The Eagle Cliff by Robert Michael Ballantyne (read e book TXT) 📖

the call. In less than a quarter of an hour they were dispersed, searching every part of the Eagle Cliff, where he had been last seen by Giles Jackman.

They found him at last, pale and blood-stained, making ineffectual efforts to crawl from the spot where he had fallen, both the eagle and the broken gun being found beside him.

"No bones broken, thank God!" said Giles, after having examined him and bound up his wounds. "But he is too weak to be questioned. Now, lads, fetch the two poles and the plaid. I'll soon contrive a litter."

"All right, old fellow! God bless you!" said Barret, faintly, as his friend bent over him.

Roderick and Ivor raised him softly, and, with the eagle at his side, bore him towards Kinlossie House. Soon after, their heavy tramp was heard in the hall as they carried him to his room, and laid him gently in bed.


CHAPTER FOURTEEN.


SUSPICIONS, REVELATIONS, AND OTHER MATTERS.

With a swelled and scratched face, a discoloured eye, a damaged nose, and a head swathed in bandages--it is no wonder that Mrs Moss failed to recognise in John Barret the violent young man with the talent for assaulting ladies!

She was not admitted to his room until nearly a week after the accident, for, although he had not been seriously injured, he had received a rather severe shock, and it was thought advisable to keep him quiet as a matter of precaution. When she did see him at last, lying on a sofa in a dressing-gown, and with his head and face as we have described, his appearance did not call to her remembrance the faintest resemblance to the confused, wild, and altogether incomprehensible youth, who had tumbled her over in the streets of London, and almost run her down in the Eagle Pass.

Of course Barret feared that she would recognise him, and had been greatly exercised as to his precise duty in the circumstances; but when he found that she did not recognise either his face or his voice, he felt uncertain whether it would not be, perhaps, better to say nothing at all about the matter in the meantime. Indeed, the grateful old lady gave him no time to make a "clean breast of it," as he had at first intended to do.

"Oh! Mr Barret," she exclaimed, sitting down beside him, and laying her hand lightly on his arm, while the laird sat down on another chair and looked on benignly, "I cannot tell you how thankful I am that you have not been killed, and how very grateful I am to you for all your bravery in saving my darling Milly's life. Now, don't say a word about disclaiming credit, as I know you are going to do--"

"But, dear madam," interrupted the invalid, "allow me to explain. I cannot bear to deceive you, or to sail under false colours--"

"Sail under false colours! Explain!" repeated Mrs Moss, quickly. "What nonsense do you talk? Has not my daughter explained, and _she_ is not given to colouring things falsely."

"Excuse me, Mrs Moss," said Barret; "I did not mean that. I only--"

"I don't care what you mean, Mr Barret," said the positive little woman; "it's of no use your denying that you have behaved in a noble, courageous manner, and I won't listen to anything to the contrary; so you need not interrupt me. Besides, I have been told not to allow you to speak much; so, sir, if I am to remain beside you at all, I must impose silence."

Barret sank back on his couch with a sigh, and resigned himself to his fate.

So much for the mother. Later in the same day the daughter sat beside his couch. The laird was not present on that occasion. They were alone.

"Milly," said the invalid, taking her small hand in his, "have you mentioned it yet to your mother?"

"Yes, John," replied Milly, blushing in spite of--nay, rather more in consequence of--her efforts not to do so. "I spoke to her some days ago. Indeed, soon after the accident, when we were sure you were going to get well. And she did not disapprove."

"Ay, but have you spoken since she has seen me--since this morning?"

"Yes, John."

"And she is still of the same mind--not shocked or shaken by my appearance?"

"She is still of the same mind," returned Milly; "and not shocked in the least. My darling mother is far too wise to be shocked by trifles--I--I mean by scratches and bruises. She judges of people by their hearts."

"I'm glad to hear that, Milly, for I have something shocking to tell her about myself, that will surprise her, if it does nothing else."

"Indeed!" said Milly, with the slightest possible rise of her pretty eyebrows.

"Yes. You have heard from your mother about that young rascal who ran into her with his bicycle in London some time ago?"

"Yes; she wrote to me about it," replied Milly, with an amused smile. "You mean, I suppose, the reckless youth who, after running her down, had the cowardice to run away and leave her lying flat on the pavement? Mother has more than once written about that event with indignation, and rightly, I think. But how came you to know about it, John?"

"Milly," said Barret, holding her hand very tight, and speaking solemnly, "_I am that cowardly man_!"

"Now, John, you are jesting."

"Indeed--indeed I am not."

