis])er that he played heavily and unluckily. So things went on until the third child was born, and a fortnight afterwards a servant from The Hold rode through the village late at night on his way for the doctor, and stopped a moment to tell the news that there was a terrib'e scene up at The Hold, for that during a momentary absence of the nurse. Lady Ca-ne had stabbed her child to death, and when he came away she was raving wildly, the efforts of Sir Edgar and two of the servants hardly sufficing to hold her, " After that no one excei)t the inmates of The Hold ever saw its mistress again ; the windows in one of the wings were barred, and two strange women were brought down from London and waited and attended on the poor lady. There were but few other servants there, for most of the girls from about here soon left, saying that the screams and cries that rang at times through the house were so terrible that they could not bear them ; but indeed there was but small occasion for servants, for Sir Edgar was almost always away. One night, one of the girls who had stayed on and had been spending the evening with her friends, went home late, and just as she reached the house she saw a white figure appear at one of the barred windows. " In a moment the figure began crying and screaming, and to the girl's suri)rise many of her words were English, which she must have picked up without anyone knowing it. The girl always declared that her language made her blood run cold, and was full of oaths such as rough sailor men use, and which no doubt she had picked up on ship board ; and then she poured curses upon the Games, her husband, THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. II the house and her descendants. The girl was so panic- stricken that she remained silent till in a minute two other women appeared at the window, and by main force tore Lady Carne from her hold upon the bars. " A few days afterwards she died, and it is mostly believed by her own hand, though this was never known. None of the servants, except her own attendants, ever entered the room, and the doctor never opened his lips on the subject. Doubtless he was well paid to keep silence. Anyhow her death was not Sir Edgar's work, for he was away at the time, and only returned upon the day after her death. So, sir, that is how the curse came to be laid on Game's Hold." *' It is a terrible story," Mr. Gulston said, when the old clerk ceased; " a terrible story. It is likely enough that the rumor was true, and that he carried her off after capturing the vessel and killing her husband, and perhaps all the rest of them, and that she had never recovered from the shock. Was there ever any question as to whether they had been married ? " " There was ii question about it — a good deal of ques- tion \ and at Sir Edgar's death the next heir, who was a distant cousin, set up a claim, but the lawyer produced two documents Sir Edgar had given him. One was signed by a Jack Priest, who had, it was said, been one of the crew on board Sir Edgar's ship, certifying that he had duly and lawfully married Sir Edgar Carne and Dona Inez Martos ; and there was another from a Spanish priest, belonging to a church at Porto Rico, certifying that he had married the same pair according to Catholic rites, appending a note saying that he did so although the hus- band was a heretic, being compelled and enforced by armed men, the town being in possession of a force from two ships that had entered the harbor the night before. As therefore the i)air had been married according to the rights of both churches, and the Carnes had powerful friends at Court, the matter dropped, and the title has never since been dis})uted. As to Sir Edgar himself, he fortunately only lived four years after his wife's death. Had he lived much longer there would have been no estate left to dispute. As it was, he gambled away half its wide acres." " And how has the curse worked ? " Mr. Gulston asked. ? V 13 TffJ^ CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. " In the natural way, sir. As I was saying before, it has just been in the natural way, and whatever people may say, there is nothing, as I have heard the old parson lay down many a time, to show that that poor creature's wild ravings had aiight to do with what followed. The taint in the blood of Sir Edgar's Spanish wife was naturally in- herited by her descendants. Her son showed no signs of it, at least as far as I have heard, until he was married and his wife had borne him three sons. Then it burst out. He drew his sword and killed a servant who had given him some imaginary offence, and then, springing at his wife, who had thrown herself upon him, he would have strangled her had not the servants run in and torn him off her. He, too, ended his days in confinement. His sons showed no signs of the fatal taint. " The eldest married in London, for none of the gentry of Devonshire would have given their daughter in marriage to a Carne. The others entered the army, and one was killed in the Low Countries. The other obtained the rank of general, and married and settled in London. The son of the eldest boy succeeded his father, but died a bache- lor. He was a man of strange, moody habits, and many did not hesitate to say that he was as mad as his grand- father had been. He was found dead in his library, with a gun just discharged lying beside him. Whether it had exploded accidentally, or whether he had taken his life, none could say. ** His uncle, the General, came down and took posses- sion, and for a time it seemed as if the curse of the Carnes had died out, and indeed no further tragedies have taken place in the family, but several of its members have been unlike other men, suffering from fits of morose gloom or violent passion. The father of Reginald, the present squire, was of a bright and jovial character, and during the thirty years that he was possessor of The Hold had been so popular in this part of the country that the old stories had been almost forgotten, and it is generally believed that the curse of the Carnes has died out." "The present owner," Mr. Gulston asked; "what sort of a man is he ? " *' I don't know nothing about him," the old man re- plied ; " he is since my time." " He is about eijjnt and twenty," the landlord said. THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD, »3 " Some folks say one thing about him, some another ; I says nothing. He certainly ain't like his father, who, as he rode through the village, had a word for every one ; while the young Squire looks as if he was thinking so much that he didn't even know that the village stood here. The servants of The Hold speak well of him — he seems kind and thoughtful when he is in the humor, but he is often silent and dull, and it is not many men who would be dull with Miss Margaret. She is one of the brightest and highest spirited young ladies in the county. There's no one but has a good word for her. I think the Squire studies harder than is good for him. They say he is always reading, and he doesn't hunt or shoot ; and natural enough when a man shuts himself up and takes no exer- cise to speak of, he gets out of sorts and dull like ; any- how there's nothing wrong about him. He's just as sane and sensible as you and I." After waiting for two days longer and finding the wet weather continue, Mr. Gulston packed up his rods and fishing tackle and returned to Plymouth. He had learned little more about the family at The Hold, beyond the fact that the Hon. Mrs. Mervyn, who inhabited a house standing half a mile further up the valley, was the aunt of Reginald and Margaret C'arne, she having been a sister of the late possessor of The Hold. In her youth she had been, people said, the counterpart of her niece, and it was not therefore wonderful that Clithero Mervyn had, in spite of the advice of his friends and the reputation of the Games, taken \vhat was considered the hazardous step of making her his wife. This step he had never repented, for she had, like her brother, been one of the most po])ular persons in that part of the county, and a universal favorite. The Mervyn estate had years before formed part of that of the Carnes, but had been separated from it in the time of Sir Edgar's grandson, who had been so fond of London life and as keen a gambler as his ancestor. -■'■ The day before he started, as he was standing at the door of the Hotel, Reginald Carne and his sister had rid- den past ; they seemed to care no more for the weather than did the people of the village, and were laughing and talking gaily as they passed, and Charles Gulston thought to himself that he had never seen a brighter and prettier face than that of the girl in all his travels. . :. . i • ! II 14 THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD, He thought often of the face that day, but he was not given to romance, and when he had once returned to his active duties as first Lieutenant of H.M.S. Tenebreuse, he thought no more on the subject until three weeks later his captain handed him « note, saying : " Here, Gulston, this is more in your line than mine. It's an invitation to a ball, for myself and some of my officers, from Mrs. Mervyn. I have met her twice at the Admiral's, and she is a very charming woman, but as her place is more than twenty miles away and a long distance from a railway station, 1 certainly do not feel disposed to make the journey. They are, I believe, a good county family. She has two pretty daughters and a son — a captain in the Borderers, who came into garrison about a month ago ; so I have no doubt the soldiers will put in a strong appearance." " 1 know the place, sir," Gulston said ; ** it's not far from Carnesford, the village wl.'Te I was away fishing the other day, and as I heard a gpod deal about them I think I will put in an appearance, t dare say Mr. Lucas will be glad to go too, if you can spare him." " Certainly, any of them you like, Gulston, but don't take any of the midshipmen ; you see Mrs. Mervyn has invited my officers, but as the soldiers are likely to show up in strength, I don't suppose she wants too many of us." " We have an invitation to a ball. Doctor," Lieutenant Gulston said after leaving the Captain, to their ship's doctor, "for the 20th., at a Mrs. Mervyn's. The captain says we had better not go more than three. Personally I rather want to go. So Hilton of course must remain on board, and Lucas can go. I know you like these things, although you are not a dancing man. As a rule it goes sorely against my conscience taking such a useless person as one of our representatives ; but upon the present occasion it does not matter, as there is a son of the house in the Borderers ; and, of course, they will put in an appearance in strength." " A man can make himself very useful at a ball, even if he doesn't dance, Gulston," the doctor said. " Young fellows always think chits of girls are the only section of the female sex who should be thought of. AVho is going to look after their mothers, if there are only boys present ? THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD, >s The conversation of a sensible man like myself is quite as great a treat to the chaperons as is the pleasure of hopping about the room with you to the girls. The conceit and selfishness of you lads surprise me more and more, there are litterally no bounds to them. How far is this place off? " " It's about twenty miles by road, or about fifteen by train, and eight or nine to drive afterwards. I happen to know about the place, as it's close to the village where I was fishing a fortnight ago." " Then I think the chaperons will have to do without me, Gulston. I am fond of studying human nature, but if that involves staying up all night and coming back in the morning, the special flection of human nature there pre- sented must go unstudied." " I have been thinking that one can manage without that. Doctor, There is a very snug little inn where I was stopping in the village, less than a mile from the hoiise. I propose that we go over in the afternoon, dine at the inn, and dress there. Then we can get a trap to take us up to the Mervyns, and can either walk or drive down again after it is over, and come back after breakfast." "' Well, that alters the case, lad, and under those condi- tions I will be one of the party." CHAPTER II. MARGARET CARNE. Ronald Mervyn was, perhaps, the most popular man in his regiment. They were proud of him as one of the mos« daring steeplechase riders in the service, and as a man who had greatly distinguished himself by a deed of desper- ate valor in India. He was far and away the best cricketer in the corps : he could sing a capital song, and was an ex- cellent musician and the most pleasant of companions. He was always ready to do his friends a service, and many a newly-joined subaltern who got into a scrape had been helped out by Ronald Mervyn's purse. And yet at times, as even those who most liked and admired him could not but admit, Ronald Mervyn was a queer fellow. i6 THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. His fits were few and far between, but when they occurred he was altogether unlike himself. While they lasted, he would scarce exchange a word with a soul, but shut him- self in his room, or, as soon as parade was over, mounted his horse and rode off, not to return probably until late at night. Mervyn's moods were the subject of many a quiet joke among the young officers of the regiment. Some declared that he must have committed a murder somewhere, and was occasionally troubled in his conscience ; while some insisted that Mervyn's strange behavior was only assumed in order that he might be the more appreciated at other times. Among the two or three officers of the regiment who came from that part of the country, and knew some- thing of the family history of the Mervyns, it was whispered that he had inherited some slight share of the curse of the Carnes. Not that he was mad in the slightest degree — no one would think of saying that of Ronald Mervyn — but he had certainly queer moods. Perhaps the knowledge that there was a taint in his blood affected him, and in course of time he began to brood over it. When this mood was on him, soon after joining the regiment, he himself had spoken to the doctor about it. " Do you know, Doctor, I am a horrible sufferer from liver complaint ? " " You don't look it, Mervyn," the surgeon replied ; " your skin is clear, and your eye is bright. You are always taking exercise, your muscles are as hard as nails. I cannot believe that there is much the matter with you." " I suffer. Doctor, so that at times for two or three days I am fit for nothing. I get into such a state that I am not fit to exchange a word with a human being, and could quarrel with my best friend if he spoke to me. I have tried all sorts of medicines, but nothing seems to cure me ; I suppose it's liver. I don't know what else it can be. I have spoken about it to the Major, and asked him if at any time he sees me look grumpy, to say a word to the mess, and ask them to leave me to myself ; but I do wish you could give me something." • The doctor had recommended courses of various foreign waters, and had given him instructions to bathe his head when he felt it coming on ; but nothing had availed. Once a year, or sometimes oftener, Ronald retired for two or THE CURSE OE CARNES HOLD, t7 three days, and then emerged as well and cheerful as be- fore. Once, when the attack had been i)articularly severe, he had again consulted the doctor, this time telling him the history of his family on his mother's side, and asking him frankly whether he thougiu these periodical attacks had any connection with the family taint. The doctor, who had already heard the story in confidence from one of the two men who knew it, replied : *' Well, Mervyn, I suppose that there's some sort of distant connection between the two things but I do not think you are likely to be seriously affected. I think you can set your mind at ease on that score. A man of so vigorous a frame as you are, and leading so active and healthy a life, is certainly not a likely subject for insanity. You should dismiss the matter altogether from your mind, old fellow. Many men with a more than usual amount of animal spirits suffer at times from fits of depression. In your case, perhaps due, to some extent, to your family history, these fits of depression are more severe than usual. Probably the very circumstance that you know this history has something to do with it, for when the de- pression — which is as I have said not uncommon in the case of men with high spirits, and is in fact a sort of re- action — comes over you, no doubt the thought of the taint in the blood occurs to you, preys upon your mind, and deeply intensifies your depression." " That is so, doctor. When I am in that state my one thought is that I am going mad, and I sometimes feel then as if it would be best to blow out my brains and have done with it." " Don't let such a fancy enter your head, Mervyn," the doctor said earnestly. " I can assure you that I think you have no chance whatever of becoming insane. The fits of depression are of course troublesome and annoy- ing, but they are few and far apart, and at all other times you are perfectly well and healthy. You should, there- fore, regard it as I do ; as a sort of reaction, very common among men of your sanguine temperament, and due in a very slight degree to the malady formerly existant in your family. I have watched you closely since you came into the regiment, and believe me that I do not say it solely to reassure you, when I affirm that it is my full belief and » i ii ill! I^ r/fi: CURSE OF CAkNlCS HOLD. conviction that you are as sane as otlicr men, and it is likely that as you get on in life tiiese tils of dcpn ssion will altogether disappear. \'ou see both yo' r mother and uncle were perfectly free from any suspicion of a taint, and it is more than i)robable that it has altogether died out. At any rate the chances are slight indeed of its reappear- ing in your case." " Thank you. doctor ; you can imagine wiiat a relief your words are to me. I don't worry about it at other times, and indeed feel so thoroughly well that I could laugh at the idea were it mooted, but during these moods of mine it has tried me horribly. If you don't mind 1 will get you to write your opinion down, so that next time the fit seizes me I can read it over and assure myself that my apprehensions are unfounded." Certainly no one would associate the idea of insanity with lionald Mervyn, as upon the day before the ball at his mother's house he sat on the edge of the ante-room table, and laughed and talked with a group of five young officers gathered round him. " Mind, you fellows must catch the seven o'clock train or else you will be too late. There will be eight miles to drive ; I will have a trap there to meet you, and you won't be there long before the others begin to arrive. We are not fashionable in our part of the county. We shall have enough partners for you to begin to dance by half-past nine, and I can promise you as pretty partners as you can find in any ballroom in England. When you have been quartered here a bit longer you will be ready to admit the truth of the general opinion that in point of pretty women, Devonshire can hold its own against any county of Eng- land. No, there is no fear whatever of your coming in too great strength. Of course, in Plymouth here, one can overdo the thing, but when one gets beyond the beat of the garrison, gentlemen are at a premium. I saw my mother's list ; if it had not been for the regiment the feminine element would have predominated terribly. The army and navy, India and the Colonies, to say nothing of all devouring London, are the scourges of the country ; the younger sons take wings for themselves and fly. and the spinsters are left lamenting." " I think there is more push and go among younger sons than there is in the elders," one of the young officers said. THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD, 19 "They have not got the same resj)on.sil)ilities," Ronald laughed. " It is easy to see you are a younger son, C'har- ley ; there's a jaunty air about your forage caj) and a swagger in your walk that would tell any observant jjcrson that you are free from all responsibilities, and could, as the Latin grammar says, sing before a robber." There was a general laugh, for Charley Mansfield was notoriously in a general state of impecuniosity. He him- self joined merrily in the laugh. *' I can certainly say," he replied, " ' He who steals my purse steals trash;* but I don't think he would get even that without a tussle. Still, what ' said is true, I think. I know my elder brother is a fearfully stately personage, who, on the strength of two years' difference of age, and his heirship, takes upon himself i)eriodically to intlict ponderous words of wisdom upon me. I think a lot of them are like that, but after all, as I tell him, it's the younger sons who have made England what it is. We won her battles and furnished her Colonies, and have done pretty nearly everything that has been done ; while the elder sons have only turned into respectable landowners and prosy magistrates." *' Very well, Charley, the sentiments do you honor," another laughed, " but there, the assembly is sounding. Waiter, bring me a glass of sherry ; your sentiments have so impressed me, Charley, that I intend to drink solemnly to the success of second sons." " You are not on duty, are you, Mervyn ?" " No, I am starting in half an hour to get home, I '^'^all be wanted to aid in the final preparations. Well, i dl see you all to-morrow night. Don't forget the seven o'clock train. I expect we shall keep it up till between three and four. Then you can smoke a cigar, and at five the carriages will be ready to take you to the station to catch the first train back, and you will be here in time for a tub and a change before early parade." The ball at the Melvyns was a brilliant one. The house was large, and as Mr. Mervyn had died four years before, and Ronald had since that time been absent on Foreign Service, it was a long time since an entertainment on a large scale had been given there to the county. A little to the disappointment of many of the young ladies in the neighborhood, the Military and Naval officers did i i;i: fO 77//^ CURSE or CARNE'S HOLD, not come in uniform. There were two or three girls stay- ing in the house, and one of them in the course of the evening, when she was dancing with Ronald, said : " We all consider you have taken us in, ('aptain Mervyn. We made sure that you would all be in uniform. Of course thos-j who live near Plymouth are accustomed to it. but in these parts the red coats are rather a novelty, and we feel we have been defrauded." *' We never go to balls, Miss ]ilackmoor, in uniform, except when they are regular Naval or Military balls, either given by our own regiment or some of the regiments in garrison, or by the Navy. That is generally the rule, though perhaps in some regiments it is not so strictly adhered to as with us." *' Then I consider that it is a fraud upon the public. Captain Mervyn. Gentlemen's dress is so dingy and monotonous that I consider it distinctly the duty of soldiers to give us a little light and color when they get the chance." •' Very well. Miss Blackmoor, I will bear it in mind ; and next time my mother gives a ball, the regiment, if it is withm reach, shall come in uniform. By-the-way, do you know who is the man my cousin is dancing with ; there are lots of faces I don't know here ; being seven or eight years away makes a difference in a quiet country place." " That is Mr. Gulston ; he is first Lieutenant of the flag- ship at Plymouth. I know it because he was introduced to me early in the evening, and we danced together, and a capital dancer he is, too." " He is an uncommonly good-looking fellow," Ronald said. . ",■;'" Margaret Carne seemed to think so, too, as she danced with him two or three times in the course of the evening, and went down to supper on his arm. Ronald having, as the son of the house, to divide his attentions as much as possible, did not dance with his cousin. Lieutenant Gulston had been accompanied by the third lieutenant, and by the doctor, who never missed an opportunity of going to a ball because, as he said, it gave him an opportunity of studying character. " You see," he would argue, " on board a ship one gets only the one side of human nature. Sailors may differ a bit one from another, but they can all be divided into two THE CURSE OF CARNE'S IIOF.D. •I or three classes — the steady honest fellow who tries to do his work well \ the reckless fellow, who is ready to do his work, but is up to every sort of rni.ichief and devilment; and the lazy loafing fellow, who neglects his duty when- ever he possibly can, and is always shamming sick in order to get off it. Some day or other 1 shall settle on shore and practise there, and I want to learn something about the people I shall have to deal with ; besides, there's nothing more amusing than looking on at a ball when you have no idea of dancing yourself. It's astonishing what a lot of human nature you see if you do but keep your wits about you." In the course of the evening he came up to the first lieutenant. '' Who is that man you have just been talking to, (iuls- ton .^ I have been watching him for some time. He has not been dancing, but has been standing in corners look- ing on." " He is Mr. Carne, doctor ; a cousin, or rather a nephew, of our hostess," " Is he the brother of that pretty girl you have been dancing with ? " ! • The lieutenant nodded. " Then I am sorry for her," the surgeon said bluntly. " Sorry, what for ? " The surgeon answered by another question. " Do you know anything about the family, Gulston?" ** I have heard something about them. Why ? " ** Never mind now," the surgeon said. " I will tell you in the morning; it's hardly a question to discuss here," and he turned away before the lieutenant could ask further. It was four o'clock before the dancing ceased and the last carriage rolled away. Then the military and naval men, and two or three visitors from Plymouth, gathered in the library, and smoked and talked for an hour, and v/ere then conveyed to the station to catch the early train. The next day, as they were walking up and down the quarter-deck, the first lieutenant said : " By the way. Doctor, what was it you Were going to say last night about the Carnes? You said you were sorry for Miss Carne, and asked me if I knew anything about the history of the family." " Yes, that was it, Gulston ; it wasn't the sort of thing 1 ll ii: 32 THE CURSE Of carne:s hold. to talk about there, especially as I understand the Mer- vyns arc connections of the (!arnes. The (jucstion I was going to ask you was tliis : Vou know their family history ; is there any insanity in it ? " 'I'iie lieutenant stopjied suddenly in his walk with an exclamation of suri)rise and i)ain. "What do you mean, Mackenzie? Why do you ask such a (juestion? " " Vou have not answered mine. Is there insanity in the blood ? " " There has been," the lieutenant said, reluctantly. " I felt sure of it. 1 think you have heartl me say my father made a special study of madness ; and when I was studying for my profession I have often accompanied him to lunatic asylums, and I devoted a great deal of time to the subject, intending to make it my special branch also. Then the rambling fit seized me and I entered the service ; but I have never missed following the subject up when- ever I have had an opportunity. 1 have therefore visited asylums for lunatics wherever such existed at every port which we have i)ut into since I have been in the service. " When my eye first fell upon I^Ir. Carne he was stand- ing behind several other people, watching the dancing, and the expression of his face struck me as soon as my eye fell upon him. I watched him closely all through the evening. He did not dance, and rarely spoke to anyone, never unless addressed. I watched his face and his hands — hands are, I can tell you, almost as expressive as faces — and I have not the smallest hesitation in saying that the man is mad. It is possible, but not probable, that at ordi- nary times he may show no signs of it, but at times, and last night was one of those times, the *man is mad ; nay, more, I should be inclined to think that his madness is of a dangerous type. " Now that you tell me it is hereditary, I am so far con- firmed in my opinion that I should not hesitate, if called upon to do so, to sign a certificate to the effect that, in my opinion, he was so far insane as to need the most careful watching, if not absolute confinement." The color had faded from the lieutenant's face as the doctor spoke. " I am awfully sorry," he said, in a low tone^ ** and I trust to God, Doctor, that you are mistaken, I cannot THE CURSE OE CARJV/rS HOLD, n ])ut tliink tli;it you arc. [ was introduced to him by his sister, and he was most ( ivij and polite, indeed more than civil, for he asked n'e if I was fond of shooting, and when I said that I was extremely so, he invited me over to his place. He said he did not shoot himself, but that ne.xt week his ("ousin Mervyn and one or two others were coming to him to liave two or tiiree days' jiheasant shoot- ing, and he would be glad if I would join the party ; and, as you may suppose, 1 gladly accejjted the invitation." " Well," the doctor said, drily, " so far as he is con- cerned, there is no danger in your doing so, if as you say, he doesn't shoot. If lie did, 1 should advise you to stay away ; and in any case if you will take the advice which I offer, you won't go. You will send an excuse." The lieutenant made no answer for a minute or two, but paced the room in silence. " I won't pretend to misunderstand you, Mackenzie. You mean there's no danger with him, but you think there may be from her. That's what you mean, isn't it ? " 'I'he doctor nodded. " 1 saw you were taken with her, Gulston : that is why I have spoken to you about her brother." " You don't think — confound it, man — you can't think," the lieutenant said angrily, " that there is anything the matter with her." " No, I don't think so," the doctor said gravely. " No, I should say certainly not ; but you know in these cases where it is in the blood it sometimes lies dormant for a generation and then breaks out again. I asked somebody casually last night about their father, and he said that he was a capital fellow and most popular in the county : so if it is in the blood it passed over him, and is showing itself again in the son. It may ])ass over the daughter and reappear in her children. You never know, you see. Do you mind telling me what you know about the family ? " " Not now ; not at present. I will at some other time. You have given me a shock, and I must think it over." The doctor nodded, and commenced to talk about other matters. A minute or two later the lieutenant made some excuse, and turned into the cabin. Dr. Mackenzie shook his head. ** The lad is hard hit," he said. " and I am sorry for him. I hope my warning comes in time ; it would do if he isn't % u Hi' II 'II m ¥' 24 T//E CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD, a fool, but all young men are fools where the women are concerned. \ will say for him that he has more sense than most, but 1 would give a good deal if this had not happened." Lieutenant Clulston was, indeed, hard hit ; he had been much struck with the momentary glance he had obtained of Margaret Carne as he stood on the steps of the Came Arms, and the effect had been greatly heightened on the previous day. Lieutenant Gulston had, since the days when he was a middy, indulged in many a flirtation, but he had never before felt serious. He had often laughed at the impressibility of some of his comrades, and had scoffed at the idea of love at first sight, but now that he had begun to think matters seriously over, the pain that the doctor's remarks had given him o])ened his eyes to the fact that it was a good deal more than a passing fancy. Thinking it over in every light, he acknowledged the prudent course would be to send some excuse to her. brother, with an expression of regret that he found that a matter of duty would prevent his coming over, as he had promised, for the shooting. Then he told himself that after all the doctor might be mistaken, and that it would be only right that he should judge for himself. If there was anything in it, of course he should go no more to The Hold, and no harm would be done. Ma.garet was cer- tainly very charming; she wns more than charming, she was the most lovable woman he had ever met. Still, of course, if there was any chance of her inheriting this dread- ful thing, he would see her no more. After all, no more harm could be done in a couple of days than had been done already, and he was not such a fool but that he could draw back in time. And so after changing his mird half a dozen times, he resolved to go over for the shooting. " Ruth, I want to speak to you seriously," Margaret Came said to her maid two days after the ball. Ruth Powlett was the miller's daughter, and the village gossips had been greatly surprised when, a year before, they heard that she was going up to The Hold to be Miss Game's own maid ; for although the old mill was a small one, and did no more than a local businesn, Hiram was accounted to have laid by a snug penny, and as Ruth was his only child she was generally regarded as the richest heiress in Carnesford. That Hiram should then let her go out into THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. 25 service, even as maid to Miss Carne at The Hold, struck every one with siiri)risc. It was generally assumed that the step had been taken because Hiram Powlett wanted peace in the house. He had, after the death of his first wife, Ruth's mother, married again, and the general verdict was that he had made a mistake. In the first place, Hiram was a staunch Church-man, and one of the church wardens at Carnesford ; but his wife, who was a Dareport woman — and that alone was in the opinion of Carnesford greatly against her — was a Dissenter, and attended the little chapel at Dareport, and entertained the strongest views as to the i)rospects and chances of her neighbors in a future state ; rdid in the second place, perhaps in consequence of their religious opinions, she was generally on bad terms with all her neighbors. But when Hiram married her she had a good figure, the lines of her face had not hardened as they afterwards did, and he had persuaded himself that she would make an excellent mother for Ruth. Indeed she had not been intentionally unkind, and although she had brought her up strictly, she believed that she had thoroughly done her duty ; lamenting only that her efforts had l)een thwarted by the obstinacy and perverseness of her husband in insist- ing that the little maid should trot to church by his side instead of going with her to the chapel at Dareport. Ruth had grown up a quiet and somewhat serious girl ; she had blossomed out into prettiness in the old mill, and folks in the village were divided as whether she or Lucy Carey, the smith's daughter, was the prettiest girl in Carnesford. Not that there was any other matter in comparison between them, for Lucy was somewhat gay and flirty, and had a dozen avowed admirers ; while Ruth had from childhood made no secret of her preference for George Forrester, the son of the little farmer whose land came down to the Dare just where Hiram Powlett's mill stood. He was some five years older than she was, and had fished her out of the mill-stream when she fell into it when she was eight years old. From that time he had been her hero. She had been content to follow him about like a dog, to sit by his side for hours while he fished in the deep pool above the mill, under the shadow of the trees, quite 26 THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. content with an occasional word or notice. She took his part heartily when her step-mother denounced him as the idlest and most impertinent t)oy in the parish ; and when, soon after she was fifteen, he one day mentioned that, as a matter of course, she would some day be his wife she accepted it as a thing of which she had never entertained any doubt whatever. But Hiram now took the alarm, and one day told her that she was to give up consorting with young Forrester. " You are no longer a child, Ruth, and if you go on ] meeting young Forrester down at the Pool, people will be beginning to talk. Of course 1 know that you are a good girl, and would never for a moment think of taking u]) with George Forrester. Everyone knows what sort of young fellow he is ; he never does a day's work on the farm, and he is in and out of the Carne Arms at all hours. He associates with the worst lot in the village, and it was only the other day that when the jjarson tried to speak to him seriously he answered him in a way that was enough j; to make one's hair stand on end." Ruth obeyed her father, and was no n.ore seen about. ^1 with George Forrester; but she believed no tale to his| disadvantage, and when at times she met with him acci- dentally she told him frankly enough that though her father didn't like her going about with him, she loved him and meant to love him always, whatever they might say. Upon all other points her father's will was law to her, but upon this she was firm ; and two years afterwards, when some words young Forrester had spoken at a pubhc-house about his daughter came to his ears, Hiram renewed the subject to her, she answered staunchly that unless he gave his consent she would not marry George Forrester, but that nothing would make her give him up or go back from her word. For once Hiram Powlett and his wife were thoroughly in accord. The former seldom spoke upon the subject, but the latter was not so reticent, and every misdeed of young Forrester was severely commented upon by her in^ Ruth's hearing. Ruth seldom answered, but her father saw that' she suffered, and more than once remonstrated | with his wife on what he called her cruelty, but found that| as usual Hesba was not to be turned from her course. " No, Hiram Powlett," she said, shutting her lips tightly | 11 THE CURSE OF CARNFJS HOLD. a? ine day told her oiing Forrester, id if you go on )1, people will be t you are a good nk of taking uj) ws what sort of| y's w ork on the rms at all hours, illage, and it was tried to speak to that was enough n:ore seen about d no tale to his it with him acci- that though her 11, she loved him they might say. s law to her, but fterwards, when; t a public-house am renewed the t unless he gave \t Forrester, but] or go back from together ; " I must do my duty whether it pleases you or not, and it is my duty to see that P^uth does not throw away her hapi)iness in this world or the next by her head- strong conduct. She does not belong to the fold, but in other respects I will do her credit to say that she is a good girl and docs her (hiiy as well as can be expected, considering tiie duhiess of the light she had within her ; but if she were to marry this reprobate she would be lost body and soul ; and whatever you may think of the matter, Hiram Powlctt, 1 will not hold my j^eace in the matter." " 1 am (piite as determined as you are, Hesba, that the I child shall not marry this young rascal, but I don't think jit does any good to be always nagging at her. Women [are queer creatures ; the more you want them to go one way the more they will go the other." But though Hiram Powlett did not say much, he worried [greatly. Ruth had always been quiet, l)ut she was quieter [than ever now and her cheeks gradually lost their roses land she looked pale and thin. At last Hiram determined [that if he could not obtain peace for her at home he would ;lsewhere, and hearing that Miss Carne's maid was going to be married he determined to try to get Ruth the place. jhe would be free from Hesba's tongue there, and would lave other things to think about besides her lover, and rould moreover have but few opportunities of seeing him. [e was shy of approaching the subject to her, and was Surprised and pleased to find that when he did, instead )f opposing it as he had expected, she almost eagerly em- )raced the proposal. In fact, Ruth's pale cheeks and changed appearance rere not due, as her father supposed, to unhappiness at her Stepmother's talk against George Forrester ; but because in ^pite of herself she began to feel that her accusations were lot without foundation. Little by little she learnt, from thance words dropped by others, that the light in which ler father held George Forrester was that generally enter- lined in the village. She knew that he had quarrelled rith his father, and that after one of their altercations he iad gone off to Plymouth and enlisted, only to be bought )ut by his father four days afterwards. She knew that he drank, and had taken part in several lerious frays that had arisen at the little beer shop in the hllage j and hard as she fought against the conviction, it \ t I!i 28 THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. was steadily making its way, that her lover was wholly un- worthy of her. And yet, in spite of his faults, she loved him. Whatever he was with others, he was gentle and pleasant with her, and she felt that were she to give him up his last chance would be gone. So she was glad to get away from the village for a time, and to the surprise of her father and the furious anger of George Forrester, she ap- l)lied for and obtained the post of Margaret Carne's maid. She had i^w opportunities of seeing George Forrester now ; but what she heard when she went down to the vil- lage on Sundays was not encouraging. He drank harder than before, and spent much of his time down at Dareport, and, as some said, was connected with a rough lot there who were fonder of poaching than of fishing. Margaret Carne was aware of what she considered Ruth's infatuation. She kept herself well informed of the affairs of the village — the greater portion of which belonged to her and her brother — and she learnt from the clergyman, whose right hand she was in the choir and schools, a good deal of the village gossip. She had never spoken to Ruth on the subject during the nine months she had been with her, but now she felt she was bound to speak. " What is it, Miss Margaret? " Ruth said quietly in an- swer to her remark. " I don't v/ant to vex you, and you will say it is no business of mine, but I think it is, for you know I like you very much, besides, your belonging to Carnesford. Of course I have heard — everyone has heard, you know — about your engagement to young Forrester. Now a very painful thing has happened. On the night of the dance our gamekeepers came across a party of poachers in the woods, as of course you have heard, and had a fight with them, and one of the keepers is so badly hurt that they don't think he will live. He has sworn that the man who stabbed him was George Forrester, and my brother, as a magistrate, has just signed a warrant for his arrest. " Now, tluth, surely this man is not worthy of you. He bears, I hear on all sides, a very bad character, and I think you will be more than risking your happiness with such a man ; I think for your own sake it would be better to give him up. My brother is very incensed against him ; he has been out with the other keepers to the place where this fray occurred and he says it was a most cowardly business, PI th ioi las P [At th( [an ch |m) [brt Iwil 10 uj i iP fejee iln le le •M) riec .''#ee '•'^tip. ' Wei for Wo I ver ;^h( * him you wor was -thai !9: D. vas wholly un- ults, she lovt'd as gentle and le to give him vas glad to get surprise of her Tester, she ap- Carne's maid, orge Forrester own to the vil- i drank harder n at Dareport, ■ough lot there r )• _ sidered Ruth's d of the affairs ch belonged to he clergyman, chools, a good poken to Ruth had been with ik. i quietly in an- 1 say it is no now I like you irnesford. Of , you know — Now a very of the dance oachers in the ad a fight with hurt that they the man who brother, as a arrest. y of you. He er, and I think ss with such a better to give St him; he has ce where this irdly business, THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. 20 (or the poachers were eight to three, and he seems to have lo doubt whatever that Forrester was one of the ])arty, and that they will be able to jjrove it. 1 do think, Ruth, you Kight to give him up altogether. 1 am not talking to you IS a mistress, you know, but as a friend." • " I think you are right. Miss Margaret," the girl said, in low voice. " 1 have been thinking it over in every way. [At first I didn't think what they said was true, and then I [thought that perhaps 1 might be able to keep him- right, land that if I were to give him uj) there would be no jchance for him. I have tried very hard to see what was [my duty, but I think now that I see it, and that 1 must Ibreak off with him. But oh I it is so hard," she added, with a (juiver in her voice, " for though I know that I [oughtn't to love him, I can't help it." " I can (juite understand that, Ruth," Margaret Carne igreed. '* 1 know if I loved anyone I should not give him ip merely because everybody sj)okc ill of him. But, you ^ee, it is different now. It is not merely a suspicion, it is dmost absolute proof; and besides, you must know that le sjjends most of his time in the public-house, and that he never would make you a good husband.'