Of High Descent

“Couldn’t have been him. He wouldn’t have gone there.”

The gate swung gently to and the fugitive began to breathe more freely, for, after a low whispered conversation, it was evident that the watchers were about to separate, when there was a loud cough which Harry knew only too well; and to his horror he saw faintly in at the end of the passage, his figure more plain by a light in the hall, the short stooping figure of Crampton coming towards him. To have stepped out into the yard would have been into the light, where the old man must have seen him; and, obeying his first instinct, Harry crouched down, and as Crampton advanced, backed slowly along the corridor till farther progress was stayed by the outer door of the office. Harry sank down in the corner, a dark shapeless heap to any one who had approached, and with heart throbbing, he waited.

“He is coming into the office,” he thought.

But as the old man reached the opening into the yard he paused. There was a faint rustling, then a flash, and a match flared out, illumining the old clerk’s stern countenance, and it seemed as the tiny splint burned that discovery must take place now. But Crampton was intent upon the business which had brought him there. He had stolen out from his self-appointed task of watching over the house to have his nightly pipe, and for fully an hour Harry Vine crouched in the corner by the office door, seeing over and over again the horrors of the past, and trembling as he waited for the fresh discovery, while old Crampton softly paced the little yard, smoking pipe after pipe.

That hour seemed as if it would never end, and at last in despair Harry was about to rise, when he heard Madelaine’s voice, gently calling to the old man.

“Hah!” he said softly; “a bad habit, Miss Madelaine, but it seems to soothe me now.”

Would he fasten the door and gate, and complete the horror of Harry’s position by making him a prisoner? The young man crouched there trembling, for Crampton re-crossed the yard, and there was the sound of two bolts being shot. Then he regained the glass door, and was about to close that.

“No,” said Madelaine softly; “the night is so hot. Leave that open, Mr Crampton.”

“Yes, my clear; yes, my clear,” sighed the old man. “I shall be in the little room, and nne is likely to come here now.”

Gone at last; and trembling so in his wild excitement that he could hardly stir, Harry Vine literally crept along the corridor, rose up and ran across the yard with the horrible sensation that the old clerk’s hand was about to descend upon his shoulder. The two bolts were shot back with a loud snap, the gate was flung open; and, reckless now, he dashed out and down the narrow lane.

“He could bear no more,” he said. “The harbour and a boat.” He ran now rapidly, determined to end the terrible suspense, and for the first few moments he felt that his task would be easy; then he heard a warning shout, and in his dread took refuge in the first alley leading down to the harbour.

Steps passed, and he emerged at the lower end, gained the main street by returning through another of the alleys by which, after the fashion of Yarmouth, the little town was scored.

“Five minutes will take me there now,” he panted; and, forcing himself to walk, he was hurrying on when a shout told him that his enemies were well upon the alert. With the horrible sense of being hunted, he clashed on, blindly now, reckless as to which way he went, so long as he reached the waterside. As he ran, he was about to strike down to the left where the landing-steps lay; and had he reached them there was a boat and men waiting, but the London detective had discovered that and was on the alert.

Harry almost ran into his arms, but with a cry of rage he doubled back and ran for the shore, where he might set pursuit at defiance by hiding in the rocks below the cliff. But another man sprang up in his way, and in his despair he ran off to his left again, right along the great pier, towards the point.

“We’ve got him now,” shouted a voice behind as Harry rushed out, just conscious of a shriek as he brushed by a group of figures, hardly seen in the darkness. He heard, too, some confused words in which “boat” and “escape” seemed to be mingled. But in his excitement he could only think of those behind, as there came the patter of his pursuers’ feet on the rough stones.

There was a shrill whistle from the other side of the harbour, followed by a hail, and the splash of oars in the darkness, while a low “ahoy!” came from off the point.

“Yes,” muttered the officer between his teeth, “you’re a nice party down here, but I’ve got my man.”

What followed was the work of moments. Harry ran on till the rugged nature of the point compelled him to walk, then step cautiously from rock to rock. The harbour was on one side, the tide rushing in on the other; before him the end of the point, with its deep water and eddying currents, which no swimmer could stem, and behind him the London officer with the local police close up.

