A SHOT.

‘Of all things I could have desired—the best!’ exclaimed Martin Babb as Eve came from the cover of the wood upon the rocky floor. She was out of breath, and could not speak. She put both hands on her breast to control her breathing and quiet her throbbing heart.

Martin drew one foot over the other, poising it on the toe, and allowed the yellow firelight to play over his handsome face and fine form. The appreciative eye was there. ‘Lovelier than ever!’ exclaimed Martin. ‘Preciosa come to the forest to Alonzo, not Alonzo to Preciosa.’

The forest green!
Where warm the summer sheen;

And echo calls,
And calls—through leafy halls.

Hurrah for the life ‘neath the greenwood tree!
My horn and my dogs and my gun for me!

Trarah! Trarah! Trarah!’

He sang the first verse of the gipsy chorus with rich tones. He had a beautiful voice, and he knew it.

The song had given her time to obtain breath, and she said, ‘Oh, Martin, you must go—you must indeed!’

‘Why, my Preciosa?’

‘My father knows all—how, I cannot conjecture, but he does know, and he will not spare you.’

‘My sweet flower,’ said Martin, not in the least alarmed, ‘the old gentleman cannot hurt me. He cannot himself fetch the dogs of justice and set them on me; and he cannot send for them without your consent. There is plenty of time for me to give them the slip. All is arranged. To-night I leave on Jasper’s horse, which he is good enough to lend me.’

‘You do not know my father. He is not alone—Mr. Coyshe is with him. I cannot answer for what he may do.’

‘Hah!’ said Martin, ‘I see! Jealousy may spur him on. He knows that we are rivals. Watt, be off with you after the horse. Perhaps it would be better if I were to depart. I would not spare that pill-compounding Coyshe were he in my power, and I cannot expect him to spare me.’ He spoke, and his action was stagy, calculated to impress Eve.

‘My dear Walter,’ said Martin, ‘go to Morwell some other way than the direct path; workmen may be about—the hour is not so late.’

The boy did not wait for further orders.

‘You need not fear for me,’ said the escaped convict. ‘Even if that despicable roll-pill set off to collect men, I would escape him. I have but to leave this spot, and I am safe. I presume not one of my pursuers will be mounted.’

‘Why have you a fire here?’

‘The fire matters nothing,’ said Martin grandly; ‘indeed’—he collected more fircones and threw them on—’indeed, if the form of the hare is to be discovered, let it be discovered warm. The hunters will search the immediate neighbourhood, and the hare will be flying far, far away.’

‘You know best, of course; but it seems to me very dangerous.’

‘I laugh at danger!’ exclaimed Martin, throwing a faggot on the flames. ‘I disport in danger as the seamew in the storm.’ He unfolded his arms and waved them over the fire as a bird flapping its wings.

‘And now,’ he went on, ‘I leave you—you—to that blood-letter. Why do I trouble myself about my own worthless existence, when you are about to fall a prey to his ravening jaw? No, Eve, that must never be.’

‘Martin,’ said Eve, ‘I must really go home. I only ran here to warn you to be off, and to tell you something. My father has just said that my mother was your sister.’

He looked at her in silence for some moments in real astonishment—so real that he dropped his affected attitude and expression of face.

‘Can this be possible!’

‘He declared before Mr. Coyshe and me that it was so.’

‘You have the same name as my lost sister,’ said Martin. ‘Her I hardly remember. She ran away from home when I was very young, and what became of her we never heard. If my father knew, he was silent about his knowledge. I am sure Jasper did not know.’

‘And Mr. Barret, the manager, did not know either,’ added Eve. ‘When my mother was with him she bore a feigned name, and said nothing about her parents, nor told where was her home.’

Then Martin recovered himself and laughed.

‘Why, Eve,’ said he, ‘if this extraordinary story be true, I am your uncle and natural protector. This has settled the matter. You shall never have that bolus-maker, leech-applier, Coyshe. I forbid it. I shall stand between you and the altar of sacrifice. I extend my wing, and you take refuge under it. I throw my mantle over you and assure you of my protection. The situation is really—really quite dramatic.’

‘Do not stand so near the edge of the precipice,’ pleaded Eve.

‘I always stand on the verge of precipices, but never go over,’ he answered. ‘I speak metaphorically. Now, Eve, the way is clear. You shall run away from home as did your mother, and you shall run away with me. Remember, I am your natural protector.’

‘I cannot—I cannot indeed.’ Eve shrank back.

‘I swear you shall,’ said Martin impetuously. ‘It may seem strange that I, who am in personal danger myself, should consider you: but such is my nature—I never regard self when I can do an heroic action. I say, Eve, you shall go with me. I am a man with a governing will, to which all must stoop. You have trifled with the doctor and with me. I hate that man though I have never seen him. I would he were here and I would send him, spectacles and all——’

‘He does not wear spectacles.’

