CHAPTER XXXV.
THE "CRATER" PRISON.
Three days went by of this curious life—days that seemed like an eternity. Elsie sometimes wondered whether she had ever passed any other existence than this one within the crater prison, with Dominic Trant for her sole companion. She wondered what was going on in the outer world, whether the Luya was all out in search of her, whether Frank Hallett thought she was dead, whether Ina was mourning her as lost. Alas! she did not know that Ina was a widow, mourning her husband—that Lord Horace was laid in his grave that very day.
Elsie had found a copy of Shakespeare. She guessed to whom the book belonged, and she stayed as much as she could in her sleeping-cave, and tried to read. She avoided Trant as far as was possible, only seeing him at meals and when she took her daily walk in the crater-field. It was in one of these walks that she noticed among the other horses a splendid black thoroughbred, which somehow seemed familiar. Doubtless, this was the famous Abatos.
For the first day Trant was respectful, and almost timid. On the second day he alarmed her a little by his vehement declarations of love. On the third day he sought her persistently; she was afraid that he would come to her own compartment in the cave, and she longed for the pistol he had taken from her, and which she had since tried to wheedle from him, but to no purpose. On the night of the third day she thought she heard voices, but when she looked out into the larger cave there was no sign of anyone. Still she felt almost sure that Trant had had a visitor, and that the visitor had been Pompo, the half-caste.
Her suspicion became certainty on the following morning. It was her habit to remain in her cell, taking no breakfast, and only coming out at mid-day. She had kept her watch wound up and knew the hours. Otherwise there was little except the rising and drooping of the sun behind the walls of her prison to mark how the time sped. To-day Trant came to her cell and pushed aside the blanket which she had propped up with sticks against the entrance.
"Elsie," he said, "come out. I have something to say to you."
She obeyed him. His face had a grim determined look. She felt sure that some crisis had arrived. His eyes were flaming, and his whole manner showed that he had reached his limit of patience.
"Elsie," he said, "I can bear this no longer. I have been your humble slave for three days. Now I will be your master."
"Sit here," he said, and pointed to the settle in the larger cave.
"No," she exclaimed, "I will hear what you have to say outside."
"I had a visitor last night," he said, when they were outside the cave.
"I know. It was one of the half-castes."
"It was the one who would go to perdition for me if I bade him—Pompo. If Pompo had been a woman he—or she—would have died for love of me. Why can't I make you love me? Why can't I magnetize you with my eyes, with my voice? Look at me, Elsie."
She did look at him. His eyes frightened her, and she averted her own. They had certainly a magnetic quality.
"I believe I could magnetize you if you would only look at me. Love me, Elsie; what is the use of holding out? I tell you that by fair means or foul, by gentleness or force, I mean to have you for my own."
"You will not," she said, "for I will kill myself first."
"No, you will think better of it. And, besides, you have nothing to kill yourself with now that I have taken your pistol from you. And I am so strong—so strong. I could crush you; I could seize and break you in two. How are you going to withstand me?"
He put his arms round her, as he spoke, and held her facing him as in a vice, not attempting to kiss her, but simply looking at her with a smile that terrified her. Then for the first time her courage failed her. She besought him; she pleaded with him; she appealed to his honour, to his manliness, to his love for her to let her go free. She would take any oath he chose to impose upon her; she would never betray him; she would thank him from the bottom of her heart; she would pray for him; she would always be his friend. Only would he have mercy on her and let her go back to Ina and Horace.
"Lord Horace is dead," he said, with brutal suddenness.
