Madge Dunraven. A tale. By the author of 'The Queen of Connaught,' etc

Front matter

MADGE DUNRAVEN. ,21 "Stale. BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE QUEEN OF CONNAUGHT." IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. III. LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, publishers in ©rtmarg to gjcv .cttajesto the Queen. 1879. [All Rig/its Reserved.} CONTENTS OF VOL. Ill CHAPTER PAGE I. DREAMING AND AWAKENING - - I II. BEHIND THE BARS - - - - l6 III. ' LET ME STAY WITH YOU TO-NIGHT, MADGE' 3 1 IV. WATCHING - - - - " 47 V. THE FIRST DAY - - - - 61 VI. ROSAMOND BEARS WITNESS - - "75 VII. PURSUIT - - - " " 95 VIII. RUN TO EARTH - - - - 109 IX. MADGE BEARS WITNESS - - - 1 32 X. MATTHEW DALTON - - - - 1 54 XI. AFTER THE STORM - - - - 1 67 XII. GEORGE RECEIVES HIS CONGE - - 1 76 XIII. ' MADGE! MY LITTLE SISTER' - - 1 93 XIV. FASCINATION ----- 20S CONTENTS. IV CHAPTER PAGE 222 XV. GOOD-BYE, SWEETHEART XVI. GEORGE FORSAKES THE CHURCH 234 XVII. SENTENCED TO DEATH 247 XVIII. STEPPING WESTWARD 271

Chapter I. Dreaming And Awakening

took Madge a long time to reach the village, sor the hail was whistling like small shot right into her face, and the strength of the wind held her back at every second step ; so when at length she had passed through the white wicket-gate of the cottage, and reached the threshold, she felt quite ex hausted. VOL. III. There was a bright fire burning in the parlour, and its rays lit up the room with a faint flickering glow. The greyhound was stretched upon the hearth, Mr. Dunraven sat in his easy-chair. Both were sleeping and both were dreaming, unpleasantly it seemed. The hound quivered and cried fitfully, while his master heaved shuddering sighs and moans. Madge stepped softly forward and bent for a moment above her uncle's sleeping form. As she did so he stirred uneasily, and muttered audibly in his sleep broken sentences in which Conn's name was repeated again and again.

With a sigh she stepped back, and, passing noiselessly up the stairs, reached her own room. Her uncle's heart was breaking — it needed no words to tell her that. Was DREAMLNG AND AWAKENLNG. 3 it not visible every day of her life, in his wrinkled face, his whitening hair, his care worn, drooping form ? But just now her thoughts were full of that other, that white famine-stricken creature whom she had just seen on the waste. Her trembling heart sickened within her. Again she felt as if a clammy cold hand was gripping her, and she remembered that her clothes were saturated with the frozen rain. She rose mechanically and changed them, then she lay down upon the bed and tried to ease her aching heart in tears. But she could not cry. Her eyes and brow were burning feverishly, while her body seemed still to be clutched by an icy hand.

As she lay thus, with closed eyes and feverishly throbbing heart, she dozed off, and it seemed to her — for she was dreaming — that the scene suddenly changed. 3 3—2 The room melted into the wild heath on which the rain was beating, scattered broadcast by an angry wind. The heath was clothed in darkness, and desolate as the desert, save for two figures. One, Madge herself, was toiling onward, breast ing the fierce storm, and dragging after her, as if with superhuman strength, the struggling figure of a man, wild and ragged, pinched with hunger and cold, and with the pale cold light of approaching death gleaming in his eyes. Those eyes she could not look at, but, though she turned away her head, she felt that they were gazing on her. The man screamed ; and his voice, awakening wild echoes all around, turned into derisive laughter and died.

He clutched with his fingers im ploringly at her dress, he writhed and twisted to get himself free ; but Madge DREAMING AND AWAKENING. 5 held him safely and dragged him along. Sometimes she paused breathless, some times she stumbled among the dripping gorse which covered the lonely heath, but her hold of the man never relaxed : he shrieked and implored, she felt that his eyes were like two balls of fire burning into her brain, but still she dragged him on. As she went, the desolate heath stretching before her seemed suddenly to change into a rolling river, fair and pure, with bright green banks coated over with hoar-frost, the sky changed from black to blue, with great white clouds floating across it. Then the faint cries which the man was strug-o-lmgto utter seemed to die OO o upon his lips, and Madge, dragging him forward, cast him into the stream.