There was a boat, too, in the harbour, and the fugitive had heard the whistle and cries. He saw the light of the lugger out ahead, and to him, in his mad horror of capture, they meant enemies – enemies on every hand.

And so he reached the extreme point, where, peering wildly about, like some hunted creature seeking a way of escape, he turned at bay.

“There, sir, the game’s up,” cried the officer. “You’ve made a good fight of it, so now give in.”

“Keep back!” roared Harry hoarsely. And he stooped and felt about for a loose piece of rock where every scrap had been washed away.

“Will you give in?” cried the officer.

“Keep back!” cried Harry again, in a tone so fierce that for a moment the officer paused.

There was another whistle from across the harbour, a shout and a hail out of the darkness, but nothing save the dim lantern light could be seen.

“Now then, you two,” said the officer decidedly, “back me up.”

There was a faint click as he drew something from his pocket and without hesitation stepped boldly over the few feet which separated him from Harry Vine.

Panting, half wild, hearing the whistles, the cries, and still divining nothing but that there were enemies on every hand, the young man uttered a hoarse cry as the detective caught at his breast. With one well-aimed blow he struck out, sent the man staggering back, and then, as those who had watched and waited came panting up, he turned quickly, stepped to the very edge, raised his hands, and plunged into the rushing tide.

“Harry! my son!” rang out on the darkness of the night.

But there was no answer. The black water seemed to flash with a myriad points of light, and then ran, hissing and rushing in a contending current, out to sea.

Volume Two – Chapter Thirteen.

“The Lord Gave, and – ”

“Boat ahoy! Whoever you are – this way – boat!”

“Ahoy!” came back from three quarters – from two different points in the harbour, and from out to sea.

Then came another whistle from far back on the other side of the harbour, and in a shrill voice from between his hands Uncle Luke yelled: “Leslie, another boat, man, for the love of heaven!”

“Here! you there, sir! the nearest boat – quick, pull!” roared the detective in stentorian tones. “Have you no light?”

“Ay, ay,” came back; and a lantern that had been hidden under a tarpaulin coat shone out, dimly showing the boat’s whereabouts.

“That’s right; pull, my lads, off here. Man overboard off the rocks. This way.”

An order was given in the boat, and her course was altered.

“No, no,” cried the officer; “this way, my lads, this way.”

“We know what we’re about,” came back.

“Yes, yes; they know,” said Uncle Luke, hoarsely. “Let them be; the current sets the way they’ve taken. He’s right out there by now.”

The old man’s arm was dimly seen pointing seawards, but the detective was not convinced.

“It’s a trick to throw me on the wrong scent,” he said excitedly. “Here, you” – to one of the local police – “why don’t you speak?”

“Mr Luke Vine’s right, sir; he knows the set o’ the tide. The poor lad’s swept right out yonder long ago, and Lord ha’ mercy upon him, poor chap. They’ll never pick him up.”

“Can you see him?” roared the officer, using his hands as a speaking-trumpet.

There was no reply; but the lantern could be seen rising and falling now, as the little craft began to reach the swell at the harbour bar. Then there was a hail out of the harbour, as the second boat came along, and five minutes after the rapid beat of oars told of the coming of another boat.

“Ahoy, lad! this way,” rose from the boat with the lantern.

“Whose boat’s that?” said the detective, quickly.

“Dunno,” replied the nearest policeman.

“They’ll pick him up, and he’ll escape after all. Confound it! Here, hoi! you in that boat. In the Queen’s name, stop and take me aboard.”

“They won’t pick him up,” said the nearest policeman solemnly. “You don’t know this coast.”

There was a low groan from a figure crouching upon its knees, and supporting a woman’s head, happily insensible to what was passing around.

“George, lad,” whispered Uncle Luke, “for the poor girl’s sake, let’s get her home. George! don’t you hear me? George! It is I – Luke.”

There was no reply, and the excitement increased as a swift boat now neared the end of the point.

“Where is he? Is he swimming for the boat?” cried a voice, hardly recognisable in its hoarse excitement for that of Duncan Leslie.

“He jumped off, Mr Leslie, sir,” shouted one of the policemen.

“Row, my lads. Pull!” shouted Leslie; “right out.”

“No, no,” roared the detective; “take me aboard. In the Queen’s name, stop!”