* " I have known that a long time," Ruth said, quietly ; 4^ but I have hoped always that he might change if I mar- ried him. I am afraia I can't hope any longer, and I have been thinking for some time that I should have to give him up. I will tell him so now, if I have an opportunity." " I don't suppose you will, for my brother says he has "hot been home snice the affair in the wood. If he has, he "Went away again at once. I expect he has made either for Plymouth or London, for he must know that the police Avould be after him for his share in this business. I am very sorry for it, Ruth, but I do think you will be hap])ier when you have once made up your mind to brtak with him. No good could possibly come of your sacrificing yourself." Ruth said no more on the subject but went about her work as quietly and orderly as usual, and Margaret Carne was surprised to see how bravely she held up, for she knew -that she must be suffering greatly. ' !l w 30 THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD, CHAPTER III. \. TWO QUARRELS. Three days later the shooting party assembled. Several gentlemen came to stay at the house, while Ronald Mervyn and his party, of course, put up at Mervyn Hall. The shoot- ing was very successful, and the party were well pleased with their visit. Reginald Carne was quiet and courteous to his guests, generally accompanying them through the day, though he did not himself carry a gun. After the first day's shooting there was a dinner party at Mervyn Hall, and the following evening there was one at The Hold. Lieutenant Gulston enjoyed himself more than any one else, though he was one of the least successful of the sports- men, missing easy shots in a most unaccountable manner, and seeming to take but moderate interest in the shooting. | He had, very shortly after arriving at the house, come to the conclusion that the doctor was altogether mistaken,! and that Reginald Carne showed no signs whatever of being in any way different from other men, " The doctor is so accustomed to us sailors" he said to himself, " that! if a man is quiet and studious he begins to fancy directly that there is something queer about him. That is always! the way with doctors who make madness a' special study. They suspect everyone they come across as being out of! their mind. I shouldn't be at all surprised if he doesn't j fancy I am cracked myself. The idea is perfectly absurd. I watched Carne closclv at dinner, and no one could have§ been more pleasant and gentlemanly than he was. I ex- pect Mackenzie must have heard a word let drop about ;:;^ this old story, and, of course, if he did he would set down Carne at once as being insane. Well, thank goodness, that's off my mind ; it's been worrying me horribly for the last few days. I have been a fool to trouble myself so.. about Mackenzie's croakings, but now I will not thinkj anything more about it." THE CURSE OE CARNE'S HOLD. ^LD, 31 On the following Sunday, as Ruth Powictt was returning from church in the morning, and was passing through the little wood that lay between Carnesford and The Hold, there was a rustle among the trees, and Cleorge Forester sj)rang out suddenly. '' 1 have been waiting since daybreak to see you, Ruth, but as you came with that old housekeeper I could not speak to you. I have been in Plymouth for the last week, I hear that they are after me for that skirmish with the keepers, so I am going away for a bit, but I couldn't go till I said good-bye to you first, and heard you promise that you would always be faithful to me." " 1 will say good-bye, (icorge, and my thoughts and prayers will always be with you, but 1 cannot promise to be faithful — not in the way you mean." " What do you mean, Ruth ? " he asked angrily, *' Do you mean that after all these years you are going to throw e off?" Ruth was about to reply, when there was a slight rustling in the bushes. " There is someone in the path in the wood." George Forrester listened for a moment. " It's only a rabbit," he said impatiently. ** Never mind hat now, but answer my question. Do you dare to tell e that you are going to throw me over." " I am not going to thruAv you off, George," she said uietly ; " but I am going to give you up. I have tried, h ! how hard I have tried, to believe that you would be etter some day, but I can't ho})e so any longer. You ave promised again and again that you would give up rinking, but you are always breaking your promise, and ow I find that in spite of all you say, you still hold with ose bad men at Dareport, and that you have taken to oaching, and now they are in search of you for being one f those concerned in desperately woundnig John Morton. ~o, George. I have for years withstood even my father. have loved you in spite of his reproaches and entreaties, ut I feel now that instead of your making me ha})py I hovild be utterly miserable if I married you, and I have ade a promise to Miss Carne that I would give you up." " Oh, she has been meddling, has she ? " George Forrester ouble myself so^^aid with a terrible imprecation ; "I will have revenge on will not think'^'^er, I swear 1 will. So it's she who has done the mischief, mbled. Several : Ronald Mervyn Hall. Theshoot- ere well pleased et and courteous iiem through the gun. After the party at Mervyn was one at The ore than any one sful of the sports- puntable manner, t in the shooting, house, come to jether mistaken, ;ns whatever of " The doctor \ to himself, "that to fancy directly That is always a special study, as being out of| jed if he doesn't ^ perfectly absurd. | one could have 1 he was. I ex-| d let drop about ^^ would set down thank goodness, horribly for the ! i 32 THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. s V 1] f( A Ca and made you false to all you promised. Curse you ! witi your smoolli face and your ciuirch-going ways, and your ; canting lies ; you think, now that ihey are iumting me | away, you will take uj) with some one else, but you shan't, -' I swear, though I swing for it." And he grasped her suddenly by the throat, but at this moment there was a sound of voices in the road behind them, and dashing Ruth to the ground with a force that . stunned her, he si)rang into the woods. A minute later the stablemen at The Hold came along the road and found Ruth still lying on the ground. After a minute's consultation they determined to carrv her down to her father's house, as they had no idea what was the best course to pursue to bring her round. Two of them, therefore, lifted and carried her down, while the other hurried on to ])re])are the miller for their arrival. '* ^^aster l^owlett," he said as he entered, " your giri has hurt herself; I expect she slijjped on a stone somehow, going up the hill, and came down heavy; anyhow ^vcJ^ found her lying there insensible and my two mates arc^^ bringing her down. We saw her two or three hundred -M b^, ' yards ahead of us as we came out of the churchyard, soH^" she could not have laid there above a minute or so when^^^' we came up." ■■Po Ruth was brought in. Mrs. Powlett had not yet^ returned from Dareport, but a neighbor was soon fetched "' w_ in by one of the men while another went for the doctor, and in a few minutes Ruth opened her eyes. " Don't talk, dear," her father said, "lie quiet for a feu minutes and you will soon be better ; you slipped down ir the road, you know, and gave yourself a shake, but it wiL;;| be all right now. Ruth closed her eyes again and lay quiet for a shor: time, then she looked up again and tried to sit up. " I am better now, father." " Thank God for that, Ruth. Tt gave me a turn when \ saw you carried in here, T can tell you ; but lie still a littl time longer, the doctor will be here in a few minutes." *' T don't want him, father." '' Yes, you do, my dear, and anyhow as he has been ser ^^^ for he must come and see you ; you need not trotd: *^ about going up to The Hold, it was three of the men th( r that found you and brought you down ; I will send a no' - ' r( im% k :d. THE CURSE OE (\1A'A'E\S HOLD. 33 urse you ! with ^•ays, and your re hunting mc but you shan't, by them to Miss Carne telling her that you had a bad fall, and that we will keep you here until to-morrow morning. I am sure you will not be fit to walk up that hill again to-day. Anyhow we will wait until the doctor tomes and hear what he says." Ten minutes later the doctor arrived, and after hearing Hiram's account of what had happened, felt Ruth's i)ulse and then examined her head. " Ah, here is where you fell." he said ; " a good deal of swelling and it has cut the skin. However, a little bathing with warm water is all that is wanted. 'There, now, stand Tip if you can and walk a stej) or two, and tell me if you .feel any i)ain anywhere else." - "Ah, nowhere except in the shoulder. ]\[ovc your arm. ■ Ah, that is all right, nothing broken. Vou will find you ■^re bruised a good deal, I have no doubt. \\'ell, you must 'Iceej) on the sofa all day, and not do any talking. You jbave had a severe shake, that's evident, and must take |;are of yourself for a day or two. Vou have lost all your •jlolor, and your pulse is unsteady, and your heart beating '?§nyhow. You must keep her (piite quiet, Hiram. If I ■^erc vou 1 would get her up to bed. Of course you must 'Hot let her talk, and I don't want any talking going on ound her, you understand ? " Hiram did understand, and before Mrs. Powlett returned m chai)el, Ruth, with the assistance of the woman who d come in. was in bed. *' I look upon it as a judgment," Mrs. Powlett said upon \x return, when she heard the particulars ; " if she had en with me at chapel this never Avould have happened. *s a message to her that no good can come of her sitting der that blind guide, the parson. I hope it will open r eyes, and that she will be led to join the fold." '' T don't think it is likely, Hesba," Hiram said quietly, . "and you will find it hard to persuade her that loose stone me a turn when i'sii])pose she trod on was dropped special into the road )ut lie still a mi' ^ ^^jp ^^^ ^jp -y^ coming from church. Anyhow you can't few minutes. ^j]^ about it to-day ; the doctor's orders are that she is to be kept perfectly quiet, that she is not to talk herself, and iS he has been sci ^^^ there's to be no talking in the room. He snys she need not troub ^^^^^^ \\:^\q a cup of tea if she can take it, but I doubt at c of the men thci pj^jj^.j^^ ^vhether she can take even that ; the poor child 1 will send a no j^^j^^ ^g if ghe could scarce open her eyes for anything, and :oat, but at this [-le road behind ilh a force that A minute later road and found jrmined to carry id no idea what round. Two of down, while the their arrival, cred, " your gn-; 1 stone somehow, ivy ; anyhow wr y two mates an )!• three hundred ic churchyard, so linute or so when „tt had not yd was soon fetched nt for the doctor, lyes. ie quiet for a fcNv ti slipped down \^ shake, but it wiUv| quiet for a shor. '| to sit up. i 1' f4 T//f: CUA'SK OF CAKA'E'S HOLD. no wonder, for the doctor says she must have fallen tremendous heavy." Mrs. Powlett made the tea and took it upstairs. Any ideas she may have had of improving the occasion in spite of the doctor's injunctions, vanished when she saw Ruth's white face on the pillow. Noiselessly she placed the little table close to the bed and put the cup upon it. Ruth opened her eyes as she did so. " Here is some tea, dearie," Hesba said, softly. ** I will put it down here, and you can drink it when you feel mclined." Ruth murmured "Thank you," and Hesba stooped over her and kissed her cheek more softly than she had ever done before, and then went quietly out of the room again. "She looks worse than I thought, Hiram," she said, as she proceeded to help the little servant they kept lO lay the cloth for dihner. " I doubt she's more hurt than the doctor thinks. I could see there were tears on her cheek. and Ruth was never one to cry, not when she was hurt ever so much. Of course, it may be because she is low and weak ; still I tell you that I don't like it. Is the doctor coming again ? " "Yes ; he said he would look in again this evening." " I don't like it," Hesba repeated, " and after dinner I will put on my bonnet and go down to the doctor myself and hear what he has got to say about her. Perhaps he will tell me more than he would you ; he knows what poor creatures men are. They just get frightened out of what wits they've got, if you let on any one's bad ; but I will get it out of him. It frets me to think I wasn't here when she was brought in, instead of having strangers messing about her." It came into Hiram's mind to retort that her being away at that moment was a special warning against her going to! Dareport, but the low, troubled voice in which she spoke. ' and the furtive passing of her hand across her cheek to^ brush away a tear, effectually silenced him. It was all so|^ unusual in the case of Hesba, whom, indeed, he had neverj seen so soft and womanly since the first day she had crosscdi the threshold of the door, that he was at once touched and] alarmed. " I hope you are wrong, wife ; I hope you are wrong,'! Jie said, putting his hand on her shoulder. " I don't thinkj MI D. TItE CVKSE Of CARXE'S IIQLD, 35 it have fallen ipstairs. Any casion in spite ihe saw Ruth's ilaccd the little ipon it. Ruth ioftly. "I will I when you feci | I," and Hesba ore softly than iietly out of the rain," she said, they kei)t lO lay z hurt than the s on her cheek, n she was hurt ;ause she is low . Is the doctor )» 2r *■ > us evening, 1 after dinner I doctor myself Perhaps he nows what poor | ned out of what ^H , but I will get^ here when she| niessing about her being away nst her going to| hich she spoke, ss her cheek to It was all so ;d, he had never she had crossed! ice touched and] ou are wrong. '' I don't think the doctor thought l)adly of it, but he seemed puzzled like, I thought ; l)ul if there's trouble, Hesba, we will bear it [together, you and I ; it's sent for good, we both know that. !\Vc goes the same way, you know, wife, if we don't go by [the same road." The woman made no answer. That moment the girl jaj)peared with the dinner. Hesba ate but a few mouthfuls, land then saying sharply that she had no appetite, rose from [the table, put on her bonnet and shawl, and, without a ^ord, walked out. She was away longer than Hiram expected, and in the leantime he had to answer the questions of many of the jeighbors, who. having heard from the woman who had )een called in of Ruth's accident, came to learn the parti- :ulars. When Hesba returned she brought a bundle with ler. " The doctor's coming in an hour," she said. " I didn't ret much out of him, except he said it had been a shock [o her system, and he was afraid that there might be slight poncussion of the brain. He said if that was so we should rant some ice to jnit to her head, and I have been up to ^he Hold and seen Miss Carne. I had heard Ruth say ley always have ice up there, and she has given me some. |he was just coming down to enquire about Ruth, but of )urse I told her she couldn't talk to nobody. That was le doctor's orders. Has she moved since I have been ray ?" Hiram shook his head. " I have been up twice, but she as just lying with her eyes closed." " Well ; I will go and sit up there," Hesba said. "Tell at girl if she makes any noise, out of the house she goes ; d the best thing you can do is to take your pipe and sit that arbor outside, or walk up and down if you can't ep your^^elf warm ; and don't let anyone come knocking the door and worritting her. It will be worse for them I has to come down." Hiram Powlett obeyed his wife's parting injunction and pt on guard all the afternoon, being absent from his ual place in church for the first time for years. In the ening there was nothing for him to do in the house, and )s wife being upstairs, he followed his usual custom of dropping for half an hour into the snuggery at the Carne *rms. i I ' : ^ w I 3« THE crRSE OF CAHM-:s iioi.n. " Vcs, it's true," he said in answer to the (iiustions of his cronies, " Rulli has had a liad I'mII, and the doctor tliJN afternoon say-J as she has g(jt a slight concussion of thr hrain. He si id he lioped slie \vi)iild get over it, but he looked serious-like when lie came down stairs. It's a h.id alT;iir, I expect. Hut she is in (lod's hnnds, and a heltc r girl never stepped, though I says it." 'I'here was a nuirnuir of regret and consolation aaiong the four smokers, hut they saw that Hiram was too upset for many words, and the conversation turned nito other channels for a time. Hiram taking no share in it but smoking silently. " It's a rum thing," he said jjresently, during a pause in the conversation, " lh;it a man (hjn't know really about .t woman's nature, not when he has lived with her for years and years. Now there's my wife Hesba, who has got a tongue as sharp as anyone in this village." A momentary smile passed round the circle, for the sharj)ness of Hesha Powlett's tongue was notorious. " It scarce seemed to nif, neighbors, as she had got a soft side to her or that sIk caretl more for Ruth than she did for the house-dog. Slu always did her duty by her, f will .say that for her ; and .; tidier woman and a better housewife there ain't in tlu , country round. But duty is one thing and love is anothi r Now you woidd hardly believe it, but 1 do think that HesI). feels this business as mudi as I do. \o\\ wouldn't hav\ knowed her; she goes about the house with her shoes o; as c[uiet as a mouse, and she speaks that soft and genlk you wouldn't know it was her. Women's ([ueer creature^ anyway." 'I'here was a chorus of assent to the proposition, am; indeed the discovery that Hesba Powlctt had a soft side u her nature was astonishing indeed. For three days Ruth Powlett lay unconscious, and thci cjuiet and good nursing and the ice on her head had thci; effect, and one evening the doctor, on visiting her, saii that he thought a change had taken place, and that sli was now sleeping naturally. The next morning there wa consciousness in her eyes when she o])ened them, and sh looked in surprise at the room darkened by a curtai pinned across the window, and at Hesba, sitting by In - bedside, with a huge nightca]) on her head. "What is it, mother, what has hap])ened?" " You have been ill, Ruth, but thank God you are betu 4 fhei thin is w Yon me liini * n. Tin-: crA'.s'/-: or ciAW/rs- hold. 37 c questions of ibc doctor ihis cussion of the over it, but he rs. It's a bad is, and a belter ,. wasanuirnuir r smokers, but any words, and k\s for a time, ilcntly. .iring a pause m ^v really about a ilh her for years who has got a A momentary jpness of I lesha :e seemed to mc, her or that she house-dog. ShcS It for her ; and icre ain't in ih d love is anothi • think that Hesl) :)u wouldn't havi ith her shoes oi soft and genii. ([ueer creatun- proposition, aiv Ihadasoft side lo liscious, and thci [ur head had thci: 1 visiting her, s;ui lace, and that sli. Iiorning there wa led them, and sh. lied by a curlar Iba, sitting by Ih id. led?" rod you are bettt. r.ovv. Don't talk. (K-ar, and don'l worry. I have got some beef tea wanning i>y llu- fire ; llie doctor said you were to hy and drink a cup when you woke, and then to go off to fleep again." Kulh looked with a feeble surprise after iresl)aasshc left ihc room, missing the sharp derisive fool-tread. In a minute she returned as noiselessly as she had gone, "Can v(ju holil ihc cup yourself, Kulh, or shall I feed you ? " " Kuth i)Ut out iier hand, but it was loo weak to hold the cup. She was able, however, slightly lo raise l;er head, and Hesba held the <-up to her li])S. '* What have you done lo your feet, mother? " she asked, as siie finished the broth. '• I have left my shoes downstairs, Ruth ; the doctor said [you were to be kept (juiet ; now try t(j go to sleep, that's a [ear." .She stooped and kissed the girl affectionately, and Ruth, [to her surj)rise, felt a tear drop on her cheek. She was '(jndcring (^ver this strange circumstance when she again fell asleep. In a few days she was about the house again, but she ^"was silent and grave, and did not gain strength as fast as , the doctor had hoped for. However, in three weeks' time "'ifhe was well enough tvj return lo '["he Hold. Hiram had 38 THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. .'■'': ' 'ill Hiram kissed his daughter. ''Thank God for that news, Ruth. I hoped after that poaching business you would see it in tliat hglit, and that he wasn't fit for a mate for one Hke you. Your mother will be glad, child. She ain't like the same woman as she was, is she ? " "No, indeed, father, I do not seem to know her." " 1 don't know as 1 was ever so knocked over in my life as I was yesterday, Ruth, when your mother came down- stairs in her bonnet and shawl, and said, '1 am going to church with you, Hiram.' I didn't open my lips until we were half-way, and then she said as how it had been borne in on her as how her not being here when you was lirought in was a judgment on her for being away at Dareport instead of being at church with us ; and she said more than that, as how, now she thought over it, she saw as she hadn't done right by me and you all these years, and hoped to make a better wife what time she was left to us. I wasn't sure all church time as it wasn't a dream to see her sitting there beside me, and joining in the hymns, listening attentive to the parson as she has always been running down. She said on the way home she felt just as she did when she was a girl, five and twenty years ago, and used to come over here to church, afore she took up with the Methodies." Ruth kissed her father. "Then my fall has done good after all,'' she said. "It makes me hap])y to know it.'' " I shall be hnp])y when I see you quite yourself again, Ruth. Come back to us soon, dear." '* I will, father ; in the spring 1 will come home ag^'n for good, I promise you," and so Ruth returned for a time to The Hold. " I am glad you are back again, Ruth," Miss Came, who '^ had been down several times to see her, said. " I told you not to hurry yourself, and I would have done without you for another month, but you know I am really very glad to have you back again. Mary managed my hair very well, but 1 could not talk to her as I do to you." Ruth had not been many hours in the house before she| learnt from her fellow servant that Mr. Gulston had been, two or three times over since the shooting party, and that the servants in general had an opinion that he came overj to see Miss Carne. D. THE CURSE OF CAKNE'S HOLD. 39 >l)ecl after that liglU, and that Your mother woman as lihe low her." over in my life er came down- 1 am going to ly lips until we had been borne •ou was brought y at Dareport she said more , she saw as she lese years, and z was left to us. a dream to see ; in the hymns, has always been 2 she felt just as enty years ago, ore she took up ' she said. " It yourself again, ime home ag-'n liirned for a time [Miss Came who , said. ^' I told Ive done without |l am really very managed my hair do to you." house before she ulston had been g party, and that i^at he came over " It's easy to see that with half an eye," one of the girls said, '' and I think Miss Margaret likes him too, and no wonder, for a ])roperer-lo()king man is not to be seen ; but I always thought she would have married hei cousin. Everyone has thought so for years." '' It's much better she should take the sailor gentleman," one of the elder women said. " I am not saying anything against Mr. Ronald, who is as nice a young gentleman as one would want to see, but he is her cousin, and I don't hold to marriage among cousins anyhow, and specially in a family like ours." " I think it is better for us not to talk about it at all," Ruth said, quietly. " I don't think it right and proper, and it will be quite time enough to talk about Miss Mar- garet's affairs when we know she is engaged." The others were silent for a minute after Ruth's remark, and then the undcr-housemaid, who had been an old playmate of Ruth's, said : " You never have ideas like other people, Ruth Powlett. It is a family thing, and we can't say a word about people in the house without being snapped up." " Ruth is right," the other said, ''and your tongue runs too fast, Jane : as Ruth says, it will be quite time enough to talk when Miss Margaret is engaged; till tb leasant to him. cl paid to Mar- ) means pleased :h the shooting ice aweel^cvcr rise. The next for a horse to on as lunch was or his house lay le's Hold. The estion he put did y or two after he ley had heard he ^ -lat Margaret and [ )m, and he stool ,r rather chattmi4 moody. At last Vlargaret said to ,e yourself; is it iiore silent than d, sharply. "1 •1 replied, " I ^viVi )een coming hen naughtily. "Whai hat tone ; are yov Lral," he repli^' ly question." ' T have not asked Lieutenant Gulston what he comes here for," she said coldly ; "and besides, I do not recog- nise your right to ask me such a question." " Not recognise iiy right," he repeated passionately. " I should have thought that a maa had every right to ask such a question of the woman he is going to marry." *' Going to marry," she repeated, scornfully : " at any rate this is the first I have heard of it." •' It has always been a settled thing," he said '' and you know it as well as I do. You promised me ten years ago tJiat you would be my wife some day." "fen years ago I was a child. Ronald, how can you [talk like this ! You know we have always been as brother nd sister together. I. have never thought of anything ^eise of late You ha^'e been home four or five months, anyhow, and you have had plenty of time to speak if you wanted to. You never said a word to lead me to believe that you thought of me in any other way than as a cousin." '•'^. thought we understood each other, Margaret." '• I thought so too," the girl replied, "but not in the me way. Oh, Ronald, don't say this ; we have always leen such friends, and perhaps years ago I might have ||hought it would be something more ; but since then I «ave grown up and grown wiser, and even if I had loved you in the way you speak of, I would not have married you, because I am sure it would be bad for us both. We have bcih that terrible curse in our blood, and if there was not another man in the world I would not marry you." " 1 don't believe you would have said so a month ago," Ronald Mervyn said, looking darkly at her. " This Guls- ton has come between us, that's what it is, and you can- not deny it." " You are not behaving like a gentleman, Ronald," the girl said, quietly. " You have no right to say such things." ' " I have a right to say anything," he burst out. " You have fooled me and have spoilt my life, but you shall re- ft it. You think that after all these years I am to be ov/n by like an old glove. No, by Heaven, you may throw mc over, but 1 swear you shall never marry this sailor or any one else, whatever 1 do to })revent it. You S4y I have the curse of the Carnes in my blood. You are li^ht, and you shall have cause to regret it." i r-A ^""^ PI 9! ' 42 r/j£ CUKSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. He leapt from the window, which Margaret had thrown open a sliorl time before, for the fire had over- heated the room, ran down to the stal)h;s, leapt on his horse, and rode off at a furious pace. Neither he nor Margaret had noticed that a moment before a man passed along the walk close under the window. It was Lieu- tenant Gulston. He paused for a moment as he heard his name uttered in angry tones, oi)ened the hall door without ceremony, and hurried towards that of the draw- ing-room. Reginald Carne was standing close to it, and it flashed across Gulston's mind that he had been listen- ing. He turned his head at the sailor's quick step. " Don't go in there just at present, Gulston, I fancy Margaret is having a quarrel with her cousin. They are quiet now, we had best leave them alone." '* He was using very strong language," the sailor said, hotly. '■' I caught a word or two as I passed the windows." " It's a family failing. I fancy he has gone now. I will go and see. I think it were best for you to walk off for a few minutes, and then come back again. People may ^% oftei s V r, y t tone, and really feared that he was going to do something ' C% ^^ violent. It was foolish, of course, and I really beg your t' jJ pardon. Yes, what you say is quite right. If you will I"'! 'j^ allow me I will have the horse put in the trap again. I "^' got out at the gate and walked across the garden, telling the man to take the horse straight round to the stables; but I think I had better go and come again another day. After such a scene as she has gone through, Miss Came will not care about having a stranger here." -Mul *' No, I don't think that would be best," Reginald Carne said. *' She would wonder why you did not come, anc would, likely enough, hear from her maid that you hat been and gone away again, and might guess you had heart something of the talking in there. No, I think you hat- better do as 1 said — go away, and come again in a fev minutes." The lieutenant accordingly went out and walked aboi: the shrubbery for a short time, and then returned. Mi- i THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. 43 Margaret had fne had over- ;, leapt on his ^'either he nor I a man passed It was Lieu- nt as he heard the hall door at of the draw- close to it, and lad been listen- kstep. "Dont icy Margaret is are quiet now, ' the sailor said, s I passed the one now. I will to walk off for a n. People may but they don't] ;he scenes." "the fact is, for e violence of his to do something' I really beg your ght. If yo}i ^^''^' le trap again. 1 le garden, telling id to the stables ain another da) mgh. Miss Carnc Reginald Carm d not come, anc lid that you hac ess you had hean , I think you lu ne again in a fe^^ and walked aboi" 1 returned. Mi^ Carne did not appear at dinner, but sent down a message to say that she had so bad a headache that she found she W(V.il(J not be able to appea/ that evening. Reginald Carne did not j^lay the part of host so well as usual. At times he was gloomy and abstracted, and then he roused himself and talked rapidly, l.ieutenant Guls- ton thought that he was seriously discomposed at the quarrel l)etwecn his sister and his cousin ; and he deter- mined at any rate not to take the present occasion to carry out the intention he had formed of telling Reginald Carne that he was in love with his sister and hoped that he would have no objection to his telling her so, as he had a good income besides his pay as first lieutenant. When the men had been sitting silently for some time after wine was ])ut on the table, he said : " I think, Carne, I will not stop here to-night. Your sister is evidently quite upset with this affair, and no wonder. I shall feel myself horribly de trop, and would rather come again some other time if you will let me. If ou will let your man put a horse in the trap I shall catch [the ten o'clock train comfortably." " ]\rhaps that would be best, Gulston. I am not a ery lively comjjanion at the best of times, and family uarrels are unpleasant enough for a stranger." A few minutes later Lieutenant Gulston was on his way the station. He had much to think about on his way ome. In one respect he had every reason to be well atisfted with what he had heard, as it had left no doubt 'hatever in his mind that Margaret Carne had refused the ffcr of her cousin, and that the latter had believed that J,%e had been refused because she loved him, Charlie Guls- ■)n. Of course she had not said so ; still she could not "^.ivc denied it, or lier cousin's wrath would not have been ^^urned ui)on him. ^k Then he was sorry that such a quarrel had taken place, »s it would i)robably lead to a breach between the two families. He knew Margaret was very fond of her aunt 'and the girls. Then the violence with which Ronald ^Icrvyn had spoken caused him a deal of uneasiness ; was t possible that a sane man would have gone on like that? as it possible that the curse of the Carries was still work- ing? This was an unpleasant thought, but that which bllowed was still more an.xious. >'[| ii n . ! mi 44 T///^ CURSE or CARNE'S HOLD. Certainly, from the tone of his voice, he had believed that Ronald Mervyn was on the point of using violence to Margaret, and if the man was really not altogether right in his head there was no saying what he might do ; as for himself, he laughed at the threats that liad been uttered against him. Mad or sane, he had not the slightest fear of Ronald Mervyn. liut if, as was likely enough, this mad-brained fellow tried to fix a quarrel upon him in some ])ul)lic way, it might be horribly unpleasant so unpleasant that he did not care to think of it. He consoled himself by hoping that when Mervyn's first burst of passion had calmed down he might look at the matter in a more rea- sonable light, and see that at any rate he could not bring about a public quarrel without Margaret's name being in some way drawn into it ; that her cousin could not wish, however angry he might be with her. It was an unpleasant business. If Margaret accepted him he would take her away from all these associations. It was marvelous that she was so bright and cheerful, knowing this horrible story about that Spanish woman, and that there was a taint in the blood. That brother of hers, too, was enough to keep the story always in her mind. The doctor was certainly right about him. Of course he wasn't mad, but there was something strange about him, and at times you caught him looking at you in an unplea- sant sort of way. " He is always very civil," the lieutenant muttered to himself ; " in fact, wonderfully civil and hospitable, and all that. Still I never feel quite at my ease with him. If I had been a rich man, and they had been hard up, I should have certainly suspected that there was a design in his in- vitations, and that he wanted me to marry Margaret ; but, of course, that is absurd. He can't tell that I have a penny beyond my pay ; and a girl like Margaret might marry anyone she liked, at any rate out of Devonshire. rerhai)s he may not have liked the idea of her marrying this cousin of hers ; and no doubt he is right there. And seeing, as I daresay he did see, that I was taken with Margaret, he thought it better to give me a chance than to let her marry Mervyn. '• I don't care a snap whether all her relations are mad or not. I know that she is as free from the taint as I am : but it can't be wholesome for a girl to live in such an i THE CURSE OF CARNFJS HOLD, 45 atmosi)hcre, and the next time I go over I will put the question I meant to i)Ut this evening, and if she says yes 1 will very soon get her out of it all." And then the lieutenant indulged in visions of j^retty houses, with bright gardens looking over the sea, and hnally concluded that a little place near Ryde or Cowes would be in every way best and most convenient, as being handy to Portsmouth, and far removed from Devonshire and its associations. " I hope to get my step in about a year ; then I will go on half- l)ay. i have capital interest, and I daresay my cousin in the Admiralty will be able to get me a dockyard ai)point- I ment of some sort at Portsmouth ; if not, I shall, of course, give it uj). I am not going to knock about the world after |l am married." 'Hiis train of thought occupied him until almost mechani- cally he left the train, walked down to the water, hailed a jboat, and was taken alongside his ship. CHAPTER IV. A (IHASTI.V DISCOVERY. 'argaret Carne's message as to her inability to come iown to dinner was scarcely a veracious one. She wa.s lot given to headaches, and had not so far as she could remember been once laid \\\^ with them. l)ut after what had )een said, she did not feel equal to going downstairs and facing Charlie Gulston. She had never (juite admitted to lerself that she loved the young sailor who had for the last few weeks been so much at the house, and of whose reason for so coming she had but little doubt ; but now, as she sat alone in the room, she knew well enough the mswer she should give to his question when it came. At present, however, the discovery of her own feelings :aused alarm rather than pleasure. There had l)een no signs of fear in her face when her cousin raged and threat- med, but she did not believe that the threats were empty )nes ; he had often frightened her when she was i child by Furious bursts of passion, and although it was many years low since she had seen him thus, she felt sure that he rould do as he had threatened, and that he was likely il 111 ^ y in If 46 THE CURSE OE CAKNE'S HOLD. enough to take any step that might occur to him in his passion, to carry out his threat. Although she had put a bold front on it, Margaret felt at heart that his reproach was not altogether unjustified. There had been a boy and girl understanding between them, and although it had not been formally ratified of late years, its existence was tacitly recognised in both families. and until a few months before she herself had considered that in the natural course of events she should some day be Ronald Mervyn's wife. Had he reproached her gently, she would have frankly admitted this, and would have asked him to forgive her for changing her mind now that years had wrought a change in her feelings, but the harshness and suddenness of his attack had roused her pride, and driven her to take up the ground that there was no formal engagement between them, and that as he had not renewed the subject for years she was at perfect liberty to consider herself free. She had spoken but the truth in saying that their near re- lationship was in her eyes a bar to their marriage. Of late years she had thought much more than she had when a girl over the history of the family and the curse of the | Carnes, and although she had tried her best to prevent her- 1 self from brooding over the idea, she could not disguise \ from herself that her brother was at times strange and unlike other men, and her recollections of Ronald's out- bursts of temper, as a boy, inducedithe suspicion that he, too, had not altogether escaped the fatal taint. Still, had not Charlie Gulston come across her path, it was probable that she would have drifted on as before, and would, when the time came, have accepted Ronald Mervyn as her husband. The next morning, when Ruth Powlett went as usual to call her mistress, she started with surprise as she opened the door, for the blind was already up and the window open. Closing the door behind her, she went in and placed the jug of hot water she carried by the washstand, and then turned round to arouse her mistress. As she did so a low cry burst from her lips, and she grasped a chair for support. The white linen was stained with blood. and Margaret lay there, white and still, with her eyes wide open and fixed in death. The clothes were drawn a shortj way down in order that the murderer might strike at herl .,:i v:| ^ci \D. THE cVRSt-: OF carnf:s hold. 47 r to him in his t, Margaret felt her unjustified, nding between \l ratified of late w both families, had considered liould some day Id have frankly to forgive her rought a change ddenness of his :r to take up the ;ement between the subject for der herself free, xt their near rc- arriage. Of late she had when a he curse of the ,t to prevent her- uld not disguise es strange and Df Ronald's out- ispicion that he, aint. Still, had , it was probable and would, when Mervyn as her went as usual to ^e as she opened and the window he went in and y the washstand, istress. As she d she grasped a ained with blood ith her eyes widi ;re drawn a shor; ight strike at her heart. Scarce had she taken this in, when Ruth felt the room swim round, her feet failed her, and she fell insensible on the ground. In a few minutes tlie cold air streaming in through the open window aroused her. Feebly she recovered her feet, and supporting herself against the wall, staggered towards the door. As she did '«o her eye fell on an object lying by the side of the bed. She .•»LC])ped at once with another gisj)ing cry, pressed her hand on h».'r forehead, and stood as if fascinated, with her eyes fixed upon it. Then slowly and reluctantly, as if forced to act against her will, she moved towards the bed, stooped and picked up the object she had seen. She had recognised it at once. It was a large knife with a si)ring blade, and a silver plate let into the buck- ^ horn handle, with a name, G. Forrester, engraved upon it. It was a knife she herself had given to her lover a year before. It was open and stained with blood. For a minute or two she stood gazing at it in blank horror. ^ What should she do, what should she do ? She thought of "/ tue boy who had been her playmate, of the man she had -l^- loved, and whom, though she had cast him off, she had ;/*iiever qui^j ceased to love. She thought of his father, the ^old man who had always been kind to her. If she left 'this silent witness where she had found it there would be no doubt what would come of it. For some minutes she .stood irresolute. . I *' God forgive me," she said at last. " I cannot do it." f She closed the knife, put it into her dress, and then turned ground again. She dared not look at the bed now, for she ffelt herself in some way an accomplice in her mistress' ^^rnurder, and she made her way to the door, opened it, and '^ then hurried downstairs into the kitchen where the ser- ^) vants who were just sitting down "to breakfast rose with a ^cry as she entered. \ " What is it, Ruth? What's the matter? Have you seen JJanything ? " m Ruth's lips moved but no sound came from them, her iface was ghastly white, and her eyes full of horror. 2 " What is it, child ? " the old cook said, advancing and ^touching her, while the others shrank back, frightened at vher aspect. I •' Miss Margaret is dead," came at last slowly from her iiy J- iff 48 THE Cl'RSE 01' CARNI'^S I/O/.I). lips. "She has hvxn imirdcrcd in tlic night," and she reeled and woiiltl liave fallen again had not tiie old servant caught lier in her arms and i)laeed her in a chair. A cry of liorror and ' irprise had broken from the servants, then <:ame a huhhiih of talk. " It can't he true." " It is impossible." " Ruth must have fancied it." " It never could be," and then they looked in eacli other's faces as if seeking a confirmation of their words. " I must go up and see," the cook said. " Susan and Harriet, you come along with me ; the others see to Ruth. Sprinkle some water on her face. She must have been dremiing." Affecting a confidence which she did not feel, the cook, followed timidly by the two frightened girls, went upstairs. She stood for a moment hesitating before she 0})ened the door ; then she entered the room, the two girls not daring to follow her. She went a step into the room, then gave a little cry and clasjjed her hands. " It is true," she cried ; " Miss Margaret has been mur- dered ! " Then the pent-up fears of the girls found vent in loud screams, which were echoed from the group of servants who had clustered at the foot of the stairs in expectation of what was to come. A moment later the door of Reginald Carne's room open- ed, and he came out jjartly dressed, '' What is the matter ? What is all this hubbub about ? " " Miss Margaret is murdered, sir," the two girls burst out, pausing for an instant in their outcry. '' Murdered," he repeated, in low tones. *' You are mad ; impossible ! " and pushing past them he ran into Margaret's room. *' Ah ? " he exclaimed, in a long, low note of pain and horror. ''Good God, who can have done this? " and he leaned against the wall and covered his face with his hands. The old servant had advanced to the bed, and laid a hand on the dead girl. She now touched her master. " You had better go away now, Mr. Reginald, for you can do nothing. She is cold, and must have been dead hours. We must lock the door up till the police come." So saying, she gently led him from the room, closed the door and locked it. Reginald Carne staggered back to his room. « ). Till'. CVRSE 01- CA/iNfrs HOLD. 49 lit," and she ic old servant hair. A cry servants, then *' Ruth must id llien they onfirmation of " Susan and s see to Ruth. List have been feel, the cook, went upstairs, he opened the ;irls not daring iom, then gave has been mur- id vent in loud up of servants in expectation le's room open- ibbub about ? " two girls burst Poor master," tlie old servant said, looking after lii m " You are m he ran into ;s :e of pain and this ? " and he with his hands, and laid a hand ister. ginald, for you ave been dead police come." Dom, closed the ggered back to f* this will be a terrible blow for him ; he and .Miss Mar- jery have a ways been together. There's no saying what ay come )f it," and she shook her head gravely ; then ihe roused herself, and turned uj) sharply on the girls. (( Hold your noise, you. foolish things; what good will »at do ? (Jet downstairs at once.' Driving them before her, she went down to the kitchen, ind on to the door leading to the yard, where one of the ijiaids was at the moment telling the grooms what hvid hap- pened. "Joe, get on a horse and ride off and fetch Dr. Arrow- imith. He can't be of any good, but he ought to come, dend up Job fiarpur, the constable, and then ride on to tfr. Volkes ; he is the nearest magistrate and will know irhat to do." . Then she went back into the kitchen. " She has come to, Mrs. Wilson j but she don't seem to i&iow what she is doing.'' ' *' No wonder," the cook said, " after such a shock as she yts had ; and she only just getting well after her illness. ro of you run upstairs and get a mattress off her bed jfd two pillows, and lay them down in the servants' hall ; ;n take her in there and put her on them. Jane, get ii|me brandy out of the cellaret and bring it here ; a spoon- of that will do her good." little brandy and water was mixed, and the cook ired it between Rr.th's lips, for she did not seem to )w what was said to her, remained still and impassive, th short sobs bursting at times from her lii)S. Then two dirvants half lifted her, and took her into the servants' Jipl, and laid her down on the mattress. All were sobbing " ^ crying, for Margaret Carne had been greatly loved by )se around her. [n half-an-hour the doctor arrived. ^f Is it possible the news is true ? " he asked as he leapt his gig ; the faces of those around were sufficient an- jr. " Good heavens, what a terrible business I Tell \, Carne I am here." Reginald Carne soon came down. He was evidently ribly shaken. He held out his hand in silence to the jtor. ^'What oes it all mean ? " the latter said huskily; "it , '' il iiilii! ■it 1,1..; . SP THE CrRSE OF CAKNI^S HOl.D. .'I secerns too horril)le to ht- true, ('an it ho tluityoiir sist' r, whom I Ikivc knovn smu c she was acljiUl, is clcad ? Mur- dered, loo ; it scMiis impossible." " It does seem imjiossil)le, doctor ; but it is true. I have seen her myself," and lie shuddered. "She has been stab- bed to the heart." The doc:tor wiped his eyes. '* Well, I must go uj> and see her," lie said. " Poor child, poor child. No, you need not ring. 1 will go up by myself." Dr. Arrowsmith had attended the family for many years, and knew ])erfectly well which was Margaret's room. 'Iho old cook was standing outside the door of the drawing'- room. " Here is the key, sir. I thought it better to lock the door till you came." " Quite right," the doctor replied. " Don't let anyone up till Mr. Volkcs comes. The servant said he was goiiii, for him. Ah, here is Harpur. That is right, Harpur you had better come up with me, but 1 shouldn't touch any thing if I were you till Mr. Volkes comes ; besides, wei shall be having the ch' '' constable over here i)resenily, !|\! and it is better to leave rything as it is." They enterci;|- the room together. '* Dear, dear, to think of it now," the constable mur- ,| mured, standing awe-struck at the door, for the cour.st| of his duty was for the most part simple, and he had never] before been face to face with a tragedy like this. The doctor moved silendy to the bed and leant over th: dead girl. " Stabbed to the heart," he murmured, " death mus;^ have been instantaneous." Then he touched her arm anci tried to lifl it. " She has been dead hours," he said to the coii»| stable, " six or seven hours, I should say. Let us loolii round. The window is open, you see. Can the murdcrc:! have entered there ? " He looked out. The wall wa covered with ivy, and a massive stem grew close to th window. " Yes," he went on, *' an active man could hav climbed that. See, there are some leaves on the groun; I think, Harpur, your best plan will be to go down ar. take your station there and see no one comes along or di| turbs anything. See, this jewel box on the table has bee; .rlh •/.A rill-: ciKSK Of I'.iA'A'irs iioi.n. 5« Ihcit your sistrr, is clt'iul ? Mur- Lis true. I huve' ic has been slal)- said. 1 wil I'oor go up y for many years, rot's room. 'Hk'I of the drawing- better to lock the] Don't let anyone said he was goin,: is right, Harpur ouldn't touch an\ , ,-^.j ,mes ; besides, we|; jr here presently, . s." They entercc Ibroken open and the contents are gone, and I do not sec her watch auywiure. Well, that is enough to do at pre- sent ; we will lock this room up again until Mr. Volkcs Iconics." When tluy < ame down stairs, the cook again came out. '* Please, sir, will you come in here .^ Ruth Towlett, [Miss Margaret's maid, seems very bad ; it was she who irst found it out, nnd it's naturally given her a terrible jhock. She came down looking like a mad woman, then jhe fainted off, and she doesn't seem to have any sort of ;onsciousness yet." Ruth I'owlett ! why, 1 have been attending her for ^he last three weeks. Yes, such a shock may be very jcrious ii\ her case," and the tloctor went in. Have you any sal volatile in the house," he asked, \{W\ he had felt her pulse. , There's some in the medicine chest, I think, sir, l)Ut I '•ill soon see." She went out and ])resently returned with a bottle. The loctor poured a teasjjoonful into glass and added a little ater. Then he lifted Ruth's head, and forced it between ier lii)s. She gasi)ed once or twice, and then slightly 6])ened her eyes. le constable mur )r, for the course, and he had nevei ike this, and leant over the' taH " That is* right, Ruth," the doctor said cheeringly, " try ed, "death mus iched her arm an ;aid to the con say. Let us looi Can the murdcre: t. The wall wa grew close to th; MZ man could hav. d rouse yourself, child. You remember me, don't you ? " ulh opened her «.yes and looked up. " That's right, child, I mustn't have you on my hands ain,you know." Ruth looked round with a puzzled air, en a sharp look of j)ain crossed her face. *' I know, Ruth," said the doctor, soothingly ; " it is rrible for everyone, but least terrible for your pocr ung mistress ; she j)assed away i)ainlessly, and went at ce from life into death. Everyone loved' her, you Hnow ; it may be that God has spared her much unhappi- ness." Ruth burst into a paroxysm of crying; the doctor liodded to the old servant. '• That's what 1 wanted," he whispered, *' she will be bettor after this ; get a cup of hot tea for her, or beef tea res on the grounc ^\\ \^^. better if you have any; make her drink it and then »e to go down ar. Jj^rve her for a tirir.