"Do you really mean to say that it was _you_ who ran against my--Oh! you _must_ be jesting!"

"Again I say I am _not_. I am the man--the coward."

"Well, dear John," said Milly, flushing considerably, "I must believe you; but the fact does not in the least reduce my affection for you, though it will lower my belief in your prudence, unless you can explain."

"I will explain," said Barret; and we need scarcely add that the explanation tended rather to increase than diminish Milly's affection for, as well as her belief in, her lover! But when Barret went on further to describe the meeting in the Eagle Pass, she went off into uncontrollable laughter.

"And you are sure that mother has no idea that you are the man?" she asked.

"Not the remotest."

"Well, now, John, you must not let her know for some time yet. You must gain her affections, sir, before you venture to reveal your true character."

Of course Barret agreed to this. He would have agreed to anything that Milly proposed, except, perhaps, the giving up of his claim to her own hand. Deception, however, invariably surrounds the deceiver with more or less of difficulty. That same evening, while Milly was sitting alone with her mother, the conversation took a perplexing turn.

There had been a pretty long pause, after a rather favourable commentary on the character of Barret, when the thin little old lady had wound up with the observation that the subject of their criticism was a remarkably agreeable man, with a playfully humorous and a delightfully serious turn of mind--"and _so_ modest" withal!

Apparently the last words had turned her mind into the new channel, for she resumed--

"Talking of insolence, my dear--"

"_Were_ we talking of insolence, mother?" said Milly, with a surprised smile.

"Well, my love, I was thinking of the opposite of modesty, which is the same thing. Do you know, I had a meeting on the day of my arrival here which surprised me very much? To say truth, I did not mention it sooner, because I wished to give you a little surprise. Why do you change your seat, my love? Did you feel a draught where you were?"

"No--no. I--I only want to get the light a little more at my back--to keep it off my face. But go on, mother. What was the surprise about? I'm anxious to know."

If Milly did not absolutely know, she had at least a pretty good idea of what was coming!

"Well, of course you remember about that young man--that--that _cowardly_ young man who--"

"Who ran you down in London? Yes, yes, _I_ know," interrupted the daughter, endeavouring to suppress a laugh, and putting her handkerchief suddenly to her face. "I remember well. The monster! What about him?"

"You may well call him a monster! Can you believe it? I have met him here--in this very island, where he must be living somewhere, of course; and he actually ran me down again--all _but_." She added the last two words in order to save her veracity.

"You don't really mean it?" exclaimed Milly, giving way a little in spite of herself. "With a bicycle?"

It was the mother's turn to laugh now.

"No, you foolish thing; even _I_ have capacity to understand that it would be impossible to use those hideous--frightful instruments, on the bad hill-roads of this island. No; but it seems to be the nature of this dis-disagreeable--I had almost said detestable--youth, to move only under violent impulse, for he came round a corner of the Eagle Cliff at such a pace that, as I have said, he _all but_ ran into my arms and knocked me down."

"Dreadful!" exclaimed Milly, turning her back still more to the light and working mysteriously with her kerchief.

"Yes, dreadful indeed! And when I naturally taxed him with his cowardice and meanness, he did not seem at all penitent, but went on like a lunatic; and although what he said was civil enough, his way of saying it was very impolite and strange; and after we had parted, I heard him give way to fiendish laughter. I could not be mistaken, for the cliffs echoed it in all directions like a hundred hyenas!"

As this savoured somewhat of a joke, Milly availed herself of it, set free the safety-valve, and, so to speak, saved the boiler!

"Why do you laugh so much, child?" asked the old lady, when her daughter had transgressed reasonable limits.

"Well, you know, mother, if you _will_ compare a man's laugh to a hundred hyenas--"

"I didn't compare the man's voice," interrupted Mrs Moss; "I said that the cliffs--"

"That's worse and worse! Now, mother, don't get into one of your hypercritical moods, and insist on reasons for everything; but tell me about this wicked--this dreadful young man. What was he like?"

"Like an ordinary sportsman, dear, with one of those hateful guns in his hand, and a botanical box on his back. I could not see his face very well, for he wore one of those ugly pot-caps, with a peak before and behind; though what the behind one is for I cannot imagine, as men have no eyes in the back of their heads to keep the sun out of. No doubt some men would make us believe they have! but it was pulled down on the bridge of his nose. What I did see of his face seemed to be handsome enough, and his figure was tall and well made, unquestionably, but his behaviour--nothing can excuse that! If he had only said he was sorry, one might have forgiven him."

"Did he _not_ say he was sorry?" asked Milly in some surprise.

"Oh, well, I suppose