which so lately the fugitives had fearfully sped.
"We're at home now," cried Blarden; "come, be brisk, will you?" And so saying, he struck Ashwoode's horse a heavy blow with his whip. The spirited animal reared and bolted, and finally started at a gallop down the broad avenue towards the mansion, and at the same pace Nicholas Blarden also thundered to the hall door.
Chapter LX.
The Untreasured Chamber
Their obstreperous summons at the door was speedily answered, and the two cavaliers stood in the hall.
"Well, all's right, I suppose?" inquired Blarden, tossing his gloves and hat upon the table.
"Yes, sir," replied the servant, "all but the lady's maid; Mr. Chancey's been calling for her these five minutes and more, and we can't find her."
"How's this—all the doors locked?" inquired Blarden vehemently.
"Ay, sir, every one of them," replied the man.
"Who has the keys?" asked Blarden.
"Mr. Chancey, sir," replied the servant.
"Did he allow them out of his keeping—did he?" urged Blarden.
"No, sir—not a moment—for he was saying this very minute," answered the domestic, "he had them in his pocket, and the key of Miss Mary's room along with them; he took it from Flora Guy, the maid, scarce a quarter of an hour ago."
"Then all is right," said Blarden, while the momentary blackness of suspicion passed from his face, "the girl's in some hole or corner of this lumbering old barrack, but here comes Chancey himself, what's all the fuss about—who's in the upper room—the—the boudoir, eh?" he continued, addressing the barrister, who was sneaking downstairs with a candle in his hand, and looking unusually sallow.
"The Reverend Ebenezer and one of the lads—they're sitting there," answered Chancey, "but we can't find that little girl, Flora Guy, anywhere."
"Have you the keys?" asked Blarden.
"Ay, dear me, to be sure I have, except the one that I gave to little Bat there, to let you in this minute. I have the three other keys; dear me—dear me—what could ail me?" And so saying, Chancey slapped the skirt of his coat slightly so as to make them jingle in his pocket.
"The windows are all fast and safe as the wall itself—screwed down," observed Blarden, "let's see the keys—show them here."
Chancey accordingly drew them from his pocket, and laid them on the table.
"There's the three of them," observed he, calmly.
"Have you no more?" inquired Blarden, looking rather aghast.
"No, indeed, the devil a one," replied Chancey, thrusting his arm to the elbow in his coat pocket.
"D—n me, but I think this is the key of the cellar," ejaculated Blarden, in a tone which energized even the apathetic lawyer, "come here, Ashwoode, what key's this?"
"It is the cellar key," said Ashwoode, in a faltering voice and turning very pale.
"Try your pockets for another, and find it, or ——." The aposiopesis was alarming, and Blarden's direction was obeyed instantaneously.
"I declare to God," said Chancey, much alarmed, "I have but the three, and that in the door makes four."
"You d——d oaf," said Blarden, between his set teeth, "if you have botched this business, I'll let you know for what. Ashwoode, which of the keys is missing?"
After a moment's hesitation, Ashwoode led the way through the passage which Mary and her companion had so lately traversed.
"That's the door," said he, pointing to that through which the escape had been effected.
"And what's this?" cried Blarden, shouldering past Sir Henry, and raising something from the ground, just by the door-post, "a handkerchief, and marked, too—it's the young lady's own—give me the key of the lady's chamber," continued he, in a low changed voice, which had, in the ears of the barrister, something more unpleasant still than his loudest and harshest tones—"give me the key, and follow me."
He clutched it, and followed by the terror-stricken barrister, and by Sir Henry Ashwoode, he retraced his steps, and scaled the stairs with hurried and lengthy strides. Without stopping to glance at the form of the still slumbering drunkard, or to question the servant who sat opposite, on the chair recently occupied by Chancey, he strode directly to the door of Mary Ashwoode's sleeping apartment, opened it, and stood in an untenanted chamber.
For a moment he paused, aghast and motionless; he ran to the bed—still warm with the recent pressure of his intended victim—the room was, indeed, deserted. He turned round, absolutely black and speechless with rage. As he advanced, the wretched barrister—the tool of his worst schemes—cowered back in terror. Without speaking one word, Blarden clutched him by the throat, and hurled him with his whole power backward. With tremendous force he descended with his head upon the bar of the grate, and thence to the hearthstone; there, breathless, powerless, and to all outward seeming a livid corpse, lay the devil's cast-off servant, the red blood trickling fast from ears, nose, and mouth. Not waiting to see whether Chancey was alive or dead, Mr. Blarden seized the brandy flask and dashed it in the face of the stupid drunkard—who, disturbed by the fearful hubbub, was just beginning to open his eyes—and leaving that reverend personage drenched in blood and brandy, to take care of his boon companion as best he might, Blarden strode down the stairs, followed by Ashwoode and the servants.
"Get horses—horses all," shouted he, "to the stables—by Jove, it was they we met on the road—the two girls—quick to the stables—whoever catches them shall have his hat full of crowns."
Led by Blarden, they all hurried to the stables, where they found the horses unsaddled.
"On with the saddles—for your life be quick," cried Blarden, "four horses—fresh ones."
While uttering his furious mandates, with many a blasphemous imprecation, he aided the preparations himself, and with hands that trembled with eagerness and rage, he drew the girths, and buckled the bridles, and in almost less than a minute, the four horses were led out upon the broken pavement of the stable-yard.
"Mind, boys," cried Blarden, "they are two mad-women—escaped mad-women—ride for your lives. Ashwoode, do you take the right, and I'll take the left when we come on the road—do you follow me, Tony—and Dick, do you go with Sir Henry—and, now, devil take the hindmost." With these words he plunged the spurs into his horse's flanks, and with the speed of a thunder blast, they all rode helter-skelter, in pursuit of their human prey.
Chapter LXI.
The Cart and the Straw
While this was passing, the two girls continued their flight toward Dublin city. They had not long passed Ashwoode and Nicholas Blarden, when Mary's strength entirely failed, and she was forced first to moderate her pace to a walk, and finally to stop altogether and seat herself upon the bank which sloped abruptly down to the road.
"Flora," said she, faintly, "I am quite exhausted—my strength is entirely gone; I must perforce rest myself and take breath here for a few minutes, and then, with God's help, I shall again have power to proceed."
"Do so, my lady," said Flora, taking her stand beside her mistress, "and I'll watch and listen here by you. Hish! don't I hear the sound of a car on the road before us?"
So, indeed, it seemed, and at no great distance too. The road, however, just where they had placed themselves, made a sweep which concealed the vehicle, whatever it might be, effectually from their sight. The girl clambered to the top of the bank, and thence commanding a view of that part