“Pull,” cried Leslie to the men; and then turning to the detective, “While we stopped to take you the man would drown, and you couldn’t get aboard at this time of the tide.”

“He’s quite right,” said the policeman who had last spoken. “It’s risky at any time; it would be madness now.”

The detective stamped, as in a weird, strange way the voices kept coming from out of the darkness, where two dim stars could be seen, as the lanterns were visible from time to time; and now Leslie’s voice followed the others, as he shouted:

“This way, Vine, this way. Hail, man! Why don’t you hail?”

“Is this part of the trick to get him away?” whispered the detective to one of his men. The man made no reply, and his silence was more pregnant than any words he could have spoken.

“But they’ll pick him up,” he whispered, now impressed by the other’s manner.

“Look out yonder,” said the policeman, a native of the place; “is it likely they’ll find him there?”

“Hah!” ejaculated the detective.

“And there’s no such current anywhere for miles along the coast as runs off here.”

“Hah!” ejaculated the man again, as he stood now watching the lights, one of which kept growing more distant, while the hails somehow seemed to be more faint and wild, and at last to resemble the despairing cries of drowning men.

“Listen,” whispered the detective in an awe-stricken tone, as he strove to pierce the darkness out to sea.

“It was Master Leslie, that,” said the second policeman; “I know his hail.”

Just then there was a wild hysterical fit of sobbing, and George Vine rose slowly from his knees, and staggered towards the group.

“Luke!” he cried, in a half-stunned, helpless way, “Luke, you know – Where are you? Luke!”

“Here, George,” said Uncle Luke sadly, for he had knelt down in the place his brother had occupied the moment before.

“You know the currents. Will they – will he – ”

He faltered and paused, waiting his brother’s reply, and the three officers of the law shuddered, as, after a few minutes’ silence, broken only by a groan from the kneeling man, George Vine cried in a piteous voice that sounded wild and thrilling in the solemn darkness of the night:

“God help me! Oh, my son, my son!”

“Quick, mind! Good heavens, sir! Another step and – ”

The detective had caught the stricken father as he tottered and would have fallen headlong into the tide, while, as he and another of the men helped him back to where Louise still lay, he was insensible to what passed around.

But still the dim lights could be seen growing more and more distant, and each hail sounded more faint, as the occupants of the boats called to each other, and then to him they sought, while, after each shout, it seemed to those who stood straining their eyes at the end of the pier, that there was an answering cry away to their left; but it was only the faint echo repeating the call from the face of the stupendous cliffs behind the town.

“Why don’t they come back here and search?” cried the officer angrily.

“What for?” said a voice at his elbow; and he turned to see dimly the shrunken, haggard face of Uncle Luke.

“What for?” retorted the officer. “He may have swum in the other direction.”

“So might the world have rolled in the other direction, and the sun rise to-morrow in the west,” said the old man angrily. “No swimmer could stem that current.”

“But why have they gone so far?”

“They have gone where the current took them,” said Uncle Luke, coldly. “Want the help of your men to get these poor creatures home.”

The detective made no reply, but stood gazing out to sea and listening intently. Then turning to his men —

“One of you keep watch here in case they try to land with him. You come with me.”

The two policemen followed his instructions, one taking his place at the extreme end of the point, the other following just as voices were heard, and a group of fishermen, who had been awakened to the fact that there was something wrong, came down the rocky breakwater.

“Here, some of you, I want a boat – a swift boat, and four men to pull. Ah, you!”

This to a couple of the coastguard who had put in an appearance, and after a few hurried words one party went toward the head of the breakwater, while another, full of sympathy for the Vines, went on to the end of the point.

There was plenty of willing help, but George Vine had now recovered from his swoon, and rose up to refuse all offers of assistance.

“No, Luke,” he said more firmly now; “I must stay.”

“But our child, Louise?”

“She must stay with me.”

Louise had risen to her feet as he spoke, and clung to his arm in mute acquiescence; and once more they stood watching the star-spangled sea.

Ten minutes later a well-manned boat passed out of the harbour, with the detective officer in her bows and a couple of the strongest lights they could obtain.

Just as this boat came abreast of the point the rowing ceased, and a brilliant glare suddenly flashed out as the officer held aloft a blue signal light; and while the boat was forced slowly along he carefully scanned the rocks in the expectation of seeing his quarry clinging somewhere to their face.

