The Black Dwarf by Walter Scott (e book free reading txt) 📖

The researches after Miss Vere were (for the sake of appearances, perhaps) resumed on the succeeding day, with similar bad success, and the party were returning towards Ellieslaw in the evening.

“It is singular,” said Mareschal to Ratcliffe, “that four horsemen and a female prisoner should have passed through the country without leaving the slightest trace of their passage. One would think they had traversed the air, or sunk through the ground.”

“Men may often,” answered Ratcliffe, “arrive at the knowledge of that which is, from discovering that which is not. We have now scoured every road, path, and track leading from the castle, in all the various points of the compass, saving only that intricate and difficult pass which leads southward down the Westburn, and through the morasses.”

“And why have we not examined that?” said Mareschal.

“O, Mr. Vere can best answer that question,” replied his companion, dryly.

“Then I will ask it instantly,” said Mareschal; and, addressing Mr. Vere, “I am informed, sir,” said he, “there is a path we have not examined, leading by Westburnflat.”

“O,” said Sir Frederick, laughing, “we know the owner of Westburnflat well—a wild lad, that knows little difference between his neighbour’s goods and his own; but, withal, very honest to his principles: he would disturb nothing belonging to Ellieslaw.”

“Besides,” said Mr. Vere, smiling mysteriously, “he had other tow on his distaff last night. Have you not heard young Elliot of the Heugh-foot has had his house burnt, and his cattle driven away, because he refused to give up his arms to some honest men that think of starting for the king?”

The company smiled upon each other, as at hearing of an exploit which favoured their own views.

“Yet, nevertheless,” resumed Mareschal, “I think we ought to ride in this direction also, otherwise we shall certainly be blamed for our negligence.”

No reasonable objection could be offered to this proposal, and the party turned their horses’ heads towards Westburnflat.

They had not proceeded very far in that direction when the trampling of horses was heard, and a small body of riders were perceived advancing to meet them.

“There comes Earnscliff,” said Mareschal; “I know his bright bay with the star in his front.”

“And there is my daughter along with him,” exclaimed Vere, furiously. “Who shall call my suspicions false or injurious now? Gentlemen—friends—lend me the assistance of your swords for the recovery of my child.”

He unsheathed his weapon, and was imitated by Sir Frederick and several of the party, who prepared to charge those that were advancing towards them. But the greater part hesitated.

“They come to us in all peace and security,” said Mareschal-Wells; “let us first hear what account they give us of this mysterious affair. If Miss Vere has sustained the slightest insult or injury from Earnscliff, I will be first to revenge her; but let us hear what they say.”

“You do me wrong by your suspicions, Mareschal,” continued Vere; “you are the last I would have expected to hear express them.”

“You injure yourself, Ellieslaw, by your violence, though the cause may excuse it.”

He then advanced a little before the rest, and called out, with a loud voice,—“Stand, Mr. Earnscliff; or do you and Miss Vere advance alone to meet us. You are charged with having carried that lady off from her father’s house; and we are here in arms to shed our best blood for her recovery, and for bringing to justice those who have injured her.”

“And who would do that more willingly than I, Mr. Mareschal?” said Earnscliff, haughtily,—“than I, who had the satisfaction this morning to liberate her from the dungeon in which I found her confined, and who am now escorting her back to the Castle of Ellieslaw?”

“Is this so, Miss Vere?” said Mareschal.

“It is,” answered Isabella, eagerly,—“it is so; for Heaven’s sake sheathe your swords. I will swear by all that is sacred, that I was carried off by ruffians, whose persons and object were alike unknown to me, and am now restored to freedom by means of this gentleman’s gallant interference.”

“By whom, and wherefore, could this have been done?” pursued Mareschal.—“Had you no knowledge of the place to which you were conveyed?—Earnscliff, where did you find this lady?”

But ere either question could be answered, Ellieslaw advanced, and, returning his sword to the scabbard, cut short the conference.

“When I know,” he said, “exactly how much I owe to Mr. Earnscliff, he may rely on suitable acknowledgments; meantime,” taking the bridle of Miss Vere’s horse, “thus far I thank him for replacing my daughter in the power of her natural guardian.”

A sullen bend of the head was returned by Earnscliff with equal haughtiness; and Ellieslaw, turning back with his daughter upon the road to his own house, appeared engaged with her in a conference so earnest, that the rest of the company judged it improper to intrude by approaching them too nearly. In the meantime, Earnscliff, as he took leave of the other gentlemen belonging to Ellieslaw’s party, said aloud, “Although I am unconscious of any circumstance in my conduct that can authorize such a suspicion, I cannot but observe, that Mr. Vere seems to believe that I have had some hand in the atrocious violence which has been offered to his daughter. I request you, gentlemen, to take notice of my explicit denial of a charge so dishonourable; and that, although I can pardon the bewildering feelings of a father in such a moment, yet, if any other gentleman,” (he looked hard at Sir Frederick Langley) “thinks my word and that of Miss Vere, with the evidence of my friends who accompany me, too slight for my exculpation, I will be happy—most happy—to repel the charge, as becomes a man who counts his honour dearer than his life.”

“And I’ll be his second,” said Simon of Hackburn, “and take up ony twa o’