As his quaking body touched the water, a heavy sonorous sound filled the air, darkness came on suddenly, and blinding rain began to fall. The river surged and rolled past, sucking the man down. But all at once, out of that blackened water, she saw that two eyes were looking at her ; and in that instant she knew that the man whom she had been dragging to his destruction was not, as she had supposed, the outcast — but her cousin Conn. With a shriek, she sprang forward and stretched out her hands to save him ; then she opened her eyes and found herself standing wide awake on her bedroom floor. She must have been sleeping for several hours, for it was now grey dawn. The candle which stood upon her dressing table was spluttering faintly and sending forth its expiring rays, and Madge, listening, heard the sound of footsteps below.

The memory of her dream still appalled her ; for a moment she stood trembling violently, but, as soon as she grew more composed, she dressed herself and sat down to think. At last her prayers seemed answered ; her footsteps had been guided to the spot where the murderer was concealed, and now what must she do ? ' Go to him again,' said a voice within her ; ' tell him the truth, force him to speak, and save your cousin's life !' Yes, that was what she must do. She would search the heath until she found him again ; and then, with God's help, Conn might be set free. It wanted but six days to the time of the trial, but three to that of her departure from Armstead. Once in Gresham, all her chances of meeting the man would be gone. She must make good use of the time that still remained. During the ensuing three days Madge was seldom to be found at home ; and every day, as it came, found her paler and sadder than before.

She haunted the village like a weary ghost ; going forth in the morning shortly after dawn, and at nightfall returning with feverishly beating heart and throbbing brain. Her search was useless. The man had disappeared, and left no trace behind him. The three days which passed thus, seemed to her like so many hours, so quickly did the time go by. At last one afternoon Madge found herself on the eve of her departure for Gresham. She had been out all the morning searching the heath, and a fresh disappointment made her look more weary than ever. But she said nothing. She sat listlessly holding her uncle's hand in hers and keeping her eyes fixed upon the blighted lawns outside. Presently, to her surprise, George Aldyn arrived, comfortably wrapped in his winter great-coat and carrying a fur rug on his arm.

He had been summoned as a witness, and he intended to go with the Dunravens to the court. Duty had told him that he should have accompanied Rosamond, who had been summoned as a witness too, but again his feet had led him to Madge. Since that day when he had pointed out to her the stain upon the carpet, the two had not exchanged a word ; every day when he had felt inclined to stroll towards the white garden-gate, he had suppressed his inclination and resolutely kept away. ' Where is the use of it all ?' he had said to himself, with his old cynical laugh. ' Am I not working with all my might to save the man she loves best in the whole wide world ? Yes, it is better for my peace of mind that I should keep away from Madge.' But he deemed it absolutely necessary that he should go with the Dunravens to Gresham, for Mr. Dunraven could hardly look after himself now ; and at such a time, just until Conn could get free, Madge must have some one to take care of her.

At sight of him, Madge's heart gave a throb, her pale cheek flushed slightly, and a look of pleasure passed rapidly over her face ; for a moment she forgot her sorrow, in her thankfulness that George Aldyn had come again. The look, and the blush, were not unnoticed by George, and they seemed to him to compensate for all those weary weeks which he had spent away DREAMING AND AWAKENING. 11 from her. With a recklessness inspired by that look and blush, he determined to cast prudence to the winds, and, whatever might come of it, to spend a few happy hours in her company. His greeting was commonplace enough. ' I thought I might be of some use,' he said, as he took her hand, ' and hearing that you were going to-day, I thought I would go too. Where do you mean to stay ?' Madge shook her head. ' I don't know.

I suppose we shall find some place when we get there.' 'And so you will, Madge. I thought that such matters as that would not trouble you, so I went to Gresham a few days ago and secured rooms for you in a small inn close to the court. If we had waited till to-day we should have got nothing, for now the assizes are on, the town is crammed !' ' Are you going to stay there too ?' ' In Gresham ? Yes. I put up with an old friend of my father.' The three passed through the village to the station together, and every moment Madge felt more than ever delighted that O ° George had come. His presence gave her confidence ; he spoke hopefully of Conn, and he was so careful of her. It was in expressibly pleasant to have his arm to lean upon as she walked through the long street of the village, where all the people stared at her so — to feel herself placed by his hands into the best seat in the railway carriage, with his soft fur rug wrapped about her ; while he, taking his seat by her side, seemed to anticipate her wishes in every particular.

And then it was so comforting to hear him say that Conn must get free. To be sure, he knew very little about the matter, and in her inmost heart she felt that he said the words principally with the wish to spare her pain ; yet she clutched at them, and tried to persuade herself that they must be very wise. The bitter winter months had set in, and the days closed in early. By the time our travellers reached Gresham it was quite dark, and one or two stars began to show their lights in the sky. There blew from the north as bitter a wind as had passed over the country for many a day, but the night was fine. As they were leaving the station, George Aldyn cast one keen glance around him, half hoping that he should find a carriage had been sent ; but there was neither a carriage nor a cab to be seen.

