The Power of the Hand. A romance

Front matter

a IRomance. ar F. E. M. NOTLEY, Author of "Olite Varcoe," "Love's Crosses," "Cordelia," "Red Riding-Hood," &c. " Through the shade of Sleep, Through the cloudy strife Of Death and of Life, Through the veil and the bar Of things which seem and are." — Shelley. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON . WARD and DOWNEY, 12, YORK STREET, CO VENT GARDEN", W.C. 1888. [All Rights Reserved.] PRINTED by KEI.l.Y AND CO., GATE'sTREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS, W.C., AND KINGSTON-ON-TIIAMES. — ♦- — CHAPTEE I. " Boat ahoy ! " cried a gentleman in hot haste, as, running fast, he reached the quay on the Devonshire side of the Torpoint Passage. " The ferry-boat has just started, sir," said a boatman, " and she Avon't be back for half-an hour good." " Then I shall lose the mail," exclaimed the gentleman in a tone of intense vexation.

" I can row you across, sir, in time to catch her." " Out with your boat sharp, then, my man ! ' " All right, sir — she'll be ready in two minutes." The traveller watched the adjusting of the gear and launching of the boat with a curious impatience. He was a young fellow of about twenty-two, tall, handsome, and full of health.. He had never overworked his brain, and was not given to nervous fancies, yet at this moment vol. i. he was filled with an ugly foreboding that the loss of the ferry-boat would bring misfortune. " And I rode so hard to catch it," he said to himself. This mental ejaculation increased the strange anxiety within him, and his feverish desire to hurry across the river grew stronger. " How lonsj the fellow is ! " he cried. " His two minutes are growing to ten." He took out his watch, and was observing with wonder that only three minutes had elapsed, when a quick step made him look round.

Then he started and turned suddenly away, with a flush rising on his face. " It is the same queer customer that I out raced on the road. By Jove, the fellow can't be going into Cornwall too ! " " Boat is ready, sir." " So am I," returned the young man, jumping into it instantly. " Pull away for your life." The boatman, with the oars in his hands, was just dipping them into the Avater, when the stranger who had a moment ago arrived on the pier sprang into the boat, and, Avith a quiet smile on his lips, took his seat opposite the young traveller. " I beg your pardon— I have hired this boat," he observed in an angry tone. " Pray excuse the liberty I take in intruding on you," returned the other in a courteous and strangely sweet voice. " I have lost the ferry boat like yourself, and my presence will not, I hope, inconvenience you.

Chapter II

The lamps sent weird flashes of light on the dark hedges, bringing their wintry bareness into fleeting view, and the wild Avaving of boughs overhead moaned and creaked in the rough wind like the song of the storm, which the whirr of the wheels accompanied, while the beat of the horses' hoofs kept time to this wild night music. " We shall have a rough journey," observed the coachman gravely. " I never heard that Mr. Carbonellis of Lan garth was drowned," said Harold, letting his thoughts break into Avords hurriedly. " Is it true?" " True enough, sir," was the answer, given in that sort of tone which implies a graver fact held back. Silence followed this reply. Harold felt a nervous irritation tingling through his veins. Young Carbonellis was his college friend; he was going now to Langarth at his invitation.

Never through their long friendship had he named the fact respecting his father's death, which now by a mere accident dropped from a stranger's lips. His sister was Harold's betrothed ; she too had shown the same reticence — never in their most intimate converse had she touched on this sad subject. Why was there any mystery in the matter, and by wdiat curious combination of circumstances was it connected in that stupid landlord's mind with the running away of a frightened horse ? As if in answer to this mental query, the echo of a horse's swift gallop came borne on the wind, floating down a hill opposite, whose long ascent lay dimly before them. " Can you see any one riding, sir ? " asked the coachman. " You have younger e}'es than mine." Harold bent forward and peered into the gloom eagerly.

" No ; it is too dark. Stop ! Yes, I do see a horseman. He is riding furiously." " A black horse, sir ? " " Yes, as far as I can judge in this dim moon light. Certainly, if not black, the horse is not a light one." " Jim, there goes the mare ! " said the coach man, in a voice which sounded strangely full of meaning, as, turning round to the guard, he pointed with his long whip to the top of the hill, wdiere for an instant, like a phantom, the distant rider stood out against a moonlit lower ing sky, and then vanished. " Ah, I thought so, when I heard that devil's THE POWER OF THE HAND. 17 tune whistled out so loud and clear ! " returned the guard, as, standing up, he leaned over the roof of the coach to bring his voice nearer. " Whip up the team, Jim, and let us try to pass him." " Much good that would do," rejoined the other.