She thought he was jesting. He told her the story circumstantially, as he had heard it from Pompo. The funeral had taken place the day before. Lady Horace, between the loss of her husband and that of her sister, was distracted. Mrs. Allanby was distracted also, and had made a scandal; Trant seemed to gloat over the details. As for Elsie, the general impression was that she and Trant had wandered into the quicksands and got engulfed therein, or had been lost in the bunya scrub. At first, in the confusion following Lord Horace's death, it had been taken for granted that the two were making their way to the camp. When it was discovered that they were missing, Frank Hallett had gone back to the Falls with two of the stockmen and the half-castes, and had searched in vain. Trant described with fiendish malice how Pompo had led him off the trail, and contrived that no suspicion of her real hiding-place could be aroused. Search-parties had been sent out from Tunimba. They were exploring the scrub. But the quicksand theory would certainly be accepted, and Trant told how he had bidden Pompo find on the borders of the lagoon where the sands shelved from the bank, a handkerchief of Elsie's that he, Trant, had stolen, and the hat he himself had worn. That would settle the question, and it would be believed, for a time, at any rate, that the fate of Elsie Valliant was the same as that of Scott's Ravenswood.
"Now it's time this should end," Trant went on. "I am going to take you away with me to-night."
Elsie laughed hysterically. "You can't do that," she said. "I am not a baby that you can carry me. I think you would find me a very troublesome burden, and I tell you that I will throw myself down the precipice rather than go with you."
"We shall see," he said grimly. "I think I can find a means of making you obedient."
She understood. He meant to drug her, as he had done on her entrance. She realized her helplessness—realized also the uselessness of appeal or defiance.
"Tell me," she said quietly, "what you mean to do?"
"Pompo will be here with the horses about sundown. We shall ride all night, camp out if necessary. To-morrow we will take the steamer from Myall Heads for Sydney, and once there I shall marry you, and sail immediately for Europe."
"Very well," said Elsie, "I will go with you peaceably if you will give me your word of honour that you will not drug me."
"I shall not drug you unless you defy me. You think you will escape," he added, "but I warn you that you won't find that easy."
She went back to her cave. The day wore on. Curiously enough, her spirits rose at the thought of the wild night ride before her. Anything was better than imprisonment here. She heard Trant moving about in the larger cave, and supposed that he was making preparations for departure. She wondered what the robbers had done with their booty—wondered where they had put Lady Waveryng's diamonds—wondered. Oh, did he know that she was held captive in his secret lair? She could not bear the thought. She had tried to keep it away—had tried to blunt her senses to the horror. Now it overcame her. She writhed in shame for him—in agony for herself.
It was four o'clock. Trant came to the opening of her cell. "Come out," he said, "I have made some tea. It is not good for you to stay in there."
She obeyed. He was standing in the larger cave, and had laid the table with biscuits and tea. The light from the crater streamed into the cave. She saw that there were valises lying ready packed, and that the cave had been put in order, also that Trant was dressed for a journey. He drew forward the settle, laid a blanket upon it, and placed a rough footstool. There was a certain tenderness in his way of doing this, and in the manner in which he looked at her. "You have been crying," he exclaimed; "and I would give the world to make you happy."
"Let me go, then," she said; "take me back to Ina."
"You ask me the one thing I cannot do for you. I could die with you. Give you up I cannot."
She sank into silence. He pressed her to drink the tea, but she refused. He proceeded to fill his flask, and to put up some bread and salt beef, and tea, and sugar in ration bags, which were laid by the valise. Then suddenly came a sound which made Trant start for a moment, and caused Elsie's heart to leap.
"Pompo is a little earlier than I expected," said Trant quietly, and went on with his preparations.
The rock door had been moved by an outside lever. This was the sound Elsie heard, and which Trant had taken for granted was made by the half-castes. But it was not the black boy's step that came towards the cave. This was a firmer, an altogether different tread. Trant knew it. He darted forward with a muffled oath. Elsie rose too. She recognized the advancing figure. It was Morres Blake. He was followed by Sam Shehan.
Blake came right into the center of the cave. He had a revolver in his hand, and Elsie saw a look on his face which reminded her of the night at Goondi; a wild, desperate, and yet exalted look.
He came straight towards Elsie, just pausing as he entered to say to Shehan, "Get Abatos."
Shehan went out by the crater entrance. Ignoring Trant's presence, Blake said to Elsie, "Miss Valliant, I have come to take you home."