So, as they had only a few yards to walk, he wrapped his fur rug as well as he could round Madge, took her hand upon his arm, and the three set off towards the inn. He soon found it neces sary to put his other hand through Mr. Dunraven's arm, for the old man stumbled a good deal, and once narrowly escaped a dangerous fall. As to Madge, she walked on like one in a waking dream. She saw strange faces go past her as she moved through the dimly-lighted streets of the town ; she felt herself hustled about by crowds, which George, with all his care, could not clear for her ; she heard the sounds of voices, the tramp of feet, but she saw and heard as if in sleep. Though her eyes wandered from the noisy streets of the town to the starlit sky above, she saw only one scene, one face ; the scene was the lonely heath at Armstead, the face that of the man who was hiding there.

How the face haunted her ! When she looked at George Aldyn, she saw it — when she looked at her uncle, she saw it again ; and all that night, as she tossed feverishly upon her bed, she seemed to be wandering again upon the heath, searching for a form which she was doomed perhaps never to behold again.

Chapter II. Behind The Bars

BRIEF period of unconsciousness, then Madge started up trembling with fear. Strange sounds had awakened her. She arose, drew aside her curtains, looked around the room, and remembered all. She was in Gresham, and from below her window issued the sounds she had heard : the rattling of vehicles, tramping of feet, and murmur of human voices. What a roar it seemed after the quietness of Armstead. On ordinary occasions the town was dull enough, but now that the assizes had begun, the influx of people was so great that the inns were not roomy enough to hold them. They flooded the streets even at this early hour, for when Madge looked out of her window, 'her eyes rested upon a sea of moving heads and faces, a constant patter of feet was heard up and down the stairs of the inn, and the bells kept up a continual jangle.

It was a lovely day — clear, crisp, and bright — like a mixture of frost and sun shine. When Madge threw open her window a burst of sunlight flooded the room, but on looking down into the street she saw that, during the night, snow had fallen ; it was now blackened with the traffic, and fast melting beneath the warm VOL. III. rays of the sun. She leaned out of the window and looked up and down the street to discover, if possible, the locality of the inn : it stood in the principal street of the town, a few hundred yards from the railway-station, and within sight of the gaol and the court. She had finished her survey and was about to withdraw from the window, when her eyes were arrested by a familiar figure which was making its way through the crowd. As she recog nised George Aldyn she felt her heart give a bound, her face flush ; but when, two minutes later, she went downstairs and found him in the sitting-room with her uncle, she was as grave and cold as ever.

George had just returned from the court and the gaol. At the court, he had learned that the cases were being disposed of so quickly that the hearing of Conn's case was likely to begin the very next day ; and at the gaol, that Conn would be at liberty to receive visitors at three o'clock that afternoon. ' If you don't mind,' he said, ' I will go as far as the prison with you. You can't possibly go alone, Madge. The streets are crammed with roughs of every sort, and towards evening most of them are drunk and fighting. It is really not safe for you to go about without an escort !' So, as Madge made no objection, and as his presence seemed to bring some comfort to Mr. Dunraven, he remained at the inn all day, and, just before three o'clock, went out with them to the gaol. The three walked together right to the entrance of the prison ; here they paused, and George Aldyn rang the bell. 34—2 After a delay of a few minutes the gate was opened by a tall, grim man, who wore the prison uniform.

He touched his hat in a military manner, and, without a word, stood bolt upright in the aperture which the open door had made. George Aldyn presented the visiting-order : the man looked at it, then again touched his peaked cap and moved aside, standing like a well-drilled soldier, to allow the visitors to pass in. While Mr. Dunraven and Madge entered by the open door, George Aldyn remained outside. But he did not go away. As soon as the great gate closed with a heavy clang he lit a cigar, and paraded patiently up and down the street, waiting for their return. Meantime Madge found herself standing with her uncle and the warder in the prison-yard. It was a small square space, stone-paved, shut in on every side by the blank whitewashed walls of the gaol. Here, during the night, snow had fallen — and here it lay still.

