It was a bright June morning when our small party of travelers, having breakfasted well at the Anglesea Arms, and settled with the landlady, once more entered the dilapidated one-horse carriage, to be driven to the railway station.
As the front of the carriage was open, and every word spoken by the travelers could be heard by the driver, there was but little conversation indulged in except what related to the weather or the scenery.
The drive over the moors, although, in the springless vehicle on the rough up-and-down hill, it shook the passengers severely, was, in other respects, very pleasant.
They reached the little way station in good time, and had only a few moments to wait before the train came up.
Mr. Force was fortunate in securing a compartment for himself and his companions; and it was not until they were all three seated within it and the train was in motion again that any opportunity for private conversation was given.
“Well, we have spent three days—I had nearly said we have lost three days on our quest—and what have we gained?” gloomily inquired Mr. Force. “Nothing apparently but the knowledge that the deepest-dyed villain in the whole world enjoys in his own neighborhood the reputation of a saint, a sage, a hero and a philanthropist rolled into one! It is very curious that a man may be such an accomplished hypocrite all his life as to deceive all his neighbors, and then to go off into a foreign country and give reins to his evil nature and reveal himself as a pure devil! Clearly he must have been in California when his wife was taken ill. Clearly he married the Widow Wright during his wife’s lifetime, robbed the dupe and fled back to England in time to play the hypocrite at Lady Mary’s deathbed, and act chief mourner at her funeral; then, under pretense that he could not bear the house where he missed her every hour, hastened back to America, but, giving his dupe a wide berth, went to the North instead of the South, and honored with his presence Niagara Falls, where we——”
“‘Foregathered wi’ the de’il,’” put in Wynnette.
“True, my dear! We did! And we all suffered in consequence.” Then turning to the young midshipman, who sat buried in his bitter thoughts, he said: “Le, my dear boy, do not be so utterly cast down. There must be some way out of this trouble, and we will try to find it. Let us do our best and trust in Providence.”
The young man shrugged his shoulders impatiently at this well-meant piece of commonplace philosophy, as he replied:
“Yes, uncle, there is a way out of it, if you would only take it.”
“What way, Le?”
“The divorce court.”
“Le! The very word, divorce, is an offense to decent ears.”
“Uncle! the most straitlaced of all the Christian sects permit divorce under certain circumstances. The Westminster Catechism, that strictest of all moral and religious codes, provides for it.”
“If all the world’s church and state were to meet in convention and provide for it I would have none of it—except—except—as the very last resort; and then, Le, I should feel it as the very greatest humiliation of my life.”
“Listen, Le: Now that we know that Anglesea’s wife was living at the time of his marriage with the Widow Wright, we also know that marriage was unlawful; and now that we furthermore know that his wife was dead at the time of his marriage with Odalite Force we also know that this last marriage was lawful.”
“Uncle! uncle! I cannot bear——”
“One moment, Le. Do not be so impetuous. I said lawful—however wicked and immoral. And because it was lawful, Le, my dear daughter is bound by it, to a certain extent, and cannot form any matrimonial engagement while this bond exists.”
“But, good Heaven, sir——”
“Patience, Le. Hear me out. But, because that marriage was wicked and immoral, it shall never go a step further—it shall never be completed. That villain shall never see or speak to my daughter again. I swear it before high heaven! I shall keep Odalite at home under my own immediate protection. If the scoundrel is not hanged or sent to the devil in some other way before many years, I suppose I shall be compelled to advise my daughter to seek relief from the law. She could get it without the slightest difficulty.”
“But why not now?” pleaded the young man.
“Because of the humiliation. It will seem a less matter years hence.”
“And in the meantime,” said Le, bitterly, “I am to cherish murder in my heart day and night by wishing that man dead!”
“Hush, Le, hush! Such thought is sin and leads to crime.”
Le said no more, but fell into a gloomy silence that lasted until the train ran into Lancaster station.
They went to dine at the Royal Oak, and from that point Mr. Force telegraphed to Enderby Castle for a carriage to meet the party in the evening at Nethermost.
Then they took the afternoon train and started on their homeward journey.
The sun was setting when they ran into the little wayside station.
A handsome open carriage, driven by the earl’s old coachman, awaited them.
They entered it at once, and the coachman turned the horses’ heads and began to ascend the graded and winding road that led up to the top of the cliff, and then drove all along the edge of the precipice in the direction of the castle.
It was a magnificent prospect, with the moors rolling off in hill and vale, but always rising toward the range of mountains on the east; and the ocean rolling away toward the western horizon, where the sky was still aflame with the afterglow of the sunset; while straight before them, though many miles distant up the coast, stretched out into the sea the mighty promontory of Enderby Cliff, with the ruined border castle standing on its crest, and the ocean beating at its base, while a few yards nearer inland stood the latter building, which was the dwelling of the earl and his household.
Wynnette had never been accused of artistic, poetic or romantic tendencies, yet, gazing on that scene, she fell into thought, thence into dream, finally into vision; and she saw passing before her, in a long procession, tall and brawny, yellow-haired savages, clad in the skins of wild beasts, and armed with heavy clubs, which they carried over their shoulders; then barbarians in leathern jerkins, armed with bows and arrows; rude soldiers with battle-axes and shields of tough hide; then a splendid procession of mounted knights in helmets, shining armor and gorgeous accouterments; ladies in long gowns of richest stuffs and high headgear, that looked like long veils hoisted above the head on a clothes prop; then trains of courtiers in plumed hats, full ruffs, rich doublets and trunk hose; and ladies in close velvet caps and cupid’s bow borders, large ruffs, long waists and enormous fardingales; next a train of cavaliers, with flapping bonnets, flowing locks, velvet coats and—
“Wynnette!”
It was the voice of her father that broke the spell and dispersed the visionary train.
“Are you asleep, my dear?”
“N-n-no, papa; only dreaming dreams and seeing visions,” replied the girl, rousing herself.
“Well, my dear, we are entering the castle courtyard.”
Wynnette looked out and saw that they were crossing the drawbridge that had been down for centuries over a moat that had been dry for nearly as long a period, and which was now thickly grown up in brushwood, and were entering under the arch of the great portcullis, which had been up for as many years as the drawbridge had been down and the moat had been dry.
They were in the middle of the hollow square that formed the courtyard of the castle. They had entered on the north side. On the same side were the stables, the kennels and the quarters for the outdoor servants. Opposite to them, on the south side, were the conservatories and forcing beds, protected by high walls. On the east side was the modern Enderby Castle, where the earl and his household lived in modest comfort. But on the west side, overhanging the terrible cliff, was the ancient Castle of Enderby, not quite a ruin, but deserted and desolate, abandoned to wind and wave, given over to bats and owls. At the foot of the awful rock the thunder of the sea was heard day and night. Those who lived habitually at the castle grew accustomed to it, but to temporary sojourners at Enderby there was something weird and terrible in the unceasing thunder of the sea against the rock. There was said to be a whirlpool through an enormous cavern at the foot of the cliff, having many inlets and outlets, and that the sea was drawn in and thrown out as by the sunken head of a many-mouthed monster. However that might be, it is certain that even in the finest weather, when the sea was calm everywhere else, the tempest raged against Enderby Cliff.
“The very, very first thing that I do to-morrow shall be to explore that old castle from top to bottom,” said Wynnette to herself, as the turning of the carriage hid it from her view.