The vivid light illumined the group upon the point, and the water flashed and sparkled as it ran eddying by, while from time to time a gleaming drop of golden fire dropped with a sharp hissing explosion into the water, and a silvery grey cloud of smoke gathered overhead.

The officer stayed till the blue light had burned out, and then tossing the wooden handle into the water, he gave his orders to the men to row on out toward the other boats. The transition from brilliant light to utter darkness was startling as it was sudden; and as the watchers followed the dim-looking lanterns, they saw that about a mile out they had paused.

George Vine uttered a gasping sigh, and his child clung to him as if both realised the meaning of that halt. But they were wrong, for when the men in the detective’s boat had ceased rowing, it was because they were close abreast of the lugger, whose crew had hailed them.

“Got him?”

“No. Is he aboard your boat?”

Without waiting for an answer, the detective and his men boarded the lugger, and, to the disgust of her crew, searched from end to end.

“Lucky for you, my lads, that he is not here,” said the officer.

“Unlucky for him he arn’t,” said one of the men. “If he had been we shouldn’t have had you aboard to-night.”

“What do you mean?”

“Only that we should have been miles away by now.”

“Do you think either of the other boats has picked him up?”

“Go and ask ’em,” said another of the men sulkily.

“No, sir,” said one of the coastguard, “they haven’t picked him up.”

“Back!” said the detective shortly; and, as soon as they were in the boat, he gave orders for them to row towards the faint light they could see right away east. They were not long in coming abreast, for the boat was returning.

“Got him?” was shouted.

“No.”

“Then why did you make the signal?”

The detective officer was a clever man, but it had not occurred to him that the blue light he had obtained from the coastguard station and burned would act as a recall. But so it was, and before long the second boat was reached, and that which contained Duncan Leslie came up, the latter uttering an angry expostulation at being brought back from his search.

“It’s no good, Mr Leslie, sir,” said the fisherman who had made the bargain with Vine.

“No good?” cried Leslie angrily. “You mean you’re tired, and have not the manhood to continue the search.”

“No, sir, I don’t,” said the man quietly. “I mean I know this coast as well as most men. I’ll go searching everywhere you like; but I don’t think the poor lad can be alive.”

“Ay, ay, that’s right, mate,” growled two others of his fellows.

“He was a great swimmer,” continued the man sadly; “but it’s my belief he never come up again.”

“Why do you say that?” cried the detective from his boat, as the four hung clustered together, a singular-looking meeting out there on the dark sea by lantern light.

“Why do I say that? Why ’cause he never hailed any on us who knew him, and was ready to take him aboard. Don’t matter how good a swimmer a man is, he’d be glad of a hand out on a dark night, and with the tide running so gashly strong.”

“You may be right,” said Leslie, “but I can’t go back like this. Now, my lads, who’s for going on?”

“All on us,” said the fisherman who had first spoken, and the boats separated to continue their hopeless task.

All at once there was a faint streak out in the east, a streak of dull grey, and a strange wild, faint cry came off the sea.

“There!” cried the detective; “pull, my lads, pull! he is swimming still. No, no, more towards the right.”

“Swimming? – all this time, and in his clothes!” said one of the coastguard quietly. “That was only a gull.”

The detective struck his fist into his open left hand, and stood gazing round over the glistening water; as the stars paled, the light in the east increased till the surface of the sea seemed steely grey, and by degrees it grew so light that near the harbour a black speck could be seen, toward which the officer pointed.

“Buoy,” said the nearest rower laconically, and the officer swept the surface again. Then there was a faint shade of orange nearly in the zenith, a flock of gulls flew past, and here and there there were flecks and splashes of the pale silvery water, which ere long showed the reflection of the orange sky, and grew golden. The rocks that lay at the foot of the huge wall of cliff were fringed with foam, and wherever there was a break in the shore and some tiny river gurgled down, a wreathing cloud of mist hung in the hollow.

