The Black Tor: A Tale of the Reign of James the First by George Manville Fenn (classic romance novels .TXT) 📕

that these troubles—the attack on the Black Tor, and the hundred times more terrible one upon Cliff Castle—were caused by him. Certainty Ralph Darley had something to do with it, but he was badly wounded and out of the question now, so that he, Mark Eden, must take all the blame.

Then, too, he could not understand his own acts. It all seemed so absurd, just such a confused sequence of events as would take place in a dream, for him to be listening to Ralph’s appeal for help, and to begin pitying him, his natural enemy, feeling toward him as if he were his dearest friend; and then, with his heart burning with rage against those who had injured him and his, to follow his father, panting to get ready an expedition whose object was to drive Captain Purlrose and his murderous, thieving crew off the face of the earth.

That was not the greatest puzzle which helped to confuse Mark Eden, for there was his father’s conduct, so directly opposed to everything which had gone before; but at last, after fighting with his confusion for some time, his head grew clearer, and he drew a long deep breath.

“I know how it is,” he said to himself, with a curious smile, mingled of pleasure and pain; “the old trouble’s dead. This business has killed it, and I’m jolly glad.”

“Mark, boy,” said his father just then, and it seemed to the lad that his father must have been thinking and feeling in a similar way, “I daresay you think my conduct strange, after all the teachings of the past, but nature is sometimes stronger than education, and after what has taken place we must, as English gentlemen, forget all old enmity, and behave toward the Darleys as—as—as—”

“I’m sure Ralph and his father would have behaved towards us, if we had been in such a terrible state.”

“Yes, my boy—thank you—exactly,” cried Sir Edward, with a sigh of relief. “I was afraid you would think it half mad and strange of me to be doing this, when—when you see we could go over and take possession of the Darley’s place, and hold it for our own.”

“But we couldn’t now, father,” cried Mark. “If it had been a challenge, and we had gone and attacked them, and conquered, it would have been grand, but the Edens couldn’t go and fight wounded men—hit people when they are down.”

“No, my boy,” said Sir Edward firmly; “the Edens could not do that.”

A busy day followed, with the men collected in a state of the wildest excitement, those who had been wounded in the attack upon the cavern and the bitter encounter between the allies for the most part declaring their readiness to bear arms again.

“But you’re not fit, Dan,” said Mark, as he stood talking to the head miner.

“Not fit, Master Mark?” cried the sturdy old fellow, showing his teeth; “I’m going to show that gang of murderous wolves that I am very fit indeed. My arm won’t go very well, and I turn a bit sick and swimming whenever I turn my head.”

“Then you mustn’t go,” cried Mark.

“Mustn’t, Master Mark,” said the man grimly, “but I must. The lads’ll fight as well again with me there. And look here: I won’t use my right hand, and I won’t turn my head; so I shall be all right, and I’m not going to fight.”

“Then what is the use of your coming?”

The man half shut one eye.

“Powder!” he whispered—“powder. You know what that will do, eh?”

“Yes, you can manage that, Dan,” said Mark thoughtfully.

“Better than any one else, my lad, and that aren’t boasting. Look here, Master Mark; I’ve been having it over with the lads, and we all think the same. The Darleys are about as bad a lot as ever stepped, and they’ve done us a lot o’ wrong, and deserved all we could give ’em, but they aren’t deserved this, and we are going to forgive ’em a bit. Who’s going to stand still and see a lot o’ ragged rapscallions come and attack our enemies, and try to take that castle? It aren’t to be borne, Master Mark; now is it?”

“No, Dan, it is not to be borne.”

“Right, sir. I’ve heered everything now: how they’d took the castle, and was wineing and beering theirselves, and going to stop there, when Nick Garth—ah! I do mort’ly hate that fellow—sets fire to the place, and burns ’em out. Makes me feel as if I could half forgive him all old scores. My pick! It was a fine idea.”

“A grand idea, Dan.”

“And don’t you see, Master Mark, as they missed getting Cliff Castle, they’ll just wait their time, and catch us napping, and get this place.”

“Never,” cried Mark hotly.

“Never, it is, Master Mark. Me and the lads’ll blow the old place up first.”

“Mark, my boy,” cried Sir Edward just then; “here, I want you.”

The lad hurried to his father’s side, and a strong hand was clapped upon his shoulder, Sir Edward looking him full in the face, but with his eyes thoughtful and fixed.

“No,” he said suddenly, “they could not think that if you go alone.”

“Who, father? Where?” said Mark, staring.

“I’ve been thinking, boy,” said Sir Edward. “We can make up a good muster, but we ought to be as strong as we can, and it is only right to give Sir Morton’s poor fellows who are left a chance of striking a blow for their master and young mistress. Would you mind riding over to the enemy’s camp, and asking all who can to come and join us in our expedition this evening?”

“Mind? No, father: I should like to.”

“Then go at once.”

“Yes, father.”

“And bring back with you all you can. If it’s only four or five sturdy fellows, it is worth while; and I hope they will be willing to come under my command—no, this will be better: ask them if they will follow you.”

“I think I can bring them,” cried Mark, flushing.

“Then off. Tell them we have plenty of arms.”