-. I will see her again presently." :omes along or di: Immediately the doctor left him, Reginald Carne wrote the table has bee: ^ telegram to the chief con^jtable of the county, and I :1 tr hH \ If1 52 THE CURSE OE CARNE'S HOLD. despatched a servant with orders to gallop as fast as he could to the station and send it off. Mr. Volkes, the magistrate, arrived half an hour later, terribly shocked by the news he hau heard. He at once set about making enquiries, and heard what the doctor and constable had to say. No one eise had been in the room except the old cook, Mr. Carne, and the poor girl's own maid. "It would be useless for you to question the girl to-day, A'"olkes. She is utterly })rostrate with the shock, but 1 have no doubt she will be able to give her evidence at the inquest. So far as I can see there does not seem to he the slightest clue. Ap'^'arently some villain who knows something about the hrusc has climl)ed through the window, stabbed her, :. nd made off with her jewelry." " It is a hidiious business," the magistrate said ; " there has not been such a startling crime committed in tlu county in all my experience. And to think Margaret Carne shouid be the victim, a girl everyone liked ; it is terrible, terrible. What's your opinion, doctor? Sonu wand'^^ring tramp, I suppose ? " " I suppose so. Certainly it can be none of the neigh- bors. In the first place, as you say, everyone liked her, and in the second, a crime of that sort is quite out of the 1:^ way of our quiet Devon-hire ])eople. It must have beer. Biins some stranger, that's evident. Yet on the other hand it i: " singular that the mm should have go* into her room. I' don't suppose there hr.s been a window fastened or a doo- locked on the ground floor for years ; the idea of . burglary never occurs to anyone here. Ey the way, iht Coroner ought to be informed at once. I will speak tr, Carne about it ; if we do it at once he will have time to wis send over this evening and summon a jury for to-morrow s^p/ the sooner it is over the better. Directly the chief con stable arrives he will no doubt send round orders every 9$ where for tramps and suspicious persons to be arresteti . Plymouth is the place v/here Ihey are most likely to ^t.: some clue ; in the first place it's the largest town in thi- part, and in the second there are sure to be low shoi where a man could disj/ose of valuables," In the afternoon, Captain Hendricks, the chief constabk 9|| arrived and took them all in hand. In the first place b t|i had a long private conversation with Job Harpur, v/ho ha " ' LD. rUE CURSE OF CARNK'S HOLD. 53 p as fast as he en steadily keeping watch in the garden beneath the ndow, leavinij him with strict orders to let no one proach the sjjot. Ca])tain Hendricks, with a sergeant who had arrived th him. made a thorough search ot" the bedroom. Then heard ix'.xw everyone who knew an} thing about the tter, wi h the exception of Ruth Vuwlett, foi whom the ctor saia absolute (juiet was necessary, all that they ew about it. Then he obtained a minute description of missing watch and jewels and telegraphed it to lymouth and Exeter. Having done this he went out into garden again, and there a close search was made the grass and borders for the marks ot footsteps. en all this was done he had a longi)rivate conversation h Reginald Come. The news of Margaret Game's murder created an itemL-nt in Carnesford such as had never been equalled ce the Jay wlien Lady Carne murdered her child and curse of C'arne's Hold began its work. Tliere was a soul in the valley but knew her personally, for rgaret had taken great interest in village matters, seen that soups and jellies were sent down from The Id to those who were sick, had begged many a man off rent when laid up or out of work, and had many t must have beer, jpiinsioners who received weekly gifts of money, tea, or e other hand it i Ci|^er little luxuries. She gave prizes in the school ; help- the i)arson with his choir ; and scarcely a day passed Jhout her figure being seen in the streets of Carnesford, tat she could be murdered seemed incredible, and when news first arrived it was received with absolute unbe- li<|r. When such confirmation was received that doubt "WpB no longer possible, all work in Carnesford was ended. Women stood at their doors and talked to ir neighbors and wept freely. Men gathered in knots und orders every 9S^ talked it over and uttered threats of what they would 113 to be arrested 40»f they could but lay hands upon the murderer. Boys most likely to u*. aip girls walked up the hill and stood at the edge of the d, talking in whisj)ers and gazing or the house as if it sentcd some new and mysterious attraction I-ater in day two or three constables arrived and asked many St ions as to whether anyone had heard anyone passing ugh the street between one and three in the morning, Carnesford had sle])t soundly, and no one was found had been awake between those hours. f an hour later, \. He at once t the doctor and een in the room poor girl's own I the girl to-day, lie shock, but I evidence at the not seem to be lain who knows ed through the ler jeAvelry." ate said ; "there? Dmmitted in the^ think Margaret I yone liked ; it '\>\ doctor? Somcii 3ne of the neigh- ^ryone liked her, ; quite out of the nto her room. I astened or a doo- the idea of <■ By the way, thi I will speak t will have time i' ry for to-morro^v ly the chief con rgest town in th;- 1^ : to be low shd he chief constabK q| the first place h: tK| U Harpur, v;ho lu^ 1^ ;" m 54 THE CURSE OF CARNES HOLD. i! i' II •Hii, Ti . little conclave in the sanctum at the Game's ArinJ met half an hour earlier than usua'. They found on theil arrival there a stranger chatting with the landlord, whfj introduced him to them as Mr, Rentford, a detectiv: officer from Plymouth. " A sad affair, gentlemen, a sad affair," Mr. Rentforci said when they had taken their seals and lit their chunh wardens. " As sad an affair, 1 should say, as ever I wa engaged in." " It is that," Jacob Carey said. " Here's Mr. Claphur here, who has been here, man and boy, for nigh eighti years. He will tell you that such as this iias ncvr haj)pened in this part in his time." " 1 suppose, now," the detective said, " there's none ; the village has any theory about it ; I mean," he went or| as none of his hearers answered, "no one thinks thcit can be anyone but some tramp or stranger to the ii\\ trict ? " '' It can't be no one else," Jacob Carey said, "as I ca:^^ see. What do you say, Hiram Powlett ? I should say ill one could make a nearer guess than you can, seeing ae| they say it was your Ruth as first found it out." M^ "I haven't seen Ruth," Hiram said; " the doctor to! ,i|| me, as he came down, as she was quite upset with tl sight, and that it would be no good my going up to see he as she would have to keep still all day. So 1 can't si farther into it than another; but surely it must be soni stranger." " There was no one about here as far as you have hear Mr. Powlett, who had any sort of grudge against this poci: lady ? " " Not a soul, so far as I know," Hiram replied. " Sli| could speak up sharp, as I have heard, could Miss Carm| to a slatternly housewife or a drunken husband ; but never heard as she made an enemy by it, though, if shL, had, he would have kept his tongue to himself, for therf| were not many there in Carnesford who would have heari^M^t a word said against Miss Carne anc sat quiet over it." i^p ' " No, indeed," Jacob Carey affirmed, bringing down li;^ fist with a heavy thump on his knee. " The Squire aiK^i. his sister were both well liked, and I for one would ha'> helped duck anyone that spoke against them, in the l)ar She was the most liked, perhaps, because of her brigig Ic ft)r HOLD. TIIE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. 55 ; the Game's Arm 'hey found on the, the landlord, \\\ itford, a detectn air," Mr. Rentfon "id lit their chiirc say, as ever I ^\a n-e's Mr. Claphiir^ •y, for nigh eight as this has nc\' 1, " there's none ncan," he went o; one thinks thai tranger to the d,- rey said, " as I ( i L ? I should say r you can, seeing u i it out." ; " the doctor tu ite upset with t! joing up to see he ,y. So 1 can't sl y it must be soni as you have hean ;e against this i)Oi mi replied. '' SI could Miss Carn n husband ; but '■ it, though, if sL 3 himself, for the: ) would have hear : quiet over it." bringing down li " The Squire an Dr one would ha\ them, in the Dan ause of her brigi' re and her kind words and being so much down here ong us ; but the Scpiire is well liked, too ; he is not one laugh and talk as she was, l)ut he is a good landlord, d will always give a quarter's rent to a man as gets be- indhand for no fault of his own, and if there is a m])laint about a leaky roof or any repairs that want ioing, the thing is done at once and no more talk about No, they have got no enemies about here as I know of, ■^pccept maybe it's the poachers down at Dareport, for ~ ough the Squire don't shoot himself, he j)rescrves strictly, d if a poacher's caught he gets sent to the quarter ses- on as sure as eggs is eggs." " Besides," the old clerk put in, " they say as Miss arne's watch and things has been stolen ; that don't look lis if it was done out of revenge, do it? " * '■ Well, no," the detective said slowly ; " but that's not always to be taken as a sign, because you see if anyone did a thing like that out of revenge, they would naturally ke away anything that lay handy, so as to make it look if it was done for theft." The idea was a new one to his listeners, and they oked over it silently for some minutes. " Lord, what evil ways there are in the world," Reuben CJlajihuist said at last. " Wickedness without end. Now P^at do you make out of this. Mister .> Of course these illings come natural to you." . The detective shook his head. " It's too early to form an opinion yet, Mr Claphurst ; much too early. I dare y we shall put two and two together and make four esentlv, but at present you see we have got to learn all e facts, and you who live close ought to know more than e do, and to be able to put us on the track to begin with, ou point me out a clue, and I will follow it, but the best gs can't hunt until they take up the scent." "That's true enough," the blacksmith said approvingly. " Have there been any strangers stopping in the village tely ? " the detective asked. ■'» " There have been a few sto?^ping off and on here, or Mking rooms in the village," t\,o landlord answered ; " but Idcn't think there ha'> been anyone fishing on the stream j^r the last few days." gil *' I don't mean that class ; I mean tramps." "That I can't tell you," the landlord replied; "we « il t fti 56 THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. II I don't taire tramps in here ; they in general go to Wilding's beershop at the other end of the village. He can put up four or five tor the night, and in summer he is often full, for we are just al^out a long day's tramp out from Plymouth, an5 they often make lliis their first stopping-place out, or their last stoi)])ing-place in, l>ut it's getting late for them 11 now, though many come along after the harvest is wc over. Still, you know, there may have been one there yesterday, for aught I know." " I will go round presently and ask. Anyone who was here the night before might well have lain in the woods yesterday, and gone up and done it." " I don't believe as you will ever find anything about it. There's a curse on Game's Hold, as everyone knows, and curses will work themselves out. If I were the Squire, 1 would pull the i)lace down, every stick and stone of it, and I would build a fresh one a bit away. I wouldn't use so much as a brick or a rafter of the old place, for the curse might stick to it. I would have everything new from top to bottom." *' Yes, I have heard of the curse on Game's Hold," the detective said. " A man who worked with me, and comes from this part of the country, told me all about it as we came over to-day. However, that has nothing to do with this case." " It's partly the curse as that heathen woman as Sir Edgar brought home as his wife laid on the place," the old clerk said, positively ; " and ic will go on working as long as Game's Hold stands. That's what I says, and I don't think as anyone else here will gainsay me." " That's right enough," the blacksmith agreed, " I think we are all with you there, Mr. Glaphurst. It ought to have been pulled down long ago after what has happened there. Why, if Mr. Game was to say to me ' Have the house and the garden and all rent free, Jacob Garey, as long as you like,' I should say * Thank you, Squire, but I wouldn't move into it, not if you give me enough beside to keep it up.' I call it just flying in the face of Providence, Only look at Hiram Powlett there ; he sends his daughter up to be Miss Game's maid at The Hold, and what comes of it ? Why, she tumbles down the hill a-going up, and there she lies three weeks, with the doctor coming to see her every day. That was a clear warning if ever there 'Bes ] to d serv aboi aT)i you is sc then ifin oki ' their But thou u^ tl the thfere n^gh dbiK Stir fall but t the *'\ ask my b " ( Hirai lias a he's ^ e o m LD. go to Wilding's He can put up he is often full, from Plymouth, ig-place out, or g late for them harvest is well been one there nyone who was n in the woods lything about it. one knows, and jre the Squire, I 1 stone of it, and wouldn't use so ;e, for the curse ig new from top rne's Hold," the n me, and comes I about it as we thing to do with woman as Sir the place," the ) on working as lat I says, and I ly me." Lgreed, " I think It ought to It has happened me ' Have the Jacob Carey, as )U, Squire, but I nough beside to e of Providence, ids his daughter and what comes a-going up, ami )r coming to sec ng if ever there THE CURSE OF CARNES HOLD. 57 ras one. Who ever heard of a girl falling down and hurting herself like that? No one. And it would not ^ave hapi)ened if it hadn't been for the curse of Carne's [old." " I shouldn't go so far as that," Hiram Powlett said. What hapj)cned to my lass had nothing to do with The [old ; she might have be jn walking uj) the hill at any iime, and she might have slipped down at any time. A girl may j)Ut her foot on a loose stone and fall without it javini^ anything to say to The Hold one way or the other, iesides, I have never heard it said as the curse had aught do except with the family." " I don't know about that," the smith replied. *' That rvant that was killed by the S])anish woman's son ; how out him? It seems to me as the curse worked on him 4 bit too.'' • ** So it did, so it did," Hiram agreed. " I can't gainsay VDu there, Jacob Carey ; now you put it so. I see there iS something in it, though never i)efore have I heard of there being anything in the curse except in the family." *' Why didn't Miles Jefferies, lather of one of the boys as iaf in the stables, get his brains kicked out by one of the old Squire's horses ? " « " So he did, Jacob, so he did; still grooms does get l^ir brains kicked out at other i)laces besides The Hold. Bli|t there is something in what you say, and if I had ^ught of it l)efore, I would never have let my Ruth go l|j| there to service. I thought it was all for the best at time, and you knows right enough why I sent her up thfere, to be away from that George Forrester ; still I nlight have sent her somewhere else, and I would have <|i|he so if I had thought of what you are saying now. Sifre enough no good has come of it. I can't hold that that fl^l of hers had aught to do with the curse of the Carnes, biit this last affair, which seems to me worse for her than Wt first, sure enough comes from the curse." '^* Who is [his George Forrester, if you don't mind my apjting the question ? " the detective said. " You see it's my business to find out about ]>co])lc." 2' Oh, George hadn't nothing to do with this business," 'ram replied. " He's the son of a farmer near here, and las always been wild and a trouble to the old man, but he's gone away weeks ago. He got into a poaching scrape. it ' itl 'I • (ffliflV^ 5» THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. w ai and one of the keepers was hurt, and I siii)i)ose he thoiiglit he had best be out of it, for a time ; anyliow, he had gone but he weren't that sort of a chap. No, there was nr harm in George Forrester, not in that way ; he was la/, and fonder of a glass than was good for him, and he go: into bad company down at Dareport, and that's what kq him to this poaching business, I expect, because there \v.i- no call for him to go poaching. His father's got a lid farm, and he wanted for nothing. If he had been there h: couldn't have wanted to steal Miss Game's jewelry. H- was passionate enough, I know, and many a quarrel has h had with his father, but nothing would have made in:| believe, even if he had been here, that old Jim Forresleri son had a hand in a black business like this ; so don't yc go to take such a notion as that into your head.'' " He would not be likely to have any quarrel with MisJ Game," the detective asked. " Quarrel — no," Hiram replied sharply, for he resenti the idea that any possible suspicion of Margaret Game murder should be attached to a man with whom Rulhj name had been connected. "I don't suppose Miss Cari:| ever spoke a word to him in her life. What should sh-; speak to him for ? Why he had left the Sunday sciuxl years before she took to seeing after it. 'Tain't as if had been one of the boys of the village." As Jacob Carey, Reuben Glaphurst and the landlord each gave an assenting murmur to Hiram's words, \\. detective did not think it worth while to pursue the ])Gir d further, for there really seemed nothing to connect th '' No, George Forrester in any way with Margaret Game's dcat; sccause there \vn( ther's got a lid;.[ lad been there hi e's jewelry. H| y a quarrel has hJ , have made mJ d Jim Forrestcri his \ so don't yoij r head." quarrel with Misl % for he resenttj Margaret Carnei ith whom Ruthp ppose Miss Carrr What should shl le Sunday scho(| 'Tain't as if and the landloii ram's words, t pursue the poin^ to connect th | ret Game's dcati^ 1 will go round i' ; enquiries as l lere. It is qiiii to herself. WhJ man that did it?| CHAPTER V. THE INQUKST. wn'? six o'clock, and already qr.ite dark, when, as Lieu- lant (julston was writing in his cahin, his servant told that Dr. Mackenzie had just come off from the shore, would be glad if he could spare him a few minutes' iversation. [' Tell him I will be on the quarter deck in a minute." added a few lines to the letter he was writing, put it m envelope, and taking his cap, went out, dropping the ter into the ])ost bag that hung near his cabin, and then It on to the cpiarter deck. He was rather pleased with doctor's summons, for he highly esteemed him, and retted the slight estrangement which had arisen be- \t\\ them. Well, doctor," he asked cheerily, " have some of the been getting into mischief ashore? " No, lad, no," the doctor replied, and the first lieuten- [felt that something more serious was the matter, for he had obtained his rank of first lieutenant the tor had dropped his former habit of calling him lad. ), I have heard some news ashore that will affect you )usly. 1 am sorry, dear lad, very sorry. I may have ight that you were foolish, but that will make no differ- now." What is it, doctor? " Lieutentant Gulston asked, with gue alarm at the gravity of the doctor's manner of ting him. The evening papers came out with an early edition, Gulston, and the boys are shouting out the news of a tertible affair. A most terrible affiiir at your friends' the Catnes. Be steady, lad, be steady. It's a heavy blow for a man to have to bear. Miss Carne is dead." *^Dead! Margaret dead!" the lieutenant repeated racfedulously. " What are you saying, doctor? There must be some mistake. She was well yesterday, for I was :l ^'"^ ^ T//E CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. id did not Ici itil 1 \\\ II ■; ! 1^ « \\ I tl over there in the evening o'clock. It can't l)e true." "It is true, lad, unhappily; there is no mistake. S; was found dead in her bed this morning." \ 'J'he lieutenant v\is almost stunned by the blow. *' (iood (iod ! " he murmured. " It seems impossible The doctor walked away and left him for a minuti- ( two to himself. " I have not told you all as yet, lad,'' 1 went on, when he returned ; '' it makes no difference ! her, j)oor girl — none. She jjassed out of life, it seem I)ainlesslv and instantly, but it is worse for those whoa; left." ^, He paused a moment. " She was found stabbed to t^PH^ heart by a midnirht robl)er." An exclamation of horror brok<^ from the sailor. " Mu dert d ? Good heavens ! " "i^y, Lid, it is true. It seems to have been done in h sleep, and death was instantant'( us. There, I will Uv you for a while, now. I will ])ut the pa])er in your cab; so that when you feel equal to reading the details you ( do so. Try and think it is all for the best, lad. No oi knows what trouble might have darkened her life a: yours had this th;ng not hapj)ened. I know you will i be able ^o think so now, but you will feel it so some day An hour later Lieutenant Gulston entered the do( t( cabin. There v/as a look of anger as well as of grid > his face that the doctor did not understand. " Doctor, I believe this is no murder by a wander:: tramp, as the paper says. I believe it was done In revenge, and that the things were stolen simply to tlm people off the scent. 1 will tell you what took pla yesterday. I drove up as far as the gate in the garde: there one road sweep? round in front of the house, i other goes straight to the stal)les ; so I got down, and to the man he might as web drive strai^•ht in, while I walk. up to the house. The road follows close unde- ihe dra ing-room windows, and one of tliese bemg oi)en, as passed I heard a man's voice raised loud in anger, loudly and so passionately, indeed, that I involuntar stopped. His words v/ere, as nearly as I can recolk 'You have fooled me and sj^oilt my life, but you ^! regret it. You think after all these years I am to thrown off like an old glovo. No, by Heaven ; you ir HOLD. THE CVKSE OF CAKXI'?^ HOLD. 6i L leave until uii ; no mistake. Sl.j \ the blow, seems impossible' Im for a minute c| all as yet, lad," hi .■s no difference tj t of life, it seenil e for those who arj Ihrou' me over, but I swear you shall never marry this lailor (ir anybody else, whatever L may have to do to pre- ren t it. Vou say I have the curse of tiie Carnes m luy ilood ! \'uu are right, and you shall have cause to regret The voice was so loud and j)assionate that I believed he sjjcaker was about to do some injury to Margaiet, for did not doubt that it was her to whom he was sjjeaking, Ind 1 ran round through die Iiall door to the door of the )om, but I found Carne himself standing there. He too, sujjpose, when he had been about to enter, had heard le words. He said, ' Don't go in just at present, Marga- ;t and her cousin are having a (juarrel, but I think it's und stabbed to tl.^^Ver now. Seeing that he was there at hand I went away )r ;■. bit, and found afterwards that Mervyn had jumped 1 the sailor. '* Mi;pp|oni ihe winilow, gone to the stable and ridden straight %{i. Margaret didn't come down to dinner, making an excuse that she was unwell. Now, what do you think of thai, doctor? You know that Mervyn's mother was a arne, and that he has this mad blood that you warned ^ajmie against in his veins. There is his threat, given in what is found vc been done m 1 There, I will U; )ai)er in your ca the details you c best, lad. No o; ig^as an almost mad out1)urst of passion. She •kened her life a: df.'d this morning ; what do you think of it ? " know you will i •• I don't know what to think of it, (iulston ; I know but ^Jktle (){ Mervvn myself, but I have heard men in his regi- mtered the doctorfHiPnt say that he was a cjueer fellow, and though generally s well as of griet i a most cheery and i)leasant companion, he has at times fits itand. of silence and moroseness similar, I should say, to those der by a wander:: c^his cousin, Reginald Carne. It is possn)le, lad, though li^don't like to think so. When there is madness in the Wood no one can say when it may blaze out, or what course it can take. The idea is a terrible one, and yet it is possible ; it may indeed be so, for the madness in the feiuily has twice before led to murder. The presumption 1 got down, and to i« certainly a grave one, for although his messmates may it in, while I walk; consiuer Mervyn to be as they say, a (jueer fellow, I do ose unde' the dra riot think you would find any of them to say he was mad, z bemg oi)en, as or anything like it. Remember, Gulslon, this would be a d loud in anger, terrible accusation to bring against any man, even if he that I involuntar can prove — as probably he can prove — that he was at as T can recolk home, or here in Plymouth, at the time of the murder. ! life, but you sh. Tne charge that he is mad, and the notoriety such a charge years I am to would obtain, is enough to ruin a man for life." |. Heaven ; you ir. ** 1 can't help that," the lieutenant said, gloomily. " I L' It was done ire: jlcn simply to thn ou what took i)la gate in the garde: It of the house, i !;■ •!V I %'^^-::'^S. 62 THE CURSE OF CARNE'S /fOI.D. heard him threaten Margaret, nnd I shall say so at llv coroner's iiKjuest to-morrow. If a man is such a cowanij as to threaten a woman he must put up with any const j quences that may haj)j)en to befall him." The coroner and jury met in the dining-room of Tiui Hold; tliey were all CJarnesford men. Hiram rowkftl Jacob Carey and the landlord of the Carne's Arms were upon it, for the summoning officer had been careful uf choose on such an important occasion the 'eading men oij the village. After having gone ui)stairs to view the body the coroner opened the ])roceedings. Th . room wa crowded. Many of the gentry of the neighborhood wen present. Lieutenant Gulston, with a hard set look upo; his face, stood in a corner of the room with the dodo: beside him. Ronald Mervyn, looking, as some of tht Carnesford peoi)le remarked in a whisper, ten years older than he did when he drove to the village a few days before stood on the other side of the table talking in low tones V, .some of his neighbors. " We shall first, gentlemen," the coroner said, '* hea: evidence as to the finding of the body. Ruth Powlett, the maid of the deceased lady, is first witness." A minute later there was a stir at the door, and Ruth wa^ led in by a constable. She was evidently so weak am: unhinged that the coroner told her to take a chair. ** Now, Miss Powlett, tell us what you saw when yoi: entered your mistress' room." " Upon opening the door," Ruth said, in a calmer anc more steady voice than was expected from her appearance, " I saw that the window was open and the blind up ; 1 wa> surprised at this, for Miss Carne did not sleep with he; window open in winter, and the blind was always: down 1 walked straight to the washstand and placed the can c; hot water there; then I turned round to wake Miss Carne and I saw her lying there with a great patch of blood o; her nightdress, and I knew by her face that she was dead Then I fainted. I do not know how long I lay there AVhen I came to myself, I got up and went to the door anc went downstairs to the kitchen and gave the alarm." " You did not notice that any of Miss Carne's things hac been taken from the table ? " the coroner asked. " No, sir." " Were there any signs of a struggle having take: place ? " »i ighl)orhood were d set look upon with the doctor as some of the ', ten years older few days before.^ g in low tones to iner said, " hcarp luth Powlett, the^ or, and Ruth wa; tly so weak and 2 a chair. I saw when you| in a calmer anc 1 her appearance ; blind up ; 1 wa^ )t sleep with he; as always dowr placed the can 01!' ivake Miss Carni Itch of blood or,, lat she was dead' long I lay there t to the door am; the alarm." larne's things hai asked. le having takr " No, sir, I did not see any. Miss Came lay as if she as sleci)ing quietly. She was lying on her side." " The l)ed( lothes were not disarranged? " " No, sir, except that the cloihes were turned down a ort distance." " You were greatly attached to your mistress, Miss wlett?" ^' Yes. sir." '• She was generally liked, was she not? " " Yes, sir. Everyone who knew Miss Came was fond her." " Have any of you any further questions to ask ? " the roner asked the jury. There was nc reply. *• Thank you, ^Iiss Powlett. 1 will not trouble you rther at present." The cook then gave her testimony, and Dr. Arrowsmith s next called. He testified to the effect that upon his rival he found that the room had not been disturbed in y way ; no one had entered it with the exception, as he derstood, of Miss Carne's maid, the cook, and Mr. me. The door was locked. When he went in he found deceased was dead, and it was his opinion, from the dness and rigidity of the body, that she must have been d seven or eight hours. It was just nine o'clock when arrived. He should think, therefore, that death had en ])lace between one and half-past two in the morning. ath had been caused by a stab given either with a knife dagger. The blow was exactly over the heart, and ended down into the substance of the heart itself. ath must have been absolutelv instantaneous. Deceased in a natural position, as if asleep. The clothes had ien turned down about a foot, just low enough to uncover region of the heart. [After making an examination of the body he examined room with the constable, and found that a jewel box the table was open and its contents gone. The watch chain of the deceased had also disappeared. He ked out of the window and saw that it could be entered an active man by climbing uj) a thick stem of ivy that j^w close by. He observed several leaves lying on the ground, and was of the opinion t!iat the assassin entered 64 THE CURSE OF CA RIVE'S JfOfJ). ill iiii' mil II ill " From what you sny, Dr. Arrowsmith, it is your opinion tliat no struggle took place? " •' I am sure that there was no struggle," the doctor replied. " I have no (juestion that Miss Came was mur- dered in her sleep. I should say that the bedclothes were drawn down so lightly that she was not disturbed." " Does it not appear an extraordinary thing to you, Dr. Arrowsmith, that if, as it seems, Miss (!arnc did not awake, the murderer should have taken her life? " ** Very extraordinary," the doctor said em])hatically, *' I am wholly unable to account for it. [ can understand that had she woke and sat uj) a burglar might have killed her to secure his own safety, but that he should have (piletly and deliberately set himself to luurder her in her sleep is to me most extraordinary." "You will n(jte this circumstance, gentlemen," the coroner said to the jury: "It is (juite contrary to one's] usual experience in these cases. As a rule, thieves arc not murderers. 'J"o secure their own safety they may takt life, but as a rule they avoid running the risk of capital punishment, and their object is to effect robbery without | rousing the inmates of the house. At j)resent the evidcn< c certainly points to premeditated murder rather than to murder arising out of robbery. It is true that robbery has taken place, but this might be merely a blind." , " You know of no one, Dr. Arrowsmith, who would have been likely to entertain any feeling of hostility again>i| Miss Carne?" " Certainly not, sir. She was, T should say, universally popular, and certainly among the people of Carnesford shi| was regarded with great affection, for she was continually doing good among them." " I am prepared to give evidence on that point," a voice | said from the corner of the room, and there was a general movement of surprise as everyone turned round to look al| the speaker. " Then perhaps, sir, we may as well hear your evidenc next," the coroner said, "because it may throw some ligliil upon the matter and enable us to ask questions to tlul point of further witnesses." The lieutenant moved forward to the table : " My name is Charles (iulston. I am first Lieutenantl pf the Tenebreuse, the llagship at Plymouth. I had the THE CURSE OF CARXE'S IfOI.D, «s ^'our opinion ' the doctor nc was nnir- Iclothcs were rbed." tr to you, Dr. Irnc did not ife?" cmphatirally. .n understand' \\ have killed should have ,cr her in her Ulemen,'' tho| trary to one's i Ic, thieves arc they may taki risk' of capital )l)l)ery without | U the eviden(e| rather than to that robbery I blind." h, who would I ostility again.>l| ;ay, universally ;arnesford she I as continually point," a voice I was a general Hind to look all your eviden* , ■M' 70 THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. \\ m.Mi ;,™,iiill done. Captain Mervyn, you say, liad left the room when you entered it. Is there any other door t(j tlie drawing- room than that at which you were standing ? " " No, sir, there is no other door ; the window was wide oi)en, and as it is only three feet from the ground I have no doubt he went out that way. I heard him gallop off a minute or two later, so that he must have run straight round to the stables." " In going from the drawing-room window to the stables, would he i)ass under the window of your sister's room? " " No," Reginald rei)lied. "That is quite the other side of the house." " Then, in fact, the glove that was found there could not have been accidentally dropi)ed on his way from the drawmgroom to the stable ? '' *'It could not," Reginald Carne admitted, reluc- tantly. ** Thank you : if none of the jury wish to ask you any question, that is all we shall recpiire at i)reser.t." The jury shook their heads. They were altogether too horrified at the turn matters were taking to think of any questions to the i)oint. 'i'hc chief constable then called the gardener, who testified that he had swept the lawn on the afternoon of the dny the murder was committed, and that had a glove been lying at that time on the spot where it was discovered he must have noticed it. When the man had done. Captain Hendricks intimated that that was all the evidence that he had at present to call. "Now, Captain Mervyn," the coroner said, ''you will have an opportunity of explaining this matter, and, no doubt, will be able to tell us where you were at the time Miss Carne met her death, and to produce witnesses who will at once set this mysterious affair, as far you are con- cerned, at rest." Ronald Mervyn made a step forM'ard. He was still very pale, but the look of anger with which he had first heard the evidence against him had jxissed, and his face was grave and quiet. " I admit, sir," he began in a steady voice, " the whole facts that have been testified. I acknowledge that on that afternoon I had a serious quarrel with my cousin, Mar- garet Carne. The subject is a painful one to touch upon, THE CURSE OE CARXE'S HOLD. 71 1)ut T am compelled to do so. T had almost from boyhood ri'i^Mrded her as my future wife. There was a boy and uirl iinderslandint; between us to that effect, and although no formal engaL,^emenl had taken place, she had never said anything to lead me to believe that she had changed her mind on the subject ; and T think I may say that in ])Oth (if our families it was considered probable that at some lime or other we should be married. " On that afternoon I sjjoke sharply to her — I admit that — as to her receiving the attentions of another man ; and upon her denying altogether my right to speak to her on such a subject, and repudiating the idea ot any engagement between us. I certainly, I admit it with the greatest grief, lost my temper. Unfortunately I had been from a child given to occasional fits of i)assion It is long since I have done so, but upon this occasion the sudden- ness of the shock, and the bitterness of my disappointment carried me beyond myself and I admit that I u.^ed the words that Lieutenant Gulston has repeated to you. But 1 declare that I had no idea whatever, even at that moment, of making any personal threat against her. What was in my mind was to endeavor in some way or other to prevent her marrying another man." Here he paused for a minute. So far the effect of his words had been most favorable, and as he stoi)ped his f'iends l)reathed more easily, and the jury furtively nod- ded to each other with an air of relief. '' As to the glove," Ronald Mervyn went on c^eliberately, " I cannot account for its being in the place where it was found. I certainly had both gloves on when I rode over here, how I lost it, or where I lost it, I am wholly unable to say. I may also add that I admit that I went direct from the drawing-room to the stable, and did not pass round the side of the house where the glove was found." Hl.' again ])aused. "As to where I was between one o'clock and half-past two the next morning, I can give you no evidence whatever." A gasp of dismay broke fuji.i ahnost every one in the room. '' It was becoming dark when I mounted my horse," he said, "and I rode straight away; it is my custom, as my fellow-officers will tell you, when I am out of spirits, or anyt'iing has u])set me, to ride away for hours until the fit has left me, and 1 have sometimes been out all night. It If 72 THE CURSE OE CARNE'S HOLD, m\: III!!' , i ' ■ was so on this occasion. I mounted and rode away. I cannot say which road I took, for when I ride upon such occasions, I am absorbed in my thoughts and my horse goes where he will. Of myself, I do not know exactly at what hour I got home, but I asked the stable man who took my horse, next morning, and he said the clock over the stable gate had just struck half-past three when I rode in. I do not know that I have anything more to say." The silence was almost oi)pressive for a minute or two after he had finished, and then the coroner said " The room will now be cleared of all except the jury." 7'he public trooped out in silence. P3ach man looked in his neighbor's face to see what he thought, but no one ventured upon a word until they had gone through the hall and out into the garden. Then they broke up in little knots, and began in low tones to discuss the scene in the dining-room. The shock given by the news of the murder of Miss Carne was scarcely greater than that which had now been caused by the proceedings before the coroner. A greater part of those present at the inquest were per- sonal friends of the Carnes, together with three or four farmers having large holdings under them. Very few of the villagers were present, it being felt that although, no doubt, everyone had a right to admie-, sion to the inquest, it was not for folks at Carnesford to thrust themselves into the affairs of the family at The Hold. Ronald Mervyn had, like the rest, left the room when it was cleared. As he went out into the garden, t\vo or three of his friends were about to si)eak to him, but he turned off with a wave of the hand, and paced up and down the front of the house, walking slowly, with his head bent. "This is a horribly awkward business for Mervyn," one of the young men, who would have spoken to him, said. " Of course Mervyn is innocent ; still it is mosi unfortuna'cc that he can't prove where he was." " Most unfortunate," another repeated. "Then there's that affair of the glove and the quarrel. Things look very awkward, I must say. Of course, I don't believe for a moment Mervyn did it, because we know him, but T don't know what view a jury of strangers might take of it." Two or three of the others were siknt. There was present in their minds the story of The Mold, and the ad- p : •> thp: curse of carne's hold. 73 milted fact of insanity in the family of Ronald ^^crvyn, which was in close connection with the Carnes. Had it been anyone else tliey too would have disbelieved the possibility of Ronald Mervyn having murdered Margaret ("arnc. As it was they doubted ; there had been other murders in the history of the Carnes. But no one gave utterance to these thoughts, they were all friends or acijuaintances of the Mervyn family. Ronald might yet be able to clear himself completely. At any rate, at i)re- sent no one was inclined to admit that there could be any doubt of his innocence. " VV^ell, what do yon think, doctor, now ? " Lieutenant (lulston asked his friend, as separated from the rest they strolled across the garden. " 1 don't qtiite know what to think," Dr. Mackenzie said, after a pause. " No ? " Gulston said in surprise. "Why it seems to me as clear as the sun at noon-day. What 1 heard seemed pretty conr:hisive. Now there is the confirmation of the liiuling of the glove, and this cock and bull story of his riding about for hours and not knowing where he was." " Yes, I give due weight to these things," the doctor said, after another pause, "and admit that they constitute formidable circumstantial evidence. I can't account for the glove being found there. I admit that is certainly an awkward fact to get over. The ride I regard as unfortu- nate rather than damnatory, especially if, as he says, his fellow officers can prove that at times, when upset, he was in the habit of going off for hours on horseback." "But who else could have done it, Mackenzie? You see, the evidence of the doctor went to show that she was murdered when asleep ; no common burglar would have taken life needlessly, and have run the risk of hanging ; but the whole thing points to the fact that it was done out of revenge or out of ill-feeling .of some sort, and has it not been shown that there is not a soul in the world except Mervyn who had a shadow of ill-feeling against her? " " No, that has not been shown," the doctor said quietly. '* No one was her enemy, so far as the witnesses who were asked, knew; but that is a very different thing ; it's. a very difficult thing to prove that anyone in the world has no enemies. Miss Carne may have had some ; some servant may have been discharged upon her complaint, she may 5 i i •I- 7 nil I Mill 1 '! 11 74 T//J^ CURSE OP CARNE'S HOLD, have given deep offence to some one or other. There is never any saying.'' "Of (oiirse that is i)Ossil)le," said tlie lieutenant again, *' but tlie evidence all goes against one man, who is known to have an enmity against her, and who has, to say the least of it, a taint of insanity in his blood. What are the grounds on which you doubt ? " " Principally his own statement, Chilston. T watched him narrowly from the time thai you gave your evidence, and I own that my impression is that he is innocent. I give every weight to your eviden-e and that afforded by th< glove, and to his ■• ing air^ to ]rove where lie lacv, his manner, and the !i 'ik that he is cai)able of was; and yet, a >'•.(. fioi tone of his voice, I lo ?yx\ murder." No other words were si)oken iur some time, then the lieutenant asked : *' Do you think that an insane person could commit a crime of this kind and have no memory of it in their saner moments ? " " That is a difficult nuestion, Gulston. I do believe that a person in a sudden paroxysm of madness might commit a murder and upon his recovery be perfectly un- conscious of it ; but I do not for a moment believe that a madman sufficiently sane to act with the cunning here shown in the mode of obtaining access, by the quiet stealthiness in which the victim was killed whilst in her sleep, and by the attempt to divert sur;picion by the abstraction of the trinkets, would lose all memory of his actions afterwards. If Cai)tain Mervyn did this thin^, I am sure he would be conscious of it, and I am convinced, as I said, that he is not conscious." "What will the jury think? " the lieutenant asked, after a long pause. " 1 think they are sure to return a verdict against him. A coroner's jury are not sup[)osed to go into the reason of the thing \ they are simply to declare whether there is prima facie evidence connecting anyone with a crime ; such evidence as is sufficient lo justify them in coming to a conclusion that it should at any rate be further examined into. It's a very different thing with a jury at a trial ; they have the whole of the evidence that can be obtained b'.- fore them. They have all the light that can be thiown on THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. 7S the question l)y the rouii.'.'l cjii botli sides, and the assis- tance of tlu' summing up of the judge, and luive then to (U'cide if the guilt of the man is a])SohiteI> ])roven. A (•()rr)ner's jury is not sui)j)osed to go into the whole merits of the casi . and their t'mding means no more than the de- cision of magistrate 1 3 comn.it a prisoner for trial. I think the < )roner will te'' the jury that in this case .uch evidence a ■ there is before them point; to the fiict that Captain Mervyy connnitted this murder, and that it will 1 .' their duiy to find such a verdict as will ensure the case h.ing further gone int ." '• Most of tlie jury are tenants of the Carnes," Oulston said ; " two or three of them I know are, for I met them at the inn when I was over here fishing. They will scarcely like to find against a relation of the fiimily." '• [ don't su])po>e they will," the doctor argued, "but at the same time the coroner will not imi)robal)ly ])oint out tu them that their verdict will simply lead to further in- vestigation of the case, and that even for C!aptain Mervyn's own sake it is desirable that this should take ])lace, f(jr that matter could not jtossibly rest here. Were they to a(:(|uit hi i, I imagine the chief constable would at once arrest him and bring him before a magistrate, who, Uj)on hearing a repetition of the evidence given to-day, would have no choice but to commit him for trial." " 1 suppose they would do that, anyhow? " Lieutenant Ciulston said. •• Not necessarily ; I fancy a man can be tried upon the fnuling of a coroner's jury as well as upon that of a magis- trate. rerhai)s, however, if the coroner's jury finds against him he may be formally brought u]) before the magistrates, and a i)ortion of the evidence heard, sufficient to justify them in committing him for trial. See, people are going into the house again. Probably they have thrown the door open, and the jury are going to give their finding. I don't think we need go in." \ t 7« THE CURSE UE c\ I AWE'S HOLD, CHAPTKR VI. RUTH POWT.KTT. T.iKUTFNANT GuLSTON and his companion had not long to wait to learn the verdict, for in a few minutes the i)eople began to jjoiir out of the Iiouse, and a constable came out, and, after looking round, walked up to the lieutenant. *' Mr. (iulslon," he said, "your presence will be re- quired to-morrow at eleven o'clock at Mr. Volkes'. Cap- tain Mervyn will be brought \\\) there at eleven o'clock to- morrow." " Very well," Mr. Gulston replied ; " what verdict has the coroner's jury found?" "They have found C'aptain Mervyn guilty of wilful murder," the man rei)licd. The next morning the enquiry was henrd before Mr. Volkes and two other magistrates, and the doctor's evi- dence, that of Mr. Gulston, the gardener, the cook, and of the constable who found the glove, was considered sufficient. Mr. Carne was not summoned, and although Ruth Powlett's name was called she did not answer to it, Dr. Arrowsmith exj)laining to the bench that she was too ill to be })resent. Captain Mervyn was asked if he had any questions to ask the witnesses or any statement to make, but he simply said that he should reserve his de- fence, and the case was then adjourned for a week to see if any further evidence would be forthcoming, the magis- trate intimating that unless some altogether new light was thrown upon the subject they should commit the prisoner for trial. Very gravely and silently the men who composed the coroner's jury walked down to Carnesford ; scarce a word was spoken on the way, and a stranger, meeting them, miglit hr.ve suppt)sed, not unnaturally, that they were returning from a funeral. The news had arrived before them, having been carried down at full speed by one of the few villagers who had been present. It had at first THE CURSE OE CARNE'S HOLD. 77 been received witli al)solutc incredulity. Tiic idea tliat Claptain Mervyn sliould kill Margaret Carno seemed so wild a i)roj)Osition that the first j)erson to arrive with it was wholly disbelieved, and even the confirmation of those who followed him was also doubted. People, however, moved towards the foot of the hill to meet the jury, and a small croW'l had collected by the time they came down. The jury, upon being (juestioned, admitted that they had found Ronald Mervyn guilty, and when the fact was grasped, a sort of awed silence fell U])on their hearers. " Why, whatever arc you all thinking of? " one of the men said. " Why, you must have been downright mad. You find that Cai)tain Mervyn would murder his own cousin, and Mr. Carne your own landlord, too ! I never heard tell of such a thing." The jury, indeed, were regarded almost to be as culprits ; even to themselves now their verdict seemed monstrous, though at the time the evidence had appeared so strong that they had felt themselves unal)le to resist the coroner's expressed opinion that, U])on the evidence before them, they had no course open but to return a verdict of wilful murder against Ronald Mervyn. " You will hear about it presently, lads." Hiram Powlett said. " If you had been in our jilace and had heard what we have heard, you would have said the same. 1 should have no more believed it myself this morning, if any one had told me that Ca|)tain Mervyn had murdered his cousin, than 1 should if they had told me that the mill stream was running the wrong way ; but now I sees otherwise. 