‘Do not interrupt. I speak symbolically. Spectacles and all, I repeat, with his bottles of leeches, and pestle and mortar, and pills and lotions, over the edge of this precipice into perdition. Good heavens! if I leave and you remain, I shall be coming back—I cannot keep away. If I escape, it must be with you or not at all. You have a horse of your own: you shall ride with me. You have a purse: fill it and bring it in your pocket. Diamonds, silver spoons—anything.’

She was too frightened to know what to say. He, coward and bully as he was, saw his advantage, and assumed the tone of bluster. ‘Do you understand me? I will not be trifled with. The thing is settled: you come with me.’

‘I cannot—indeed I cannot,’ said Eve despairingly.

‘You little fool! Think of what you saw in the theatre. That is the proper sphere for you, as it is for me. You were born to live on the stage. I am glad you have told me what became of my sister. The artistic instinct is in us. The fire of genius is in our hearts. You cannot drag out life in such a hole as this: you must come into the world. It was so with your mother. Whose example can you follow better than that of a mother?’

‘My father would——’

‘Your father will not be surprised. What is born in the bone comes out in the flesh. If your mother was an actress—you must be one also. Compare yourself with your half-sister. Is there soul in that mass of commonplace? Is there fire in that cake? Her mother, you may be certain, was a pudding—a common vulgar suet-pudding. We beings of Genius belong to another world, and we must live in that world or perish. It is settled. You ride with me to-night. I shall introduce you to the world of art, and you will soon be its most brilliant star.’

‘Hark!’ exclaimed Eve, starting. ‘I heard something stir.’

Both were silent, and listened. They stood opposite each other, near the edge of the precipice. The darkness had closed in rapidly. The cloudy sky cut off the last light of day. Far, far below, the river cast up at one sweep a steely light, but for the most part of its course it was lost in the inky murkiness of the shadows of mountain, forest, and rock.

Away at a distance of several miles, on the side of the dark dome of Hingston Hill, a red star was glimmering—the light from a miner’s or moorman’s cabin. The fire that flickered on the platform cast flashes of gold on the nearest oak boughs, but was unable to illumine the gulf of darkness that yawned under the forest trees.

Martin stood facing the wood, with his back to the abyss, and the light irradiated his handsome features. Eve timidly looked at him, and thought how noble he seemed.

‘Was it the sound of a horse’s hoof you heard?’ asked Martin. ‘Walter is coming with Jasper’s horse.’

‘I thought a bush moved,’ answered Eve, ‘and that I heard a click.’

‘It is nothing,’ said Martin, ‘nothing but an attempt on your part to evade the force of my argument, to divert the current of my speech. You women squirm like eels. There is no holding you save by running a stick through your gills. Mind you, I have decided your destiny. It will be my pride to make a great actress of you. What applause you will gain! What a life of merriment you will lead! I shall take a pride in the thought that I have snatched you away from under the nose of that doctor. Pshaw!’—he paused—’pshaw! I do not believe that story about your mother being my sister. Whether she were or not matters nothing. You, like myself, have a soul, and a soul that cannot live on a farmyard dungheap. What is that! I hear a foot on the bracken. Can it be Watt?’

He was silent, listening. He began to feel uneasy. Then from behind the wood came the shrill clangour of a bell.

‘Something has happened,’ said Eve, in great terror. ‘That is the alarm bell of our house.’

‘My God!’ cried Martin, ‘what is Watt about! He ought to have been here.’ In spite of his former swagger he became uneasy. ‘Curse him, for a dawdle! am I going to stick here till taken because he is lazy? That bell is ringing still.’ It was pealing loud and fast. ‘I shall leave this rock. If I were taken again I should never escape more. Seven years! seven years in prison—why, the best part of my life would be gone, and you—I should see you no more. When I came forth you would be Mrs. Sawbones. I swear by God that shall not be. Eve! I will not have it. If I get off, you shall follow me. Hark! I hear the tramp of the horse.’

He threw up his hands and uttered a shout of joy. He ran forward to the fire, and stood by it, with the full glare of the blazing fircones on his eager face.

‘Eve! joy, joy! here comes help. I will make you mount behind me. We will ride away together. Come, we must meet Watt at the gate.’

A crack, a flash.

Martin staggered back, and put his hand to his breast. Eve fell to her knees in speechless terror.

‘Come here,’ he said hoarsely, and grasped her arm. ‘It is too late: I am struck, I am done for.’

A shout, and a man was seen plunging through the bushes.

‘Eve!’ said Martin, ‘I will not lose you.’ He dragged her two paces in his arms. All power of resistance was gone from her. ‘That doctor shall not have you—I’ll spoil that at least.’ He stooped, kissed her lips and cheek and brow and eyes, and in a moment flung himself, with her in his arms, over the edge of the precipice into the black abyss.