Mark hurried away, gave Dummy orders to saddle the cob, and ran in and up to his own room, whose door he opened softly, to start in surprise on finding a nurse assisting Master Rayburn, and seated by the head of the bed, fanning the heated brow of the poor disfigured lad, as he lay muttering in delirium.

“You here, Mary,” said Mark, in a sharp whisper.

“Of course she is, boy,” cried the old man testily. “Woman’s place—and girls grow to women—look finer than a queen on a throne, seated by a sick-bed.”

“Yes,” assented Mark. “How is he?”

“Couldn’t be worse,” said Master Rayburn. “There, go and beat the dogs, and if one of them bites you, we’ll make up another bed, and nurse you too; won’t we, Mary?”

“Oh, no, no, Mark dear; don’t, pray don’t you get hurt,” whispered the girl wildly.

“He won’t get hurt much,” said Master Rayburn. “Come to stay?”

“No,” said Mark, as he made the old man’s eyes twinkle by going on tip-toe to the bedside, and gently taking Ralph’s right hand which he held for a few moments, and then laid it back.

“Needn’t put it down in such a hurry, boy,” whispered the old man. “Didn’t hurt you, did it?”

“Poor fellow! No,” sighed Mark. “But I must go. Father has ordered me to go down the river to the Cliff, to try and get all the Darley men together to come and help in the attack.”

“What!” cried Master Rayburn; “Sir Edward has told you to do that?”

“Yes,” said Mark, flushing hotly. “Well, what have you to say to it?”

“Nothing,” said the old man softly; “only, boy, that I wish you God speed.”

There was the clatter of hoofs heard through the open window, and Mark hurriedly kissed his sister.

“I’ll take care,” he said, smiling.

“But the Darley men may attack you, Mark,” she whispered excitedly.

“I’m not afraid,” he said, laughing. “Don’t let Ralph Darley die, Master Rayburn; he isn’t such a bad fellow after all.”

“Bah! Bad, indeed,” said the old man, pressing Mark’s arm, and looking at him proudly, “Deal better fellow than you.”

The next minute Mark leaped into the saddle, and the restive cob began to rear.

“Take me with you, Master Mark,” said Dummy, as he held the rein.

“Can’t! Must go alone, Dum. You come by my side to-night.”

“Got to carry bags of powder.”

“Well, I shall be there.”

“But s’pose the Darleys fight you, Master Mark?”

“They will not, Dummy,” cried Mark. “Let go.”

And pressing the cob’s sides, the little animal bounded over the narrow bridge, and would have galloped in a break-neck fashion down the steep zigzag but for the strong hand at the rein.

The pony had its own way, though, along the rough track by the river, on past Master Rayburn’s peaceful cottage, and away again, till at a bend of the stream the rider saw a cloud of smoke hanging over the ravens’ cliff, and soon after caught sight of one corner of the castle, with the glorious beeches and sycamores low down, and birches high up, scorched and shrivelled; and now he saw through an alley burned by the flames driven downward by the wind that the beautiful old pile was reduced to a shell, in whose interior the smoke was still rising from a heap of smouldering wood.

As he drew nearer, and crossed the ford which led to the steep path up, he saw on one of the terrace platforms quite a crowd of women and children, collected from the outlying cottages and farms, all standing gazing at the smoking ruins; and on one side there was a little group of men, some standing, others sitting and lying down upon the stones.

“And if it had not been for Dummy our place might have been like this,” thought Mark, as he rode up. The men, as they caught sight of him, began to rise to their feet, two or three actively, the others as if in pain, but all wearing a savage scowl.

But Mark did not shrink. He rode right past the women, and drew rein, as Nick Garth said fiercely:

“Well, youngster, have you come to enjoy’s morning’s work?”

“What have I ever done to make you think me such a cowardly brute, Nick Garth?” said Mark boldly; as the others uttered a menacing growl. “Well,” he continued, “is that all you have to say? What about your young master?”

The man’s face was convulsed by a spasm, and he turned away, pointing the while at the smoking ruins.

“What does he mean by that?” said Mark to another of the men.

“They killed him,” said the man hoarsely. “Burned, poor lad! In yonder.”

“No, no,” cried Mark excitedly. “He escaped, and came up to us—to ask for help.”

“The young master?” cried Nick, turning back to look at the speaker fiercely; “why, I see him cut down with my own eyes.”

“I tell you, he crawled out of the fire. He’s badly wounded and burned, but he’s lying in my room, with Master Rayburn by his side.”

“Say that again—say that again, youngster!” cried Nick Garth, as he caught Mark fiercely by the hand, and thrust his blood-smeared and blackened face close to him.

“There is no need,” said Mark. “He is very bad, but he was able to ask us for help.”

A wild hurrah! burst from the men, even the worst wounded waving their hands, as they crowded round the startled pony, which began to rear, and tried to unseat his rider.

“Quiet!” cried Mark, patting the spirited little animal’s neck, and as soon as it was quiet, turning to the object of his mission.

“Now,” he said, “my father starts this evening to crush out this gang of miscreants and rescue Sir Morton and your young lady. We have plenty of swords and pikes, and I have come to ask as many of you as can strike a blow to join us.”

“Is this a trap, young gen’leman, to make an end of us now we’re weak and down?”

“Look in my eyes, Nick Garth,” said Mark, gazing straight at the sullen lowering