" The off-leader would break down on that job in less than a mile." Nevertheless he quickened the pace of the team, and the coach was gallantly carried up a third of the hill at good speed ; but here the borrowed horse showed signs of distress, and, soon falling into a walk, the mail was dragged but slowly along for the rest of the ascent. The echo of that fierce gallop ahead of them still reached the ear, though growing more and more faint, till it was lost in a deeper, fuller sound, which mingled with the sough of the wind, and in a moment was recognised as the wild roar of waves rushing upon a rugged shore. On reaching the top of the hill the coachman drew rein an instant to breathe the panting horses, and now the white gleam of the waves was visible as they tossed and broke amid the heaving darkness of the sea.

Down far below, all along the black rugged shore, a snow line of foam flashed, tossed, and broke. And here and there, amid the white boil, the jagged points of huge rocks were visible, as the rush of the waves retreated, or the glistening spray dashed vol. i. up their rough sides, and caught the faint light of the crescent moon. " A wild sea, and a wild night, sir," remarked the coachman to Harold, as again the mail plunged forward, and the sea-spray, driven above the cliff, met their faces with a cold salt touch. " It's always a Avild night Avhen that man rides." " And who is he ? " asked Harold. " Ah, that's a question, sir, that has been asked many a time, and has never been an swered yet ! " " But, if the man steals horses," persisted Harold increduously, " I can't understand his not being discoA7ered and hanged."

" I never said he stole horses, sir. " You said he was riding the missing black mare." " So he is ; but he won't steal her." " Then the man is a mystery ? " said Harold. " That's exactly what he is, sir. And, whether he is flesh and blood, or something one don't like to talk about, is more than either j7ou or I will ever be able to tell." " I don't see that ; and I can't believe in ghosts riding off on other folks' real live horses," returned Harold with a laugh Avhich sounded mockingly in his own ears, as the sea wind met his lips and carried it away. " Nor in their coming across the ferry in other folks' boats," said the coachman with grim humour. " Was that the man ? " And Harold's voice took a different key, while an odd thrill crept over his flesh. " That was the man, sir." "And you say he is not a horse stealer — though to my mind he looks like a very daring one."

" The horses come back to their stables, sir, and money enough with them to make it worth their owners' while to keep quiet — that's how the matter is worked." " Well, it is a queer story," said Harold. " You'd say that, sir, if you heard the whole of it." At this point in their talk the coach was descending slowly a long steep hill, and the guard had got down to attend to the drag, some slight hitch being in the chain ; and now, looking up, with the moonlight shining on his Aveather-beaten face, he held his hand upward, beckoning the driver to stop. " Throw me your knife, Bill. I can't find mine. The off-leader has a stone in his foot." After a moment's fumbling in numerous pockets the penknife Avas found and flung to him, and he proceeded to remove the stone. During the process a curious silence seemed to fill the air.

The cessation of the rumbling of 2* w7heels and the beating of hoofs was doubtless the cause, yet to Harold's mind there was some thing strange and sinister in this sudden dead calm and silence. No one spoke as the guard, stooping low, strove to remove the stone, which was wedged tightly in the horse's hoof. The shadow of the coach stretched its weird length upon the road like wings of darkness, and o\Ter head the moon shone out fitfully from amid flying clouds, which passed her disc in sombre hurried procession. Their swift noiseless gathering had an eager look, as though a compelling force lay within their folds, and they stretched out arms of darkness to cover some cruel deed. Far aAvay to the left the distant roll of the surf upon the shore was felt rather than distinctly heard, and the murmuring faint sound did but add to the silence.

The treeless road was spread before them like a dim white belt girding the hill, without speck or sound to relieAre its solitude. The scene painted itself like a picture on Harold's mind, and he was unwilling to utter a word to break its sombre spell. But, as the guard rose to his feet, the silence which sur rounded them w7as pierced Avith sharp abruptness by the shrill, clear, small sound of a Avhistle. Sweet as a thrush's pipe the distant voice whistled the first part of that wild, Aveird air, distinctly as Harold had heard it on the ferry. With hand uplifted, the guard stood for a moment as if struck to stone, while the coach man, with arm outstretched, held it in mid air, nor dropped it till the whistle died away as suddenly as it came. Then, gathering up the reins, as the guard clambered to his seat, he started the horses at a hand-gallop.