Moment by moment the various objects grew more distinct; black masses of rock fringed with green or brown sea-wrack, about which the tide eddied and played, now hiding, now revealing for some crested wave to pounce upon as a sea monster might upon its prey. The dark slaty rocks displayed their wreaths of ivy, and the masses of granite stood up piled in courses of huge cubes, as if by titanic hands, grey with parched moss, dull and dead-looking; and then all at once, as the sun slowly rose above the sea, glorious in God’s light, sparkling as if set with myriads of gems, the grey became gold, and all around there was a scene of beauty such as no painter could do more than suggest. Everything was glorified by the rising sun; sea, sky, the distant houses, and shipping, all gleamed as if of burnished gold – all was of supreme beauty in the birth of that new day. No, not all: here and there, slowly using their oars as they scanned sea and rock, sat a crew of haggard men, while back on the golden point clustered a crowd watching their efforts, and hanging back with natural kindly delicacy from the group of three at the extreme edge of the granite point – two pale-faced, grey, wild-eyed men, and the girl who sat crouching on a fragment of rock, her hair loose, her hands clasped round her knees, and a look of agonised sorrow in the piteous drawn face, ever directed towards the east.

“They’re all coming back,” said some one close at hand.

The man was right; slowly one by one the boats crept over the glorious sea towards the harbour, Duncan Leslie’s last.

“Nothing?” said Uncle Luke in a low whisper as the coastguard boat was backed toward the point, and the detective sprang ashore.

“Nothing, sir. Poor foolish, misguided lad! Might have been my boy, sir. I’ve only done my duty; but this is a dark night’s work I shall never forget. I feel as if I were answerable for his death.”

Ten minutes later Duncan Leslie landed in the same way, and laid his hand upon Uncle Luke’s arm.

“I was obliged to come back,” he said; “my men are fagged out.”

“No signs of him!”

Leslie shook his head and spoke in a whisper.

“I’ll be off again as soon as I can get a fresh crew, and search till I do find him. For Heaven’s sake, sir, take them home!”

It was a kindly whisper, but Louise heard every word, and shuddered as she turned and hid her face in her father’s breast. For she knew what it meant; it was to spare her the agonising sight, when the sea, according to its wont, threw something up yonder among the rugged stones, where, to use the fishermen’s words, the current bit hardest on the shore. She fought hard to keep back the wild cry that struggled in her breast; but it was in vain, and many a rough fellow turned aside as he heard the poor girl’s piteous wail out there in the sunshine of that glorious morn.

“Harry! brother! what shall I do?” George Vine’s lips parted as he bent down over his child. “The Lord gave, and – ”

His voice failed, but his lips completed poor old stricken Job’s words, and there was a pause. Then he seemed to draw himself up, and held out his hand for a moment to Duncan Leslie.

“Luke!” he said then calmly and gravely. “Your arm too. Let us go home.”

The little crowd parted left and right, and every hat was doffed in the midst of a great silence, as the two old men walked slowly up the rough pier, supporting the stricken girl.

Duncan Leslie followed, and as they passed on through the narrow lane of humble, sympathising people of the port, these turned in and slowly followed, two and two, bareheaded, as if it were a funeral procession.

Just then, high above the top of the grand cliff, a lark soared up, sprinkling the air as from a censer of sound, with his silvery notes joyous, loud, and thrilling; and one patriarchal fisherman, who had seen many a scene of sorrow in his time, whispered to the mate walking at his side —

“Ay, lad, and so it is; midst of life we are in death.”

“Ah,” sighed his companion; “but on such a morn as this!”

Volume Two – Chapter Fourteen.

At the Granite House

The Vines had hardly reached their home when quietly and in a furtive way boat after boat put off down the harbour, from the little punt belonging to some lugger, right up to the heavy fishing-craft, rowed by six or eight men. There was no communication one with the other; no general order had been issued, but, with one consent, all were bent upon the same mission, and hour after hour, every mass of weedy rock, chasm, hollow, and zorn was scanned, where it was known that the current was likely to throw up that which it had engulfed; but, though every inch of shore was searched, the task proved to be without avail, and the brothers, seated together in the quaint, old-fashioned dining-room, waiting to be summoned for the reception of their dead, sat waiting, and without receiving the call.

Louise had refused to leave them, and had clung to her father, asking to be allowed to stay; but no sooner was the consent obtained than it proved to be useless, for the poor girl was completely prostrated by the excitement and horror of the past night, and had to be helped up to her couch.