But Madge had not much time to look about her. As soon as the gate closed it was carefully locked, and the officer, leading the way across the yard, invited the visitors to follow him. Madge had been in the place once or twice before, but never had it produced upon her so depressing an effect as it did that day. The air was so cheerlessly cold, and the only peep of the sky then visible was darkened with jet-black clouds. Five minutes before, a man, who that afternoon had received the sentence of death, had been carried in a fainting condition to the condemned cell, and now the doctor, armed with restoratives, was hastening across the yard to his relief. One or two officers hung about, and here and there was a prisoner, busy at some menial work. The warders who were there to watch the prisoners, looked grimly at each other, and glanced at Madge as she passed by, but no one spoke.

The warder, having led the way across the yard, paused before a door, which was painted a dull leaden-looking drab, and, producing a huge bunch of keys, selected one and inserted it in the lock. He turned it, the door gently swung back on its hinges, and the officer, again standing aside in an erect military manner, suffered the visitors to enter. Mr. Dunraven obeyed him ; Madge was about to do so, when her ear caught a sound which made her pause. It was a long, low, piteous moan, followed by a loud cry and a fit of violent sobbing. Madge started, for the sound seemed close to her elbow. She turned her head ; there was no person near ; but she saw that on her right arose another dull drab door, and across this was painted in black letters, ' Punishment cells — 17-18-19.' She was about to question the officer, but his calm, business-like manner repelled her.

He stood like a statue, and again motioning her to follow her uncle, an nounced ' Visitors for Dunraven.' ' Dunraven is exercising, but the visitors can wait,' was the reply ; and, without more ado, Madge was obliged to enter and allow the door to be closed and locked behind her. Madge found herself now in a flagged corridor, the sides of which were composed of doors painted like the others a dull drab, and labelled like the rest with great black letters. Here another military looking officer took them in charge, and led the way along the paven floor to the door which was labelled 'Visitors' room.' This door was partly open ; the officer threw it wide for the visitors to enter. It was the same room in which they had both interviewed Conn before ; a small square chamber, divided in the middle by an iron grating ; its walls were newly whitewashed, its boarded floor scrubbed clean.

It had two doors : one that by which the Dunravens had entered, the other exactly opposite, on the other side of the iron bars. A bit of fire burnt in the grate, and through the window crept the cold grey light of day. Mr. Dunraven took a seat sadly by the fire ; Madge walked over to the window and looked forth. She saw the exercise -ground covered, like the prison-yard, with hardening snow, and shut in on every side by blank prison walls. The untried prisoners were exer cising ; in their ranks was Conn. There were some fifteen or twenty in all, and they walked three abreast, in a long military line, round and round the confined piece of ground. Some of these, having cast aside their own clothes, had donned the ' untried prisoners' ' uniform of sober grey ; others still retained their own clothes.

Amongst the latter was Conn. He was still attired in the dark tweed shooting suit which he had worn when arrested, his black wideawake hat not only covered his drooping head, but shaded his face from every eye. It smote Madge to the heart to see him, for he had to walk in line like the condemned prisoners, and he too was under the warder's vigilant eye. After that one look Madge turned with a smothered sob from the window, and spent the rest of the time standing by her uncle's side. In a few minutes more the door in the opposite wall opened, a clanking of irons was heard outside, then a warder appeared, bringing in Conn. Mr. Dunraven, trembling now with the excitement of meeting, started up to greet his son : Madge remained by the fire utterly unable to stir. The sight of her cousin deprived her for the moment of all power both of speech and action.

He was so changed. His hair still retained its colour, but over his face there had crept a look like that of premature age. He might have been taken for a man of forty now ; a man, too, to whom the troubles of life had not come singly. Madge thought, in looking at him, that the fear of being condemned had wrought this change ; she did not know that, night after night, day after day, he had been watching, hoping, praying for a face which did not come, and that each fresh disappointment deepened the lines of anguish on his own features. Night and day his heart cried on Rosamond, but she was far away and would not hear. The sight of his father, seeming so pitiably broken, of Madge, looking so pale and careworn and sad, drove, for a moment, the thought of Rosamond com pletely from his mind. He stretched forth his hands, and as he did so, there passed across his face a look which brought back to their minds the boy of brighter days.

MADGE DUNRAVEN. His face seemed to regain some of its old glory, his deep voice grew sweeter than it had ever been before, as he spoke of the happy time already gone, of that yet to come. For a time Mr. Dunraven could not answer him. This look of brightness and joy, this recalling of happier days, only made the sad meeting still sadder, still harder to bear. When Mr. Dunraven, on seeing his son enter the room, had sprung forward to meet him, Conn had extended his hands, then, with a shudder, both had drawn back. They could look into each other's eyes, but they could not join hands, the iron bars kept them asunder, and the warder, who stood in the passage which divided the room in two, froze up, by his presence, any stream of passionate words which might have passed their lips. Meanwhile Madge, standing in agony apart, watched with ever-increasing pain the faces of both father and son.