" That drowned the answering whistle, Jim. I'm dashed if I Avished to hear it," observed the coachman, throwing the words over his shoulder in a jerky voice. " So there is always an answering whistle ? " remarked Harold. " Always, sir." " Then there are two of them ? " said Harold, with a short laugh. The man turned a grave face towards him. " I'd rather you didn't laugh, sir, if you don't mind. I know it all sounds queer, but queer things do happen at times that common sense can't compass. Maybe you'll hear more of the matter at Langarth. And it's because I'm afraid you may find trouble Avhen you get there that I took the liberty, sir, to ask you not to laugh." " Oh, don't apologise ! " said Harold gravely. The man's words had taken from him all in clination to laugh ; the thought of trouble at Langarth had sobered him.

THE POWER OF THE HAND. 22 The guard had clambered over the roof and taken his seat behind them. He leaned forward now, saying in a Ioav voice : " What do you think, Bill — shall we find the roan gone this time ? " " I hope not ; that horse would take him Avhere he's bound to in an hour." " Then, if he gets the roan, there's no chance of our catching him up ? " " There wouldn't be anyhow," responded the coachman. " No man has ever overtaken that rider yet." " Ah, but I should like to try it with him one night ! " returned the guard. " So should I," said Harold, " whether the fellow be thief or ghost." " You may be a good rider, Mr. Olver, but that would be a sharp race, and no one has ever won it yet. You see he is riding ahead of us now, and he'll keep ahead until he gets to his journey's end ; then Ave shall lose him."

" And where is he going ?" " To the same place that you are bound for, sir. "To Langarth?" exclaimed Harold. The coachman nodded, and, bending his head to the storm, he seemed suddenly inclined to keep silent. " Then he is a friend of the family ? " con tinued Harold. " Perhaps so, sir ; but he doesn't act like one." " What do you mean ? " " I mean he never comes to Langarth that he doesn't leave a corpse behind him. God, there he is — do you see him, sir ? — just on the white bit of the road where the moon is shining ! " Harold leant forward with a throb at his heart, and caught sight in the flash of an instant of the dark rider, with the pale gleams of moon-light quivering about him. A black cloud touched the moon, and the figure was gone. Harold drew a deep breath, and then said impatiently : " The man is evidently a man, and not a ghost, and I presume his errand to Langarth is an important one, or he would not ride so fast."

" We all know his errand ; he brings death to Langarth." The superstitious assertion had a ghastly sound as the words rang out in the night-air, and, being both angry and startled, Harold turned on the man sharply. " Is that Avhat you meant when you said just now I might find trouble at Langarth ? Have you any reason for what you say ? Because, if not, I consider such assertions " " I beg pardon — no offence meant, sir," interposed the coachman. " I do wrong perhaps to say a word on the matter ; but 'tis common talk around Langarth." " Common talk ! " repeated Harold in a vexed tone. " But who is the man, and wdiy does he ride to Langarth ? " " No mortal can tell you that, sir. He comes and he goes, leaving sorroAV behind him, and no man has ever yet met him face to face and dared to say, Who are you ?

" "I saw him face to face in the boat, but it certainly did not occur to me to ask him Avho he was or what Avas his errand," said Harold with impatience. " Well, sir, I won't say again what his errand is. " Ah, I give you up ! " returned Harold, crossing his arms Avith an air of resignation. " You Cornish are the most superstitious people in the world, and there is no use in arguinothe case Avith you. Still, I should like to hear what possible reason you can find for investing a queer traveller with a sort of death-warrant." " Well, sir, the last time — twenty years agone — that this rider was down in these parts, Mr. Carbonellis was found droAvned in his park." " But the one event could have nothinoto do with the other," observed Harold in a logical tone. THE POWER OF THE HAND. 25 " You ain't the first, sir, that have said so.

Yet I reckon it's past your understanding, and likewise mine, to say why death always follows that rider's heels. Fifteen years before Mr. Carbonellis was drowned, his father was brought home dead through a fall from his horse. That very evening the ' Night Whistler ' — that's what we call him down here, sir — crossed the ferry 'twixt Cornwall and Devon, and rode to Langarth. This was afore my time, but I've heard my father tell of it." " Before your time ! " repeated Harold with a sharp emphasis. " Why, the man is not so old as you, and you make out he Avas here thirty five years ago. Let me see — I judge him to be forty, so he was five years old then." " He was here thirty-five years ago," per sisted the other — " ah, and a hundred and thirty-five years ago ! This has been going on at Langarth ever since the roof-tree was laid on it.

