Mr Haredale tied his horse to the trunk of a tree, and grasping hiscompanion"s arm, stole softly along the footpath, and into what hadbeen the garden of his house. He stopped for an instant to lookupon its smoking walls, and at the stars that shone through roofand floor upon the heap of crumbling ashes. Solomon glancedtimidly in his face, but his lips were tightly pressed together, aresolute and stern expression sat upon his brow, and not a tear, alook, or gesture indicating grief, escaped him.
He drew his sword; felt for a moment in his breast, as though hecarried other arms about him; then grasping Solomon by the wristagain, went with a cautious step all round the house. He lookedinto every doorway and gap in the wall; retraced his steps at everyrustling of the air among the leaves; and searched in everyshadowed nook with outstretched hands. Thus they made the circuitof the building: but they returned to the spot from which they hadset out, without encountering any human being, or finding the leasttrace of any concealed straggler.
After a short pause, Mr Haredale shouted twice or thrice. Thencried aloud, "Is there any one in hiding here, who knows my voice!
There is nothing to fear now. If any of my people are near, Ientreat them to answer!" He called them all by name; his voice wasechoed in many mournful tones; then all was silent as before.
They were standing near the foot of the turret, where the alarm-bell hung. The fire had raged there, and the floors had been sawn,and hewn, and beaten down, besides. It was open to the night; buta part of the staircase still remained, winding upward from a greatmound of dust and cinders. Fragments of the jagged and brokensteps offered an insecure and giddy footing here and there, andthen were lost again, behind protruding angles of the wall, or inthe deep shadows cast upon it by other portions of the ruin; for bythis time the moon had risen, and shone brightly.
As they stood here, listening to the echoes as they died away, andhoping in vain to hear a voice they knew, some of the ashes in thisturret slipped and rolled down. Startled by the least noise inthat melancholy place, Solomon looked up in his companion"s face,and saw that he had turned towards the spot, and that he watchedand listened keenly.
He covered the little man"s mouth with his hand, and looked again.
Instantly, with kindling eyes, he bade him on his life keep still,and neither speak nor move. Then holding his breath, and stoopingdown, he stole into the turret, with his drawn sword in his hand,and disappeared.
Terrified to be left there by himself, under such desolatecircumstances, and after all he had seen and heard that night,Solomon would have followed, but there had been something in MrHaredale"s manner and his look, the recollection of which held himspellbound. He stood rooted to the spot; and scarcely venturing tobreathe, looked up with mingled fear and wonder.
Again the ashes slipped and rolled--very, very softly--again--andthen again, as though they crumbled underneath the tread of astealthy foot. And now a figure was dimly visible; climbing verysoftly; and often stopping to look down; now it pursued itsdifficult way; and now it was hidden from the view again.
It emerged once more, into the shadowy and uncertain light--highernow, but not much, for the way was steep and toilsome, and itsprogress very slow. What phantom of the brain did he pursue; andwhy did he look down so constantly? He knew he was alone. Surelyhis mind was not affected by that night"s loss and agony. He wasnot about to throw himself headlong from the summit of thetottering wall. Solomon turned sick, and clasped his hands. Hislimbs trembled beneath him, and a cold sweat broke out upon hispallid face.
If he complied with Mr Haredale"s last injunction now, it wasbecause he had not the power to speak or move. He strained hisgaze, and fixed it on a patch of moonlight, into which, if hecontinued to ascend, he must soon emerge. When he appeared there,he would try to call to him.
Again the ashes slipped and crumbled; some stones rolled down, andfell with a dull, heavy sound upon the ground below. He kept hiseyes upon the piece of moonlight. The figure was coming on, forits shadow was already thrown upon the wall. Now it appeared--andnow looked round at him--and now-The horror-stricken clerk uttered a scream that pierced the air,and cried, "The ghost! The ghost!"
Long before the echo of his cry had died away, another form rushedout into the light, flung itself upon the foremost one, knelt downupon its breast, and clutched its throat with both hands.
"Villain!" cried Mr Haredale, in a terrible voice--for it was he.
"Dead and buried, as all men supposed through your infernal arts,but reserved by Heaven for this--at last--at last I have you. You,whose hands are red with my brother"s blood, and that of hisfaithful servant, shed to conceal your own atrocious guilt--You,Rudge, double murderer and monster, I arrest you in the name ofGod, who has delivered you into my hands. No. Though you had thestrength of twenty men," he added, as the murderer writhed andstruggled, you could not escape me or loosen my grasp to-night!"