The Hot Swamp, R. M. Ballantyne [free novel 24 TXT] 📗

as if in search of a mirror. It need scarcely be said that glass had not been heard of by the natives of the Tin Islands or of Albion at that time, nevertheless, mirrors were not unknown. Espying in a corner, a great bronze shield, that might once have flashed terror at the siege of Troy—who knows—she set it up against the wall. It was oval in shape, and presented her face with such a wide expanse of cheeks, that she laughed lightly and turned it the other way. This arrangement gave her visage such lengthened astonishment of expression, that she laughed again, but was not ill pleased at her appearance on the whole.

To make the illusion perfect, she sought and found an article of dress, of which the Albionic name has been forgotten, but which is known to modern women as a petticoat. It was reddish brown in colour, and, so far, in keeping with the grey old shawl.

While she was busy tying on this garment, and otherwise completing her costume, almost quite forgetful in her amusement of the danger which had driven her to that strange place, she heard voices in the outer cave, and among them one which turned her cheeks pale, and banished every thought of fun out of her heart. It was the voice of Gunrig!

That doughty warrior—after having partially regained the equanimity which he had sat down on the fallen tree to recover—arose, and returned to his apartment in the palace for the double purpose of feeding and meditation. Being a robust man, he did not feel much the worse for the events of the morning, and attacked a rib of roast beef with gusto. Hearing, with great surprise, that his late antagonist was no other than Bladud, the long-lost son of the king, he comforted himself with another rib of roast beef, and with the reflection that a prince, not less than a man-at-arms, is bound to fight a duel when required to do so. Having finished his meal, he quaffed a huge goblet of spring water, and went out to walk up and down with his hands behind his back.

Doubtless, had he lived in modern days, he would have solaced himself with a glass of bitter and a pipe, but strong drink had not been discovered in those islands at the time, and smoking had not been invented. Yet it is generally believed, though we have no authentic record of the fact, that our ancestors got on pretty well without these comforts. We refrain, however, from dogmatising on the point, but it is our duty to state that Gunrig, at all events, got on swimmingly without them. It is also our duty to be just to opponents, and to admit that a pipe might possibly have soothed his wrath.

Of course, on hearing of Branwen’s flight, the indignant king summoned his hunters at once, and, putting the enraged Gunrig himself at the head of them, sent him fuming into the woods in search of the runaway. They did not strike the trail at once, because of, as already explained, the innumerable footprints in the neighbourhood of the town.

“We can’t be long of finding them now,” remarked the chief to the principal huntsman, as they passed the entrance to Beniah’s retreat.

“It may be as well to run up and ask the old man who lives here if he has seen her,” replied the huntsman. “He is a man with sharp eyes for his years.”

“As you will,” said Gunrig sternly, for his wrath had not yet been appreciably toned down by exercise.

They found the Hebrew reading at his door.

“Ho! Beniah, hast seen the girl Branwen pass this way to-day?” cried Gunrig as he came up.

“I have not seen her pass,” replied the Hebrew, in a tone so mild that the angry chief suspected him.

“She’s not in your hut, I suppose?” he added sharply.

“The door is open, you may search it if you doubt me,” returned the Hebrew with a look of dignity, which he knew well how to assume.

The chief entered at once, and, after glancing sharply round the outer room entered the kitchen. Here Beniah showed him the chimney, pointed out the yawning chasm below, and commented on the danger of falling into it in the dark.

“And what is there beyond, Hebrew?” asked the chief.

Beniah held up the lamp.

“You see,” he said, “the rock against which my poor hut rests.”

Then the old man referred to the advantages of the situation for supplying himself with food by hunting in the forest, as well as by cultivating the patch of garden beside the hut, until his visitor began to show signs of impatience, when he apologised for intruding his domestic affairs at such a time, and finally offered to join and aid the search party.

“Aid us!” exclaimed Gunrig in contempt. “Surely we need no aid from you, when we have the king’s head-huntsman as our guide.”

“That may be true, chief, nevertheless in the neighbourhood of my own hut I could guide you, if I chose, to secret and retired spots, which it would puzzle even the head-huntsman to find. But I will not thrust my services upon you.”