And then all Elsie's fortitude gave way, and she burst into a fit of sobbing. Blake put his arms round her. "Don't cry," he said, "you are safe now." The sight seemed to madden Trant. He sprang towards them, his revolver upraised. In a moment Blake had covered him with the muzzle of his own pistol. There was a shot. Elsie never rightly knew what had happened. When the smoke cleared she saw that the two men were grappling, and that the revolvers lay upon the ground.
"You villain!" she heard Blake say, "couldn't you play square?"
It was as though a demon possessed Blake. Of the two he was of the slighter build, but he seemed to have the strength of a giant, as he flung his adversary from him.
Trant reeled backwards, and fell, his head striking heavily against one of the stone props of the slab table. Blake looked at him coolly, raised him, and quickly examined the spot of blood on his temple, then laid him back and turned to Elsie.
"You have killed him!" she cried.
"No," he answered, "he is stunned. It is nothing. Shehan will look after him. Come with me out of this accursed place," he said.
He took her hand, and she let him lead her as though she had been a child.
They went through the dark passage of the cave, and then once again she stood on the plateau beside the Baròlin rock. Blake had not spoken a word, but he had watched each step with the utmost solicitude, and each time she had looked towards him she had seen, when the dimness allowed, that his eyes were upon her. He took her to a ledge of rock, and asked her if she would rest there for a few minutes.
"Do you feel able to walk as far as the Fall?" he said. "It would perhaps be safer to let Shehan lead Abatos. After that you can mount, and I know a fairly good track through the scrub."
"Yes," she said, "I am quite strong, and I shall be glad to walk."
"Then I will go back to the cave and see that all is right, and in what state Trant is. Do you mind waiting here? You will be quite safe."
"I know that. I will wait."
He left her. All that she could feel then was joy that she had again seen him, that he was near, that he had promised to take care of her. She waited for some time, and it did not seem long. She knew that it was some time because of the lengthening shadows. At last he came, but Shehan was not with him, and he himself led Abatos.
"I was obliged to leave Shehan," he explained. "Perhaps it is as well. Trant had only just become conscious. He is not really hurt, but I did not like him to be alone. I have Jack Nutty here."
Blake gave again that peculiar "Coo-ee" which Elsie remembered. In a few moments the half-caste appeared. He showed his white teeth as he made an impish salute to Elsie, and took Abatos's rein from his master, leading him round the ledge, by a path which might have frightened any animal not accustomed to it. Elsie and Blake were alone.
He came close and stood looking at her with a curious solemn gaze in which there was an infinite regret. It stirred the girl to her heart's core. Involuntarily she put out her hands to him. He took them.
"What," he said, "you don't turn away from me? You don't hate me?"
"No," she said. And then her voice broke in a sob. "Oh, tell me what it means," she cried; "I can bear anything—if only you will make me understand."
"Yes, I will make you understand," he answered. "I said that I would on the day before you were married. I shall not wait for that. Sit here."
He led her to a ledge of rock out of sight of the entrance to the cave, and then placed himself with his back against the precipice and began.
"I have ruined my life," he said. "I began to ruin it when I was a very young man in the army, and got mixed up with a Fenian Society—I need not tell you now in what way. You may have heard from Lord Waveryng, who has recognized me, that the Blakes of Coola are a wild set, Catholics, and ardent Nationalists; the very stuff of which a Fenian is made. You may have heard, too, of Boyle O'Reilly, who was tried and sentenced for inciting his regiment to revolt, and finally sent to Western Australia, from which he got away to America. My offence was the same, but I was not tried. I had information of my projected arrest, and acting under orders I escaped. The whole thing was very cleverly arranged. I was seen to fall over a cliff. The man with me went for help. When he came back my body was not to be found, and I was supposed to have been washed out to sea. I am a good swimmer, and a boat was in waiting which took me to a hiding-place on the coast; and after a bit Trant joined me. Did I tell you that he was a private in my regiment, and a member of the same secret society, sworn to obey orders, as I was? We spent some wild wandering years. We both, as you know, speak French, and we enlisted in an Algerian corps. That didn't last long. The taste for brigandage started in the desert. The adventurous life suited me. There are times when a mad thirst for excitement seizes me, works me to frenzy. At these times I am mad. It's a taint in the Blake blood. It must have an outlet, or I should be in a lunatic asylum. You may take that as one excuse for me. The other is that I am a patriot to the depth of my heart, and that I am sworn to work for my country's freedom. I have robbed—not for greed of gain, but for Ireland."