'Inhere ain't one of us here as wouldn't have given another verdict if we could have done so, l)ut having heard what we heard there weren't no other verdict to be given. I would have given a hundred pounds myself to have found any other way, but I couldn't go against my conscience ; and ])esides, the coroner told us that if Captain Mervyn is innocent he will have full opportunity of proving it at the trial. And now I must be off home, for I hear Mr. Carne sent down Ruth, as soon as she had given her evidence, in one of liis carriages." Ruth had so far recovered that she was sitting on a chair by the fire when her father entered. She had heard nothing of what had taken })lace at the inquest beyond her own evidence, and she looked anxiously at her fiither as THE CURSE OF CARNF^S HOLD, \< m he slowly took offhisrort and hat and hung them up, and came over to the fire beside her. " How are you feeling now, Ruth? Vou were looking sadly wlien you were in the court." " I believe you will kill the child between you," Mrs. Vowlett said, testily, as she entered with the dinner. " Any- one can see with half an eye that she ain't fit to be going before a court and giving evidence after the shock as she lias had. She ought to have been left quiet, if you had half the feeling of a man in you, Hiram I'owlett, you wouldn't have left them do it. If I had been there I should have got u]) and said ' N'our worshij) can see for yourself as my daughter is more fit to be in bed than to be wor- ritted and (juestioned here. .She ain't got nothing to tell you more than you knows yourself. She just came in and found her mistress dead, and that's all she knows about it.'" '' And what verdict did you find, father? " Ruth asked as soon as her mother had finished. " Verdict ! What verdict should they find ? " Mrs. Pow- lett said, angrily, " but that they just knew nothing at all about it." "That wasn't the verdict, Hesba," Hiram Powlett said, as he seated himself at the table. *' I wish to (iod it had been ; there was things came out at the trial as altogether altered the case. We found as one had been quarrelling with Miss Carne and threatening what he would do to her. We found as something belonging to him had been found close at hand, where it could only have been put some- where at the time of the murder. We found as the i)erson couldn't tell us where he had been at the time ; and though it were sorely against us to do it, and seemed the most un- natural thing in the world, we had to find a verdic.- of wil- ful murder against Captain Mervyn." Ruth had risen from her seat as her father was speaking ; her face had grown whiter and whiter as he went on, and one hand had gone to her heart, while the other clutched at the back of the chair. As he finished she gave a sud- den start and burst into a scream of hysterical laughter, so startling Hiram Powlett and his wife, neither of whom were looking at her, that the former upset his chair as he started to his feet, while the latter droi)ped the plate she was in the act of setting before him. THE cVKSE ni' carA'/cs iroi.t). 7^ For some minutes llic wild l.iii^litcr rnng through the Ijousc. Ilcsba had at ont not stop here. I shall be heartily glad myself when t!ie trial is over. Go where I will I hear nothing else talked about. No one attends to his own business, and the amount of drunkenness in the place has trebled. If I had my way, I would have a regulation inflicting a heavy fine upon every one who after the conclusion of the trial ventured to make any allusion, however slight, to it. It's disgustirig to see the number of j)eople who come here every day and go up the hill to have a look at the house." 84 THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD, \ aiiii ;•■■ ii\ di As the day for the trial approaclied, Ruth Powlett became more and more anxious and nervous about it. It kcj)t her awake at nights, and she brooded on it during the day. For hours she would sit with her eyes fixed upon the fire without opening her lijjs, and the doctor became seriously anxious lest she should l)e again laid up l)efore it became necessary to give her evidence. There was indeed a terrible light going on in Ruth's mind. She knew that Captain Mervyn was innocent; she knew that (leorgc Forrester was guilty, and yet the memory of her past li/e was still so strong in her that she could not bring herself to denounce him, unles.> it became absolutely necessary to do so to save Konald Mervyn's life. Ronald had insulted and threatened her mistress, and had not Oeorge F'orrester been before-hand with him, he might have done her some grievous harm, or he might perhaps have murdered Lieutenant Gulston, for whom Ruth felt a strong attraction, because she had discerned that Margaret loved him. It was right, then, that Ronald Mervyn should suffer, but it was not right that he should be hung. If he could clear himself without her being obliged to denounce '^eorge Forrester, let him do so ; but if not, if he Wde found guilty, then she had no other course open to her. She must come forward and produce the knife and describe how she had found it, and confess why she had so long concealed it. All this would be very terrible. She pictured to herself the amazement of the court, the disap- proval with which her conduct would be received, the way in which she would be blamed by all who knew her, the need there would be for going aw\ay from home afterwards and living somewhere where no one would know her story ; but not for this did she ever waver in her determination. Ronald Mervyn must be saved from hanging, for she would be as bad as a murderess if she kept silent and suffered him to be executed for a crime she knew that he had not conunilted. Still she would not do it until the last thing ; not till ever-, tiling else failed would she denounce George Forrester as a nrndcrrr. She loved him no longer ; she knew that had he not b?cn interrupted he would perhaps have killed her. it Vv", m "What do yon think will be the verdict, sir? Do you think they will find ClajJlain Mcrvyn guilty?" *' 1 do not like to give an ojjiiiion, Mrs. Powlett. It depends so much on the jury, and on tht; way the counsel and judge put it, but 1 hardly think that the evidence is sufiicient to hang a man. 'I'here are, of course, grave grounds for suspicion, but I should doubt whether any jury would find a man guilty upon them. It would be amply sufficient if it were merely a case of robbery, but men don't like to find a verdict where there is a j)ossibility of their finding out too late to save a man's life, that ihey have been mistaken. At any rate, Mrs, Powlett, do your best to keep Ruth's thoughts from dwelling on the subject. I wish it was simimer weather, and tJKit she could sit out in the garden. Of course she is not strong enough to be able to walk, except for a hundred yards or so, but I would get her to take a little turn, if it's only once round the garden now and then." " [ don't think she would walk if she could, sir. When I was speaking the other day about her getting well enough to go cut for walks, she turned white and shivered, and said she didn't want to go outside the door again, not for ever so long. That fall she got seems to have changed her altogether." " Well, well, we must get her away, as I said, Mrs. Powlett. She wants more bracing air than you have got here, and to have the wind either coming straight off the sea or else to be in some hilly breezy place." " I am sure I don't know how it's to be managed. She can't go by herself and 1 don't see how I am to leave Hiram." " You will have to leave Hiram for a day or two and take her wherever we fix upon as the best place, and settle her there. Hiram will get on very well without you for a day or two. She is no more fit to travel alone than a baby. However, I must be off. Keep up her spirits as well as you can, and don't let her brood over this busi- ness." At last the day when Ronald Mervyn was to l)e tried for murder arrived. The Assizes were at Exeter, and never in the memory of man had there been such numerous applications to the sheriff- and other officials for seats in the court. The interest in the case had extended far THE CURSE Of CARME'S HOLD. »7 f hcyond the limits of Devonshire. The rank in Hfe of the \ ictim and tlic accused, the cohl-hlooded nature of the murder, and the nature of the evidence, rendered tlie affiiir a canst celcbri\ and \\\'d. pros and cons of the case were discussed far and wide. 'I'he sto.'y of the curse of Carne's Hohl liad been given at full length by the reporters of the local i)ai)ers and < ()l)ied by all the journals of the kingdom, and the fact that madness was hereditarv in the familv went for much \\\ tlie argnments of those who held that Caj)tain Mervyn was guilty. Had it not been for this, the tide of public feeling would have been distinctly in favor of the accused. By itself, the rest of the evidence was inconclusive. NFen who have been jilted not unfrequently use strong language, and even threats, without anything coming of it. The fact of the glove having been found where it was was certainly suspicious, but after all, that in itself did not count for much ; the glove might have been Ijlown to where it was found, or a dog might have ])icked it up and carried it there. A dozen explanations, all possible even if not i)robable, could be given for its presence, and before a man could be found guilty of murder upon circum- stantial evidence, there must be no room whatever left f^r doubt. Therefore, the quarrel, the finding of the glove, and even the fact that Captr.in JMervyn was unable to prove an aiihi., would scarcely have caused public o])inion to decide against him had it not been for the fact of that taint of insanity in his blood. Call a dog mad and you hang him. Call a man mad and the public will easily credit him with the commission of the most desperate crimes ; therefore, the feeling of the majority of those who assembled at the Court House at Exeter, was unfavorable to Ronald Mer- The attitude of tne prisoner did much to dispel this imi)ression ; he was grave, as one might well be with such a charge hanging over him., but there was nothing moody or sombre, still less wild, in his ex})ression ; he looked calmly round the court, acknowledged the encouraging nods given Jiim by some of his fellow othcers who had come over to bear witness on the point of character, and who to a man believed him to be innocent. . Certainly there was nothing to suggest in the slightest degree the suspicion of madness in his appearance ; and many of 'M 88 THE CURSE OF CARNI^S HOLD. i*r those who had l)L'fore been im])rcssed by the story of the family taint, now veered round and whispered to their friends that the story of insanity was all nonsense, and that Ronald Mervyn looked wholly incapable of such a crime as that of which he was accused. Dr. Arrowsmith had brought Ruth over under his l>ersonal charge. As she came out, when he called in his trap to take her to the station, he was surprised at the change which had taken place since he saw her the even- ing l)efore. Tlie anxious and nervous exi)ression of lier face was gone, and she looked calm and comjjosed. 'I'lieie was indeed a certain determined exjjression in her face that led the doctor to believe that she had by a great effort con(iuered her fear of the ordeal to which she was to be exposed, and had nerved herself to go through it unflinchingly. As they journeyed in the train she asked him : "Shall we be in the court all the time, doctor.-* " "No, Ruth, I do not think you will be in court. I fancy the witnesses remain in a room together until they are wanted. I myself shall be in court, as the solicitor for ihe defence is a personal friend of mine, and will give me a pk.!, V at his tal)le," " Do you think, sir, tliat after I have given my evidence they would let me i-tand there until it is done ? '' " I should hardly hink so, Ruth, and I am sure it would be a very bad thir-^ for you." "I have a parficular reason for wanting to be there, Doctor Arrowsmith, and to hear it to the end. A most particular reason. I can't tell you what it is, but 1 must be there." The doctor looked at her in surprise. ''You think you will not feel the susi-ense as much it you are in the court as you would outside, Ruth ? Is that what you mean ? " " That's it, partly, sir. Anyhow, I feel that I must be there.'' " Very well, Ruth, if you see it in that way, I wnll do what I can for you. I will ask Captain Hendricks to speak to the policemen in the court and tell them to let you remain there after you have given your evidence. There will be a great crowd, you know, and it will be very close, and altogethier 1 think it is foolish and wrong of you." THE CURSE OE (WANE'S irOl.D. 89 ** I am sorry you think so, sir, l)ut I do want to be there, whatever happens to nie afterwards.'' "Of course you can do as you ]'ke, Ruth, Ivut the prob- al)ility is that you will faint before you have been there five minutes." " I will try not to, sir, and I don't think 1 shall. It is only when I get a sudden shock that I faint and I don't think I can get oiie there." CHAPTER VII. THE VERDICT. The trial of Ronald Mervyn for the murder of Margaret ("arne was marked by none of the unexpected turns or sudden surjjrises that not unfre(iuently give such a dra- matic interest lo the })roccediiigs. All the efforts of the police had failed in unearthing any facts that could throw a new light upon the subject, and the evidence brought forward was almost identical with that given at the coro- ner's inquest ; the counsel asked a great many (juestions, ])Ut elicited no new facts of importance ; the only witnesses (^alled for the defence were those as to character, and one after another the officers of AFervyn's regiment came forward to testify that he was eminently poi)ular, and that they had never observed in him any signs of madness. They said that at times he got out of si)irits, and was in the habit of withdrawing himself from their society, and that on these occasions he not infrequently went for long rides, and was absent many hours ; he was, perhaps, what might be called a little queer, but certainly not in the slightest degree mad. Old servants of the f^miily, and many neighbors gave testimony to the same effect, and Dr. Arrowsmith testified that he had attended him from childhood, and that he had never seen any signs of insanity in his words or actions. Ruth had escaped the one question which she dreaded, whether she had seen anything in the room that would afford a clue to the discovery of the perpetrator (A the rrime. She had thought this cpiestion over a hundred times, and she had pondered over the answer she should W''i- I ml :iJ & .: < liJH-; 90 77//; CUKSI'l Of CAKA'/:\S HOLD. give. SluMvas firmly resolved not to tell ;in actual lie, hut either to evade the (juestion hy rejilying tluit when she recovered her senses she ui;ide straiglil to the door wiihoul looking round; or, if forced to rei)ly directly, to refuse to answer, whatever the conseijuences might be. It was then with a sigh of decj) relief that she left the witness hox. aiid took U]) her station at the jjoint to wlii( ii the jioliceman made way for her. As she did so, however, he whis- l)ered : — "1 think you had better go out, my girl. 1 lon't think this is a fit i>lace for you. You look like to droj) now," but she shook her head silently, and look up lu'r station in the corner, grasping in one hand something done up in many folds of pajjcr in her j)()c-ket. The same (|Ucstion had been asked other witnesses by the counsel for the defenci-, and he had made a consider- able i)oint of the fact that the constable and Dr. Arrow- smith both testified that they were standing one on eacli side of the looking glass, and although the room had been carefully searched, no half-burnt match hnd been dis- covered. In his address for the defence he had animad- verted strongly u])on this ])()int. *' It was a dark night, gentlemen. A dark night in November. You will remember we had the evidenc that whoever committed this murder must have moved about the room noiselessly ; the evidence shows that the murderer drew down the clothes so gently and softly that he did not awaken the sleeper. Now, as intelligent men, you cannot but agree with me that no man could have made his way about this absolutely dark room with its tables and its furniture, and carried out this murder in the way stated, without making some noise ; it would be an utter impossibility. A\'hat is the conclusion? He was either provided with a light or he was forced to strike a match and light a candle. " In the latter case he must have been provided with silent matches or the noise would have awakened the sleeper. Of one thing you may be sure, Captain Mervyn had not provided himself w^ith silent matches ; but even had not the sound of an ordinary match being struck awakened the sleeper, surely the sudden light would have done so. I ask you from your own experience whether, however soundly you might be sleeping, the effect of a TifE CURSE or cakxe:s iioT.n. 9t on cac'.i candle Ix-inj; lit in your room would not awaki-n yixi ; tlicTeforc I think it safi- to assume that in the first i)laee, I»i-e.aiisc no match was found, and in the second ])lace, Ill-cause had a candle heen lit it would have assuredly awakened the sleei)er, and we know that she was not ,1 wakened, that no caiidlt' v/as li:;hled in the room. ' ilow then did the assassin manage after entering the room to avoid the dressing taMe, tlie chairs, and other furniture, and to see to manipuhite the l)e(lclothes so i^ently that the sleeper was not awakened? A\'hy, gentle- men, by means of tlie im|)lenu'nt carrieil hy every i)rofes- Sl' )nal burglar, I mi-aii, of course, a dark lantern. ()])en- ing the slit slightly, and carefully abstaining from throwing the light towards the bed. the burglar would nLd-ce his wav towards it. show sufficient light to carrv out his diabolical i)Uri)ose, and then o])ening it freely to examine tin- room, ()i)en the triid^et box. and <;'.rrv away the valu- allies. •• The counsel for the ])rosecution, gentlemen, has not even ventured to suggest that the i)risoner, ('ai)tain Mer- vyn, was ])Ossessed of such an article. His cour ha.s heen traced through every village that he rode, uj) to ten n (I ( lock at night, bv which time t;vcry sho]) had long bee closed, and liad he stoj^jied anywhere to buy such an artielc we should surely have heard of it. Therefore, gentlemen. I maintain that everi if this fact stood alone, it ought to convince you of the innocence of the i)risoncr. In his reply, the counsel for the ])rosecution had admitted that some weight must be attaclied U) this ])oint, but that it was (juite ])ossible that whoever entered the window might have felt on the table until he found a cai dlestick, and lit it, stooping down behind the table, or at the bottom of the bed, and so shading it with his coat so that its light would not fall on the face of tlu' sleei)er. As for the I'oint made that no match had been found, no great weight eould l)e attached to it, the ])rison^r might have put it in his ])0cket or thrown it out of the window." When the defence was concluded, and the counsel for the prosecution rose to speak, the feeling in the court was still against the ])risoner. In all that had been said the evidence pointed against liim, and him only, as the author of the crime ; no hint of suspicion had been dropped against any other person j and n IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) A i.O I.I 1.25 E HI pie ■ 10 1^1 1^ 2.5 2.2 2.0 1.8 U ill 1.6 6" V] (^ /i % ^B .^.^^ 7 ^#^">/ > :;&.. y >^ Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. MS80 (716) 872-4503 g± THE CURSE OE CARME'S HOLD. 1 , the manner in which tlie frime had been committed indi- cated strongly tliat it was the act of a i)erson actuated by jealousy, or animosity, rather than that of a mere burglar. This view of the case was strongly brought on by the counsel for the prosecution, " The theory of the ])rosec)ition is," he said, " not that this unfortunate gentleman while in the full i)ossession of his senses, slew this lady, to whom he was nearly related, and for whom he had long cherished a sincere affection — the character you have heard given him by so many wit- nesses would certainly seem to show him to be a man incajj- able of such a crime. Our theory is the latent taint of insan- ity in his blood — that insanity which, as you have heard from Dr. Arrowsmilh and other witnesses, is hereditary in his ancestors on his mother's side, and has before now caused calamities, almost if not quite as serious as this — suddenly flamed out. We believe that, as has been shown by wit- nesses, he gallopi)ed away many miles over the country. ])ut we believe that at last wrought up to the highest pitch of frenzy he returned, scaled the wall, opened the window, and murdered IMiss Carne. You have heard that he was subject to moody fits, when he shunned all society, these fits, these wild rides you have heard of, are symptoms of a disordered mind. Perhaps had all gone hapi)ily with him the malady would not have shown itself in a more serious form. " Unfortunately, as we know, there was sharp and sud- den unhappiness ; such unliai>piness as tries the fibre even of the sanest man, and might well have struck a fatal blow to his minu. It is not because you see him now, calm, and self-possessed, that you are to conclude that this theory is a mistaken one. Many, even the most danger- ous, madmen have long intervals when, ai)parently, their sanity is as perfect as that of other ])eo])le. Then suddenly, sometimes altogether widiout warning, a change takes place, and the cpiiet and self-possessed man becomes a dangerous lunatic, perhai)s a murderer. '' Such, gentlemen, is the theory of the ])rosecution. You will, of course, weigh it carefully in your minds, and it will be your duty, if you agree with it, to give expression to your o])inion in your verdict." The judge summed u]) the case with great care. After going through the evidence piecemeal, he told them that TlfE CURSE OF CA AWE'S HOLD, n while the counsel for the defence had insisud upon the uncertainty of circumstantial evidence, and the numerous instances of error that had resulted from it, ii was his duty to tell them that in the majority of cases of murder there could be from the nature of thini^s only circumstantial evidence to go upon, for that men did not commit murder in the open streets in sight of other peoi)Ie. At the same time, when circumstantial evidence alone was forthcoming, it was necessary that it should he of a most conclusive character, and that juries should before finding a verdict of guilty be convinced that the facts showed that it was the l)risoner and he only who could have done the deed. " It is for you, gentlemen, to decide whether the evidence that has been submitted to you does ]>rove abso- lutely and conclusively to your minds that the prisoner must have been the man who murdered Miss Came. Counsel on both sides have alluded to the untjuestioncd fact that madness is hereditary in the family of the jirisoner ; whether or not it is inherited by him, is also for you to decide in considering your verdict. \'ou will have to con- clude first whether the i)risoner did or did not conmiit this murder. If you believe he did so and that while he did so he was insane and incapal)le of governing his actions, your duty will be to find him not guilty upon the ground of insanity." The general tenor of the summing up certainly showed that in the oi)inion of the judge the evidence, although strong, could not be considered as absolutely conclusive. Still, the bias was not strongly expressed, and when the jury retired, opinions in court were nearly equally divided as to what the verdict would be. When he left the witness box, Dr. Arrowsmith made his way to the corner in which one of the jXilicemen had I)laced Ruth after giving her evidence. She had done this with a steadiness and composure that had surj)rised the doctor ; she had fortunately escaped much questioning, for the counsel saw how fragile and weak she looked, and as she had but entered the room, seen her mistress dead, fainted and left again, there was but little to ask her. The ([uestions put were — Was the jewelry safe in the box when she left the room the night befo'v ? Did she rememl)er whether the window wa.; fastened or not? To this her reply was negative. Miss Carne had shut it herself when in mi' ' ?M r.; A :; 04 THE CURSE OF CAkNE'S HOLD. she went up in the afternoon, and she had not noticed whether it was fastened. " Was the blind a Venetian or an ordinary roller blind? " «' A roller blind." "Then if the window opened, it could be pushed aside without noise. Had she noticed whether the candlesticks were standing where she had left them? " " She noticed that they were on the table and in about the same place where they were standing the night before, but she could not say exactly." " I want you to go out, Ruth," Dr. Arrowsmith said, when he reached her after the jury had retired. '* They may be an hour or more before they make up their minds. You are as white as death, child. Let me lead you out." Ruth shook her head, and murmured '* I must stay." The doctor shrugged his shoulders and returned to his seat. It was an hour and a half before the door opened and the foreman of the jury entered. As he was un- accompanied, it was evident that he wanted to ask a question. " My lord," he said, " we are unanimous as to one part of the verdict, but we can't agree about the other." " How do you mean, sir? " the judge asked. " I don't want to know what you are unanimous about, but I don't understand what you mean about being unanimous about one part of the verdict and not unanimous on the other." The foreman hesitated. Then, to the astonishment of the court, the prisoner broke in in a clear, steady voice : " I will not accept acquittal, sir, on the ground of in- sanity. I am not mad ; if I had been the events of the last two months would have driven me so. I demand that your verdict be guilty or not guilty." The judge was too surprised to attempt to check the prisoner when he first began to speak, and although he attempted to do so before he had finished, the interruption was ineffectual. " Go back, sir," the judge then said to the foreman. " You must be unanimous as to the whole of your verdict." The interruption of the prisoner had enlightened those in court as to the nature of the foreman's question. Un- doubtedly he had divined rightly. The jury were in favor of the verdict of not guilty, but some of them would have added on the ground of insanity. The interruption, THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. 99 although irregular, if not unprecedented, had a favorable effect upon his hearers. The quickness with which the accused had seized the i)oint, and the steady, resolute voice in which he had spoken told in his favor, and many who before, had they been in the jury box would have returned the verdict of not guilty on the ground of in- sanity, now doubted whether they would add the conclud- ing words. A quarter of an hour later the jury returned. " We are now unanimous, my lord. We say that the prisoner at the bar is not guilty." A sound like a sigh of relief went through the court. Then everyone got up, and there was a movement to the doors. The policeman lifted the bar, and Ronald Mervyn stepped out a free man, and in a moment was surrounded by a number of his fellow officers, while some of his neighbors also pressed forward to shake him by the hand. " I will shake hands with no man," he said, drawing l)ack ; " I will greet no man so long as this cloud hangs over me — so long as it is unproved who murdered Mar- garet Came." *' You don't mean it, Mervyn. You will think better of it in a few days," one of his fellow officers said as he emerged into the open air. " What you have gone through has been an awful trial, but now that you are jjroved to be innocent you will get over it." *' I am not proved to be innocent, though I am not ])roved to be guilty. They have given me the benefit of the doubt, but to the end of my life half the world will believe I did it. Do you think I would go through life to be pointed at as the man who murdered his cousin? I would rather blow out my brains to-night. No, you will never see me again till the verdict of guilty has been passed on the wretch who murdered my cousin. Good- bye. I know that you believe me innocent, but I will not take your hands now. When you think it over, you will see as well as I do that you couldn't have a man in the regiment against whom men as he j)assed would whisper ' murderer.' God bless you all ; " and Ronald Mervyn turned and walked rapidly away. One or two of the officers would have followed him, but the colonel stopped til em. " Leq.ve him alone, lads, leave him alone. We should h fl^ll f ■ ''' iPci i • if ^ m ( ■ 'il 1 . ^^ ( 'P : * 1' •■ (■'■ ;- " ■'! * : •) ' r^ p ''■■•'ij r/r'l THE CURSE OF CARKES HOLD, \%. feci as he does were we in his place. Good Heavens I how he must have suffered. Still he's right, and however much we j)ity him we cannot think otherwise. At the ])rescnt moment it is clear that he could not remain in the regiment." As soon as the crowd had turned away, Dr. Arrowsmith made his way to the i)oint where Ruth had been standing. Somewhat to his surprise he found her still on her feet. She was leaning back in the corner with her eyes closed, and the tears streaming down her cheeks. " Come, my dear," he said, putting his arm under hers, " let us be moving. Thank God it has all ended right." " Thank God indeed, doctor," she murmured. ** I had hardly hoped it, and yet I have prayed so much it might be so." The doctor found that though able to stand while sup])orted by the wall, Ruth was unable to walk. With the aid of a policeman he supported her from the court, placed her in a vehicle and took her to an hotel. " There, my dear," he said, when Ruth had been assist- ed up to a bedroom by two of the maids, *' now you go to bed and lie there till to-morrow morning, I will have a basin of strong l)roth sent you up presently. It's quite out of the question your thinking of going home to-night. I have several friends in town, and am glad of the excuse to stay over the night. I will call for you at ten o'clock in the morning ; the train goes out at half-past ten ; I will have your breakfast sent up here. I will go down to the station now. There are lots of people over here from Carnesford, and I will send a message back to your mother, saying that you have got through it better than I expected, l)ut I wanted you to have a night's rest, and you will be home in the morning." " 'I'hank you, doctor; that is kind of you," Ruth murrnured. " Helj) her into bed, girls. She has been ill, and has had a very trying day. Don't ask her any questions, but just get her into bed as soon as you can." Then the doctor went downstairs, ordered the broth and a glas.; of sherry for Ruth, and a bedroom for him- self, and then went off to see his friends. In the morning he was surprised when Ruth came downstairs to see how much better she looked. i' ! THE CURSE OF CARRE'S HOLD. 99 * My prescription has done you good, Ruth. I am glad to see you look wonderfully better and brighter." " I feel so, sir. I went to sleep directly 1 had taken the broth and wine you sent me up, and I did not wake till they called me at half-past eight. I have not slept for an liour together for weeks. I feel as if there was such a load taken off my mind." *' Why, Ruth, you didn't know Captain Mervyn to speak to, did you, that you should feel such an interest in him ? " the doctor said, looking at her sharply. " No, sir, I have never once spoken to him that I know of." "Then why do you care so much about his being acquitted ? " *' It would have been dreadful if he had been found guilty when he was innocent all the time," " But then no one knew he was innocent for certain," the doctor said. " I felt sure he was innocent," Ruth replied. " But why did you feel sure, Ruth ? " "I can't exactly say, sir, but I did feel that he was innocent." The doctor looked puzzled, but at this moment the cab arrived at the station, and the subject was not renewed, but the doctor afterwards wondered to himself more than once whether Ruth could have had any particular reason for her assurance of Ronald Mervyn's innocence. For another ten days the Mervyn trial was the great topic of conversation throughout the county, and the verdict was canvassed with almost as much keenness and heat as the crime had been before the trial. Now that Ronald Mervyn was no longer in hazard of his life, the feeling of pity which had before told so strongly in his favor was wanting. If a man so far forgets himself as to use threats to a woman, he must not be suri)rised if he gets into trouble. Of course, now the jury had given a verdict of " Not guilty," there was no more to be said. There was no doubt he was a very lucky fellow, and the jury had given him the benefit of the doubt. Still, if he hadn't done it, who had killed Margaret Carne ? Such was the general opinion, and although Ronald had still some staunch adherents in his own neighborhood, the tide of feeling ran against him. ■"It'' ''1 nil m r n :...,- i f 't .'•■ 98 THE CURSE OE C\l AWE'S HOLD. m % Two months after the trial, Mrs. Mervyn died, broken down by grief, and wliilc this natu.aily caused a renewal of the talk, it heightened rather tlian otherwise the feeling against her son. The general verdict was that it was his doing ; whether he killed Margaret Carne or not, there was no doubt that he had ;lled his mother. All this was doubtless unfair, but it was not unnatural ; and oply those who believed thoroughly in Ronald's innocence felt how hard this additional ])ain must be for him. Immediately the funeral was over, the two girls moved away to London, and the house was advertised to let, but the odor of the recent tragedy hung over it. No one cared to take a house with which such a story was con- nected. A month or two later there was a sale of the furniture ; the .house was then shut up and lost to the county. Ten days after the trial it was annf>unced in the Gazette that Ronald Mervyn had retired from the service upon sale of his commission. No one had seen him after he had left the court a free man. His horses were sold a week later, and liis other belongings forwarded from the regiment to an address he gave in London. His mother and sister had a few days later gone up for a day to town, and had met him there. He had already written to them that he intended to go abroad, and they did not seek to combat his resolution. " I can never come back, mother, unless this is cleared up. You must feel as well as I do, that 1 cannot show my face anywhere. I am suri)rised that I have got off myself, and indeed if it were not that 1 am sure I never got off my horse that night, I should sometimes suspect that I must for a time have been really mad and have done what they accuse me of. I have already sent down a detective to the village. There must be some clue to all this if one could only hit upon it, but 1 own that at present I do not see where it is to be looked for. I do not believe that it was done l^y some passing tramp. I agree with every word tha" was said at my trial in that respect. " Everything points to the fact that she was deliberately murdered, though who except myself could have entertained a feeling of animosity against ALirgaret, God only knows. There is one comfort, mother, and only one," he said, with a hard laugh. " I can set our minds at ease on one point, which I have never felt sure about before, that is, that I edge ( THE CURSE oE carxe:s hold. 99 li.avc not inherited the curse of the Carnes. ILul I done so, the hist two months would have made a ravip.g hmatic of me, whereas I have never fell my licad enoler and my reason clearer than I have since the day I was arrested. I)Ut you mustn't grieve for me more than you can help, mother ; now that it is over, I feel more for you and the girls than I do for myself. 1 have a sort of conviction that somehow, though I don't see how, the thing will be cleared up some day. Anyliow I mean to go and lead a rough life somewhere, to kcej) myself from brooding over it. The weight will really fall upon you, far more than upon me, and I should strongly advise you to sluit up the house, let it if you can, and either come tij^ liere or settle in some })lace — either ]5righton or Hastings — where this story will be soon forgotten and no one will associate your names with this terrible business." About that time a stranger arrived at Carnesford. He announced that he was a carpenter from the North, and that he suffered from weak lungs, and had ])een recom- mended to live down South. After staving for a week at the Carne's Arms he stated that he liked the village so much that he should settle there if he saw a chance of making a Hvelihood, and as it ha])pened that there was no carpenter in the village, the idea was received with favor, and a week later he was established in a cottage that ha])pened to be vacant. As he was a man who seemed to have travelled about England a good deal, and was well spoken and informed, he soon took a good position in the l)lace, and was even admitted to form one of the party in the snuggery, where he would talk well upon occasions, but was specially po})ular as an excellent listener. When spring came there was a fresh sensation. The gardener at The Hold, in digging up some ground at the edge of the shrubbery, to ])lant some rhododendrons there, turned up the missing watch and jewelry of Margaret Carne. It WcTs all buried together a few inches below the soil, without any wrapper or covering of any kind. Captain Hendricks arrived at Carnesford as soon as the news of the discovery reached him. Reginald Carne was himself away, having been absent ever since the trial took place. Most of the servants had left at once ; the old cook anc| a niece of hers alone remaining in charge, and two stablemen from the garden also staying in the house. t k loo r///: CUKSE OF caknf's //old. Nothing came of the discovery, but it of course renewed the interest in the mystery of Margaret Game's death, and the general ojjinion was lliat it was fortunate indeed for Ronald Mervyn that the discovery had not been made l)efore his triiil, for it completely demolished the theory that the murder was the work of a burglar. It was possible, of course, that such a man, knowing the active luie and cry that would be set on foot, and that it would ]>e dangerous to offer the jewelry for sale, and still more dangerous to keej) it about him, had at once buried it, intending to go back some day to recover it, for as Reginald stated at the trial the missing jewels were worth fifteen hundred pounds. But had they been so hidden they would assuredly have been put in a box or some sort of cover that would protect them from the damp, and not have been merely thrust into the ground. Altogether the discovery greatly height- ened, in;;tead of diminishing, the imi)ression that the murder was an act of revenge and not the outcome of robbery, and the cloud over Ronald Mervyn became heavier rather than lighter in consequence. Ruth Powlett had gained health and strength rapidly after the verdict of " Not guilty " had been returned against Ronald Mervyn. She was still grave and quiet, and as she went about her work at home, Hesba would sometimes tell her that she looked more like a womr.n of fifty than a girl of nineteen ; but her mind had been lightened from the Inirden of her terrible secret, and she felt comparatively hapi)y. She spent much of her time over at the Forresters, for the old man and his wife were both ailing, and they knew that there was little chance of their ever seeing their son again, for the gamekeeper who had been injured in the poaching affray had since died, and as the evidence given at the inquest all pointed to the fact that it was George Forrester who had struck the blow that had even- tually proved fatal, a verdict of " Wilful murder " had been returned against him. Ruth's conscience was not altogether free as to her con- duct in the matter, and at the time of Mrs. Mervyn's death she suffered much. As for Ronald Mervyn himself, she had little compassion for him. She would not have per- mitted him to be hung ; but the disgrace that had fallen upon him, and the fact that he had been obliged to leave the country, affected her little. She had been greatly 'M THE CURSE OF CARXE'S IIOI.D. loi attached to her mistress, wlio hatl treated lur raihcr as a friend than as a servant ; and that lu- sliould have insulted and threatened Margaret was in lier eyes an offence so serious, that she considered it riclily deserved the punish- ment that had l)efallcn him. Until she heard of Mrs. Mervyn's death, she had scarcely considered that the innocent must suffer with the guilty, and after that she felt far more than she had done hefore, that she had acted wrongly in keeping the secret, the more so since the verdict returned against George Forrester in the other case had rendered the concealment to some extent futile. But indeed Forrester and his wife diil not suffer anything like the i)ain and shame from this verdict that they would have done, had their son been proved to have been the murderer of Miss Carne. Public opinion, indeed, ran against poaching as against drunkenness, or enlisting in the army, or other wild conduct; but it was not considered as an absolute crime, nor was the result of a fight, in which a keeper might be killed by a blow struck in self-defence, regarded as a murder, in whatever j)oint of view the law might take it. Still Ruth suffered, and at times told herself bitterly that although she meant to act for the best, she had done wrongly and wickedly in keep- ing George Forrester's secret. Three months later, to the regret of all Carnesford, the carpenter, who, although not a first-rate hand, had been able to do the work of the village and neighborhood, sud- denly left. He had, he said, received a letter telling him he had come into a little property up in the North, and must return to see after it. So two days later the cottage again stood vacant, and Carnesford, when it wanted a carpenter's job done, was obliged to send over to the next village for a man to do it. m N V\ )T con- death ilf, she re per- fallen leave jreatly CHAPTER VIII. IN AFRICA. It was in August, 1850. Some newly arrived emigrants had just landed from their ship, and were walking through the streets of Cape Town, watching with great amusement }oa THE Cl'RSE OF CARM:s Ilol D. V ihc novel signts. the pirturfsciuc };n»ii])S of .swartliy ^fal.iys in luii;',' Ix'fliivc-sli.'iiH'd hats, with rrd and ydhiW Icmdanas round ihcir necks, and ilicir woincn in dnsscs of tlic most gori;rous colors. Settlers from inland farms rode at a reckless pare through tin* streets, and huge w.igons drawn by eight or ten hnllocks ^ THE CURSE OF CARXE'S HOLD. io5 ** Yes, I have no doubt you are right, Lawson ; he has the cut of a military man all over, and beyond all question a gentleman. Outran the constable at home, I suppose. Well, we will take him anyhow for rough work ; men of that stamp make the very best soldiers. I fancy we have more than one in our ranks now." "■ No, you must not bring that horse up," he broke off, addressing the young farmer, whose horse Ronald had just been examining. " He's got some vice about him, or you would not be offering him at our prices." " He's as good a * orse as there is in the Colony," the young Dutchman said ; " but I arn not offering him at your price. I thought that some young officer might be inclined to buy him, and I have brought him down to show. There is no vice about him that I know of, but he has only been mounted twice, and as he has never been off the farm before he is a bit fidgetty." ** What do you want for him ? " the major asked, examin- ing the horse closely. ''I want a hundred and twenty pounds for him." " A hundred and twenty fiddlesticks," the major said. " My man, there are not ten horses in the Colony worth a hundred and twent) pounds." " Perhaps not," the young Dutchman .said, coolly, " but this is one of the ten." Several of the other officers now came up and examined the horse, and they were unanimous in their approval of him. " He would be worth three hundred as a hunter at home," one of them remarked, ** but nobody's going to give such a price as that out here, when you can get a decent runner for twenty ; but he is certainly the handsomest horse I have seen since I have been in the Colony, and I have seen some good ones, too." The farmer moved off with the horse. As he left the ground, Ronald again walked up to him. " I like your horse," he said. " and if you will take a hundred pounds for him I will give it you." " Very well," the Dutchman said. " I will take it, but I wouldn't take a penny under. Have you the money here?" " I have not got it in my pocket," Ronald replied, ** but I have letters of credit on the bank. Walk round with me there, and I will give you the cash." % t i > i io6 THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. In ten minutes the money was obtained and handed to the farmer, wlio gave Ronald a receipt for it. Ronald took the halter from the hands of the native, and at once led the horse to the stable q{ the hotel at which he had already left his luggage. Then he ordered one of the cases to be oi)ened, and took out a saddle and bridle which he had brought out with him in view of rough Colonial work. " 1 did not expect to be suited so soon," he said to him- self, " and certainly did not expect to find such a mount here. I like him better than either of my old hunters, and will back him, after a coui)le of months' good handling, to win any military steei)lechase. That's money well laid out ; when a man may have to ride far his life, money in horse- flesh is a good investment." He went down at four o'clock, and was attested and sworn in. " I saw you down on the parade ground, Blunt," the adjutant said. "We have bought a score of horses for the use of recruits. You can have one of them at the Government price if you choose." " I am much obliged to you, sir," Ronald replied, ** but I picked one up myself." " He will have to i)ass inspection, you know, Blunt? " " I think he's good enough to pass, sir," Ronald said, quietly. " I am considered a pretty good judge of a horse." " I'here is the address of a tailor," the adjutant said, handing him a card ; " he has got a supply of the right cloth, and has contracted to supply uniforms at a very reasonable price. You need not come into barracks until to-morrow, unless you choose." *' I thank you, sir. I have a few things to get and I would rather not report myself until to-morrow afternoon, if you will give me leave." " Very well, then 1 will not ration you to-morrow. Report yourself to Sergeant Menzies any time before nine o'clock in the evening." Ronald gave the military salute, turned on his heel, and went out of barracks. He went straight to the tailor whose card had been given to him. "I want to be measured for a uniform for the Mounted Rifles," he said. " How much do you charge ? " . " AV^'e supply tunic, jacket, and two pairs of breeches, and cap for nine pounds.' »> THE CURSE OF CAR.VE'S HOLD. 107 " When can you let me have them? " " In three days." '' I must have them by to-morrow afternoon, by six o'clock, and 1 will pay you two pounds extra to get them done by then. But mind, I want good fitting clothes. Do you understand?" " Vou will i)ay eleven pounds for them if 1 get them ready by six o'clock. Very well, then, 1 will try and do them." '' Of course you can do them if you choose," Ronald said. ''If you get them cut out and stitched together, I will come in at nine o'clock in the morning to try them on. Now where can I get jack-boots ? " ''The last shop down the end of this street, Moens is the name. He always keeps a l(;t by him, and the Mounted Rifles here mostly deal with him." Ronald was fortunate enough to obtain a pair of boots that fitted him well, and he now strolled back to his hotel. The next morning, after trying on his uniform, which was of dark green, he went to the stables and saddled his new purchase. The horse was fidgetty and nervous from its new surroundings, and refused for some time to let him mount ; but he patted and soothed it, and then ])Uttiiig one hand on the saddle, sprang into it at a bound. He rode at a wo!k through the streets, and when he got beyond the limits of the town touched the horse with his s])ur. Th',' animal reared up, lashed out behind once or twice, and then went off at a gallop. Ronald ke{)t along the road until he was beyond the patches of land cultivated by the natives. When once in the open country he left the road, and allowed the horse to gallop across country until its speed abated, by which time he was nearly ten miles from Cape Town ; then he turned its head, and aj a qaiet })ace rode back to the town. ''A month's schooling," he said, ''and it will be an alm;ist j)erfect horse ; its pace is very easy, and there's no doubt about its strength and wind. Vou are a beauty, old boy," he Went on, as he jnitted the animal's neck, ''we shall soon be cai)ital friends." The uniform was delivered punctually, and after saying good-bye to his R-liow-passengers who were staying at the hotel, Ronald put on his uniform, filled the valise he had that afternoon purchased with a useful kit, took out an ex- 'I' 5^" ^ m 4 k I io8 THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. ■<- ! cellent sporting rifle that would carry (lovernment ammu- nition, and a brace of revolvers, and, packing uj) his other clothes and ordering all the baggage to be put away in a store until required, he mounted and rode into barracks. "Where shall I find Sergeant Menzies?" he asked one of the men at the guard-room. ** His quarters are over there, the last door in that corner." Ronald rode over to the point indicated, and then dis- mounted. He entered the passage. The sergeant's name was written on a piece of paper fastened on the first door. He came out when Ronald knocked. "I was ordered by the adjutant to report myself to you, Sergeant," Ronald said, saluting. " He told me that a recruit was coming, but how did you get your uniform ? Why, you only enlisted yesterday." " I hurried them up a bit," Ronald said. " Where shall I put my horse ? " The sergeant went into his quarters and came out with a lantern. He held it up and examined the horse. " W>11, lad, you have got a bonny beast, a downright beauty. You will have to get the regulation bridle, and then you will be complete. Let me look at you." He held up the lantern. "You will do, lad," he said, "if you make as good a soldier as you look. You only want the sword and belt to be complete. You will get them given to you in the morning. Now, come along and I will show you the stable." He made his way tu the stable, where there was a vacant stall, and stood by while Ronald removed the saddle and bridle and put on the head stall. " You can take an armful of hay from that rack yonder. I can't get him a ration of grain to-night, it's too late." " He's just had a good feed," Ronald said, " and will not want any more, but I may as well give him the hay to amuse himself with. It will accustom him to his new (juarters. What shall I do with my rifle and pistols ? " '* Bring them with you, lad ; but there was no occasion for you to have brought them. Government find arms." " I ha])pened to have them with me," Ronald said, "and as the rifle carries Government ammunition, I thought that they would let me use it." " If it's about the right length I have no doubt they will be glad to do so, for we have no very great store of arms, »4* THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. 