You ask the young lady, sir, when you get down there.'' Harold made no reply to this, for they Avere noAv close to the posting-house, and the guard, with the laudable intention of waking a drowsy world, Avas sounding a hearty blast on his horn. Another moment and the mail coach drew up beneath the sign of the " Silent Woman," whose peaceable portrait was swinging headless in the w7ind. A crowd of rustics surrounded them in an instant. Among them, pressing to the front, was the stout landlord, with flabby face un wontedly white. He held up a quivering hand, shaking his fingers in recognition. Behind the crowd stood a man in a smock-frock, holding in one hand a horn lantern and in the other a rough halter attached to a sorry-looking horse. This last group was made dimly visible by the light of the lantern, while the lamps in the mail-coach and the shining of the sire flashing through the window of the inn flung gro tesque lights and shadows over the rest of the crow7d. " Here's a pretty go, Bill !

" cried the landlord. " The roan is stole aAvaj7." The coachman flung the reins down loosely to the ostler, and turned a look on Harold. " I hope you've got a decent animal in his stead," was all his response, as he descended from his box, and walked forward to examine the fresh team. The landlord, on his part, turned a curious eye on the horses that were now being un harnessed. " Why, what's come of the black mare ? " he cried. " She's in your stable, master — in the roan's stall," said the ostler, looking up from his AArork. "Peeking wi' sweat she be, and shaaking en every lemb. I tould 'ee so afore, aunly you wus as onbelieving as Tummas." The landlord gave the man a scared look, and, taking a step backward, he laid his hand on the rail of the guard's seat. "'Tis true enough, Jim," he said.

"The Whistler is out." " I knowed that at Torpoint," returned the other, a little proud of his prior information. " And the worst is, Jim, that Mr. Carbonellis has got some hot work in hand to-night." " What's up then ? " asked the guard. The answer was given in a whisper, but Harold caught the Avords " smugglers " and " cutter." And now for the first time he began to feel uneasy. He knew his friend's reckless and daring spirit, he knew too that smuggling was rife and popular in Cornwall, and desperate deeds grew out of it. He chafed at the slow fingers of the ostler — he Avas impatient to be at Langarth. If Carbonellis was bent on some rash adventure, he hoped to arrive in time to stop him from rushing into it. The horsing of the mail-coaches throughout England at this period was carried to the point of perfection ; the harnessing a fresh team was usually accomplished in three minutes, but this time the ostler dragged their slow length to five.

The sorry beast that replaced the missing roan was a kicker, and flung his heels out at slight provocation. Twice he kicked over the traces, and, turning completely round, faced the shaking ostler with a snarl on his uplifted lip. Moreover, there was a change of coachmen here, and the neAv driver was in a worse temper even than the horse. His objurgations caused a further delay, but at length he gathered up the reins with an oath, and a protest against both landlord and the kicker ; then, as he held his wdiip up threateningly, the guard gave a flourish on his horn, and once more his Majesty's mail sped onwards through the night. if

Chapter III

At the great gates of the park at Langarth, Harold Olver stood alone, and somewhat dis consolate. The mail was late, owing to the poor horsing of the coach, as from posting-house to posting-house the same disaster pursued them and the same rider preceded them. The new driver, a young man not given to wild beliefs — had met each landlord's statement with savage incredulity and desperate ill-temper. He grew taciturn and sullen as mile by mile they plodded on with lame and vicious horses, making slow way against driving rain which beat coldly against their faces. " The folks down in these parts would make you believe anything," he obserA7ed sulkily to Harold Olver, in answer to that young gentle man's request to be set down at Langarth. " Now, according to them, pixies come and ride horses by night ; and this here fellow, who has been going on ahead of us for forty miles or thereabouts, isn't a horse-stealer, but a sort of ghost, who kills a Carbonellis every time he takes a ride.

Now I expect, sir, you'll find everybody hale and hearty at Langarth ; and, before you alight, I should like to give you my notion of who this scamp is. It's my opinion he's in league with the smugglers that the young squire has sworn war against, and he is just riding for his life to warn them the Pre ventive men will be out after them to night. There's rich men in the trade, who don't mind killing horses, or paying for them either, when a valuable cargo has to be saved." The idea was so apposite to Harold's own fears that it seized upon his mind instantly and filled him with dismay. " It is quite possible," he said slowly. " I hope Mr. Carbonellis is not with the Preventive men." " He is out in their cutter often, sir. And, if the smugglers are warned, there'll be a fight as sure as two and two is four.

Here we are at Langarth : and, if all those fools say is true there'll be no more horses stole aAvay on the road beyond this. Good night, sir, and thank you. I'm afraid, if a carriage was waiting for you, it is gone — we are so late. And it's a mile through the avenue up to the house." And with this the coach rattled off, with its four inside sleeping passengers and Avith its one wakeful baby and mother on the outside back seat near the guard. Harold stood a moment watching it, till it disappeared in darkness. He was undecided whether to knock up the inmates of the lodge and inquire for the carriage he had expected to meet him, or whether to leave them sleeping in peace, and wralk up to the house, carrying his valise himself. He decided on the latter course. But, as he put his hand on the gate to open it, he paused, for the sound of furious galloping came with the wind that met his face.