"Ah!" Elsie drew a panting breath of relief.
"What did I care for mere existence!" he went on. "I tell you that I know no more intense joy than the thrilling sense of carrying one's life in one's hand. If I were taken I should kill myself. I couldn't live the tame round of the ordinary English soldier in time of peace. I was about twenty when I became subject to these recurring fits of excitement—madness, if you like to call them so. I know when they are coming on, and I find vent for them in some desperate adventure—a wild ride, a bushranging escapade—Abatos and I understand each other. We've thrilled together on the moonlight nights as we have galloped along, with the gum trees flying past and the black bunyas closing us within walls of gloom, only the moonbeams shining through the rifts on the track, when we have ridden for our lives through gorges and scrub to the shelter of this cave. You shudder. Yes, it is horrible, I suppose, for a woman to think of the man she loves as a common thief."
"You are not that!" she exclaimed. "But it is horrible; oh! it is horrible."
"Well," he said, "now you understand why, much as I loved you, I could not ask you to link your lot with such a lot as mine."
"You loved me," she repeated, as if the assurance brought her comfort.
"You knew it," he cried. "Did I not tell you so the night of the corroboree? I told you that I loved you when you were bound to another man—I waited for that; so that there might be no faintest glimmer of hope for me; no possibility of temptation."
"For either of us," she added, deliberately.
"Elsie," he exclaimed, "it is not possible that you can love me now that you know everything?"
She was silent for a few moments. When she spoke it was in a changed tone.
"Tell me how it was that you became Moonlight."
"By an accident; the discovery of this place. Some good people say that there is no such thing as fate. Do you believe them? One would find it hard to think that a beneficent Providence led me here. It was one of those strange chances which seemed almost an impossibility. Why should I, of all people in the world, have stumbled upon this inaccessible spot?"
"How was it?"
"We were travelling overland to Leichardt's Town. I had heard of this wild bit of country, and of the reports of gold, and Trant had fallen in with Pompo, who agreed to pilot us. I must tell you that Trant has an extraordinary influence over Pompo. He can hypnotize a little, and used to be fond of trying it with the Kabyles. He tried it on Pompo, who firmly believes that Trant is Debil-debil incarnate. Perhaps that has shaken his belief in the Blacks' Debil-debil, and reconciled him to our invasion of the sacred Bora grounds."
Blake laughed. Elsie laughed too, but so drearily. Neither spoke for a few moments. He was watching her intently. "You have had a bad time," he said abruptly. "You are much thinner, and you are terribly pale; and your face is so sad, so unlike the face of that bright, beautiful, unconscious Elsie whom I met at the creek-side not so many months ago. You have suffered."
"Yes, I have suffered," she said, in a low voice; "horribly."
"And it is I who have done this. I who have ruined your happiness and brought into your life tragedy and crime. My curse is upon you as it has been on all women who have ever cared for me."
"There have been women then who cared for you, and who have suffered as I have suffered?"
"Perhaps more," he answered gloomily. "You, at least, have the satisfaction of knowing—if it is a satisfaction—that what you suffer I suffer ten thousand fold, that I love you as I have never loved any other woman."
"Ah!" she interrupted, with a little cry of pain. "The other women. There was surely one, there must have been, whom you loved."
"There was one," he answered gravely, "who risked much for my sake, and to whom I was bound by every tie of honour. It was in the East. Some day, if ever we are together—and that is not likely—I will tell you the whole story; I cannot now, I am ashamed to think of what she sacrificed for me, and how little I deserved it—how little real love I gave in return. She is dead. It humiliates me to remember the light way in which I played with love, in other episodes—never mind them. If you were to be my wife you should have the whole record; and it is not a stainless one; but there is no woman nor the memory of one who should stand between you and me."
She put out her hand to him and he kissed it very tenderly, but his manner was curiously self-contained. She could see that he was holding himself under restraint.