109 and we are not quite so particular about having everything exactly uniform, as they are in a crack corps at home. As for the pistols, there is no doubt about them, as being in the holsters they don't show. Several of the men have gol them, and most of the officers. Now, I will take you up to your quarters." The room to which he led Ronald con- tained about a dozen men. Some had already gone to bed, others were rubbing up bits and accoutrements, one or two were reading. " Here's a new comrade, lads," the sergeant said ; " Blunt's his name. He is a new arrival from home, and you won't find him a greenhorn, for he has served already." Ronald had the knack of making himself at home, and was, before he turned in an hour later, on terms of good fellowship with his comrades. In the morning, after grooming his horse, he went in the barrack yard, when the troop formed up for dismounted drill. " Will you take your place at once in the ranks ? " Sergeant Menzies asked. *' Do you feel equal to it? " "Yes; I have not grown rusty," Ronald replied as he fell in. An hour's work sufficed to show Sergeant Menzies, who was drilling the troop, that the new recruit needed no in- structions on that score, and that he was as perfect in his drill as anyone in the troop. " Are you as well up in your cavalry drill as in the in- fantry ? " he asked Ronald as the troop fell out. " No," Ronald said, " but when one knows one, he soon gets well at home in the other. At any rate, for simple work the system is exactly the same, and I think with two or three drills I shall be able to keep my place." After breakfast the former formed up again in their saddles, and the officers took their places in the ranks. As the sergeant handed to the adjutant some returns he had been compiling, the latter asked : '* By the way, Sergeant, did the recruit Blunt join last night?" " Yes, sir, and he is in his ])lace now in the rear rank. He was in his uniform when he came, and I found this morning that he is thoroughly well up in his drill. A smart soldier all over, I should say. I don't know that he will do so well mounted, but I don't think you will see him make many blunders. He is evidently a sharp fellow," ■f ;]■■•• -^ \^ ,1 ' "' /I I;' IIO THE CURSE OF C A AWE'S HOLD. " He ought not to have taken his place until I had passed his horse, Sergeant. Still 1 can do that after parade drill is over." The adjutant then proceeded to put the troop through a number of easy niovcineiits, such as forming from line to column, and back into line, and wheeling. 'J'here was no room for anydiing else in the barrack-yard, which was a small one, as the l)arracks would only hold a single troop. Before the movements were comjjleted, the major came out. When the trooj) was dismissed Sergeant Menzies brought Ronald up to the two ofticers. He had in the morning furnished him with the regulation bridle, belt, and swotd. Ronald drew \\\) his horse at a short distance from the two officers and saluted. "There's no doubt about his horse," the major said, *' that is if he is sound. What a good-looking beast." •'That he is, Major; by Jove, 1 believe it's the very animal that young i^oer asked us one hundred and twenty j)Ounds for yesterday ; 'i)on my word, 1 believe it's the same." " I believe it is," the major agreed. " What a soldierly- looking young fellow he is ; 1 thought he was the right stamp yesterday, but 1 hardly expected to see him turn out so well at first." The two officers walked up to Ronald, examined his horse, saddle, and uniform. " That's not a regulation ritie you have got there," the major said. " No, sir, it is qne I brought from P^ngland with me. I have been accustomed to its use, and, as it is the regula- tion bore, I thought perhaps I might carry it." " It's a tritle long, isn't it?" the adjutant asked. ''Yes, sir, it's just two inches too long, but 1 can have that cut off by a gunsmith." " Very well, if you do that you can carry it," the major said. " Of course it's much better finished than the regu- lation one, but not much different in ai)])earance. Very well, we pass the horse." Ronald saluted and rode off to the stables. " He hasn't come out penniless, anyhow," the major laughed. " No, that's quite evident," the adjutant agreed. " I daresay his i> lends gave him a hundred or two to start on TirE CVRSE OF CARXE'S HOLD. lit a farm, and when he decided to join us he thought he might as well spend it, and have a final i)iece of extrava- gance." "I daresay that's it," the major agreed; "anyhow I think we have got hold of a good recruit this time." " I wish they were all like Iiim," the adjutant sighed, thinking of the trouble he often had with newly-joined recruits. '* By the way," the major said, " I have got word this morning that the draft is to be embarked to-morrow instead of next week. They took up a ship for them yestarday; it seems our men there are worked off their legs, for the Kaffirs are stealing cattle and horses in all directions, and the Colonists have sent in such a strong letter of complaint to the Governor that even he thinks the police force of the frontier ought to be strengthened. Not, of course, that he admits in the slightest that there is any ground for alarm, or believes for a moment thrff the Kaffirs have any evil intentions whatever ; still, to reassure the minds of the settlers, he thinks the troops may as well go forward at once." *' I wish to goodness," the adjutant said bitterly, "that Sir Harry Smith would take a cottage for two or three months close to the frontier ; it would not be long before his eyes were opened a little as to the character and inten- tions of the Kaffirs." " It would be a good thing," the major agreed, " but I doubt if even that would do it till he heard the Kaffirs breaking in his doors ; then the enlightenment would come too late to be of any service to the Colony. By-the-bye, the colonel told me yesterday he should send me forward next week to see after things. He says that of course if there is any serious trouble he shall go forward himself." The following morning the draft of Cape Mounted Rifles embarked on board a steamer and were taken down to Algoa Bay, and landed at Port Elizabeth, drenched to the skin by the passage through the tremendous surf that beats upon the coast, and were marched to some huts which had been erected for them on a bare sandhill behind the town. Ronald Mervyn was amused at the variety of the crowd in the straggling streets of Port Elizabeth. Boer farmers, Hottentots, Malays, and Fingoes, with complexion varying ^;il If 112 THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD, ! ' i' though every shade of yellow and brown up to black ; some gaily dressed in light cottons, some wrapped in a simple cowhide or a dirty blanket, many with but little clothing beyond their brass and copper ornaments. The country round was most monotonous. As far as the eye could see it wps nothing but a succession of bare, sandy flats, and beyond these hills si)rinkled with bush and occasional clumps of aloes and elephant trees. Upon the following morning the troop marched, followed by a wagon containing their baggage and provisions, drawn by ten oxen. A little naked boy marched at the head of the oxen as their guide, and they were driven by a Hottentot, armed with a tremendous whip of immense length, made of plaited hide fastened to the top of a bamboo pole. After a fourteen miles march the troop reached the Zwart Kop river, and, crossing the ford, encamped among the scattered mimosas, and numerous wait-a-bit thorns. The horses were then haltered, and th% and the oxen were turned out to feed till night. The next day's march was a very long one, and for the most part across sandy desert to the Sun- day River, a sluggish stream in which, as soon as the tents were pitched, the whole party enjoyed a bath. "To-morry Jove, Twenlyman," an officer of the 91st said as lie was standing beside him when Ronald rode uj) and delivered a message, *' that fellow of yours is wonderfully well mounted. He's a tine soldierly looking fellow too, ;iiul I don't know whv, but his face seems (juile familiar to ine." " I fancy he has been an officer," Captain Twcntyman replied, " we have several in the corps — men who have been obliged for some reason or other to sell out, and who, finding nothing else to do, have enlisted with us. Vou see the i)ay is a great deal higher than it is in the re- 1,'iilar cavalry, and the men as a whole are a superior class, lor you see th:jy find their own horses and uniforms, so the life is altogether pleasanter for a man of that kind than the regular service. Almost all the men are of res- j)ectable families." " 1 certainly seem to know his face," said the officer, thoughtfully, " although where I saw it I have not the least idea. What is his name ? " " He enlisted as Harry Blunt, but no doubt that's not his real name. Very few men of his kind, who enlist in the army, do so under their own names." " I don't know anyone of that name," the officer said, " but I certainly fancy that I have seen your man before ; however, I don't suppose in any case he would like being recognized ; men who are under a cloud don't care about meeting former acquaintances." A week later, to Ronald's great satisfaction, a party of twenty men, under troop-Lieutenant Daniels, were ordered to march that afternoon to the Kalousic River, whence the settlers had written praying that a force might be sent f(>r their protection, as the Kaffirs in the neighborhood were becoming more and more insolent in their manner. Many <)f their cattle had been driven off, and they were in daily expectation of an attack. Ronald was one of the Jjarty told off, and small shelter tents were served out ; these would be carried on their horses. No baggage was taken, as there would be no difficulty in obtainin;^ ])rovisions tVom the farmers. The men chosen for the service were 1, t. m ^' I I'i .4 m ii6 THE CtfRSE OF CAKXE'S ITOI.D. all in high glee at the ])rospcrt of a change from the (liil- ncss of the life at King Williamstown, and were the objerts of envy l»y their comrades. The start was made at daybreak, and after two days' long marching they reached their destination. The country was a fertile one, the farm-houses were fre(juent, most of them embedded in orchards and vineyards, show- ing signs of comfort and j)ros|)erity. " 'I'his is the first place that 1 have seen since I reached the ('f)lony," Roland said to the trooj)er riding next to him, "where I should care about settling." " There are a good many similar spots in this part of the country," the man said, " and I believe the folks here arc everywhere doing well, and would do better if it were not for these native troubles. They suffered a lot in the last war, and will, of course, bear the bnmt of it if the natives break out again. There are a good many English and Scotch settlers in this part. There are, of course, some Dutch, but as a rule they go in more for cattle farming on a big scale. ]iesides, they do not care about English neighbors ; they arc an unsociable set of brutes, the Dutch, and keep themselves to themselves as much as possible." CHAPTER IX. ON DUTY. As it was possible that the detachment might remain for some time at the present (juarters. Lieutenant Daniels at once set them to work to erect a couple of huts, each caj)able of holding ten men. Several of the farmers sent two or three of their native laborers to assist in cutting and bringing to the spot timl)er for the framework, and supplying straw for thatching the roofs. The operation was not a long one. The walls were made with wattle plastered with mud, and the work was accomplished in a couple of days. The men were glad of the shelter, for, although the heat was very great during the day, the nights were cold and sharp. The horses were picketed behind the huts. The officer took up his quarters at a farm house 9. hundred yards away. Once housed, the men had little TlfF. Cf'KSE OF CARK!:S I/OLP. »i7 \o do, for, in the daytime, there was no fear of the Kaffirs f iiiiinj; down on their j)hinderin^' expeditions, such at- tnipts being only made at niglit. When evening fell, the saddles were ])laeed on the horses, r '.i the nun lay down ill their clothes, sinijily taking off their jackets and jack jioots, so as to be in readiness to turn out at a moment's alarm. Sometimes in the day they rode out in parties of two. patrolling the whole country, not having any idea of finding Kaffirs, ])ut merely to give confidence to settlers, whose Kaffir servants were sure to give intelligence to their friends in the bush of the presence of the Mounted Ritles in the neighborhood. When they had been there a fortnight they heard that the (lovernor liad come to King Williamstown, and had simmoncd the various chiefs to assemble there. They hid all come with the exception of the i)aramount C!hief S.uidilli, had assured the (iovernor of their fidelity, sworn allegiance anew, and ratified it l)y kissing the stick of peace. 'I'he (lovernor was so satisfied with their assur- ances that he issued a reply to the i)etition of the Colonists, saving that reports throughout liritish Kaffraria were most satisfactory, and the chiefs were astonished at the sudden arrival of the trooj)s, and he hoj)ed to arrest some of the Kaffirs who had si)rcad the alarming reports. The (i(»v- ernnr gave assurance to some of the settlers who had left iheir farms that there was no occasion for alarm. A commission, however, that he appointed to investi- gate the numerous comi)laints of devastation, speedily forwarded to him such alarming accounts of the critical state of affairs, that he again left for the frontier, taking witli him from Cape Town the 73rd Regiment and a de- tachment of Artillery. A proclamation was at once issued for the establishment of a police force, the enrolment of new levies and of a corps of volimteers for self-defence, so as to leave the whole of the military at liberty for operations. One day, at the beginning of December, Ronald and a toiiirade had ridden some twelve miles out of the station, vdicn they saw a young lady on horseback riding towards them. She drew rein when she reached them. " We have had fifty cattle driven off in the night," she said. " and some of the neighbors have followed the trail. I am riding over to report the fact to your officers." ii :m ii8 77/71' CURS/-: OF CAKXF.'S HOLD. It < fi II: I s'lr I- '■■'lic< if iiii ''We can report it," Ronald said, "and save you ilio trouble of riding turther ; hut if you like we will ride back with you first, and sec if we can be of any service." " I am afraid it will be no use." the girl said ; " they will be in the woods before they can be overtaken, and then, you know, there will be nothing to do but to rei)ort where their trail ended and wait for the chance of getting compen- sation from the chief." Jiy this time they were gallo])ing back with her. The tale was similar to scores of others they had heard since | their arrival in the valley, and they knew that there was but slight chance of recovering the tra 1, the order being | stringent that they were on no account to enter the bush. The cattle^ therefore, were as good as lost, for all were well aware that in the i)resent state of things there was but little pros})ect of receiving cumj)ensation from the chief. The party found, indeed, ui)on their arrival at the farm] house, which was a large and comfortable one, and fur- nished in English style, that the neighbors had returned. having traced the si)oor of the stolen cattle up to the end] of the bush. The farmer came out to the door as his daughter I rode up. " Come in," he said to the troopers, '* and have some refreshment ; the rascals have got away again. 1 exped that they are some of my old servants, for they knew the trick of the fastenings I have i)ut to the gate of the cattle kraal, which would certainly have i)uzzled any of thc| Kaffirs. Now sit down and make yourselves at home."' The other settlers were already seated at the table that I the Hottentots, or, as they were always called, " tottie," servants, had laid with a profusion of food. I'he youngj lady, still in her blue riding habit, did not sit down to thcj table, but moved about, seeing that the '* tottie " girlsj attended to the wants of the guests. She was, Ronaldl thought, about eighteen years old, and had the graceful,! active figure so common among girls who spend much oi their time on hoiseback. She was strikingly jjretty. and! her expression of delicacy and refinement was unusualj among tlie daughters of the Colonial farmers. This he was! not suri)rised at, when he glanced at her father, who wasj a fine looking man, with gray moustache. " 1 am always glad to see the uniform again,'' he said, f ],F , J. THE CURSE Of CIRXE'S HOLD. lio presently, to Ronald. " \ server! myself when I was a Vdiing man, and was an cnsi<;n in the Rifles at Waterloo, i)iit I got tired of soldiering in the times of peace, and cnme out to the Cape thirty years ago, so you can well understand that \ am fond of a sight of the uniform again, isi)ecially of your corps, which is nearly the color of my own. Well, 1 have had pretty nearly enough of the Cape, and intend in another year or two to go back home. I have moved a good many times, as you may imagine, since I came out, but I don't like ruiming away, and besides, just at present I should get nothing for my farm." " I can imagine that farms are rather a drug in the market just now," Ronald rei)lied, '' esi)ecially just at the edge of the frontier. However, we must ho])e that this trouble will blow over, and now that the (lovernor is, as I hear, coming round with the 73rd, the Kaffirs may think brtter of it." '' I think they have made uj) their mind to give us a little trouble," the settler said. " Their witch doctor Umlanjeni has been stirring them up with all s<3rts of predictions, and Sandili, who no doubt set him to work, has, we know, been intriguing with the other chiefs. The sudden disappear- ance of the Kaffir servants from all the farms of this part of the country was, of course, in obedience to orders, and is certainly ominous. They say that tnere are altogether 3.000 muskets, 6,000.000 rounds of ball cartridge, and half-a-million assegais in the hands of the natives. It has been a suicidal business allowing trade in firearms and ammunition to be carried on by them. I wish that the talkative fools at Cape Town who manage our affairs were all located down on the frontier ; they might learn some sense then as \o the way of dealing with the natives. But the worst sign of all is that as [ have heard to-day from some of my Hottentots, the order has been given by Umlanjeni to slay and eat." '• To slay and eat," Ronald repeated in surprise. " What does that mean, sir." " Ah, that (juestion shows you have not been long in the colony," the settler said. " ^'ou know, the Kaffirs live at ordinary times entirely upon a vegetable diet, but it is their custom upon the approach of war to eat meat, believ- ing that flesh gives them courage and ferocity. However, as it was only three weeks ago that the chiefs all swore to :ti* tio THE CURSE OF CARJVE'S HOLD. be peaceable and faithful, I hardly think that there's any danger of an outbreak for some weeks to come, perha])s not for s(mie months. You see, it is just midsummer now, and my croi)s are nearly fit for cutting. I sent most of my cattle away a fortnight since, and when 1 have got my crops in I shall shut u]) the house and move into Beaufort. We have many friends there, and shall stop there until we see what comes of this business, and when it is all over I shall dispose of my farm I do not think there is any real danger here. We have always been on excellent terms with the natives, and Anta, who is chief of the tribe in this part, often comes down here and begs a bottle of Cape smoke or a pound of tobacco. He has smoked many a pipe in this room, and treacherous as the people are, I cannot think that he would allow his men to do us any harm. He generally addresses me as his white brother." An active conversation was at the same time going on between the other guests, who were discussing the farm at which it would be best for neighbors to assemble in case of attack. The settler, whose name was Armstrong, h."l placed Ronald next himself, while his comrade was at the end of the table, these being the only two seats vacant at the table when they entered. Ronald and the settler chatted quietly together for some time. Mary Armstrong, who had taken her place leaning on the back of her father's chair, when she had seen the guests attended to, occasion- ally joined in. Mr. Armstrong was pleased with his guest. " I hope next time when you ride over in this direction you will call in again," he said. " I can assure you that we shall be heartily glad to see you, and, if you can get leave off duty for a night, to put you up. It is a real pleasure to me to have a chat with someone fresh from England, and to hear how things look after all these years. Why, I shall hardly know the country again, cut up as it seems to be with these railways." After the meal was over, Ronald and his friend rode back to their quarters. " That's a nice-looking little girl," the trooper said, as they rode away from the house ; " they say her father is the richest man in these parts, and that he owns a lot of property at the Cape. If I were he I should live there instead of in this out-of-the-way place." THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. 121 " I suppose he is fond of a country life," Ronald replied, ignoring the first part of the remark ; '' I should think that society in Cape Town is not very interesting." '* I don't know that," the other replied. ** I know that if [ had money enough to settle down there you wouldn't find me many hours knocking about here as a trooper." " It's all a matter of taste," Ronald replied. " When I was at home I lived in the country and prefer it to town, and like an active life in the open air better than anything Cape Tov'/n could give me." " That's a nice young fellow, Mary — that man in the Cape Rifles," Mr. Armstrong said to his daughter the same evening. " I should say the man is altogether above his position, don't you think so?" " I do not know that I thought much about it, father. Vcs, I suppose he wasn't like an ordinary soldier." '* Not at all, Mary, not at all. I fancy from what I have heard that there are a good many young men of decent family serving in the corps. It's a thousand times better for a young fellow that's got neither money nor interest to come out here, than to stay at home breaking his heart in trying to get something to do. Yes ; I should say from his talk, and especially from the tone of his voice, that he had seen better days." " It's a pity the Colony can't afford to keep on foot four or five regiments of these Mounted Rifles. We should not hear much of native troubles if they did. The natives are much more afraid of them than of the soldiers ; and no wonder. In the first place they are more accustomed to the country, and in the second place they are armed with weapons that will kill at a considerable distance, while Brown Bess is of no use at over a hundred yards. Well, I hope that young fellow will drop in again ; I should like another chat with him. It's a i)leasant change to meet anyone who is willing to talk on some subject other than natives and crops and cattle." A week later, Ronald was sent with a despatch to King Williamstown. " There will be no answer, Blunt, " Lieutenant Daniels said, as he handed it to him ; *• at least no answer of any consequence. So you c;m stay a day in the town if you like." "Thank you, sir; but as I do not care for towns, I will, ''J :;i;,.f ' 122 THE CURSE OF CARXE\S HOLD. I if you will allow me, stop on my way hack at Mr. Arm- strong's. That is where the cattle were stolen the otiur day, and it will be on my way from King W'illiamslowii. He invited me to stay there for a day if 1 could get leave." *' Certainly, you can do so," the lieutenant said. '' Von can hear if there is any news of the Kaffirs stirring in the neighborhood; they seem to have been a bit more (|iini for the last week or so." Two days later Ronald drew rein in front of Mr. Ana- strong's house, late in the afternoon. '* I have taken you at your word, Mr. Armstrong," lie said, as the farmer came to the door. " I'm glad to see you," the other said, cordially. " It is not a mere flying visit, I hoi)e ; but you will be able to stay with us till to-morrow?" Ronald Mervyn availed himself several times of Mr. Armstrong's invitations, and when on i)atrol in that direc- tion, went in for a chat. lie was always cordially received. " We have had some of the Kalhr Police here," the farmer said to him one day. " What do you think oi them } " " They seem smart fellows and well uj) to their dutv. So far as I can see they are just the sort of men for border police work." " Yes," Mr. Armstrong agreed, " on any other border but this. To my mind they are much too closely related to the fellows in the bush to be pleasant. They are all well enough for following up a trail or arresting a stray thief, and would, 1 dare say, be faithful enough if opposed to any tribe to which they were not akin, but J doida whether they will stand to us if there is trouble with San- dilli, Macomo, and the rest of th(;m. ^'ou see how powerful the influence of these chiefs is. A\'hen the order came, pretty nearly every Kafflr in this colony left instantly, many of them leaving considerable arrears of wages l)ehind. If the tribal tie is so strong that men entirely beyond the reach of their chief come home the instant they arc summoned, how can it be expected that the Kaftirs in this police force will fight against their own kindred ? " *' Jt does not seem reasonable to expect such a thing, THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. 123 |cerl;ilnly," Ronald n.^rced. *' T cannot think myself why Jihcv (Iwl not raise the force among the I*"inu;oes. They larc just as fine a race as the Kalfirs, speak the same lan- IriaLCe, and yet they are bitterly hostile to them." " Ves, it would have heen bettiT," .\[r. Armstrong said. ■I ihink that there was a irijiidice a!j;ainst the Fingoes in I'jic first i)Iace. 'I'hey were not a jjowerful people like the I'raikas and (iak\L,MS and i5asutv>s. A good many -of them IIkkI escaj)ed from the chi.-fs who held them in subjection, |-:ul loafed about the colony. As all Kaffirs are given to thieving and drunkenness whenever they get the chance, the colonists looked down upon them more than u|)on the (iilu-r natives. Not that there !s any reason for their iloing so, except that they saw more of them, for all the Kaffirs are the same in that res})ect." "Do you think it is safe sto])])ing here, Mr. Arm- ^tr()ng?" Ronald asked. 'Ihey had been talking of the various cattle-stealing raids that had taken ])laceat various jioiiits on the frontier. '* I still til ink so for the present. liy New Year's Day 1 •>\\:A\ have got my crops in, and then I will go into town, ,is I told you I would ; l)Ut in the meantime five or six of our nearest neighlx^'s have agreed to move in here. [ have the largest farm hereabout, and we could stand a >t()ut siege." "I am glad to hear that, Mr. Armstrong; the same thing has been done in a good many ])laces. and in that way you should be quite safe. I ([uite think the Kaffirs lapable of coming down in small i)arties and attacking isolated houses, and murdering their occupants; but after their late protestations of fidelity, 1 cannot think that the (hiefs would ])ermit anything like large j)arties to sally out to make war," " 'I'hat is my idea. But they are treacherous hounds, and there is never any trusting them." *' If you can manage to send one of your Fingoes off ■villi news to us, you may be sure we shall be with you in the shortest possible time, and we will soon make mince- meat of them." '' Do not be too sure of that. I don't say in the open they would stand against a force of cavalry anything approaching their own numbers, but I can tell you that in the bush I consider that man to man they are fully a I m * .1 * I m i 124 THE CURSE OP CARNE'S HOLD, s-i W match for our troops. AVhat chance has a soldier with | his clothes and fifty or sixty pounds weight on his hiu k, who goes crashing along through the bushes and sna])iiing^ the twigs with his heavy hoots, against a native who can crawl along stark naked without making the slightest noise. and who gives the first intimation of his presence hy a shot from behind a tree, or a stab with his s])ear. Wlun 1 came out here I had naturally the same ideas as you have, and scoffed at the notion of naked savages standing up against a regular soldier, but I can tell you that 1 have changed my o]>inion, and if the tribes under SandiUi are really in earnest, 1 can tell you that you will want five times as many trooj)s as we have got in the Colony to tackle them." Two days later a message arrived with orders to Lieu- tenant Daniels to rejoin with his detachment at once. On the 1 6th of December the whole of the troops in Albany and British Kaffraria were assembled and moved under the Commander-in-Chief towards the Amatolas, the object being to overawe the Gaikas without resorting to force, which was to be carefully avoided. The troops consisted of the 6th, 73rd, and 93rd regiments and the Cajie Mounted Riiies, altogether about 1,500 strong, with two divisions of the Kaffir police. The force moved in three columns. The Governor, who was with the central column, was met by a great number of the Gaikas chiefs, with about 3,000 of their men at Fort Cox. They again e\- l>ressed their desire for peace, but their bearing and atti- tude were not satisfactory. Sandilli and his half-brother, Anta, were declared by the Governor to be outlawed, and a reward issued for their apprehension. A few days passed without further movement. On the evening of the 23rci, Sergeant Menzies said to Ronald, whom he met just as he had come out from Captain Twenty- man's, " I have two pieces of news for you, Blunt. In the first place, as you know, Corporal Hodge has lost his stripes and has been sent back to the ranks for getting drunk. The day before Captain Twentyman asked me who I could recommend, and I told him I thought there was no one in the troop who would make a better non- commissioned officer than you would. He said you were the man he had his eye upon. At ordinary times he should not have liked to give you your corporal's stripes THE CURSE OE CARNE'S HOLD. I2S after being such a short time in the corps, l)iit that iji the present state of things it was essential to have the best man who could be i)icked out, irrespective of his length of service ; besides, as you have served before it makes it altogether a different thing." | " I am much obliged to you, Sergeant," Ronald answered, " if it hadn't been for liiis trouble I should have preferred remaining in the ranks. I like a troojjcr's life, and do not care about the extra pay one way or the other. Besides, as a non-commissioned otFicer one has more responsibility and less freedom. However, as it is 1 shall be glad of the step, for doubtless if there is fighting there will be a lot of scouting and escort work with very small detachments, and I confess I would rather be in command of five or six men on such work as that, to being under the Orders of a man »vho perhaps wouldn't know as well as I do what ought to be done ; and now what is your next news? " '•The next is that our troo]) and B troop are to form part of a column 500 strong, that are to march to-morrow to a place where Sandilli is supposed to be concealed." " Well, we shall see then," Ronald said, " whether these fellows mean business or not." " I was talking to the Headquarter mess-sergeant. He tells me that the Governor's cock sure there will be no fighting, but that Sandilli will either surrender at once or bolt before we get there." " From all I can hear. Sergeant, the Governor's opinions are usually wrong. However, we shall see about it to- morrow, and at any rate it's a good thing to have the question solved one way or the other. Nothing can be worse for the Colonists and everyone else than this state of suspense. The fellows will have to make up their mind one way or the other now." In the morning the detachment, 580 strong, under Colonel Mackinnon, marched from Fort Cox. The Kaffir Police led the way, and were followed by the Cape Mounted Rifles, the Infantry forming the rear. There were a good many natives about, but these shouted friendly greetings as the column passed, and it proceeded quietly until it reached the narrow rocky gorge of the Keiskamma, which could only be traversed in single file. Ronald Mervyn had been placed in orders the })revious evening as corporal, and he was pleased to find by the remarks of the men that ■yX 4U t^ 126 THE CURSE or CARKFS IlOt.D. they did not grudge him liis j)romotion, for soldiers aiv ([iiick to recognise steadiness and al)ility, and they had long since concluded that Harry Blunt, although he never spoke about his military experiences, had served for sonic time, and thoroughly knew his work, and had heen a non- commissioned officer, if not an oft'ict-r. " I don't like the look of this place at all," he said to Sergeant Menzies as they walked to the mouth of the gorge. " If I were in command of the force moving among a population wiio might any moment shew them- selves hostile, 1 would not advance through this gorge till 1 had sent a com])any of Infantry on ahead to skirmish among the bushes, and find out whether there is anyone hidden there. On horseback as we are we should be almost at their mercy." " The Kaffir Policemen ahead ought to have done that work," the sergeant said. *' Why, bless you, if there was as much as a fox lurking among the bushes they could find him." " Yes, I have no doubt they could if they wanted to," Ronald agreed, " but the question is, do they want to. I have no faith whatever in those Kafhr Police. I have been watching them for the last day or two talking to the Gaikas, and if the natives really mean mischief 1 would wager the Police would join them." It was now their turn to enter the gorge, and as they moved along in single file, Ronald opened one of his holsters and held a revolver ready in hand, while he narrowly scanned the bushes that came down to the narrow path along which they were making their way. He drew a deep breath of relief when he emerged from the pass. As the troop reached the open ground they formed up and were about to move forward when they heard a sudden outburst of musketry — at first the deep roar of the long, heavy guns carried by the natives, and then quickly afterwards the continuous rattle of the soldiers' muskets. A cry of rage broke from the troopers. Captain Twenty- man, who was in command of the squadron, saw that cavalry could be of no use in the gorge, and that they would only add to the confusion did tliey try to go back to assist the infantry. Ke therefore spread them out in the shape of a fan in front of the entrance to the gorge, to THE CrRSE OF CARNE'S I FOLD. XVf protect it against any l)0(ly of natives who might be approaching. Ritlcs ih hand, and with eyes strained into the forest ahead of thcni, the cavalry sat their horses, anxif)iisly listening to the din behind thein. Presently the infantry began to emerge, and at last the whole of the force was rL-uniled. It was found that the assistant surgeon and eleven men had been killed, and two officers and seven i)rivates wounded. They had, however, beaten off the enemy with considerable loss. As it was clear that, now the Kaffirs had broken into open war, it would be unsafe in the extreme with the force inider him to endeavor to penetrate futher. Colonel Mac- kinnon ordered the force to retire. The gorge was thoroughly searched by infantry before the movement began, and it was not until they had found that it was completely deserted by the enemy that the column moved back. 'I'hey reached camj) in the evening, and the (lovcrnor, ui)on hearing what had taken i)lace, immedia- tely proclaimed martial law, and ordered a strict incjuiry to be made into the conduct of the Kaffir Police. In the morning, however, the encampment of the corps was found deserted, 385 men, taking with them their wives, cattle and equipments, ha\ ing deserted to the enemy during the night. Two strong patrols were sent out to carry the news to the commanders of the other two columns, and to examine the state of the country. 'J'hey came ui)on a sight that enraged the troops, even more than the attack upon themselves. A j^arty of the 45th Regiment, consist- ing of a sergeant and 14 ])rivates, escorting wagons from Fort White to King Williamstown, had been suddenly attacked by the Kaffirs, who had murdered the whole l)arty. Ronald Mervyn did not hear of this unprovoked atrocity at the time. At daybreak, six detachments — three drawn from each troop of the Rifles, and each composed of six men and a non-commissioned officer — were ordered to start at once to various settlements on the border, to warn the colonists of the outbreak of war. Ronald vas placed in the com- mand of one of these detachments, and was chosen to command that which was to warn the settlers on the river, as he was acquainted with the country there. It was hoped that these dctachment^j would arrive in time, for it 1 g ''if > , -m [' Vi I i I,- 128 T///': rtr/fSF. or carnks itold. was supposed thai the attack on the cohimn had been .111 isolated affair, the work of the tribe in the immediate neighborhood. Circumstances proved, however, that that action was only a part of a i)recr)ncerted j)ian, for next day, Christmas Day, a simultaneous attack was made ujjon almost all the border settlements. Some of these were military villages, Crovernmcnt haviiiL,' at the conclusion of the pievious war given grants of lauil and assistance to start in their farms to a number of discharged soldiers, U]jon the condition of their turning out at any time for the defence of the country. A number of i)rosperous little villages had thus sprung up, and the settler; lived on most friendly terms with the neighboring Kaffirs, constantly entertaining them as their guests, and employing many of them on their farms. In a few cases the news of the fight at Keiskamma arrived in time for the settlers to prepare for defence, but in the great majority of cases they were taken by surprise and massacred, often by the very men who had just been sharing their Christmas dinner. Many of the villages were entirely destroyed, and in some cases not a single man escaped to tell the tale. It needed no orders for the messengers to use speed. Ronald and his men went at a gallop, only breaking into a slower i)ace at times to enable the men to breathe tlicir horses. They had a long ride before them, and anxious as he was to get on, it was necessary to spare the horses as much as ])Ossil)le. He arrived at the station his detacli- ment had before occu])ied at about one o'clock. The in- habitants were just sitting down to dinner. A good many Kaffirs were scattered about through the village. These looked surprised at the arrival of a detachment of cavalry, and gradually disai)peared, supposing that Ronald's parly was but the advance guard of a larger body. As soon as the news si)read, the inhabitants hurried from their houses, men, women, and children, loaded with such articles they could snatch up in their haste, and all hastened to llic building which tliey had before decided should be used as a citadel in case of need. Boys galloped out to the fields to drive the cattle into the kraal that had been constructe < 130 THE ciKsi: or c.\irorvyn, \\\\\\ his party of burL^du-rs, rode at tho to]) of their s|)ri'd to- wards Mr. Armstrong's house. .\s they neared it aiuunber (it Ivaffirs were seen leathered round it. As these ja-reeivi'd the a])|)r().uh of the iiorsenien there was a movement of lliniit. but a chief who was with them, seeing the smallness of the force apjiroaching, called ui)on them to stand, and thcv at once irathered to meet the advancinu; horsemen. " Halt," Ronald shouted as he pulled uj) his horse a hiuuh'ed and fifty yard< from the house. " there are a couple of hundred of then ; we shall be ri(l i »34 THE CURSE OF CARXE/S HOLD. 1'! joined us as wc ramc along. I hear them riding up to tlic door now. I am sorry to say tliat no more were to be obtained, lor the attack has been general, and I fe;ir that three parts o.'" the villages along the Irontier have been de- stroyed, and their inhabitants massacred. I'ortunatelv we brought news in time to save the ])lace where we were before encam])ed and to rescue a few of those at the next village. Jiut at fully half the farmhouses we passed, the work of massacre had already been carried out.'' The front door was nov/ opened and the burghers entered. Ronald found that two of the ])arty had been killed in the charge up to the house, and that most of them had receiv- ed more or less serious wounds in the fiirht, while three of the Rifles had also been pierced with the assegais. He himself had been struck by a spear that glanced off his ribs, inflicting a nasty flesh woimd, while another assegai had laid open his cheek. Mary Armsln-ng and two other women now came out from the inner room and assisted in dressing the wounds, while the meii who were unhurt carried the bodies of the Kaffirs who liad fallen in the house to some distance away, wliile those of the white men and women were placed side by side in another room. 'I'hey then got buckets of water and soon removed the pools of blood from the floor. "Now, Mary," Mr. Armstrong said. " will you and your friends get a fresh tablecloth out, and bring in some cold meat and l)read and anything else you can lav vour hands on for our brave friends ? The rascals can't have had time to find out our cellar, and though I don't think anv of our l)arty \xiu\i anything to eat. a draught of spirits and Avater will be acceptable all round." "Not for those who are wounded, father; tea will be better for them, I a.ii sure.'' " i'erhaps it will, my dear." The wonen were glad of something to do. One of them was the wife of one of the farmers who had fallen, but she,, loo, in a dull mechanic al manner, aided Marv Armstrong and the other, and as S(H)n as the ]>lace was made quite tidy, six or seven children of different ages were called out from the inner room. Ronald and the troo})ers did justice to the food, for they had ridden upwards of sixty miles, and had had nothing to eat save a piece of hard biscuit before starting. TIIF. CURSE OF C.\RXF:S HOLD. 135 *' Now." ^^l•. Armstrong; said, when llieir appetites Were apjjcascd, " tell us l)y what iniracie you arrived here just in time to save us. 1 ib')Ught all the troops in the Colony were somewhere near i"'ort Cox, at least tliat was the news that came to u>. vesterdav." '* So we were, sir," Ronald said. '• A column advanced from there yesterday morning, and were attacked by the Kaltirs in the gorge of the Keiskamma, and some twenty or thirty killed and wounded. It occurred through the treachery of the Kaffir Police, all of whom deserted last night. Some parties were sent off the first thing this morning to warn the l^order settlements, but I am afraid very few of tht.'m arrived in time. A\'e shall have terrible tidings, I fear, of this day's work everywhere." '' Vou are in command of this party ? " "Yes; I got my corporal's strii)es the day before yesterday, and I was lucky enough to be chosen to com- mand thi^ detachment, as I kiiew the country ; and now, sir, how did this business begin here? " '• \Ve were at dinner," Mr. Armstrong said, ''when, without the least notice, just as we had finished there was a rush through the door. All mv friends had brouglit their rilles with them, and the instant the Kaffirs entered we knew what was up. 'I'hose who could caught their lifies, others snatched u]) table-knives, and the fight began. As you saw, several of our ])arty were killed at once, but the rest of us made such a good fiirht with our clubbed rifles and knives that for the moment we cleared the room, then two of us held the door while the rest fell back into the imier room, where fortunately all the children were at the time. fi)r the table was not large enough to hold us all, and they had had their meal first. '• Directly those who got in there recapi)ed their rifles — for we found that our rascally Hottentot servants had removed the cajjs while we were at dinner — TlDinpson and I, who were at the door, fell back. 'I'hen, you see, matters were easy enough. Two of us were posted at the door of the inner rcxjm, and the moment a native showed himself inside the door of thi.^ room he was shot down. ( )f course we had sliiit the shutters of the inner room dir.-ctly we entered, and one of us kejit guard there. 