One glance into Conn's face told her that he was a wretched broken-hearted man, that he had endured a trial for which nothing could compensate him, and that life would never again be to him what it once had been. As she acknowledged this she felt her heart contract with a dull pain. It was only another pang for her to bear, since it seemed she had not suffered enough already. Presently Conn, noting Madge's silence, turned to her with the ghost of his old fond manner, and held forth his hands. ' Madge,' he said softly, ' keep a good heart. Please God I shall soon be a free man, and then I'll make amends for the trouble I've brought to you all !' MADGE DUNRAVEN. His words cut Madge to the heart. She shrank away, but she could not answer him. She could not take the hand which he extended, but she felt her eyes growing dim with tears.

For a little longer they remained together, Madge and Mr. Dunraven looking wistfully into Conn's careworn face ; then the warder announced that the time was up, and Conn was again put under custody to be taken back to his cell. In a dazed puzzled way Madge watched him go. She saw him almost forced through the door, away from his father's sight ; she saw him turn his head to look back at her : then he was gone. She turned too : she took her uncle's arm, and the two left the gaol to rejoin George Aldyn, who still awaited them outside the prison-gates.

Chapter III

" LET ME STAY WITH YOU TO-NIGHT, MADGE." HEN they appeared, George threw away the remnant of his cigar and went eagerly forward. He just glanced at Mr. Dunraven, who walked with his head hung low, then he looked at Madge. For one brief moment Madge's eyes met his ; then they sought the ground. He took her hand, put it on his arm, and the three walked away to gether. For that day the legal proceedings seemed to be at an end. The court had emptied itself, and the streets were even more crowded than they had been before. On either side of the way stood barrows and stands where coster-girls yelled out in praise of their goods ; the brilliantly lit shops looked their brightest ; lines of cabs and carriages hindered the traffic in the street. Here and there crowds of gossiping men and women discussed the forthcoming cases, and those which had already been tried, some with haggard faces and eager eyes, others with the calmness born of the certainty of having no interest at stake.

Drink was flowing about everywhere, and when at length Madge, still leaning on George Aldyn's arm, paused in the street near the inn, she found herself surrounded ' LET ME STAY WITH YOU.' 33 by a circle of human faces, and heard in her ears a deafening roar. George Aldyn urged her to hasten in. He was eager to get her safely into the inn ; not on account of the crush at the door, but in case she should catch some of the remarks which he feared might pass from mouth to mouth. But it seemed to him that Madge guessed his motive, since, despite his pressing, he could not for a few moments get her to move. When at length he resolutely took her hand upon his arm and walked towards the door, they were surrounded on every hand by a gos siping crowd. George walked on, pushing his way roughly through and clearing a space for Madge ; but when they were within a few yards of the threshold, Madge's ears caught the mention of Conn's name, and vol. in. she resolutely paused to listen.

Two young men stood on the pavement shaking hands. ' A murder case, isn't it ?' said one. ' Yes, the case of that Irish lad who shot Lord Rigby !' ' How do you think it will end ?' ' They'll hang him, of course !' Madge listened in silence ; but George Aldyn felt her hand grasp nervously at his arm. He took it in his right hand, put his left arm round her, and forced her to walk forward through the hall and up the stairs to her own room. That night his presence there seemed unneeded, so, as soon as he conveniently could, he rose to take his leave. ' Good-night, uncle,' he said, giving Mr. Dunraven that title for the first time. ' I shall be here early in the morning, and we 'LET ME STAY WITH YOU? 35 will go to the court together. Don't leave the house until I come.' And Mr. Dunraven, half indifferent, feeling only that in this hour of his great trouble it was something to have a guiding o o o will at hand, bowed his head in silent consent.

Then George turned to Madge and held O O forth his hand. How cold the action seemed ; and yet, what could he do ? He could not obey his impulses now, for had he done so he would have folded her in his arms, laid her aching head upon his bosom, and whispered : ' Madge, my dear, have comfort, put your trust in me !' But all he did was to stand before her with his right hand extended and a formal ' Good night, Madge,' upon his lips. But Madge did not take his hand ; when she saw that he was really going, she too walked 35—2 towards the door, saying quietly, ' I will go with you just as far as the street corner.' She was only going to walk with him a few yards, yet no sooner had they crossed the threshold, than George took her hand and drew it through his arm. It was something to feel that he could do that without overstepping the limits allowed by a hazy kind of cousinship.