“You are over-proud for your station,” returned the chief angrily, “and were it not for your years I would teach you to moderate your language and tone.”

For a moment the eyes of the old man flashed, and his brows contracted, as he steadily returned the gaze of Gunrig. In his youth he had been a man of war, and, as we have said, his strength was not yet much abated by age, but years and deep thought had brought wisdom to some extent. With an evident effort he restrained himself, and made no reply. The chief, deeming his silence to be the result of fear, turned contemptuously away, and left the hut with his followers.

During this colloquy, poor Branwen had stood in the dark passage, listening and trembling lest her hiding-place should be discovered. She was a strange compound of reckless courage and timidity—if such a compound be possible. Indignation at the man who had slighted her bosom friend Hafrydda, besides insulting herself, caused her to feel at times like a raging lion. The comparative weakness of her slight and graceful frame made her at other times feel like a helpless lamb. It was an exasperating condition! When she thought of Gunrig, she wished with all her heart and soul that she had been born a big brawny man. When she thought of Bladud, nothing could make her wish to be other than a woman!

As she stood there listening, there occurred a slight desire to clear her throat, and she almost coughed. The feeling came upon her like a shock—what if she had let it out! But a sneeze! It was well known that sneezes came even to people the most healthy, and at moments the most inopportune, and well she knew from experience that to repress a sneeze would ensure an explosion fit to blow the little nose off her face. If a sneeze should come at that moment, she was lost!

But a sneeze did not come. The olfactory nerves remained placid, until the visitors had departed. Then she retreated to the inner cave, drew the grey shawl over her head, and awaited the development of her plans.

Presently she heard footsteps, and the voice of the Hebrew calling to her softly, but she took no notice. After a moment or two it sounded again, somewhat louder.

Still no answer.

Then Beniah shouted, with just a shade of anxiety, “Branwen!”

Receiving no reply, he ran in much alarm for one of his spare planks; thrust it over the chasm; crossed, and next moment stood in the inner cave the very embodiment of astonished consternation, for Branwen was gone, and in her place stood a little old woman, with a bowed form, and a puckered-up mouth, gazing at him with half-closed but piercingly dark eyes!

The Hebrew was almost destitute of superstition, and a man of great courage, but this proved too much for him. His eyes opened with amazement; so did his mouth, and he grew visibly pale.

The tables were turned at this point. The man’s appearance proved too much for the girl. Her eyes opened wide, her brilliant teeth appeared, and, standing erect, she burst into a fit of merry laughter.

“Child!” exclaimed Beniah, his usually grave mouth relaxing into a broad smile, which proved that his teeth were not less sound than his constitution, “you have shown to me that fear, or something marvellously like it, is capable of lurking within my old heart. What mean you by this?”

“I mean that there is an idea come into my head which I shall carry out—if you will allow me. I had thought at first of staying with you as your grand-daughter or your niece, but then it came into my head that I could not live long here in such a character without some one who knew me seeing me and finding me out—though, let me tell you, it would not be easy to find me out, for I can change my look and voice so that none but those who know me well could discover me. Then the idea of being an old woman came into my head, and—you can speak to my success. There is nothing more natural than that you should have an old woman to take care of your house while you go on your travels; so I can stay till you go and see my father and tell him to send for me.”

“Your father lives very far from here,” returned the Hebrew, with the lines of perplexity still resting on his brow.

“That is true; but Beniah’s legs are long and his body is strong. He can soon let my father know of his daughter’s misfortune. You know that my father is a powerful chief, though his tribe is not so strong in numbers as the tribe of King Hudibras, or that—that fiend Gunrig. But his young men and my brothers are very brave.”

“Well, let it be as you say, for the present, my child, and you may consider this cave your private chamber while you remain in my house. But let me advise you to keep close when I am absent, and do not be tempted to prove the strength of your disguise. It may not be as perfect as you think, and your voice may betray you.”

Having agreed upon this temporary plan, the Hebrew departed to make preparations for a long journey, while Branwen busied herself in arranging the apartment in which, for some time at least, she hoped to remain in hiding.