1 (Icii't think the Kaffirs would ever have fi)'-ced their way in ; but no doubt, as soon as they had stripped the house ai '\m %m 1 116 THE CURSK OF CARNE'S HOLD. of everything v.iliia])lc to them, they would have set it on fire, and then we should have had the ehoice of being burnt out here or being si)eared outside. " 1 need not say that we had all agreed that it was a thousand times better to die here than to trust ourselves to those fiends, who always ])ut their prisoners to death with atrocious tortures. Anyhow, mv friends, we owe out- lives to you, for sooner or later the end must have conic to us. Now what are you going to do? You do not think of pushing on any further, 1 hope." " No, 1 think that would be useless," Ronald said. *' The massacre is apparently universal, and evidently began at the same time all along the line. We should be too late to warn anyone now. Still," he said, rising sud- denly from his seat, "we might not be too late to rescue them. There may be other parties holding out. I hadn't thought of that, and we had better push on further." " I doubt if our horses can go any further," one of the men said. " Mine could scarcely carry me for the last five miles." " Yes, that is so," Ronald agreed. " I think my horse is good for another twenty miles, and the horses of our friends the burghers are quite fresh, so I will leave you here and ride on with them. You will, of course, keep ;i sharp lookout; but I do not think it likely that they will renew the attack. They must have lost between fifty and sixty men. I will ride on with the burghers to the last settlement along this line. It is not, 1 think, more tlum twenty miles further. We will sleep there and return the first thing in the morning. \\y that time, Mr. Armstrong, you will, I suppose, l)e ready to move into town." " Yes, I shall be ready by that time," the farmer said. " I sent off four loads of wheat yesterday nierning, and the wagons will be back to-night. I will pack everything 1 want to take, and we shall be ready to start by th^ time you return. Of course, 1 shall drive the cattle with us — that is, if there are any cattle left to drive." " I saw them in the kraal l)ehind the house as we rock- up," Ronald said. " I supi)ose the Kaffirs thought the\ might as well finish with you first, and they could then divide the cattle among them at their leisure." "Well, that's good news," the settler said. "I mnd; sure they were all gone. But don't you think you have done enough for to-day ? " ni THE CURSE OE CAKNE'S HOLD. m '* Yes ; don't go any further," ATary Armstrong added. '' I feel that it is my duty to go, Miss Armstrong. I would mucli rather stay, 1 can assure you, but it's possible home of the garrisons may be still holding out." '' \'es, we are wrong to ask you to stay," Mr. Armstrong said ; " but just wait a minute, my horses are kraaled with ihc cattle. I will bring one round and change the saddles ; ii would be a pity to founder that splendid horse of yours. \'ou see he has got a lot of English blood in him, and can't l;() on for ever like our Cape horses." Five minutes later, mounted on a fresh horse, Ronald started with the burghers. Every fcirm they visited cvhibited a spectacle of desolation ; many had been for- saken some time previously, but they had been broken into, and, in many cases, fired. In others, the bodies of i!ie occupants were beneath the embers of their homes ; in a few the settlers had not been taken unawares, and stains of blood round the buildings showed that they had sold iheir lives dearly, and inflicted considerable loss on the Kaffirs before they had succeeded in bursting open the doors. In one little cluster of three or four houses, the l)odies of men, women, and children lay scattered about ; hut one stoutly-built farmhouse, inhabited by a Boer farmer and six sons, had resisted all the attacks of the Kaffirs. The natives had drawn off before the arrival of the troops. The Boer stated that he intended to see it out. " Two of my sons," he said, " have already driven off the cattle and horses. I have got a couple of cows in milk in the shed adjoining the house, and I sliall bring them inside at night. The Kaffirs will ne^ er beat down my shutters or door, and one of us will watch by turns, so that we will give it them hot if they do venture to come on ; but I think they have had pretty nearly enough of us." This was the only house where a successful resistance was made, and on getting to the last station the party bivouacked near the ruins of the house, and i)lacing two men on guard, were soon asleep. They were undisturbed till morning, and mounting as soon as it was daylight, rode l)ack to Mr. Armstrong's station. Three wagons had arrived late the night before, and with the assistance of the troopers were already loaded with furniture and other effects. I m 138 THE CURSE OE CARh'E'S HOLD. Two of the burghers offered to assist Mr. Armstrong I'n driving his cattle and horses to King Williamstown. The party was accompanied by tlie other settlers and their families, several of whom had saved their .vagons and animals, as the Kafhrs had made their first attack upon Mr. Armstrong, knowing from the Hottewtot servants that the settlers from three or four of the adjoining farms would be gathered there, 'i'heir defeat, therefore, had saved not only Mr. Armstrong but the other farms from j)illage. Very warm were the thanks that the settlers before start- ing bestowed u[)on Ronald and the trooj)ers, and Ronald as soon as the caravan had started rode somewhat thought- fully off with his men to the first place he had visited. Here they found that the Kaffirs, after they had left, had made a determined attack \\\^ow the ])lace, but had been beaten off with much loss after several hours fight- ing. The settlers were now, however, occupied in prei)ar- ing to leave their farms, as the attack miglit at any moment be renewed, and perha|>s with overwhelming numbers. The jjarty of Mounted Police remained in the village until the following morning, as their horses, after their heavy work on the previous day, were not fit to take the long journey back to the camp. On the following morning they saw the settlers fairly on their way, and then galloped off to rejoin their corj)S at Fort Cox. As they ascended a ])iece of rising ground within a mile of the Fort, and obtained a fair view of it, they reined in their horses simultaneously. The Fort itself ajJi^eared silent and deserted, but at a distance of a few hundred yards from it they could see a large number of men mov- ing about. " 'J'hose are not soldiers,'' Ronald exclaimed, " they must be Kaffirs. IJy Jove, the ])lace is absolutely besieged. Look at the i)uffs of smoke. Ves, there can be no doubt about it. I exj^ect the column has gone out again, and the Kaffirs are trying to take it before they return. Well, kids, it's too late in the afternoon now for us to do any- thing. We had belter ride back two or three miles and then camp fo. the night. In the morning we must try and find out what has taken place and where the troops have got to." All agreed that this was the best plan, and they accord- ingly rode quietly back, as for aught they could tell keen THE Cl'RSr. OF r.lAW/rs lIOi.D. 139 ^lj;l eyes mii;ht be upon thciii. They did not atteni])t to halt until it was (|uite dark, ^\hen they turned off at right angles to their former course, and after riding for about a mile, encamped in a clump of bushes. 'I'hey had i)lenty of cold meat with them, for the settlers had. before starting, filled their haversacks. There was, therefore, no occasion to light a fire, wliiih, indeed, they would in no case have done, as, should a Kaffir catch sight of a light, he would assuredly bring an overpowering force down upon them. "We will wa'ic'a an hour apiece, two on sentry," Ronald said. " We can eat our meal incomfijrt first. There is no fear of their coming down upon us at i)resent, at any rate." The manner in whicli he had led them in the attack on the Kaffirs had greatly impressed the men, and they yielded as ready and willing obedience as if their corporal had been an officer. After the meal was over, Ronald placed a sentry on each side of the bush. " 1 will relieve you at the end of an hour," he said. '• Keep your ears oi)en. 1 shall go out for a bit and recon- noitre, and mind you don't shoot me as I come back. L will give a low whistle, like this, when 1 get near you. If you hear anyone ai)proaching, and he doesn't whistle, challenge, but don't shout too loud, or you might be heard by any Kaffirs who may be in search of us. If he don't answer, challenge again, and then ste]) into the bushes. \i he comes on, and you are sure it is a man, fire ; but don't fire if you have the slightest doubt, for it might be a stray animal, and your rifie might bring the Kaffirs down on us." During the greater })art of the night, Ronald moved about, keeping about a hundred yards from the clump, and returning every hour to see the sentries changed. 'I'ovv'ards morning, having heard nothing to lead him to sui)pose that there were any Kaffirs in the neighborhood, he returned to the bushes, and threw himself down for a couiile of hours' sleej). At daybreak, they were in the saddle again, and ajjproaching as near as they dared to the fort, they concealed themselves, and i)resent!y suc- ceeded in capturing a Kaffir woman who was out collect- ing sticks. One of the troojj knew a little of the language, and from her they learnt that the greater part of the soldiers had marched away on the ])revious morning, and also gathered the direction they had taken. Keeping up a vigilant look-out, they rode in that direction, and prcs* -'II i\ *' 140 THE CLRSK OF CARMCS HOLD. cntly met a dL'tachmcnt of the 91st and tlicir own Iroo]) of the Rifles niar<:hin^' l);i(k to Fort Cox. The force was under the conmiand of Colonel Somerset, the colonel of the Cape Mounted Ritles. Ca]>tain Twenty- man, to A'hom Ronald reported himself, rode forward al once to the colonel with the news that Fort Cox was in- vested by the enemy. Ronald was sent for, and questioned as to the strength of the Kaffirs. He said that owing to the ])Osition from which he had seen them, he only com- manded a view of a ])ortion of the ground. 'I'here apjieared to him to be seven or eight hundred men so far as he could see, but, of course, there might have been double thai force on the other side. " Well, 1 think we ought to push forward at once," the coloiicl said to the officer commanding the infantry. " 'J'he governor is in the fort, and the force for its defence is a very small one. At any rate we must try to relieve him."' The troops were halted for half an hour, and as tlie news soon spread that the Kaffirs were beleaguering F^ort Cox, and that they would probably have to fight their way through, they formed up with alacrity as soon as the order was given. The Cape Mounted Ritles went out in skirmishing order, ahead of the infantry, keejiing a vigilant look-out for lurking foes. The men had learned from Ronald's ])arty of the massacre at the border settlements, and were burning with impatience to get at the enemy. After marching two miles, the column came upon a spot where a broad belt of wood extended across the country. As the mounted men ai)proached this, several assegais were hurled from the bushes. 'J'he cavalry replied with their rifles, and then fell back upon the infantry, who ad vanced with a cheer against the wood. Half the cavalry were dismounted, and handing their horses to their com- rades, advanced on foot. Ronald was one of those wh.o remained behind. Keeping up a heavy fire at their in- visible foe, the 91st advanced into the wood. The troopers with the horses listened anxiously to the sound of the fray — the rattle of musketry, the loud rei)orts of the Kaffir rifles, and their shrill yells, amid which a British cheer coidd be occasionally heard. " It's hot work in there, corporal," Tieutenant Daniels said. "Too hot to be ])leasant, 1 should say. Judgiri; bv the yelling, the wood must be full of Kaffirs." THE CUKSI-: OF CARXE'S HOLD. 141 mk^ " I should tliiiik so too, sir," Ronald agreed. " T fancy each Kafiir is ca])able of doing an immense amount of yelling ; hut still, as you say, the wood nmst be full of them to make such a terrific noise as that." A (juarter of an hour passed and then the ritles emerged from the wood. 'I'hose with the horses '^^ once galloped forward to meet them, and soon all were in the saddle. Ronald heard Captain Twentyman, who had led the dis- mounted i)arty, say to the lieutenant : " There are too many of them, Daniels ; the wood is crowded with them. Take half the troop and draw off to the right, and I will take the other half to the left. The 91st will fall back directly. As they come out, prepare to charge the Kaffirs in tlank if they pursue them." Now the red coats began to appear at the edge of the wood. They were in jiairs, and every two men were carrying a wounded comrade. Presently the main body came out in regular order with their faces to the enemy. With yells of triumph the Kaffirs poured out from tlie wood. The Rifles fidgctted in their saddles for the order to charge, but Lieuten-iiit l>ar,iels had his eye upon the other wing of the troop, and C!ai)tain Twentyman did not give the order to advance until he saw that the Kaffirs were so far out upon the plains that they could not get back to the woods before he would be upon them. Then he gave the order to charge, and as his men got into motion, Lieutenant Daniels gave the same order. As he saw the cavalry sweeping down. Colonel Somerset gave the word, and the 91st poured a tremendous volley into the Kaffirs, and a moment later the two bodies of cavalry swept down on their flanks. With a yell of fear the Kafilrs ran for the wood, but numbers of them were cut down bel'ore they could gain shelter. Then the cavalry fell back and joined the infantry. It was found there had been a desperate hand to hand struggle, bayonets against assegais. Two officers and twenty privates had been killed and a great many of the men wounded. They afterwards learned that the Kaffir loss in killed had exceeded 200. The party then fell back and rejoined Colonel Mackin- non. There was now an anxious consultation, when it was decided that as Fort Cox could certainly resist all attacks of the enemy, it would be better not to attempt an advance to its relief until a junction had been effected with 1^: % S ill M ff, I' I \ if 142 THE CURSi: OF CAh'Ni:s HOLD. the other cohimns, wliirh were liow at a ronsi(leral)le dis- tance away. On the 31SI the news readied them that that morning' the governor, widi a small body ofCajje Moiml^d Rilles, liad made a dash right liiroiigli tiie enemy, and had richlen to King WiUiamstcAvn, twelve miles away, where he had at once issued a ])roclamation calling upon the colon- ists to rise en masse to assist the trooi)s to expel the (iaikas from the Amatolas, while a force of I'"ingoes was at once ordered to be raised. In the meantime, the Kaffirs were plundering and de- stroying all over the country. The settlers entirely aban- doned their fariiis ; and the roads to W'illiamstown, Gra- hamstown, and Iieaufort were l)locked with the great herds of cattle driven in. The news came that the (Iaikas had l)een joined by the 'l"Slambies and Taml)ookies, number- ing not less than 15.000 men ; and it was rei)ortcd that an intluenlial chief— Kreli — who could i)Ut 10.000 men in the field, was preparing to make common cause with the rebels. The Hottentots of the London missionary station at Kai River, who had for years l)een fed and clothed by the Government, and i)ut into free possession of a beautiful and fertile district, joined the Kaffirs, and took a leading I)art in their attacks on the settlers. 'I'heir example was speedily followed by the so-called Christian Hottentots al the missionary settlements of Shiloh and Theoi^olis. Against such overi)owering forces as were now leagued against him, the governor could do nothing with the sm;ili body of troops at his disi)osal, and was forced to remain inactive at W'illiamstown until reinforcements could arrive. He contented himself, therefore, with throwing su])plies into Forts Cox, White, and Hare, this being accomplished only after severe contests with the natives, Bodies ot Kaffirs had now com])letely overrun the colony, rendering even communication between the towns dangerous in the extreme, unless sent by messengers escorted by consider- able bodies of troops. On arriving at King Williamstown, Ronald Mervyn was greatly disappointed to find that the Armstrongs had gone on to Grahamstown. He found a letter awaiting him from Mr. Armstrong, saying that he was very sorry to lea\c without another o])portunity of thanking him for the immense services he had rendered him ;" but," he said. my daughter, now that it is all over, is terribly shaken by a TirE cCRSf. or CARM:\s tioi.n. U3 all siic has t^onc throiii;!!, and \ tiiiiik it ncrcss.iry to get lu-r to a ])lacc a little fiwtlu'r ri'iiiovcd t'roni all this trouMc. 1 shall prtjhahly Icavw, for I'jiLjland l)cforc lonL,^ 1 ho])e to sec you ])cfoiv wo go, but. if not, I will writf to you, giving you our address in Kngland. and wc shall both be very glad to see you if you return, as I hope you will, and that before long. We shall never forget how nuie.h wc owe you." *' Perhaps it is better so," Ronald said as he finished the letter. '' It would only have made it harder for me if I had seen her again. I'"or if there is one thing more cer- tain than another, it is that \ can never ask any woman to be my wite." The Cape Town Rifles were before long joined l)y two troo])s from Cai)e 'I'own and Port Kli/abeth, and were continually emjjloyed in escorting convoys and carrying despatches. A batch of twenty recruits also came up to fill the vacancies that had alreadv been made bv the war, and to bring the troops engagetl u]) to their full force. One of the four men who joined Captain Twentyman's troop gave a slight start of surprise as his eyes fell upon Ronald Mervyn. He looked at him several times, and a slight smile stole across his face. " Who is that cor])oral ? '' he asked one of the troopers. " Corporal Jllunt," the man said ; " and a fine fellow he is, too. He led a small detachment of our men splendidly in an affair down by the Kabousie river. Why do you ask ? Have you ever seen him before ? " " No," the man said, carelessly ; " but he reminded me of someone I knew at home." " He is a first-rate soldier," the man said, "' and I expect he will get the first vacancy among the sergeants. We all think he has been an officer, though he never talks al-out it. He's the best tempered fellow i)ossible, but you can never get him to talk about the past. However, that makes no difference to us." " Not a bit," the recruit agreed. " I dare say he isn't the only one with a queer history in the regiment." " I didn't say he had a queer history," the man replied angrily. " He is as good a comrade and as good a fellow as one wants to meet ; there's not a man "in the troop grudges his being pushed on." " 1 meant no offence," the recruit said. " Thv, man he ^1 IH ^ ' i H ! •IF *. I' 144 THE CURSE OF CARNFS /fQLD, rctnindc'd me of had a queer history, and I siii)i)ose that is what put it into my head." " Well, if you don't want your hend punched, you had l)etler sny nothint; against Jilunt," the trooper grumbled, " eidier in my hearing (>r out of it." The rceuit turned away and occupied liimself in groom- ing his h(jrse. " This is a rum start," he said to himself. " Who would have thought of meeting (.'a])tain Mervyn out here ? \ saw in one of the jiapers, soon after I came out, the account of his trial. I wonder how I sliould liave felt if I had been standing in jiis ])lace? So he has changed his name. I supj)ose lie arrived at the C'a|)c when [ was up the country, and nuist iiave enlisted at once, for it's nearly three months since I joined liie dejjot, and a draught had sailed only the day l)efore. ;\t any rate it's not likely he will know me ; not that he could do me any harm if he did, still it's always useful to know something against a man especially when he doesn't know you. If I ever get into a row I can i)ut the screw on nicely." As the recruit, who had enlisted in the name of Jim Smith, had expected would be the case, Ronald Mervyn's eye showed no signs of recognition as it fell ui)on his face. He thought the new recruit was a strap j)ing fellow, and would be a good man to have beside one in a hand-to-hand fight with the Kaffirs ; but beyond this he gave him no further thought. A considerable number of the Fingo allies had now arrived at King Williamstown. They had no idea what- ever of discii)line, and looked every bit as wild as their Kafi'ir foes. But there was no doubt they were ready to fight, for they were eager to be led against the Kafifirs, who had so long kept them in slavery. They had been armed with muskets, and each carried a heavy knobkerry. At j)resent they had nothing to do but to sleep and eat, to dance war dances and to get drunk whenever they could obtain sufficient money to indulge in that luxury. They we'-e accomi)anied by their wives, who not only waited ai)on and cooked for them, but earned money by going out into the woods and bringing in bundles of fag- gots. Numbers of Hottentot women were engaged upon the same work, while the men of the same tribe looked after the great herds of cattle, furnished drivers for the 77/ A' rr/cs/-: o/- ciaw/.'s hoi i\ »45 w:»;(ons, helped in the commissariat stores, and. so far as tlicir la/y nature permitted, made tliemselvos useful. Shortly after the return of the corps to King WilHams- tovvn, Ronald was |iromol()d to the rank of sergeant. "' If I were the (leneral," he said one day to Sergeant Men/ies, ''I wouldn't have a Hottentot about the i)lace. I believe that they are all in league with the enemy. Look how they all went over from the Missionary Stations, and the farmers tell me they left in the majority of cases on the day before the massacre. It's (piite evident that the Kaftiis somehow always get information of our movements. How could they have laid that ambush for us at Keis- kamma River if they had not known the column was going that way? IIow was it they were ready to attack the detachment that went with jjrovisions to the Forts ? It could not have been from their own j)eople, for not a Kaffir has been near us since the troubles began ; I believe it's tliese hateful little Hottentots." *' They are hateful,'' the sergeant said, *' whether they are traitors or not. Kxcept the bushmen, I do believe that they are the most disgusting' race on the face of the earth, with their stunted bodies and their yellow faces, and their filthy and disgusting ways. I don't know that I should turn them out of the camj) if 1 were the Oeneral, but I should certainly order them to be watched. If you get half a dozen of them on the windy side of you, it's enough to make jou sick." " I wonder the Kafhrs didn't exterminate the little brutes," Ronald Mervyn said. " I suppose they would have done so if it had not been for the Dutch tirst and us afterwards. The missionaries made pets of them, and nice pets they turned out. It is just the same thing in India. It's the very dregs of the people the missionaries always pick up with." lA "I k n ^■1 c i im H! It 146 'J'///': CURiiE 01' CARi\'F:s HOLD. CH \PTER XI. ATTACK ox A WAGON TRAIN. " Sf.rcikant Blunt, you will take a detachment of fourteen men, ride down to Tort Elizabeth, and escort some wagons back. here. There will be a party of native levies to come back with you, so that they, with your par'y, will make a pretty strong force. The dangerous point is, of course, the Addoo IJush. It is, I hear, full of these Kaffir viliaiiis. doing down you will pass through it by daylight ; and travelling fast, there is no fear of their interlering with a ]);irty like yours. Coming bdck, the Fingoes will let you know of any danger, and I should hardly think tiuit the natives will voUiire to attack so strong a i)a.rty ; slill, as the wagons will be laden with ammunition, and these fellows always seem in some way or other to know exactly what is going on, you cannot be too careful." " Veiy well, sir. I will do my best in tlie matter," An hour later Ronald started with the detachment. They tiavelled rajjidly, and reached Port Elizabeth on the third day after starting, without any adventure whatever. The wagons were not ready to start, fo' a heavy sea was setting in, and the boats could not continue the work of unloading the shij) that had arrived with the ammimition two days before. Ronald, after seeing that the horses were all well cared for, the rations served out, and the cooking commenced, strolled down to the beach to watch the heavy surf breaking on the shore. The encami)ment of the native levies was on the shore, and a white officer was inspecting their arms when he arrived. Ronald stood for some time watching the group with amusement, as some of the men were in blankets, others in karosses of cow skin, many with feathers stuck in their hair, all grinning and highly amused at the efforts of their officer to get them to stand in icgular line, and to hold their muskets at an even .doi)e on their shoulders. Some of their wives were looking on and laughing ; others il THE crRSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. H7 were squatting about by the shelters they had erected, cooking mealies for dinner. The officer, who was quite a young man, seeing Ronald looking on, said ruefully : '* I don't think there is any making soldiers out Oi these fellows, Sergeant. " " 1 don't think they would be any the better for it if you could, sir," Ronald said. " The fellows will fight after their own fashion, and 1 do not think any amount of drill will improve them in the slightest ; in fact, it would only puzzle and confuse them to try to teach them our dis- cii)line. They must fight the Kaffirs in Kaffir fasliion. When it comes to regular fighting it must be done by the trooi)s. All that you can expect of the native levies is that they shall act as our scouts, find out where the enemy are hiding, prevent surprises, and pursue them when we have defeated them." " Do they not try to driU them up at the front ? " '' Not at all, sir. It would be quite useless to attempt it. So that they attend on parade in the right number — and their own head man looks after that — nothing more is expected of them. They march in a rough body anyhow, and when it comes to fighting they fight in their own way, and a very useful way it is." *• Well, i am very glad 1 > hear you say so. Sergeant. I have been doing the best I can to give them some idea of drill, but I have, as you see, failed altogether. I have no orders except to take command of these fellows, but I supposed I was expected to drill them to some extent ; still if you say they have given it up as hopeless in the front, I need not bother myself about it." '• I don't think you need, sir. I can assure you that no :iltemj)t is made to drill them in that way in the ♦"ront." The young officer, with an air of relief, at once dismissed the nativis from i)arade. " I am in charge of the i)arty that is going up with you to-morrow, sir, or at least as soon as the wagon., are ready for you." '' Oh, is it you, Sergeant ? I heard that a detachment of your corps were to accomi)any us. I supi)Ose you have- just arrived from King Williamstown? " " I came \\\ about an hour ago, sir, and have just been seeing that the men were comfortable. " " Did vou meet with any Kaffirs on the way down ? " 1PIHT Hi'i Br^K I I!': 148 TJ/£: CURS'- OF CARRE'S HOLD. •' We saw no signs of them. We came through the Addoo Bush, which is tlie most dangerous point, at a gallop. Not that there was much chance of their attack- ing us. The natives seldom attack unless there is some- thing to be got by it ; but we shall have to be careful as we uo back. We shall be a fairly strong party, but others as strong have been attacked ; and the fact of our having ammunition — the thing of all others they want — is, of course, against us." " But how will they know that we are carrying ammuni- tion ? " " From the Hottentots, who keep them informed of everything," Ronald said. *' At least, we have no doubt whatever that it is the Hottentots. Of course, the General doesn't thir,k so. If he did, I su])pose he would keep them out of camj) ; but there is only one opinion in the ranks about it." The conversation was interrupted by yells and screams from tlie natives, and a general rush down to the beach. ** There is something the matter," the young officer said ; and he and Ronald went down to the edge of the wat( r. They soon saw what was the occasion of the alarm among the natives. Some of the women and boys had been down at the edge of the surf, collecting bits of wood, thrown ashore, for their fires. A boy of some fourteen years of age had seen a larger piece than usual approach- ing the shore, and just as the waves had thrown it up he made a dash into the water, eager to be the first to capture the prize. Ignorant, however, of the force of the water, he had been instantly swept off his feet by the back rush of the waves. The next roller had carried him some little distance up, and then borne him out again, and he was in the midst of the surf. He could swim a little, but was helpless in the midst of such a sea as this. The natives on the beach were in a state of the wildest excite- ment ; the women filled the air with their shrill screams, the men shouted and gesticulated. "Nothing can save him," ilie officer said, shaking his head. Rona-ld looked round ; there was no rope lying anywhere on the shore. '' There's just a chance, I think," he said, throwing off his belt, tunic and boots. " Make these fellows join hand in hand, sir ; 1 will swim out to him — he's nearly gone THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD, 149 ammiini- now — and luring him in. We shall be rolled over and over, but if the line of men can grab us and prevent the under current from carrying us out again, it will be all right." The officer was al)Out to remonstrate, but Ronald, seizing the moment wlien the water had just swept back, rushed in, sprang head foremost into the great wall of approaching water, and in half a minute later appeared some distance out. A few vigorous strokes took him to the side of the drowning boy, whom he seized by his woolly moj) of hair ; then he looked towards the shore. The young officer, unable to obtain a hearing from the excited Fingoes, v/as using his cane vigorously on their shoulders, and presently succeeded in getting them to form a line, holding each other by the hands. He took his place at their head and then waved his hand to Ronald as a sign that he was ready. Ciood swimmer as he was, the latter could not have kept much longer afloat in such a sea; he was obliged to con- tinue to swim from shore to ])revent himself from being cast up by each wave which swept under him like a race- horse, covering hin^ and his now insensible burden. The moment he saw that the line was formed he pulled the boy to him and grasped hini tightly ; then he laid himself broadside to the sea, and the next roller swept him along with resistless force on to the beach. He was rolled over and over like a straw, and just as he felt that the impetus liad abated, and he was again beginning to move seaward, he felt himself seized. For a few seconds the strain was tremendous, and he thought that he would have been torn from the friendly grasp ; then the pressure of the water diminished, and he felt himself dragged along, and a few seconds later he was beyond the reach of the water. He was up on his feet, feeling bruised, shaken, and giddy ; the natives, who had yelled with joy as they dragged him from the water, now burst into wiilings as they saw that the boy was, as they thought, dead. "Carry him straight up to the fires," Ronald said, as soon as he recovered his shaken faculties. The order was at once obeyed. As soon as he was laid down. Ronald seized the blanket from one of the men's shoulders, and set the natives to rub the boy's limbs and »50 Till': CURSE or carxe\s hold. ])ody vigorously ; then he lollcd liim in two or tlirce other blankets, and telling the men to keej) on rubbing the feci. l)egan to carry out the established nifiliod for restoring re- spiration, by drawing the boy's arms above his head, and then bringing them down and i)rcssing them against his ribs. \\\ ;i few minutes tliere was a faint sigh, a little later on an attempt to cough, and tlien the boy got rid of a quantity of sea water. '' He will do now," Ronald said. " Keej) on rubbing him and he will 1,', all right in a ([uarter of an h.our," As Ronald rose to his feet a woman threw herself down on her knees beside him, and seizing his hand i)ressed it to her forehead, ])Ouriiig out a torrent of words wholly be- yond his comprehension, for although he had by this time ac(]uired some sh'ght ac:(|uaintance with the language, he was unable to follow it when spoken so volubly. He had no doubt whatever that the woman was the boy's mother, ar.d that she was thanking him for having ])reserved his life. Not less excited was a native who stood beside him. '*This is their head man," the officer interjireted ; "he is the boy's father and says that his life is now yours and that he is ready to give it at any time. This is a very gallant business, Sergeant, and I wish I had had tlie ])lucls to have d)ne it myself. 1 shall, of course, send in a report about your conduct. Now come to my tent. J can let you have a shirt and pair of trousers while vours ..I'e being dried." '' Thank you, sir ; they will dry of themselves in a very few minutes. I feel cooler and more comfortable than 1 havx' done for a long time : ten minutes under this blazing sun will dry thern thoroughly." It was another two days before the sea subsided suf- iicientlv for the surf-boats to \n-'\\\\i the ammunition to shore, and during that time the cliief's wife came several times up to the barracks, each time bringing a fowl as a present to Ronald.' "What does that woman mean. Sergeant?" one of the men asked on the occasion of her second visit. " Has she fallen in love with you? She takes a practical way of showing her affec-tion. J shouldn't mind if two or three of them were to fall in love with me on the same terms." • Ronald laughed. " No, her son got into the water yesterday and I picked him out, and this is her way of showing her gratitude." THE CURSE OF CA AWE'S HOLD. nt "T wonder where she got the fowl from?" the trooper said. " I liavcn't seen one for sale in the town anywliere." "She stole them, of course," another trooper said, "or at least if she didn't steal them herself she got some of the others to do it for her. The natives are all thieves, man, woman and child ; they are regularly trained to it. vSorne- times fathers will lay wagers with each other as to the cleverness of the.r children ; each one backs his boy to steal something out of the other's hut first, and in spite of the sharj) watch you may be sure they keep up, it is very seldom the youngsters iail in carrying off something unob- served. It's a d'sgrace in a native's eyes to be caught thieving ; l)ut there's no disgrace whatever, rather the contrary, in the act itself. There's only one thing that they are as clever at as thieving, and that is lying. The calmness with which a native will tell a good circumstantial lie is enough to take one's breath away. Ronald knew enough of the natives to feel that it was probable enough that the fowls were stolt^i, but his sense of morality was not sufficiently keen for him to hurt the woman's feelings by rejecting her offerings. "The Kaffirs have ])roved themselves such an imgrate- ful set of scoundrels," he argued to himself, " that it is refreshing to see an exception for once." As soon as the ammunition was on shore it was loaded into three wagons, and on the following morning the party started. It was slow work, after the raj^id pace at which Ronald and his men had come down the country, and the halting places were the same as those at which the troop liad encamped on its march up the country five months before. The greatest caution was observed in their passage through the great Addoo Bush, for although this was so far from the main stronghold of the natives, it was known that there were numbers of Kaffirs hiding there, and several mail carriers had been murdered and wagons attacked. The party, however, were too strong to be molested, and passed through without adventure. The same vigilance was observed when passing over the sandy flats, and when they passed through Assegai bush. Once through this, the road was f;lear to Grahamstown. Here they halted for a day, and then started on the road leading through Peddie to King Williamstown. After a march of fifteen 2 it. I! (I I w 152 THE CURSE OE CARN/-:\S HOLD. W 1 1 m W ;|! miles they halted at the edge of a wide spreading hush. They had heard at (Irahanistown that a large body of Kaffirs were reported to he occupying this bush, and accordingly when they started in the morning, Ronald had advised the young officer in command of the Fingoes to pass through it by daylight. " There is no making a rush," he said ; "we must move slowly on account of the wagons, and tliere will be no evading the Kaffirs. 1 do not think that there is much chance of their attacking such a strong ])arty as we are ; but if we are attacked, we can beat them off a great deal better in the daylight than at night ; in the darkness we lose all the advantage of our better weapons. Besides, these fellows can see a great deal better than we can in the dark." 'J'hey started as soon as it was light. The P'ingoes, who were a hundred strong, were to skirmish along the road ahead and in the wood on each flank of the wagons, round which the detachment of rifles were to keep in a close body, the Fingo women and children keeping just ahead of the bullocks. Scarcely a word was spoken after they entered the forest. The wagons creaked and groaned, and the sound of the sharp cracks of the drivers' whips alone broke the silence. The Rifles rode with their arms in readiness for instant use, w^hile the Fingoes flitted in and out among the trees like dark shadows. Their blankets and karosses had been handed to the women to carry, and they had oiled their bodies until they shone again, a step always taken by the natives when engaged in expeditions in the bush, and which seems designed jiartly to give more suppleness to the limbs, and partly to enable them to glide through the thorny thickets without being severely scratched. They had got about halfway through the bush without anything being heard of the lurking enemy, when a sudden outburst of firing mingled with yells and shouts was heard about a quarter of a mile ahead. " The scoundrels are attacking a convoy coming down," Ronald exclaimed. "Shall we push on to their aid. Sergeant?" the young officer wdio was riding next to Ronald asked.' "I cannot leave the wagons," Ronald said; "but if you would take your men on, sir, we will be up as soon as we can." TlIK CL/KSE Of CAAA'/rs HOLD. »53 The officer shouted to his Fingoes, and at a run the natives dashed forward to the scene of the conflict, while Ronald urged the drivers, and his men pricked the bullocks with their swords until they broke into a lumber- ing trot. In a few minutes they arrived on the scene of action. A number of wa,!;ons were standing in the rciici, and round them a fight was going on between the Fingoes and greatly superior numbers of Ivaftirs. Ronald gave the word, and his men charged down into the middle of tre fight. The Kaffirs did not await their onslaught, but glided away among the trees, the Fingoes following in hot pursuit until recalled by their officer, who feared that their foes might turn upon them when beyond the reach of the rifles of the troopers. Ronald saw at once as he rode up that alihoi'gh the Fingoes had arrived in time to save the wagons, tiiey had come too late lo be of service to the majority of the defend- ers. Some half dozen men, gathered in a body, were still on their feet, but a score of ouiers lay dead or desperately wounded by the side of the wagons. As soon as the Fingoes returned and reported the Kaffirs in full flight, Ronald and the troops dismounted to see what aid they could render. He went up to the group of white men, hiost of whom were wounded. " This is a bad job," one of them said ; " but we thought that as there were about thirty of us, the Kaftirs wouldn't venture to attack us. We were all on the alert, but they sprang so suddenly out of the bushes that half of us were speared before we had time to draw a trigger." " What had we better do, sir — go on or go back ? " This question was addressed to the young officer. " I should think that now you have got so far you had better go on," he said. " The Kaffirs are not likely to return for some little time. I will give you half my Fin- goes to escort you on through the wood. Don't you think that will be the best plan, Sergeant? " " I think so, sir. I will let you have half my men to go back with them. The rest of us had better stay here until they return, liut, first of all, we will see to these poor fellows. Tlicy may not be all dead." Most of them, however, were found to be so, the Kaffirs having sprung upon them a'ul cut their throats as soon as \^i / f! i^ il M i I M Itl \ mmi I 5: 154 77/A CURSE OF CAKXE'S HOLD. they had fallen. Two of ihcm who had fallen near the group %'hich had niaiiUaincd tiie resistance were, however, found to be still living, and these were lifted into the wagons. Just as the jnirty were going to move on towards the coast, a groan was heard among the bushes by the side of the road. Ronald and two of llie troopers at once l)roceede(l to the s})()t. " (iood heavens !" tlic Ibrmcr exclaimed, as he leaned over the man who was lying there, " it is Mr. Armstrong. " lie was lifted up and eairied into the rond. An assegai Lad ])assed thiough both legs, and anothe! had tian^fixcd his 1/ody near tiie right shouldei. 'i'h.e jjoint ])rojecte(l some inches through ihe Lack, the shaft having ])roken <.tt .IS he fell. Ro'.iald seized the stumj) of the spear, mki with the greatest difficulty drew it out from the wound. "Cut hi. things off," he said to the troopers, "and tear up something and lightly bandage the wound. 1 am afraid it is a f:ital one." Then he hurried off to the men. "Were there not some women in the wagons?" he asked. " Yes, there were three of th-jm," the man said ; " a girl and two women. The women were the wives of two of tl" _ men \.\\o have been killed. The girl was the daughter of another. I suj)posc the natives must have carried them oSf, for I see no signs of them." Ronald uttered an ex(iamation of horror; he knew the terrible fate of women who fell into the hands cf the Kaffirs. He returned to the officer. "What is it. Sergeant?" he asked, "any fresh misfor- tune?" "A young lady I know, daughter of tha' ])Oor fellow we have just picked uj), and two other women, have been carried off by the natives. '' " Good heavens 1 " the young man .s:dd, '* this is dread- ful ; they had a thousand times belter have been shot with their friends. Wiiat's to l)e done. Sergeant? " " I don't know," Ronald said, " 1 can't think yet. At any rate, instead of waiting till the xuen with the wagons come back, I will push straight on out of the wood, an J will then send the rest of the men back at full gallop tu meet you, then you cn'i all cv)nie on together. I think you said )ou would take command of the party going back with the wagons." THE Cl'RSE OF CARjVE'S //OLD. ^SS The tu'o trains were at once set In motion. Ronald's party met with no further interruption until they were clear of the bush. .\s soon as he was well away from it, he sent l)ae.k the Ritles to join the othe\ party, and return with them through the forest. He went on forlialf a mile furllier, then halted \\\c wat^ons and dismounted. Mr. Armstront; had been phuu'd in one of the wagons going uj) the country, as they were nearer to a town that way than to I'r-rt l^li/.abeth ; besides Ronald knew that if Mr. Armstrong recovered consciousness, he would for many rc-asons prefer being uj) the country. Ronald walked up a:id down, restless and excited, meditating what step he had best take, for he was determined in some way or other he would attem])t to rescue Mary Armstrong from the hands of the natives. Tresently the head man (jf the Fingoes came up to him, and said, in a mixture of luiglish and his own tongue : " My white friend is troubled, can Kreta help him?" •' I am troubled, terribly troubled, Kreta. One of the wliite ladies who has been carried off by the Kaffirs is a fiii'iid of mine. I must get her out of their hands.'' Kret.'i looked grave. '' Difficult thing that, '^'i. If go into bush get chopped to pieces.'' '' I must risk that," Ronald said ; " I am going to try and save her. whetlier it costs me my life or not." " Kreta will go with his white friend," the chief said; '• wh'te man no chance by himself." "Would }ou, Kreta?" Ronald asked eagerly; "but no. I have no right to take you into such danger as that. \{)\\ have a wife and child ; I have no one to depend upon me." • kreta would not have a child if it had not been for his white friend," Kreta said ; " if he goes, Kreta will go with him. and will take some of his men." " You are a good fellow. Kreta," Ronald r,aid, shakmg the chief heartily by the hand ; '• now, what's the best way of setting about it ? " The Fingo thought fcjr some little time, and then asked : " Is the white woman young and pretty ? " " Yes," PvOnald replied, rather surprised at the question. "Then I think she safe for a little while. If she is oid and ugly they torture her and kill her quick ; if she's pretty ■w W IS6 THE crRsr. OF r,i A'A'F's hold. 11 and younp most likely they will send her as ;i jircsent to their hig chief; i)erhai>s Matujino or Saiulilli, or Kreli, or one of the other great chiefs, whichever tribe they belong to. Can't do nothing t(;-(lay ; might crawl into the wood ; but if I find her how can 1 get her out? That's not possible. The best thing will be this : I will send two of my young men into the bush to try and find out what they do with her, and where they are going to take her. Then at night we try to cut them off as they go across the country. If we no meet them we go straight toAmatolas, to find out the kraal to which they take her, and then see how to get her off." ** How manv men will you take, Kreta ? " " Five men," the chief said, holding up one hand ; " that's enough to creep and crawl. No use to try force ; too many Kaffirs. Five men might do ; five hundred no good." " I think you are right, chief. It must be done by craft if at all." " Then I will send off my two young men at once," the chief said. " They go a long way round, and enter bush on the other side ; then creep through the bush and hear Kaffir talk. If Kaffir sees them they think they their own people, but mustn't talk ; if they do, Kaffirs notice diffrr- ence of tongue. One, two words no noticed, l)Ut if talk much find out directly." " Then there's nothing for me to do to-night," Ronald said. The chief shook his head. *' No good, till quite dark." " In that case I will go on with the convoys as far as Bushman's River, where they halt to-night." " Very well," the chief said. " We go on with you there, and then come back here and meet the young men, who will tell us what they have found out." The chief went away, and Ronald saw him speaking to some of his men. Then two young fellows about twenty years old laid aside their blankets, j)ut them and their guns into one of the wagons, and then, after five minutes' con- versation with their chief, who was evidently giving them minute instructions, went off at a slinging trot across the country. In less than an hour the party that was escorting the settlers' wagons through the bush, and the mounted men •i-'; THE CURSE OF CAKXE'S HOLD, m who had gone to meet them, returned together, having seen no sign of the enemy. The wagons were set in motion, an(i the march continued. Ronald Mervyn rode up to the officer of the native levy. *' I am going, sir, to make what may seem a most extraordinary request, and indeed it is one that is, I think, out of your i)ower to grant, but if you give your approval it to some extent will lessen my responsibility." " What is it, Sergeant ? " the ycjung ofticer asked in some surprise. " I want when we arrive at the halting place to hand over the command of my detachment to the corporal, and for you to let me go away on my ow i affairs, 1 want you also to allow your head man, Kreta, and five of his men leave of absence." The young officer was astonished. " Of course I am in command of the men, and so have authoritv over vou so long as you are with me, but as you received orders direct from your own officers to take your detachment down to the coast, and return with the wagons, I am sure that I have no power to grant you leave to go away." •' No, sir, that's just what I thought, but at the same time if you re])ort that, although you were unable to grant me leave you approved of my absence, it will make it much easier for me. Not that it makes any difference, sir, because I admit frankly that I should go in any case. It is i)r()b- able that one may be reduced to the ranks, but I don't think that under the circumstances they will punish me any more severely than that." "But what are the circumstances, Sergeant? I can scarcely imagine any circumstance that could make me approve of your iiitention to leave your command on a march like this." " I was just going to tell you them, sir, but I may say that I do not think it at all probable that there will be any further attack on the convoy. There is no more large bush to pass between this and Williamstown, and so far we have heard of no attempt being made further on the road to stop convoys. That poor fellow who is lying wounded in the wagon is a Mr. Armstrong. He was an officer in the service when he was a young man, and fought, he told me, at Waterloo. His place is near the spot where I was quartered for two months just before the outbreak, and he ^ f. li ^1 1 1 ii 1 ' 1 i. t Iv I »i< ■ I If , i. i '!! I IS8 THE Cl'KSE or CAh'X/rS HOLD. showed mc great kindness, and treated me as a friend. Well, sir, one of the three ladies that were, as you heard, carried off in tiie wagons, was Mr, Armstrong's daughter. Now, sir, you know what her fate will be in the hands of those savages : dishonor, torture, and death. I am going to save her if I c:an. I don't know whether 1 shall succeed, most likely I shall not. My life is of no great consecjuence to me, and has so far been a failure, but I want to try and rescue her whether it costs me my life or not. Kreta has offered to accompany me with five of his men. Alone, i should certainly fail, but with his aid there is a chance of my suc<:eeding.'