The Young Apprentice; or, The Watch-Words of Old London — page 222: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

and here on this spot I will wreak my vengeance or die, Ha! you shall not so escape me.” Lord Raymond, as Villiers spoke, had turned his horse’s head as if to ride o Villiers was, however, too quick for him. Drawing his pistol from his belt, he fired at the horse, and after a sudden leap in the air, it fell dead upon the gronnd. In an instant Lord Raymond struggled to his fe ot. Up and down the road he glanced eagerly. ecape was impostibl was impossible, Almest ere he could draw his sword, Lord Villiers was by his side. Then the fight commenced. No child’s play that ! It was a stern—terrible struggle for life ! Clash-—oclash—clash ! Diamally rang the sound of strife over the nea. rolling Clash—clash—clash ! It rang londly above the roar of the breakers. Clash—clash—clash | Every moment it became'more rapid—more loud ; every moment became more eager the plunges and parries—the cuts and thrusts. For a moment only they paused to take breath, Then they commenced again with more deadly vigour than ever, either spoke. It was a silent-desperate struggle. At length, exas at the time expended in the.contlict, Lord Villiera sprang forward, and aimed a most vigorous and deadly blow at his adversary. This blow had a double effect. It shivered his own sword, and sent that of Lord Raymond flying over the rocks into the darkness which yawned below. a an jnstant was given to Raymond to draw knife, In a moment Lord Villiers had sprung upon him, and began to drag him towards the cliff’s edge, They were both powerful men, Lord Raymond being the heavier, but Lord Clement being the younger and more active. Oh! how they writhed and twisted in each other’s grasp. Each had now but one object—to hurl his adv over upon the sharp rocks below without being dragged over with him. Fierce, deadly grips they were ; terrible looks from bloodshot eyes; fearful words murmured by foaming lips. At length they neared the edge of the cliff. Now was the time. Now came the last struggle. Raymond quickly saw his disadvantage. As tney paused and looked in each other’s faces he was with his back to the water. He knew what the next instantaneous move- ment would be. Throwing himself down, therefore, suddenly sideways, as it were, he dragged his adversary down with him upon the ground. But it waa of no avail. Only for a moment the struggle lasted. Lord Clement Villiers bad the advantage clearly, and in spite of all his desperate strug- THE WAPCHWORDS OF OLD LONDON. we == - ar wet es Mm feo ' = & AY 2038 gles, Raymond found himself gradually nearing the brink of the terrible precipice, Yet would he not cry for mercy till the last. On the edge he was at last, his body half hanging over. Then, at length, as the terrible reality of his ition came over him, he cried— : ‘‘ This is murder, Villiers; have mercy !” ‘Mercy | exclaimed Lord Clement, fiercely ; ‘6 mercy! what mercy have you shown ever to man orwoman? That same mercy éhall be extended to you. No, Raymond; your hour has come, and you must not dream of mercy.” There was no further appeal. One frantic effort Raymond made to take out his knife, Bat it was useless, Lord Villiers had him now completely in his wer, and in another moment he was hurled headlong down the rocks. Clement did not wait to look over. He heard the fearful cry of despair which rang out clearly on the still night, and the plash in the water as the body fell ! But that was all. The mystery of the gulf he did not endeavour to fathom ; but leaping again on his horse, with a satisfied feeling of having been the instrument of punishing the guilty, and ridding the world of a villain, he set off at full speed for Wheat- atone. Oh! how his heart yearned towards that spot, Pow it beat when he imagined himself once more clasping to his breast the throbbing bosom of his beautiful wife—kissing her cherry lipa— feeling her warm breath upon his cheek, and her soft arm around his neck—hearing again her gentle voice, and feeling her once more all, all his own : CHAPTER V. THE ROAD TO WHEATSTONE—THE UNEXPEQTED MEETING—BOXLEY HOUSE-——-THE WHITE FACE AT THE BARRED WINDOW—THE ENTRANCE OF LORD CLEMENT AND HIS MEN—BEN FIRE- BRACE TO THE RESCUE—THE DISMAL VAULT —THE SACRED FAOK OF THE LOVED ONE. ON entering the town—a little straggling town it was, built anyhow, on a rocky slope— Clement Villiers perceived several men, in the garb of troopers, issuing from a tavern. Their uniforms showed them at once ta belong to the Puritan army ; and as he passed beneath the light of the lamp, he saw a face which was as welcome as it was familiar, It was the face of Ben Firebrace, Ben did not observe him at first, for he was too much engaged in talking to his companions. But Lord Clement’s voice soon roused him. “Ah. Captain Firebrace !” he cried ; ‘ what are you doing at Wheatstone ?” . It will be remembered that Lord Villiers was colonel of his regiment, ‘Ah. colonel !” returned Captain Firebrace ; 4‘ this is, indeed, a strange meeting.” ‘+'Yes ; on what errand are you here?” “In your absence, my lord, I was sent down .) 4 - COVED OOKSEEON