Читать книгу Ande Trembath: A Tale of Old Cornwall England - Matthew Stanley Kemp - Страница 6

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THE RUNAWAY

"And as the chariot rolled along the plain,

Light from the ground he leaped, and seized the rein;

Thus hung in air, he still retain'd his hold,

The coursers frighted, and their course controlled."

—Dryden's Virgil.

"Ande, my lad, if—"

His remarks were very unceremoniously cut short by a shout from the lad.

"Look out, Mr. Trant! A runaway!" and before he had finished speaking, he caught the old parson by the shoulders and gave him a shove to one side of the road. Now the action of the youth was so quick and with such vigour, that the parson had no alternative but to go in a very undignified manner. His shovel-shaped hat went into the hedge, and with coat-tails flying like the pennants of a man-of-war, the parson was following, but tripped on some obstacle and plunged very quickly and involuntarily into a bunch of stinging nettles and thistles by the road-side.

Nor was the action too quick, for down the road, galloping and plunging as if mad, her eyes flashing and nostrils distended with terror, came the squire's black mare, Queeny. A brief glance had sufficed for the youth's quick eyes. The bit had broken in the mare's mouth. The chaise in the rear rocked from side to side in a most frightful manner, but the plucky driver, Mistress Alice, with resolute will, though pale with fear, still held the lines, seeking in vain to restrain the maddened creature. There was a quick thud, thud, thud; the creaking of wrenched axle; a rolling cloud of dust; and through it all in the rear a strained face, beautiful, yet fear-stricken, with wide, dark eyes and a tumbling mass of curly hair as black as the clouds of a moonless night.

"There was a vision of a flying, athletic, youthful form—clinging with the grip of a vice—"

Then there was a leap and a vision of a flying, athletic, youthful form, and Ande was clinging with the grip of a vise to the black, flowing mane. With his right arm up over the animal's neck, supporting himself, with the other hand he grasped the mare by the nostrils, completely shutting off all air. Then there was a struggle for the mastery. The infuriated creature reared, plunged, until there was imminent danger of the shafts breaking, but the lad was too strong to be thus shaken off. There was a cry, almost a shriek, like unto a scream of human agony, from Queeny. On, on, on plunged the creature with its human burden, but there was a slowness of speed until some hundred yards from the parson's position, when the runaway was brought to a standstill, although trembling in every limb with fright.

The squire's daughter, only too anxious to alight after that mad ride, stepped from the chaise, and between her petting and speaking to Queeny and Ande's grip, that he still maintained, the mare was pacified.

"Now," said the lad, speaking for the first time, "please unbuckle those backing straps and unhook the traces."

The girl, though unaccustomed to be ordered in this manner, saw the necessity of complying, since her rescuer did not dare to leave his position at the mare's head.

"Now, let me have the halter in the chaise."

The girl produced it, and the animal thus secured was led out of the half-ruined shafts.

Parson Trant, in the meantime, had disengaged himself from the unwelcome embrace of the nettles and thistles. Picking up his shovel-shaped hat and dusting it with his handkerchief, he placed it on his head after first arranging his scattered locks, and then hurried forward to assist the squire's daughter. That young lady had, however, finished the work before his arrival.

"Well, well, well!" exclaimed the parson, as he came up, puffing with over-exertion and mopping the perspiration from his brow. "That was a narrow escape, Mistress Alice—thank God for it—also—this brave young man. Mistress Alice, this is Master Ande Trembath."

The parson in the midst of his hurry had neither forgotten his religion nor his courtesy that seemed inherent in his very nature, but he little realised the ludicrous figure he presented in that scene. His neckerchief was all awry; one coat-tail was sadly torn by the violence of his fall and was now hanging in a most melancholy manner by a few threads from his coat; his broadcloth trowsers were soiled and covered with nettle stickers and thistle down; and his hat, in the hurry of putting it on, was located on one side of his head in a most rakish and disreputable manner.

A silvery peal of laughter from the girl, which was joined by a hastily suppressed chuckle from Ande, caused the rector to notice his condition and he was much chagrined in consequence. There was a flush on his countenance that made both of the young parties regret their hasty merriment.

"Parson Trant, you must pardon my rudeness in pushing you aside, but if I hadn't done it we both might have been hurt."

"To be sure, to be sure—don't mention it, my brave lad. You did a noble action and probably saved my life as well as that of Mistress Alice," said the parson kindly, as he patted the lad on the back.

"And as for me, dear Parson Trant, I must beg pardon for my rudeness in laughing," said the girl with regret in her tone, and then turning to Ande she thanked him for his brave conduct. "And now you must both come up to the Manor for lunch, will you not? O do, please; father will be so delighted."

Parson Trant cast a rueful glance at his clothes, saying he was hardly presentable, and then his face relaxed into a smile that widened into a good-humoured laugh as he pictured himself seated at the squire's table in his present condition. As for the lad, the invitation would have been acceptable, had he not thought of the squire's antipathy toward himself. He declined also, but accompanied the squire's daughter to the Manor gates, having first bid the kind-hearted parson adieu.

"I can't tell why it was that Queeny ran away. She never acted that way before. I was so frightened. It was very brave of you to stop her."

The lad was a trifle confused under these glowing tributes to his heroism and could make but little reply.

"Trembath—Trembath," continued the girl musingly, "why that's the name of the former owner of the Manor—that is, before my grandfather. They said he was killed in America, and you——"

"He was my grandfather," said the youth with a sensitive flush on his face. "He was an honourable man."

The flush on the face of the youth was reflected on the countenance of the girl, for she realised that she had committed an indiscretion in referring to the death of his grandfather.

There was an embarrassed silence for a time and then the girl exclaimed,

"There's Ned Pengilly!"

It was indeed the worthy lodge-keeper who appeared at the gates. To him Ande consigned the animal that he was still leading and, receiving the thanks again of the girl, he turned and wended his way toward home. Within a short distance he paused and turned, watching the retreating forms of the girl and the lodge-keeper leading Queeny. Then, with a feeling he knew not what, he once more continued his journey.