* " liy Jove, you are a brave fellow. Sergeant," the young officer said, "and I honor you for the determination you have formed," and waiving military eti([uette, he shook Ronald warmly by the hand. " Assuredly 1 will, so far as is in my pc)wer, give you leave to go, and will take good care that in case you fail your conduct in thus risking your life shall be appreciated. Mow do you mean to .set about it?" Ronald gave him a sketch of the ])lan that had been determined ui)on by himself and Kreta. " Well, I think you have a chance at any rate," the ofTicer said, when he concluded. " ( )f course the risk of detection in the midst of the Kaffirs would be tremendous, but still there seems a ])()ssibility of your escape. In any case no one can ])ossibly disa])provc of your endeavor to save this young lady from the awful fate that would certainly be hers unless you can rescue her. Poor girl ! Even though I don't know her, it makes my Mood run cold to think of an English lady in the hands of those savages. However, if I were not in command of the convoy, I would gladly go with you and take my chance." As soon as the encampment was reached, Kreta came up to Ronald. "Must change clothes," he said, "and go as Kaffir." Ronald nodded his head, as he had already decided that this step was absolutely necessary. " Must paint black," the chief went on, " how do that ? " "The only way I can sec is to powder some burnt wood and mix it with a little oil." "Yes, that do," the chief said. "I will be with you in five minutes, I must hand over the command to the corporal." THE CVRSE OF CARNE'S I! OLD. 159 a came "Corporal James," lie said, wlu-n Ivj wi-iit up to him, " I hand over the c;oiniuand of this detachment to you. \'c)u arc, of course, to keep by the wagons and protect them to King Williamstown." " Jiul where are you going, Sergeant ? " the corporal asked, in surprise. '* I have arranged with Mr. Nolan lo go away on detached duty for two or three days. 1 am going to try to get tile unfortimate women who were carried off this morning out of the hands of the Kaffirs." The <:ori>oral lookeil at him as if he had doubts as to his sanity. " I may not succeed." Ronald went on, ''but i am going to try. At any rate, 1 hand over the commaml lo you. 1 ([uite understand that Mr. Nolan cannot give me leave, and that I run the risk '-f punishment for leaving the convoy, but I have made up my mind to risk that." " Well, of course you know best, .Sergeant ; but it seems to me that, ])unishment or no pimishment, there is not much chance of your rejoining the corps; it is just throw- ing away your life going among them savages." " I don't think it is as bad as that," Ronald said, "although of course there is a risk of it. At any rate, C'orporal, you can take the convoy safely into King Williamstown. That's your part of the business." Ronald then returned to the encami)ment of the native levies. A number of sticks were charred and then scrajjcd. There was no oil to be found, but as a substitute the char- coal was mixed with a little cart grease. Ronald then stripped, and was smeared all over with the ointment which was then rubbed into him. Some more powdered charcoal was then sprinkled over him, and this also rubbed until he was a shiny black, the oi)eration affording great amusement to the Fingoes. Then a sort of ])etlicoat consisting of strips of hide reaching halfway down to the knee and sewn to a leathern belt was ]nit round his waist, and his toilet was complete, cxcei)t as to his hair. The chief looked puzzled, but after a few minutes' con- sideration called to one of the women and deliberately cut off her woolly moj) close to the scalp, and put it on to Ronald's head. It fitted "losely, for he, like all the men, wore his hair cut quite short to prevent its forming a rccei)tacle for (hist. 'I'he Fingoes ai)i)lauded by clai)ping their hands and performing a wild dance round Ronald, I * ; n i6o THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. while the women who now crowded up shrieked with laughter. ' The v^hief walked gravely round him two or three time:-, and then j)ronounccd that he would jjass muster. A ban- dolier for cartridges, of native make, was slung over his shoulder, and with a rille in one hand and a spear in tlie other, and two or three necklaces of br'j,ss beads round his neck, Ronald would anywhere, unless closely inspected, have passed as a Kaffir warrior. In order to test his appeo''ance he strolled across to where Mr. Nolan was inspecting the serving out of rations. '* What do you want ? " the officer asked ; *' the allow- ance for all the men has been served out already ; if ytni haven't got yours you must speak to Kreta about it. I can't go into the question with each of you." " Then you think I will do very well, Mr. Nolan ? " The officer started. "Good Heavens, Sergeant, is it you? I had not the slightest conception of it. You are certainly admirably disguir?d, and you might walk through Cape Town witl;- out any one susj)ecting you, b it what are you going to do about your feet ? You will never be able to get tluoiigh the woods barefooted." " I have been thinking of that myself," Ronald said, and the only thing I can see is to get them to make mc a sort of sandal. Of course it wouldn't do in the day- time, but at night it would not be observed unless I were to go close to the fire or light of some sort." " Y':s, that would be the ])e.st ])lan," the officer agreed. " I dare say the women can manufacture you something in that way. There is the hide of that bullock we killed yesterday, in the front wagon ; it was a black one." Ronald cut off a portion of the hide, and went across to the natives and explained to them what he wanted. Put- tmg his foot on the hide, a piece was cut off large enough to form the sole of the fo(n and come up about an inch all round ; holes were made in this, and it was laced on to tlie foot w;th thin stri])s of hide. The hair was, of course, out- side. :Jid Ivonald found it by no means uncomfortable. '' You ride horse," the chief said, " back to bush. I take one fellovv with me to bring him back." Ronald was pleased at the stiggestion. for he was by lu; mea\is sure how he shotild feel 'fter a walk of ten miles in bis nev,^ foot gear. THE CURSE OE CAKNES HOLD. l6l CHAPTER XII. IN THE AMATCILAS. I m m The corporal had already spread the news among the men of Ronald's intended enterjjrise, and they gave him a hearty cheer as he rode off. Mr. Nolan had advised him to keep the native wlio was going to fetch his horse back. " You won't want to walk into King ^V'illiamstown in that guise," he said; " therefore you had best put your uniform into the valise, and tell the man to meet you at any point you like — I should say the nearer to the bush tlie better ; for if you succeed in getting the young lady out of these rascals' clutches you may be pursued, and, if your horse is handy, may succeed in getting her away, nhen you would otherwise be soon overtaken." Kouald thankfully accepted the offer, for he saw that it might indeed l)e of vital importance to him to have his horse ready at hand. With a last wave of his hand h^^ rode off, the chief and his six companions trotting alongside. The sun had set an hour when they reached the spot at which the chief had directed his two followers to meet him. They had not yet arrived. " Do you think that they will be sure to be able to find the place? " Ronald asked the chief. " A Fingo never loses his way," the chief replied. " Find his way in the dark, all same as day." In spite of the chiefs assurance, Ronald was fidgetty and anxious. He wrapi)ed a blanket round him, and walked restlessly up and down. It was nearly an hour before the chief, who, with his companions, had thrown liimself down and lighted a pipe, which passed from hand tu hand, said suddenly : " One man come ! " Ronald listened intently, but could hear nothing. A moment later a dark figure came up. "!1 'i«' f: II. 162 r///s CUKSE OF C A AWE'S HOLD. \i-ii Kreta at once questioned him, and a long conversation took i)lacc between tlicm. " Wliat is lie saying, chief? What is he saying? " Ronald broke in impatiently several times ; but it was not until the man had finished that the chief translated. " White girl alive, Incus, the other two women alive, but not live long, torture them bad. Going to take the girl to Macomo." " Tliank God for that," Ronald exclaimed, fervently, for he had all day been tormented with the fear that Mary Armstrong might l-'ave met with her fate directly she was carried away. ^ " When are they going to take her ? " " A lot of them go off to night; go straight to Ama- tolas ; take her with them." " Mow many, Kreta ; will there be any chance of attack- ing tliem on the way ? " The chief asked a cjuestion of his messenger. " Heaps of them," he said to Ronald, for the natives are incajjabie of counting beyond very low figures. " Too many ; no chance to attack them ; must follow behind. They show us the way." " J3ut how do we know whereabouts they will come out of the wockI, Kreta? It's miles long; while we are watch- ing at one place, they may be off in another." " That's so, Incos ; no use to watch the wood. Wc must go on to the Great Fish river. Only two places where they can ford it. Double Drift and Cornetjics Drift, one hour's walk apart. Put half one place, half the other ; then when they j^ass, follow after and send messen- gers to fetch up others." ''That will do very well, Chief; that's a cai)ital idea of yours. You are sure that there's no other way they can go?" " Heaps of ways," the chief said, " but those shortest ways — sure to go short ways, so as to pass over ground quickly." " What are they going back for?" "No bullock in bush, Incos, eaten up all the things round, want to go home to kraals ; besides hear that many white soldiers come over sea to go to Amatolas to tight." " How far is it to these fords? "' " 'Jliree hours' march. AVe just start now. Kaflirs set out soon. Get on horse again.'' THE CURSE OE CARNES HOLD. versation 163 atives arc Ronald was not sorry to do so, for he felt that in the (lark he should run considera])le risk of laming himself against stones or stumps, and in any case he would scratch hin : elf very severely with the thorns. *' Tell me, Chief," he said, when they had started, " how did your messenger L-arn this, and what has become of your other man ? " '• Not know about other man," the chief said. " Perhaps they caught him and killed liim; i>erhaj)S he is hiding among them and dare not venture out. This man tell he go into forest and cree]) and crawl for a long tnr.'''. then at last he saw some Kaffirs come along and so he foilv.>wed them ; so at last they came to the place in the bush where was a heap of their fellows. They were all gathered round something, and he heard women cryhig very loud. Pre- sently some of the men went away and he could see what it was — two white women tied to trees. The Kaffirs had stripped them and cut their flesh in many places. They die very soon, perha})s to-night or to-morrow morning. Then he crawl up and lay in the bushes, very close, and listen to talk. He heard that to-night heap i)arty go away to Amatolas and take white woman as present for Maco- mo ; then other Kaffirs come and lie down all about, and he did not dare move out till the light go away. Then he crawl through the bushes a good piece ; then he got up and ran to bring the news." '• He has done very well," Ronald said; "tell him \\: shall be well rewarded. Now I think he might as well go to the camp and tell the officer there from me that two of the white women have been killed ; but that the other has been taken away, as I hoped she would be, and that I am going after her." " Message no use," the chief said, after a moment's thought ; " better take him with us, may be useful by and by ; may want to send message." "Perhaps it would be as well," Ronald agreed; "and the message is of no real importance." After three hours' fast travelling — the natives going at a run, in spite of the darkness of the night, and Roland leaving the reins loose, and trusting to his horse to feel his Nvay — they came to the river ; after making a narrow ex- amination of the bank, the chief ])ronounced the ford to be a (piarter of a mile lower down, and in a few minutes they came upon the spot where a road crossed the river. 164 THE CURSh OJ' C A AWE'S HOLD, " I think tJiis is the way they are the most likely to take," the chief said, when they had crossed the stream. "Country more l)roken this way, and further from towns, not so much chance of meeting soldiers. You and I and four men will stay here ; three men go on to other ford, tiien if they cross there, send one man to tell us ; tlie other two follow them, and see which way they go." " Do you know the Amatolas at all, Chief? " "Not know him, Incos ; never been there; travel all about these parts in last war, but never go up to Amatolas." "Then, of course, you do not know at all where Maco- mo's kraal is ? " " Not know him at all. We follow men, sure enough we get there." The three men had not started above five minutes, when the chief said in a low tone : "They are coming," and gave an order to one of his men, who at once set off at the top of his speed to over- take the others and bring them back. It was nearly ten minutes before Ronald could hear the slightest sound, then he became conscious of a low mur- mur of voices in the air, and a minute or two later there was a splashing of water at the ford, fifty yards from the spot where they had lain down under a bush. One of the natives had, at Kreta's orders, taken the horse away, the chief telling him to go half a mile off, as were it to paw the ground suddenly, or make any noise, the attention of the Kaffirs, if within hearing, would be instantly drawn to it. Dark as the night was, the figures of those crossing the water could be dimly made out, and Ronald judged that there must be fully three hundred of them. After the first few had passed, they came along in such a close body that he was unable to make out whether there was a female among them. The numbers of the Kaffirs sufficed to show him that there was no chance whatever of effecting a rescue of Mary Armstrong while surrounded by so large a body. As soon as all had crossed, two of the Fingoes followed close upon their traces, five minutes afterwards another started, and scarcely had he gone when the three men who had been sent to the other ford returned with the messenger who had recalled them. They left at short intervals after THE CURSE OF CARNTi\S HOLD. x4$ each other, and then Ronald mounted his liorse wliich had now been fetched ii[), and followed widi Krcla. " 'I'here is no fear of us missing them, Chief?" " No fear of that, Incos ; that star over there shines over the Amatolas, they go straight for it ; besides, the two men behind them can hear them talking. If they turn off, one come back to tell us." ]>ut they did not turn off, but kei)t on for hours in a straight undeviating line, travelling at a fast walk. Runald Alervyn kept wondering how Mary Armstrong was bearing up. She wis a strong, active girl, accustomed to plenty of exercise, and at ordinary times could doul)tless have walked a long distance ; but the events of the day, the sudden attack upon the wagons, her ca])ture by the I'.affirs, her uncertainty as to the fate of her father, the harrowing tortures of her companions, which she had j^robably b^en compelled to witness, and the hopelessness of her own fate, might well have broken her down. He was sure that the Kaffirs would compel her to walk as long as she could drag her limbs along; but as 'she was destined as a present to their chief, they '^light, when she could go no further, carry her. He groaned at his helplessness to aid her, and had he not had a perfect faith in the cunning of his companions, and in their ability to follow her up wherever she was talien, he would ha/e been inclined to take the mad step of charging right in among the Kaffirs, upon the one chance of snatching her up and carrying her off from among them. Ronald Mervyn, of the Cape Rifles, was a very different mon from Captain Mervyn, of the Borderers. The terrible event that had caused him to throw up his commission and leave the country had in other respects been of great advantage. He had for years been haunted by the fear of madness, and whenever he felt low and out of spirits this fear of insanity had almost overpowered him. The trial had cured him of this ; he had convinced himself that had he inherited the slightest taint of the curse of the Carnes, he would have gone mad while he was awaiting his trial ; that he had kept his head perfect under such circumstances seemed to him an absolute proof that he was as sane as other men, and henceforth he banished the fear that so long haunted him. It was in truth that fear which had held him back so long 111 'li r H-. i66 THE CURSE OE CARXE\S llOf.D. from entering into a formal cn,(^agcmcnt with his cousin Margaret. He looked upon it as an ahsolutely settled thing that they would be married some day, but had almost uncrMisciouslv shrunk from makinij thai dav a definite one ; and although for the moment he had burst into a. fit of wild anger at ])ei!ig as he considered thr(nvn aside, lie had smce acknowledged to himself that Margaret's decision had been a wise one, and that it was ])etter that thev two should not ave wed. He had always ])een l)lessi'(l with good s])irits, except at the times when the fit of depression seized him; but since he had been at the Cai)e, and been on active duly, these fits of depression had entirely ])assed away, and his unvary- ing good temper under all circumstances had often been the subject of remark among his c(Mnrades. As he rode along that night he ackno^\•ledged. what he had never before a(hnitted to himself, that he loved Mary Armstrong. The achnission was a bitter rather than a pleasant one. " I shall never marry now," he had said to his mother, at his last interview wiih her. '' No wife or chikl of mine shall ever hear it whispered that her husba.nd or father was a murderer. Unless this cloud is some dav lifted — and how it can be. Heaven only knows ! — I must go through the world alone," and so he thought still. It might be that as Harry IMunt he might settle down in the Colony and never be recognised ; but he would always have the fear that at any moment some officer he had known, some man of his regiment, some emigrant from his own country, might recognise him. and that the news would be passed round that Harrv J>lunt was the Ca])tain ^[ervvn who escaped, only from want of legal proof, from being hung as th rd( e murderer o :fh IS cousm. " I didn't think I was such a fool," he muttered to himself, '' as to be caught by a pretty foce. However, it will make no difference. She will never know it. \i her father recovers, which is doubtful, sb.e will go ])ack with him to the old country. If not, she will go back alone, for without friends or relatives siie cannot stay here, and she will never dream that the sergeant of the Cape Rifles, who had the luck twice to save her life — that is, if I do save it — was fool enough to fall in ]oV(> with her." An hour before morning one of the h'ingoes came back from the front with the news that the Kaflirs had tur.ied off THE CrRSr. OF CARKE'S I/O ID. 167 into a kloof, and were going to halt there. The party, soon collected, and retired to a clump of trees a mile back. One of them was ordered to act as sentry near the kloof, and bring back word at once should any movement take ])lace. The rest of the l)arty, upon reaching the shelter of the trees, threw themselves ui)on the ground and were soon fast asleep, even Ronald, anxious as he was, remain- ing awake but a few minutes after the others. 'I'he sun was high 'before they awoke. As they were eating their breakfast the seiUry returned, and lyiothcr was des])atched to take his place. The man reported that he had seen or heard nothing of the Kaflks, but that four of them were placed on the watch near the kloof. Kreta led Ronald to the edge of the wood, and pointing to a jagged ranLre of hills in the distance said, " Amatolas." " How far are they away, Kreta ? " " Six horrs' fast walking," the chief said. '* They get to foot (){ hills to-night. If Mncomo's kraal anywhere this side, they may get there. If not, they wait and rest a bit, and then go on. No need travel to-night. Wh-en they get to hills, they know very well no white soldier there." '• Wliat had we better do, do you think? " " There are plenty of men always on look-out, sure to be some on hills. I will send two men after them, and they creep and crawl through the bushes, find out the way and bring news to me, then when they come back we .vill start." "But we must be there in the evening," Ronald SoId ; '' we must l)e there, Chief, do you hear ? " " Yes, Incos, but it seems to me that it do no good to throw our lives away. If you say go, Kreta will go too, but if we killed, the girl will be killed too, and no good that, that Kreta can see ; if we go in day-time we killed, sure enough. Not possible to get into Amatolas without being seen, all grass and smooth land at foot of hill. On hill some places trees, there we manage very well ; some open sj)aces there they see us." " I don't wish to throw our lives away. Chief; if I wanted to throw my own away. I have no right to sacrifice yours and your men's ; but scouts on the look-out would surely take us at a distance for a j)arty of their own men returning from some ])lun!l»ering exj)edition. pro]Kii)ly as part of the party nhcad who had hung back U)V some purpose on the road." n i i i.i. i(^ ¥ , s i ; ■J ( ' J 1 ('?«*' '% ^ r i68 THE CURSE OF CAKKE'S IIOTD. i^ "Great many kraals, great many peo]>lc in Amatolas," the chief said ; " sure to meet some one. They begin to ask questions, they sec very soon we not Kaffirs, they see with hnlf an eye you not Kaffir ; might pass at night very well, but no pass in clay. ]')Ut j)erha])s we have time, Incos. Chiefs wander about, hold council and meet each other ; jjcrhaps Macomo not at home, very like he away when they get there." " Pray (lod it may be so," Ronald said despairingly. " It seems the only ho])e we h^ve. ^^\'l^ Krcta, 1 put myself in our hands. Y"u k.; ^'.v * c> iiorc about it than I do. As you sa^,^\e sh;-i' '!>' m) good to Miss Armstrong by throwing awaj ou; ! vo, therefore 1 put aside my own plans and trust to you." *' I no say we can save her, Incos, but if we can we will. You make sure ot that." The next night took them to the foot of the hills, and when the Kaffirs halted, the chief ordered two of his men to make a circuit round the hills and conceal themselves in the wood before morning broke, so that when the Kaffirs moved on they could at once follow them without liavir.g to cross in daylight the grassy sloi)cs of the foot hills. Minute instructions were given to both as to following the Kaffir party, the orders being that if either of them could pounce upon a solitary Kaffir he was to stun him with his knob-kerry, and force him when he recovered to give in- formation as to the distance, direction and rond to Macomo's kraal, and tliat he was then to be assegaid at once. Feeling that Ronald might not altogether approve of this last item, for he was aware that the wliite men had what he considered a sillv objection to unnecessarv blood- shed, Krcta, whilst telling Ronald the rest of the instruc- tions he had given to the spies, did not think it necessary to detail this portion of ihcm. " Where shall we stay during the day ?" Ronald enquired of him : " the country seems i)erfect]y flat and unbroken, their look-out will see us a long way off" "Yes, Incos. not do to sto]) here. We send horse back to first bush and tell man to bring liim every night to bot- tom of the hill, or if he sees us from a distance coming down the hill with Kaffirs aficr us, to come to meet us. We lie down here till morning, look-out on hill mav see us. but Kaffir at foot of hill no see us. Then when they go rilE CVRSE Of C.I AWE'S HOLD. 169 \-\ l)a(:k 1)Ot- I on, we go on too, as you said, and follow as far as first wo(k1 ; luok-oi.t think wc belong tj big party ; then we hide there till le of my Piei; come Lack. 1 lold them we should oe at <. '.ge of wood, rid lie is to make signals a:- he Walks along. We will push on as far as W( can, so that we don't come upon kraals." " 'J'hat wib ao very well indeed," Ronald said, "for ov :y incii that we can g(>' n' ler to Macomo's kraal is so much gained." lie removed the }))stoIs from his holsters, and fastened tnem t(j his belt, putting them so far back that they were completely liidden by the blanket he wore over his shoulders, and tlien went with the party some little distance back, and lay down till morning. Almost as soon as it was daybreak, the Fingo who was on the watch announced that the Kaffirs were moving, and the little party at once followed. The Kaffirs had disappeared among the woods, high up on the hill side, when they began to ascend the grassy slope. They had no doubt that they were observed by the Kaffirs' watchmen, but they ])roceeded boldly, feeling sure that it would be sui)posed that they belonged to the party ahead of them. The path through the forest was a narrow one, and they moved along in single file. One of the party went fifty yards ahead, walking cautiously, and evidently listening intently, the others proceeding noiselessly, prejKired to bound into the forest directly the man ahead gave the signal that anyone was approaching. For up wauls of a mile they kept their way, the ground rising continually ; then they reached a spot where a deep valley fell away at their feet. It divided into several branches, and wreaths of smoke could be seen curling up through the trees at a number of points. Similar indications of kraals could be seen everywhere upon the hill side and Kreta shook his head and said : — " No can go further. Heaps of Kaffirs all about. Must wait now." Even Ronald, anxious as he was to go on, felt that it was risking too much to proceed. The kraals were so numerous that as soon as they got into the valley they would be sure to run into one ; and, moreover, the path Would fork into many branches, and it would be im])0s- sible for them to say which of these the party ahead had 170 Tiir. crRsr. or carm-:s i/o/.n. taken. They wtiU into the wood sonic little distance and lav d y (hnvii, on e In-ii)'' left in w.itch in the bush close to the road. Tile hours jiassed slowly while they waited the return (jf one ol the men wIkj had been posted before daylight in the wo()//>. «r» Vcs, Ik h;ul sci'ii lur as tlicy passed liis ainhush t)ic first tliiiii; ill tlic niMrning. Slie lookrd vltv whili' and tired, hut slie was walkinir. She was imi Ixxmd in any way. Tluit was all he could tell him. ilow soon can we u'o on. Chiil"? " Kopald nsked, i m- jiatiently. " ^'ou see it is three hours' niarchini; even if we ^'o slraii^ht through." 'Can go now,"' he chief said. *' Now we know where Macomo's kraal is we can go straight through the bush." They went hack to the path, 'j'he Fingo pointrd to the exact i)osition among the hills where Macomo's kraal was. 'I'here were two intermechate ridges to he crossed, hut Ronald did not douht the Fingo's power to follow a nearly direct line to the spot. 'Now," the chief said, ''you follow close hehind me. Never mind where voi: are going. Do not look at the trees or the rocks or anything, hut tread in my foofstc])s. Rememher if voii tread on a twi^ or make tlie least sound ])erhaps someone notice it. M; ly he noticed a nvhow Fellows uj)on the watch may see us moving througli the trees overheac-sides if she got out where could she go to?" " \\W\ now, Incos, what are we to do ? " the chief asked. " We have brought you here, and now we are ready to die if you tell us. What you tliink we do next? " " Wait a bit, Kreta. I must think it over." Indeed Ronald had been thinking all day. He had considered it probable that Mary Armstrong would ])e ])laced in the hut of one of the chief's wives. The first queslion was how to communicate with her. It was almost certain that either some of the women would sit uj) all ni2;]U, or that sentries would be placed at the door. Pro- bably the former. The Kaffirs had made a long journey, and had now doubtless been gorging themselves with meat. They would be disinclined to watch, and would consider their resi)onsibility at an end when they had handed her over to the women. It was almost certain that Mary her- self would be aslee]) after her fatigue of the last three days ; even the prosi)ect of the terrible f^ite before her would scarce suffer to keep her awake." " Do you think two women will sit uj) with her all night? " " Two or three of them sure," Kreta replied. " My plan is this, Kreta ; it may not succeed, but I can think of no other. In the first place, I will go into the kraal. I will wait until there is no one near the door, then I will stooj) and say in a loud voice, s(; that she may Tin-: cuKSE or carivf's iroi.n. »73 hc.'ir, tli.at she is to kci'p a\v;ikc at night. Maromo's women are none of tliem likely to iimlerstand I'.nglish, and before they run out to see what it is I shall l)e gone. If tiu-y tril the men they have heard a strange voire speak- ing unknown words tliey will ho laughed at, or at most a search will be made through the kraal, and of course nothing will l)e found. Then, to-night, chief, when every- thing is still. I propose that three of you shall crawl with me into the kraal. When we get to the door of the hut you will draw aside the hide that will be hanging over it, and peej> in. if oidy two women are sitting by the fire in the centre, two of you will crawl in as noiselessly as pos- sible. I know that you can crawl so that the sharpest ear cannot hear you. Of course, if there are three, three of you will go in.; if two, two only. \'ou will crawl uj) behind the women, suddenly seize them by the throat and gag and bind them. Then you will beckon to tlu' \oung lady to follow you. She will know from my warning that you are friends. If she has a light dress on, throw a dark blanket round her, for many of the Kaffirs will go on feasting all night and might see lu-r in the light of the fire. Then I will hurry her away, and your men follow us so as to stop the Kafhrs a momciv.. and gi\e us time to get into the bushes if we are seen.' " Kreta will go himself." the chief said, "with two of his \ oung men. Do you not think, Incos, that there is danger in your calling out? " " Not much danger, 1 think. Kreta. Thev will not dream of a white man being here, in the heart of the Amatolas. I think there is less danger in it than that the girl might cry out if she was roused from her sleep by men whom she did not know. She might think tliat it was Macomo come home." Kreta agreed in this opinion " I will go down at once," R(i dd said ; " they're making such a noise that it is unlikely anyone outside the hut would hear me, however loud 1 poke, while if I waited until it got ([uieter, I might be heard. Take my ritle, Kreta, and one of the pistols ; I want to carry nothing extra with me, in case I have to make a sudden ])olt for it." Mary Armstrong was lying a])])arently unnoticed by the wall of the hut, v.'hile a dozen women were chattering round the fire in the centre. Suddenly she started ; for i;, % 174 THE CTRSE OE CARXE'S If OLD. from the door, whicli m.js 1/ul three feet liigh, there came ii loud, clear vvjice, " Mary Armstrong, do not sleep lo-night. Rescue is at hand." The women started to tlieir feet with a cry of alarm at these mysterious sounds, and stood gazing at the entrance ; then there was a cln;nor of tongues, and presently one of them, older than the rest, walked to the entrance and looked out. "'{"here is no one here,'' she said, looking round, and the greater part of the women at once rushed out. The conduct (^f tlie womep. convinced Mary Armstrong that she was not in a le risks :all you ime was my own mcs." ?oi- into friends irl said, red. "a not talk nd, that )gether. n, but I ere any been in do not a [ with crgeant lie farm cognise in tliat Ronald up the your grease ■ir?" 'ed his wg her- r three 1 a few [ to the :t con- ''One of my mm has found a place that will do well," he said. "It is time we were going." One of the F'ingoes now look the lead: the others followed. A (juarter of an hour's walk up the hill, which grew steeper and steejier every step, brought them to a spot where some masses of rock had fallen from above. 'I'hey were half covered with the thick growth of brushwood. 'I'hc native pushed one of the bushes aside, and showed a sort of cave formed by a great slab of rock that had fallen over the others. Kreta uttered an expression of ai)proval. Two of the natives crei)t in with their assegais in their hands. In two or three minutes one of them returned with the bodies of two })uff adders that they had killed. These were dropped in among some rocks. *' Vou can go in now," Kreta said. '' There arc no more of them.'' Ronnld crawled in first, and helped Mary vVrmstrong in after him. The natives followed. Kreta came in last, < arefuUy examining the l)ush before he did so, to see that no twig was broken or disarranged. He managed as he entered to ])lace two or tliree rocks over the entrance. *'(T()(;d ])lace," he said, looking around as he joined the others. It was of ample size to contain the party, and WIS some four feet in height. Light came in in several 1 'laces between the rocks on which the ui)per slab rested. '' It could not be better, Kreta, even if it had been made o;\ j)urpose. It was lucky, indeed, your fellow found it." '* We found two or three others." the chief said, "but tliis best." '' It is lucky those men came in first and found the snakes," Mary Armstrong said, " for we have not got here the stuff we always use in the Colony as an antidote, and iheir bite is almost always fatal unless that can be used in time." Ronald was av*'are of thi^, and had, indeed, during tlv,.' night's march had snakes constantly in his mind, for he kiiew that they abounded in the h'lls. One of the Fingoes had taken his station at the entrance, having moved the uj)per stone the chief had placed there, so that he could sit with his head out of the opening. Half an hour after they had entered the cave he turned round and sj)oke to tlie chief. •' The Kaffirs are hunting." Kreta said. Listening at tile o])ening they could hear distant shouts. • These were ■ i f't lit 1 "^ ^1 iii II I m ii 182 T///': crA\sv-: or c.\rki:s iroT.D. answered from many jioints, some oflliem comparativelv close. ''The news is bciiiL; jjasscd from kr.ial to kraal," Ron.ild said; "they will be up like a sw;irm of bees now, l^ii searcli as they will tlieyarc n at ail, c.hi. f ? '' "They will find where wc slopped close to kraal,"' Kreta said ; " the dead lea\-es were stirred by our feet ; after that not find, too many j)eoi)le gone aloni; jiath ; ground verv liard ; may find, some time, mark of white woman's shoe : l)Ut we leave \yx\\\ many times, and after I carry no find at all. Mountains very big much bush ; never find here." 'I'he chief now told his follower to replace the stone and join the others, and that all should be silent. Sitting with his ear at one of the openings he listened to the sounds in the woods ; once or twice he wispered that Kaffirs were ])assing close, searching among the bu>hes ; and one Tarty came S'j near that their words could be plainly heard iii the cave. They were discussing the manner in which the fugitiv- '^ad escajH'd, and were unanimous in the belief that she had been aided by the followers of some other chief, for that an enemy should have penetrated into the JTicart of the Amatolas did mu strike them as possible. 'J'he argument was ra'her which of the other chiifs would have ventured I ) h .e robbed Mtive. ATacomo had doubtless l)een drunk, and Sandilli might have determined to have the ])rize carried off for himself Nfary Armstrong shuddered as she listened to the talk. but when tliey had gone on Kreta said : " Good thing the Kaffirs have th;it thought, not search so much here. Search in Sandilli's countrv. Perhaps make great quarrel between Macomo and Sandilli. Oood thing lliat," As the day went on the s])irits of the P'ingoes rose, and in low tones they expressed their delight at having out witted the Kaffirs. No footsteps had been heard in their neighborhood for some tiiije, and they felt sure that the search kad been THE crRsi: OF c.Ux'X/-:s hold. 1^3 ^•ss l)C(.-n ave Ihc he talk, t search ■*crhaj)s Good .se, ?vW([ ng out :^rhootI \ been al» mdoiicd in that (luartcr. 'I'owards sunset a., ale a iicarty meal, and as soon as it l»e( aim- da^k the stones at the entrance were removed and the iiarly crept out. Mary Armstrong; had slept the greater ])art of the day, and Ronald and the Fini^aies had also ])assed a ])ortion of their nine in slee]). They started, therefore, refreshed and strong. It took tlicni many hours of patient work before they arrived at the edge of the forest on the last swell of the Aniatolas. Tliey had becnobbged to make many deto\irs I) avoK 1 k raals. and I. ) surmoun t lb. ireciuicx.'s that of"len rred their wa\ . 'I"!iev had started about eight in the eninLT, anc 1 It was, as they knew from the stars, fully iiree o'clock in the morning when they emerged from the iorest. Mary Armstrong had kept on well with the rest ; her feet were extremely painful, but she was now strong and iiopeful, and no Word (,)f complaint escaped her. Ronald .tnd the chief kept 1)\" her side, heli)ing her up or down (iifticult i)laces, and assisting her to i)ass through the tliorny bushes, v/b.irh caught her dress, and would have tendered it almost impossible t' ^r her to get through un- issisted. Once out of the bush, the ])arty hurried down the grassy slo[)e and then ki'pt on a mile further. The < hief now gave a loi:d call. U was answered faintly from 'he distance ; i:i five mimites tlie sound of a horse's hoofs were heard, and in a short lime the b'ingo who had been left in charge of it galloped uj) with Ronald's horse. Alary Armstrong was sitting on the ground, lor she was now so utterly exhausted she could no longer keej) on her feet and had. since they left the bush, been supported and half I arried b\' Ronald and Kreta. Slie made an effort to rise th e liorse came up. " Please wait a moment, I will not be a1)ove two minu- tes," Ronald said; "but 1 really cannot ride into 'A'illiamslown like this." He unstrai)];ed his valise, took the jack boots that were hanging from tlie saddle, andmived away in the darkness. In two or three minutes he return-.'d in his uniform. '' I feel a civiii/!/d being ag.iin,"' he s:iid laughing, "a liandfid of san'l at the first stream we come t<« will Liet most of thi^ ick <.'{{ mv fic 1 have left the wig as a legacy to any IvJ.flir who may liglit upon it. Now 1 will if I 184 THE ( irh\s/-: oi- r.ikiVh's iioi.n. sliift the saddle a fi \v inr.lics further l)a( k. I think yoii liad hitttr ride before me, for )()U are (-oiiipletely worn out, and I can hold ytni tliere belter tlian you could hold your self if you were to sit behind nie." lie stra])l)ed on his valise, shifted liis saddle, lifted Mary ui*, and .sprang up ])ehind her. " Are you comfortable? " he asked. " (^uite comtoriable," slie said, a little shyly, anc' then tiiey started. 'I'he light was just Iteginning to l>reak in the east as they rode out from the clumj) of trees. 'I'liey were not out of danger yet, for ])arties of Kaffirs might i)c met with at any time until tluy arrived within nnisketshoi of K-ing William;, town. The i^'ingoes ran at a pace thai kept the horse at a sharp trot. It was very jjleasant to Koiiald Mervyn to feel Slary Armstrong in his arms, and to know, as lie did, how safe and cont'ideni she felt there ; but he did not press lier more cUjseiy than was necessary to enable her to retain her seat, or i)ermit himself tosi;eak in a softer or tenderer tone that usual. If we should come ac:ross any of these scoundrels. M vrv said i)reseniiy, do vou take the reii is. I) you think you can sit steady without my liolding yon firmly?" "Yes," tlie girl said, '" if I put one foot on yours F could certainly hold on. I could twist one of my hands in the horse's mane." " Can you use a pistol ? " '' Of course 1 can," she replied. " 1 was as good a shot as my father." *' That is all right, then. I will give you one of my ])istols ; then I can hold you with my right arm, for the horse nuiy plunge if a si>ear strikes him. 1 will use my ])istol in my left hand. 1 will see that no one catches his l)ridle on that side ; do you attend to the right. 1 hope it won't come to that, still there's never any saying, and we shall have one or two nasty i)laces to pass through on our way (h)wn. We have the advantage that should there be any Kaftirs there they will not be keeping a watch tliis way, and we may hojte to get pretty well through them l)efore thev see us." '* Will you promise me one thing, Ronald ? " she asked. *' Will you shoot me if you find that we cannot get past ? " Ronald nodded. TlIK Cl'KSl: OI- C ANNE'S HOLD, 185 " T nm not at all afraid of death," she said ; " death would l)e iiothiii,L( like that. 1 would ratiier die a thousand liiiii's than f.ill into thi' hands of the RatVirs a_L^aiii." " I i)r(»inise you. Mary. :i'.y last shot hut one shall he for you my last for myself; but if I am struek off the liorse 1)V a bullet or assegai you must trust to vour own i^islol."' " 1 will do that, Ronald ; \ have been perfectly happy since you took me out of the hut ; I have not seenu'd to feel any fear of being rec^aptured, for I felt that if they overtook us I rould always escape so. On the way there, if I could have got hold of an assegai I should have stabbed myself. " Thank Clod you didn't." said Ronald earnestly, '• though I could not have blamed vou." They i)aused at the entrance to each kloof through which they had to i)ass, aiid the ]"'ingoes went cautiously .ihead searching through the bushes, it was not until he heard their call on the other side that Ronald galloped after them. " I begin to hope that we shall get through now," Ronald said, after eniergingfrom one of these kloofs ; '' we have only one more bad ])lac.e to j>ass, but, of course, the danger is greatest there, as from that the Kafiirs will ])e watching against any advance of the trooj)S from the town." The Fingocs were evidently of the same opinion, for as they ai)proaciie(l it Ivreta stopped to speak to Ronald. " Kaffir sure to be here," he said, • but me and my men can creep through ; but we must no call to you, Incos : the Katfirs would hear us and be on the watch. Safest p!an for us to go through first, not go along paths, but through hush ; then for you to gallo[) straiglit through ; even if they close to ])ath, you get before they time to stoj) you. 1 think that best way." " I think so too, Ivreta. If they hear the horse's hoofs coming from behind they will suppose it s a mounted messenger from the hills. Anyhow, 1 think that a dash for il is our best chance." fast. g^ I think so, incos. I think you get through safe if '' How long will you be getting through, Kreta? " *' Quarter of an hour," tlie chief said ; *' must go slow. Vou ride four, five minutes." ■i ,> vj,, IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3)