For a moment he fancied it was the echo reaching him from the hoofs of the departing team ; but the mail had gone west, and the Avind blew straight from the south. " Is it — can it be possible that strange man is riding to Langarth, and it is his horse I hear galloping up the avenue ? " For one instant Harold Olver listened, the next he had flung his valise down beneath a tree, and, leaving the road, he sprang across the grass and gained a footpath which led to the house by a nearer way. He ran as he had never run before, except in a foot-race, and always tin his ears there rang the sharp thud and echo of that wild galloping. Once, as the foot-path diverged near the road, he fancied in the distance he caught a glimpse of a flying horseman flitting like a shadow through the gloom of overhanging trees.

On and on he sped at the top of his strength and speed, filled with the wild desire to be first at the door of Langarth, and confront and dismay with his presence this mysterious and phantom rider. But he failed in the attempt. Just before he reached the house he heard the clang of the huge ancient bell which hung at its portal, and he knew in his own heart it was rung by the pale hand of the Night Whistler. He paused in his race, discomfited, and at this instant the man passed him at a little distance, riding sloAvly and dejectedly beneath the darkness of the trees, his head hanging down, his eyes fixed like those of a man in a dream, and his long thin white hand resting on his hip. There was an expression of horror and grief on his face so intense, as the moonlight fell on it, flashing it for a moment into view, that Harold involuntarily drew back.

The next instant the darkness had co\-ered him. " Can he be going to the stables that Avay ? " thought Harold, gazing blankly into the black space of night into which the vision had van ished. In another minute or two he was at the door, which opened ere he touched the bell, and a kindly voice greeted him, and a cheering light shone out upon the broad gra\7el road, Avhich was empty of all figures save his own. " I heard you ring, sir," said the old servitor, in a deprecatory friendly voice ; " and am sorry to have kept you Avaiting ; but the cord of a picture in master's study had just broken, and it fell with such a crash that I feared perhaps Miss Estrild was frightened, and I ran to see." " Pray don't apologise, Prior ! I assure you I had not waited a moment ; it was not I who rang." " Not you, sir ? ' " No, it was a gentleman on horseback ; I fancy he is gone round to the stables — he passed me just noAv."

" He couldn't go to the stables that way," said Prior, with a flourish of his hand. "I'll run round sir, to see ; and where is your portmanty sir. Dear, dear, what a pity the carriage didn't Avait ; but the lodge-keeper declared the mail had passed for certain, so the coachman believed you hadn't come ! " " Perhaps he thought it had passed because the time at which it was due had certainly passed," returned Harold as he divested himself of his great coat — a garment not worn nowa days, when men don't travel on the outside of coaches. " And as for my valise," he continued ; " it is under a tree close by the lodge. Please send a man with a good lantern, Prior, to fetch it ; and don't forget there's a strange gentleman somewhere about the premises, waiting, I suppose, to enter." "I'll see to it all directly, sir. This way, please ; Miss Estrild is in the study."

VOL. I. Harold had lingered in the hall during this talk, partly because he was conscious of being nervous, and he wanted to recover his equa nimity, and partly because a question was on his lips which he felt a reluctance to utter ; but he spoke now. " Isn't your master at home, Prior ? " A change came over Prior's face, and he answered a little primly, as if afraid of saying too much : " You'd have seen him afore now, sir, if he was home ; but he'll be back in the morning." Harold felt a bound at his heart which vexed him, it was so like a superstitious fear ; yet the next moment he was all smiles, and his face was radiant with a great joy, for his eyes were looking into eyes he loved. " I had given you up," said Estrild, lifting her long lashes for just an instant shyly, as, all aglow with love and joy, he bent over her.

" I thought you had missed the mail, and would not be here till to-morrow ; Tristram waited for you till half-past ten. You know the coach always passes the lodge at ten minutes past ten punctually, so, if you had arrived by it, he would have seen you. I felt so disappointed when the carriage came back empty." " Did you ? " said Harold, and, as he held her within the touch of his arm, he emphasised his question with a tighter clasp. " Yes ; but it was not all on your account — it was partly for Tristram. I thought if you came you would dissuade him " She paused, and a slight flush rose to her cheek. "You thought I should keep him at home to-night," said Harold — " and I certainly should have tried to do so. Isn't he gone on some rather risky expedition ? " " How came you to guess it ? " — and the girl disengaged herself from his embrace, and, laying her hands on his shoulders, she gazed into his face with sad anxious eyes.