"Come, Elsie," he said. "I have made my fate, and regret will not undo it. All that I can do for you is to remove myself from your life, and that I will do. Now I am going to take you back to your sister. We have a long, rough ride, and we must manage it as best we can."
He led her along the cliff edge. She walked as in a dream. Down below lay the still dark lagoon, and opposite, the shelving quicksands. Blake did not take her by quite the same road as that by which she had come with Trant. She saw when they had got into the rocky gallery which she and Trant had entered by the hole in the precipice that in several places there were deep clefts and chasms going as it were into the heart of the mountain, and scarcely noticeable in the dimness. It was into one of these fissures that Blake led her, and she now perceived that this was an opening into the outer world almost more closely hidden than the one by which she had entered—a narrow winding passage twisting round abutting boulders, but practicable for a well-trained horse, and no doubt the entrance which the bushrangers had used. It opened into a little clear space, partly girt with rocks, and partly hemmed in by the bunya scrub, where Elsie saw a rough track had been cut.
The half-caste was waiting here holding the bridles of two horses, while a third was tethered to a sapling close by. One of those he held she recognized as Abatos: the other was the animal she had ridden at the picnic.
"I brought the Outlaw, as you see," said Blake ; "but I couldn't manage a side saddle. I know, however, that you are a good horsewoman, and I think we might arrange something in the shape of a pommel."
He undid a sort of valise, strapped on to the dees of the saddle in fashion to serve as a safeguard in the case of a buckjumper, and doubling and re-strapping it, made a tolerable imitation of a single pommel. He lifted Elsie, and gave her the reins, then mounted himself, and they followed Jack Nutty, who on the third horse disappeared into the bunya scrub.
The track would have been absolutely undiscoverable to one who did not know it. No trees had been felled; only the spreading branches had been cut so as to allow the passage of horsemen in single file. The black bunyas rose dense on either side, forbidding prickly pyramids so close together as to lose the effect of sombre grandeur they might otherwise have had. At the distance of a yard or two there would be no sign of the track if it had been possible even to penetrate a yard or two. No wonder, Elsie thought, the bushrangers' hiding-place had not been discovered by the police.
Blake held back the branches for her, keeping close and riding with his head turned so as to watch how she got on. It was hard riding. Here and there the track crossed a gulley, and there were rocks strewn among the trees. In some places, where the forest was less dense, the horse trod on slippery stone, made more slippery still by the creepers with which it was partially overgrown. Blake exhorted her to keep the Outlaw up, and mourned the omission of a leading rein. It was now dark, but Jack Nutty's white shirt was like a guiding flag ahead. There was something weird and unnatural in that black forest with its funereal foliage and straight stems and grotesque pendant bunya cones. The stillness was oppressive—only the tramping of their horses' feet and stirring of the dead husks of fallen nuts, no sound of bird or beast except occasionally the distant howl of a dingo, or the near thud of an opossum, or stealthy movement of a wallaby. Elsie felt faint, dazed, and weary, and yet she longed passionately that the journey might never end. She longed for open country, where she might ride by Blake's side and where talk would be possible. She had so much to ask, so much to know. Perhaps this was the last time on which she should ever see him in this world. There seemed to her something tragic, strange, and repressed in his air. When night came he dismounted, and brought a little lantern which he had lighted, and fastened it to the side of her saddle, so that it shed a faint weird light on the bunya trunks and the broken ground.
"We shall soon be out of the scrub," he said. "Are you very tired, Elsie?"
"Yes," she answered, and there was a sob in her voice. "But I don't mind anything if only you are safe and we are together."
He bent passionately down and kissed her foot. "Oh, my love!" he cried, and left her abruptly and remounted.
Tears rained from Elsie's eyes. A sense of utter desolation overpowered her. She let the reins fall loosely. And just then the Outlaw slipped, one of his forefeet became entangled, and before Elsie had time to collect herself the horse and she were on the ground.
Blake had sprung to her in an instant. She was unhurt. But the horse floundered. When they got him on his feet it was found that he was lame.