<. "^^ ■*%>% 1.0 UBS |2s Ki 1^ 11112.2 t m "™^ l^ IIIIIM 1.1 Ill 1 ft 1.25 III II '-^ 1 ^ ■% 7 Photographic Sciences Coiporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. MS80 (716) 873-4503 I I 186 rilE CURSE OF CARNE\S HOLD. Kreta stood thoughtfully for a minute or two. " Me don't like it, Incos. Mc tell you what we do. We keep over to left, and then when we get just through, the l)ush we fire our guns. Then the Kaffirs very much surj^rised and all run that way, and you ride straight through." *' Jhit they might overtake you. Kreta," "They no overtake," the chief said confidently. '-We run fast and get good start. AVilliamstown only one h(nir s walk ; run less than half hour. They no catch us." When the Fingoes had been gone about ten minutes, Ronald, assured that the Kaffirs would be gathered at the far end of the kloof, went forward at a walk. Presently he heard six shots fired in ra])id succession. This was followed by an outburst of yells and cries in front, and he set spurs to his horse and dashed forward at a gallo] . He was nearly through the kloof when a body of Kaffirs. who were running through the wood from the right, buisi suddenly from the bushes into the ])ath. So astonished were they at seeing the white man within a few yards of them that for a moment thev did not think of usinu tivjir weai)ons, and Ronald dashed through them, scattering them, to right and left. V>\\\. others sprang from the bushes. Ronald shot down two men who s})rang at the horse's bridle, and he heard Mary Armstrong's pistol on the other side. He had drawn his sword before setting off at a gallop. " Hold tight, Mary," he said, as he relaxed his hold of her, and cut down a native who was springing upon him from the bushes. Anodier fell from a bullet from the ]iistol, and then he was through lliem. " Stoo]) down, Mary," he said, ])ressinc; her forward on the horse's neck, and bending down over her. He felt his horse give a sudden si)ring, and knew that it was hit with an assegai; while almost at the same instant he felt a sensation as of a hot iron running from his belt to liis shoulder, as a sjjcar ripped up cloth and llesh and then glanced along over his shoulders. A moment later and they were out of the kloof, and riding at full speed across the open. Looking over his shoulder he saw that the Kaffirs gave up pursuit after following for a hundred yards. Over on the left he heard dro})ping shots, and j)resently caught a glimj)Se in that direction of the Fingoes running in a close body pursued ,:i«:' TIIK CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. 187 fit the distance of a hundred yards or so by a large nuniJ)cr of Kaflirs. lint otlicrs had heard the sound of firing, for ill a minute or two he saw a Ixxly of horsemen richng at full speed from Williamstown in the direction of the firing, lie at once checked the speed of his horse. " We are safe now. .Mary ; that is a troop of our corps. Are you hit ? " *' No, I am not touched. Are you hurt, Ronald? I thought I felt you start." " I have got a bit of a scratch on the back, l)Ut it's nothing serious. I will get off in a moment, Mary ; the horse lias an assegai in his (piarters, and 1 must get it out." "Take me down, too, i)lease ; I feel giddy now it is all over." Ronald lifted her down, and then })ulled the assegai from the horse's back. " I don't think much harm is done," he said ; ''a fort- night in the stable and he will be all right again." " You are bleeding dreadfully," the girl exclaimed, as she caught sight of his back. " It's a terrible wound to look at." " Then it looks worse than it is," he laughed. " The spear only glanced along on the ribs. It's lucky I was stooping so much. After going through what we have, we m>iy think ourselves well off indeed that we have escaped with such a scratch as this between us." " It's not a scratch at all," the girl said, indignantly ; " it's a very deep, bad cut." " Perhaj)s it is a bad cut," Ronald smiled, '' but a cut is of no consetiuence one way or the other. Now let us join the others. Ah, here they come, with Kreta showing them the way." The troopers had chased the Kaffirs back to the bush, and, led by the Fingo, were now coming up at a gallop to the spot where Ronald and Mary Armstrong were standing by the horse. '•Ah, it is you. Sergeant," Taeutenant Daniels said, for it was a portion of Ronald's old troop that had ridden up. '' 1 never expected to see you again, for we heard the day before yesterday, from the levy officer who came in with the ammunition wagons, that vou had gone off to trv to rescue three ladies who had been carried ofi by the Kaffirs. It was a bad business, but you have partly succeeded, I am glad to see," and he lifted his cap to !Mary Armstrong. ' SI . y ' ' J- 1 't4 fl f Hi \ ^ i I i 188 yy/.v ci'Ks/-: of c,iA\\7rs noi.i\ ''Partly, sir," Ronald said. '"The wretches killed tl,.. other two the day they carried them off. This is Mi,> Armstrong, 1 think you slui)[)ed at her father's lou ^ one day when we were out on the Kahousie.'' "Yes, of course," the lieutenant said, alii^hting. •• Ia- cuse me for not recognising vou, Miss Armstrong, hut. in fact " " \\\ fact, I look very ])ale, and ragged, and tattered." *' I am not surprised at that. Miss Armstrong, ^'()u must have gone through a terrible time, and 1 heartily congratulate Sergeant Illunt on the success I'f his gallant attempt to rescue you." " Have you heard from my father ? How is he ? " "Your father, Miss Armstrong! 1 have heard nothing about him since I heard from Sergeant Blunt that you had all got safely away after that attack." "He was in the wagon, sir," Ronald ex])lained ; "he was hurt in the fight with the Kaffirs, and Mr. Xi^laii brought him back in the wagons." "Oh, 1 heard he had brought a wounded man with him ; but I did not hear the name. Nolan said he had l;ec!i badly wounded, but the surgeon said that he thought \w. might get round. 1 have no doubt that the sight of Miss Armstrong will do him good." " Perhaps, sir," Ronald said, faintly, " you will let oiie of the troop ride on with Miss Armstrong at once. 1 think I must wait for a bit." " Why, what is it, Sergeant ? " the lieutenant asked, catching him by the arm, for he saw that he was on the point of falling. "You are wounded, I see : ar.d here am I talking about other tilings and not tliinking of you." Two of the troop leapt from their horses and laid Ronald down, for lie had fainted, overcome partly by the pain ar.d loss of Mood, but more by the sudden termination of the heavy strain of the last four days. " It is only a tiesh wound. Miss Armstrong. There is no occasion for fear. He has iainted from loss of blood, and I have 1 doubt for a moment l)ut he will soon be all right again. Johnson, hand your horse over to >[is:-; Armstrong, and do you, Williams, ride over with her to the hospital. We will have Sergeant ])lunt in the hospital half an hour after you get there, Miss Armstrong." " It seems very unkind to leave him," the girl said, " after all he has done for me." THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD, 1S9 " He will understand it, my dear young lady, and you can see him in the hosi)ital directly you i^et there." Mary reluctantly allowed herself lo be lifted into the saddle and rode off with the trooper. " Now take his jacket and shirt off," the lieutenant said, "it's a nasty rip that he has got. I suppose that he was leaning forward in the saddle when the spear touched him. *'It's lucky that it glanced up instead of going through him." The soldiers removed Ronald's coat. There was no shirt underneath, for he had not waited to put one on when he mounted. The troopers had heard from their comrades, on the return of the escort, that the sergeant had, before starting, got himself up as a native ; and they were not therefore surprised, as they otherwise would have been, at his black skin. " Put your hand into the left holster of my saddle," the lieutenant said. " Vou will find two or three bandages and some lint there ; they are things that come in handy at this work. Lay the lint in the gash. That's right. Press it down a little, and i)Ut some more in. Now lift him up a little, while I i)ass these bandages round his body. There ; 1 think he will do now \ but there's no doubt that it is a nasty wound. It has cut right through the muscles of the back. Now turn him over, and give me my flask from the holster." Some brandy and water was poured between Ronald's lips, and he soon oi)ened his eyes. " Don't move, sergeant, or you will set your wound off bleeding again. We will soon get you comfortably into the hospital. Ah, that is the very thing ; good men," he broke off, as Kreta and the Fingoes brought up a litter which they had been busy in constructing. " Miss Arm- strong has ridden on to the hospital to see her father. She wanted to stop, but I sent her on, so that we could band- age you comfortably." " I think I can sit a horse now," Ronald said, trying to rise. " I don't know whether you can or not. Sergeant ; but you are not going to try. Now, lads, lift him on to the litter." Kreta and the two troo])ers lifted him carefully on to the litter ; then four of the Fingoes placed it on their shoulders. Ai I IQO TirE CURSE OF CAKN/vS HOLD. Another took Ronald's horse, whicli now limped stiflly, and led it along behind the litter; and with the trooj) bringing up the rear, the party started for King W^illianis- town. li u CHAPTKR XIV. RONALD IS OKFKRKI) A COMMISSION. As soon as Mary Armstrong reached the hospital, the trooper who had accompanied her took her to the surgeon's quarters. The officer, on hearing that a lady wished to speak to him, at once came out. " 1 ftm Mary Armstrong," the girl said as she slipped down from the horse. " I think my father is here wounded. He came up in the wagons the day before yesterday, I ])elieve.'' " Oh, yes, he is here. Miss Armstrong. I had him put in one of the officers' wards that is otherwise empty at l)resent." " How is he, doctor ? " " Well, I am sorry to say that ju.st at i)resent he is very ill. The wounds are not, I hoi)c, likely to prove fatal, though undoubtedly they are very serious ; but he is in a state of high fever — in fact he is delirio is, i)rinci})ally, I think, owing to his anxiety about you, at least so I gathered from the officer who brought him. in, for he was already delirious when he arrived here." " I can go to him, I hope ? " *' Certainly you can, ]\Iiss Armstrong, Your presence is likely to soothe him. The ward will be entirely at your disi)osal. I congratulate you most heartily upon getting out of the hands of the Kathrs. Mr. Nolan told us of the gallant attempt which a sergeant of the Cape Mounted Rifles was going to make to rescue you, but I don't think that anyone thought he had the shadow of a chance of success." " He succeeded, doctor, as you see ; but he was wounded to-day just as we were in sight of the town. They are bringing him here. Will you kindly let me know when he comes in and how he is ? " THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD, 191 '* I will let you know at once, Miss Armstrong ; and now I will take you to your father." One of the hospital orderlies was standing by the bed- side of Mr. Armstrong as his daughter and the surgeon en-tered. The patient was talking loudly. " I tell you I will go. They have carried off Mary. I saw them do it and could not help her, but I will go now." Mary walked to the bedside and bent down and kissed her father. *' I am here, father, by your side. I have got away from them, and here I am to nurse you." The patient ceased talking, and a quieter expression came over his face. Mary took his hand in hers and quietly stroked it. " That's right, Mary," he murmured ; " are the bars of the cattle kraal up? See that all the shutters are closed, we cannot be too careful, you know." " I will see to it all, father," she said, cheerfully ; " now try to go to sleep." A few more words passed from the wounded man's lips, and then he lay quiet with closed eyes. '' That is excellent, Miss Armstrong," the surgeon said; *' consciousness that you are with him has, you see, soothed him at once. If he moves, get him to drink a little of this lemonade, and I will send you in some medi- cine for him shortly." " How are the wounds, doctor? " " Oh, I think the wounds will do," the surgeon replied ; " so far as I can tell, the assegai has just missed the top of the lung by a hair's breadth. Two inches lower and it would have been fatal. As for the wounds in the legs, I don't anticipate much trouble with them. They have missed both bones and arteries, :indare really nothing but flesh wounds, and after the act; healthy life your father has been living, I do not think . j need be uneasy about them." In half an hour the surgeon looked in again. " Sergeant Blunt has arrived," he said. " Vou can set your mind at ease about him ; it is a nasty gash, but of no real importance whatever. I have drawn the edges together and sewn them up ; he is quite in good spirits, and laughed and said that a wound in the back could scarcely be called an honorable scar. I can assure you that in ten days or so he will be about again." H I, 'ii') \ 192 THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. " Would you mind telling him," Mary asked, " that I would come to sec him at once, hut my father is holding my hand s(j light that I could not draw it away without rousing him ? " " I will tell him," the surgeon said. " Oh, here is the orderly with your medicine as well as your father's." The orderly brought in a tray with a bowl of beef tea and a glass of wine. " You will take both these, if you please, Miss Armstrong, and I will have the other bed l)laced by the side of your father, so that you can lie down with him holding your hand. You are looking terribly pale and tired, and I do not want you on my hands too," The tray was placed upon the table within Mary's reach, and the surgeon stood by and saw that she drank the wine and beef tea. He and the orderly then moved the other couch to the side of Mr. Armstrong's bed, and arranged it so that Mary could lie down with her hand still in her father's. " Now," he said, " I recommend you to go off to sleep soon. I am ha{)])y to say that your father is sleeping naturally, and it may be hours before he wakes. AVhen he does so, he will be sure to move and wake you, and the sight of you will, if he is sensible, as I expect he will be, go a long way towards his cure." Captain Twentyman, when he returned in the afternoon from a reconnaissance that he had been making with a portion of the troops, called at once to see Ronald, but was told that he was sound asleep, and so left word that he would come again in the morning. The news of Sergeant Blunt's desperate attempt to rescue three white women who had been carried off by the Kaffirs had, when reported by TJeutenant Nolan, been the subject of much talk in the camp. Every one admitted that it was a breach of discipline thus to leave the party of which he was in command when upon special service, but no one seemed to have seriously blamed him for this. Admiration for the daring action and regret for the loss of so brave a soldier, for none thought that there was the slightest chance of ever seeing him again, overpowered all other feelings. Mr. Nolan stated that the sergeant had told him thiit one of the three women was the daughter of the wounded m;in he had brought in with him, and that he had known her and her father before, and it was generally 711 R CURSF. OF CARNF'S HOLD, 193 ' that I holding without e is the n I Decf tea , if you icr bed ie down terribly ds too.'' Mary's ic drank L moved )ed, and cr hand to slee]) sleeping When , and the I will be, ftcrnoon with a lald, but ord that empt to by the lecn the .dmittcd party of nee, but Ifor this. Ie loss of Iwas the rered all lant had ^ghter of that he [enerally agreed that there must have been something more than mere acquaintance in the case to induce the sergeant to undertake such a desperate enterprise. (Ircat interest was therefore excited when upon the return of Lieutenant Daniels' party, it became known that he had fallen in with Sergeant Blunt and a young lady, and that the sergeant was severely wounded. All sorts of questions were asked the lieutenant. " Ten to one she's pretty, Daniels," a youn^ subaltern said. " She is pretty, Mellor ; as pretty a girl as I have seen in the Colony, though, of course, she is looking utterly worn out, and no wonder. But she's more than pretty — she is a lady if ever I saw one." ** He is a gentleman," another officer, who had just come up, said. " I have just been talking to Nolan, and he tells me that Sergeant Blunt spoke of her as a lady, and said that her father had served in the army, and fought as a young ensign at Waterloo." " Mr. Armstrong is a gentleman," Lieutenant Daniels said. *' He had a farm on the Kabousie river ; that is where Blunt got to know him. He had the reputation of being a wealthy man. Blunt was in command of a party who came up and saved them when they were attacked by the Kaffirs on Christmas Day, So tltis is the second lime he has rescued the young lady." " I hope Mr. Armstrong isn't going to be a stern father, and spoil the whole romance of the business," young Mellor laughed. " One of your troopers, Daniels, how- ever brave a fellow, can hardly be considered as a good match for an heiress," " Blunt is as much a gentleman as I am," Lieutenant Daniels said quietly, " I know nothing whatever of his history or what his real name is, but I expect that Blunt is only a nom-dc-guerre, but I do know that he is a gentle- man, and I am sure that he has served as an officer. More than that I do not want to know, unless he chooses to tell me himself, I suppose he got into some scrape or other at home ; but I wouldn't mind making a heavy bet that, whatever it was, it was nothing dishonorable." *' But, how did he get her away from the Kaffirs ? It seems almost an impossibility. I asked the head man of the Fingoes, who was with him," the lieutenant said, "but ^ . 7 ill . H 194 TUP. CURSE OF CAKNE'S HOLD. he had .ilrcady got three ])arts drunk, so I did not get niueh out of him ; l)Ut as tar as I could make out, they carried her (>{{ iVom Macomo's kraal in the heart of the Amatolas." " Oh, come now, that seems altogether n])surd," two or three of the officers standing round said, and Mellor laughed. "()ri)heus going down to fetch Kuridicc back from Hades had an easy task of it in com])arison." " 1 am glad to see that you have not forgotten your classical learning, Mellor," one of the older officers said, *' but certainly of the two I would rather undertake the task of ()ri)heus, who was ])retty decently treated after all, than go to Macomo's kraal to fetch back a lady-love. Well, 1 sui)])()se we shall hear about it to-morrow, but I can hardly believe this story to be true. The natives are such liars that there's no believing what they say." The next morning, after breakfast, Cai)tain Twentyman and Lieutenant Daniels walked across to the hospital. They first saw the surgeon. " Well, doctor, how is my sergeant? " "On the high way to recovery," the surgeon said, cheer- fully. "Of course, the wound will be a fortnight, perha])s three weeks, before it is healed up sufficiently for him to return to duty, but otherwise there is nothing the matter with him. A long night's rest has ])ulled him round com- pletely. He is a little weak from loss of blood ; but there is no harm in that. 'J'here is, I think, no fear whatever of fever or other comi)lications. It is simply a question of the wound healing up." ''And the colonist — Armstrong his name is, I think, whose daughter was carried away — how is he going on?" " Much better. His daughter's ])rescnce at once calmed his delirium, and this morning, when he woke after a good night's sleep, he was conscious, and will now, I think, do well. He is very weak, but that does not matter, and he is perfectly content, lying there holding his daughter's hand. He has asked no questions as to how she got back again, and, of course, I have told her not to allude to the subject, and to check him at once if he does. The poor girl looks all the better for her night's rest. She was a wan-looking creature when she arrived yesterday morning, but is fifty per cent, better already, and with another day or two's rest, and the comfort of seeing her fiither going on well, she will soon get her color and tone back again." TIIE CURSE OF CARNES irOLD. '95 fiithcr going " I siipj)o.sc wc can go up and sec I'linit, and hoar about his adventures." *' Oil, yes, talking will do him no harm. I will come with you, for I was too busy this morning, when 1 went my rounds, to have any conversation with him except as to his wound." " My enquiries are partly personal and partly official," ('aptain Twentyman said. '-Colonel Somerset asked mo this morning to see Blunt, and gather aiiy information as to the Kaffirs' positions that might be useful. I wont yesterday evening to (piestion the Fingo head man who went with him, but he and all his men were as drunk as ]Mgs. I hear that when they first arrived they said they had carried the girl off from Macomo's kraal, but of course there must be some mistake ; they never could have ventured into the heart of the Amatolas and come out alive." The three officers proceeded together to the ward in which Ronald was lying. "Well, sergeant, how do you feel yourself ?" Captain Twentyman asked. *' Oh, I am all right, sir," Ronald answered, cheerfully. " My back smarts a bit, of course, but that is nothing. I ho})e I shall be in the saddle again before long — at any rate before the advance is made." " I hoi)e so. Blunt. And now, if you feel up to telling it, I want to hear about your adventure. Colonel Somerset asked me to enquire, as it will throw some light on the numbers and position of the Kaflirs ; besides, the whole camp is wanting to know how you succeeded in getting Miss Armstrong out of the hands of the Kaffirs. I can assure you that there is nothing else talked about." *' There is nothing much to talk about, as far as I am concerned, sir," Ronald said. '* It was the Fingoes' doing altogether, and they could have managed as well, indeed better, without me." " Except that they would not have done it, unless you had been with them." " No, perhaps not," Ronald admitted. '' I was lucky enough down at Port F^lizabeth to fish out the son of Kreta, the head man of the party, who had been washed off his feet in the surf ; and it was gratitude for that that induced him to follow me." ~x- i()6 THE CURSE OE CI AWE'S //U/./K " Yes, \vc heard about lliat l)iisiness from Mr. Nolan, and allhouj^h you speak lightly of it, it was, he tells us, a very i^aliaiu .iffair indeetl. Hut now as to this other matter." " In the first i)la<;e, Captain 'j'wenlynuin, I admit tiial ^'oini^^ off .IS I did was a great i)rea(:ii of duty. 1 can only say that I shall be willing, cheerfully, to submit to any j)enalty the colonel may think fit to inflict. I had no right wliatever to leave my detachment on what was really private business ; but even if I had been certain that 1 should have been shot as a deserter on my return to the regiment, I should not have hesitated in acting as I did." '* We all understand your feelings, JJlunt," Captain 'I'wentyman said, kindly, " and you have no need to make yourself uneasy on that score. To jjunish a man for act- ing as you have done would be as bad as the sea story of the captain wlio flogged a seaman, wiio jumped overboard to save a comrade, for leaving his ship without orders. Now for your story : all we have heard is that your Fingo says you carried off the young lady from Macomo's kraal, but, of course, that is not believed." "It is quite true, nevertheless," Ronald said. "Well, this is how it was, sir," and he gave a full account of the whole adventure. " Well, I congraulate you most heartily," Captain Twentyman said when he finished ; "it is really a wonder- ful adventure — a most gallant business indeed, and the whole corps, officers and men, will be proud of it." *' 1 should be glad, sir, if there could be some reward given to Kreta and his men ; as you will have seen from my story, any credit that there is in the matter is certainly their due." " I will see to that," the officer replied. " The Fingo desires are, hai)i)ily, easily satisfied ; a good rifle, a few cows, and a barrel of whisky make up his ideal of happi- ness. 1 think I can promise you they shall have all these. " In the afternoon, Mr. Armstrong again dropped off to a quiet sleep. This time he was not holding his daughter's hand, and as soon as she saw that he was fairly off she stole out of the room, and finding the surgeon, asked if he would take her up lo the ward where Sergeant Blunt was lying. "Yes, I shall be happy to take you up at once, Miss Armstrong. Everything is tidy just at present, for 1 have THE CURSE OF CAKXf/S HOLD. »97 isr Nolan, Us us, a matter." imit tluil can only 1 to any had no 'as really liii that 1 rn to the IS I did." Captain [ to make ,u for act- a story of )verboard ut orders, our Fingo no's kraal, . " Well, imt of the Captain a wonder- 1, and the it." me reward seen from is certainly The Fingo rifle, a few of happi- all these. " ed off to a daughter's irly off she asked if he Blunt was once, Miss , for I have IkkI a message from Colonel Somorsct that he and the j^MiuTal are coming round the wards. I don't suppose they will he here for halfan-hour, so you can come uj) at once." Tile sick men in the wards were surprised when the surgeon entered, accomjjanied hy a young lady. .She jiassed shyly along l)etween the rows of beds until she reached that of Ronald. She i)Ut her hand in his, hut for a moment was unable to speak. Ronald saw her agitation, and said cheerfully, " I am heartily glad, Miss Armstrong, lo hear from the doctor such a good account of your father. ;\s for me, I shall not be in his hands many days. 1 told you it was a mere scratch, and 1 believe that a good- si/ed piece of sticking plaster was all that was wanted." '• Vou haven't tlH)ught me unkind for not coming to sec you before, I h()i)c," the girl said; "but I have not been able till now to leave my father's room for a moment." '' I (piite understood that. Miss Armstrong, and indeed there was no occasion for you to come to me at all. It would have been quite time enough when I was up and about again. I only wish that it was likely that Mr. .\rmstrong would be on his feet as soon as I shall." *' Oh, he is going on very well," Mary said. " I consider that you have saved his life as well as mine. I feel sure that it is only having me with him again that has made such a change in him as has taken place since yesterday. The doctor says .so, too. I have not told him yet how it has all come about, but I hope ere very long he may be able to thank you for both of us." ** You thanked me more than enough yesterday, Miss Armstrong, and I am not going to listen to any more of it. As far as I can see, you could not have done me any greater service than by giving me the opportunity you have. Every one seems disposed to take quite a ridiculous view of the matter, and I may look forward to getting a troop- sergeant ship when there is a vacancy." The girl shook her head. She was too much in earnest even to pretend to take a light view of the matter. Just at that moment there was a trampling of horses outside, and the sharp sound of the sentries presenting arms. " Here is the general," Ronald said, with a smile, *' and although I don't wish to hurry you away, Miss Armstrong, 1 think that you had better go back to your father. I don't know whether he would approve of lady visitors in the hospital." •^1 ,.■■■*.■ iqS THE CURSE OF CARNFS HOLD ''Good-bye." the girl said, giving him her hand. "You won't let me thank you, but you know." "1 know," Ronald replied, "(iood-bye." She looked round for the surgeon, who had, after taking her up to Ronald, moved away for a short distarxe, but he was gone, having hurried off to meet the general below, and with a last nod to Ronald, she left the ward. She i)asscd out through the door into the court-yard just as the group of officers were entering "That is Miss Armstrong," the surgeon said, as she l)assed out. " What, the girl who was rescued ? " Colonel Somerset said ; " a very pretty, lady-like looking young woman. I am not surprised, now that I see her, at this desperate exploit of my sergeant." " No, indeed," the general said, smiling. " It's curious, Colonel, what men will do for a pretty face. Those other two poor creatures who were carried off were both mur- dered, and I don't suppose that their deaths have greatly distressed this young fellow one way or the other. No doubt he wouH have been glad to rescue them, but 1 imagine that their deaths have not in any way caused him to regard his mission as a failure. I suppose that it's human nature, General." Colonel Somerset laughed. • " You and I would have seen the matter in the same light when we were youngsters. General." The officers went through the wards, stopping several times to speak a few words to the patients. " So this is the deserter," Colonel Somerset said, with some assumed sternness, as they stopped by Ronald's bedside. "Well, sir, we have had a good many of those black rascals desert from our ranks, but you are the first white soldier who has deserted since the war began. Of course, you expect a drumhead court martial and shooting as soon as the doctor lets you out of his hands." Ronald saw that the old colonel was not in earnest. " It was very bad, Colonel," he said, " and I can only throw myself on your mercy." " You have done well, my lad — very well," the colonel said, laying his hand on his shoulder. " There are some occasions when even military laws give place to questions of humanity, and this was essentially one of them. You THE CURSE OF carne:s hold. 199 n the same are a fiiic fellow, sir ; and I ajji proud that you belong to my corps." The general, who had stopped behind speaking to another ])atient, now came up. " You have done a very gallant action, Sergeant Blunt," he said. " Captain Twentyman has reported the circum- stances to me ; but when you are out of hospital you must come to headquarters and tell me your own story. Will you see to this, Colonel Somerset ? " *' C'ertainly, sir. I will send him over, or rather 1)ring him over to you, as soon as he's about, for I should like to hear the whole story also." In ten days Ronald Mervyn was about again, although not yet fit for duty ; the wound had healed rapidly, but the surgeon said it would be at least another fortnight before he would be fit for active service. As soon as he was able to go out and sit on the benches in the hospital yard, many of his comrades came to see him, and there was a warmth and earnestness in their congratulations which showed that short as his time had been in the corps, he was thoroughly l)opular with them. Sergeant Menzies was particularly hearty in his greeting. " I knew you were the right sort, Harry Blunt, as soon as I set eyes upon you," he said; "but I did not expect that you were going to cut us all out so soon." " How is my horse, Sergeant ? " *' Oh, he's none the worse for it, I think. He has been taking walking exercise, and his stiffness is wearing off fast. I think he misses you very much, and he wouldn't take his food the first day or two. He has got over it now, but I know he longs to hear your voice again." Sometimes, too, Mary Armstrong would come out and sit for a time with Ronald. Her father was progressing favorably, and though still extremely weak, waci in a fair way towards recovery. " Will you come in to see father ? '" Mary said one morning ; " he knows all about it now ; but it was only when he came round just now that the doctor gave leave for him to see you." " I shall be very glad to see him," Ronald said, rising. " I own that when I saw him last I had very slight hopes that I should ever meet him alive again." '• He is still very wec^.k," the girl said, " and the doctor sa^s he is not to be allowed to talk much." 20O THE CURSE OF CARNE\S HOLD. •* I will only pay a shoct visit ; but it will be a great pleasure to me to see him; I have always felt his kindness to me." *' P'ather is kind to every one," the girl said, simply. *' In this instance his kindness has been returned a hundred-fold," By this time they had reached the door of the ward. " Here is Mr. Blunt come to see you, father. Now you know what the doctor said, you are not to excite yourself, and not to talk too much, and if you are not good, I shall take him away." " I am glad to see you are better, Mr. Armstrong," Ronald said, as he went up to the bed, and took the thin hand in his own. ''God bless you, my boy," the wounded man replied; '* it is to you I owe my recovery, for had you not brought Mary back to me, I should be a dead man now, and would have been glad of it." "I am very glad, Mr. Armstrong, to have been able to be of service to your daughter and to you ; but do not let us talk about it now, 1 am sure that you cannot do so without agitating yourself, and the great point at present with us all is for you to be up and about again. Do your wounds hurt you much? " " Not much ; and yours, Blunt ? " " Oh, mine is a mere nothing," Ronald said, cheerfully, " it's healing up fast, and except when I forget all about it, and move sharply, I scarcely feel it. I feel something like the proverbial man who swallowed the poker, and have to keep myself as stiff as if I were on inspection. This ward is nice and cool, much cooler than they are up- stairs. Of course the verandah outside shades you. You will find it very ])leasant there when you are strqng enough to get up. I am afraid that bylhat time I shall be off, for the troops are all on their march from up the coast, and in another ten days we expect to begin operations in earnest." " I don't think the doctor ought to let you go," Mary Armstrong said. " You have done quite your share, I am sure." " I hope my share in finishing up these scoundrels will be a good deal larger yet," Ronald laughed. " My share has princi^yally been creeping and hiding, except just in THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD, 2ol that last brush, and there, if \ mistake not, your share was as large as mine. I only fired three shots, and 1 think I heard your pistol go four times." " Yes, it is dreadful to think of now," the girl said ; " but somehow it didn't seem so at the time. I feel shocked now when I recall it." " There's nothing to be shocked at, Miss Armstrong ; it was our lives or theirs, and if your hand had not been steady, and your aim true, we should neither of us be here talking over the matter now. But I think my visit has been long enough. I will come in again, Mr. Armstrong, to-morrow, and I hoi)e each day to find you more and more able to take your share in the talk." In another ten days Ronald rejoined his troop, and the next day received an order to be ready at four o'clock to accompany Colonel Somerset to the General's. " Now, Sergeant, take a seat," the General said, " and tell me the full story of your adventures." Ronald again repeated his story. When he had done, the General remarked : • *' Your report more than bears out what T heard from Captain Twentyman. I have already talked the matter over with Colonel Somerset, as we consider that such an action should be signally rewarded. Colonel Somerset will at once apply for a commission for you in your own corps, or if you would prefer it, I will apply for a com- mission for you in one of the line regiments. I may say that the application under such circumstances would cer- tainly be acceded to." " I am deeply obliged to you for your kindness, sir, and to you. Colonel Somerset; but I regret to say that, with all respect, I must decline both offers." " Decline a commission ! " the General said in surprise. Why, I should have t] ought that it was just the thing that you would have liked — a dashing young fellow like you, and on the eve of serious operations. I can hardly understand you." Ronald was silent for a moment. " My reason for declining it, sir, is a purely personal one. Nothing would have given me greater pleasure than a commission so bestowed, but there are circumstances that absolutely prevent my mingling in the society of gentlemen. The name I go by is not my true one, and f :' I ff. t 202 THE CURSE Of CAkNE'S HOLD, over my own name there is so terrible a shadow resting that so long as it is there — and I have little hope of its ever being cleared off — I must remain as I am." Both officers remained silent for a moment. *' You are sure you are not exaggerating the case, Blunt?" Colonel Somerset said after a pause. "lean- not believe that this cloud of which you speak can have arisen from any act of yours, and it would be a pity indeed were you to allow any family matter to weigh upon you thus." Ronald shook his head. *' It is a matter in which I am personally concerned, sir, and I do not in any way exag- gerate it. I repeat, I must remain in my present position." " If it must be so, it must," the General said, " though I am heartily sorry. At least you will have the satisfac- tion of seeing your name in General Orders this evening for an act of distii\i;uished bravery." "Thank you, sir," said Ronald, seeing that the conversa- tion was at an end. He saluted the two officers, went out, and rode back to his quarters. The town was full of troops now, for regiments that had been despatched from England had nearly all arrived upon the spot, and the operations against the Kaffirs in the Amatolas were to begin at once. Some of the troops, in- cluding two squadrons of the Rifles, were to march next morning. Ronald went about his duties till evening, and then turned out to walk to the hospital. As he passed through the streets, he saw a group roimd one of the Rifles, who had just come out from a drinking shop, and was engaged in a fierce altercation with a Fingo. The man was evi- dently the worse for liquor, and Ronald went up to him and put his hand on his shoulder. " You had better go off to the barracks at once," he said sharply ; " you will be getting into trouble if you stay here." The man turned savagely round. " Oh, it's you, Sergeant Blunt ? Hadn't you better attend to your own business ? I am not committing any crime here. I haven't been murdering women, or any- thing of that sort." Ronald started back as if struck. The significance of the tone in which the man spoke showed him that these It em Then whil( when stant that quarts were THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. 203 were no random words, but a shaft deliberately aimed. In a moment he was cool again. *' If you do not return to the barracks at once," he said sternly, *' I will fetch a corporal's guard and put you in the cells." The man hesitated a moment, and then muttering to himself, reeled off towards the barracks. Had the blow come a month before, Ronald Mervyn would have felt it more. Absorbed in his active work on horseback the greater portion of his time, the remembrance of the past had become blunted, and the present had occupied all his thoughts. It was only occasionally that he had looked back to the days when he was Captain Mervyn, of the Borderers. But from the hour he had brought Mary Armstrong safely back to her father, the past had been constantly in his mind because it clashed with the present. Before, Ronald Mervyn and Harry Blunt had almost seemed to be two existences, unconnected with each other ; now, the fact of their identity had been constantly in his thoughts. The question he had been asking himself over and over again was whether there could be a permanent separation between them, whether he could hope to get rid of his connection with Ronald Mervyn, and to continue to the end of the chapter as Harry Blunt. He had told himself long before that he could not do so, that sooner or later he should certp.inly be recognised ; and although he had tried to believe that he could ])ass through life without meeting .anyone familiar with his face, he had been obliged to admit that this was next to impossible. Had he been merely a country gentleman, known only to the people within a limited range of distance, it would have been different ; but an officer who has served ten years in the army has innumerable acquaintances. Every move he makes brings him in contact with men of other regiments, and his circle goes on constantly widening until it embraces no small i)ortion of the officers of the army. Then every soldier who had passed through his regiment while he had been in it would know his face; ond go where he would he knew that he would be running con- stant risks of detection. More than one of the regiments that had now arrived at King Williamstown had been ([uartered with him at one station or another, and there were a score of men who would recognise him instantly 1 1, 204 THE CURSE OF CARNFJ^ HOLD, 4 did he come among them in the dress of an officer. This unexpected recognition, therefore, by a trooper in his own corps, did not come upon him with so sudden a shock as it would have done a month previously. '* I knew it must come," he said to himself bitterly, ** and that it might come at any moment. Still it is a shock. Who is this man, I wonder. .It seemed to me, when he first came up, that I had some faint remembrance of his face, though where, I have not the least idea. It was not in the regiment, for he knows nothing of drill or military habits. Of course if he had been a deserter, he would have pretended ignorance, but one can always tell l)y little things whether a man has served, and I am sure that this fellow has not. I suppose he comes from some- where down home. " Well, it can't be helped. Fortunately I have won a good name before this discovery is made, and am likely to reap the benefit of what doubt there may be. When a man shows that he has a fair amount of pluck, his com- rades are slow to credit him with bad qualities. On the whole, perhaps it is well that it should have come on this evening of all when I had quite made up my mind as to my course. Still, this strengthens me in my decision as to what I ought to do. It is hard to throw away happiness, but this shows how rightly I decided. Nothing will shake me now. Poor little girl ! it is hard for her, harder by far than for me. However, it is best that she should know it now, than learn it when too late." CHAPTER XV. A PARTING. The sun had already set an hour when Ronald Mervyn reached the hospital, but the moon had just risen, and the stars were shining brilliantly. Mary Armstrong met him at the door. " I saw you coming," she said, " and father advised me to come out for a little turn, it is such a beautiful evening." "I am glad you have come out, Mary; I wanted to speak to you." THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD, 205 Mary Armstrong's color heightened a little. It was the first time that he had called her by her Christian name' since that ride through the Kaffirs. She thought she knew what he wanted to speak to her about, and she knew what she should say. "Mary," Ronald went on, "you know the story of the poor wretch who was devoured by thirst, and yet could not reach the cup of water that was just beyond his grasp ? " " I know," Mary said. " Well, I am just in that position. I am so placed by an inscrutable Fate, that I cannot stretch out my hand to grasp, the cup of water." The girl was silent for a time. " I do not pretend to understand you, Ronald. Why cannot you grasp the cup of water ? " "Because, as I said, dear, there is a fate against me; because I can never marry ; because I must go through the world alone. I told you that the name I bear is not my own. I have been obliged to change it, because my own name is disgraced ; because, were I to name it, there is not a man here of those who just at present are praising and making much of mc who would not shrink from my side." "No, Ronald, no ; it cannot be." " It is true, dear ; my name has been associated with the foulest of crimes. I have been tried for murdering a woman, and that woman a near relative. I was acquitted, it is true ; but simply because the evidence did not amount to what the law required. But in the sight of everyone I went out guilty." " Oh, how could they think so ? " Mary said, bursting into tears ; " how could they have thought, Ronald, those who knew you, that you could do this ? " " Many did believe it," Ronald said, " and the evidence was so strong that I almost believed it myself. However, thus it is. I am a marked man and an outcast, and must remain alone for all my life, unless God in his mercy should clear this thing up." " Not alone, Ronald, not alone," the girj cried ; " there, you make me say it." " You mean you would stand by my side, Mary ? Thank you, my love, but I could not accept the sacrifice. I can bear my own lot, but I could not see the woman I loved pointed at as the wife of a murderer." ' i I i^ 306 THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD. n ** But no one would know," Mary began. " They would know, dear. I refused a commission the General offered me to-day, because were I to appear as an officer there are a score of men in this expedition who would know me at once ; but even under my present name and my i)rescnt dress I cannot escape. Only this evening, as I came here, I was taunted by a drunken soldier, who must have known me, as a murderer of women. Good Heavens ! do you think I would let any woman share that ? Did I go to the most lonely part of the world, that I might escape for years, but at last the blow would come. Had it not been for the lime we i)assed together when death might at any moment have come to us both, had it not been that I held you in my arms during that ride, I should never have told you this, Mary, for you would have gone away to P^ngland and lived your life unhurt ; but after that I could not but speak. You must have felt that I loved you, and had I not spoken, what would you have thought of me ? " " I should have thought, Ronald," she said quietly, " that you had a foolish idea that because my father had money, when you were but a trooper, you would say nothing ; and I think that I should have summoned up courage to speak first, for I knew you loved me, just as certainly as I knew that I loved you, just as certainly as I know that I shall love you always." " I hope not, Mary," Ronald said, gravely ; " it would add to the pain of my life to know that I had spoilt yours." *' It will not spoil mine, Ronald ; it is good to know that one is loved by a true man, and that one love^ him even if we can never come together. I would rather be single for your sake, dear, than marry any other man in the world. Won't you tell me about it all, I should like to know." " You have a right to know, Mary, if you wish it ; " and drawing her to a seat, Ronald told her the story of the Curse of the Carnes, of the wild blood that flowed in his veins, of his half-engagement to his cousin, and of the circumstances of her death. Only once she stopped him. " Did you lo>fe her very much, Ronald? " *' No, dear ; I can say so honestly now. No doubt I thought I loved her, though I had been involuntarily i)ut- ting off becoming formally engaged to her ; but I know 77//: Ci'KS/-: ()/•' CAKXE'S HOLD. i6f now, indeed I knew long ago, that my jjassion when she threw me off was rather an outburst of disappointment, and perhaps of jealousy, that another should have stepped in when 1 thought myself so sure, than of real regret. I ]md cared for Margaret in a way, hut now that I know what real love is I know that it was but as a cousin that I loved her." Then he went on to tell her the proofs agamst himself; how that the words he had si)oken had come up against him ; how he had failed altogether to account for his doings at the hour at which she was murdered ; how his gloves had borne evidence agains him. *• Is that all, Ronald ? " " Not quite all, dear. I saw in an English paper only a few days ago that the matter had come up again. Mar- garet's watch and jewels were found in the garden, just hidden in the ground, evidently not by a thief who intended to come again and fetch them, but simply concealed by someone who had taken them and did not want them. If those things had been found before my trial, Margaret, I should assuredly have been hung, for they disposed of the only alternative that seemed possi!)le, namely, that she had ])een murdered by a midnight burglar for the sake of her valuables." Mary sat in silence for a few minutes, and then asked one or two questions with reference to the story. '' And you had no idea yourself, Ronald, not even the slightest suspicion against anyone ? " " Not the slightest," he said, *' the whole ♦hing is to me as profound a mystery as ever." " Of course, from what you tell me, Ronald, the evidence against you was stronger than against anyone else, and yet I cannot think how anyone who knew you could have believed it." " I hope that those who knew me best did not believe it, Mary. A few of my neighbors and many of my brother officers had faith in my innocence, but you see those in the country who knew the story of our family were natur- ally set against me. I had the mad blood of the Carnes in my veins, the Carnes had committed two murders in their frenzy, and it did not seem to them so strange that I should do the same. I may tell you. dear, that this trial through which I have passed has not been altogether with- I i 20S THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD, out good. The family history had weighed on my mind from the time I was a child, and at times 1 used to wonder whether 1 had madness in my blood, and the fear grew upon mc and embittered my life. Since that trial it has gone for ever. 1 knew that if I had had the slightest touch of insanity in my veins I must have gone mad in til at awful time ; and much as I have suffered from the cloud that rested on me, I am sure that 1 have been a far brighter and happier man since." A pressure of the hand which he was holding in his ex- pressed the sympathy that she did not speak. " What time do you march to-morrow, Ronald?" " At eight, dear." " Could you come round first ? " ** 1 could, Mary, but I would rather say good-bye now." " You must say good-bye now, Ronald, and again in the morning. Why I ask you is because I want to tell my father ; you don't mind that, do you ? He must know there is something, because he spoke to-day as if he would wish it to be as I hoped, and 1 should like him to know how it is with us. You do not mind, do you ? " " Not at all," Ronald said, " I would rather that he did know." " Then I will tell him now," the girl said. ** I should like to talk it over with him," and she rose. Ronald rose too. " Good-bye, Mary." " Not like that, Ronald," and she threw her arms round his neck. " Good-bye, my dear, my dear. I will always be true to you to the end of my life. And hope always. I cannot believe that you would have saved me almost by a miracle if it had not been meant that we should one day be happy together. God bless you and keep you." There was a long kiss, and then Mary Armstrong turned and ran back to the hospital. Father and daughter talked together for hours after Mary's return. The disappointment to Mr. Armstrong was almost as keen as that felt by Mary. He had from the first been greatly taken by Harry Blunt, and had encouraged his coming to the house. That he was a gentleman he was sure, and he thought he knew enough of character to be convinced that whatever scrape had driven him to en- list as a trooper, it was not a disgraceful one. i^ THE CURSE OF CARM-?S IIOI.D. io^ " If Mary fancies this young fcllmv she shall have him," he liad said to himself. '* I have money enough for us both, and what good is it to me except to see lier settled happily in life ? " After the attack, ui)on his house, wlun he was rescued by the party led by Ronald, he thought still more of the matter, for some subtle change in his daughter's manner convinced him that her heart had been ^ouched. He had fretted over the fact that after this Ronald's duty had kept him from seeing them, and when at last he started on his journey down to the coast he made up his mind, that if when they reached England he could ascertain for certain Mary's wishes on the subject, he would himself write a cautious letter to him, i)utting it that after the service he had rendered in saving his life and that of his daughter, he did not like the thought of his remaining as a trooper at the Cape, and that if he liked to come home he would start him in any sort of business he liked, adding, perhaps, that he had special reasons for wishing him to return. After Ronald's rescue of his daughter, Mr. Armstrong regarded it as a certainty that his wish would be realised. He was a little surprised that the young sergeant had not spoken out, and it was with a view to give him an opportunity that he had suggested that Mary should go out for a stroll on the last evening. He had felt assured they would come in hand in hand. His disappointment then had been keen, for he anticipated with lively pleasure the prospect of paying his debt of gratitude to the young man. It was with surprise, disappointment and regret, that he listened to Mary's story. " It is a monstrous thing," he said, when she had finished. "Most monstrous; but don't cry, my dear, it will all come right presently." "But how is it to come right, father? He said, himself, he has not the slightest suspicion who did it." " Whether he has or not makes no difference," Mr. Arm- strong said decidedly. " It is quite certain by what you say this poor lady did not kill herself. In that case, who did it ? We must make it our business to find out who it was. You don't suppose I am going to have your life spoiled in such a fashion as this. Talk about remaining single all your life, I won't have it, the thing must be set straight." ;!;*• "'';S iio THE CORSE OF CARNE'S HOLD, (I It's very easy to say ' must,' father," Mary sai